"Not a chance. We paid for the chance to do whatever we wanted, and we're getting our money's worth."
Six months ago, Liz Mair had respect. Speaking gigs on shows like MSNBC. Articles for papers like the New York Times. Requests to consult a number of campaigns and interest groups. As a premier young diverse voice within the Republican party, she had a special take that many sought if for no other reason than to mark it off a checklist.
Then the executive order came down. Among its rambling text that outlined its provisions, a couple key phrases burned into Liz's mind:
"Henceforth, Liz Mair shall divest herself of any and all personal and professional commitments and enter the employ of the White House in any manner the White House sees fit. This period of service shall continue indefinitely until such a time that the White House sees no further need for her."
It was nonsense, absolutely absurd... and perfectly legal. Efforts to fight it in court and Congress died to more important matters than her life, and soon she found herself selling her consulting firm, divorcing her husband, and showing up to her first day of work as...
A 'Talking Head'.
In her dreams, Liz hoped her new job would mean leading an administration she loathed onto a better path. In her nightmares, she dreaded a lowly intern job meant to wear her down with mundane tasks like fetching coffee. This was so much worse. Trapped in a wooden box from the neck down, she stared in horrified disbelief at the row of cocks wanking in her face.
"Come on Liz, you're the strategist here. What's your expert opinion?"
Liz sneered when the smell hit her nose. Immaculately displayed, staffers had trimmed and combed her hair, brushed in generous mascara and rouge, clipped on a couple earrings and finished with glossy whore lipstick. Then they offered her up as a prize with first dibs to their biggest donors.
"Here's my opinion. The president is a loudmouth di-"
Right at the worst moment, one of the men came. It shot straight to the back of her throat, cutting her off mid-speech. It coated her silver tongue while the next few spurts exploded across her cheeks and chin. Glaring at the man, she coughed for breath as he zipped himself up. And that's when she saw it. Just past him, a camera sat on a mantle.
The man noticed, and addressed her with a wry grin. "That's right. We know how much you types love transparency, and because of that, it's your civic duty to let the American public see you in action. Wouldn't want you accused of wrongdoing or special treatment."
As the other two men covered her in their jizz, Liz Mair pondered what kind of life would wait for her outside her box after her 'service'. Already she could imagine the social media frenzy. And that's when she noticed something flooding the box. Something warm, a little slimy, quickly rising past her hips and breasts to the very top.
She felt herself over with a grimace. "Is this...?"
"Yes, cum. You can thank the lower level backers for their generous donations. And with the special setup you have here, I'd say you'll get to wallow in it for two? Three months? Before they have to let you out for routine maintenance. But don't worry, they'll top you off when you go back in."
With hair stuck to her forehead and cum creeping over her eye, Liz dreaded what would no doubt be her very long and humiliating tenure as a Talking Head.
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Executive Orders: Liz Mair, Talking Head
"Oh. Oh, god. Put those things away."
"Not a chance. We paid for the chance to do whatever we wanted, and we're getting our money's worth."
Six months ago, Liz Mair had respect. Speaking gigs on shows like MSNBC. Articles for papers like the New York Times. Requests to consult a number of campaigns and interest groups. As a premier young diverse voice within the Republican party, she had a special take that many sought if for no other reason than to mark it off a checklist.
Then the executive order came down. Among its rambling text that outlined its provisions, a couple key phrases burned into Liz's mind:
"Henceforth, Liz Mair shall divest herself of any and all personal and professional commitments and enter the employ of the White House in any manner the White House sees fit. This period of service shall continue indefinitely until such a time that the White House sees no further need for her."
It was nonsense, absolutely absurd... and perfectly legal. Efforts to fight it in court and Congress died to more important matters than her life, and soon she found herself selling her consulting firm, divorcing her husband, and showing up to her first day of work as...
A 'Talking Head'.
In her dreams, Liz hoped her new job would mean leading an administration she loathed onto a better path. In her nightmares, she dreaded a lowly intern job meant to wear her down with mundane tasks like fetching coffee. This was so much worse. Trapped in a wooden box from the neck down, she stared in horrified disbelief at the row of cocks wanking in her face.
"Come on Liz, you're the strategist here. What's your expert opinion?"
Liz sneered when the smell hit her nose. Immaculately displayed, staffers had trimmed and combed her hair, brushed in generous mascara and rouge, clipped on a couple earrings and finished with glossy whore lipstick. Then they offered her up as a prize with first dibs to their biggest donors.
"Here's my opinion. The president is a loudmouth di-"
Right at the worst moment, one of the men came. It shot straight to the back of her throat, cutting her off mid-speech. It coated her silver tongue while the next few spurts exploded across her cheeks and chin. Glaring at the man, she coughed for breath as he zipped himself up. And that's when she saw it. Just past him, a camera sat on a mantle.
The man noticed, and addressed her with a wry grin. "That's right. We know how much you types love transparency, and because of that, it's your civic duty to let the American public see you in action. Wouldn't want you accused of wrongdoing or special treatment."
As the other two men covered her in their jizz, Liz Mair pondered what kind of life would wait for her outside her box after her 'service'. Already she could imagine the social media frenzy. And that's when she noticed something flooding the box. Something warm, a little slimy, quickly rising past her hips and breasts to the very top.
She felt herself over with a grimace. "Is this...?"
"Yes, cum. You can thank the lower level backers for their generous donations. And with the special setup you have here, I'd say you'll get to wallow in it for two? Three months? Before they have to let you out for routine maintenance. But don't worry, they'll top you off when you go back in."
With hair stuck to her forehead and cum creeping over her eye, Liz dreaded what would no doubt be her very long and humiliating tenure as a Talking Head.