The private terminal at Dulles International Airport buzzed with a swarm of reporters, their cameras flashing like a storm of lightning as Eileen Gu strode through the glass doors. It was early 2026, and she’d just touched down from a freestyle skiing competition in Europe, her sleek black leggings hugging her toned legs, a red Team China jacket zipped halfway down to reveal a tight black sports bra clinging to her firm chest. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing sharp, defiant features—high cheekbones, piercing brown eyes, and a smirk that could cut glass. At just over 5’9”, her lean, athletic build radiated confidence, every step a challenge as she dragged her duffel bag behind her, ignoring the security detail trying to keep the press at bay.

“Eileen! Over here! Why’d you ditch the States for China? Still a traitor in your heart?” a male reporter shouted, his voice dripping with venom as he shoved a mic in her face.

She stopped dead, turning to him with that signature smirk widening. “Traitor? Honey, I’m winning golds while you’re whining into a mic. I don’t owe you shit. Maybe if you spent less time crying about my passport and more time getting laid, you’d be less bitter.” The crowd gasped, some laughing, others scribbling notes as her words sliced through the tension. Her gaze flicked over the rest of them, daring anyone else to step up. “Next dumb question. Come on, I’ve got places to be.”

Another reporter, a woman this time, pushed forward. “What about the criticism from conservative lawmakers? They’re calling for sanctions, saying you’re a propaganda tool for Beijing. Any comment?”

Eileen laughed, low and sultry, leaning in close so her breath brushed the mic. “Oh, those old white guys in suits? They can suck it. I’m out here empowering girls across the world, especially my Asian sisters, while they’re just jerking off to their outdated power trips. Tell them to come say it to my face. I’ll wait.” She winked, spinning on her heel as the crowd erupted again, her hips swaying with every step toward the waiting black SUV parked outside.

Through the chaos, a burly figure in a navy suit pushed forward—Senator Richard Holt, a Republican heavyweight with a reputation for crushing dissent. His broad frame filled the space, his silver hair slicked back, and his forced smile didn’t reach his cold blue eyes. He extended a meaty hand, flanked by two suited lackeys who scanned the area like hawks. “Miss Gu, congratulations on another victory. A word in private? The government would like to ... commend you personally.”

Eileen’s smirk faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing as she sized him up. His gaze lingered too long on her exposed midriff, the sweat still glistening on her skin from the long flight. “Commend me? You lot wouldn’t know a compliment if it bit you on the ass. But fine, I’ll humor you. Make it quick, Senator. I don’t do long foreplay with creeps.” She shook his hand, her grip firm, almost challenging, before sliding into the SUV as he followed, the door slamming shut behind them.

Inside, the leather seats were cool against her thighs as she crossed her legs, the tight fabric of her leggings stretching over her curves. Holt sat opposite, his bulk taking up half the seat, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on his knee. “Comfortable?” he asked, voice gravelly, eyes roaming over her like she was a piece of meat.

“As comfortable as I can be with a guy who looks like he’s already fucking me in his head,” she shot back, leaning back with a lazy grin. “What’s this about? You didn’t drag me in here to swap cookie recipes.”

Holt chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that made her skin prickle despite herself. “Straight to it. I like that. We’re headed to a private facility for a little chat. You’ve stirred up quite the mess, Miss Gu. Some of us think it’s time to ... channel that fire of yours. Put it to better use.”

She tilted her head, hair spilling over her shoulder as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, slow and deliberate, watching his gaze follow the motion. “Channel me? What, you gonna put a leash on me, old man? I don’t do collars.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, barely audible, but enough to make her smirk twitch. Before she could snap back, the SUV pulled to a stop outside a gray, unmarked building on the city’s edge—concrete walls, frosted glass, no signs. Two more suits waited at the entrance, hands clasped, faces blank. Eileen slid out, her sneakers hitting the ground, the night air brushing her bare stomach as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Holt gestured to the door. “After you. Warmer inside.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed, striding ahead, fully aware of the eyes on her ass as she moved. The interior was sterile—white walls, polished floors, a faint hum of machinery. No staff, just locked doors and a long hallway. Her gut twisted, but she masked it with a snort. “Nice place. Looks like a damn psych ward. What’s next, you gonna lock me up?”

Holt didn’t answer, just nodded to one of the suits, who led them to a heavy steel door. It opened with a hiss, revealing a small, dim room with a metal table, two chairs, and a sleek black case on the surface next to a futuristic headset with blinking lights. A one-way mirror loomed on the far wall, reflecting their shapes. “Sit,” Holt said, his tone shifting to hard command as he pointed to a chair. The door clicked shut, sealing them in.

Eileen dropped her bag with a thud, crossing her arms under her chest, pushing up her cleavage in the tight bra. “I’m not your fucking pet. What’s with the sci-fi bullshit? You gonna probe me for secrets?”

Holt’s smile was ice as he sat opposite, brushing the case. “Something like that. We’ve got new tech—government-funded, classified. It’s for ... stress relief. Clears the mind, focuses the body. Thought a competitor like you might wanna test it. Just wear the headset for a minute. If it’s not your thing, we move on.”

Her gaze flicked to the device, suspicion screaming in her chest, but her need to prove she wasn’t scared won out. “Fine. One minute. But if this is some weird-ass fetish thing, I’m gone.” She grabbed the headset, slipping it over her head, the cool pads pressing into her temples as it warmed slightly.

Holt tapped a remote from the case, and a low hum vibrated through her scalp. “Relax. Breathe deep. Let it do its thing.”

The buzz started faint, like static, and she opened her mouth for another jab, but her words caught as the sensation deepened, spreading down her neck. Her breath hitched, chest rising faster, the bra suddenly too tight. “What ... the fuck is this?” she muttered, voice fading.

“Shh,” Holt hushed, leaning in, eyes locked on hers. “Feels good, don’t it? All that fight, all that noise ... just let it slip away.”

Her hands twitched on the table, nails still, as warmth pooled in her core, thighs pressing together. Her sharp gaze dulled, pupils wide, smirk gone. “I ... yeah, it’s ... weird,” she breathed, sluggish.

Holt stood, moving behind her, hands on her shoulders, fingers digging in. She didn’t pull away, head tilting as the hum intensified. “That’s it,” he murmured, breath hot on her ear. “Let us take over, champ.”

...

The hum from the headset burrowed deeper into Eileen’s mind, a warm fog drowning her usual fire as she sat limp in the chair, her toned body slack under Holt’s grip. Her red jacket was still half-zipped, exposing the black sports bra stretched over her perky tits, nipples faintly poking through from the strange heat spreading through her. Her long legs in those tight leggings shifted restlessly under the table, the ache between her thighs growing unbidden as her sharp tongue stayed silent for once.