You're under arrest, naughty boy," purrs the sultry cop, her eyes locked onto your widening pupils. She's clad in a form-fitting uniform, her badge glinting under the harsh interrogation light. Her panties are barely contained beneath her skirt, a tantalizing hint of lace peeking out. She approaches, her heels clicking on the cold concrete, the scent of her perfume mingling with the musk of your growing desire. She reaches for her handcuffs, her touch igniting a spark as she secures them around your wrists. But you're not the only one feeling the heat. Her breath hitches as she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear, "You've been a bad boy, haven't you?