Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 07

He shook his head again. "I've seen some weird shit in my day, but that's just fucking depraved."

She cringed and whimpered.

"You actually did it, didn't you? You pulled down your own panties while they all watched. And that guy came over again, and you opened your legs for him, and showed everyone your bare pussy. Then you let him spread you open and stick his fingers inside you. Right?"

She nodded, with her eyes on the floor, and a tear dripped from the end of her nose.

"It didn't take you very long to cum, did it?"

She shook her head.

"Which noise did you make? Was it the low moan, or was it that high-pitched squeaking?"

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together tightly, without responding.

He squinted at her. "Here's what I really need to know. Did you go to confession? Did you tell your priest what perverted shit you've done? I mean, how do you go to church in your demure little Sunday dress, with your knees and shoulders covered, and take communion, and sit there all prim and proper, reciting the liturgy, pretending to be all innocent and pure, and then go to the park and spread your legs for a bunch of random passersby?"

He leaned toward her. "Then you go home, and your new husband wants to bone you -- pretty understandably, after watching you wave those tits of yours in everyone's face for a couple hours -- and you tell him you're not in the mood?"

He rubbed his chin. "Yeah, I get it. He indulged your fantasy, and got you off, but you can't even be bothered to lay back for five minutes and let him empty his own suffering balls. Not nice. Frankly, I expected better from you, Amanda."

With her legs shaking, she rose from her chair, her face a mask of fury. "I should have known better than to ask for help from you, after you tricked me into a joke of a marriage and sold me to a monster for a wad of cash." She turned and marched toward the door.

Percy stood and slammed his hand down on his desktop. "Get back in that chair. I'm not finished with you."

She stopped and stood there for a moment before returning to her seat. She gave a long sigh, and with a trembling hand she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. She checked her eye makeup in her compact. It was ruined, but this wasn't the time or place to repair it.

Percy wiped the sweat from his brow and sat down. When he spoke again, he used a calmer voice. "Obviously, you're aware of the attention you garnered by rescuing the ambassador, and the prominence you've achieved. Now Harlan wants to make sure we make full use of your capabilities."

He leaned back in his chair. "There's a new class of NCS inductees beginning training at the Farm soon. Harlan wants you to be one of the instructors."

Amanda was so surprised, she laughed out loud. Only the most capable, experienced operatives were chosen to become instructors. But then she thought of her recent mission and her expert marksmanship. She'd turned the tide of the final battle and saved her teammates from likely injury or death.

Her award ceremony had been private, but maybe this plum assignment was an indirect means of more substantively acknowledging her contribution.

"However, before that, you're overdue for your psych evaluation with Dr. Underwood." He held up his hand. "I know, but you've already postponed it twice."

"Ugh." She shook her head. Michelle called him Dr. Underhand. Megan just called him Woody. She knew what would be 'evaluated,' and it wasn't her state of mind.

"Meanwhile, I've received a support request from the Special Investigations Unit of the New Jersey State Police. Two different women have filed complaints against Monsignor Urbino, alleging inappropriate conduct that occurred when they were 18 and 19, respectively. They're planning a sting operation, and they requested you specifically, by name."

"No." The Monsignor had rung her periodically, suggesting they "meet in private," but she hadn't returned his calls, and she'd avoided mass and confession at Our Lady of Mercy during her visits to New Jersey. She hoped never to see Urbino again.

"I've slow-rolled the request, but now they're threatening to subpoena you for a deposition. Eventually, you're going to have to go."

She nodded, with a sour expression.

Percy continued. "But first, before any of that, you've been assigned a new mission. It's part of a broader code word operation focused on Iran."

He stepped over to his safe, opened it, and handed Amanda a fat envelope closed with a seal. Amanda ripped open the seal and removed a file. Flipping past a page of warnings admonishing her against disclosure to anyone not on a pre-approved list, she skimmed the first few pages.

"Looks like an effort to disrupt Iran's nuclear weapons program."

"Correct. Read the file, cover to cover. There's a briefing at 2pm. Be prepared to contribute." He rose.

This was her signal to leave. Seeing Percy already had his arm cocked for his traditional bottom swat, she stood and immediately took two steps backward, covering her butt with her folder.

Percy chuckled and wagged his finger at her. "I'll put that one on your tab."

