Patty - Junior CIA Analyst

Patty - Junior CIA Analyst Patty - Junior CIA Analyst

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


A young woman, freshly graduated from the CIA training program, starts her analyst job.


A young woman, freshly graduated from the CIA training program, starts her analyst job.


Submitted: July 04, 2011

A A A | A A A


Submitted: July 04, 2011



A gray street, towering façades, and sky scrapers marked the scene in Manhattan. Business people in sharp suits and colorful ties marched past. Business women in black dresses and white sneakers swooshed past. A little green token tree was chained to a pole. A neatly dressed homeless was only recognizably by the drunk movements in the morning.

Patty stood with her back to a marble slate wall. Her height was average 5’5”. Yet, her slender body made her appear tall. Her hair was a dark blond with yellow highlights. Her face looked fresh in the morning. The lip gloss was a soft pink. She wore a new pair of jeans. Her butt looked a bit blocky in it.

Her eyes were festooned on the newsstand in front of her. The freshly printed news papers were fanned out over the counter. The prints were still warm and the ink still smudged. The messy looking clerk had wool finger gloves and rubbed them to catch a bit of warmth. Patty was waiting for dead drop.

Her feet stood squarely. There was a fat golden pipe end for the fire department. A dark water stain still marked the urine of a homeless running down the wall and across the sidewalk.

Her hand hung down the side. Her palm held onto her thigh. That was her trick to find a place for her hands, when she was nervous. A passing man eyed her. She looked away shocked to be seen. As fast did she realize that her eye avoidance was suspicious. She looked back to find the man having moved on without paying any though to her.

Her mind had nothing to do. She idly thought about what to say should someone ask her what she was doing. “Sir, I am waiting here.” “Why don’t you call your friend?” “She will be here any moment. Really!” What if someone accused her of scooping out the newsstand for a grab and run theft? She tried to look elsewhere.

The adrenaline startled her body. She was breathing, while trying not to think about her breathing. Her neck started shaking slightly. The muscles simply spasmed on their own. She knew that feeling of anxiety crawling inside her. She feared all the involuntary reactions of her body. That only fed the anxiety even more. She had to calm herself to let the anxiety pass.

She felt naked. The jeans were only a thin cover over her body. If they’d come off, she’d stand naked in her white thong in the cool New York morning air. Surely, everyone could see the shape over her ass and thighs. The jeans merely gave her skin a blue color, yet everyone could see her body. Her breasts under the white sweater were always clearly visible. Breasts are always for all to see. Unlike a penis, breasts always shape the clothing.

Three people in big coats passed the newsstand at the same time. It was hard to see who was doing what. The bodies overlapped each other. The front page of the NY Times was torn. That was the signal. The dead drop had been made. Patty pushed off, grabbed the paper, flung the three quarters, and darted off. If there were any hidden eyes, all eyes would be on her.

Her feet walked swiftly across 11th Avenue. The yellow traffic box with the walk sign was blinking. Pedestrians were walking everywhere with flying coats and large strides. Yellow cabbies plowed their cars left and right to gain one car length advantage on their crawl. Fresh bagel stores, flower stores, and subway entrances, all provided excellent cover for surveillance.

There was no telling who would be after her. She had to move swiftly to a bottleneck location that would reveal anyone following her. Her eyes swiftly tripled down the stairs of the tunnel to the Hudson River Park. Her heart pounded. This isolated place would be the opportunity for the opposition to snatch her. The tunnel was a dark littered long tube. She could see the trees and grass at the far end of the tunnel.

Nobody bothered with the Hudson River Park at this time. There were only homeless people sleeping sheltered by the bushes. The steps of her soft soled snickers gently echoed in the otherwise silent pedestrian tunnel. She could not hear any steps behind her. Her heart was pounding in anticipation.

Once on the other side of the tunnel, she took cover behind the tunnel wall. Her fingers wrapped around the black boxy Taser with the shiny metal prongs. Guns were not approved for training missions.

Patty’s heart pounded. The throat burned from the sharp inhales. Her mind was blanked to solely focus on the Taser in her hand and the spring action to push the thing onto anybody’s throat, who might follow her. Her free hand steadied leaned against the wall to steady herself from the wobbly feeling of an overabundant rush.

Silence. Nothing happened. A few birds were singing. A homeless dropped a glass bottle.

