Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 13

As Christophe passed Kayla, he lifted his gaze from her crotch long enough to catch her eye. "When Cloutier's done with you, your pussy belongs to me. Don't forget." Genevieve simpered at her, then took Christophe's arm as they headed for the stairs.

As they left, Damian snapped more pictures, and Cloutier began to work Kayla's panties off her hips, pushing them lower. "Open your legs," he told her, in a tone that brooked no argument, and after a beat, she complied, tightly stretching the bit of silky fabric between her splayed thighs. Raising her skirt again, he stuffed her hem beneath her belt, leaving her fully exposed and keeping both his hands free. As Damian continued to photograph her, Cloutier's fingers lewdly spread her labia for the camera.

"Look at your pink hole," he told her. "You're such a fucking slut."

Kayla flinched at his insult. She might have made subtle light of his crass language or circular reasoning, but her overwhelming shame left her speechless.

The photo session ended with Damian's promise to bring over the printed photos later for Kayla to sign. Cloutier babbled on about exactly where on each picture he planned to make her place her autograph, then led her upstairs.

Just then, Bijou stepped out of line, and Amanda got her first good look at the woman to her left, a dark-haired, leggy beauty. For a moment, they made eye contact, and Amanda felt a prickle creep up her spine. The woman was young, not quite 20 by Amanda's estimation, with the sober eyes and Slavic countenance of a natural-born Russian. Her expression belonged to someone with experience beyond her years, someone governed by a powerful sense of duty and a willingness to sacrifice her own needs for the greater good.

Someone like herself.

Amanda heard Charles call her Nikki, but before she could speculate further, he engaged her in discussion, obscuring her from view again.

While they spoke, Bijou boldly approached Levrier, leaning in to kiss his cheek, leaving behind a smear of hot pink lipstick. "I can't believe you're going to be President," she told him breathlessly, reaching in to straighten his tie. "Do you like my dress?" She turned and looked back over her shoulder. "Does it flatter my ass?"

To her chagrin, Levrier turned away. He'd spotted Ciara, and while Amanda watched, he stepped closer to the petite blonde and put his hands on her svelte waist, as though taking possession of a breathtaking object d'art he'd just purchased.

Ciara's smile lacked warmth, but determination showed in the set of her jaw. Clad in a figure-hugging magenta sweater and equally snug-fitting black jeans, she looked poised to jump up and scissor her legs around Levrier's hips, and he appeared just as ready to carry her away at any moment.

Amanda needed to act quickly. Pulling her bottom away from Mr. Anouilh's grasp, she stepped behind the other hostesses and headed for her mentee.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Levrier, I'm not familiar with the film," Ciara was saying, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Call me Jacques. I'm surprised you haven't seen it," he muttered. "Regardless, White is a fairly dark film, ironically. We're going to reenact two scenes. The first takes place in a Paris hair salon. You'll play Dominique, and I'll be Karol --"

"Ok, but you're not cutting my hair." She pushed her long, blonde tresses behind her shoulders.

"Don't worry," he said, exasperated. "Didn't Charles give you the screenplay?"

"Maybe I can help," said Amanda, squeezing in between Ciara and Severine and touching his hand. "I'm familiar with the film. In fact, I could play Dominique from memory."

Ciara glared at Amanda. "Who asked you?"

Charles leaned closer to Levrier as he eyed Amanda's breasts. "Perhaps you could use them both?"

Levrier considered the idea, looking back and forth at them. "Yes. They're both hot as fuck. Let's shoot it both ways, and see who gives me a bigger stiffy."

Shit, thought Amanda, as she walked behind Levrier. At his elbow, Ciara chattered away, ingratiating herself and stepping so close that the back of his hand brushed her hip. Just ahead, Nikki walked hand-in-hand with a stocky, middle-aged client, believably portraying a wide-eyed ingenue.

On reaching the second floor, they encountered a long hallway. Amanda surmised the rooms on one side faced the front of the house, and those on the other overlooked the courtyard. The door to the first room on the right stood open, and she heard Kayla's breathless voice from within. Mr. Cloutier had her on her back, atop the canopied four-poster bed, plowing her with abandon.

The foot of the bed faced the doorway, and the top of its mattress stood at chest level. Amanda had an unobstructed view of the area between Kayla's lovely legs, and she found the sight of Cloutier's fat cock thrusting deep into Kayla's pussy to be arresting. His abdomen slapped the backs of her thighs with every stroke, and the creaking of the antique cherry bedframe competed with Kayla's high-pitched, passionate cries. They all stopped to gawk for a minute before moving on.

