Amanda, CIA Agent Ch. 13

Jean remained atop her for a long moment, catching his wind, before he levered himself up. At Levrier's command, he unclipped Amanda's wrist cuffs from the front legs of the chair, then freed her ankles. As Amanda stood, rolling her shoulders and massaging her arms, Jean detached Ciara's tethered hands from her feet and half-led, half-carried the blonde to the back of the armchair. Kneeling, he unclipped her ankles, preparing to fasten them to the legs of the chair.

Damian moved closer, watching. "Move your feet apart," he told her, but she didn't immediately comply.

"Squirt a lot of lube up her ass," Levrier told Jean, crouching and spreading her butt cheeks. "Not sure anyone's ever been in there before."

"Are you going to let me have a go when you're done?" asked Jean, his pitch climbing an octave.

Levrier nodded, but his attention was drawn elsewhere, across the room. He stepped away.

As Jean pushed his knee between Ciara's closed legs, Amanda saw her subordinate's upper arms trembled, and her breathing became ragged. When he stuck the tip of the lube bottle into her ass and squeezed, the young gymnast began mumbling incoherently.

He knelt down again, and reached for her right ankle.

Ciara reared up, shoved Jean over onto his ass, and bolted for the jail cell, pushing the heavy door closed behind her. Amanda heard the scrape of wood on concrete as the panicked young woman dragged the bench in front of the door.

Jean laughed, and Damian joined in. "I love it when they try to get away," said Jean, as he and Damian put their shoulders against the door and pushed. Ciara tried to stop them, but they overpowered her easily. Once inside, Jean closed the door behind them.

Amanda listened for Ciara's voice, expecting to hear her call for help, but she heard nothing. Then again, calling for help was not in Ciara's playbook.

Any minute, she would have to intervene anyway. But first, she needed to confirm they had the evidence they needed, and formulate an exit strategy.

From her right, a soft squeak drew her eye. Magalie lay beneath her new client, her knees squashed against her breasts, as she vacantly stared off into the distance. Her client rutted her zealously, but he didn't appear close to finishing. While Amanda watched, Magalie turned her head, and in her eyes, Amanda saw her desperation.

Nearby, still seated on her gold chenille chaise, Kayla opened the heavy manila envelope of 8x10 photos Charles had just given her. Flipping through the pile with obvious reluctance, she encountered a few shots of Cloutier gripping her breast through her blouse, followed by a series showing his fingers progressively undoing her buttons, exposing her bra. The next ones showed her blouse sliding off her shoulders, then the straps of her bra slackened and the cups fell away from her breasts, leaving her nude to the waist.

As the others watched, Cloutier sat down beside Kayla, pointing. "Too bad. You're confusing me with someone who gives a fuck. Write, 'Yours forever, Love, Delphine,' right across your lovely boobs." While she wrote, he thumbed through the heap until he found a sequence of nude full-frontal shots. "Sign this one here, across your belly. Put the hugs and kisses right below."

Further on, he found a closely spaced progression showing his own fingers moving over her labia, and chose one in which he used both hands to fully open her to the camera. "Oh, my god, this one is so filthy! You really get off on showing us everything, don't you?"

Kayla made a strangled noise in her throat, neither an agreement nor a denial.

He tapped the photo. "Put, 'Thinking of you always,' and then your signature, right there, in between your thighs, just beneath your pussy. Perfect." He marveled. "You're just like my own personal Playmate of the Month!"

As she signed, Christophe sat down beside her and slid his hand along her thigh. "Your break is over. Time to pay the piper." As soon as Cloutier stood up, returning his pictures to their envelope, Christophe pushed Kayla back into a reclining position on the chaise. For a moment, he fingered the upper edges of her thigh-high stockings, avoiding the spots where her juices had mingled with Cloutier's thick seed.

With a grin, he bumped her long legs to the floor on either side, splaying her open, and locked his eyes on her mound. His cock stood at attention. Kayla let her head loll over, her arms limp, her face a mask of weary resignation.

Turning away, Amanda spotted her clothes, still piled in the seat of an adjacent chair, with her smartwatch concealed within. Picking up the watch, she saw with dismay that the horizontal bar at the top was glowing red, signifying a comm link failure.

She restrained a curse, but only just. How long had the link been down? She couldn't remember now if she'd ever received the brief vibration confirming the start of video transmission.

