Amanda Cia Agent

Tyson's Corner, Virginia, January 2008

"Your crepes are delicious," said Michelle, pushing back from the table, "but you've wrecked my diet. Now I need an extra hour on the treadmill."

"You didn't have to eat so many," said Amanda, rinsing suds from her crepe pan. "Maybe I'll join you at the gym, since your moving van postponed until Monday."

"It's not a van, it's a little box truck. Since you decided it was ok for us to share your bedroom, I let Dirk keep the furniture."

"Right." Amanda bit her lip. "About that. We need some ground rules. You can't just... jump me."

Michelle quirked the corner of her mouth. "I know. But you looked so hot yesterday in that new floral bra and panties set. I couldn't help myself."

"On weekdays, I can't stop to have sex. I had to take another shower, and I was late for my meeting. Percy was pissed, and I ended up having to blow him."

Amanda saw Michelle flinch, and felt a twinge of regret.

Michelle held up her hand. "I get it. It's just... I haven't seen X in over a month." X was the nickname they'd given her love interest.

Amanda nodded sympathetically, hiding her worry that Michelle would discover she knew X's identity. "I haven't seen Grant either. Not that he's even my boyfriend. Anyway, you can always have a hug, but hugging in our bras and panties before work could cause problems." She dried the pan and returned it to the cabinet. "I'll put on my workout clothes. I need to be back before lunch, since my Meow Salon appointment is at one."

"Couldn't you wait another week to get waxed?"

"Don't I wish," said Amanda, heading upstairs. "Ever since dotted-line reporting to Wilson, he insists on regular meetings."

Michelle followed. "Daily? To fuck?"

As Amanda entered her bedroom, the morning sun shining through her picture window warmed her face, and she lingered. "Not necessarily to fuck, but for delivering briefings, he wants me in his lap, wearing a skirt and button-down blouse, even if Antoinette is there to take notes."

As she took off her pajamas, folding them neatly, a memory came flooding back, of Wilson unbuttoning her blouse and roughly mauling her breasts through her bra while Antoinette watched, wide-eyed. Now, when she looked down, she saw her nipples were visibly hard. Reddening, she turned away, hoping Michelle hadn't noticed.

Rummaging in her lingerie chest, she found a sports bra and pulled it on, so relieved to be covered again that she didn't immediately register Michelle's eyes on her as she squeezed her hand inside to adjust one breast, then the other. From another drawer, she withdrew a black leotard, a mauve sweatshirt, and a pair of thick black tights. Sitting down to pull on the tights, she noticed her panties.

She'd been tired the night before, and had put on her pajamas over the same pink lace bikini panties she'd worn to work. During the night, they'd uncomfortably worked their way between her labia, and were sure to do so again within her first five minutes on the treadmill. And despite choosing one of the older machines in the empty back room, a couple of guys were sure to join her, so she wouldn't be putting her hand inside her tights to return her center gusset to its proper place.

She had to change her panties.

Maybe if she waited a minute, Michelle would give her some space. Why did she keep looking at her so expectantly?

"So? Aren't you going to finish, about Wilson?"

"Oh. Yes, where was I? So, I never know from day to day if it's going to be a fuck, or just a BJ." She still felt uncomfortable speaking so frankly about her sex life, but Michelle teased her continually about that, and she was trying to loosen up.

At the back of her drawer, she found the white cotton hipsters she wore for running. "Later in the week, he gets low on spunk, so I might get to skip a day. But for fucks, he's a stickler for having me freshly waxed, with no stubble. And as you know, when Wilson's not happy, he's even more of a dick than usual."

As Michelle agreed, Amanda sat down again, turning sideways so her friend didn't have a direct view of her crotch. But as she slipped her thumbs into the elastic, Michelle shifted to the side, maintaining eye contact. Amanda hesitated.

Michelle turned away, lifting her arms to bundle her hair into a high ponytail, securing it with a pale blue scrunchy. "Did you decide you don't want to go? I need to roll, so I can do my errands after."

"Sorry." She slid down her panties, then put her feet into her white hipsters.

Michelle turned back, locking her gaze onto Amanda's pussy.

Amanda swung her knees away, opening her thighs just enough to pull her fresh panties into place.

Michelle grinned. "What is with you? You let me finger you, and go down on you, but you never want to let me see!"

