Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 08

Red faced, he smiled back at her. "You're a naughty young woman." He wagged his finger at her. "In fact, that body of yours might be illegal. I'll have to run you in."

She shrank back, but he gripped her forearm and pulled her to her feet. "You're not going to make any trouble, are you?"

His first touch electrified her, and the ease with which he lifted her was both thrilling and frightening. She was alone in her house. But his even features and broad smile reassured her.

She grinned at him. "What if I did?" Her voice climbed into a higher register. "A woman, resisting arrest. That'd be a quandary for a handsome young detective, all alone with an important witness, wouldn't it?"

She twisted her toe into the carpet, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. "I mean, if I claimed you put your hands on me, there wouldn't be anyone else to say different, would there?"

Then she saw his smile fall away, saw his eyes narrow as his muscles tensed. Uh oh, she said to herself, you may have gone too far. What were you thinking?

Before she could react, he had cuffed her hands in front of her.

Uncertainty clouded her features. She'd wanted his attention, and hoped he'd be moved to act on his obvious interest, but she hadn't expected to be bound. Games could be fun, but this one was dangerous. Her mind flashed to the scene in Urbino's office, her memory of those events still too caustic to contemplate, and she shivered.

He scanned the room, rubbing his chin, then led her back to the front hall and beneath the grand, curving floating staircase. It took him only a moment to slip the handcuffs around one of the heavy wrought iron balusters and re-shackle her with her hands above her head. He dropped the key onto the nearby console table, atop the folder of photos.

She turned to face him, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the double height windows, and tugged ineffectually at her restraints. Her cheek twitched, and she blinked rapidly. "Let me go."

Stepping back, he looked her up and down. "You look just like in the video." He smirked. "Now, do that thing you did a minute ago. You know, stick out your tits."

She worked her jaw. "No."

Again, she saw his expression harden, and suddenly the temperature was too warm. With her arms raised high, she could smell her own sweat.

It's your own fault, she thought. You shouldn't have teased him.

This is your chance, said another voice. He's a hunk. Don't spoil it.

With a sigh, she arched her back again, feeling her cotton t-shirt stretch taut across the swell of her chest. She bit her lip, watching his face.

He stared, licking his lips. "Your nipples are hard."

He grasped the hem of her flimsy shirt and ripped it apart, leaving the shredded remnants hanging, and took her breasts in his hands. "Ever since I saw you naked, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

At his touch, her breath caught in her throat. The sensory stimulus magnified the animal attraction drawing her toward him. Noticing the way his muscles bulged against the confines of his dress shirt, she longed to put her hands on his body, to slip them inside his clothing and feel his smooth, lightly tanned skin beneath her fingertips.

But the steel bracelets brought her up short, reminding her of her helplessness. This lopsided power dynamic was not the one she'd imagined. She mewled a protest into the side of his neck.

He untied her scarf and laced his fingers through her dark mane. Pulling her head back, he kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Maintaining his grip on her breast, he popped the button off her skirt, sending it skittering into the corner, and pushed the garment down her hips, letting it slide to the floor. A moment later, her panties landed on top.

Again, he stepped back, admiring her naked body in the bright sunlight. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered."

Through the window, she saw a UPS truck turn into her street. "Close the curtains. People can see."

"I don't care," he snorted, squeezing her bottom. "Tell me what you like." He showed his teeth. "I bet you like it rough. I'm going to make you cum so hard." He gave her butt a sharp slap.

"No," she mumbled, knowing her denial was unconvincing. Yes, give it to me hard, she wanted to say. Show me how much you want me. Hammer my pussy. Maul my breasts. Be merciless.

Hurt me.

This last thought brought tears to her eyes, and she turned away, unwilling to let him see the emotions roiling her face. This was a horrifying impulse, one she couldn't express, or even countenance.

When another slap fell on her backside, her brow furrowed, and she suppressed a yelp. Even after a week, her backside hadn't fully healed.

