Agent Johnson

It’s a foggy morning in Berndale today. The clock tower in town square chimes six times.

BONG… BONG…

You check your watch, it’s 6AM. Your morning jog continues like it does every day. You’re tired and dripping with sweat, yet you push on. Another passing jogger gives you a strange look. Again, business as usual.

The giant trench coat you’re wearing is cumbersome, but necessary. It traps heat, keeping you warm and keeping you sweating as you pluck along down the road. It gives you an aura of mystery, who’s that guy that runs in a trench coat every morning, what’s his secret?

And you do have a secret. You have a Chinese woman strapped to your chest. Held up by a series of ropes and pulleys, her head lolls back and forth, bouncing off your pelvis as you jog through the quiet streets of Berndale.

Her name was Bao Ling Le, or at least it was until your agency got ahold of her. She had been siphoning secrets and feeding them to the Chinese government, compromising dozens of agents and dooming them to a painful **** at the hands of the CCP.

When you cornered her, she had begged, pleaded for her life, offering to fuck you, suck you, anything you wanted to let her go. But you knew that would be getting off too easy, those were good friends of yours she had ratted out, condemning them to hours and hours of **** before being put down like a dog.

So you hauled her into HQ and had her outfitted as your own personal fleshlight, not only as a punishment, but as a warning to any other turncoats that might have the same idea as her. And to your credit, in the 6 years she had spent gagged and throated, not a single member of your agency had flipped.

Approaching the end of your route, you jog off the road and stop at a local park. It’s time to stretch.

You bend over to touch your toes, the angle drives her face into your pelvis, cleaving her throat as far down as your shaft can physically go. The musky aroma of her vagina wafts through the collar of your trench coat, it had been six years, but still to this day the smell of her ricepussy drove you absolutely crazy.

You cycle through your normal stretches, standing up and bouncing up and down a few times. Your warm up was over, time for the real workout. You begin with jumping jacks, one hundred sets without stopping. Bao bounces up and down on your cock, her face makes a heavy PLAP sound when it makes contact with your pelvis.

Bao’s psyche had shattered within days of becoming your personal cocksleeve, there wasn’t much left of her outside of autonomous bodily functions. She gagged, she spit, and well, that was pretty much it.

You hear her retch on your cock halfway through your set of jumping jacks, splattering your groin with sloppy liquids that originated in her stomach. The mess dribbles down your legs, mixing in with the perspiration from your workout. From a distance, an uneducated viewer would have no idea anything was amiss.

You finish your jumping jacks, thrusting into Bao Ling’s face a few times at the end for good measure. You’ve been accustomed to her throat for a long time, the texture of it is practically like an old friend, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t drive you absolutely wild with pleasure.

You lay down on the grass for the next part of your workout, sit ups. Two hundred reps, no breaks. Every time you lift your torso in the air, Bao slides down your cock, the weight of her body driving her straight down into your nutsack. Several devastating retches drench your legs with puke, but it’s no matter, your trench coat is already soaked with sweat.

Next up is push-ups. Two hundred sets. You would never admit it, but you always cheat on these. You drop your full body weight on top of her before pushing up, leaving a small dent in the soft dirt where her head presses into it. Sure, you’re not doing it by the book, but when you have a ninety pound Chinese woman strapped to your chest, you probably get the same amount of workout as a regular person. Her lips spread out across your pelvis when you hilt yourself in her throat, engulfing your Johnson in ooey-gooey wet mouth.

Pushups manage to elicit a few good gags out of her, puke bubbles out of her mouth and coats her cheeks with spit. Normally, this is the part where you cum in her throat, where you get the tiniest bit of payback for Bao’s crimes against her country. But today, you’re sharing this park with another local fitness enthusiast.

A young lady in her mid twenties, scantily clad in skin tight fitness apparel, is eyeing you from the other side of the park. Your spy instincts are going haywire right now, any attention is bad news in your line of work. You give the anonymous woman an ocular pat down to assess her threat level.

Fit, toned, and thick in all the right places, she is one sweet piece of ass. Her tight gym shorts and her sports bra cling to her curves like saran wrap, and though her silhouette is nice to look at, you can’t see any weapons sticking out through her clothing. You roll over onto your back and lie there to catch your breath.

Before you even stop panting, a woman’s slavic accent greets you.

“Agent Johnson. I have heard many things about you,” she slurs. You look up, the scantily clad jogger from earlier is standing menacingly above you.

“All good things, I presume?” You retort, stalling to come up with a plan. You’re unarmed, and encumbered with the weight of a Chinese woman strapped to your chest. It would take much too long to untie her, making running away out of the question. You do have a human shield in front of you, but cock sleeves are hard to come by, you’d rather save yourself the hassle of finding a new mouth to drain your balls into.

“We do not say good words about degenerates like you,” she sneers.

“Well, that’s fair. We don’t say good things about ugly whores like you either,” you joke. Her sneer turns into a scowl, and she lunges at you. You roll up to your feet in one swift motion, swinging your legs and using your hands to push yourself up right. Turning and facing her, you spot a sharp dagger in her hand.

“That’s impossible, you had nothing on you earlier, where could you have possibly hidden that?!” You blurt out.

“Every woman has two pockets between her legs,” she sneers, winding up and slashing at your midsection. You sidestep her swipe easily, deflecting her arm with a push to the elbow.

“Well, I’d hate to see what those ‘pockets’ look like if you can fit that in there,” you joke. Red with anger, the woman makes another swipe at your chest, this time you meet her wild slash with a swift kick in the arm, sending her knife flying in the air. Squinting through the early morning sunlight, you hone in on the blade, deftly catching it by the handle.

“You know, it’s polite to introduce yourself to someone if they don’t know your name,” you say smoothly. Terrified, the woman holds her hands out in front of her.

“Katrina Petrovna, Katrina Petrovna!” She stammers. “Please do not kill me,” she adds.

“Ohh, Katrina, we’re gonna do a whole lot worse than that,” you chuckle, pulling out your phone. “HQ? I got another one.”