Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 01

"Interesting!" He laughed as he returned to his seat. "You've violated one of the most important principles of your church."

Amanda felt defensive. "Well, it wasn't really all my doing."

He gave her a sidelong look. "Weren't you there at the time?"

"Of course I was there!" She sighed. "But I didn't go looking for it."

"Are you saying you were coerced? If the sex was non-consensual, I can't count it as sexual experience."

"I didn't say that, but it's complicated."

"Why don't you start at the beginning."

She drew in a deep breath. "I had just turned 18. I was talking with my best friend Katherine Heinrich. Her birthday was the week before mine, and she'd asked her parents for money to go shopping. She was now an official adult, and she wanted some more grown-up clothing. And I thought, me too. So, I asked my dad."

"But your dad was wealthy. Didn't he give you an allowance?"

"Yes, a generous one. My mom was no longer alive, and he had no idea how much women's clothing cost or what I needed. He was uncomfortable even talking about it, so he gave me more than I needed. But this time I asked him for extra."

"What did you buy?"

"Katherine chose a daring strapless black cocktail dress, but I found a more modest one. I wanted one like Katherine's, but my dad wouldn't have liked it."

"Didn't you want anything else?"

"That was all I wanted." Amanda looked away.

Miller studied his monitor. "Not an outright lie, but you're holding something back."

Amanda nodded. "Katherine wanted new lingerie to go with her dress."

"Tell me more."

"We went to this exclusive lingerie boutique. I didn't want to go in, but she needed my opinion. I wasn't an expert, but I went in the dressing room with her. When she tried on her new items, she looked really sexy."

"And you wanted to look sexy too."

"Yes," she admitted. "And Katherine thought the ones I had were clunky. She said I had to get new ones too. And I wanted new things so badly, but I was afraid my dad would find out."

"Did you try them on?"

"Yes. I liked how they showed off... what I have. Katherine pressed me, and I bought them."

"Sounds like a good outcome."

"Initially. But I kept putting them on and looking in the mirror. I'd always thought of undergarments in practical terms: covering me up and holding me in place. I'd never thought of a man seeing me in my underwear and desiring me that way. Once I imagined having the power to arouse that desire, it became seductive."

He nodded.

"I enjoyed admiring myself, but I knew it was wrong to wear clothing meant to inflame men's passions. And vanity is a sin. It bothered me so much, I had trouble sleeping. My dad noticed dark circles under my eyes, but I wouldn't talk to him. He told me I had to speak with Monsignor Urbino. I forced myself to tell him at my next confession."

"How did he react?"

"At first, I just mentioned new clothing, and he didn't say a word. I thought he was waiting for me to be more specific, so I blurted out that they were a new bra and pair of panties. Still he said nothing. I told him I couldn't stop trying them on and admiring my body in the mirror."

"What response were you expecting?"

"I thought he'd assign penance, like some Bible verses about vanity and contemplating my sins, and to pray an Act of Contrition, but he kept quiet. But I'd fully confessed, so I thought that was the end of it. But when I got home, the Monsignor was there! I knew I was in trouble, and I felt sick to my stomach.

"My dad asked me what I'd done with the money he gave me. I tried to keep calm as I told him I'd spent it on clothes. He wanted to see what I'd bought, so I went to my room and put on the new dress. He had me do a spin for the Monsignor and asked him what he thought, and he said the skirt almost reached the knee, and the neckline was not too low, and it wasn't too tight, so it should be ok.

She drew a deep breath. "Then my dad said, 'Where's the new underwear?' And my heart broke, because I knew Monsignor Urbino had betrayed me. I was red as a beet when said I couldn't show it to him just then, and he said, why not? And I said, 'Because I have it on,' and he said, 'Even better! Just take off your dress."

"Fuck," Miller whispered.

"I was shocked. I said, 'Right now, in front of Monsignor?' I felt such shame, partly because my dad was disappointed in me, but even more so because Monsignor had taken vows and it was wrong to tempt him. Even speaking of my underwear was an affront to him. Taking off my dress in front of him was unthinkable, it would be like slapping his face, or spitting on him. It wouldn't be any picnic stripping in front of my dad either."

"I bet."

"So, I said, 'I can't.'" She bit her lip. "My dad said he understood why I was hesitant, but neither of them had any interest in my body, so I had no reason to be shy."

