Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 10

Content warning: This chapter includes a sexual assault which may be triggering for some readers, as well as pervasive humiliation, coercion, and objectification. If those themes don't interest you, you may wish to choose a different story. You've been warned!

Special thanks to NikkiSparrow for her extensive, insightful feedback and helpful suggestions.

Georgetown, District of Columbia, January 2008

Oh, God, are you ever going to finish, thought Amanda, as Werner flipped her onto her back, bodily tossed her toward the foot of the bed, grabbed her ankles, fell atop her, and resumed his relentless pounding. She cut her eyes toward the bedside clock, and saw it was after midnight. He'd been inside her forty-five minutes.

Initially, she'd welcomed his physicality and lubricated heavily, but now she was growing tired. Her only respite had been a moment inside her mouth, or more accurately, down her throat, before she'd pushed him off. She remembered her tiny bottle of lube, but it remained inside the zipped pocket of her Chanel handbag, on the desk in the other room.

She heard him snort repeatedly, and realized he was finally climaxing. You belong in a barnyard, she thought, not atop my Etru duvet, inside my $2,700-a-night suite with its view of the Potomac and the glittering lights beyond.

Why did you pick him up? she wondered. But she knew why: she couldn't bear another evening alone, thinking about Grant. How she longed to kiss his grinning face, to see the desire in his eyes, to be cradled within his powerful arms as he buried his face in her hair.

To be dominated, and controlled. To become his plaything, to be proudly displayed to others according to his whim. To be shared with whomever he wished. To bask for a moment in the hot glow of their needy, grasping admiration, and then be rescued.

To belong to him.

Werner rolled off her, snapped off his condom, and tossed it onto the nightstand next to her Van Cleef and Arpels diamond earrings. He wiped his hand on her hip.

Her lip curled, but she turned her face away. "Before you get up, could you, um, hold me for a minute?" Could you go down on me, she wanted to add, and tell me I'm beautiful? She extended her arm toward him, her fingers stretching, grasping, but not quite reaching his back.

He found his boxers and pulled them on. Sliding further out of reach, he lifted the phone. "Room service? Bring me two shrimp cocktails, two ribeyes well done with extra ketchup, two fries, two Budweisers, and two hot fudge sundaes. Room 1532."

He should have asked how she liked her steak, she thought. She preferred hers medium rare, au poivre, without the ketchup. But she hadn't eaten since lunch, and she was too ravenous to quibble.

"Did you want anything, um... babe?"

"Amanda."

"Huh?" He turned on the TV and switched the channel to WWE Wrestling.

"My name is Amanda, as I said when we met, and again in the elevator. And again, an hour ago, after you called me Abigail."

He pulled on his Dockers. "Don't get your panties in a wad."

Blood rushed to her face, and she clenched her fists and drew in a deep breath. "You --"

"Hush. Oh, my god, it's the Lingerie Pillow Fight. Ashley is going to fuck them up. Look at the tits on that girl. The best part is, even if she wins, they'll make her take everything off at the end."

The doorbell chimed, and he got up to open the door for the attendant, who wheeled a gleaming trolley into the living room. As she switched off the TV and pulled the duvet over herself, the man discreetly steered around her blouse, skirt, bra, and panties scattered over the carpet, leading like a trail of breadcrumbs from the door to the bed. Spreading a linen tablecloth over the coffee table, he laid out cutlery and prepared to serve.

Reaching behind him, Werner lifted a plate from the cart and began stuffing shrimp into his mouth. Cocktail sauce dribbled down his chin onto the carpet.

Amanda savored the steaks' aroma, and her stomach rumbled. While she watched, Werner tore some meat into ragged hunks and wolfed it down. She felt a powerful urge to join him, but the attendant was still scooping ice cream for the sundaes, and she had not a stitch to wear. Werner devoured his fries while he watched.

Finally, the attendant served the sundaes and turned to go. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

Werner held up his hand. "Babe, can you tip the man."

Shit. Her handbag was on the desk, in the living room. She considered asking Werner to retrieve two twenties, but the bag held a thick wad of hundreds and her black Amex card, not to mention her compact Sig Sauer P238 and her Agency ID.

Brass it out, she told herself, setting her jaw. Hopping up, she marched briskly toward the desk, fighting back the overwhelming impulse to cover herself with her hands, her face reddening in shame as the attendant's gaze skittered between her bare vulva and the sway of her unfettered breasts. Finding the bills, she turned, rolling her eyes when she found him still staring. "Here. Thank you. That'll be all. Yes, I'm sure. Run along now, thank you!"

