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Her chest was killing her again.

Agent 2 wasn’t entirely sure why, it didn’t feel like regular muscle pain or an injured sternum from over-training. Sure she had been hitting some personal records at the gym lately, and felt sore most days, but her chest was practically throbbing. Perhaps it was just another of the weird stress symptoms she’d be exhibiting lately. If she was honest with herself, over the past few months she had suffered increased appetite (damned ghrelin), elevated body temperature, nervous energy (at least she had the free weights to take it out on), and of course, increased libido. It was starting to feel like she couldn’t even look at a warm Human body without thinking of things to do with it.

But in the meantime, the persistent thoracic discomfort had one good use. It put her in a wonderfully grim mood, and she didn’t have to act mean as she stalked into the cell block. She was in the mood for some Dark Meat.

“On your feet! Assume positions!” Keiko clanged her nightstick on the metal bars of one of the cages, the sound far too big for the windowless room. There was a sense of indignation and defiance so loud it was practically an audible sound itself, underlying the rattling of chains and shifting of fabric as the contents of her little cookie-jar came to attention.

DHORKS could fish demons (little ones, at any rate) out of the Great Beyond pretty much on command now. Agent 2 had ben closely involved in the process since the beginning, had been one of a very short list of survivors to escape after their first terrible attempt at containing the fiends. There were tanks and vaults and cells -blazing with containment runs, flooded with water, sound-proofed or electroplated- riddling the bedrock under the facility, bursting with a zoo of otherworldly inhabitants. All of them hers to do with as she saw fit, and for the most part Agent 2 had torn into them hungrily, making them howl and squeal as this or that machine or her own tickling fingers had worked them over. They came in all shapes and sizes, but Imps and Succubi tended to be blood-coloured, so she liked to think of them as her Red Meat.

They had learned and grown greatly since then, and their knowledge of Demonkind was expanding rapidly. But while they could test Demons on their own, their mandate ultimately involved protecting people from fiendish influence. That had meant cross-testing with Humans, and there frankly was no good way to recruit subjects for the rather invasive and rigorous procedures they had developed- at least, not if they wanted them to be discrete.

So Agent 2 had made rather a lot of phone-calls, bought some encryption technology, girded herself to go threaten journalists, and put her side-arm on to go to some meetings. After that it had been time to go hunting. Girls aging out of orphanages or rejected from exhausted foster care homes. Discrete advertisements in the most rural and impoverish of rural impoverished back-side counties in the Southwestern United States. Rather more forceful advances into the less well favoured Native American reservations. And, of course, subjects picked up or picked off by her friends over at ICE.

Roughly a dozen girls had lined up along the left-hand wall, hands behind their heads, legs apart. Black, Latina, Native American- the odd patch of White stuck out in a way that just tickled her as she inspected them. Agent 3 -Keiko- was the only Asian in the room. They tended to various shades of black or brown, rather like Agent 2 herself but in contrast to the rest of the senior DHORKS staff. Hence, Dark Meat. Most of her ladies were hard-driving White career women who practically glowed under black-light after years spent under heavy suits and staring into monitor screens. Privately, Agent 2 liked to think of the last group as the White Meat.

As the mysteriously vanished Star Ganvail could attest, Agent 2 liked to keep a balanced diet.

She stalked down the row, tapping her palm with the cool, hard shape of her nightstick thoughtfully. She could practically smell the mixed fear and resentment wafting from her collection. She had had some modifications done to the orange jumpsuits- most now ended high on the ribs, accompanied by loose orange trousers that had a deeply irritating tendency to ride low if the occupant didn’t have her hands free to constantly pull them up and adjust them. From ribs to hip-bones, there was plenty of smooth feminine skin on display for her, ready to indulge her whims, just the way she liked it. One day soon she was going to have to start modifying the DHORKS uniform to be more liberating and less like something worn at a nunnery…

The ‘attention position’ in question, involved standing with legs spread (she liked to roll the r when she got to say it), back arched and hands behind the head. It was hard to feel anything other than completely vulnerable in such a pose, especially when you didn’t know where you were and hadn’t seen a lawyer in what was getting to be a very long time.

Agent 2 paused in front of a short specimen who looked like her grandparents had personally scalped Colonel Custer. A chubby little creature who would almost certainly have never dressed so revealingly if she’d had any say in the matter, Agent 2 suspected. She kept her eyes on her naked toes, long raven braid wobbling as she trembled. Agent 2 actually inhaled, then stalked on, past a lovely set of dark-chocolate abs and some smooth honey coloured curves she itched to run her fingers down. One or two might have tried to meet her eyes challengingly, but Agent 2 hardly cared either way.

All of her girls had done a brief session in the site's Discipline Room as a matter of course when they first showed up, just to give them a little taste, and that had settled most of them down nicely. Likewise, she intended to do a personal session with each and every one of the Agents in there at some point. She’d already wrecked Jessie for miss-filing some paperwork, but while the others were a little alarmed, they mostly still deluded themselves with thinking that it was a one-off and good behaviour would save them. It cracked her up.

