Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 08

He swallowed visibly and extended a trembling hand to grasp her third button, and she felt her placket open further. Then his fingers worked the final button, and her blouse fell fully open.

"Those are the same black lace bra and panties. You did that to thumb your nose at me."

Mutely, she shook her head. She'd retired that particular old matched set years ago, but now she realized how similar these looked.

He put his palm between her shoulder blades and bent her over the back of the armchair, then unlashed her wrists long enough to refasten them to the front legs of the chair. Moving around to the back, he pulled at her ankles in turn, drawing them apart, then used the remaining cord to secure them to the back legs of the chair.

Amanda rested her forehead against the soft cushion that formed the seat. The back of the chair was also well padded, and the position was not yet uncomfortable, although she was immobile and quite helpless. Her unhappiness had more to do with her dress, or lack thereof, the vulnerable, humiliating position in which she'd been placed, and the blows she knew he would soon inflict on her backside.

She wondered who else might see the video. Would the prosecutor show it in court? That would be extremely embarrassing. In this position, bent over so far with her legs spread wide, her shapely bottom was the center of attention, and her bikini panties gave little coverage.

From the center drawer of his desk, Urbino took a riding crop. She had only a moment to glimpse this new implement and contemplate its import before she felt an intense burning in the center of her left buttock. A second later, her right buttock lit up, and then the strikes came so quickly they merged into a conflagration consuming her entire bottom. She gritted her teeth and clamped her lips together, stifling her own cries.

After a minute, he paused. "Not even a whimper?"

She kept silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing the pain he inflicted.

"Those little panties don't protect you much. But let's try it with them down, just the same."

Her hands strained against their bonds, but the cord held them immobile. She felt the elastic drag over the points of her hipbones and along the outsides of her thighs, stopping at her knees. The material was stretched so tight, it dug into her flesh, and she thought about how far apart her ankles were spread, and the low angle of the camera.

They'll be seeing my pussy now, she thought. It's extremely humiliating, but it's not my fault. Monsignor is doing it to me.

Then his whipping resumed, giving extra attention to the previously covered skin closer to her crack. She tried to focus her attention on the sound of her own ragged breathing.

After a time, the blows abated, and he loosened the bonds holding her wrists and ankles. Straightening up, she groaned and reached down for her panties, gingerly pulling them back into place.

"No," he said, wrenching them back down. Automatically, she turned away as they settled around her ankles. Putting his hand to her back, he sprung the catch on her bra, and when she felt the straps go slack, she brought her hands to the cups. He pulled the straps off her shoulders and tugged at them with increasing force until he wrested the garment from her fingers.

"Turn toward me."

She ignored his command. After a moment, he grasped her shoulders and spun her around.

Flicking her eyes toward the lens of the camera, she covered her vulva with her hand and pressed her forearm across her breasts.

"Hands behind your back. Leave them there, or I'll tie them again."

No compliance, she reminded herself. She lifted her chin. "No."

His face darkened. Holding her forearm in a crushing grip, he wrenched it away from her chest, exposing her breasts. Again knotting his cincture around her wrist, he pried her other hand away from her crotch. She thrashed, but he easily overpowered her. When he had her hands tied together, he fashioned a loop and snapped it upward, catching it on a nail protruding from a ceiling beam. He hauled on the cord until her hands were tethered high above her head.

She watched his eyes move from her exposed vulva to her breasts and back again, and she felt new heat on her face. The camera now captured a full-frontal view of her body, and she imagined the reactions of Ruiz's detectives. They'd all be riveted, but it was the thought of Detective Dietrick that made her squeeze her thighs together.

When she looked up, she saw Urbino still stared at her with an expression suggestive of a starving man, and she rolled her eyes. As he appeared to engage himself in an internal struggle, he licked his lips, and when his baser instincts prevailed and he reached for her breast, it was as if she'd been cast in a play she'd performed countless times before. She sighed and shifted her hip.

Now, he's going to wrap his hand around it, and squeeze it, and heft it, and watch it jiggle, she told herself. As she knew he would, he brought his other hand to her right breast, and in his face, she saw his pleasure. He tweaked her nipples, making them harden, and she noticed the bulge tenting the front of his vestment.

