Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 05

"Can she sit in your lap?" asked Percy.

"Of course," said Wilson with a smile, rolling his chair back.

Amanda looked over her shoulder at Percy. "My bottom's too sore," she whispered.

"Wilson can rub it until it feels better."

She quickly turned and sat down carefully, one arm over Wilson's shoulder, her legs crossed tightly. He immediately put one hand around her hip, and rested the other arm across the top of her thigh.

Percy tapped Wilson on the shoulder. "Don't forget our agreement. Frank Tibbets from my team gets that code word op we talked about, and you weigh in with Harlan in support of my budget request."

Wilson nodded. "Yes, and Amanda comes home with me tonight."

"No, as I said, you can feel her up, here in the conference room."

"All right," said Wilson as he wrapped his fingers around her bare breast.

"Is that how you keep your legs?" asked Percy.

She gave him side-eye. "I feel like a horse being auctioned." But after a moment, she adjusted her position, separating her legs, and furrowed her brow at the renewed stinging in her bottom.

"Good," said Percy. "Keep them apart."

She expelled a shaky breath as Wilson's fingertips brushed the inside of her thigh, then clumsily poked at her labia. Showing little concern for her comfort, he penetrated her with his finger and, finding her still amply lubricated, he probed deeper.

After a few minutes, Percy pulled her away from Wilson and led her around the table to where Jason sat watching. Still unable to meet his eyes, Amanda perused the polished toes of her black leather pumps. Wearing the heels without any clothes further amplified her sense of shame.

"First time seeing her naked?" Percy asked Jason. "What do you think?"

Jason lifted her chin with his finger and squinted at her. "Beautiful face."

His gaze shifted lower, and he shook his head. "Amazing body. I mean, she looks great in office clothes, but who knew what she was hiding?"

Amanda frowned and turned her face away, crossing her arms for a moment before catching herself and dropping her hands to her sides.

She rolled her eyes, popped her hip, and gave a little sigh. "You don't even know me. You treat me like a piece of meat."

He didn't argue. His eyes traced the contours of her breasts, noting her nipples beginning to swell under his gaze, before tracking across the flatness of her belly, heading lower, finally locking in on the junction of her thighs. She watched his face as he took her in, reading the obvious desire in his eyes as he etched her image into his memory.

She had an idea what was about to happen, and she felt weighted down by an almost unbearable sense of loss. The loss of an opportunity to start fresh, in a normal way, a gentle, loving way, without all the twisted kinkiness imposed on her by her superiors and coworkers.

She had so badly wanted a new man. A relationship, not just a guy to use her and discard her. Someone who hadn't heard the rumors about her, and hadn't seen the shameful pictures.

She wanted this particular man. She still desired him very much, even if she couldn't articulate the reason.

Was there anything left to salvage, or had the last few minutes already destroyed her pristine image, transformed her from priceless angel to worthless slut? She needed him to tell her. But how could she ask him such a question?

Jason gently put his hand over hers. "Where are you from?"

She swallowed. "New Jersey. I lived in Summit."

It seemed so surreal to have this initial getting-to-know-you conversation here, in front of an audience, while she stood naked and he remained fully clothed. It put him in such complete control. She felt so powerless.

"Pretty town. Still have family there?" He grasped her narrow waist in both hands as his eyes remained fixed on her breasts.

She stiffened. She had not given him permission to touch her. "No, both my parents have passed. But I still keep a house there. It seems extravagant," she prattled on distractedly, "but I have a sentimental attachment to it."

"Wow. Your parents must have been quite wealthy." He put his hands on her breasts, gauging their firmness. When her nipples hardened to points, he rolled them between his fingers.

Apparently he intended to simply take what he wanted. As she felt her cheeks redden, she tried not to look at the others in the room.

She realized he was waiting for a response. "Oh. Yes. Very wealthy. My father worked in securities."

He pressed his palm to her bottom, curling his fingers around the swell of her flesh. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"Oo-oo-oo." She hopped and wiggled beneath his hand. "No. Only child," she squeaked out.

"Still sensitive," he said. "I better take a look." He turned her by her hips. "Hands on your knees."

She shuffled her feet and then bent carefully, biting her lip.

"What was that like, growing up?" he asked. "Open your legs."

