Amanda Cia Agent

If you're new to the series, please take note: this story is in the Nonconsent category. As usual, in addition to graphic nonconsent, this episode also features pervasive coercion and humiliation. Consider yourself warned!

This story is a fantasy. The author does not condone any real-world nonconsensual touching or sexual activity, infliction of pain or emotional distress, or mistreatment of any person.

White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, July 2007

Amanda lay in bed, eyes half open, waiting for Jason to finish his shower. Bright sunlight streamed in through the open drapes, and a chorus of songbirds chirped their tunes from a towering oak outside their window.

In some ways, her honeymoon had exceeded her expectations. The resort was beautiful, and their room was luxurious. Every meal had been delicious. She'd even been tempted by the decadent desserts, until Jason had admonished her to watch her figure. The resort also had a world class shooting range, and she'd only minded a little letting Jason win.

It wasn't like her to lie around until mid-morning, but the bed was very comfortable. Moreover, she hadn't done much sleeping the last two nights, despite turning in early both evenings. Apparently, Jason had an insatiable sexual appetite. In fact, he'd behaved like a man possessed.

But she would have to put a stop to it. She'd delayed having this conversation, not wanting to argue during their honeymoon, but she'd grown too sore to continue, at least for the next couple of days. Furthermore, his lack of respect for her boundaries was frightening, and intolerable.

The bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam emerged around Jason's hulking form, which almost filled the doorway as he dried himself with a towel. She hadn't known him long, and she was still intimidated by his size and strength. Despite her own considerable height, she felt tiny beside him.

"Jason." She sat up and patted the bed beside her, not realizing that the sheet had fallen away from her bare torso.

He grinned back at her as he sat down and wrapped his hand around her breast. "Another go already? You're as horny as a 20-year-old."

She gave a sigh and forced a crooked smile to cover a wince. "I'm only 24," she began, resting her slender hand on his. Her breasts were still inflamed from their last session. Jason loved to play with them, but he was too rough.

Jason squeezed both her breasts and made a quacking sound.

She twisted out of his grip, and irritation showed in her voice. "Stop it. We need to talk. We had sex twice on our wedding night, and twice more yesterday, and again in the middle of the night, and again early this morning. It's too much. I can barely walk."

She folded her arms. "And no more public groping."

His grin faded, and he became sullen. "It's your own fault. You're constantly teasing me. Flashing your legs, waving your tits, wiggling your ass. Either you're wearing a sexy bra with lacy bikini panties, or you're naked."

His lip curled. "You're cruel. You make me hard, and then you give me blue balls."

I wore a short, tight dress yesterday because that's all you packed for me, she wanted to say. I have no pajamas, no bathrobe, no lingerie other than my bridal set, and if I'm naked, it's because you won't stop taking my clothes off.

She clutched at the sheet to keep him from uncovering her lower body, and looked up at him earnestly. "You need to ask me first. And if I say stop, I need you to stop --"

"I do stop."

"Right then. Not in ten minutes, after you've climaxed." She squeezed his hand. "I need to be able to trust you."

"I just give you what you want. You come every time."

"That's not --"

"Every fucking time. Don't try to tell me different."

Lubricating and moaning is not the same as climaxing, she wanted to say, and you really need to learn where my clitoris is.

"I'm not arguing. But that's not the point. No means no."

He scoffed. "This is bullshit. If I waited for you to ask, I'd never fuck you at all." Rising, he threw his sodden towel in her face and turned toward the bathroom.

Abruptly he stopped. "You've forgotten what obedience means. Time for a lesson."

She pushed the wet towel to the floor and hugged an oversized pillow to her chest. His face was dark and his jaw was set. As she watched, he became fully erect. Wide-eyed, she scrambled to the far side of the bed and stood, searching for refuge.

He crossed the room in three strides. "Trying to escape? Let me help you." He threw her onto his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, swung open the door, and dumped her on her back in the hallway.

His behavior triggered a painful memory of her recent mission to Dubai, and the moment when Amir had taken away her robe, leaving her naked in an ornately furnished hotel corridor much like this one. This was but one of a series of psychological traumas inflicted on her that day -- traumas later compounded by her forced retelling, and the callous reactions of her own leaders and teammates.

Now it was happening again. How could he be so hateful? They'd barely been married 48 hours.