There, now he's done it, she thought to herself. He's assaulted me. I've fulfilled Ruiz's minimum requirements. Now I can leave, just as soon as he unties me.

But when Urbino released her breast, it was not to free her from her bonds. Instead, he slid his hand down her sternum and across her belly, leaving no doubt about his destination. Her chest heaved, and she looked back at him with narrowed eyes, her nostrils flaring, as she pressed her knees together tightly.

"No, Monsignor, please."

He raised his voice, and she sensed his barely controlled fury. "You're already a whore. Don't add false pride to your sins." He tried to force his hand between her clenched thighs.

He's right, she thought, I am a whore, a hundred times over. Her knees buckled, and she felt the cord chafe her wrists as her body sagged.

Let him do his worst, she thought, what's one more?

Now his hand found no resistance. When he pushed her legs apart, and his fumbling fingers found the accumulated wetness between her labia, she released the whimpers she'd been fighting to contain.

A moment later, she heard his cassock fall to the floor. Then he was turning her to face him, pulling her body against his own sweaty corpulence, pushing his hips between her thighs.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He'd never penetrated any of the other women. Ruiz had told her to leave as soon as she had video of inappropriate touching. But neither of them had expected her to be bound. Now, as Urbino lifted her knees, letting her arms take her full weight, it was obvious he had other plans. She was about to get fucked.

He covered her mouth with his own, and she twisted her face away from him. As she felt him rub his hard shaft against her entrance, she murmured a prayer for mercy.

It just couldn't happen again. Not by force, against her will. Not while she was bound, strung up, and completely helpless.

He barked out a short laugh. "There'll be no mercy for you here today." He pushed himself inside her.

* * *

The next morning, Amanda veered onto the exit ramp from I-80, swung into the parking lot of the Totowa headquarters of Troop B of the New Jersey State Police, and parked. Stepping out of her Mercedes, she straightened her knee-length pencil skirt and checked to see that her conservative blouse and suit jacket were properly buttoned.

Whore, said the voice in her head. Impostor. Hypocrite.

Priest fucker.

She put her hand over her mouth and waited for the trembling in her lip to subside. Then she drew a deep breath and headed inside.

"I'm here to see Lieutenant Miguel Ruiz," she told the desk sergeant.

A minute later, Ruiz appeared and escorted her to a conference room.

"Amanda, meet Trooper Kelvin Dorsey and Trooper Seymour Minkus. They're managing evidence collection and research in support of this investigation. You already know Detectives Dietrick and Kim."

After shaking Zach Dietrick's offered hand and returning Devin Kim's friendly smile, she nodded at the two new troopers. Kelvin met her eyes and then blushed and looked away. Seymour leered at her.

Ruiz sat down at the head of the table. "If you can give Seymour the camera, we can get started."

Amanda took the only remaining seat, to his left. The hard chair reanimated the pain in her sore bottom, and she stifled a gasp as she leaned closer, speaking to him in a low voice. "Could I show you the video privately?"

Ruiz gave her a sad smile, as he squeezed her arm. "I'm sorry, Amanda, but my men need to see the tape, accompanied by your live commentary. They're building the case, and their interpretations must match your testimony."

She nodded, feeling a weight in the pit of her stomach. Reaching into her handbag, she removed the camera and handed it to Seymour. He flashed another grin and plugged a cable into the camera. After a couple of mouse clicks, the monitor came to life. The initial seconds of the recording showed her undoing the first two buttons of her blouse. All five men watched closely.

"You wore that blouse to church?" said Seymour.

Amanda winced.

"I told her to," said Ruiz. "Part of the plan."

Seymour nodded. "Still, pretty ballsy."

A moment later, Ruiz pointed at the monitor and asked, "What's happening?"

"I'm making confession." Hoping not to elaborate, she bit her lip.

"Skip ahead," he said to Seymour. When the video resumed, Urbino held her by her hair.

"What's happening now?"

"He told me to take off my blouse and skirt, and I refused, so he's tying my hands." She felt her throat tighten. "Now he's, um, unzipping my skirt. But I guess you can see that."

"Back it up. Now pause. Now continue." Ruiz looked at Kelvin. "Make a note. At 12:05, Urbino demands removal of clothing. At 12:19, Amada refuses. At 12:31, he ties her hands. At 13:38, he takes off her skirt. Blouse follows at... 14:26. What's this?"

