Rebel Belle interrogates a Prisoner

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.

"I'm the one who beat you, jailed you, and accused you - in case you have forgotten," she said. "Remember?"

She took a step forward, getting even closer to him, so that her sleek panties hovered just above the little steel table set before him.

"Now let me tell you how this works," she said. Lifting her right hand, she patted it to the surface of her enormous bustier-straining breast, and smiled. "I'm a superheroine," she reminded him. "Don't fall for the lies your overpaid lawyer over there has told you. If I take the stand? The jury will believe me. Every word I say."

Leaning forward, she put both hands on the table, and then craned forward until her lovely face - still concealed behind a Confederate Flag mask - hovered just before his rugged dark countenance. In doing so, as a side effect, she also tilted her curvy torso so far forward that her gigantic breasts hung down and sloshed back and forth, their jiggling tips nearly brushing the surface of the table.

"Which is why you want to do anything you can to make sure that doesn't happen," she told him. She repeated one more word, her full lips pronouncing each syllable slowly and deliberately. "An-y-thing," she whispered, softly.

"We want you to confess all of your crimes," Agent Thorne suddenly said, to one side - her own voice coming in a flat growl. "And give us the location of your gang's hideout and of all your prisoners. Do that and we guarantee you life in prison - instead of the chair."

"Ridiculous!" the raven-haired lawyer promptly cried. Staring the impassive agent right in the sunglasses, she leaned forward and screamed. "Dream on! There's no way you're getting that deal!"

The two briefly fell to arguing, leaning forward to wave and squawk into each other's gorgeous faces. Rebel Belle paid no attention. Instead, as their meaningless prattle echoed in the back of her head she slowly stood back up, her gaze never straying from the prisoner's eyes. He looked right back up into hers from his chair, his battered face swollen and angry.

"What's it going to be?" she cooed at him, once the other two had tired themselves out and sank back into mutual silence, propped against their respective walls. "You prepared to knuckle under and lick boot? Then go off to jail until your vaunted 'pussy-taming' penis rots off?"

The prisoner glared back at her for several seconds. Turning his head, eyes never leaving her, he spat some blood onto the floor. Then he turned back.

"You're going to regret this Rebel Belle," he said.

"Oh?" she asked, folding her arms beneath her massive breasts. "How?"

"In the week since me and my gang rolled all up into this dumb pussy-ass town I fucked Scarlet Sleuth, Valiant Valkyrie, and the Sun Idol."

"Is that a confession?" Agent Thorne asked, sharply.

"Nah," he said, glancing at her. "They asked for it." He looked back to Rebel Belle and smirked. "In fact, by the end? They were begging me to put them in my chains."

"I find that difficult... in fact, impossible to believe," Rebel Belle hissed. Her buxom pantied hips swayed back and forth furiously as she glared death down at him.

"By the time I'm done with you, Rebel Belle," he told her, eyes sliding up and down her hourglass-shaped body with relish, "Instead of fighting me, when you met me in that dark alley you're going to wish you had just pulled down your proud little panties, laid them at my feet, and begged me to do whatever I pleased with your pussy."

For a moment even mighty Rebel Belle could but stare at him, her lips hanging open in shock - at his sheer balls.

Then, she closed them - and snorted with derision.

"I beat you up with ease," she reminded him, glaring down into his bruised but unbroken black face. "And I'll do it again, if needed, no matter what you have planned." Unfolding her arms, she put a hand back and slapped her own svelte round ass, defiantly. "Come at me any time, punk," she purred, smirking.

But at the buxom heroine's defiance the brutish criminals' thick bruised lips simply twisted up, into a sneering smirk. Then he shrugged, his huge shoulders shifting heavily in the chains and under the loose prison-orange jumpsuit that constrained them.

"Aight then," he said. "You've convinced me. I'll confess." He paused a moment, and a smirk spread across his bloodied lips. "On one condition."

"Oh?" Agent Thorne asked, glaring sharply down from one side, through her sunglasses. "And what condition is that?"

Julius gave her a brief glance, then looked back up at Rebel Belle - and leered.

"You give me a handjob, Rebel Belle," he said. "Right here, right now."

Rebel Belle's jaw dropped, as did the other two ladies' as well.

"That's ridiculous!" the Mighty Daughter of Dixie gasped. Her white-gloved hands clenched into fists and trembled, to either side of her buxom Confederate-Flag-pantied hips. It took all her willpower not to lean across the table and deck the chained-up prisoner right there in front of a half-dozen different eagerly-filming cameras.

"Of course it is!" the lawyer cried. Turning down to her client, she gaped at him. "What are you thinking?! That is WAY too lenient!"

"I agree," the FBI agent said, her voice flat. She turned to the ravishing scarlet-haired super-heroine. "Rebel Belle, you have to take that deal," she said.

"Wh-what?!" Rebel Belle gasped. Her head whirled and she gaped at the agent in surprise, her green eyes spreading wide behind her mask. "Wh-wh-WHY?"

"We get almost everything we want, in exchange for a small, brief indignity on your part," the agent said to her. "Why wouldn't you do it? You do care about justice above all else, don't you?"

Rebel Belle stared a moment. Then she thrashed her head back and forth.

"No!" she said. "Never!" She pointed a finger at Julius's face and shook it accusatively. "I could never do that with... with his sort!"

Quirking his lips up, Julius looked her up and down and sneered.

"And what sort is that, babe?" he asked her.

Rebel Belle's jaw dropped - and she was for a moment speechless.

Although the infamous symbol she wore upon her flesh was provocative to say the least, Rebel Belle had always had a long list of reasons why she continued to wear it. Every time she was asked, she insisted it was due to her proud heritage and legacy. That the flag she wore, in skimpy panty form, honored the memory of her fallen father and grandfather - who both died in the line of duty, while wearing the same symbol.

And not, you know... for any other reasons.

But now, put on the spot, and with her emotions heated, she briefly seemed lost for words.

"You know," she said. She squirmed with emotional discomfort - her buxom hips, clad in her skimpy Confederate Flag panties, wiggling back and forth before his dark leering gaze. "Because he's just a base, uncultured, low-born... criminal!" she finally managed to say.

Sulking against the wall, Tiffany West Esq. glared out at them. But then, at the sight of the Rebel Belle's discomfort, a smirk slowly spread across her lips.

"That's not the reason," she cooed.

Rebel Belle turned her head to stare at her, and gasped.

"Oh?" Agent Thorne said. Standing on the other side of the prisoner, she did not seem to be taking the delays well - and moved to clear them as fast as possible. "Then what do you think it is?"

Tiffany grinned.

"The reason Rebel Belle isn't willing to lay so much as a single finger on my client..." she purred. "Is because... she's scared of his reputation," she finished.

Rebel Belle's mouth fell open. It was perhaps not the 'r' word she had expected. "Reputation? What... what sort of reputation?!" she asked.

"You know," Tiffany said. She glanced down, towards her client's lap, then back up at Rebel Belle's face. "That one," she purred.

"Is this true, Rebel Belle?" Agent Thorne asked.

Rebel Belle drew a deep breath. And then, she thrashed her head from side to side.

"Ab... absolutely not!" she said.

At these insinuations, her lips drew back into a snarl. Drawing herself up to her full height, she put both hands on her buxom hips, while towering over the chained prisoner.

"I... I know there are... persistent rumors," she hissed. "That the most base and ill-bred sort of criminal, like him, is..." She briefly became tongue-tied. "Better equipped..." she finally decided on, "than all other sorts of men. But... I assure you, this is a myth! Nothing of the sort is true! The idea that a mighty superheroine such as I would fear touching him, down there, because of that is... is preposterous!"