She was almost at the end of the line, having not quite found one that caught her eye on the first pass, not that she minded much. Perhaps that little piece of Cinnamon Bannock, fear had to be the strongest aphrodisiac… At the end of the line, she contemplated a rare pale white midriff, painfully slender but with a nice tight waistline and defined hips teasingly exposed by her sagging orange pants. Agent 2 eyed the stretched slit of her navel predatorily, and traced her gaze of two circling bands of jagged tattoos that ran over her midriff. They must have hurt when they were new.

Without preamble, she stretched out her nightstick, running the dark metal over the creamy skin, tracing out the pattern. The girl was thin, but she was still soft. At the instrument’s touch she flinched, a spray of straight dark bangs bouncing. She was much taller than Agent 2, and her jaw worked in a silent snarl as the nightstick played over her belly casually. Her long black ponytail jittered with suppressed rage at the uninvited contact.

“I like your ink. Does it mean anything?”

An inarticulate growling sound. Agent 2 didn’t look up, but pressed a little harder. Another wave of pain under her top made it easy.

“What was that?”

“I means, fuck you,” the girl didn’t move, but gritted it out through clenched teeth. Agent 2 looked up at her face over her glasses. Pointy face, but cute, with lots of dark freckles.

“Ha! I like that. You’ll do.”

Behind her, Keiko’s nightstick rapped.

“Back to your cells! Lights out in 10 minutes!”

With a silent but very audible groan of relief, taut bodies relaxed and sagged back into their cells. Hands adjusted waistbands.

“Not you,” said Agent 2 to today’s lucky contestant. “You’re about to contribute to the annals of science, young lady, I hope you feel honoured.” It was just the kind of lecturing for-the-greater-good bullshit to rub non-conformist types the wrong way. Or anyone else, for that matter.

The girl hugged herself and took a step back, looking like she was strongly debating just punching Agent 2 in the shades then and there.

“But on a serious note, we can’t hurt you.” Agent 2 raised her voice, letting it carry. “Any of you. We couldn’t if we wanted to, and Lord knows sometimes I feel rather tempted. Now follow me like a smart girl, because the truth is you are about to see something otherworldly. You're not staying here for no reason.” She spun on her polished heel. She was pretty sure tall, pale, and b*tchy would fall in after a few seconds -curiosity was a powerful thing- but if not Keiko would help her.
---
Quick comic page to set up the good stuff, 'cause lawd knows I need the practice. What's Agent 2 doing with these people?

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment, and have a great day!

Regards.
JD

Description

Her chest was killing her again.

Agent 2 wasn’t entirely sure why, it didn’t feel like regular muscle pain or an injured sternum from over-training. Sure she had been hitting some personal records at the gym lately, and felt sore most days, but her chest was practically throbbing. Perhaps it was just another of the weird stress symptoms she’d be exhibiting lately. If she was honest with herself, over the past few months she had suffered increased appetite (damned ghrelin), elevated body temperature, nervous energy (at least she had the free weights to take it out on), and of course, increased libido. It was starting to feel like she couldn’t even look at a warm Human body without thinking of things to do with it.

But in the meantime, the persistent thoracic discomfort had one good use. It put her in a wonderfully grim mood, and she didn’t have to act mean as she stalked into the cell block. She was in the mood for some Dark Meat.

“On your feet! Assume positions!” Keiko clanged her nightstick on the metal bars of one of the cages, the sound far too big for the windowless room. There was a sense of indignation and defiance so loud it was practically an audible sound itself, underlying the rattling of chains and shifting of fabric as the contents of her little cookie-jar came to attention.

DHORKS could fish demons (little ones, at any rate) out of the Great Beyond pretty much on command now. Agent 2 had ben closely involved in the process since the beginning, had been one of a very short list of survivors to escape after their first terrible attempt at containing the fiends. There were tanks and vaults and cells -blazing with containment runs, flooded with water, sound-proofed or electroplated- riddling the bedrock under the facility, bursting with a zoo of otherworldly inhabitants. All of them hers to do with as she saw fit, and for the most part Agent 2 had torn into them hungrily, making them howl and squeal as this or that machine or her own tickling fingers had worked them over. They came in all shapes and sizes, but Imps and Succubi tended to be blood-coloured, so she liked to think of them as her Red Meat.

They had learned and grown greatly since then, and their knowledge of Demonkind was expanding rapidly. But while they could test Demons on their own, their mandate ultimately involved protecting people from fiendish influence. That had meant cross-testing with Humans, and there frankly was no good way to recruit subjects for the rather invasive and rigorous procedures they had developed- at least, not if they wanted them to be discrete.

So Agent 2 had made rather a lot of phone-calls, bought some encryption technology, girded herself to go threaten journalists, and put her side-arm on to go to some meetings. After that it had been time to go hunting. Girls aging out of orphanages or rejected from exhausted foster care homes. Discrete advertisements in the most rural and impoverish of rural impoverished back-side counties in the Southwestern United States. Rather more forceful advances into the less well favoured Native American reservations. And, of course, subjects picked up or picked off by her friends over at ICE.