Hearing the tinkling of a spoon against glass, she turned back to Werner to find him snickering at her, the wreckage of dinner strewn across the stained tablecloth. "His eyes popped out," he said, between bites of ice cream. "You could've at least put on your bra and panties. But when you have a body like yours, I guess it's fun to watch men's reactions."

"You asshole. You ate all of it."

He shrugged. "You didn't want anything."

She bared her teeth. "You're a disgusting pig. You eat like a pig. You talk like a pig. You're a pig in bed. And when you come, you snort like a fucking pig!"

His face darkened, and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Well, you're a lousy lay. You fuck like a dead woman. So, fuck you!" He snatched up his shirt and stormed toward the door. As he pulled it open, an ice cream bowl glanced off his shoulder, spattering him with fudge.

After the door closed, despair overwhelmed her. She cried so hard, her shoulders shook.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

The following morning, Amanda sat in a conference room, trying to focus on the task at hand. Weeks earlier, she'd been chosen to serve as an instructor for the next training class at the Farm, which prepared the most promising new agents to become field agents in the National Clandestine Service. Many CIA agents dreamed of joining NCS, but few were selected. To be picked to serve as an instructor was an even greater honor.

"That wasn't bad," said Jack Richards, the following morning. "But there's no need to go over the waivers again. Also, emphasize there are very few seats, so it's very competitive."

"The waivers remind them of what they already agreed," managed Amanda, her voice slightly hoarse, her mind muddled from lack of sleep. "Here, I uncovered an issue."

"Shame, she was quite a hottie. But fair enough." He lifted the phone. "Natasha, send in the next candidate."

As the woman entered, Amanda took out her next file. "You must be Ciara Erikson. I'm Amanda Stevens, and this is Jack Richards."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Ciara, smiling and shaking hands.

"We're here to evaluate you for training at the Farm. As you know, our next session begins in three weeks. Competition is stiff, so if you really want to become an NCS field agent, and serve at the tip of the spear, you need to outshine your peers."

Ciara nodded, her face expressionless.

Not a trace of fidgeting, thought Amanda. She's remarkably poised for a 22-year-old, and so cute with her little button nose, high cheekbones, pale, flawless skin, and ash-blonde hair spilling over her narrow shoulders.

"You'll recall the waivers you signed before being hired. We'll revisit those topics today, to measure your ability to withstand the unique stresses encountered by female agents."

Another nod.

Jack rose, looming over Ciara, glowering. "You're a skinny little bitch. Are you even five feet tall? How much do you weigh?"

Ciara tilted her head back and met his eye. "I'm a little muscular. I'm five feet two, and 108 pounds." Her tone was musical.

He scoffed. "You don't have much of a figure. Maybe you exercise too much. And your voice sounds stupid. Typical dumb blonde. Did you even finish high school?"

He's overdoing it, thought Amanda. To her eye, Ciara had a feminine shape.

The hint of a smile came to Ciara's lips. "I have a B.S. in Political Science from FSU, with a 3.6 GPA. I was also co-captain of the varsity gymnastics team. We won the regionals the year before last. Oh, and my IQ is 129."

Please, let him not ask her to put both feet behind her head, thought Amanda.

Jack waved his hand, then gave her a thin black leather collar. "Put this on."

Ciara raised one eyebrow, lifted her hair, and buckled the collar around her slender neck.

Jack clipped on a leather leash and jerked it. "Heel."

Ciara dropped to her hands and knees, following Jack across the carpet. When he stopped, she sat back on her haunches, holding her hands like paws, tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth, head tilted as she looked up at him.

Brilliant, thought Amanda, smiling.

"Give me the collar," said Jack with a sigh, his voice clipped.

As he sat down, Amanda rose. "Stand up."

Ciara complied, displaying perfect posture.

"Nice sweater. That shade of emerald is flattering. Is it cashmere?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Merino wool."

"Give it here."

She glanced toward Jack. Taking a breath, she crossed her arms, grasped the lower edges of her sweater, and drew it upward. Avoiding his eyes, she dangled it from her outstretched hand.

Amanda's gaze lingered on Ciara's torso, taking in her dimensions, diminutive but much more pleasing than her loose-fitting sweater had suggested. Ciara pinked.

Amanda stepped behind her. "Give me your skirt."