Sickened, she turned toward the jail cell. Ciara's watch remained inside, along with her clothing. Furthermore, the junior agent hadn't been well positioned to obtain explicit video of Levrier.

It was possible the bordello had jamming equipment, but it would have to be very sophisticated. More likely, management had installed a Faraday cage, which would block a broad spectrum of electromagnetic radiation, including transmissions from cell phones and bugs.

She had to assume none of the three had captured any useful smartwatch video of tonight's events. Their mission was a failure.

Her eye fell on the large video camera, which still stood atop its rolling dolly. The long-haired camera operator had aimed it at Magalie, who continued to fuck her client, but he wasn't paying attention. Instead, he watched Kayla, whom Christophe continued to fuck with considerable gusto.

Perhaps she could steal the SD card.

From inside the cell, Amanda heard Jean ordering Damian to pin Ciara to the rough-hewn wooden bench. Face down. She swore to herself. Apparently, Jean was going to get his chance to fuck Ciara up the ass anyway, despite Amanda's efforts to avoid it.

Hearing raised voices closer at hand, she noticed Levrier was now engaged in an argument with Cloutier, as the latter eagerly fucked Genevieve from behind, with the young Parisienne taunting her husband all the while. Levrier appeared ready to throttle Cloutier. The camera operator sought to defuse the conflict, but Levrier ignored him.

She quickly weighed her options. She could follow the others into the jail cell, and seek to prevent Ciara from being assaulted, but Jean was heavyset, and Damian was extremely strong. She'd have to hurt them both pretty badly to free her fellow agent. She had only her bare hands, and Levrier and the others were sure to hear the disturbance.

Stealing the SD card should be her first priority. The success of the mission remained paramount. Otherwise, all their collective sacrifices would be wasted.

This was her chance, while everyone was distracted. She turned, and walked right into Mr. Anouilh.

"There you are." He immediately grabbed her ass, roughly pulling her close and flattening her breasts against his chest, then took wrapped his powerful hand around her supple, throbbing flesh. "Oh, my god, your tits are unbelievable."

Behind her, Amanda could now hear Ciara's rhythmic grunting from inside the jail cell. She pictured the young blonde, lying prone on the wooden bench, while Jean and Damian took turns fucking her up the ass.

The idea of Damian's sizable cock invading Ciara's petite butt didn't bear contemplation.

She should have helped Ciara while she had the chance. She was overwhelmed with self-loathing.

Amanda pushed Anouilh away, hard, but the muscular client greatly outweighed her, and as he staggered, she fell backward onto the coffee table. Before she could recover, he stepped between her outstretched legs and unlimbered his cock.

Behind him, Christophe had climbed off Kayla and moved to stand between Levrier and Genevieve. As the argument among them escalated, Kayla quietly rose from her chaise, moving along the perimeter toward the video camera.

Smart girl, thought Amanda, feeling a surge of pride. But if her auburn-haired subordinate was to have a chance, she needed to keep Anouilh occupied. With a sigh, she lay back onto her elbows, opening her thighs and drawing up her knees to give him the access he sought.

"That's it. You know you want it." Anouilh crouched over her, hard cock in hand, and ran his crown up and down her cleft, gathering what little remained of her bottled lubricant. "I'm going to make you cum so hard."

Dissatisfied with their alignment, he bodily lifted her and threw her down against the tempered glass surface, then shoved his way inside her. His heavy chest fell on her, pressing her into the hard tabletop. As she stretched to accommodate his length, he began to pound her.

Amanda heard his comments and suppressed a snort. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kayla approach the video camera.

Kayla quickly located the little door, flipped it open, and pushed in on the spring-loaded SD card, popping it out. After replacing it with a blank card, she glanced left and right, apparently looking for some clothing. She put on Cloutier's discarded suit jacket, then crept down the hallway toward the stairs.

Amanda let Anouilh pummel her pussy for another minute, to make sure Kayla's escape was complete, then shoved against his shoulder with all her might, twisting her torso out from under him. When he took her arm in an iron grip, she stuck the sharp edge of her thumbnail in his eye, and he fell to his knees, moaning and holding his hands to his face. Before he could attract attention, she whacked his head against the edge of the coffee table, and he slumped to the floor.

