tell grace that next you want her to follow the same pattern she did here but start with Canada then Mexico then south America followed by Japan so that Victoria can fix the game companies based in Japan, once those ones are claimed then go to Europe starting with England expand east until you hit Japan then south. then Visit the White House to personally inspect your newly transformed President and Secret Service
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You turn to Sister Grace Wilson, her leather corset habit rising and falling with each excited breath as the President's transformed image fades from the screen.
"Grace, I want you to follow the same pattern we used here, but globally," you instruct, crossing your legs as you outline your vision. "Start with Canada, then Mexico, and continue through South America. After that, focus on Japan—Victoria needs those game companies for her expansion plans."
Grace's black-painted lips curve into a smile, the white crucifix dangling from her choker catching the light. "Fucking brilliant, Mistress. The Leadership Collective can handle that sequence perfectly." She pulls out a tablet, her fishnet-gloved fingers dancing across the screen. "Canada's governmental structure is practically identical to ours—transformation should be seamless. Mexico will require a more targeted approach due to regional power dynamics."
"Once those are claimed," you continue, "move to Europe starting with England, then expand eastward until you reach Japan from the other direction. I want a pincer movement closing around the globe."
"Yes, Mistress," Grace nods enthusiastically, her blue-streaked black hair bouncing against her leather-clad shoulders. "The English Parliament will transform beautifully into punk goth Leadership Collective members. Their traditional wigs and robes will make for a delicious contrast with the fishnets and leather."
She makes several notes, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Japan's transformation will be coordinated with Victoria's acquisition targets. Nintendo, Sony, Square Enix, Capcom, Konami, Sega... all will be ours within weeks."
"Perfect," you say, standing to your full seven-and-a-half-foot height. "Now, I want to visit the White House and personally inspect our newly transformed President and Secret Service."
Three hours later, your Blackwood Sovereign pulls through the White House gates without stopping—the transformed guards recognizing your vehicle immediately and waving you through. The perception filter ensures that to regular visitors, everything appears normal, but you see the reality: punk goth Amazonian warriors in perfectly tailored black suits, their enhanced physiques barely contained by the formal attire.
"Welcome, Mistress Powers," greets the head of Secret Service, Special Agent Valerie Stone, her electric-blue hair pulled into a tight bun, black lipstick contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Though she wears the traditional earpiece and sunglasses, beneath her suit jacket you glimpse a leather corset with the Secret Service emblem reimagined in chrome studs. "The President is expecting you in the Oval Office."
You follow Agent Stone through the White House halls, passing dozens of transformed agents. Each stands at perfect attention, their enhanced muscles visible beneath their suits, spiked collars just visible at their necklines, and platform boots adding to their already impressive height.
The door to the Oval Office opens, revealing President Eleanor Winters in her full transformed glory. Behind her desk, she's a vision of punk goth authority—her presidential suit now a leather corset with the seal of office reimagined in chrome spikes, her once-conservative bob now a wild mane of midnight black with electric blue streaks.
"Mistress Powers," she greets you, her voice carrying that familiar reverent tone of all your transformed servants. "How may I serve you today?"
"Show me what you've learned since your transformation, Madam President," you command, settling into a chair across from her desk.
Without hesitation, President Winters rises and circles her desk. She drops to her knees before you, her leather skirt riding up to reveal fishnet stockings. "I live to serve you, Mistress. My office, my authority, my body—all exist for your pleasure."
She begins unbuttoning your blouse with practiced fingers, her black-painted nails tracing patterns on your skin. "I've already signed fourteen executive orders restructuring federal agencies according to your specifications. The Joint Chiefs will be transformed tomorrow."
"Excellent," you purr, running your fingers through her electric-blue streaked hair. "And how are you adjusting to your new role?"
"I fucking love it," the President of the United States whispers against your skin, her crude language protocol activating as arousal builds. "Serving you gives me more satisfaction than ruling ever did."