Turning back, she saw motion in her front yard. There was something familiar about the figure making his way up her flagstone walk. He stopped, studied the house number, and began flipping the pages of his tiny notepad. "Oh, no, it's Seymour. Close the curtains. Quick, he's almost here!"

He scoffed. "That jackass. He talked about you the whole way here. I told him three times to stay in the fucking car."

Putting his hands behind her knees, he lifted her. "I'm going to do you now, just like in the video. That priest was an asshole, but he sure gave you a good fucking."

The head of his cock nestled between her slick labia, seeking entry, and she felt herself beginning to stretch, attempting to accommodate him. He felt impossibly thick. She couldn't ever remember being so wet.

But with her doorbell positioned to the right of the large sidelight window, there was no way Seymour would fail to see her. "Please, Zach. He's creepy, and he knows my name and address."

"You're so fucking tight." He began to pump his hips, stretching her further, but she sensed he still wasn't all the way in. How big was he? she wondered, as he nuzzled her, burrowing into her thick hair, inhaling her scent.

Locking his arms around her, he pushed forward again, burying himself, and she cried out. Then his thrusts came more quickly. At regular intervals, he drew back to rub the top of his cock more deliberately against her clitoris.

She moaned, unable to contain her pleasure but unwilling to give further voice to the overwhelming desire she felt for him. You want his cock, you filthy slut, said the voice in her head, but despite her shame, she felt a flush spreading over her face and upper chest and a familiar tightening in her pussy. "Oh, Zach," she whispered.

He let out a rumble from deep in his throat as he slammed into her, then paused to step the rest of the way out of his dress pants. When he resumed fucking her, she saw pleasure in his face, and need. He adjusted his grip on her legs, stretching them further apart, and she felt the base of his cock against her vulva.

"You ok?" he asked, as he began to increase his pace again.

She simply nodded, looking away. He was reaching deeper in this position, touching a part of her that few others had visited. She loved the feeling of profound fullness, and the sense of intimacy.

I'm so turned on, she thought as she panted, but I can't let myself climax. I'll make a noise, a loud one, and Seymour will hear. He'll look in the window, and he'll see me naked, with Zach inside me. He'll know I'm a whore. She put her tongue between her teeth and bit down, trying to force her gasping breaths through her nose.

But Zach was still inside her, fucking her with such raw physical power that she let her own muscles go limp. With every thrust, he stoked the blaze consuming her crotch, and as he continued, she began to lose control. Unable to pull his face toward her own, she sought him with her mouth but couldn't reach his lips.

Apparently, it took Seymour a while to confirm he had the right house. When the doorbell finally rang, it was Zach who groaned as he spurted his load deep inside her. As she'd feared, Seymour peered inside in search of the source of the sound, and he locked eyes with her for a moment before her bouncing breasts and splayed legs drew his gaze.

He's watching me get fucked, she thought, as she surrendered to her own orgasm.

"You came a long time," Zach told her when her cries finally subsided, continuing to thrust his still-hard cock deep. "The way you kept clenching my dick felt amazing."

"You can stop now. Put me down. He's watching us." The doorbell rang again.

His happy expression vanished. "Oh, I can, can I? Are you done with me, now that you've cum?" Pulling out, he set her on her feet, began to turn away, and stopped. Picking up her checkered cotton scarf, he tied it over her eyes.

Her heart pounded as panic overtook her. I can't move, and now I can't see, she thought.

She fought to control her breathing, and as she turned her head, she realized the scarf was not totally opaque. She could still tell light from dark.

A shadow crossed in front of her, and then she heard her front door swing open.

"Holy shit, you fucked her. You chained her up like a dog, and blindfolded her, and fucked the shit out of her."

"Shut up. Didn't I tell you to wait in the car?"

"It's ok, man, I won't tell Ruiz." He chuckled. "He'd have your ass on traffic duty for a month. But don't worry, I won't rat you out. If you cut me in."