"You actually took off your dress in front of them?"

She looked sheepish. "Yeah. What choice did I have? I still can't believe I did it. The situation was so twisted. But my dad was angry, and Monsignor was upset, and I didn't want to make them any madder. So, I pulled my zipper down my back.

"I turned to show my dad the back strap of my bra. I foolishly imagined that might be enough, but of course it wasn't, he just motioned for me to keep going. I felt cool air on my bare back. I remembered how provocative my underthings were, and I nearly panicked, but I mustered my courage and dropped my arms. The dress slipped off my shoulders and fell to the carpet."

She licked her lips. "I expected the Monsignor would quickly glance at me and turn away, but he held his gaze on me."

"But he's a priest. What about his vows? He didn't even try to conceal his interest?"

"No. But my dad's reaction was even worse. His face turned dark red, and he made this noise like a howl."

She grimaced at the memory. "After he regained control of himself, he told me to stand in front of the mirror and to look at my body the way I'd looked at myself in private. I was so mortified I started crying.

"Then he pointed at the swell of my breasts above the cups of my bra, and said, 'You must be so proud of your breasts, and how round and full and ripe they look in that bra.' And then he made me come closer, and he pointed at the tiny piece of fabric in the front of my panties, and he said, 'You must love how much those panties reveal, almost like you were,' and then he screamed, 'STARK EFFING NAKED!' Only he didn't say 'effing'."

"He said, 'fucking'? I'm surprised he used such language in front of Monsignor."

"Me too. I'd never heard him use that word. But I'd never seen him in such a rage either.

"Once he calmed down, he apologized to Monsignor for his language. Then he looked at me with such despair. He told me my underwear was vile, and my behavior was evil. I had deliberately tempted men to commit adultery and sown the seeds of fornication in men's hearts. I had demonstrated such depraved vanity and imperiled my own soul as well as those around me."

Her lower lip quivered. "I had also sullied the good name of our family. He said it was his duty to make sure I didn't do it again, so I must be punished."

She swallowed.

"Monsignor said I should be given a hard spanking, and I should pray aloud while I was spanked. My dad said, 'But she's a grown woman,' and he gestured at my body, and he said, 'Isn't she too old to be spanked?' And Monsignor said, 'Treat her like a disobedient child. Let her humiliation make it memorable.'

"My dad pulled me across his lap and started smacking my rear. He hit me hard, and I only had on my little panties, which were no protection, so it hurt. But even worse was the shame, knowing my bottom was pointed toward Monsignor, and I had no coverage. Monsignor was right, it was humiliating."

Dr. Miller tutted in sympathy.

"Eventually, my dad wore himself out. He asked if I'd learned my lesson, and I promised I'd never do it again. He gave me a hard look, and he said, 'You'd better not, because next time I'll ask Monsignor to punish you himself, and he'll be a lot tougher on you than I was.'"

"Did that have an impact?"

"Yes. I didn't dare put on that underwear, but I still imagined I had it on while I looked in the mirror. I couldn't help it. Then one day my dad caught me in front of the mirror. I wasn't wearing anything improper, but he took me over his knee and spanked me. A couple of days later, it happened again. And while he spanked me, he asked why I kept doing it."

Miller nodded. "You wanted him to punish you. Did it arouse you?"

Amanda was uncomfortable with this idea, but she considered it. "Yes. In fact, I started wearing the sexy underwear again, and I went back and bought another set. I told myself my dad would never know, but I carelessly left the receipt on my desk, and of course he found it. He called Monsignor over again."

"That was predictable."

"My dad made me tell Monsignor what I'd done and ask him to punish me. Monsignor made me take off my dress again, which was for the humiliation. I think he also wanted to see me in just my bra and panties again. Then he told me to bend over his lap."

"Your priest."

"Yes." Her chin trembled as she fought back tears. "That was just about the hardest thing I ever did, kneeling and bending over that old man, and letting my bare stomach press against his lap. He rested his hand on the round part of my bottom. I could feel his hardness against my tummy."

"You gave him a hard-on."

She didn't like his implication that she was to blame, but this seemed like nit-picking. "He started spanking me. It wasn't any harder than my dad did it, but it went on a lot longer. When he was done, he rubbed my butt with his hand.

