2) The Partner.

James

I can feel Chief Bogart staring at me disinterestedly over the top of his massive desk. He is a fat man, long past his prime. This is my first time meeting him, but he immediately gives me the impression of a suck-up who earned his position through scheming, rather than merit. It's probably not a fair judgment... but I can't shake it.

I can't get over the size of his desk. Even for a man of his rank in the FBI, his desk is huge. It must have cost a fortune. It gives him a strong authoritarian look, that belies his unfavorable gut and balding hair. 

"I wasn't expecting you so early, Agent..." he waves his hand, gesturing for me to fill in the blank. 

"Agent Owens, sir! James Owens, but everyone just calls me Jim."

The older man nods, not truly seeming to care. He motions for me to close the door, and for some strange reason, he seems distracted... as if he wishes that I was anywhere else.

"Usually agents knock, before they enter my office, Mr Owens."

"I'm sorry, sir!" I smile, but it is not returned. "I'm new here, and I guess I got a little lost."

Bogart carefully studies the transfer papers I have just presented to him. Suddenly his eyes light up with realization. "Owens! Ahh yes! You're the agent they sent us to help with the payload problem, aren't you?"

I nod. "Yes sir. I was told that Thomas Evans was currently leading the case. Is that true?"

It is his turn to nod. "Yes he is. He's one floor down from us at this very moment. I understand that you two were classmates at the academy..."

"Yes sir." I smile again, and I feel relief when Bogart's expression softens somewhat.

"Tell me, Mr Owens... what are your thoughts on agent Evans? Be honest."

I raise an eyebrow in surprise. That question seems out of place. Why would he be asking me about Evans? The man is his agent, after all. Nevertheless, I answer quickly; I don't want to piss off my new boss on my first day.

"He was an outstanding cadet at the academy, sir. Top of the line. Straight as an arrow." My answer feels a bit generic, but in Evan's case, it is entirely true. 

"And how well do you think he can handle this case?"

I scratch my head at the unusual line of questioning. "Umm... I'm sure he can handle it very well, sir. I recall that he has a background in programming, so this seems right up his alley."

Bogart huffs loudly. "And what are your official thoughts on the payload?"

"It's a human rights violation, sir. The worst one to occur in my lifetime."  These inquiries seem all over the place. Perhaps Bogart is just trying to size me up? To see how I deal with unusual circumstances? If so, I don't intend on disappointing him. 

Bogart nods stiffly and then leans forward in his chair. His voice grows much quieter, and I have to strain to hear him. "And what is your... unofficial... opinion of the payload? Before you answer, just know that I've spoken previously with your superiors."

I feel caught, but somehow I don't exactly feel in trouble. My lips involuntarily turn upwards into an honest, sneaky smile. "Personally, sir. I'm sort of a big fan. I have collared two women... and I'd love to get a third."

He laughs heartily, and his eyes grow wide, as if he's very impressed. "Fantastic! I knew I picked the right man for the job!" Leaning back in his chair, he lowers his head and speaks to someone underneath the giant desk. "You can come on out, Miss Blair. Owen's one of the good ones." He clears his throat loudly, and he locks eyes with me. I half expect him to give me a sly wink. "Owens here understands that men need their... you know... shoes shined from time to time." 

A sleek, dark-skinned, feminine form slithers out from beneath the desk on his side. She stands quietly, meekly awaiting further instructions. Her black, curly hair is fixed neatly in a professional bun, although some of the curls have worked loose. 

Tellingly, she has no tools for shoe shining. I can't help but smile. Shoe shining indeed. She's obviously been polishing something... but it wasn't shoes.

The girl's bottom lip and chin are streaked with a shot of white fluid. It doesn't take a genius to understand the situation. Her eyes gaze at the ground in a blend of overwhelming reverence and fear for the pudgy man seated before her. It's truly an awe inspiring sight.

"How does this... situation... make you feel, agent Owens?"

"Impressed, sir." I reply, and I watch as Bogart's smile widens. "Any man would love to have such an attractive woman...shine his shoes." 

Miss Blair's body is tall, full, and shapely, and I don't think she could be a day over 25. Looking at her smooth, ebony legs, I feel a twinge of jealousy. Here she is, held enraptured and meek, under the command of a man who never could have tamed her in the old world. Before the incident. Before the fall of women. She is a sexy bitch, way too good for Bogart... but she has no idea. 

Most striking is her collar, which is proudly displayed on her neck. Below that, her clothes look like a semi-revealing secretarial outfit. To me, they seem like the most immodest clothes one could possibly wear to a governmental office job, without raising any official concerns. 

Well in fact, her clothes would seem that way, if her raw cleavage wasn't still mostly exposed. I can see that her blouse is unbuttoned most of the way, and her bright pink bra is clearly visible, pressing her breasts tight against one another. 

Bogart seems to notice this as an afterthought, and he slaps one of her tits with his bare hand. The smack is loud, and even through her dusky skin, red color begins to show.

"Button your top up, you stupid slut!" Bogart barks. "This isn't a brothel. Can't you see I have company? And here you are with your titties out, like the stupid, brainless slut you are."

It is an amazing image. This beautiful, swarthy female is standing obediently and paying homage to a man who is both striking and demeaning her... and she isclearly loving it.