For a long moment, Zach said nothing. Then, leaving Seymour standing on the porch, he wrapped his large hands around her slender shoulders and leaned close. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever had, and one of the nicest. Initially, I didn't want to hurt you or humiliate you. But then I realized you wanted me to."

He released her, and to Seymour he said, "Get inside." Then the door slammed shut.

* * *

Amanda remembered meeting Seymour Minkus. She'd gathered he was a recent recruit, which made him around 23, not that much younger than herself, although his short stature and slight build contributed to his unimposing appearance.

Seymour had leered at her, and later he'd snickered rudely when the video showed a full-frontal view of her body, demonstrating his immaturity. Since then, he'd done nothing to redeem himself. As a potential sexual partner, he was pretty far down her list. Maybe even at the bottom.

But she reminded herself that she was well into the triple digits with her partner count now, and many of them were habituation clients to whom she felt no attraction. Others she'd serviced only to advance her mission. Somehow, she'd survived those encounters. However, most had been nominally consensual, even if heavily coerced.

What Seymour was about to do to her now was different. There was nothing consensual about it.

"I can't see you, but I know who you are, Seymour. Don't do it."

With a grunt, he lifted her, slinging her ankles over his shoulders, and she grimaced as her tired arms took her full weight again. He positioned the tip of his cock between her labia, but failed to penetrate her. He tried again.

You're too high, she thought to herself, but I don't want you inside me, and I'm not going to help you.

"Please, Seymour. You don't want your first time to be... forced. Think of your future."

"It's not my first time," he said with an edge in his voice. "And you want it, I can tell. Women like you always want it. You just won't admit it."

On his third try, he managed to slip inside her. He began to pump her with a steady cadence, shifting his grip to her breasts.

She clenched her jaw against his clumsy hold on her sensitive flesh as she huffed in time with his thrusts. "Women like me how?"

Her encounter with Zach had left her stretched out, and full of his cum, so Seymour's cock moved inside her with little friction. You can do this, she told herself, he's not even hurting you much. It's nothing. You don't care.

This never happened.

"Women with all your long hair, waving your tits in our faces, wiggling your round asses." He began to thrust more vigorously. "You act so superior, and you think you own us. You think we're not good enough for you. But really, secretly, you all just want to get fucked." He punctuated these last words with his hips, then grunted a few times as he emptied himself inside her.

* * *

After Zach and Seymour finally left, it took Amanda just a few minutes to locate the sharp corner of the wooden stair to her right and use it to push the scarf away from her eyes. She could see the key to the cuffs, on top of the folder of photos, on the console table, far out of reach.

However, her handbag dangled from the newel post. With her foot, she hooked the strap, pulled it closer, and upended it, dumping out her phone. Using her toe, she managed to scroll through her contacts. However, there were few local alternatives trustworthy enough to help her. After agonizing, she made a choice.

Just when she was sure her call would go to voice mail, it was answered.

"Katharine! Thank God. I'm in a terrible fix."

"Oh, are you, now? How unfortunate." Her voice carried a sardonic note.

Her heart sank. "Please don't be mad. I'm sorry for not keeping in touch."

"What about for turning your back on me after mass, the Sunday before last? Are you sorry for that too?"

"Yes. I had to, um, meet someone."

"I know. I saw Monsignor follow you to his office." She sucked her teeth. "I just realized, that's the last time I saw him. He's disappeared. What did you do to him?"

"Katharine. I can explain. But first I need your help. I don't have anyone else I can call. Can you come over? Please?"

She gave a long sigh. "Ten minutes." She ended the call.

A short time later, Amanda heard Katharine's distinctive knock, followed by a louder pounding. "It's open," she called out.

She watched her friend's eyes widen as she caught sight of Amanda's naked body, shackled to the staircase. It occurred to her then that Katharine had seen her a few times in just her bra and panties, but never fully nude. She reddened to her ears.

