Do what she must

Elsa Collins ascended one flight of stairs, and then another. She came face to face with Agent Jordan Mears, a former Army officer who was supposed to be her inferior in the JSP, organizationally.

But Jordan appeared to be your favorite, so she held the superior placement in your eyes. Jordan stood there, towering over Collins with a sense of undeserved entitlement. She was a proud, blonde, Amazonian beauty. Naked but showing no shame. Just contempt at Collins.

"Take off your clothes, slut," she said. Collins wordlessly complied. Yesterday, Collins had met with the White House Chief of Staff in DC who ordered her placement on Omar Goodwin's newly formed Joe Schlansky Protective Detail, or JSP, a semi-independent agency reporting only to the US Department of State. She was to be the Secret Service's eyes and ears.

All she knew, at the time, was that you were the ruler of the world, of course, and that you were suspected of being a sexual degenerate. The latter proved to be the case in spades, as Collins personally witnessed you fucking your own daughter, and had been ordered to kill a prostitute.

Collins was no stranger to sex, having fucked her high school boyfriend the day before her deployment, and a number of dates and one serious relationship inbetween then and now. She fucked an Arab man in Afghanistan and had an affair with one of her Secret Service partners during her latest relationship.

But she had never been ordered to fuck. As Collins removed her vest, she looked up at Jordan. "Bitch," she said, with a sneer.

"You're the one with the bitchface," said Jordan, who unceremoniously pulled down Collins' pants, exposing her full brown bush to the world. Collins reacted only with a glare. "Bitchface needs to shave."

Jordan turned around and sauntered into the bedroom. Collins glared at Jordan's tight, plump ass. Arousal shot through Collins as she removed the rest of her clothes. She'll get revenge soon enough.

"Finally," you say as the 5'5" former Secret Service agent enters the bedroom, completely unclothed. Her bush is full, but otherwise, her body is taught and perfect. Her tits are large for her size, especially resting atop a toned six pack. She had let her hair down, but still looked upon you with disdain.

It was just you and her. And Jordan and Terri. And Sandy and Tricia. But the bed was just for the two of you, as the others rested, naked, on the various furniture of your wife's bedroom.

You get up, an erection once again popping up, as you grab Bitchface by the, uh, face. "How's my little murderer doing?" you joke, as your hand explores the jungle in her lap. "Pretty moist, I see."

You place your hand in her face and Collins hesitates to lick it off. You push her full force onto the bed, and she looks back at you defiantly before you begin fucking. Her entrance is easy enough to find, even in the thick(et) of things, and you find yourself rutting on her as you grab her breasts.

Collins' joy seems to have dissipated with your continued provocations, but you pay it no heed. Willing or not, happy or not, she was still a tight hole on a taut body. Not as tight as your daughter's, but tighter than Jordan or the Governor or your wife, especially.

You cum to no fanfare, exploding inside without even getting a chance to pull out and try some anal. As you cuddle against Collins' back, she looks back at you with a smirk. "Is that all, sir?" she says, semi-professionally.

"Fuck off," you push her off the bed and beckon over Terri. "Go in the corner with the other sluts. You're going to be my whore."

As Collins sat between Tricia and Sandy, she realized her life had taken another turn for the worse. It would all be over soon, she thought, to some comfort, as semen continued to drip from her cunt.