She stepped toward the door, but he stopped her. "One last thing."

He grinned. "When you told me about the picnic, you got wet, didn't you?"

She turned her face away, stretching her lips over her teeth, but after a moment, she nodded.

"Are your panties still wet?"

She nodded again. She clutched the hem of her skirt with both hands.

"Show me."

"No, Percy, please."

"You just finished raising your skirt for a whole room full of men. Surely you can do it one more time, just for me."

She sighed, set down her folder and handbag, hooked her fingers beneath the hem of her skirt, and raised it to her waist.

"Turn toward me."

She did so.

"I still can't tell. Show me your crotch."

She closed her eyes and stood motionless for a moment, then bent her legs and opened her knees.

"Look at me."

She opened her eyes and followed his gaze to the oval of wet fabric stretched across her labia.

"Are you going to tell your priest what you did? Does he know what a twisted slut you are?"

She couldn't find her voice. She shook her head. After another moment, she rose from her crouch and worked her skirt back into place.

He took her by the jaw, bent her forward, and delivered three sharp swats to her bottom. They were very hard, and on the third swat, she yelped.

Still grasping her jaw, he pulled her upright. "Next time you get 'aroused' in this office, you're going to finish the job. In fact, from now on, every time you come here, you're going to raise your skirt and show me your panties before you leave. And if they're wet, you're going to pull them down, and stick your fingers up that tight little pussy, and rub your little clitty until you cum. And I'm going to watch."

While she sniffled, he opened his door and pushed her out.

As she passed Natasha's desk, she turned her face away, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice her wrecked eye makeup.

"Congratulations on your award, Amanda. Oops, I'm not supposed to know, am I?"

She put her head down and kept right on walking, without responding.

* * *

By that afternoon, Amanda had recovered. She was the first to arrive for the briefing, and as the others entered in two and threes, she realized this would be a much larger operation than any of her previous missions. By the time Lawrence Rudisil took the dais, nearly every seat in the small auditorium was filled.

She realized she'd forgotten her suit jacket at her desk. Her stomach felt queasy. She folded her arms across her chest.

She'd chosen a seat at the front, and as more senior administrators took the spots on either side, she worried she'd committed a breach of protocol. She was considering moving to the back when a pair of larger men sat down on either side, their broad shoulders intruding into her space. Then Rudisil began to speak.

"At our last meeting, I assigned a number of items for investigation. Chuck, let's begin with you. What can you tell us about the progress the Iranians are making?"

Chuck Blackwell stood and joined Rudisil on the dais. The lights dimmed, and an image of a cluster of buildings appeared on a large screen.

"Here you see the Iranian complex at Natanz. This is a hardened facility, with very thick concrete walls and extensive underground construction."

Her interest piqued, Amanda studied the image.

He advanced the slide, and an interior floor plan appeared. "A large portion of the underground space is dedicated to arrays of gas centrifuges, which they're using to enrich uranium hexafluoride. There are already 3,000 centrifuges in operation, with space for thousands more."

He clicked his remote, and the screen displayed a bar graph. "Here are my team's projections for production of weapons grade uranium. As you can see, they will soon have sufficient quantities to construct multiple nuclear weapons."

Amanda had seen reports of disputes between Iran and the U.N. concerning Iran's refusal to allow inspections of suspected research sites, but she had no idea the deployment of nuclear weapons was imminent. This was deeply unsettling.

As Blackwell returned to his seat, Rudisil killed the projector and restored the lights. "Last week, you heard Gene Murillo's presentation on Iran's missile program. They've already developed missiles capable of reaching Israel. They'll also target the Fifth Fleet in the Persian Gulf and the Sixth Fleet in the eastern Mediterranean. They'll intimidate Saudi Arabia and other western-friendly regimes and threaten our bases throughout the region."

He stepped closer to the edge of the dais. "We can't allow that to happen. Arnie Gamble will tell us about our response."

Arnie had been standing at the back of the auditorium, and now he came forward. "Some of you are aware of our long-standing cooperation with Israel on issues involving Iran. Others know of Mossad's expertise in cyber warfare. A few days ago, Mossad and the CIA completed their latest collaborative effort: a computer worm targeting Iran's gas centrifuges."

The man to Amanda's left stood up. "I don't see how that helps us. Won't they just remove the worm and resume enrichment?"