She hesitated, then reluctantly edged her feet apart, feeling her blush spreading to her ears. "I was daddy's --"

He took her bottom in both hands, slid his thumbs into her crack and tightened his grip as he drew her cheeks apart.

She groaned. "- daddy's girl," she finished, sucking air through her teeth.

"Did you watch sports together?" He groped the sensitive globes of her ass repeatedly.

"No," she hissed. "He took me hunting."

He fisted her hair and pushed her head down, then lower, until she was bent double. She felt her blood rush to her head as her breasts grazed her thighs.

"Grab your ankles." With his thumbs, he smeared her abundant wetness over her labia, then turned her bottom toward the group and spread her open. "Deer? Bucks?"

"Sometimes." Her breath caught in her throat. How could this be happening? He was about to penetrate her, in public, and she'd barely said a dozen words to him.

He pushed his fingers inside her, stretching her, giving her no time to adjust. His words and tone sounded so gentle. Why was his touch so rough?

He pushed deeper into her, twisting his hand, then sawed in and out, working his hand in up to his knuckles. As she swayed to and fro, her breathing became ragged.

Abruptly he removed his hand, wiping her juices onto her thigh. With his other hand, he unfastened his pants.

"Now climb astride him," Percy called out. "Facing him. Put his dick inside you."

She straightened up and turned to look into Jason's eyes, trying to focus her mind on him. Trying to shut out the rest of the world.

Without his fingers inside her, she felt empty. She squeezed her thighs together.

"Go ahead," said Percy.

She put her hand on his shoulder and swung her leg over him. Easing her hips forward, she rubbed the head of his cock against her labia.

Jason slid into her easily. She closed her eyes and moaned softly.

"Tell me again, what's your role?" asked Percy.

Her cheek twitched. "I'm a sex toy." Feeling her need, she flexed her thighs, and felt Jason move inside her.

"Whose sexual urges do you gratify?"

She let out a shaky breath. "Those of the targets you specify."

"Targets I specify. Or Wilson, or Harlan. Not you." His voice had a sharp edge. "Now, what about your own sexual urges? And your feelings? Your pride, your dignity, your self-respect?"

She pressed the toes of her pumps to the floor, then let her weight settle on Jason, pushing his cock into her to the hilt. "I have them." She raised her chin. "But your point is, I shouldn't consider them."

Percy nodded. "Except when they please your target. Don't roll your eyes, this is important."

He grasped her shoulder. "Who's doing the work right now? You or Jason?"

She gave him a blank look. "I am." She ground her clitoris against the base of Jason's cock.

"Who is fucking who?"

She shook her head slowly, confused. "We both are?"

"No. Jason is fucking. You are getting fucked." He poked her forehead. "You always get fucked. Sometimes they do the work, sometimes you do, but it's always you that gets fucked. Remember that. Now shut up about feelings, and horses, and auctions, and pieces of meat, and get to work."

As she tried to still the tremor in her lower lip, she flexed her thighs again, and put her hands atop Jason's shoulders. They're all watching me, she thought.

Percy gave her a hard look. "Move."

"Oh, God." She kicked off her heels, put her bare feet on the carpet, and lifted herself, then bounced down on Jason. He put both hands on her bottom, and she winced as she began to move more rapidly. As she established a rhythm, she flushed, her pulse rate climbed, and a coil began to tighten in her lower abdomen.

Minutes later, Jason clenched his hands around her hips, groaned, and thrust himself upward repeatedly as he spurted his seed into her. Once he slumped back into his chair, she climbed off him and stood, her chest heaving. A rivulet of semen ran down the inside of her thigh, and she wiped it away with her fingers.

She sat back against the edge of the table and let out a long rattling breath. Her unsatisfied need felt like a knot in her belly. Equally strong was her sense of regret, as she mourned the lost opportunity for a normal relationship with Jason. The lost chance to have a real boyfriend.

She heard movement behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder at Wilson, Emma, Tyler, and Percy, all watching her. In her excitement, she'd almost forgotten her nakedness, and her audience, but now she had an overwhelming urge to cover herself. She scanned the room for her dress, then remembered.

She walked the length of the room and found her dress in an empty chair. Stepping into it, she pulled the bodice past her hips and slipped the straps over her shoulders. While she zipped herself up, she was already eyeing the doorway.

