A young cop, barely 18, apprehends a suspect in a dimly lit alley. As she reads the Miranda rights, her eyes linger on the suspect's defiant stare. She unholsters her baton, not to hit, but to tease, tracing it along his lips, then down his chest. He's handcuffed, helpless. She unzips her uniform, revealing a black strap-on. "You like this, don't you?" she purrs, rubbing it against his mouth. He nods, eager. She turns him around, lifts his shirt, and trails her fingers down his back, pausing at his ass. "You're gonna take it like a good boy," she whispers, pushing him against the wall, her strap-on ready to claim him.