As she turned toward the jail cell, she was surprised to meet Ciara. Her fellow agent clutched her own folded jeans and sweater to her chest. In her other hand, she held a black plastic remote bearing the four interlocking silver rings of the Audi logo. Her cuffs were nowhere in evidence.

In Ciara's slow, stiff walk, Amanda saw the evidence of the ordeal she'd just endured, and she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Then she spotted a smear of blood on the back of Ciara's hand, and small spatters inside her forearm and above her breasts. You poor girl, she thought, what did those savages do to you?

Her own asshole ached as well, but she refused to consider this discomfort, and rejected any thought of her own nightmare.

Instinctively, she reached toward her protegee, and spotted the drip of Anouilh's blood running down her own thumb. But there was no time to worry about him now.

Taking Ciara's hand, she pulled her toward the stairs, but the young blonde increased her speed only slightly. Impatiently, Amanda went on ahead, then turned to spur her along. While she waited, she pulled on her panties and bra, then stepped into her skirt and shrugged on her blouse. They paused by the top of the stairs, and Amanda searched for Kayla while Ciara dressed, then they descended and headed toward the west wing, where they'd entered.

The great hall was busy, but Charles and his staff were attending to two newly arrived clients. Amanda spotted Lucien posted by the portico door, and two members of Levrier's security team sitting nearby, but the latter were distracted by Bijou, who had just lifted the skirt of her dress to permit a prospective client to grope her shapely bottom. Amanda and Ciara retreated before they were spotted.

Where was Kayla? Had she left the building?

"Psst."

Amanda turned. Some distance down the hallway behind them, a door stood ajar. From within, she heard the same sound again. She pulled Ciara inside, and softly closed the door.

Kayla flicked on the light. The leggy agent pulled Cloutier's suit jacket tight around herself, and when she brushed her long hair out of her eyes, Amanda noticed new streaks of dried cum marking the inner thighs of her stockings, and figured Christophe was responsible. Apparently, the executive had fully collected on Kayla's debt.

They stood inside a large linen closet, lined with shelves on either side. Kayla walked to the far end, where a single window looked out onto the patio, and turned to beckon Amanda closer. When she noticed the focus of Amanda's gaze, she pulled the hem of the suit jacket over her mound.

Kayla pointed toward the window. "That's the parking lot, beyond the patio. Lucien took his keys with him when we came inside, but I'm pretty sure Cloutier left his in his car, since they weren't in his pockets. We just have to figure out which is his."

"No need." Amanda held up the fob to Jean's Audi.

Kayla looked over her shoulder at Ciara, who sat against the wall beside the door, gazing off into space, her lips moving as she conversed with some apparition. Kayla looked a question at Amanda, who glanced at the floor without responding.

"The window's not alarmed," Kayla finally said. It's about a twelve-foot drop to the patio. I can go first if you want."

Amanda shook her head. "Send Ciara after me. You go last." She unlatched the window, slid it upward, and tossed her pumps onto the flagstone below. Sitting on the sill, she swung her legs out and jumped. Landing on her toes, she rolled forward and came back to her feet. Rubbing her spine, she waved Ciara forward and stepped into her shoes.

Ciara leaped without hesitating, demonstrating her athleticism by landing on her feet. Kayla tossed Amanda a white cotton bath towel, then carefully passed her the irreplaceable SD card before landing on the patio beside the others. Taking the towel from Amanda, she wrapped it tightly around her waist, relieved to finally be covered.

They heard a loud whisper from behind them. "Can I go with you?"

Amanda looked up at Magalie's bare torso, leaning out the window, and thought of all the suffering Jean had inflicted on the beautiful coed. If they left her behind, she could only look forward to more of the same.

With a sigh, she beckoned Magalie forward. But as the innocent brunette climbed onto the windowsill, Amanda saw she was completely naked. "Bring more towels, it's cold out."

Magalie appeared so intent on escaping the bordello that she considered jumping anyway, but finally she yielded to Amanda's impatient insistence, retrieved two towels, and jumped gracelessly to the terrace, scraping her knee on the stone pavement.

"Marius might still be patrolling with the dogs," whispered Amanda. "Let's move."

The light spilling from the manor's windows illuminated the small parking lot, and they easily located Jean's Audi. Kayla headed for the passenger seat, but at Amanda's gesture, she slipped behind the wheel. Amanda sat beside her, and Ciara and Magalie took the back seat without a word. With their headlights off, Kayla navigated by ambient light, and they made it through the gate without further incident.