Her eyes flicked toward Jack again.

Amanda shifted her stance. "Is there a problem?"

"No." Her face pinched, but she reached to her hip and drew down her zipper. Turning away to slide the garment down her legs, she raised each foot in turn, then handed it to Amanda.

She stood rigid now, chin lowered, hands clasped tightly. As Amanda circled, looking her over, her eyes darted back and forth.

Bingo, thought Amanda. She values her modesty.

What was it Jack called Ciara earlier? 'A tasty little dish of Häagen-Dazs?' Amanda found 'Norse goddess' more respectful. But respect wasn't her objective. She was probing for her breaking point.

Ciara stood side-on to Jack, and Amanda inferred that she welcomed his eyes neither on her barely covered front nor on her equally vulnerable backside. "Turn toward Jack and take three steps forward."

Despite her small steps, she ended with her open-toed sandals touching Jack's black leather brogues. He grinned, his eyes sliding from her chest to her panties.

Amanda winced. "What size are you?"

Ciara's upper lip quivered.

"What's your bra size?" she repeated.

She directed her soft response toward the floor.

Amanda heard it and made a note, then forced herself to be unfair, and cruel. "They sound unimpressive, but let's see them anyway."

Ciara looked at Amanda wide-eyed, nostrils flaring, and Amanda felt a lump in the pit of her stomach. Would she display defiance, or submission? Amanda wasn't sure which she wanted.

With trembling fingers, Ciara reached back, huffing at her fingers' sudden lack of dexterity. When the ends of her backstrap finally parted, she paused before shutting her eyes and letting the cups fall away.

Amanda watched Jack's grin fade as he swallowed visibly. Ciara's breasts were firm and high, with small, pink, upturned nipples.

They're lovely, she wanted to say. You should be proud, not ashamed.

Remember your goal, she reminded herself. How much further can you push her?

She looked at Ciara with cold eyes. "I'll take those panties now."

Her face darkened, and she drew in a breath as she moved her shaking hands to her hips. "Just do it," Amanda heard her whisper, before she turned her face away and ripped her panties down her legs. Her whole body trembled.

Amanda bit her lip. No sympathy, she reminded herself. "That won't do. Pull them back up. This time, look Jack in the eye, and rock your hips while you inch them down. No, try again. Slowly, like you're giving him a little show. Lips apart. Look at him through your eyelashes."

She jerked her panties back into place, and Amanda heard her respiration deepen as she calmed herself. Furrowing her brow, she trained her eyes on Jack's, and gradually worked her panties off her hips.

When they were all the way down, Amanda took them. "Better, but as a seduction, not very convincing. You're supposed to enjoy it."

She turned to Jack. "Are you going to get, um, up close and personal now, or should we move to the next item?"

Jack checked his watch, then adjusted himself and stood. "I'd like to, but unfortunately, we're out of time. Thanks for coming, Ciara. You'll hear from us." He marked an X by her name, then lifted the phone to summon the next candidate.

As Ciara dressed, Amanda received a text from Percy, and as she read it, her mouth twisted. With a huff, she gathered her files and rushed off.

* * *

Later that morning, Amanda rushed down the corridor toward Percy's office, swearing as she tried not to stumble in her four-inch heels. Stopping in front of his assistant's desk, she cleared her throat. "I'm here for our weekly, um, mentoring session."

Natasha waved her inside without looking up.

"You're late," said Percy, doing a double-take when he spotted the red-bordered envelope she clutched.

"Sorry, doing my best." She sat down. "Could you reduce my habituation load until candidate selection is finished?"

He folded his arms. "You wouldn't have a problem if you outsourced some."

She grimaced. "I'm still struggling with that. And with calling the women my stable, like they were horses to be bred." She sighed. "They're all in their early twenties, and not very experienced. The recent assignments - those guys are all demanding, and dominant. None of my women have ever been exploited that way."

"Their innocence is part of the appeal."

She nodded.

"Anyway, Silas is not so bad."

She nodded again, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, her cheeks reddening. Silas had been a last-minute addition to her schedule, but at least he'd been quick. Even so, she'd needed to go straight to her meeting with Wilson Blodgett, without the chance to clean up, and now she felt an uncomfortable wetness as Silas' ejaculate oozed into the crotch of her expensive panties.

She flashed back to the moment when Silas had wordlessly motioned her into his office. He'd been meeting with a young man and woman from his team. He hadn't even waited for them to clear out before ordering her to unbutton her blouse, scolding her when she initially failed to open it wide so they could all see her pretty bra.