Amanda felt the blood rushing to her face. "I'm just shy," she mumbled, pulling on her leotard.

"If we're going to share a bedroom, you need to accept that I'm going to look at you."

Amanda cast her eyes toward Michelle's spotless white cross-trainers as she pulled her hipsters back into place, then slid on her tights before attempting to fasten the snaps at the crotch of her leotard. "Let's go." But as she fumbled with the snaps, the heel of her hand pressed against her most sensitive place, and she felt a familiar knot of tension settle into her lower abdomen.

She realized that -- despite her shyness -- a part of her really did want Michelle to see. However, deliberately revealing herself would disrupt her friend's errands. Moreover, she'd be encouraging the same misbehavior Michelle had demonstrated yesterday.

Maybe she'd have time later for a date with little Grantie, her favorite toy, while Michelle was out of the house.

* * *

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Three days later

"Come in," Amanda told Ciara Erikson, ushering her into her SCIF and locking the door. "Have a seat. What's up?"

Ciara settled into Amanda's guest chair, managing to sit perfectly upright while appearing relaxed and confident. "Last week, you said you'd speak to Percy. I'm following up."

"Yes," said Amanda, angling her chin. "He agreed you've fulfilled the requirements for operational status. Frankly, he's impressed with your successful completion of your training following your, um, assault. He called you 'steely.'"

"But?"

"But. He's still unhappy with your body confidence."

Ciara's shoulders slumped. "I've done everything you asked, including the workouts. In fact, I've been working out three times a week for six years now."

Amanda nodded. "But your gymnastics routine focuses on flexibility. Have you done the pec flys we discussed, to increase muscle bulk in your chest?"

"Two sets, eight to twelve reps each. When I can do twelve, I increase the weight. Plus, I increased my caloric intake and started on the birth control pills."

"Let's see."

Ciara sighed, stood up, and peeled off her powder blue knit top. At Amanda's raised eyebrow, she unhooked her bra and draped it over the chairback. Standing straight, she pivoted forward, lips pressed together tightly.

Not for the first time, Amanda was impressed with Ciara's ripe roundness. However, today she could see an improvement, even without measuring. Telling herself it was important to follow procedure, she put her hand beneath one breast, hefting it, then squeezed it, gauging its pliancy. It was hard to find any fault.

Ciara drew in her breath, then closed her eyes and pinked as her nipple hardened.

Amanda felt her own arousal kindle. From experience, she knew any male supervisor wouldn't hesitate to gratuitously exploit Ciara, but she herself refused to succumb to this urge. She brought out her tape measure, looping it around Ciara's chest. "Huh. You've gained a full cup size." Opening Ciara's file, she made a note.

"I know. I had to buy all new bras. I guess the agency's not reimbursing me, are they?"

They should give us all an extra stipend for lingerie, thought Amanda, but she kept this to herself.

Today, Ciara wore her lustrous blonde hair down, with curls set into it, framing her pretty face, and Amanda found her look particularly striking. "Did you know, with your hair styled that way, you're the spitting image of Julie Delpy? I mean, aside from being a few inches shorter and having a curvier figure."

"Who?"

"The French actress? She was in a few art-house films. Never mind. How's your butt?"

Ciara cut her eyes toward the ceiling, then turned her face away as she unfastened her navy skirt, slid it down around her calves, stepped out of it, and placed it in the seat of her chair. With a grimace, she slid her panties down and off, then hesitated.

Amanda hated the Agency's protocols for management of junior agents, particularly when they caused such discomfort. But she aspired to rise high enough to one day make changes. She sat down, her eyes on Ciara's pert bottom. "Go ahead."

Ciara edged her feet further apart, then leaned forward to flatten her palms against the top of Amanda's credenza. After Amanda cleared her throat, she bent over fully, resting her forearms on the laminate work surface.

Feeling too warm, Amanda reached out to squeeze her ass, finding it even better toned than months earlier, during her NCS assessment. "You've been doing your squats too."

"Endlessly. They were already in my regular workout. But now I hold extra weight." At Amanda's signal, she straightened and turned to be measured, blushing anew when reminded to keep her feet apart.

"Safe to say, your bottom's earning a nearly perfect score next time. Not that there was anything wrong before, but you've added a little more roundness." She leaned closer. "Don't say I told you, but there's quite a buzz going around about you. Their repeated backside inspections are just an excuse to make you take down your panties and bend over." She sat down again and rolled her chair closer, noticing Ciara fighting her impulse to cover herself.

