Secret Service agent Paige McDonnell stepped out of the black SUV, brushed her hair out of her face, and walked up to the line for admittance into the bar which was suspected of being a front for a radicalized offshoot of the now-defunct "Occupy" movement.
The group, which is still shrouded in mystery, called themselves "Jackson's Men," hijacking the legacy of President Andrew Jackson, who dismantled the federal central banking system by allowing the charter of the Second Bank of the United States to expire in 1836. They had begun adopting increasingly extreme and violent in their struggle to promulgate their message of tearing down the U.S. banking system, from the Federal Reserve System to the Big Banks to the one-branch local banks. They had even gone so far as to attempt to raid the Federal Reserve Banks of both Dallas and Richmond.
But Paige was here to investigate the financial crimes allegedly committed by the group from their bar front, which included counterfeiting, fraud, identity theft, forgery and grand larceny. Intelligence suspects that they could have spread throughout the Northeastern seaboard, but their primary location is still at the center of New York, New York, where Wall Street resides.
The black SUV squealed as it sped away. Paige was dressed in an undercover outfit that her team considered standard for a partygoer but she considered to be incredibly slutty. It consisted of a tight Whitesnake T-shirt that left little to the imagination, a short black lace skirt, stockings and cute little Keds flats. Even she would would admit that the outfit fit her slim, thin and fairly tall frame very well. The cups and straps of her bra were entirely visible through the tight T-shirt and her sizeable bust stretched out the band name so it was barely legible.
She got to the back of the line for the apparently popular bar. The music coming from inside was deafening, even through a brick wall. "Main Street" emblazoned the front of the bar in cool, dimly lighted white letters. It was one of the new hot destinations of the New York nightlife, springing up just a few months ago.
She looked and saw all the girls dressed like complete sluts and sighed. Most of them were either wearing shorts better classified as underwear or leggings clinging to their asses. Some of them had tank tops on that showed some incredibly deep and tight cleavage. Many of the girls were wearing band T-shirts like Paige, skintight on their tits like Paige. There was a girl with a shirt on with horizontal rips in the front that made it look like Freddy Kreuger had tried to slash her. Her bra was essentially out in the open. There was even a girl who had her tits being cupped and groped by a guy while she had her dick out in the open, stroking it and juggling his balls.
Still, no matter how many loads these girls may have eased out of horny men, she had probably fellated at least double the number of men they all had but she still held her moral superiority over them.
I have a job to do, she thought, these bimbos just let guys fuck them silly for free drinks. Paige was a part of a more "specialized" unit of the Secret Service's financial crimes responsibilities. When clandestine operations became necessary in their very covert line of work, Paige's magnificent jugs, hot tongue, sucking mouth and bottomless throat became quite useful. This made the males at her job rather unbearable. More often than not, every time she left her boss's office, her hair was disheveled and her knees were sore.
That may have helped her become one of the most successful Secret Service agents in history. She entered the force on an internship at age 19 as a sophomore in college and worked her way up the ranks, finally being promoted to field agent at 23. She was one of the youngest to ever achieve that position. She had just turned 24 last month. This was her very first solo bust and she was rather nervous. She had worked underneath an experienced agent - both on his cases and on his desk - for almost a year to acclimate herself with the environment.
She may hate the unwanted attention from men, but she knew how attractive she was though. Tall at about 5'11" she had long, slightly wavy, silky-smooth brunette hair that framed a face so cute that most men feel guilty about lingering on her world-class pair of dick sucking lips. Her brown eyes were smoky and drove men wild when they were looking down at them during a blowjob. Her tits, ass and fellatio expertise spoke for themselves. Her double-Ds were the most egregious culprit for her unwanted attention. Many of her friends told her that if she dyed her hair blonde, she'd be a pretty striking image of Taylor Swift with some of the finest tits on planet earth.
Most men would give up sex for the rest of their lives just to be with her for a night. The masturbation material accrued from that night would probably make up for it anyways.
She was thinking of the pigs at her workplace before the bouncer jolted her back to reality.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to, uh, search you for contraband."
"Um, okay, sure." she replied.
He mumbled softly to his partner, "Handle the line, alright?"
He then wrapped his burly hand around her slim arm and nearly dragged her away. She stumbled into the dank alleyway behind the bar, with her arm still clutched by the rather intimidating-looking bouncer. He looked her up and down a couple times and licked his lips slightly.
"Alrighty, then," he smiled, "let's get it going. Please place your hands against the wall and spread your feet, ma'am."
Paige hesitated for a second. She'd dealt with enough guys in her short career to know exactly what this guy was thinking. Her career also came with training than taught her how to dismantle every ligament in his wrist if he ever got too touchy, but she quickly decided against it. She was undercover and she needed to get into the bar. This would be far from the first time that a guy had his way with her anyways.
She put her hands against the cold brick wall and spread her legs, jutting her ass out at him. He watched as her skirt bounced out enticingly at him and her slim legs stretched out tautly.
"Okay, ma'am, this is strictly routine and shouldn't take more than a minute."
