The interrogation room was cold, grey, and smelled like cigarette smoke. A steel table, two chairs, and a mirrored wall. But everyone in the department knew that when Officer Stiles walked in, it wasn’t going to be a normal questioning.

She strutted in, heels clicking, her shirt buttons undone low enough to spill her cleavage. Her skirt clung to her hips, no panties underneath. Across from her sat a car thief with tattoos crawling up his neck, arms folded, smirk plastered on his face.

“Eric Mathews,” Stiles said sweetly, dropping the case file onto the table. “You’ve been accused of robbing three houses this month. Care to confess?”

He leaned back, smirking. “I ain’t saying shit, officer.”

Stiles circled the table, bending down so her tits nearly brushed his face as she whispered, “Mmm… you’ll talk. They always do for me.”

He laughed. “What are you gonna do, sweetheart? Beat it out of me?”

Stiles smirked, climbed right into his lap, straddling him. His eyes widened.

“No,” she whispered, grinding her pussy against his jeans. “I’m gonna fuck it out of you.”

His cock stiffened instantly, pressing against her through the denim. Stiles bit her lip, pulled open her blouse, shoving his face right into her tits.

“Tell me who your boss is,” she moaned, sliding her pussy along his bulge. “Confess, or I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll beg to talk.”

“Fuck…” he groaned, hands gripping her ass.

Stiles sank to her knees, unzipping him, pulling out his thick cock. She licked the tip slow, swirling her tongue, then looked up at him with those pink pillowy lips.

“Talk,” she demanded. “Who runs your crew?”

He gritted his teeth, groaning as she swallowed half his cock. “N-no one…”

Stiles gagged herself on him, drool dripping down her chin, before pulling off with a filthy pop. “Liar,” she teased. “Don’t worry… my pussy will make you honest.”

She hiked her skirt up, climbed back on his lap, and slammed down on his cock raw, moaning shamelessly. The mirrored wall shook with the rhythm of her bouncing ass.

“Tell me!” she screamed, riding him rough. “Tell me everything or I won’t stop milking you!”

“Fuck—It’s Lorenz!” he finally yelled, gripping her hips as she bounced harder. “Ed Lorenz runs it—he’s the boss—fuckkk!”

Stiles moaned triumphantly, leaning down to bite his neck. “Good boy… keep talking.”

By the time she was done, she had every detail of his operation — names, drop spots, stolen parts. And when she walked out, thighs dripping with cum, she tossed the file on the Captain’s desk.

“Confessed,” she said with a smirk, wiping her lip gloss. “All of it.”

Captain McCall shook his head in disbelief. “You filthy bitch… you’ve solved more cases with that pussy than half this precinct with their badges.”

Stiles grinned, adjusting her skirt. “Guess that’s why you keep giving me the hardest ones, hm? I always fuck the truth out.”

And so it went: every criminal, every tough case. Stiles sucked, rode, and moaned confessions out of thieves, gangsters, even killers. The precinct started handing her cold cases, the ones no one else could crack. She cracked them all — by cracking her legs wide open.

The department slut wasn’t just a whore. She was the best detective they had.