Daphne Interrogates Eleonore with Sweaty Nylon Feet Domination

Officer Daphne drags the handcuffed thief Eleonore into the dimly lit interrogation room, shoving her into a chair across the stark desk. In her crisp uniform skirt hiding sheer black fishnet stockings, Daphne crosses her legs with a sadistic smirk, one high heel dangling: "You got caught red-handed, Eleonore. Tell me where the loot is, or this gets… unforgettable." Eleonore spits defiance at first, struggling in her cuffs, but the air already carries the heavy, musky scent of her sweaty feet trapped in tall boots after the chase. Daphne circles slowly, leaning in close: "I can smell how exhausted those feet are… all that running in those boots. Let's see how cooperative you get when I make them beg." Daphne orders Eleonore to strip—top and skirt off, leaving her in black lingerie and torn sheer black pantyhose, boots still on. She pushes the trembling thief into the red damask mistress armchair, legs extended. Kneeling dominantly, Daphne unzips the boots just enough to expose the damp, ripped nylon soles—sweat-glistened toes peeking through tears, the pungent odor flooding the room. Daphne inhales deeply with closed eyes: "Mmm… pure defeat in nylon and sweat. Your feet are mine now." She begins a slow, teasing massage through the torn pantyhose, thumbs pressing into hot arches and heels, making Eleonore squirm and moan in reluctant surrender. The interrogation turns intensely erotic on the gray couch—Daphne sits on the white coffee table, forcing Eleonore's nylon feet toward her face. She licks hungrily along the sheer, ripped fabric, tongue savoring salty sweat-soaked nylon, then presses the soles hard against her own nose for deep, moaning sniffs. "Taste your loss… smell how weak you are." Eleonore breaks completely, confessing every detail between gasps while Daphne alternates licks, sniffs, and firm massages—nylon tearing slightly more under pressure, feet flexing and curling in submission. Daphne's fishnet-clad legs occasionally brush Eleonore's body, asserting total control. Satisfied with the full confession, Daphne stands, zips Eleonore's boots back over the ruined pantyhose, leaving her cuffed and spent on the couch: "Good girl… you spilled everything. But these sweaty nylon feet? They're mine whenever I want." Fade out on clicking heels and lingering musky air. Raw police interrogation turned nylon foot domination—sweaty, torn stockings, intense smelling, licking, and total surrender.