What a day, probably the most hectic in your entire career. When you first signed up to be a Fed you thought you'd just coast along, leeching upon the honest American's tax payer money for a decade or two before retiring somewhere in Florida. You didn't know you'd end up actually doing your job.

You're sitting in the police station , legs spread apart and your back against a nice worn out leather sofa. A large cool ice pack on your face, one of the perps had smacked you on the nose and broke a little bit of the cartilage, even with the blood all over your nice suit you managed to fulfill your duty as a proud member of the Bureau and bagged all the crooks in one piece and mostly alive.

"Anon," you move the ice pack to the side, lazily turning your head to the direction of the voice. Your partner was a portly and slovenly man in his mid-50's, the both of you never particularly liked each other and so out of professional courtesy you referred to him as 'baldy' and he to you 'anon'. It was a system that had worked out thus far.

"You up for a little payback?" He asks while dabbing his greasy and sweaty balding forehead with his coffee-stained handkerchief, flashing you a lecherous smile as he thumbed the door. Your partner and several officers were watching over computer screens, a large one way mirror fixed into the wall in front of them, one of the suspects behind the robbery was waiting to be interrogated.

You raise a hand, waving him off, you drop the ice pack on the seat beside you, rubbing the bandaged bridge of your broken nose.

You get up and leave the side room, preparing yourself a bit by stoking your own anger, you stand outside the door and practice your facial expressions. You open it.

You enter the dark and dimly lit room, in the middle was a stainless steel table bolted to the floor along with two movable plastic chairs.

The perp was a beautiful woman with short and luscious black-blue looking hair, she looked more like a supermodel than a hardened criminal. Her face was lightly bruised, courtesy of your skills, she was the same bitch who almost caved in your face. She wore a well tailored two piece suit, one whose fabric tightly hugged and conformed to her curvaceous figure, on her feet were nice Italian leather shoes. Her blue eyes staring impassively, following your movements as you sat on the chair opposite to her.

You open up the laptop, typing on a few buttons as you prepared for the report.

"State your name," you know this was pointless, she wasn't going to cooperate.

Her response after five minutes of deafening silence was a gurgling of the throat and the spitting of phlegm onto the floor.

"I see, so you've picked the hard way, fine by me," time to stop fucking around.

You stand up, moving behind her, she tried to turn her head around, but her hands were handcuffed to a large metal handle on the table, hindering her movements. You wave your hand to the one- way window , giving the signal for your partner to kill the cameras. The green lights under them, turning red.

Now there would be no record of what was going to happen next.

You violently yank the chair from under her with such speed that she falls backwards on her ass. She grunts out a cry of pain as her still confined wrists are cut by her tight restraints, you make it harder for her when you kick her on the ankles and calves, preventing her from gaining some stable footing.

"W-What the fuck-GWAK" you grab her by the hair, lifting her up and slamming her face on the cold metal steel of the table, she squirms and struggles as you press your body weight on top of her.

"You fucking bitch, almost turned me into a Owen Wilson wannabe for life," you snarl angrily at her, punctuating your sentence with a viscous slap on her ass whose smack echoed across the room.

"I HAVE FUCKING RIGHTS!" She screams out, teeth grinding out in frustration and agony.

"You and your friends tried to steal 50 million dollars from Uncle Sam I'm sorry honey, but for the next 15 minutes you don't even exist." your chest is thumping with adrenaline and righteous anger, the sight of this handsome and criminally inclined woman hopelessly fighting against your power made you feel like Jesus.

"You fucking-NO STOP!" she whines in shock as she feels your hand sliding across the breadth of her ass, you can tell that this sexy bitch wasn't wearing any underwear, the only thing separating your skin and her butt cheeks was a thin layer of cotton.

"GWAK!" Oh ho? That was a particularly girlish shriek from such a husky voice, made sense considering you just grabbed her by the cooch and squeezed it like a stress ball. You can feel the moist warmth and wetness just seeping through the crotch of her trousers. She was leaking, was she pissing herself a little out of fear or was it just her getting a little too horny from your abuse of government appointed power? Maybe even both.

"T-This is wrong! Y-You can't do this! You're supposed to be the good guy!" There was a lovely musical tone of terror in her voice, gone was the brash and confident woman you had just talked to minutes before, replaced by a scared little girl who had finally realized she wasn't the badass bitch that she thought she was.

"Good guys don't exist honey." You bring your face close to her ear, whispering with malice. Your other unoccupied hand now sliding itself between her squished chest and the table, invading the space between her buttoned blouse in order to molest her huge and sinful breasts, you can feel a lacy bra standing in the way of your prize, your strong and lustful hand tearing it down like a wall.

"AHHHHH! YOU FUCKER FUCKING DIE!" Her voice cracks, a flood of tears streaming down her face, ruining her carefully applied mascara. She cries and whines at her violation. Your dirty digits twisting, pinching, and pressing her exposed nipples. Your other hand still on her snatch; massaging, grabbing and stimulating it to a point that her pants were now ruined by her fluids. Every motion by your filthy fingers eliciting sounds of anger, rage, horror and of course euphoric bliss from her quivering mouth.

Alas, all good things come to an end.

"Anon, your time's up," well damn, that shit ended way too quickly. Like a bandit you let go of her quickly, returning to an upright position, picking up the toppled over plastic chair and placing it under her.

You go back to your seat, fixing up your messed up suit and happily typing away at the laptop. She's still face flat on the table for a few moments before she slowly slides backwards, her bruising ass landing on the chair, her head hanging over to the side. Her glazed and teary blue eyes staring at the floor. She was barely conscious.

You're gonna give her maybe five or seven minutes for to regain her bearings before you slap her awake and resume the questioning.