“Okay,” Patty whispered to herself. If she’d stick her head out to see into the tunnel, she would give her ambush away. However, if there was nobody, she’d simply stand like silly forever. Very slowly, she moved her head passed the wall. When her eye could see the tunnel, she felt like her giant pumpkin head was the size of a garbage truck – so visible. There was nobody.

Patty walked on. She circled around the park and went into the nearby office building. It was one of those dingy building with printers. Big boxes of paper stood everywhere in the cramped building. Her office was on the twelve’s floor. A freight elevator took her there. The buttons were so worn that one always worried, if they would register. The elevator had little jumps upon starting and stopping. The door was a cage door that let the passenger see all the floors that it passed.

The office door looked like any other dingy printer office - a heavy metal door that made a dragging sound on the floor. A little water cooler was cramped into a corner. Two foldout chares for visitors barely fit in. The reception room was the size of a prison cell. Dirt stains had developed after years of only light dusting.

Past the reception room was her department office. The CIA seal proudly adorned the wall. An American flag sagged in the ever windowless office. Those were all the decorations. Four desks with phones, black Dell computers, and paper piles filled the small backroom. The whole operation was in here. The office was separate from the known CIA offices in Manhattan for a low profile.

“Patty, I see you brought me my morning newspaper.”

“Yes, Grenoble, here you go.”

Grenoble was about eight years older than twenty-two year old Patty. Grenoble wore an impeccable business suit with a metal pin of the American flag. Her eyes were black as her hair. A little rouge made her cheeks rosier than natural rosy cheeks. The skirt was short, tight, and had a triangle cut out the front. Grenoble sat uncomfortable in the low end office chair, because the skirt was so tight. Her high heels tapped on the floor.

“Listen up, kids,” announced Grenoble.

“Your second day in the field office has started. For the next months, you will apply all the techniques from training in the real world. Reading about protocols in a textbook and playing role plays with your classmates is very different than reality. Reality is unscripted. Anything can happen.”

“While you are in the training office, you will not engage in any live operation. You will practice basic intelligence gathering. You will survey regular people. You will setup safe houses. You will not see any action or even benefit. However, know this. All the data that you gather could become critical in a live mission.”

“Imagine you interviewed a regular residential high rise. Nothing’s going on there. However, one day a terror suspect moves in. Then, our field team draws on your intelligence. When the terror suspect moves in, there is no time to gather this intelligence. It has to be primed and ready.”

“So, your first assignment is to make those phones smoke. You will pose as a telemarketer to make a survey for a made up book publishing company. Your true target will be to identify their daily habits, roommates, and e-mail address. You will here a lot of rejections and hang ups. You will become very discouraged. You will see no point in calling a random residential tower. And, that’s the point. The biggest enemy of intelligence gathering is frustration and pointlessness until you find that one detail that changes the course of the war on terror.”

“Go at it. Nobody leaves before I am satisfied. Let that be the motivation.”

Grenoble starred down one by one until the crew of three tugged on their yellow call notepads, cheap pens, and eventually lifted the head set. Patty glanced at Sandy’s red, blustered head and Angela’s pale white, tense head. Patty’s screen was blinking to indicate that a pre-dialed line was ready for her to answer. She silently whispered to herself, “I will be noble.” That was a little advice that her yoga teacher had given her, a little affirmation to spell before having a difficult conversation.

“Hi, this is Patty with Green Morning Marketing Associates. I’d like conduct a marketing survey with a chance to win an iPad. It will only take a few minutes. Would you be interested?”

A tense, female, middle aged, Brooklyn accented voice hissed, “Shove the phone down your face, cunt! (click)” Patty got a mental glimpse of the caller wearing tacky red nail polish and poorly bleached, dull hair.

The monitor cheerily announced, “presence confirmed, beginning attendance analysis, ten more calls to predict home presence with 50% certainty, 1 point awarded.” The call ready sign was already blinking with the next pre-dialed call. Patty drew the air in sharply threw her nose. She captured a moment of Angela’s high pitched tense voice shaking, while she read a question.

“Hi, this is Patty Morning with Green. No, I’m morning green with associates. There is this survey you should take. It’ll win you an iPad. No, no, you don’t get an iPad, it’ll enter you into drawing. Yeah, and it’s about marketing… sorry… let me start over. I am getting all garbled.”