He'd told her to raise her skirt and lower her panties, and made her stand there holding the gathered folds at her waist, her panties stretched between her knees, her face ablaze with humiliation, while they all stared at her exposed pussy.

When he approached, he didn't kiss her, or touch her hair, he simply fondled her breasts through her bra before bending her over his desk. Only then did he dismiss his subordinates, only one of whom had the decency to be embarrassed. Next time she had to brief them on her decrypted intercepts, it wouldn't be easy remembering they'd both seen her pussy. Her face reddened anew.

"What did Wilson want?"

"What? Oh, we discussed a code word op. I can't say more." She fingered the still-sealed envelope with its special markings reading, Top Secret -- Sensitive Compartmented Information. She couldn't even open it here. She wouldn't relax until she'd read the file and locked it away.

"You still should have been here on time."

She frowned, biting back a sarcastic reference to time travel. Provoking Percy didn't pay. "Afterwards, he made me crawl beneath his desk and give him a blowjob. I can't stand him."

Percy cackled. "That explains your makeup. But you're going on leave. Driving down to Fort Bragg to see that meathead SEAL."

Her jaw tightened. Opening her compact, she saw her lipstick was badly smeared. Blushing and turning away, she removed smudges of lipstick from her cheek and chin and applied a fresh coat. Making sure Percy couldn't see, she used a tissue to wipe away a stray glob of semen from beneath her ear.

Repairs complete, she turned back. "His name is Grant, and he's very intelligent. But that's cancelled now." She tried not to show her disappointment.

Percy smirked. "You talk as if he's your boyfriend. He didn't even know you were coming, so I doubt you'd have gotten past the gate." He rose and began to massage Amanda's shoulders.

She flinched, aware that Percy's shoulder rubs were typically a prelude to more objectionable groping. "They'd let me in. Admiral Lowell wants to see me."

He scoffed. "Sit still. That was your plan? Drop Lowell's name at the gate, let him do his ass inspection, then ditch your minder, show up at Grant's house, bitch-slap his latest floozie, and drag his fat cock over to the Justice of the Peace?"

Her face darkened. She'd hoped to find Grant alone, and didn't plan to marry him, at least not yet, but the rest was truer than she wanted to admit.

Percy's door opened, and Natasha leaned in. "Harlan Kimmel's on line 2." Harlan was the Deputy Director of Operations. As she spoke, a man Amanda didn't recognize slipped in behind her.

"Take over," Percy told him, stepping behind his desk and lifting his handset.

Natasha watched the man move behind Amanda and replace Percy's hands with his own. She gave Amanda a mock-sad face, then withdrew.

The man slid his hands outward, popping two buttons off her expensive burgundy silk blouse, and when he squeezed the points of her shoulders with powerful fingers, she turned her head to meet his eye. "I'm Amanda."

"I know," he said curtly, stripping off another button as he pushed her blouse to her elbows. His fingers found the straps of her bra.

She drew in a sharp breath as her hands flew up, but her shoulder straps already dangled uselessly. She felt a hard tug at her back and looked down with astonishment at her own bare breasts.

He took them both in hand. "Your pictures don't do you justice," he said, mauling her pliant flesh.

Against her will, her nipples hardened, just as they had earlier when Silas briefly groped her, and again when Wilson more comprehensively amused himself, all of which fell on skin still tender from Werner's rough handling. "No," she said, grasping his wrists, though the sound from her throat betrayed something more than discomfort.

"Yes," he said, pulling upward on her nipples until she rose from her seat, sucking in air through her teeth.

Percy hung up. To Amanda, he said, "Candidate review with Harlan at 2:00." As the stranger unzipped her skirt, sending it to her ankles, Percy grabbed her breasts roughly from behind.

She drew in a shaky breath. "Who even are you?"

Hooking his fingers into her elastic, the stranger drew her panties to mid-thigh, wrinkling his nose when he spotted the crotch panel, fouled with Silas' load. "You get around, don't you?" Releasing the elastic, he let them fall atop her skirt, then pushed her backwards over Percy's round conference table.

She fell back onto her elbows, releasing a strangled quack as he gripped her throat. While he nudged her knees apart and unlimbered his cock, Percy looked at Natasha. "Reserve the big conference room."

He's going to fuck me right here, with the door open, she thought. If Natasha made another slut-shaming wisecrack, she'd scream.