Amanda started to turn away to complete her notes, and stopped, letting her gaze settle on Ciara's pretty mound. "Are you wet, Ciara?"

"No." She shook her head emphatically.

"You know the policy. If I suspect, I have to check and note it in your record."

She nodded. After a moment, she sat down, slid her hips to the edge of her chair, opened her thighs, and looked up at Amanda, her nostrils flaring.

"I'm sorry, Ciara, I know this is hard for you, ever since your... incident."

"Just get it over with, please." Her words were clipped.

Amanda spread Ciara's labia, then penetrated her with two fingers. When she withdrew them, they glistened with Ciara's juices. Wordlessly, she wiped her hand with a wad of tissues and made the required log entries. She also recorded the attempted deception, wincing when she remembered how hard Wilson was pressing to meet with Ciara privately.

This new notation would give him an excuse to penetrate her digitally during her presentation. And once he had her panties off, the luscious blonde bombshell was guaranteed to get fucked. Now she saw that Ciara understood this fact. She added a comment about Ciara's determination but omitted any mention of the tears streaking her cheeks.

After Ciara had dressed and gone, Amanda sat down again with a sigh. Prying Ciara out of Headquarters' clutches was proving harder than expected, and costlier to her protegee's self-esteem and mental health than she ever imagined. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, today's log would trigger a further delay.

The only issue that gave Amanda pause was the look she saw in Ciara's eyes from time to time, ever since her assault. She'd seen it again today, at the moment she'd digitally penetrated the pretty blonde. She could only describe her expression as rage.

But the look had only appeared for a moment, and it was completely understandable. Ciara was smart, capable, and tough. She'd suffered enough. It was time for Amanda to stop participating in Ciara's exploitation and begin to exercise her own growing power.

* * *

Two days later, Amanda took the elevator to the seventh floor and knocked on the door of a conference room. Percy admitted her and motioned her to a vacant chair beside his own.

Wilson Blodgett stood at the far end of the room, beside an oversized screen showing a map of France. Opposite Amanda sat Lawrence Rudisil, flanked by several subordinates. Rudisil had led the huge team supporting their recent successful mission to Iran -- in which she'd played a key role -- and he'd since been promoted. He was now speaking to Wilson.

"...and I don't need to remind you of the importance of reining in Levrier before he gets elected."

Amanda knew Jacques Levrier was the frontrunner in the race for President of France. Six months ago, experts had dismissed him as a fringe candidate, but his popularity had recently surged.

Wilson nodded repeatedly. "There's speculation he'll withdraw France from NATO."

"It's not speculation. It's a fact," snapped Lawrence. "The consequences are unimaginable."

"Yes," agreed Harlan Kimmel, sitting to Lawrence's left, as he steepled his fingers. Harlan was Deputy Director of Operations. "How will you change his mind?"

Wilson gestured toward the back of the room. "Derrick, please review your plan."

Derrick Hardesty stood. "I've been tracking Levrier since he declared his candidacy. He cultivates the image of a straight arrow, in keeping with his uncompromising moral judgements." He clicked the remote, and the screen showed a portrait of a tall, dark-haired man, going grey at the temples, wearing a sharp navy pinstripe suit and a severe expression. Beside him stood a statuesque, unsmiling blonde beauty, fashionably dressed and impeccably made up, and two adorable but overly serious toddlers.

Behind them towered a beautiful stone chateau, which Amanda guessed dated from the 15th century, and whose hilltop position commanded the surrounding formal gardens and the picturesque countryside beyond. Amanda couldn't imagine how much the upkeep would total for such a castle, or how much wealth one would need to finance it.

"Levrier has a weakness for art-house films. He had the wine cellar of his chateau converted to a state-of-the art screening room, so he can watch his favorite movies at home." Derrick advanced the slide to show the darkened theatre, which to Amanda's eye appeared to be showing the movie Blue starring Juliette Binoche.

Derrick continued. "As you know, Levrier has spoken out against premarital sex, extramarital sex, prostitution, and contraception, not to mention pornography, gay marriage, nude sunbathing, sex education, and countless others."

