The atmosphere in the police station interview room was volatile. Fiona, looking sharp in a blue satin blouse, stood over the desk of WPC Tibby. She was livid. Yesterday, the officer had looked her in the eye and promised her husband would be released this morning. Now, Tibby was leaning back, casually breaking her word, citing paperwork and delays. She told Fiona to go home and wait. But Fiona was done waiting. She reached into her handbag, not for a tissue to dry her tears, but for a cloth soaked in a chemical solution she had prepared for this exact moment.
As Tibby started to stand, perhaps to escort the angry woman out, Fiona struck. She lunged across the desk space, clamping the chloroform-soaked rag firmly over the officer's face. Tibby’s eyes went wide with shock, her hands scrabbling uselessly at Fiona’s arms, but the wife’s desperation gave her iron strength. The officer slumped to the blue carpet, her authority silenced by the sweet fumes.
Fiona wasted no time. To get into the holding cells, she needed to look the part. She stripped the unconscious WPC with frantic efficiency. She unbuttoned the white shirt, unzipped the black skirt, and removed the clip-on tie, leaving Tibby vulnerable in her white slip and black stockings.
Using a roll of black tape from her bag, Fiona bound Tibby’s wrists tightly behind her back. She lashed the officer's ankles together and pulled them up, connecting them to the wrists in a tight hogtie that left Tibby helpless on the floor. A gag was secured to ensure silence. Then, the transformation began. Fiona stripped off her own clothes and donned the stolen uniform. She buttoned the shirt, straightened the tie, and smoothed the skirt. She checked her reflection: she was no longer a civilian; she was an officer. With a final glance at the bound woman who had lied to her, Fiona picked up the keys and walked out to the cells, ready to process her husband's release herself.
https://estore.surfnetcorp.com/store/damsels/