As she bent to scoop up her folders and handbag, she felt a searing stripe of fire across her left buttock, accompanied by a loud smack. A moment later, she heard another crack, and her right butt cheek joined the conflagration. Over her shoulder, she saw Emma, holding her leather loafer, winding up for another swing.

"Giddy up!" called Emma as she struck Amanda's bottom a third time.

* * *

Back in Percy's office, Amanda was startled from her reverie by the sound of the door opening.

"Hi, Amanda," said Percy, smiling as he shut the door behind him. "Perfect timing. I've got a couple more guys for you to meet with --"

She held up her hand. "About that. I saw that old geezer last Tuesday morning --"

Percy squinted with irritation at her interruption. "That's no way to talk about a division chief."

"Sorry, I saw Lawrence Rudisil --"

"Could he get it up?"

Her lip curled at his crudity. "That's completely not the point. You said if I met with him, you'd assign me that mission. I did my part, but I still don't have my assignment."

"First of all, I told you to fuck him, but since you didn't make him hard, I've got to send somebody else to finish the job. But more importantly," he said, falling into his chair with a sigh, "this is not a negotiation. You go fuck whoever I tell you. That's an absolute. When I decide you're ready, I'll find you the right mission."

"You don't have to send anyone else. I satisfied him with my mouth."

Percy snorted. "See? You can't even say it right."

Amanda closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, then rose from her chair and leaned over Percy's desk. "Ok, I gave him a 'blowjob'." Her speech was clipped, and her face became flushed.

Percy waited.

She narrowed her eyes to slits. "I took off my blouse, and my skirt, and my bra."

A bit of spittle flew from her mouth. "I let him play with my 'tits', as you like to call them."

The cords in her neck stood out as her voice rose. "I pulled down my panties. I showed him my 'pussy'."

She leaned closer, getting right in his face. "I stood there patiently and let him 'finger-fuck' my 'cunt', the clumsy asshole, even though he hasn't had a manicure since Nixon was president."

Percy smirked.

She drew in another breath. "I bent over his desk, and let him grab my 'ass', and laid there while he tried to 'fuck' me. But his limp little 'dick' wouldn't go in. Which is not my fucking fault."

She clenched her fists. "And now I want my 'fucking' posting. No. Pun. Intended." She banged her fist on his desk.

She gave a long exhalation as she returned to her seat and touched her sleeve to her brow. She was surprised at the steel edge to her own voice and the profanity she'd used, but she felt strength rather than shame.

Percy gave a short chuckle as he shook his head. He reached into his drawer and handed her a black folder. "Here's your assignment. But don't think you're off the hook."

He wrote an address on a slip of paper. "Tonight at 8pm. Don't be late."

As she left Percy's office, she checked her watch. She'd been away from her desk for hours, and a lot of work had probably piled up. But as her adrenaline dissipated, her exhaustion returned. She needed another cup of coffee.

As she waited in line, she studied the address Percy had given her. It appeared to be in an industrial area. She was perplexed.

Lost in thought, she jumped when she felt a hand squeeze her butt. Her anger was already spiking as she spun around to find Jason Carruthers standing close behind her.

"Hi, Amanda." His expression was warm and friendly.

Her arms and legs had gone rigid, ready to lash out, to exact a price for the humiliation that heated her face. But the relaxed, gentle tone of Jason's voice never failed to confuse her. Had he meant to touch her bottom?

"Hi, Jason." He looked so handsome in his tight blue shirt. Uncertainty clouded her features, as her heart pounded.

Over his shoulder, she saw the back of another man, tall but not as large as Jason, engaged in conversation with the man behind him. Neither of them appeared to have seen anything. The views of those further back would have been obstructed.

He smiled at her as he rubbed his chin. "You're such a bundle of contradictions, Amanda. You look up at me with those big, innocent eyes and an expression as pure as the driven snow."

She frowned and clutched her black folder tightly against her chest.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "But I know your secret. I've seen what you've got underneath those prim and proper clothes. There's nothing innocent about that body."

He shook his head, then leaned toward her ear. "No, your body's built for wild, depraved, nonstop fucking. Anything less is just a waste."

She turned away. "You're disgusting."

He pulled her toward him and grabbed for her breast, but she batted his hand away. "Did you consider that I'm an actual person, with feelings, and a brain, and not just a body to paw and grope, for your own pleasure?"

He threw up his hands. "Hey, you're the one who described yourself as a sex toy. Not to mention letting me fuck you senseless in front of your coworkers."