He clicked again, bringing up an image of a different house, less imposing but still quite large, nestled into the edge of a thick forest. "However, he's a hypocrite. This appears to be an ordinary country estate, but it's owned by a web of offshore shell corporations. In the back, there's an enclosed port cochere where vehicles can privately discharge patrons and, um, staff, and retrieve them after their business is concluded."

"What business is that?" asked Harlan.

"We suspect it's an exclusive bordello, dedicated to bringing men's sexual fantasies to life. In Levrier's case, that includes reenacting scenes from his favorite movies, embellished with one or more of his favorite fetishes. Unfortunately, none of my local operatives have been able to infiltrate. Membership is by invitation, and they carefully vet their prospective clients. The buy-in is reportedly in the low six figures."

He advanced the slide again. "As you'd expect, the staff are beautiful. Initially, we thought they were high-end escorts, but none have any history of sex work. There's a fair amount of turnover, and we haven't yet determined their recruitment process. However, we do know the women are watched closely. They're not allowed to date or have a boyfriend, and if they have any unauthorized contact, they disappear."

Harlan looked at Lawrence. "As you said before, we don't have any alternative. We have to send Amanda."

Wilson rose from his seat, visibly agitated. "You can't!"

Heads turned.

Seeing the uncomfortable expressions around him, Wilson sat back down. "I mean, of course, you can, sir, but Amanda's currently producing a daily analysis of Mideast terror cell activity."

Lawrence met Harlan's eye. "I agree, Amanda's the only option, given the importance of the mission, but let's have Derrick explain why she should command a larger team."

Derrick's next slide showed headshots of three women, with names and descriptions. "Over the last month, with careful surveillance, I've identified three employees of the suspected bordello. Magalie is a university student, Severine is a cabaret performer, and Ariane is an entry-level accountant. The plan is to position an agent near each of them, identify their respective handlers, and fuck their way inside."

Amanda saw Wilson glare at his subordinate, and understood his displeasure. Wilson cared far more about expanding his influence than protecting NATO. While his female agents remained at Langley, he could barter sexual favors for budget increases and additional staff.

But Harlan was already nodding, and now Lawrence said, "You should put Lauren Edmondson on the team. And also, that brunette you sent to, um, brief me last week. What's her name? Vicki something?"

"Vicki Chase," supplied Amanda, frowning.

"What's wrong with Vicki? She can suck a golf ball through a garden hose."

As if that were the only skill needed to become a successful agent, thought Amanda. "Nothing, sir. My concern is more with Lauren. I know you two are, um, friends, but frankly, she was last in her class at the Farm. I'd rather have someone more capable."

"Who do you suggest?"

"Ciara Erikson."

Wilson scoffed. "She's not even operational yet."

"She's fulfilled all the requirements. She just needs Lawrence's signature." She slid a folder containing the approval papers across the table to Lawrence, then met his eye again. "And, like I said, there's nothing wrong with Vicki, but I may have someone that's a better fit. Kayla Riordan was activated last fall. She only has a couple missions under her belt, but she has a B.S. in Accounting, and she's calm under pressure."

Wilson's lip curled. "She hasn't paid her dues yet, either."

"So," said Lawrence, "you'd compromise the success of the mission, just to have more chances to get in her pants? Don't be an ass."

Wilson held up his hands. "I was just saying."

Wilson really was insufferable. She started to raise her finger, but she caught herself again and dropped her hand to her lap. She was about to succeed in personally hand-picking both of her new team members -- a remarkable achievement for an agent as junior as herself -- and she needed to control her anger. Wilson might be an idiot, but he had powerful friends, and he was a vindictive man with the ability to make her life miserable. He hated being contradicted, and she cringed to think what form his revenge might take.

* * *

The next evening, as Amanda stood by her stove, stirring the sauce for Michelle's favorite chicken dish, she was surprised to feel her best friend hug her from behind, pressing the length of her body against her own back. One of Michelle's arms curled tightly around her narrow waist, and when her other arm wrapped across her chest, her fingers cradling Amanda's breast, she drew in a sharp breath.

"I love you, sweetie, but if I don't stir the sauce, it'll burn."

Michelle released her breast, but kept her own roundness pressed against Amanda's shoulder blades. "I'm just struggling with you not telling me how long you'll be gone."

Amanda gave the pot a final stir, then turned off the burner. "Even if I knew, you know I couldn't disclose it. All I can say is, I'll be overseas."