Arnie smiled. "You don't understand. The worm will actually destroy the centrifuges, Wesley."

Wesley shook his head. "I don't see how that's possible."

Arnie dimmed the lights again and displayed a diagram of a centrifuge. "This is an Iranian IR-1 Zippe gas centrifuge, identical to the one used at Natanz. It normally spins at 64,000 RPM. Our new worm causes the speed to briefly increase to 85,000 RPM, then return to normal speed. Later, the speed is dramatically slowed to just 20,000 RPM."

He used a laser pointer. "The change in speed stresses the aluminum tubes, causing them to expand until they contact one another, as you can see here." He advanced the slide. "This causes catastrophic damage." Again, he clicked his remote. "As shown here, the entire centrifuge disintegrates."

Wesley had returned to his seat, and now he rubbed his chin. "Holy fuck."

Around the room, there were huffs of astonishment, followed by a groundswell of applause. Amanda joined in with enthusiasm.

After the room quieted, Wesley stood up again. "My team believes the entire Natanz facility is air-gapped. We haven't identified a single point of connection. The new worm sounds fantastic, but how will we deliver it?"

Arnie nodded. "That's exactly the problem we need to solve. We already have part of the answer. Harlan has assigned one of his best operations officers." He glanced at his notes. "Amanda Stevens."

There were scattered exclamations behind her, and Rudisil had to raise his voice to be heard over the hubbub. "We all would prefer a known quantity for such a vital mission. But we need a beautiful brunette who speaks Persian like a native. Amanda's fluent in Persian. And she's quite a piece of ass." He clicked his remote, and the screen displayed a head and shoulders shot of Amanda in heavy makeup. The angle and lighting flattered her bustline.

Again, Rudisil called for quiet. "Obviously, we're on a tight schedule, and there are many details still to be worked out. We'll proceed with discussions in smaller groups and reconvene tomorrow to finalize the plan."

* * *

Later that day, Amanda met with Wilson Blodgett, who was responsible for oversight on her part of the operation. Having worked with Wilson and his team on her first mission, she knew him to be handsy, and often inappropriate, but otherwise competent. They were joined by his subordinate, Derrick Hardesty, an experienced field operative in his late twenties who was based in Paris.

"Hi, Derrick. I'm Amanda Stevens."

He grinned. "I know. I liked the picture they showed of you earlier." He brought her hand to his lips, then held his eyes on her face for an extra beat.

She felt her cheeks go pink. As she drew back her hand, she again regretted forgetting her suit jacket.

Wilson sat down to her right and brought out a photo of an olive-skinned man. His dark hair was closely cropped, his beard neatly trimmed. His oversized glasses magnified his large, closely set eyes. With his long nose, sharp chin, and narrow frame, he reminded Amanda of a bug-eyed bird.

"This is Farwan Isfahani, aged 49, associate professor of energy engineering at Amirkabir University of Technology in Tehran. He's an expert on pressurized water nuclear reactors. That's the type they're currently constructing in Bushehr, in southern Iran. Currently he's on sabbatical in France, at Mines ParisTech, but he's due to return to his post in a few days."

He laid down a photo of a plump, greying, imperious woman with a prominent overbite. "This is his wife, Daria, aged 54. She's from a wealthy family. Years ago, her father paid for Farwan's education, but she and Farwan are now estranged."

He gestured to Derrick. "Show her your latest pictures."

With a flourish, Derrick opened a binder to another picture, showing an attractive young brunette. "This is Gabrielle Vernier, a student of Farwan's, with whom he's reported to be having an affair. It's actually more than a report," he said, skipping ahead to another photo, which showed Gabrielle naked, astride Farwan's hips, her eyes closed in apparent pleasure.

"Thank you, Derrick," said Wilson, then faced Amanda. "Two months ago, Farwan filed for divorce. He plans to marry Gabrielle and take her back to Tehran. However, you're going to take her place."

Amanda furrowed her brow as she studied Gabrielle's skinny body. "I don't look much like her."

Derrick reached out and took her chin in his hand, turning her face toward him. After a moment, she saw his eyes drop, and she glanced down at her tight blouse.

For a moment, she let herself imagine he was touching her breasts. She would tell him to stop, but he would continue anyway. She realized she felt too warm.