When they were out of sight of the bordello, and Kayla had dared to switch on the headlights, Amanda looked over her shoulder at Magalie, letting her gaze linger on the swell of the country girl's breasts.

"Quit staring." Magalie drew the towel tighter around her shoulders, but it provided little concealment.

Amanda looked away, pink-faced.

"Back to Paris?" asked Kayla, coolly maneuvering the sports sedan through an s curve.

"Yes," muttered Amanda, through tight lips. "I can't put Magalie on the train wearing just a couple of towels. Let's take her back to the Latin Quarter."

Mercifully, traffic was light at this early hour, and they soon arrived outside Magalie's apartment. After a tearful goodbye, she scampered inside, unaware Amanda and Kayla both watched her undulating bottom.

By then, the early morning traffic was heavier, and it took them over an hour to reach Charles de Gaulle airport. Having planned for just this type of emergency, Derrick had established a safe house in a small, unassuming apartment nearby, and now Amanda dropped off her two subordinates before leaving the Audi in long term parking. By the time she returned, Kayla had removed their backup identities and supporting travel documents from the safe, and she and Ciara had both taken showers.

Derrick had left a change of clothes for each of them, but Amanda laughed out loud when she checked the sizes. They swapped items until each had a workable ensemble, even if the styles, which appeared to be straight out of the Frederick's of Hollywood catalog, were better suited to streetwalkers, and Amanda's bra was a size too small. Out of consideration for Kayla and Ciara, she kept the crotchless panties for herself.

The taxi ride to the terminal was brief. Amanda must have looked exhausted, because the ticket agent took pity on her, finding them a direct flight to Dulles and assigning them three seats together in the back row of coach.

Their false passports easily withstood scrutiny, having been perfectly forged by Langley's experts, but Amanda remained worried their theft of the SD card would be discovered. She half expected Levrier's men to enter the gate area and drag them all away at any moment. Only when they were airborne did she allow herself to breathe.

On the long flight home, Amanda had time to review every aspect of her successfully completed mission. Their visit to the bordello had not gone as planned, but there was no arguing with the results. She'd skimmed through the video, and found it shockingly graphic, if technically well-executed. She had no doubt it would irreparably damage Levrier's reputation and derail his presidential campaign.

The publicly leaked version would have her face blurred, courtesy of some low-level technician who would go frame-by-frame through each segment in which she appeared, to protect her anonymity. She only wished she could erase the original version. Briefing senior leadership and the stakeholder team on the raw footage, or even the less objectionable portions of it, promised to be a deeply humiliating experience, both for herself and for her two dedicated subordinates.

Beside her, Kayla soon fell asleep. Ciara turned away, resting her forehead against the window, but Amanda could tell she was still awake. Amanda felt every bit of her own sleep deficit, but every time she closed her eyes, she was jolted awake by the sensation of the bulbous-nosed, bristly-faced attacker's sweaty hands on her breasts, only to find it was just her imagination. She cocooned herself within a scratchy blue blanket, but finally realized even a suit of armor wouldn't be sufficient to dispel her anxiety.

Remembering her last conversation with Michelle, she felt a piercing stab of guilt. Her best friend had feared she'd put herself at risk again, and she'd dismissed those worries. Yet, she'd failed to protect herself, and before her mission had even begun, she'd fallen victim to a stranger. Then, she'd compounded her error by shackling herself, allowing two different men to assault her anally. Worst of all, the one who'd hurt her the most wasn't even the target of her mission!

She'd hoped to live her entire life without experiencing the violation of that particular orifice. But even now, hours later, Jean's semen continued to seep out of her ass, fouling her cheap crotchless panties and leaking onto the vinyl seat beneath her. Her delicate folds adhered to the sticky plastic, and she squirmed with increasing irritation. It was going to be a long flight.

And when they finally arrived, and she rose from her seat, she'd leave behind a gummy residue, advertising her corrupt depravity as starkly as the scarlet A sewn to Hester Prynne's breast in her favorite Nathaniel Hawthorne novel.

Only, as she imagined it, her own scarlet A would stand for, 'assfucked' instead of 'adulteress.' She grimaced. Of course, she would never be forced to wear such an ignominious emblem, but everybody would know, just the same.