"No, Jason, please don't." She sat up on the plush carpet and wrapped her arms around his leg, hugging his knee to her chest, unable to control her rising panic.

"That was so funny when Amir locked you out." He smirked at her from above.

He knew. Somehow he'd seen Tyler's video clip. Didn't he see how that experience had affected her?

"When you can apologize for my blue balls, and take your punishment like an adult, just tap on the door. Until then, go stand by the elevators." He pried her arm away from his knee.

A short distance down the hall, a man left his room dressed in tennis whites, carrying a racket. As he turned toward the elevator, his eye fell on Amanda's naked form, and he stopped and stared for a moment before continuing on his way. While he waited for the elevator, he took another long look.

Even as she clung to Jason's calf with her remaining hand, she noticed the stranger watching her and registered his lustful expression. It was humiliating.

Jason was going to lock her out, and someone else would come out at any moment. Tears gathered in her eyes and dripped from her nose.

A shrill note of desperation entered her voice. "Please, Jason. More people will see." She dug her fingernails into his skin.

"That's the idea." He worked a finger loose, then bent it until she released her grip.

Across the hall, the door opened, and a diminutive, leather-skinned old man leaned out. He wore a threadbare undershirt and high-waisted slacks. His ballcap read, USS Missouri, BB-63. "Everything ok, miss?" Then he spotted Jason and shrank back.

She pulled her knees to her chest as she nodded at the man and wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. "I'm sorry, Jason. I'll take your punishment. Just let me in."

He smiled, then turned and opened the door. He held it open with his foot, but blocked the way with his body. "Stand up."

With a sniffle, she rose from the floor, keeping her back toward the old man. She tried not to think about her bare bottom.

"Turn around."

She shook her head. "He's already seen me."

Jason set his jaw, waiting.

"Just let me in. Please." But when he still didn't move, she did as he instructed, feeling a hot blush creep across her cheeks.

"Hands behind your back."

The corners of her mouth inverted, and she gave a little sob, but after a moment she put one arm behind her, then finally the other. She looked up at the overhead sprinkler head and chewed her lower lip.

The old man swallowed visibly.

She turned her head and met Jason's eye. "Please?"

"You're sorry for what?"

"For your blue balls," she murmured.

"When do I fuck you?"

Her voice wavered. "Um. Whenever you want?"

The old man licked his lips as he stared at her exposed breasts.

He nodded. "What if you're sore?"

She couldn't still the tremor in her lower lip. "You fuck me anyway," she said softly as she hung her head.

"And in public?"

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, releasing new tears. He was about to take away the last shred of her dignity. "You --" She struggled to swallow the lump in her throat.

"I what?"

"You fondle my breasts in public whenever you feel like it. You grab my butt whenever you want to. You let people watch if it amuses you."

"And?"

The old man grinned toothlessly at her, and a narrow filament of saliva trailed from the corner of his lip. Her mouth twisted as she fought for control.

"You expose my body to other people whenever you choose."

"Even your pussy?"

She nodded.

"Say it."

She struggled to make her mouth form the words. "Even my pussy."

He squeezed her bottom. "You'll obey, like you promised?"

She nodded vigorously, her chest heaving.

He stepped aside and pulled her in. "They're real," he said to the old man as he shut the door.

* * *

Late that night, Amanda lounged back in the oversized bathtub. Try as she might, she couldn't find a position that didn't put pressure on her bruised bottom. She wished for a padded cushion to sit on instead of the hard porcelain.

She'd imagined a warm soak would relieve the dull ache in her breasts and soothe the rawness between her legs, but now she realized some cold packs would feel better. As much as she hurt now, it was hard to believe she'd actually egged him on while he pounded into her.

Given his earlier mood, and the thrashing he'd given her bottom, she hadn't dared to resist when he tied her hands behind her and threw her onto the bed. Nor had she complained when he turned on all the lights and opened the curtains wide to the rooms across the way.

She remembered how she'd whimpered with unsatisfied need while he unloaded deep inside her. He'd brought her to the brink repeatedly, but never taken her over the edge. It had now been a week since she'd last climaxed.

But they were going home soon. She looked forward to some privacy, and the safety she'd feel from within her own townhouse. And surely Percy would make Jason lighten up.

She shook her head in disbelief. How quickly she'd forgotten that Jason had never actually asked her to marry him, and she'd never intended to do so. This wasn't even a real marriage, despite the official certificate. She didn't even know who he was.