An old, male voice answered. There were pauses in the voice not from hesitation, but a challenge to clear the throat and form a clear thought: “That is very nice of you. I would like to participate in the survey. Go ahead, darling.”

“Okay,” Patty smiled and a feeling of happiness welled in her chest, “how many books a month do you read?”

“Young lady, you have such a lovely voice,” said the old man with a voice raspy from age, “could you ask me the question again? I love hearing your voice. Could you speak a little softer?”

“Okay, how many books a month do you read?” Patty blushed a little for her new colleagues hearing her talk with a sex phone operator voice.

“Oh, I read the same book over and over. It’s Lolita. Let me ask you a question. How old are you?”

There was slight panting on the other end of the phone kind of like a dog trying to stifle its panting to avoid being heard.

“Uh, I’m 23 years old. Have you ever bought a book online?”

“You are a sweet young girl. No, I don’t have one of those new fangled computers. What are you wearing, child?”

There was another nasal pant. Patty visualized an old shriveled man sitting on a decade old hard wooden chair in a room with curtains bleached by decades of sun light. She imagined him with his old man pants down the knees handling his penis. The mental image made her shudder with disgust from deep in her gut.

Grenoble made quick steps toward Patty. Patty froze with the caller equally breathlessly waiting. Grenoble’s slender hand with the old fashioned gold ring covered the microphone. Grenoble’s cheek rested against Patty’s hair as she whispered into Patty’s ear: “You have a compromised caller. Put out a little bait, move of the script, and get as much intel as possible.”

Patty stuttered, “I am wearing blue jeans. It’s new. It’s my first time wearing.”

“You young girls buy those ripped jeans that show thighs, calves, and sometimes butt.”

“No…” Grenoble pressed her thumbs on Patty’s thigh in a putting-the-pressure-on motion. “Actually, they are completely ripped up the front. My whole thighs are peaking through. And, I got one rip running across my right butt. When I bent forward, my green panties show through the slit. I wear them to tease my boss. I bent down in front of his office. And, I could see his face squirm. He’s been coming by my desk all day.”

Grenoble showed the thumbs up gesture. The panting on the phone became more intense, “What… What else are you wearing?”

“We have to do a little quit pro quo. You tell me, if there are any other cute girls in your building. And, I tell you more about me.”

“Oh, there is this blond head downstairs. She has clear bond hair all the way to her fanny. She works at the Starbucks around the corner. I sometimes stay in front of her door and I can hear her moaning. I don’t think that there is a boy friend. I can only hear. I stand there for a little bit.”

“Who else?”

“Oh, there is this really rude black haired girl. She is heavy and ugly. She always comes home very late from work. But, her boobs are so large and jiggling. She keeps her door key under the welcome mat. I accidentally stubbed my toe on her mat once and kicked it over. Your turn.”

“Those jeans are kind of tight. They are not worn in yet. I need to get out of them for a little bit. (panting) I’ll just pop the top button or maybe the second one, too. Phew, that feels so much better. I hope nobody notices that my panties are showing. (a stifled groan)” The line clicked.

Grenoble looked sternly at Patty, “You let your mark come. You need to learn to string them along.” Grenoble swiveled her crossed-knee skirt butt off Patty’s desk.

Patty’s mind flickered with the old man in his old clothes, handling the penis with aging spots and the gooey come on his hands and belly. A hard pounding tension in her head made her feel that her dignity had been stripped off her. The monitor happily announced that she had received 10 points for the intel.

The calling system mercilessly pushed call after call on the girls. The constant tension of calling on strangers was grinding with boredom. A tension headache had set in. The pain dimmed the emotional anxiety about calling. The breathing became tense and shallow. The whole plainless of the room sunk in. There was nothing pretty or elevating about the room – only impersonal office walls. It told you, who you were – a nobody, a cog in a machine.

“Do you guys have any aspirin? I got a head ache.”

Angela set up a little more upright than she had already been sitting. Her blond hair was neatly pulled back into a pony tail. Every strand of her was pulled back. She was wearing standard office clothing from Banana Republic – khaki pants and a white blouse. Nobody buys just office clothes without a little fun or something special to it. These clothes had a straight standard cut and appropriate fit. There was nothing fancy about the color or the details.