Suddenly I get a mental picture of slaves from the millennia past, toiling to build the pyramids as a symbol of worship for their masters. But the only slaves today are these women, and the monuments of worship are the erect cocks of their owners. It's a tremendous, wonderful notion. 

In the girl's eyes, I can see a degree of lust mixed with timidity that I would have never hoped to see before the event. Such a blend of desire and meekness may have never existed before... at least not in such a perfect combination. Certainly not for a gross man like Bogart, who probably struggled to score with women even in his heyday.

The semen is still slowly beading at the edge of her chin, threatening to drip onto the floor. I know how her master will react if it drips, so I say nothing... I'm hoping for a show. 

Even the knowledge that the spunk originated from a disgusting pig like Bogart can't ruin this sight. The image of this woman's cum glazed face still makes my dick twitch. When I get back to the hotel, Maya and Barbara are going to get it... so hard... in every single hole. 

Bogart looks at me, almost bashfully, but I can see in his face that he still wants to be treated as a superior. "I'm sorry you had to see this, Owens. As I said earlier, most people knock. I would have normally given this slut a chance to clean up beforehand. But now that we have all our cards on the table, we can speak candidly." 

The woman has finally finished tucking her breasts away... although her blouse is so tight, her breasts seem eager to burst free again at any moment... when Bogart finally notices the semen. "For fuck sake! Clean that shit off your face and get the fuck out of here!" 

She smiles timidly as she wipes the majority onto her finger before popping it into her mouth. The rest is subsequently dabbed off with a tissue from a conveniently placed box on Bogart's desk. She accomplishes this with sultry, calculated movements. Not calculated by her, I remind myself. Calculated for her beforehand, by the excellent training she's received... from the payload. 

She walks towards the closed door with shallow, demure steps, but then she strides out of the office boldly. Just before she leaves the room, her entire demeanor changes. She seems to transform from a simpering slut into a dedicated, trained FBI agent, who is only temporarily working as a secretary. The change is as flawless as it is impressive. Bogart has trained her well. With help, of course. Appearances must be upheld in the workplace. 

He turns back to me. His face is serious and professional, as if I did not just watch his collared slut climb out from under his desk with jizz on her chin. I have to work hard to stifle a chuckle. 

"So what do you imagine agent Evans thinks of the payload, Mr Owens?" 

I scratch my chin and respond, "I don't think he would like it much, sir. We've been apart for a long time, but everything I've seen from him leads me to believe he would generally disapprove."

Bogart nods. "What brings you to that conclusion?"

Shrugging, I answer as honestly as I know how. "He doesn't care about pussy, sir." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel the immediate need to reiterate. "I'm not saying he's gay. He used to talk to me about his wife, Rachel, and he seems to genuinely be infatuated with her. A total simp."

The look I receive is one of incredulity. "I've seen his wife, Owens. She's no bombshell. A little bit of a porker, if you ask me." He laughs scornfully.

I chuckle politely as well, but I am more amused by Bogart's hypocrisy than anything else. "I guess she's put on weight sir. She was pretty hot when I met her. I'd say she used to be an 8.5 or a 9. He was in the academy when the two first got married. Tom used to get seriously,SERIOUSLY excited when he would tell me about the sex they had together. You know, normal guy talk. So I don't think he's gay... but he never once had eyes for another woman."

Bogart drums his fingers on his desk, nodding as if I'm presenting him with a conclusion he had already reached on his own; he was just missing the final puzzle piece. His eyes are closed, as if he's lost in thought. "How close are you to Evans, Jim?" 

He's already using my first name. I feel like this will be a good boss to work for. "Not very. We're still friends online I believe, but we haven't spoken in years."

A folder is slid across the desk to me. "Take a look at this. It's a complaint report filed by Evans. Actually it's several reports."

I scan through the files briskly, and my eyes grow wide. "Tom filed official grievances trying to ban collared women at work?!" I can't believe my eyes. Evans was never a player, but he used to be a decent wing-man. Why would he try to hamstring the rest of us, just because he isn't interested? 

"He did indeed." Bogart's voice is thick with disgust. "He took it as high as the Deputy Director."

"Why would he do that!?" My voice is full of anger and betrayal. I can't imagine why Tom would want to fuck over all his brothers at the Agency. Having collared women at work to boss around is an absolute dream. What kind of man would want to ruin that?

"It's all in the report. He says that since it is our job to end the payload, having collared women on site could be a 'security risk'."

I can feel my blood boiling. "It's only a security risk if the women are working cases! Since they've all been demoted to secretarial duties, it should be fine!"

"I agree! But Evans insists that trying to end the payload and having programmed women at our disposal is a 'conflict of interests'."

"Wait, so you're saying that Tom is REALLY trying to shut down the payload?! Everyone else is trying to crack it, and understand it better... even the guys who don't care for it... but I didn't think any guys were stupid enough to actually wanna shut it down!" 

Bogart nods again, a somber frown plastered on his face. 

"That fucking snake!" I declare, aloud. "Just because he's satisfied with the dried up cunt he has at home... he wants to prevent the rest of us from enjoying ourselves? He wants to let women rise back up to a station in society that they never should have held in the first place?!"

I look up at Bogart to find a wicked smile spread across his face. "If you are as incensed as you seem, then perhaps you'd be okay doing a little side job for me... off the record, of course."

"I'll do whatever you need." I reply. I can feel the honest anger dripping from my words.