Rebel Belle interrogates a Prisoner
Content Notes:
no characters depicted in this story are under the age of eighteen. In case the title wasn't a clue, this story features a superheroine who trades deeply in Neo-Confederate imagery engaging in interracial sex, which may not be something everyone wants mixed in with their smut. Finally, since I've had readers comment on this before, note that despite her costume choices making her likely opinions on such matters pretty clear, I generally don't have our titular character running around spouting a bunch of slurs, in favor of having her use slightly more coded language. Not that she's fooling anybody, but it's my preferred approach to the character.
Finally, if you want a brief summary of the action contained herein before diving in, skip to the very last paragraph of the last page.
~~~~~
Smiling with relish, Rebel Belle slowly strutted through Beachport Police Headquarters.
As she passed all the cops and clerks turned and stared openly. She marched on past, as if completely oblivious. But, the mighty Southern superheroine could not help but notice, it was the officers of a swarthier sort, in particular, who could not help but let their eyes linger. Whose gazes would become briefly trapped in her enormous breasts as the bounced past, straining the confines of her pure white bustier. Who would gaze in awe at her gorgeous face as it swept by, covered in her trademark mask. And, of course, who could not help but stare in disbelief at her buxom hips as they strutted by... clad, as was her daring wont, only in a skimpy pair of proud Confederate Flag panties.
'Eat your hearts out, you unworthy low-lifes,' she thought, as one group of male officers all stopped and stared in sudden silence, their flabby jaws hanging agape, as her stunning ass strutted past.
In addition to her aforementioned bustier, mask and panties, Jessica Weiss - alias the Rebel Belle - wore only a few other items. Long white high-heeled boots extended up her sleek legs, to her mid-thigh; and long opera-style gloves covered her arms. Last but not least, nestled in the crevice between her enormous breasts, was the crimson glowing Jewel of Virtue - the source of all her powers.
But despite her defiantly scanty attire Rebel Belle showed not the slightest trace of fear as she strutted past cop and criminal alike. With every single motion of her body she projected the supreme confidence of an utterly invincible superheroine. And not just any heroine - but the daughter of a long and illustrious line of proud champions - who had all fought under the symbol that she now wore boldly emblazoned upon her loins.
Passing by another office area, complete with a sea of heads peeking over the cubicle walls to stare at her as she strutted past, Rebel Belle continued down a corridor and stopped at an open door. Beyond it lay a dark and dim control room, lit mostly by the glow of numerous monitors. The control room was packed with about three times the usual number of officers, all of them men.
"Hello, boys," Rebel Belle cooed down at them. Putting a long white-gloved hand up on the frame of the door, she looked in - and a sultry smirk slowly spread across her full red lips. "Ready to watch me work?" she asked - her lilting Southern accent flowing down across them.
"Hello, Rebel Belle," the duty officer said back up to her. "And yes, we are ready to... keep an eye on things."
A little ways behind him, one of his officers attempted to conceal a large bowl of popcorn. It was not the only one in the room.
Rebel Belle saw it, but just slowly shook her head - as if to say 'boys will be boys'.
"Is my subject ready?" she asked.
"Yes, he is," the duty officer said. He turned back to his monitors, and pointed to the central one. Much larger than the others, it was big enough that everyone in the room could easily get a view. It showed the interior of a small interrogation cell. Within it a massively muscular man waited, his hands cuffed behind him, his feet chained to the legs of the chair. His dark black skin was clad in a bright orange prison jumpsuit. To either side of him stood slender and shapely women, both of them white - both wearing well-tailored suits.
"With Judge Oldman's approval, the piece of scum known as prisoner 846352 is chained and waiting for your interrogation," the duty officer said. "He is accompanied by that FBI agent lady... and his lawyer."
The officer said the last bit like he was warning her a waiter had peed in her soup. But, at this bad news, Rebel Belle's smirk just grew broader.
"Don't worry," the Daring Daughter of Dixie purred. "I can handle her quite easily. Now, you boys just sit tight and watch a real professional at work."
Surveying the screens, Rebel Belle could not help notice that the many smaller screens arrayed to either side of the main one, which really should have been in use to monitor other portions of the building, were instead showing alternate views from the room she was about to enter. Backing up, she shook her head ruefully.
"I'm sure you're quite capable of that, if nothing else..." she drawled.
Then, with that parting remark, Rebel Belle turned - and strutted fearlessly on.
Moving further down the corridor, she soon entered the guard room for the interrogation cells. There four armed and portly male officers lounging upon a couch hastily leaped to their feet. One of them, holding a remote, hastily changed the channel on the large flat-screen television that lay before them. But he wasn't quite fast enough, and once more Rebel Belle got a brief look at the interior of the room in which her subject waited, before the channel changed to show the stained and mostly-empty drunk tank. The man she was about to interrogate may have gunned down more than one of their own, but that apparently wasn't enough to stop the BPD from enjoying an opportunity to watch a superheroine at work, live and on their premises.