"True," said Wilson. "I've asked Maddie Swain to address that." He walked to the door. "Maddie? Please come in."

There were introductions all around. Amanda was friendly and shook Maddie's hand, but the officious, white-haired woman's response was clipped and unsmiling.

Derrick handed Maddie his binder, and she paged through several head shots of Gabrielle, then flipped through a mix of torso and full-length photos. She set down the binder, leaving it open to a head-and-shoulders shot, and turned to Amanda. "Stand up, please."

Amanda got to her feet, tugging at the cuffs of her blouse and confirming with her fingers that it was buttoned to the top. There was nothing she could do about the way it stretched tightly across her breasts.

"Take down your hair."

Amanda removed the pins from her chignon and tossed her head, letting her hair cascade onto her shoulders.

Maddie took a few of Amanda's pins. "Cut it short. Bangs, here." She attached a bobby pin just above her eyebrows. "Sides, curving in toward your jaw, starting here." Another pin on either side. "Back, here." Another pin. "Dye it light brown with golden highlights. Like this." She thumped the picture with her finger.

Amanda's heart sank. She was proud of her hair, for its length and thickness as well as its striking, glossy dark color. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it. It would grow back, eventually.

Maddie leaned in, studying her face from close range. "Use extra rouge in the hollows of your cheeks to make your face appear narrower." Then she cast her gaze lower to study the front of Amanda's blouse.

Amanda nodded, repeatedly smoothing her skirt against the fronts of her thighs. Please don't comment on how tight my blouse is, she thought, not in front of Derrick and Wilson. She twisted the toe of her shoe into the carpet.

Maddie stepped forward, put her hands on Amanda's breasts, and squeezed them. "Huh."

Amanda flinched, then turned red. Her hands fluttered.

Maddie moved her hands to Amanda's waist. "Nice."

Amanda hugged herself. "Um."

Maddie reached lower to grab two handfuls of Amanda's bottom. As Amanda squirmed, she looked at Wilson and said, "Firm."

Wilson nodded.

Maddie turned back to her binder and flipped to a picture of Gabrielle, in front of her bathroom mirror. Her maroon lace pushup bra made the most of her modest endowment. Next came a full-length shot. Her panties matched her bra. The following page showed her from behind, bent forward over the sink. Her bottom was nicely rounded.

"Let's see you without the blouse and skirt."

Amanda cut her eyes toward Derrick, then back to Wilson, as her heart rate surged. With a frown, she reached for the collar of her blouse and began unbuttoning it. Slipping her cuffs past her hands, she pulled her arms from the sleeves and draped the blouse over her chair, then turned to face Maddie.

Maddie sighed and shifted her hip.

"Oh. You wanted the skirt off too. Sorry." Her hands shook as she hurried to run the zipper down her hip, stepping out of it and tossing it atop her blouse. She straightened, clasped her hands behind her back, and bit her lip.

Derrick snickered. "For a second, I thought you forgot." His eyes slid over the cups of her pale blue bra before settling on the crotch of her panties.

He wants to see my pussy, she thought. I don't want to show him, but he's going to make me.

She curled her lip at him, but she couldn't ignore the tingling she felt between her legs as he gawked at her. For a moment, she wished she'd worn flirtier lingerie, and her thoughts went to another set she had in the same shade of blue, featuring narrow vertical strips of translucent material across the cups of the bra and just to either side of the center line of her panties. They were so naughty! She rubbed her thighs together.

Then she realized Derrick would be her only local support during the mission, and titillating him to distraction wouldn't help her succeed, even if it felt like satisfying payback for making her self-conscious. Also, teasing wasn't nice. And after all, she was married.

Maddie pressed a palm against her flat belly. "You certainly do stay trim." She stepped back, rubbing her chin. "That's good. Any weight you lose will come off your tits and ass. See how much you can lose before you leave."

Without warning, she brushed the straps of Amanda's bra off her shoulders, then inverted the cups, freeing her breasts. She hefted each breast and let it drop. "No sag. They're so pretty, it's a shame to starve you."

Amanda blushed to the roots of her hair. Maddie left the cups of her bra dangling, and both men stared at her exposed breasts. But she fought the urge to cover them with her hands, forcing herself to move deliberately in turning away, sliding the straps back onto her shoulders, and replacing her breasts in the cups.