Angela wagged her finger with her nose held high and spoke with a sweet, angelic, high pitched void, “I don’t do drugs. If I need something, I ask god for it. We should pray together and your headache will be gone.”

Patty grinched on the inside – a proselytizing Christian, “I’ll just take an aspirin.”

Sandy smiled with a smirk, “I’ve got a new bottle.” She picked it out of her hand bag. She handed the bottle to Patty. On the way back, she dropped the paper packaging toward the trash can and missed. She bent over to pick it up. Her butt fully stretched the tight, white leggings. She was a bit chubby and the bent only made her butt expand even larger. The color of her pink skin shone through the white fabric, because it had been stretched so thin. Her g-string was clearly visible. It was silver and sparkled red-yellow-white in the office light.

“Why are you wearing leggings at work?”

“Oh, I was on assignment at the UN this morning. I had to play the unintentionally slutty nanny. You know, the girl that doesn’t try to be a slut, but somehow her clothing ends up being revealing. My job was to distract a middle aged family man. Those pervs always have to stair. So, I did my little clumsy routine and had his full attention. In the meantime, the field team hooked him up with a microphone and tracker. Those leggings are two sizes too small. Otherwise, the thong didn’t show clear enough.”

“Wow, you were on a field mission.”

“Uh, it’s not a big deal. I was just an extra actor.”

“It’s at least something. We are just calling random citizens with no point. And that’s after we had training simulations for advanced combat, infiltration, interrogation, and…”

“Patty, are you feeling that you are too good for solid intelligence work?” asked Grenoble.

“Grenoble, it’s just that I feel ready. I’m ready to be in the field.”

“Oh, you are ready to be in the field. Would you bet on that?”

“What kind of bet?”

“I drop you off and you retrieve a piece of intel. If you come back with it, you win. If you fail, you are on shit detail and don’t get to say another word. Are you still feeling cocky?”

Patty’s heart was beating. Her lungs were pumping and made her want to say big things. And, then only a little squeak came out: “I’m mission ready.”

Grenoble smiled for the first time with true pleasure, “then get yourself in a business suit.”

Minutes later, Patty was sitting in the passenger seat of an oversized black SUV. Everything was black about the SUV, the outside color, the seats, and the steering wheel. Everything was a little oversize, the steering wheel, the chairs, the armrest handle. Patty felt herself little in her tight business suit. A gray cross-hatched pencil skirt kept her thighs together. She looked at her knees that poked a little past the hem. She was wearing a silky white office blouse that felt foreign to her being so fresh out of college.

Silence remained between them. Patty glanced occasionally at Grenoble. Grenoble looked like an ant steering an elephant. The power difference must have been obvious to Grenoble, because she sat firmly squared in her seat with an iron grip on the steering wheel to show the SUV who was boss.

The gently roaring engine calmed down to a whisper, when the car slowed down next to the curb. “The field is out there, Patty. Open the door and you are inside the field.” Patty had extra spit in her mouth and tried not to gulp. “Do you see that green dumpster down the alley?” Patty nodded. Her mind spun stories of her infiltrating the building through a backdoor past the dumpster. “Your mission is to find the phone bill with the phone log for apartment 1B.”


“Your mission is to find the phone bill with the phone log for apartment 1B in the dumpster. Get out!”

Shocked by the bossy yelling, Patty opened the door and stepped down from the high SUV seat. Grenoble drove off without waiting for Patty to close the door. Patty heard the click behind her of the acceleration snapping the door closed. Grenoble didn’t even want to relish in her victory of watching Patty dumpster dive in a business suit.

The sidewalk was empty. All the tenants were at work. A front desk receptionist looked bored out of the big glass entrance of the building. The receptionist was a heavy set black man in one of those silly uniforms with the gold stripes and a hat. The lobby had couches and a fake fire place to receive visitors. The building was one of those fifty story apartment high rises.

Patty slowly walked down the alley. Her black high heels had delicately skinny straps and gold buckles. Her step wobbled a bit from being so young in life that wearing a business suit was a new experience. She felt equally high for having joined the business tier at least visually and equally low for feeling vulnerable and helpless in her situation.

The alley was a typical alley. The pavement was all messed up with cracks, fixed pot holes, permanent garbage stains, little trap doors into the basement, fire hydrants that accumulated refuse around them. The green dumpster had been beaten up severely. The paint had chipped off sections. The sections had rusted into a brown color. Newer gashes exposed the silvery metal beneath. A yellow sign read the phone number for the waste removal company. The lid had been blown off long ago.