But, she realized, she was quickly finding out.

* * *

Wednesday morning, the sun was just coming up as Amanda drove to her office. She'd managed to slide out from beneath Jason's heavy arm while he still snored, and she'd dressed inside the closet and crept out of the house without waking him.

She knew he'd be enraged when he awoke and discovered she'd left without giving him his morning fuck. And that would remind him that he still hadn't punished her for again failing to eradicate the stubble on her vulva -- which was high on his list of most egregious connubial infractions. There'd be hell to pay later.

The day before, she'd discovered he'd made himself a key to her townhouse. And that morning, she'd entered her walk-in closet to find her dresser drawers emptied of her expensive lingerie, replaced by his own underwear and socks. The lingerie was in a heap on the floor, covered by a pile of her skirts and blouses, the contents of a rack that now held his own suits and dress shirts.

Apparently he'd moved in. That would complicate her plan to avoid him until she left on her upcoming mission.

Now, as she pulled into the parking lot, she checked her watch. Hopefully, she still had time to review the accumulated intercepts before her mission briefing that afternoon.

Hours later, as she finished writing her report, her phone rang.

"Hi Wilson."

"Change of plans. The briefing is cancelled. You're reassigned to a priority mission. "Come on down here."

"On my way."

When she reached Wilson's office, he waved her into a chair.

"Monday, the Yemeni branch of Al Qaida kidnapped an American diplomat and his family. Yesterday, they transferred the hostages to a trawler they hijacked last month, which is moored near Aden."

Amanda sat forward in her chair.

"Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) is still putting together their rescue plan, but they've already requested Agency support. I told Harlan you're too green, but frankly, there's nobody else available with the required skills."

He handed her a plane ticket. "You'll fly commercial and link up with SEAL Team 8 in Qatar. The mission will stage out of Al Udeid. Tactical details when you arrive. Now get going." As he'd seen Percy do with impunity, he swatted her bottom sharply when she turned to leave.

Even though it was only 4pm, she headed straight home to pack. Months ago, in anticipation of such a mission, she'd purchased some inexpensive, loose-fitting Asian-made tops and pants to wear beneath her abaya, as well as some generic lingerie, all of which she stuffed into an equally nondescript duffel. None of it was recognizably American.

She managed to get in and out in 30 minutes, without catching sight of Jason.

* * *

CENTCOM Headquarters, Al Udeid Air Base, Doha, Qatar, July 2007

Friday morning, Amanda and her four SEAL teammates sat at one end of a long conference table. Clustered around the other end were the commanding general of the US Central Command (CENTCOM) and several senior officers from CENTCOM and JSOC. One wall of the room was occupied by a large HDTV display showing a live video feed of Aden harbor; a window in one corner showed a close-up feed of the Al Qaida trawler.

Colonel Ritter stood and gave Amanda's breasts another long look. He'd been staring at her since he entered the room. Finally, he began the briefing.

"There are four Americans on the trawler: Ambassador Bradley Newhouse, his wife Delores, and their children, Kenneth and Zoe. We've identified 13 bad guys, all Al Qaida. Eleven are Yemeni, two are Saudi."

Ritter pointed to a spare, middle-aged man with a weathered face. "Commander Daniels is in charge of Seal Team 8. He'll help me present the operational plan."

Daniels stood and pointed at the regional map now displayed on the monitor. "These bad guys are fanatical, and determined. But every Saturday, after sundown, they have a wild party, complete with female companionship."

He eyeballed each of the four elite soldiers in turn. "The SEALs will execute a High Altitude Low Opening (HALO) drop at 2230. They'll board the trawler at 2300. With surprise, and with the help of our new partner, we'll kill them one by each." Amanda smiled and sat up straighter in her chair.

Ritter clicked the remote, and the screen showed an interior floor plan of the trawler. "The hijackers work in three teams of four. Each team is on duty for eight hours. But on Saturday nights, they make do with just two pickets, one fore and one aft. The rest, including Khalid, their commander, will be at party central." He pointed to the large galley/mess hall compartment.

Amanda raised her hand. "I'll need some gear. A suppressed weapon, a wet suit, night vision goggles, and a HALO kit. I've never done a HALO, so I'll need some help with the kit."