Roughly a dozen girls had lined up along the left-hand wall, hands behind their heads, legs apart. Black, Latina, Native American- the odd patch of White stuck out in a way that just tickled her as she inspected them. Agent 3 -Keiko- was the only Asian in the room. They tended to various shades of black or brown, rather like Agent 2 herself but in contrast to the rest of the senior DHORKS staff. Hence, Dark Meat. Most of her ladies were hard-driving White career women who practically glowed under black-light after years spent under heavy suits and staring into monitor screens. Privately, Agent 2 liked to think of the last group as the White Meat.

As the mysteriously vanished Star Ganvail could attest, Agent 2 liked to keep a balanced diet.

She stalked down the row, tapping her palm with the cool, hard shape of her nightstick thoughtfully. She could practically smell the mixed fear and resentment wafting from her collection. She had had some modifications done to the orange jumpsuits- most now ended high on the ribs, accompanied by loose orange trousers that had a deeply irritating tendency to ride low if the occupant didn’t have her hands free to constantly pull them up and adjust them. From ribs to hip-bones, there was plenty of smooth feminine skin on display for her, ready to indulge her whims, just the way she liked it. One day soon she was going to have to start modifying the DHORKS uniform to be more liberating and less like something worn at a nunnery…

The ‘attention position’ in question, involved standing with legs spread (she liked to roll the r when she got to say it), back arched and hands behind the head. It was hard to feel anything other than completely vulnerable in such a pose, especially when you didn’t know where you were and hadn’t seen a lawyer in what was getting to be a very long time.

Agent 2 paused in front of a short specimen who looked like her grandparents had personally scalped Colonel Custer. A chubby little creature who would almost certainly have never dressed so revealingly if she’d had any say in the matter, Agent 2 suspected. She kept her eyes on her naked toes, long raven braid wobbling as she trembled. Agent 2 actually inhaled, then stalked on, past a lovely set of dark-chocolate abs and some smooth honey coloured curves she itched to run her fingers down. One or two might have tried to meet her eyes challengingly, but Agent 2 hardly cared either way.

All of her girls had done a brief session in the site's Discipline Room as a matter of course when they first showed up, just to give them a little taste, and that had settled most of them down nicely. Likewise, she intended to do a personal session with each and every one of the Agents in there at some point. She’d already wrecked Jessie for miss-filing some paperwork, but while the others were a little alarmed, they mostly still deluded themselves with thinking that it was a one-off and good behaviour would save them. It cracked her up.

She was almost at the end of the line, having not quite found one that caught her eye on the first pass, not that she minded much. Perhaps that little piece of Cinnamon Bannock, fear had to be the strongest aphrodisiac… At the end of the line, she contemplated a rare pale white midriff, painfully slender but with a nice tight waistline and defined hips teasingly exposed by her sagging orange pants. Agent 2 eyed the stretched slit of her navel predatorily, and traced her gaze of two circling bands of jagged tattoos that ran over her midriff. They must have hurt when they were new.

Without preamble, she stretched out her nightstick, running the dark metal over the creamy skin, tracing out the pattern. The girl was thin, but she was still soft. At the instrument’s touch she flinched, a spray of straight dark bangs bouncing. She was much taller than Agent 2, and her jaw worked in a silent snarl as the nightstick played over her belly casually. Her long black ponytail jittered with suppressed rage at the uninvited contact.

“I like your ink. Does it mean anything?”

An inarticulate growling sound. Agent 2 didn’t look up, but pressed a little harder. Another wave of pain under her top made it easy.

“What was that?”

“I means, fuck you,” the girl didn’t move, but gritted it out through clenched teeth. Agent 2 looked up at her face over her glasses. Pointy face, but cute, with lots of dark freckles.

“Ha! I like that. You’ll do.”

Behind her, Keiko’s nightstick rapped.

“Back to your cells! Lights out in 10 minutes!”

With a silent but very audible groan of relief, taut bodies relaxed and sagged back into their cells. Hands adjusted waistbands.

“Not you,” said Agent 2 to today’s lucky contestant. “You’re about to contribute to the annals of science, young lady, I hope you feel honoured.” It was just the kind of lecturing for-the-greater-good bullshit to rub non-conformist types the wrong way. Or anyone else, for that matter.

The girl hugged herself and took a step back, looking like she was strongly debating just punching Agent 2 in the shades then and there.

“But on a serious note, we can’t hurt you.” Agent 2 raised her voice, letting it carry. “Any of you. We couldn’t if we wanted to, and Lord knows sometimes I feel rather tempted. Now follow me like a smart girl, because the truth is you are about to see something otherworldly. You're not staying here for no reason.” She spun on her polished heel. She was pretty sure tall, pale, and b*tchy would fall in after a few seconds -curiosity was a powerful thing- but if not Keiko would help her.
---
Quick comic page to set up the good stuff, 'cause lawd knows I need the practice. What's Agent 2 doing with these people?

Thanks for stopping by, feel free to leave a comment, and have a great day!

Regards.
JD