A peek inside of the dumpster showed it mostly empty. The majority of the trash was sticky trash that had permanently attached itself to the dumpster. The overhead shaking of the garbage truck didn’t release the syrup soaked newspaper sheets. Other clumps of odd things had deformed into something unrecognizable that had been in there for months. A few squeaky clean white and neatly tight of kitchen bags had been added since the morning, when the garbage removal was. There was plenty of space to stand on the grimy floor of the dumpster.

Patty imagined herself actually standing on the just nasty bits of the dumpster and opening the few trash packs carefully with her finger tips. At least, it wasn’t a half filled dumpster that would have required her to actually get half immersed in the trash. If she simply moved slowly and delicately enough, she would avoid getting filthy. And, then she could proof herself to her boss. She would be able to call on her victory to get something special. It was doable and the prize would be sweet, as long as she went slow, delicately, and carefully.

She got ready to do it. She stepped up. She surveyed the top edge of the dumpster. There was enough clean space. The edge had only broken paint and rust. There were no slimy things stuck to the lid. People pretty much lobbed everything over the edge. She place her hands carefully down. She bent her knees a little, jumped her. With her elbows straight from her physical CIA training, her head was hovering over the sea of banana peels, coffee grounds, and takeout boxes that had gotten stuck to the inside walls.

However, she couldn’t move her knees. The pencil skirt kept her knees together. She lowered herself down. Her mind was action oriented. She just needed to hike up her skirt to the hip for a moment. No problem. She peered out of the alley to the sidewalk. She waited for people to leave. She felt awkward standing in a business suit next to a dumpster. However, there was nothing to change. She just had to make herself breath deep and long and wait.

The sidewalk was clear. She pulled up her pencil skirt. The fabric was tight and next to her thigh. Her green panties were exposed in the fresh air. She felt her panties exposed to the whole wide alley, the big space, the big air. It was breathtakingly daring. She jumped up on her locked elbows. She swung her legs across the edge. The metal sounded empty, when her heels hit the metal floor. She quickly pulled down her pencil skirt to her knees.

Her hands were shaking. She had made it in. Now, the faster she found that phone record, she would be over this. This was more a trial than actual hard work. She carefully squatted next to a clean white kitchen bag with a red pull string. Her knees were neatly together. She had to balance on her high heels.

Pinched finger tips pulled the bag opening apart. The draw string receded into the compartment in the bag. A pair of pinched fingers moved to the bottom corner. The white bag was shaken. The contents spilled out easy as pie. There wasn’t actually much inside. The cereal cartons and fruit plastic containers were uncrushed and took up a lot of space. Half of the trash looked neat and fresh from the grocery store. The other half were tea bags and food leftovers that had quickly turned into gooey, moldy masses that had broken and stained much of the clean stuff.

A tooth brush with worn bristles was a lucky find as a poker. Patty stirred the trash with it to see all the pieces. And, thus the pretty, neat, business suit dressed girl was in the filthiest of all places falling into a happy working rhythm. The smell of the place had an intense emotional factor: The stench caused a strong emotional repulsive feeling. The heightened emotion only made her more sensitive to the other smells, like fruits, misty deodorants, sweaty clothing. Smell is such an intimate touch. It can’t be shut out like sight. It’s not intellectual like sound. It is almost animalistic in how it affects emotions.

The worst part was identifying papers. Paper had the habit of being folded, semi-wet, which required careful unfolding. The bottom of the dumpster slowly filled up with her spread out garbage. Patty realized that this was a mistake. It left her with no space for her feet. She should have concentrated the trash and started layering. So, she started moving the trash with her tooth brush stoker. She carefully dribbled trash pieces like a soccer player, while her high-heeled feet made little side steps, and her business suit butt scooted a few inches above the grimy dumpster floor.

So familiar with trash layout in the dumpster, she moved backward without looking in her little dribbling steps. She shrieked, paused, hyper ventilated. A cold wet dime sized something was touching her right next to her vagina outside her panties on the naked thigh. The touch was on her intimate space, where only a very few young men had ever touched her. She was startled.