Ritter covered his mouth with his hand. "Amanda, you're not part of the HALO drop. Much as I'd love to help you into your wet suit and adjust your harness," he said under his breath to Daniels over his shoulder. "Chief Petty Officer Hutchins is the Six, the team leader. He'll brief you on your role."

Hutchins rose from his seat, and Amanda followed him into an adjacent office. He motioned her to a chair. "You're taking the boat from Aden, with the female entertainment. You'll be our eyes and ears, inside the trawler. Your earpiece ties into our voice circuit."

"How do I get on the boat?"

"The guy who supplies the party girls is named Samir. When he's not pimping, he operates a marine motor repair shop in Aden, down near the docks. Every Saturday night, he brings the girls out to the trawler on a dinghy."

She nodded.

"He sends the same five women every week. They're all heroin addicts."

He spread their photos on the table, then flipped over another picture. "This is Iskandar. He's a sergeant in the Docks division of the Aden police force, but he's dirty, and Samir pays him to look the other way concerning his side business."

He sat down. "He's also a human trafficker. Whenever one of Samir's women ODs, Iskandar sells him a new one. Which is how he ran afoul of MI6. He tried to sell a British national."

"And now MI6 is going to make Iskandar sell me to Samir."

Hutchins touched his nose. "Bingo."

"How do we know Samir's going to need a new girl on Saturday?"

He waved his hand. "That's Iskandar's problem."

He held the door for her. "There's a C21A jet on its way here. It'll take you to Aden. Iskandar will meet you there."

* * *

She was one of six passengers on the C21A, and the long flight made stops in Riyadh and Sana'a before finally reaching Aden. As she walked through the nearly deserted passenger terminal, the sun was just coming up.

After waiting for hours at the curb, she was about to go back inside when a dilapidated sedan squealed to a stop beside her. Primer covered the dented bare metal body, and the passenger door was missing.

The car fit Hutchins' description. She put her hand on the roof and ducked her head inside. The driver wore a faded blue uniform.

"I'm Iskandar," said the driver.

She gave him a tight smile. "Like the ancient ruler of Persia. I'm Kareena." Her Arabic accent was perfect.

"Like the Indian actress."

The code phrases checked out, so she climbed in. An instant before her bottom touched the seat, Iskandar hit the gas, and she clutched the cracked center console in an effort to remain inside the vehicle. The car's tiny engine screamed as Iskandar accelerated, weaving unpredictably into the oncoming lane to avoid scooters, bicycles, pedestrians, potholes, and debris.

Mercifully, the ride to the docks was short. Iskandar parked on a narrow side street, and Amanda let her heart rate recover before following him through a sagging gate. In the courtyard, weeds grew among piles of rusting outboard engines.

She stood in the sun, feeling the sweat pour off her, soaking the loose cotton shirt and pants she wore beneath her black ankle-length abaya, while Iskandar negotiated with Samir. It was not yet noon, and only about 90, cool for July, but with the humidity, it felt like 110. Her black niqab stuck to her face.

Amanda knew MI6 had paid Iskandar handsomely, and anything he got from Samir was profit. Even so, he seemed determined to run up the price. Samir raised his offer to 140,000 Rial, then 160,000, but he refused to go higher. Human life was sold cheaply in this part of the world. Yet Iskandar insisted on 500,000 Rial, which Amanda knew was equivalent to about $2,500.

"Let us see her then," said Samir.

It occurred to her that this was her last chance to back out. In a moment, money would change hands, and she'd become Samir's personal property, to use as he saw fit. Iskandar would leave, and she'd have nobody to rely on but herself. She realized she was wringing her hands, and she made an effort to still them.

Iskandar nodded toward a crumbling cinder block building running the length of the yard. She suspected this was Samir's home as well as his place of business.

Leaving her sandals at the door, she followed Samir and Iskandar inside, stretching to step over a partially disassembled winch. Samir took a seat in the far corner, leaving Iskandar standing beside her.

In the next room, she could see two beds, each occupied by a pair of sleeping women. A third bed sat empty. The beds lacked sheets or blankets, and all four women looked pale and thin.

"She is called Kareena," said Iskandar to Samir, pointing at Amanda. "Her parents are dead. Last month, her uncle arranged her marriage to a cousin, a prominent businessman, but she failed her virginity test. The marriage was cancelled."