"At ease boys," she said. Her eyes flicked down to their pants, in which tiny but unmistakable boners had sprouted. "If you can," she added, in a smug purr.
One man, trying not to get caught staring, produced a key.
"This way ma'am," he mumbled.
Walking down a row of doors, he opened one up for her.
"Thanks," she cooed. Standing before him, she fluffed her hair, and then smirked. "Try not to strain anything," she advised them, and then strutted through.
Standing in the tiny interrogation room, Rebel Belle put her hands upon her hips, and spread her legs wide. She heard the door click and then lock behind her, sealing her inside. Her smile only grew wider.
Before her, two beautiful women stood to either side, their backs to the wall of the tiny white room. Between them, the massive prisoner in his orange jumpsuit sat chained to a steel chair, with a small steel table before him.
She took a moment to examine them - letting them get an eyeful as well now that the main event was at hand.
To Rebel Belle's right stood a gorgeous pale-skinned brunette wearing glasses and a gray, short-skirted suit. She leaned against the wall and impatiently looked at her watch. She had a nametag. It read "Tiffany Rose, Esq., Attorney at Law."
Glancing over, Rebel Belle gave the perp's lawyer a casual glance - and then did a swift double take. Though she couldn't recall ever facing her before, she still looked strangely familiar. Rebel Belle blinked once, and then twice, trying to figure it out. Then she shrugged - making her straining bustier creak around her enormous natural wonders - and turned her masked scarlet-haired head away.
'I must have crushed a couple previous clients of hers and put them away,' she thought. 'Who can remember them all, when there have been so many?' Her smirk broadened, at this comforting thought.
Meanwhile, to Rebel Belle's left an athletic blonde stood ram-rod straight. She wore a short-skirted suit as well, almost identical to Tiffany's save that it was jet black, and she wore sunglasses even though she was indoors. Her tag read "Agent Thorne, FBI." She was also not someone Rebel Belle had dealt with previously, though she understood that she had been helping coordinate the efforts to destroy this particular prisoner's gang. Efforts that had already led some of her fellow Beachport superheroines into some quite sticky fates - but she was quite confident that would not happen to her.
Above her, several cameras turned and whirred as they adjusted themselves. Adjusted themselves, specifically, to focus in better on her. But, knowing full well who was behind that, the smirking superheroine paid them no mind.
Then at last, having taken in the entire room, she turned her attention fully back to its chief, and sole male, occupant.
He was huge - even bigger than he had looked on the video, where he had already seemed to fill the entire room. He had massive shoulders, and was ripped as fuck. But despite that he was no threat - chained, as he was, firmly to his metal chair. Rebel Belle, who always liked it when a certain sort of arrogant and powerful man lay helpless at her feet, smirked with unconcealed.
His face, though pockmarked with several bruises, might have once been considered handsome - if you were into that sort.
Finally, there was one more somewhat odd detail. Clad as he was in bright-orange prison attire, there was a curious bulge running up the front of his suit. It almost looked like he had a baseball bat concealed inside of it. But, knowing he had been thoroughly searched for weapons, Rebel Belle swiftly wrote it off as just a trick of the light. Shaking her head, she pushed it completely out of her mind, and got back to business.
So, having surveyed the room and its occupants, she opened her lips.
"Well, well, well..." she purred.
Her eyes half lidded and a full smirk on her lips, she regarded the sullenly waiting prisoner with pleasure. Then, sauntering forward, she stood in the center of the room, spread her legs, and put her hands on her hips.
"If it isn't Julius Turner, better known by his alias... now what was it?"
She lifted a finger to her lips and tapped them, as, looking up at the ceiling, she made a big show of searching her redheaded noggin.
"Oh, right," she cooed at last. "Kop Killah."
Putting her hand back on her hip she let her eyes bore into his ugly, bruised face, as her eyes narrowed and her smirk broadened.
"How's that nickname serving you now, Julius?" she asked, observing smugly that he'd picked up a few new bruises in custody beyond the numerous ones she'd inflicted with her fists.
Julius shrugged his enormous dark shoulders.
"Nothin' I can't handle," he said. Despite the fact he was chained down before her buxom yet invincible, Battle-Flag-panty-clad hips, his deep voice rumbled through the little interrogation room - in a way that made even his stern-faced lawyer, and the stone-faced agent, let out soft little gasps of surprise. "And should I remind you, bitch," he continued, glaring up at her with his hands chained behind him, "I ain't been convicted yet. Just beaten up, jailed, and accused."
"I know," Rebel Belle purred.
Looking down upon him, from beneath the sultry spill of her red hair, she wore an enormous smirk on her lips.