Very slowly and carefully to avoid the thing touching her skirt, she rose up. She looked down. A yellow McDonald’s burger wrapper had been bunched up and expanded on its own. The tip of the wrapper was standing up. Apparently, it had just managed to slip up her skirt the right way. A red dot was smeared on the tip of the yellow wrapped. Someone had dripped ketchup.

She shuddered at the though or a red ketchup spot discarded McDonald’s from some fat boy was high up on the inside of her thighs. She reached with her finger under her skirt and wiped it off. She wiped the finger on the side of the dumpster. The clean looking dumpster inside started seeming clean to her.

The initial revulsion to getting in contact with garbage diminished over time: “Oh, that accidental touch wasn’t as bad as the one before.” She explained to herself that she would simply wash her hands later. So, she needn’t worry about her hands. Her shins collected scuff marks. Her face got a few dabs of garbage paint transferred on her face by habitual touches. She had given up on her suit half way through.

In the end, she walked down the streets of NYC with the phone records in her hand: “Apartment 1B – R. Robertson.” Her head was held up high for the proud victory. All the ruffled looks of pedestrians heading home only raised her victory, while she walked back to the office like a filthy skank, a homeless street walker that lived in alleys.

On the way up to the office, she imagined the big looks from everyone for stepping up and proofing herself. It was going to be like birthday and Christmas together. Her mind couldn’t think of anything else. Her imagined first step into the office played over and over in her mind.

When the moment came, Patty stood in the door in all the beauty of her garbage filth holding up the paper. Angela smirked double wide. Angela always had perfect posture. And, even in the evening, her make up as much as it was make-up-by-the-numbers, it had been perfectly re-applied all day to avoid it getting smudgy from normal slight sweat and skin oils.

“Patty, while you went on your little excursion on town, which I am sure was very entertaining, I did a little real CIA work. I called apartment 1B. I extracted enough information to call the phone company. Combined with a little Internet research, I had enough personal details to make the phone company e-mail me her phone records. But, you little missy are too good for phone work.”

And, Angela actually stuck her tongue out a little bit.

Patty could only feel a deep punch in her stomach. Her whole inner parade of a marching band playing in her head and the feeling or riding in on a stallion decked out with banners imploded to leave her feeling little, stupid, and duped.

Grenoble sent them home. On the way out, Sandy whispered into Patty’s ear: “Angela is an uppity bitch. Don’t let it get you down.”

Late at night after a very long and steamy hot shower with multiple soap scrubs, Patty was lying in bed. Her butt was covered in fresh new panties with little children like symbols of straw berries and coins. The combed cotton felt snug and soft against her skin. A thick cotton band ran around her thighs and belly that snapped tightly against her body. It gave her a sensation of being held in. A big section of her butt was exposed by the panties. That was warmly caressed by the warm flannel bedding embracing her back.

She wore a tank top that exposed her belly and back. The breasts were firm in place from her young age and without a bra. She snuggled deeper into her pillow and a comfort position. A tear ran down across her temple. Work had been so mean.

She had imagined the CIA work as glorious. She had imagined her co-workers to grow a close bond of a tight nit operations team. She felt alone. She felt strung out. She felt hopeless about her work. Work seemed like an endless doom of forcing her mind and body to do things against her will. Work was a machine that that mercilessly forced her to do things. And, the worst part is that unlike a straight out torture session or rape, she had to make her do those things. It wasn’t like a man forcing her. Under the specter of getting fired, she had to make herself do whatever it took. And, in the end? In the end, there would be a pension for a used up and discarded woman.

Her body shuddered with tears. Her pretty face was pulled into a mourning grimace. She longed for a touch, for love, to be held. Hearing that ‘it will all be okay’ was her deepest yearning. For a strong, confident, successful man, who knew about the world, to tell her that she would be fine. And, she would believe him. And, her heart would be touched to release. And, she melt with her head lying on his lap. Exhaustion took over and sent her into deep, black sleep.

The next morning in office, a g-string lay placed across her keyboard. The backside was a quarter inch cotton band. The front was a small triangle. A happy font read, “I am saving it for Jesus.” Beneath it, right above where the clitoris would be, was the stencil print of a bearded Jesus.

Patty looked around the room. Angela beamed with the happy shiny face of a morning newscaster, “It’s a gift. Keeping your virginity is so important. I know being out of the academy, we have to face so many temptations.”