"His erection was upsetting me, so I asked if I could get up, and he said ok, but then he made me stand there in just my bra and panties and tell him exactly what I'd done wrong. He kept questioning me until I admitted to fantasizing about a man looking at me dressed only in my sexy lingerie, and how he would want to unhook my bra and touch my bare breasts.

"Eventually I told him how this man would want to pull down my lacy panties and touch me... between my legs. How badly I'd want him to do it, and how excited I'd feel when he gave in to his desires and put his hands on me. Unfortunately, I started to get turned on while I told him about it, and I think he could tell. It took a while before he let me put my dress back on.

"Two weeks later, 9/11 came, and I lost my dad. It was a tremendous shock, and it destroyed me. After that, it was a long time before I wore anything improper. But last year my vanity returned with a vengeance. I looked in the mirror constantly, and I bought a lot more lingerie."

"I see."

"I kept reliving the spanking, and the humiliation. And each time, I felt more aroused, but also guilty and anxious. I couldn't sleep, and then I'd sleep through my classes, and my test grades started to suffer. I'd always gotten straight A's, but suddenly I was not doing as well."

With her free hand, she tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. "My Chemistry professor called Dr. Foster, my advisor, and told him about my poor mid-term score and my skipped classes. Dr. Foster called me in. He had taught my German Literature class during my sophomore year." Amanda remembered distractedly how attractive he was.

"I'd known him a couple of years, and I stopped by his office a lot. Early on, we'd had a conflict when I disagreed with him in class, and when I met with him about it, he'd acted like this intense, scary person, but that had blown over. I routinely asked his advice about academics and careers, and he asked me what was new, but always very properly."

"Properly? Can you elaborate?"

"Unlike my other professors, he never stared at my face, or my body, and he never flirted. He was young, and single, and charming, and attractive, and I was drawn to him. I caught myself flirting a couple of times, but he didn't take the bait. I developed a crush on him."

Miller checked his monitor. "You caught yourself flirting? How does that happen?"

She couldn't look at him. "I don't know! I did it without thinking." Her tone was sharp. "Anyway, I met with him, and he asked why I missed class. I had a 4.0, and he didn't see why I'd risk it. I said I couldn't sleep, because I was anxious, and he asked what about, and I wasn't forthcoming."

"No, it doesn't sound like you were."

"He accused me of not being honest, and he pressed me harder. He offered to ask for an extra credit project in Chemistry, and a Sociology seminar to make up for my cuts. But first, I had to level with him. He said he'd heard every problem in the book, and nothing would faze him. He was relentless. Finally, I just blurted it all out."

"Blurted what out?"

"Everything. My vanity, the lingerie, the punishments." She paused.

He glanced at his monitor. "You're leaving something out."

She squirmed. "I was enjoying his attention." Embarrassed, she hid her face with her hand. "I gave him all the details."

"What details?"

"Each set of lingerie, the colors, the designs. For the first time, he looked at me differently. With desire. I got excited, and I didn't use good judgement. I told him things I shouldn't have."

"Like what?"

She cast her eyes on the floor, before she looked up. "I told him how one of the bras flattered the shape of my breasts. And how little the panties covered in back, and how flirty they were in front."

Remembering, she sighed. "He stared so shamelessly at my body. I hadn't considered the story might get him too excited."

He adopted an incredulous expression. "Really? You know men find you attractive, right? Right?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"You're a beautiful woman. You're telling him - at length - about your lacy bras, and your tiny little panties, and your round breasts, and your lovely ass, and you didn't think it would excite him?"

She agreed sheepishly. "Well, ok, fair. But you don't have to make me sound so calculating." She sighed. "Anyway, it had gotten very late. There was nobody else in the building. He said I had to do one more thing before he called my professors. I said, 'Of course,' never thinking it was something immoral."

"Uh oh."

"He stood, and I saw he was visibly aroused. He closed his door and locked it, which creeped me out. He told me to take off my dress. He used this intense, authoritative voice that made my blood run cold. It reminded me of how he scared me when we argued before."

"Did you do what he said?"

"No. I freaked out." She spoke rapidly. "I was attracted to him, but I didn't want to be told to strip for him. I saw he was recreating the scene with my dad and Monsignor Urbino, and it was my fault. I remembered the shame and humiliation, and I said I wouldn't do it. He tried to grab my shoulder, and I panicked and ran out."

"But that wasn't the end of it."

