Agent In "Training"

Chief Agent Comet needed a face the sex-slaver boss would trust. She picked the new girl, Agent-In-Training Colby, blonde, curvy, already marked by the heavy swell of her chest every time she drew breath. “You go in wearing my collar,” Comet told her. Colby swallowed hard but nodded. Days blurred into drills: wrists pinned above her head, knees spread on cold tile, Comet’s thick fingers dictating how low she could breathe. Every command drilled deeper. Every moan got a correction. When the leather blindfold finally came off, Colby’s lips were bruised, her nipples stiff from the clamps that still dangled there. Comet fitted the last strap, kissed the hollow of Colby’s throat, then clicked a leash to the ring at her neck. The undercover op was green-lit. She marched Colby into the slaver’s penthouse on a short silver chain. Heads turned. Colby kept her eyes down the way she’d been taught, tits pushed forward by the cinched corset, thighs already slick. The boss smiled like a shark behind his beard when he saw them. Recognition flickered, then vanished behind smoke and scotch. Comet handed the leash over. The transaction was quick—money counted, papers signed. She gave Colby one last approving nod and turned to leave. The door shut behind her, lock engaging with a metal click that seemed louder than any gunshot. Colby stood there, trembling, realizing too late that the slaver had known Comet for years. That this whole “undercover” job was never meant to end in an arrest. The slaver’s beard brushed her ear when he leaned close, voice low and amused. “Your boss sold you the minute she put that collar on. Welcome to the real training, sweetheart.” Colby’s pulse hammered against the leather at her throat. Somewhere, on the other side of the locked door, the blonde agent who’d promised protection was already counting the cash.