Sandy picked up her panty gift, stretched one end on a finger. With the g-string taut, she aimed at Angela and released the g-string. The g-string hit Angela straight into the face. A quiet “whoops” escaped her mouth. With more thought, she added with a cheery voice, “Oh, it mustn’t have been your size. My bad.”

Grenoble knocked on her desk, “Enough child’s play. Patty, I hope you learned your lesson yesterday. However, you proofed yourself. I have a little trial for you. And, you two back on telemarketing duty.”

Both women were sitting again in the spacious black CIA SUV. They drove down the streets to an unknown destination. Grenoble wouldn’t talk. Patty didn’t dare talking. Patty watched the passing people in the street, running to work, juggling coffee cups and briefcases, waving for cabs. A certain comfort set in. It was calming to observe. The black leather seats felt reassuring. She was in a real CIA undercover SUV. She was on an excited unknown mission. The mystery made her happy.

Big eyed, she followed Grenoble into a five star hotel lobby. Grenoble walked purposeful with fast strides across the lobby. She had aimed her gait perfectly at a destination that Patty excitedly looked forward to. The lobby hall was full of pillars, chandelier, giant oil paintings, people in expensive suits, uniformed bell hops, and a poodle with a designer hair cut and pink bow.

In the far end of the lobby was a little coffee area. A host with a tall hat and golden cords running across the front of this jacket opened the velvet rope for the two women. The chairs looked Victorian with velvet upholstery. The table had a gold rim and white porcelain paintings on the center. The waitress had a maid uniform: black dress, white apron in front, and a white head dress. She carried a serving plate with gold handles in both hands. A delicate long noosed tea kettle was in the center and delicate, gold rimmed cups, and under cups.

Within a minute, they were sitting in an exclusive tea ceremony place and sipping tea. Patty said, ‘wow.’ And, Grenoble raised her finger and blew air through her mouth to tell Patty to be quiet without ever looking at Patty. Grenoble was scanning the lobby area.

“Do you see the curly haired woman coming in?”

Patty attempted to turn around. Yet, Grenoble stopped her with a soft, yet precise tap on patty’s knee, “Use your spoon.” The silver spoon was so polished that it was like a mirror. The room behind her was distorted from the curvature of the spoon. There was only one woman among the workers and business men. “Yes.”

“The first part of your mission is to determine her panties. You have to precisely identify her panties.”

“How am I going to see her panties in public?”

“Go. Don’t plan. Improvise. She is on the way to the bathroom.”

Patty turned around and got up in one motion. She tripped on the edge of a thick carpet and kept going. Her mark quickly entered a hallway with mirrors, paintings, and elaborate lighting. A few turns drew them deeper into the hotel building past kitchen doors, storage rooms, and waiting serving rollers. At last, the symbol of a female body on the door indicated the bathroom. Her mark absent mindedly smiled at Patty, as she held the door open.

With the first step into the bathroom, Patty inhaled the smell of tropical flowers. It was one of those luxurious bathrooms that made you feel happy. The bathroom was beautifully decorated with bamboo. Exotic humming birds were singing on an endless loop through speakers. Next to each sink were individually folded cotton hand towels. A side table was filled with deodorants, hair sprays, and other beauty supply that a woman might need.

Her mark was behind a locked stall door. A zipper announced the dropping of pants. A thud marked the sit down. The pause before the peeing was a thick pause. The moment the pee started hissing, Patty’s brain snapped into panic. If she didn’t do something now, the moment of opportunity would be over. Patty didn’t have a plan, but she needed to open the door.

Patty got a quarter out. She turned the lock open from the outside. She pushed open the door. How would she explain what she had done? The woman in front of her looked like an exhausted house wife without the bravado of her dress and the confident gait. One hand was holding a slip of toilet paper at the read to wipe of the last drops. Her panties were stretched between her calves. They were richly purple lace panties. Patty kept staring at them.

“Have you gotten a good eyeful?”

Patty kept staring at the panties. She tried to remember exactly, the half circles in the lace, the particular color, and the shape.

“Would you mind closing the door?”

Patty snapped into action, “Sorry, wrong door.” She closed the door. She went into the next stall and locked the door. She was too embarrassed to be seen by that woman again. Her mind repeated the image of the panty. With each repetition more of the whole image sank into her consciousness, the middle aged woman with her bare bottom and the stream of urine shooting out. Behind it all was the cheery and warm lighting of the luxury bathroom.