"He's binding me to the chair, hand and foot. He's going to whip me with a riding crop."

"Fuck," said Seymour.

On the screen, Urbino swung his crop, striking her bottom with a series of audible smacks. The room remained so quiet that Amanda could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. The video continued until Urbino put down his crop and began to untie her.

"Pause," said Ruiz, clearing his throat. "Note the point where he, um, pulls down her panties."

"Noted," said Kelvin, without taking his eyes from the screen. "That was at 15:44."

Amanda noticed the monitor still showed her bent over, with her panties around her knees, her legs spread wide. She flushed.

Reflexively, she glanced at Detective Dietrick. The modest part of her hoped he wasn't paying attention, but another part of her, centered deep in her core, hoped to find him riveted. Finding his eyes glued to the screen, she felt a lump form in her throat.

"How good is the resolution?" Ruiz wanted to know.

"1080p," said Seymour. "The ultra-high-def camera was too big for her handbag."

"See if you can get a sharp eight by ten print of that shot. Prosecutor Barrington will introduce that as a separate exhibit."

Zach nodded. "To shock the jury and build sympathy. Although it might be even more effective if he's swinging the crop."

"Good suggestion, Detective." Ruiz turned toward Seymour. "Just make sure her panties are already down."

"By all means," said Amanda, sputtering as her voice rose. "In fact, why don't you print a closeup of my pussy on the front page of the New York Times." The corners of her mouth inverted, and she turned her face away.

Ruiz put his hand on her shoulder and turned her chair toward him. "Hey, I understand this process is a little embarrassing. I warned you about that. But outbursts aren't helpful."

From the other side, Devin handed her a box of tissues. "We all sympathize, but we can't have any disruptions in court. This is a good chance for you to practice keeping your emotions in check."

Amanda took two tissues and blotted her eyes, frowning when she saw a trace of her expensive, supposedly waterproof, mascara. She saw their point, but they failed to see hers: She was a victim, and now he and his team were re-victimizing her. The suggestion this somehow prepared her for another, more public re-victimization during the trial was outrageous.

She realized the video had resumed and now showed her battling with Urbino over her underwear.

"Noting panties taken down for the second time at 17:17. Bra removed at 17:53," said Kelvin. "Replacement of ligatures on victim's wrists at 18:42, and, um...."

"Full-frontal view, with restraints, at 19:12," said Ruiz in a husky voice. Kelvin typed the entry into his log.

Seymour snickered as he paused the video again. "Would you like another still print here, sir?"

Ruiz nodded, then studied the screen for a long moment.

Amanda sighed and shifted in her seat, wincing anew when her bottom flared up again. "Now you've seen every inch of me, bared for your enjoyment," she said in a brittle voice. "Can we move ahead, please?"

As the video resumed, Amanda saw Zach shift in his seat and move his note pad to cover his crotch. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, above the knee.

"Sexual contact, Urbino's hand on Amanda's breast, at 20:07," said Kelvin. "Now both hands, both breasts at 20:54."

"Holy mother of God," she heard Zach whisper, as they watched Urbino's hands deform her soft flesh, groping her again and again, rolling her nipples between his fingers until her head lolled back. She watched Zach's face, saw him wet his lips, as she relived the moment, imagining it was his hands clutching her breasts.

He loves them, she thought, he dreams of holding them. He'd be gentle, and considerate, she just knew it. He'd take his time. As she pressed her lips together to hide her smile, she realized she was wet.

Kelvin's voice intruded. "Penetration at 22:15." His keyboard clacked.

Her eyes cut to the screen, and she saw it was true. Urbino stood between her thighs, thrusting forward at a steady rhythm. Fucking her with abandon.

In the aftermath, she'd tried to convince herself this part had never happened. Tried to deny the sticky evidence coating her upper thighs, continuing to drip from her long after she thought she'd washed it all away. No matter how many times she showered, there was always more, soiling her fresh panties, reminding her of her disgraceful behavior and the stain it left behind.

* * *

Summit, New Jersey, One Week Later

Amanda awoke to mid-morning sun and forced herself to get up. While she peed, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she'd eaten only a bowl of cereal the day before. A glance in the mirror confirmed she looked terrible.