It was true. She'd used those very words. And yes, she'd ridden him with abandon, in public, and enjoyed it, even if he'd left her unsatisfied, and even if she wished to forget her own lapse in judgement. But there was no cause to rub her nose in it, and there were limits to how far she'd be pushed.

She took the coffee mug from his hands and upended it, pouring its dregs all over his shoes, spattering his pants, as those nearby jumped away from the spray. She turned and threw the mug forcefully into a garbage barrel, smiling with satisfaction when it shattered against a glass bottle.

"Fuck you," she muttered as she stalked away.

* * *

It was nearly 8:00 by the time she reached the Alexandria neighborhood Percy had specified. It appeared to be an area in transition, a mix of old warehouses and newer storefronts, with a scattering of vacant and abandoned properties in between.

As she glided into the next block, the quality improved, and there were upscale cars parked along the street and well dressed pedestrians on the sidewalk. On the next corner, she saw an art gallery with huge, brightly lit display windows. Its door stood open to welcome a middle-aged couple to some exclusive event.

The side street was the one she wanted, and she turned and took the first open parking place. Climbing out, she continued along the sidewalk, doubling back when the numbers ran past the one she sought.

Finally she poked her head into a narrow, darkened alcove and spotted a small brass plaque reading, An Affair to Remember. She pressed the bell, and after a moment, she heard a buzzer and pushed open the door. A steep staircase led to the second floor.

She entered a cavernous space, featuring 20 foot ceilings, exposed brickwork, and ancient wide plank hardwood floors. Huge retro incandescent fixtures hung from the overhead ironwork, spilling pools of warm light over some of the most elaborate wedding gowns Amanda had ever seen.

"You must be Amanda."

She turned to see an expensively dressed woman, her graying hair worn short in a fashionable blunt cut. "I'm Lisette, the owner. This is Cherie, and this is Malcolm. They'll be assisting you this evening."

Amanda shook Lisette's hand, then turned to greet Cherie, a young blonde wearing a chic A-line dress in jade green. Finally she acknowledged Malcolm, a nattily dressed man with a wiry build who appeared to be in his late twenties. His employment in a bridal shop struck her as a little... odd.

Behind them, she heard whirring motors and spotted a cluster of tables in the back where two men ran sewing machines while two women cut swaths of white satin from large bolts. Turning again, she saw the front faced the main street, and she understood the shop occupied the space above the art gallery.

Cherie stepped forward. "Let's get you measured." She guided Amanda toward a raised platform.

Understanding dawned. She was to be fitted for a wedding gown. What the hell?

As she climbed the steps, she pulled out her phone and dialed Percy.

Natasha answered. "Hi, Amanda. He left word not to be disturbed. But I'll tell him you called." Natasha hung up before Amanda could respond.

Amanda sighed and replaced her phone in her handbag.

"You can put your things in that chair," said Cynthia.

Malcolm stepped forward with a tape and began measuring her, beginning with her head and working downward, calling out figures for Cynthia to record in her notebook.

"Lift your arms, please."

"What a pretty blouse," said Cherie with a smile, as Malcolm casually wrapped the tape around her bust. Her breath caught in her throat as he slid the backs of his fingers across her breasts.

A moment later, he touched her shoulder. "I need your skirt off now."

Amanda rolled her eyes and glanced toward the back of the shop. The tailors and seamstresses had their heads down, absorbed in their work. With a sigh, she ran down her zipper, unfastened the waistband, and slid the skirt down her hips and off. Cynthia took it from her and hung it over the chair.

She glanced down and bit her lip. The hem of her blouse hung only a few inches past her waist. If she stood perfectly straight, it covered her panties, but only just.

Her mauve panties were part of a set she'd acquired on a whim. The panties were particularly naughty, featuring cutouts on either side of the center gusset. The bra featured similar cutouts on the sides of her breasts. She remembered how aroused she'd become when she'd first tried them on and imagined a desirable man looking at her.

But now she cringed at the thought that this lingerie revealed something vile and morally bankrupt about herself. And she didn't want to be judged, particularly by these two attractive, wholesome young people.

"Feet apart, please." Malcolm looped the tape between her legs and pulled it tight against her crotch to measure her rise, then stooped to wrap the tape around each thigh. When he was done, he turned to Cherie to record the measurements.