5 hours ago
DiP_111 - The Exit Interview - 4K UHD Upscaled
The air in the interview room was stale, heavy with the threat of incarceration. Frankie Babe sat across from the WPC, her red jacket a splash of defiance against the sterile white walls. The officer was playing hardball: five years, minimum, unless Frankie spilled everything. But Frankie wasn't the snitching type. She was the surviving type. When the WPC stood up and turned her back to retrieve a mandatory form from the filing cabinet, she offered Frankie the one thing she needed: a blind spot.
Frankie moved with the silent speed of a viper. She crossed the room and struck before the drawer was even open. The officer was overpowered in seconds, choked into unconsciousness and lowered to the blue carpet without a sound. Now, Frankie had to act fast. She needed a disguise to walk out the front door, and the officer’s uniform was the perfect fit.
Frankie stripped the unconscious WPC with ruthless efficiency. She unbuttoned the crisp white shirt, unzipped the black skirt, and removed the hat, peeling the authority away until the officer was left helpless in her black lace lingerie. But Frankie couldn't leave loose ends. She used the officer's own handcuffs to bind her wrists tightly behind her back. Then, she lashed the officer's ankles together and connected them to the cuffs, locking the law in a humiliating, arched hogtie.
With the real officer neutralized and gagged, Frankie began her transformation. She shed her own distinctive red jacket and leather trousers, leaving them in a pile. Piece by piece, she donned the stolen uniform. She buttoned the shirt, stepped into the skirt, fastened the tie, and placed the police hat on her head. She checked her reflection: Frankie Babe was gone. In her place stood a dutiful officer. With a final smirk at the bound, naked woman on the floor, Frankie picked up the keys and walked out of the station, her freedom secured by the very uniform meant to imprison her.
![[Image: 101.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/HnfyjV7J/101.jpg)
![[Image: 102.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/Vv3C5dbr/102.jpg)
![[Image: 103.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/RhjHqNnW/103.jpg)
![[Image: 104.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/x8WzqcbN/104.jpg)
![[Image: 105.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/kGkbDBtK/105.jpg)
![[Image: 106.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/XqTCXpy9/106.jpg)
![[Image: Di_P.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/vmQ61RDL/Di_P.gif)
https://estore.surfnetcorp.com/store/damsels/
The air in the interview room was stale, heavy with the threat of incarceration. Frankie Babe sat across from the WPC, her red jacket a splash of defiance against the sterile white walls. The officer was playing hardball: five years, minimum, unless Frankie spilled everything. But Frankie wasn't the snitching type. She was the surviving type. When the WPC stood up and turned her back to retrieve a mandatory form from the filing cabinet, she offered Frankie the one thing she needed: a blind spot.
Frankie moved with the silent speed of a viper. She crossed the room and struck before the drawer was even open. The officer was overpowered in seconds, choked into unconsciousness and lowered to the blue carpet without a sound. Now, Frankie had to act fast. She needed a disguise to walk out the front door, and the officer’s uniform was the perfect fit.
Frankie stripped the unconscious WPC with ruthless efficiency. She unbuttoned the crisp white shirt, unzipped the black skirt, and removed the hat, peeling the authority away until the officer was left helpless in her black lace lingerie. But Frankie couldn't leave loose ends. She used the officer's own handcuffs to bind her wrists tightly behind her back. Then, she lashed the officer's ankles together and connected them to the cuffs, locking the law in a humiliating, arched hogtie.
With the real officer neutralized and gagged, Frankie began her transformation. She shed her own distinctive red jacket and leather trousers, leaving them in a pile. Piece by piece, she donned the stolen uniform. She buttoned the shirt, stepped into the skirt, fastened the tie, and placed the police hat on her head. She checked her reflection: Frankie Babe was gone. In her place stood a dutiful officer. With a final smirk at the bound, naked woman on the floor, Frankie picked up the keys and walked out of the station, her freedom secured by the very uniform meant to imprison her.
https://estore.surfnetcorp.com/store/damsels/