Cammy White Street Fighter Mouse Pad

Bring the fierce energy of the battlefield to your desktop with this stunning Cammy White Street Fighter Mouse Pad. Featuring the iconic British special forces operative in her classic green leotard, red beret, and combat boots, Cammy stands poised and powerful in a gritty war-torn urban street. Her confident stance and intense gaze reflect the heat of battle—making this mouse pad both a functional and visually striking tribute to one of Street Fighter’s most beloved warriors.

Crafted for serious gamers and fans alike, this 12 x 14.4-inch mouse pad offers a generous surface area perfect for smooth mouse movement and precision tracking, whether you're gaming or working. The high-definition print brings every detail of Cammy’s outfit, physique, and the urban backdrop to life with bold colors and dynamic contrast.

***This is a Special-Order Custom Mouse Pad and requires 10 days to ship.***

* Non-3D surface – sleek and smooth for optimal performance
* Large size – 12 x 14.4 inches for extended control and comfort
* Durable stitched edges to prevent fraying
* Non-slip rubber base keeps the pad firmly in place
* High-resolution artwork of Cammy in action-ready posture

Add a touch of Street Fighter intensity to your setup with this powerful, non-3D Cammy White mouse pad—built for both function and fandom.

Cammy White Interrogation Story [Quite Entertaining]

"Pressure Point – Cammy’s Interrogation Tactic"
The walls of Interrogation Cell 12 dripped with condensation. It was a room not meant for conversation—but for control.

Cammy stood in the center, arms crossed, one boot planted firmly between the thighs of the restrained prisoner below her. He sat bound to a reinforced steel chair, wrists cuffed behind the frame, ankles strapped tight. Shirtless. Bruised. Stubborn.

He hadn't said a word since his capture.

Cammy, however, was in no rush. She stared down at him, calm and predatory in her green tactical leotard—cut so high it barely covered the essentials. Her red beret was tilted just right, framing her intense blue eyes. The twin blonde braids spilled over her chest like coiled ropes waiting to be used.

"You've lasted longer than most," she said, tilting her head. "But they always talk. Eventually."

The man smirked—just a little. Still resisting. Still clinging to pride.

Cammy smiled back.

And then, with calm authority, she stepped forward and straddled his lap.

He inhaled sharply. Her thighs—strong, smooth, warm—locked around his waist like a vice.

Her hips hovered over his chest for a moment. Teasing.

“You're going to break,” she whispered, bending down until her lips hovered just above his ear. “But not from pain. From pressure.”

She sat up straight again, her posture perfect, back arched. Then—slowly, deliberately—she lifted one leg and swung it over his shoulder, planting her boot on the chair behind him. Her inner thigh pressed against his cheek, her scent enveloping his senses.

“Comfortable?” she asked, voice like silk over steel.

He squirmed. The restraints rattled. She didn’t budge.

Cammy’s body settled in—delicately, devastatingly—her full weight shifting forward, just enough to let him know exactly who was in control. Her toned legs framed his face like a living cage. Her leotard pulled tight, nearly painted on.

“You’ll breathe when I say,” she said coldly, fingers tightening in his hair as she gently rolled her hips forward—not quite contact... but close. “You’ll speak when I allow it.”

He made a muffled sound—half protest, half arousal.

“Oh,” Cammy purred. “Now I have your attention.”

She gripped the sides of his head and pressed forward, thighs locking around him tighter. She didn’t need words. The sheer weight of dominance in her body did the talking. Her control was absolute.

“You have two options,” she murmured, brushing his ear with her lips. “Tell me what I want to know… or I’ll sit here until your lungs beg louder than your pride.”

The prisoner writhed, caught between restraint and desire, suffocating under her heat, her skin, her perfectly sculpted control. She watched his eyes, reading every twitch, every pulse of resistance slipping away.

“You’re not the first man to lose himself under me,” she whispered, lowering herself just a bit more. “And you won’t be the last.”

Moments passed.

Then he finally gasped, voice strained, eyes wide. “Okay… I’ll talk…”

Cammy’s smirk returned.

“I knew you would.”

She slowly dismounted—smooth and poised—leaving behind the heat, the scent, and the shame of submission. She walked to the table, hips swaying like a metronome of dominance, and picked up her gloves.

“Next time,” she said without looking back, “don’t make me sit so long.”