To Amanda, Kayla now seemed to be enjoying herself. Did she not realize she had an audience? Amanda wondered.

Further on, the hallway opened onto a large seating area, furnished with several divans and chaise longues. Christophe stood in the center, unzipping the back of Genevieve's slinky black cocktail dress. When Levrier spotted his wife, his head jerked back. He stopped in mid-stride, then stumbled back a step.

"Evening, Jacques," said Christophe with a wide grin, pushing the open dress off Genevieve's shoulders. Underneath, she wore only a pair of black lace panties. Christophe reached around to her bare breasts, alternately cupping, jiggling, and squeezing them as he studied Levrier's reaction. "I'd forgotten how firm these are. Oh, you don't mind, Jacques, do you?"

"Of course, he minds," said Genevieve, grabbing Christophe's hard cock through his briefs.

Levrier's face darkened, and he fisted his hands. While he watched, Christophe drew down her panties, and Genevieve turned toward Levrier with a cruel smile on her lips, rolling her hips, her eyes dancing. Meanwhile, Christophe shed his briefs and reclined onto a red velvet divan. As Genevieve climbed astride him, Levrier seemed unable to look away. He was still staring when Leola arrived and gently pulled him along toward their destination.

Damian was waiting, and he held the door for the group as they entered. To the right, in front of a pair of mirrors, stood two hair salon stations, upholstered in white vinyl, so new they still had their clear polyethylene wrapping. Opposite sat a row of four black straight-backed chairs. In between, a long-haired young man stood behind a heavy, dolly-mounted professional grade video camera. He removed a new SD card from its plastic case and inserted it into the camera, pushing two spares back into the outside pocket of his bag.

Levrier walked to the row of black chairs, stopping to unbutton his shirt collar and loosen his tie. Still short-tempered and out of sorts, his color remained high, but he lay down on the chairs and rather unconvincingly pretended to sleep. As Jean removed the protective wrap from the workstations, the cameraman activated his key, fill, and back lighting, began to record video, and cued Amanda.

Amanda walked into the shot, spotted Levrier, and frowned. Grabbing a nearby hairbrush, she flung it at him, unintentionally striking him in the forehead. As Levrier put his hand to the small mark, she turned, lifted the phone, and dialed. "Police?"

Back in character, Levrier sat up and held out the key to the salon. "No, please."

Amanda hung up the phone and approached with her palm extended. Levrier held the key just out of reach, and she swiped at it, then grappled with him. He pretended to swallow the key, only to reveal he still held it in his hand.

Levrier caressed Amanda's cheek, then toyed with her long, dark hair, taking her face in his palms, showing plausible affection, until Amanda bared her teeth and pushed them away. Levrier kept hold of Amanda's hand, bringing it to his lips before sliding it down his body to his crotch, letting her feel his evident hardness.

Amanda gave him a bitter smile, then pretended to give in to her own arousal, unzipping his grey corduroys and lifting her skirt, unable to avoid giving the camera a glimpse of her panties as she climbed astride him. Meanwhile, Levrier began to unbutton the front of her blouse. When he had it all the way open, he hooked his arm behind her to unfasten her bra, and Amanda reached beneath her skirt to grasp his swollen cock.

In the movie, Amanda remembered this shot showed her character from the shoulders up, presumably to preserve the well-known, slightly built young actress's modesty and spare her the indignity of her co-star's hands on her chest. But Amanda was more generously endowed, and couldn't command the leading lady's influence and power, particularly in these compromised circumstances. As Levrier slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders, pulled down the cups, and grasped her exposed breasts, the cameraman dollied in, and she knew he was gratuitously filming much more of her than the script required.

Reminding herself of the mission's importance, and the relative inconsequence of her own personal comfort, she played her part faithfully, planting her spike heels on the hardwood floor, unobtrusively pulling aside her center gusset, and rocking her hips, inching his hardness inside her. She then took a deep breath and drove her body down onto his spear.

Everything she knew about Levrier repulsed her, and taking him inside herself, without so much as a condom to separate them, would have been difficult anywhere. But fucking him here, with so many people ogling her, was particularly odious, and pretending to do so for her own pleasure was humiliating. Yet she doubted her ability to move her hips credibly beneath her skirt without an actual cock inside her.