"No. I still needed him to call my professors. I went back, but he wouldn't see me. I realized he was really angry. It was late in the term, and I was out of time. I went back again and caught him as he was leaving. I apologized, and said I'd gotten scared.

"He said he understood, but he was crazy to let things go so far. He explained the policy against fraternization between faculty and students. And he was sorry, but he couldn't make any calls to my professors. Someone might get the wrong idea.

"I was pretty upset. I begged him to give me another chance."

"Jesus! You told him you'd strip for him."

She reddened. "I didn't have a choice. Not if I wanted to keep my 4.0."

"And he agreed."

"Yes." She seemed about to say more.

He checked his monitor. "But?"

She twisted a lock of her hair. "He said it was cruel to torment him. I would have to make it up to him. He told me to dress up, and wear 'very pretty things.' Meaning, sexy lingerie."

She tilted her head back, remembering. "I wore my pale blue cashmere pullover. It was low cut in front. And my grey wool skirt, with a navy windowpane plaid. It's pretty short," she admitted. "Almost as short as this one."

She tracked his gaze to the hem of her skirt. Realizing it had ridden up, she pulled it down.

"You're an exhibitionist."

She wanted to deny it. "I'm normally a conservative dresser, but that was a provocative outfit. Anyway, he invited me in, gave me a drink, and we chatted. Then he put my glass on the end table, and he said, 'Describe how you teased me and tell me how sorry you are. And while you tell me, I'm going to feel you up.'

"He told me to put both my hands behind my back and leave them there. I repeated the story about my lingerie. He made me describe each bra and pair of panties, and how I looked in them, like I did before."

"And while you were talking, he was touching your breasts."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

She bit her lip. "While I described the first bra, he ran his hand over my sweater, starting at my sternum, and tracing his finger along the underside of my breast. Every time I told him about another item, he'd find a different way to touch me."

She chewed the inside of her cheek. "He watched my face while he did it."

"Were you embarrassed?"

"Oh my gosh, yes. I'd never been touched that way. I kept losing my train of thought. When I apologized for teasing him, he slid his hand underneath my sweater. He made me say how sorry I was, over and over. I felt him touch my bra, and he wrapped his fingers around my breast."

"What kind of bra were you wearing?"

"Um, black lace. From Agent Provocateur."

"Ah, Agent Provocateur! You pulled out all the stops, didn't you?" He grinned.

"He told me to wear nice lingerie. I didn't want to make him mad again."

"Were your nipples hard?"

"Yes," she admitted. "He moved to my other breast, teasing me again. Then he took off my sweater. My bra was one I had just described, and he liked that he could see through the lace a little. After that, he handled my breasts more purposefully. More like groping."

"Was he kissing you?"

"No. He nudged my bra straps to the sides until they slipped off my shoulders. He unhooked it, and the cups fell away from my breasts."

Amanda drew a deep breath. "He pushed me down on my back, and he put his hands on my breasts again. He was rougher than I expected. He squeezed them hard and pulled on my nipples."

"Was he making you hot?"

Her stomach lurched. She looked away.

"Oh-ho-ho! You like it rough! You must have been sopping wet."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. She realized she did like it rough. She was appalled at herself. What kind of woman likes it rough? Certainly not a forward thinking one.

Miller became impatient. "Shall I repeat the question?"

"Yes, I was turned on," she admitted.

"What happened next?"

"Before I knew it, he was beneath my skirt." She hesitated.

"Details, please."

"He moved up the outside of my leg, and then he went underneath my thigh, and then across the top and back to the inside. He pushed against my other leg with the back of his hand."

She fidgeted and looked away.

"And you spread your legs, didn't you?"

Her voice was barely audible. "Yes." She felt her face burning. She had seen herself as a helpless victim, but he was forcing her to confront her own active participation.

"And what did he do? Details."

"He stroked the insides of my upper thighs, first one side and then the other. He was teasing me again. Eventually I couldn't stand it anymore." She felt a surge of shame, and her face contorted. "I grabbed his hand and put it on my mound."

Miller laughed. "How exactly did he touch your pussy?"

Her memory was vivid. "He rubbed my labia while he stimulated my clitoris with one finger. He pushed my skirt further up, up around my waist. I knew he would see between my legs, and I felt self-conscious, so I asked him to turn out the lights, but he wanted to see."