With a sigh, she drew herself up to her full height. No more moping around, she admonished herself. Time to do some chores. She put on an old, threadbare t-shirt with a torn hem and a fraying denim skirt and wrapped a worn cotton scarf around her disheveled hair.

By noon, she'd filled more than 20 bags with her late father's clothes and hauled them to her car. Mopping her forehead, she decided to make herself a tomato sandwich. Before she could finish it, the doorbell chimed.

"Detective Dietrick? What're you doing here?"

Shit, she thought, if I'd known I was having company, I'd have showered and done my hair. She certainly wouldn't have worn these ratty clothes. She didn't even have a bra on. Seeing his eyes dip, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Since their last meeting to review the video, she'd thought of Dietrick more than once. In particular, she couldn't forget his lustful expression when he'd seen her completely naked.

Now she realized she was grinning at him inanely. She dropped her smile and hoped he hadn't noticed.

He leaned against one of the columns supporting the portico. "Please, call me Zach. I have an update on your case."

She nodded, wondering absently if State Police policy permitted detectives to date their clients.

"Can I come in? I can't stay long, I left Seymour out in the car." He pointed at an unmarked car some distance down the block.

"Oh. Of course." Her cheeks pink, she turned and led him across an imposing marble-tiled front hall and through double doors into a formally furnished living room. Motioning him toward a paisley patterned wingback chair, she sat on a powder blue crushed velvet sofa opposite him.

Setting a stack of files on the coffee table, he loosened his tie, leaned forward, and rested his arms on his knees. "Urbino cut a deal with the county prosecutor's office. He pled to one count of aggravated assault. He'll get...." He referred to one of his files. "Six months' probation, a $5,000 fine, and 500 hours of community service. And he'll leave the priesthood."

She was taken aback. "No jail time? And no sex offender status?"

He shook his head. "First offense. Plus, we don't have the strongest case anymore."

She tilted her head. "I don't understand. I did the deposition."

He studied his fingernails for a moment before he met her eye. "The judge ruled your prior sexual history is admissible. In full. Urbino's attorney claims you've had hundreds of sexual partners in the last year. He found someone in Virginia to corroborate that."

Her face darkened, and she thrust out her jaw. "I can't believe it. I did everything you asked. I even let him tie me up." She choked back a sob. "He did unspeakable things to me. All for nothing."

"No, not for nothing. He's a felon now, and no longer a priest. But it would have been for nothing if we'd gone to trial." He looked away. "How do I put this delicately? His witness in Virginia claims you're into bondage. That you enjoy being tied up?"

She slumped lower on the sofa and cast her eyes toward the expensive Safavid Persian carpet. After a long moment, she gave a single nod. "Sometimes."

"We'd never convince a jury your sex with Urbino was non-consensual."

She grimaced, seeing his point.

"Anyway," he continued, "Lieutenant Ruiz asked me to return these to you." He handed her a file folder. "You can keep them, or I can destroy them if you want."

Opening the folder, she found a thick stack of eight by ten photos. The top one showed her naked, bent over Urbino's guest chair, legs spread wide, as he whipped her red bottom with his riding crop. She made a face and quickly shut the folder.

Then she realized that Zach had already studied these photos, probably multiple times. He might even have kept personal copies.

Apparently, he found her attractive. Would he have touched himself while he looked at them? The idea was exciting. She wanted him to desire her.

When she looked up, she caught him staring. She realized her short skirt had slid up. He could see her panties.

Her first impulse was to sit up and straighten her hem, but before she moved, she stopped herself. What if she let him keep looking?

She blushed fiercely now, but she tore her eyes away from his, forcing herself to watch the birds flittering among the branches in her back yard. Her legs were together, but as she fidgeted, she let her left knee creep outward. Her nipples hardened, and she knew they'd show through her thin, tattered t-shirt.

Whore, said her inner voice. Shut up, she whispered to herself.

Abruptly, she twisted in her seat, pushing her right knee up onto the cushion beside her, and she felt her hem climb further up her thigh. Without looking, she knew he could see the crotch of her panties. Was there a visible wet spot?

Zach was trying to say something about supervisory probation procedures, but now she heard him start to repeat himself. Putting on an innocent expression, she stretched her arms over her head, arching her back and thrusting her chest forward, and he stammered again. She burst out laughing.