She caught a glimpse of the top of Ciara's head, as the young blonde bounced on her tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse of the action. However, Damian, Jean, and the others were taller, and as they indulged their own prurient interests, they blocked Ciara's view.

Amanda managed just two more grim-faced strokes before Levrier groaned, threw back his head, and scrunched up his eyes, pretending to cum much too quickly. As required, his costar wore a scornful expression as she jeered at him. "Well?"

"Sorry," said Levrier, persuasively shamefaced.

Amanda's laugh was suitably haughty and derisive.

The scene ended, but Levrier kept his grip on Amanda's breasts and continued to move his still- turgid cock inside her. The cameraman finally stopped filming. "Did you want to do another take?"

Reluctantly, Levrier allowed Amanda to get up. As he tucked himself away, his eye fell on Ciara, still trying to get a good look at Amanda from behind the others. "No, let's do the next take with Brigitte." As Amanda retreated, rebuttoning her blouse, he turned onto his side, repositioned a crumpled towel beneath his head, and pretended to sleep again.

Ciara came forward and bent to retrieve the hairbrush, giving Amanda a hard, defiant look that said, 'You may think you performed well, but prepare to be beaten.'

Amanda hung her head, silently begging Ciara to allow her protector to save her from impending disaster. Yet she understood her fellow agent's ambition, and her need to prove herself capable. Ciara would never accept Amanda's instinctive urge to shield her people.

Moreover, it was Ciara's resemblance to Julia Delpy that had caused Levrier to choose her in the first place. Amanda's efforts to displace her subordinate had always been an uphill battle.

The camera rolled, Ciara flung the hairbrush, Levrier awakened, and Ciara called the police. When they wrestled over the key, Ciara was a little too forceful, and the politician grimaced as she bent his arm, but he managed to hang onto the key.

Once again, Levrier's trousers bulged noticeably before Ciara's hand arrived. She gamely freed his cock from his pants, then glanced only a moment at the assembled group watching attentively before she unclasped her own narrow leather belt and shimmied down her skin-tight jeans. She tried to keep her wispy panties in place, but her jeans kept pulling them down. After they had to repeat the shot, the presidential candidate instructed her to let them slide off with her pants.

When she finally freed her feet from her tangled clothes and threw her leg over Levrier, there was no way to avoid flashing her bare pussy, but that was nowhere near as embarrassing as gyrating her hips repeatedly, working the knobby head of his thick cock into her tight pussy while everyone watched him split her glistening labia and slither into her, inch by inch.

Meanwhile, Levrier pushed up her clingy, bright pink top and sprang the catch on her lacy bra, playing with her breasts in obvious delight as the camera lingered over a full frontal shot before dollying in for a closeup. Levrier was so absorbed in pawing her globes that Ciara was obliged to take his full length inside herself several more times before he remembered to pretend to cum.

For Ciara, ridiculing him for his failure came easily, and she leaned into it, glowering at him with palpable nastiness. "Is that all you've got?"

Levrier wasn't small, but it was only when she saw his reaction that Ciara recognized his oversensitivity. Again, his face darkened, and his features deformed into an ugly expression. The camera was no longer filming, but he shifted his grip to her bottom, sliding his finger into her crack until he poked at her asshole with malevolent intent.

"No." She broke character, attempting to rise onto her toes, but he held her in place, twisting his unlubricated finger, seeking entry. She managed to writhe out of his grip and stood up, her black look no longer contrived.

Levrier angrily motioned her back into place, but Jean interceded. "Wouldn't you like to save that for the next scene, sir?"

Levrier didn't respond for a long moment, but finally, he nodded. "Good idea. Take the girls to the set for Scene 2. You're in charge." He headed off toward the courtyard.

"Of course." Jean ushered Amanda and Ciara through the same large sitting area where they'd earlier encountered Christophe and Genevieve. On the far side, he directed the two women through a doorway.

Jean's voice was brusque, and to Amanda, his French carried connotations of smug superiority. "Tu es la premiere. Deshabille-toi."

You're up first. Take off your clothes.

He may as well have added, bitch.

He stood watching, arms crossed, feet planted, attempting to look down his nose at her despite his lack of sufficient stature. When Amanda finally began to undo her blouse, he licked his lips, reaching out to snatch it from her, then ripped her skirt from her hands with equal contempt. Unnerved by the intensity of his stare, she hesitated, standing stiffly before him in her bra and panties.

