NOTE: I've been a fan of George Tasker's pulpy, over-the-top styled stories. He's kindly given me permission to write a story set in one of his universes, using his Agent Hooter and Agent Slut characters. The gist of the below story came to me in a dream and I felt obliged to write it and flesh it out. But this quick two-parter isn't slowing me down from completing the Six Times a Day series. Thanks a lot, George!
Thoughts are marked with italics. Thanks to DD, Dhin, and OmegaZone for proofreading. This is a very fantastical story and should have no relation to the treatment or behavior of women in real life.
"Sorry, Hooters, that's unacceptable again."
"But Chief, what do you want? How could I possibly dress any more like a whore?"
"That's the problem. You went too far this time. You have to find the right balance. I'm afraid you need more remedial practice. Come here."
Agent Hooters was in the Chief's office. For the past week he'd had her come to work at the intelligence agency dressed like a whore, claiming it was so she could perfect her disguises for when she went undercover. Her undercover assignments almost always had her play the role of a whore, and some male partner, usually fellow agent Jimbo Bond, would play the role of a john. Each day until today the Chief judged that she hadn't dressed sluttishly enough, and she had to make up for it by giving her boss a blow job, so that she, as he put it, "would be more convincing in her undercover slut role."
Tired of blowing her boss every morning, she decided this time to dress as slutty as humanly possible, to finally get the Chief off of her case. So she came in wearing a black leather tank top that was more like a string bikini. The one thin strap of leather that wrapped around her upper torso was so insubstantial that the pink edge of her nipples could just be seen above the top, and her heavy tits hung out on the underside of the top as well. It was more like a thin band of leather covering her nipples, and nothing more. Her matching black leather miniskirt was even worse. It hung low on her hips and on the bottom side it didn't even hide her cunt lips if she bent her legs at all. The Chief had just spent most of his "outfit inspection" fingering those lips while she stood at attention.
She complained, as she unzipped the Chief's pants, "But Chief. How can someone look too much like a whore?"
"Because, Hooters, that outfit is simply unacceptable for undercover work. You wouldn't be able to walk fifty feet down a city street without getting gang raped. You obviously need a lot more practice in knowing the right thing to wear. Hopefully you can make up these deficiencies by further honing your admittedly excellent cocksucking skills. Let's see what you can do."
She sighed, brushed her long blonde hair away from her face, and assumed her usual position between his legs. Her practiced lips got to work doing what they did best.
The Chief sighed with contentment.
Aaaah. Now this is a great way to start the morning. How many days in a row have I tricked Hooters into giving me a blow job? I've lost count. And later on I'm going to have to give Agent Slut a literal "dressing down" for her supposed poor performance lately. It's a good thing that Slut heard the expression "dressing down" but didn't know what it meant, heh-heh. The only problem is I'm not getting any younger and I just don't have the physical stamina to fully enjoy the ripe fruits of my two best agents. Agent Bond gets a fair share of tail as well, but that overweight slob is hardly deserving of these two perfect ten babes. With all the lonely men in the world, the woman is too good to keep ALL to myself. I really should spread the wealth.
He thought about all the potential people he could call, men who might enjoy some "attention" from Agent Hooters. The name of an old college friend popped into his head. He picked up the phone. "Hello? Doctor Johnson? I have a special agent here who needs a yearly medical examination. Today is your lucky day."
Beneath his desk, Agent Hooters slurped and sucked as she contemplated the embarrassment of having the wear her nearly non-existent outfit for the rest of the work day. Without a doubt, her fellow agents would poke fun at her, not to mention literally poke at her. Both males and females loved to play with her perfect body. She dearly regretted her choice of clothes and pondered what she could wear tomorrow that would finally satisfy the Chief.
Meanwhile she listened as the Chief talked about some slutty agent who needed a medical check up. Hooters chuckled inside as she sympathized with the unfortunate woman the Chief was describing, never realizing the "ultimate, brain-dead slut" mentioned was herself.
***
A week later Doctor Johnson sat in his office, worried to death about the imminent arrival of a Miss Hooters for her medical examination. He had been repeatedly assured by his friend, the Chief, that nothing could go wrong and that he would have the time of his life if he chose to take full sexual advantage of the "exam."
But the doctor was almost ready to call it off. He was in his fifties, just like the Chief, and while he'd stayed in good shape, he suffered from a weak heart. He peeked out into the lobby for what seemed to be the thousandth time, and saw his receptionist there along with several patients. His receptionist, Rhoda, was a fuddy-duddy woman with a bee hive hairdo and owl shaped glasses. She was older than he was.
He thought,
Rhoda is NOT going to like this. And who knows what Debbie will think. That is, if anything happens at all. This "Hooters" woman might not even show up! Maybe the Chief was putting me on? Certainly that was a joke name, wasn't it?
He looked at the clock again and chewed on a fingernail.
Debbie was Doctor Johnson's only nurse. She was young and pretty, though not stunningly beautiful like Anna Nicole Smith, a.k.a., Agent Hooters. She also had blonde hair, but it was very short and spiky. The doctor was too embarrassed to tell her what he hoped might happen with Agent Hooters' examination. In fact, he himself didn't know what would happen, though he had many fantasies about the wildest possibilities in the past week. He only knew that Hooters was supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous and dumb as a brick. She would fall for any trick in the book, as all the males in the intelligence agency knew very well.
Doctor Johnson was busy with another patient when Debbie brought him the good news: a Miss Hooters had finally arrived. He couldn't finish his work fast enough, and hurried over to his other examination room to see if this woman was half as gorgeous as the Chief had made her out to be.
He walked into the room where she was sitting and Debbie wordlessly handed him a clipboard. Agent Hooters stood in front of him. The doctor nearly had a heart attack on the spot, because no words could do justice to just how mind-blowingly beautiful his new patient looked. Once his heart resumed beating, he thought to himself,
