Operation Velvet Whisper (2/6)

Agent Smith sat perfectly still at the vanity, his smooth, freshly waxed legs crossed in a delicate, practiced pose. The girl working on his nails moved with calm efficiency, brushing layer after glossy layer onto the long, almond-shaped acrylics she was building. Each one gleamed in soft pink, dainty and flawless—each one a little dagger of humiliation.

One of the other girls tilted his chin up as she began to work on his makeup. She started with his eyes, brushing shimmering shadow along his lids before carefully applying thick, fluttery lashes that transformed his expression into something wide and doll-like. His lips were next—already plumped, but now coated in layers of slick pink gloss until they looked soft, wet, and so kissable. When she finished, she stepped back with a satisfied smile and gave a little gesture toward the mirror.

He turned his head this way and that, studying the shimmer of his lids and the thick lashes that framed his eyes. Then, without thinking, he gave a little pout—just enough to make the gloss catch the light. His stomach knotted as he caught himself, realizing how used to this reflection he had become in just a few weeks—how natural it all seemed now.

The girls didn’t give him long to dwell as they tugged him off the seat and over to the dressing area. The lacy pink bodysuit came first, pulled snug over his hips and oversized tits, the fabric clinging to every exaggerated curve. One girl knelt to roll some white stockings up his smooth legs, the silky glide of them sending a little shiver up his spine. Then came the skirt—short and flouncy, cut just high enough to leave the tops of his stockings on full display. The heels were last: glittery, towering things that strapped around his ankles and forced his posture into a perfect, helpless arch. Smith frowned as they finished.

“Um... like, where’s my top?” he asked, voice soft and breathy, head tilted slightly as his glossy lips curled into a puzzled pout.

One of the girls giggled. “That is the top, babe,” she said, adjusting the cups and tugging them down just enough to show off more of his creamy cleavage. She leaned in with a smirk. “You need to catch Julian’s attention tonight, remember? And trust me—showing these girls off is gonna help a lot.”

He kept pouting, but he couldn’t argue. “Ugh… fine,” he muttered, glancing down at his cleavage with a sulky little sigh.

An hour later, he was teetering across the marble floor, heels clicking with each nervous step as he stepped into the event space. The room was dimly lit, with small groups of guests scattered throughout, chatting over drinks. Smith moved carefully between them, hips swaying, eyes wide, lips locked in a glossy, vacant smile. He spotted Julian by the bar and began making his way toward him, swaying a little more with every step.

“Hi! I’m, like… Tiffany,” Smith said brightly, stepping up to Julian with a practiced smile and an extra sway in his hips. He leaned in just a little too close—just enough for his oversized tits to press gently into Julian’s arm as he tilted his head and giggled. “You’re, like, seriously cute…”

Julian gave him a look—measured, intrigued—and Smith let the rest fall into place.

He batted his lashes, twirling a strand of platinum-blonde hair around one glossy nail as he giggled and leaned in. For nearly an hour, he stayed locked in the role—voice light and breathy, tossing out ditzy little compliments while his nails grazed Julian’s arm. His boobs were always pressed into him, soft and insistent, his expression bright and vacant.

Eventually, Julian leaned in with a smirk. “You wanna come back to my place, babe?”

Smith giggled again, high and breathy. “Omigod, yes.” He slipped his arm through Julian’s without thinking, holding it lightly as they turned to leave. His heart fluttered—Julian had taken the bait. If everything went smoothly, this could all be over soon.

A short ride later, they stepped through the private entrance of Julian’s compound. His cheeks were burning as he clung to Julian’s arm, heels wobbling slightly with each nervous step. He knew exactly what was about to happen—and what he’d have to do to keep his cover. Dozens of guards watched them pass. No one suspected a thing.

They reached Julian’s bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them. Smith stood still for a moment, then nervously fiddled with the zipper of his skirt, struggling with his long nails. Finally, the fabric slipped down around his ankles. He crouched down in his heels, lowering himself until he was eye-level with Julian’s crotch, swallowing hard as he reached for his belt.

He unbuckled Julian’s belt, then tugged his pants and briefs down, breath catching as Julian’s cock flopped free. It was massive—thicker, longer than even his old one. His eyes widened, and he felt a faint, treacherous twitch from deep between his legs.

He leaned in, glossy pink lips puckered, and kissed the tip. The musky scent sent a shiver up his spine. Smith hesitated… then slid his lips down the shaft slowly, smoothly, letting out a few fake moans as he began to work.

He just needed to get it over with—fast. Put on a good show, make Julian happy, and wait for the right moment to slip away and find the computer. His long nails trailed gently down Julian’s thighs. Up, down, lips bobbing, tongue swirling, letting out a few more whimpers and moans.

But the longer he worked, the more his thoughts melted. His eyes fluttered half-shut, body relaxing as instinct took over. His fake moans slowly gave way to real ones, soft and breathy between each movement. His rhythm deepened, his pace quickening. His pussy was soaking now, panties clinging damp against him as he bobbed faster, deeper.

The mission blurred. All he could think about was Julian’s thick, heavy cock—how it throbbed against his tongue, how perfectly it filled his mouth, the sheer size and weight of it, warm and slick and overwhelming. A needy moan escaped him, humming against Julian’s length as his mind drifted to the thought of it deep inside his tight, dripping pussy…