Ciara was riveted. When Amanda's blouse came off, Ciara's eyebrows tweaked upward, and as she unfastened her skirt, the junior agent stilled, her lips slightly parted. Amanda recognized the shifting balance of power: she'd seen the young blonde naked countless times, usually in response to her own command, and often accompanied by a manual exploration of her most private areas.

In contrast, Ciara had never seen Amanda even partially unclothed. Now the tables were turned. It was the subordinate's turn to stare boldly, dominantly, as her supervisor was forced to submissively remove her own garments.

Amanda suffered beneath Ciara's intense gaze, wishing to be anywhere else, longing to take back the blouse and skirt she'd just relinquished, willing to pay any price to evade the scrutiny of this young woman, whose respect, she now realized, meant far more to her than she'd thought. Fierce red heat crept up her cheeks. Ultimately, she had to turn away.

But what was with Jean? He'd just seen her bare breasts, moments earlier, and he'd certainly gotten a long look at her pussy from close range at La Porcherie.

However, he'd never fucked her. In fact, he'd never even gotten a good feel.

Did he mean to try something now, while the others prepared for the upcoming scene? If so, he wouldn't have much time. Still, Jean was one of the most unappealing men she'd ever encountered, as much for his entitlement and heartless insensitivity as his slovenly appearance. Any physical attention he gave her would be especially unpleasant, no matter how brief.

She took a step back, watching him closely. Too late, she remembered stepping away from his reach once before, at La Porcherie, and his threatening response.

I don't like to be teased, he'd said then.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he moved closer, extending his hand. When she didn't immediately respond, he snapped his fingers. "Hurry up."

Amanda grimaced, then reached back to unhook her bra, pulled it off, and looped its strap over his waiting hand. As he took it, he ogled her unprotected breasts, and she shuddered, anticipating his hands on them, squeezing them, exploiting them for his own pleasure, robbing her of her remaining dignity.

He leaned even closer, and she felt his hot breath on her cheek. Waiting.

Afterwards, she'd struggle to explain why she goaded him again. Perhaps it was his pomposity, and her desire to puncture his overinflated ego.

She turned and shifted her hips, feeling her ass jiggle. When she faced forward again, she held her breasts in her hands, then let her mouth fall open, looking at him through slitted eyes, knowing her expression was intensely seductive.

Hooking her thumbs into the elastic of her panties, she rocked her hips as she lowered them a fraction, aware she was showing him just a bit of her cleft. She teased a bigger glimpse for a moment before slowly dragging the lacy confection off her hips and down her thighs. When she finally stepped out of them, she held them out, but when he swiped at them, she let them fall to the floor.

When she saw his face as he picked them up, she knew she'd enraged him. In the moment, his reaction was satisfying, but later, she'd understand it wasn't worth the cost.

Off in the distance, they heard Levrier shout, summoning Jean like a servant. "Later," the restauranteur promised Amanda, scowling and turning to leave, slamming the heavy door behind him.

With its bare concrete walls and floor, the room felt like a real jail cell, and Amanda had to remind herself that she and Ciara weren't actually imprisoned. Except for a rough-hewn bench, the room was completely unfurnished. She placed her smartwatch atop the bench, confident the camera's high resolution would capture an adequately sharp image of her, even at a distance.

Not that she really saw the point, since Levrier wouldn't even be visible. No, this clip wouldn't serve any purpose, other than checking a box on some clerk's list and feeding the inexhaustible appetites of Langley's administrators for new fodder with which to stain the plush carpets beneath their oversized desks. She shivered and hugged herself.

The room's only other feature was a tall, barred window overlooking the well-lit courtyard. The windowsill was below knee height, much lower than in the movie; when she stood close, her entire body would be visible from below, not just her head and shoulders. Fortunately, it was very late, and she knew there were no other homes nearby.

From her position, Amanda could see most of the courtyard below. As she watched, Levrier appeared, fully clothed, followed by Jean and Damian, then by the cameraman and his wheeled tripod.

This was the most dramatic, decisive scene of the movie, and Amanda remembered it vividly. Moreover, as she looked over at her fellow agent, Amanda was now certain that Ciara had never seen the film. If Amanda could perfectly reenact the first part of the scene, and then acquiesce unconditionally to the barbaric assfucking Levrier had planned for its conclusion, he might be happy enough with her performance to release Ciara without harming her.