Katharine slowly shook her head, and for a moment Amanda saw sympathy in her face. Then her jaw jutted out. "What kind of sick, disgusting game are you playing?"

"You don't understand." Her voice cracked.

Katharine put her hands on her hips. "Enlighten me."

She followed Katharine's eyes to her breasts, still visibly reddened, then continued lower to the spider's web of dried semen decorating the insides of her thighs, and she hung her head. When she finally spoke, she could barely get her words past the lump in her throat.

"He's a detective. With the state police. He came over to update me --"

Katharine cut her off. "Was he arresting you? Usually, they let you keep your clothes."

"No, I was the victim."

"Who was the perpetrator?"

Amanda looked away. "Monsignor Urbino."

Katharine's hands clenched into fists. "I knew it. What have you done to him?"

She thought of Monsignor being led away in handcuffs, and her lower lip trembled. "It wasn't like that."

But something didn't make sense. Why was Katharine so angry? Apparently, her feelings for Monsignor ran deeper than she'd realized. Was there more to their relationship than she'd suspected?

Forcing herself to put these thoughts aside, she nodded toward the console table. "The key to my cuffs is on the table there."

Katharine picked up the key, then opened the folder beneath. The key fell out of her hand, tinkling on the marble floor. "What the fuck, Amanda?"

Then she recognized Urbino. Her face reddened and the corners of her mouth turned down. Amanda thought she might cry. "Are you blackmailing him? Or did you turn him in to the police?"

"Unlock my cuffs. Then I'll tell you everything."

Katharine leaned closer, and spoke through her teeth. "No, you'll tell me everything first."

* * *

Later that night, as she guided her Mercedes down the New Jersey Turnpike, Amanda struggled to bring her emotions under control. Recent events had taken her on a roller coaster ride, and her mind bounced at random from her disastrous encounter with Urbino to her video review with Ruiz and his team, to Dietrick's exhilarating visit, to Seymour's assault, to her upsetting confrontation with Katharine.

At this late hour, traffic on the Delaware Memorial Bridge was light, and as she crested the top of the span, she realized the powerful sedan was going too fast, as it was prone to do, and she let off the accelerator. Sometimes the police liked to wait for speeders on the Delaware side. Normally, the police released her quickly when she flashed her CIA credentials, but it was a nuisance she preferred to avoid.

At this rate, she'd be back in Virginia in time for her hastily scheduled early morning appointment with Dr. Underwood. He'd helped her make sense of the previous assault she'd suffered during her mission to Iran; maybe he'd provide similar help with her most recent incidents. Hopefully this time she wouldn't have to fuck him so many times before they worked it all out.

She realized then just how often she was using sexual favors to get what she needed. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't morally defensible. In fact, she was shocked at her own behavior, and deeply ashamed of herself. The fact that many of these favors were coerced, or even forced, was of little consolation.

Becoming a CIA field agent was a conscious decision she'd made, an active choice, and she'd been fully informed of the sexual sacrifices this role required. But she'd never expected those debauched practices to take over her life, to become a defining element of her identity. That was not a choice, it was simply something that had happened, a gradual infiltration, accompanied by an insidious corruption of her moral fiber.

As she merged onto I-495, these dark thoughts threatened her tenuous hold on her equilibrium, and she gripped her steering wheel tightly, until she could feel her pulse in her fingers. She would discuss these issues with Dr. Underwood, but until then, she would have to put them aside.

Focus on something positive, she admonished herself. Tomorrow, you can meet up with Michelle to develop the material for their upcoming training, or absorb yourself in planning for your next mission. If you keep a low profile, you might manage to escape Percy's notice and avoid getting fucked by the latest addition to his roster of old codgers. It would be nice to have a couple of evenings alone, to ease her soreness in a warm bath.

By the time she pulled into her driveway, it was well after midnight. But there was still time for a few hours of sleep before heading over to see Dr. Underwood.