When the bathroom door shut closed, Patty got out of the stall and returned to Grenoble. She sat down happily with an extra swing and bounced her butt down so much that her feet lifted of the ground: “I could draw a portrait, so well do I remember her panties.

“You didn’t graduate art school. You are a spy. Part two of your mission is to purchase a duplicate pair.”

“But, there are millions of stores and web sites selling purple lace panties!”

“You better catch her before she leaves and ask her, where she bought ‘em. Hurry, little rascal!”

Patty lurched off her seat in panic. Her wide steps to get off the ground made her almost fall. Her mark was peeling away from an acquaintance, whom she had been talking to. The exit was only a few steps away. Patty reached her right in front of the door, which was held open by a smiling, white-gloved bellhop. Patty poked her mark on the shoulder.

Her mark turned around, “ah, the bathroom intruder.”

“I-I really like your panties. Where did you get them?” Patty stuttered and spoke like a doofus teenage girl. The act had been unintentional, yet worked to paint her as a silly young girl that one had to simply put up with.

While walking away, her mark yelled out “Friedrick’s of Hollywood” without even turning her head. Patty stood a little left like a homeless puppy on the marble steps of the hotel entrance.

Grenoble who had stayed in the background, yet in earshot, walked past Patty, “I’ll give you a ride to the store. The valet brought their black SUV back. Silence was again in the SUV. Patty kind of liked it that way. She was struggling with the turmoil of emotion inside of her, the effort that it needed to get herself psyched up and the effort that was required to keep her blushing in check. And, a little golden feeling in the center shown to mark her unacknowledged success.

The SUV idled right in front of the lingerie store. Patty hopped out and came back in with the right panty in all conceivable sizes. She sheepishly announced, “I didn’t know the size. So, I got them all.” Her smart thinking was answered with, “The CIA has approved only one panty. You have to pay for the excess with your own money.” Patty was upset for the drive. Her upset feeling kept her from thinking anything else. Her thoughts centered around that evil boss bitch and wishes for slavery, so that it would be legitimate for her to slay her evil owner.

She didn’t realize that the care was stopped in front of the downtown YMCA. The YMCA was a light gray stone building in between modern high rises. The sidewalks were crowded with workers on early lunch break hurrying to get food.

“Your mark is visiting the YMCA every Tuesday during lunch. Your job is to sew a bug into your duplicate panty. Then, you will go inside and switch the panties, while she is taking a swim. The bug and hand sewing case are in the glove compartment.”

There was also a Glock handgun in the glove compartment. The lace made it easy to embed the black rice grain sized bug into the seam. A stream of people crossed the street in front and behind them. Yet, the tinted windows gave them a sense of privacy, like being invisible in a big crowd.

Without warning, Grenoble started counting “3 – 2 – 1 – Get out now.” Patty stumbled outside. The moment that she stepped past the wide, thick SUV door, she saw her mark right in front of her – the curly haired woman. She slammed the door closed. She followed her mark through the sidewalk full of pedestrians. Her eyes were trained on the back of her marks head, while her peripheral vision helped her find little open canals in the crowd and side step people.

The moment, she entered the YMCA, the smell of chlorine hit her. If it weren’t for the chlorine, the place would have smelled out, because it looked aged. A round reception area in the middle stopped Patty. Her mark waved a badge and continued without stopping. Patty hastily pulled a twenty out of her wallet: “Here, keep the rest. I am on a short lunch break.”

“There is no rest. It’s twenty dollars entrance fee. Let me get you a locker key.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need one.”

“Miss, I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t going to swim in your clothes or get to throw your clothes in a corner.” The big woman squarely aimed her eyes at Patty to seize her up. “Oh, yes of course. I forgot. I am just so in a rush.”

“Here you go, lady.”

With a key on a spiral chain in hand, Patty stormed on. The locker room had been built in old times without enough ventilation. The warm water droplets stood in the air and immediately started collecting on her face. Mirrors were fogged up with circles rubbed clear with towels. Women stood in their bras in front of lockers. Stockings were being rolled down. White head towels throned on top of heads. Purses were piled on benches in the middle of the locker rows.

Patty scanned every face, head, and body to detect her mark. The state of undress made it harder to recognize people. Once naked or semi-naked women look so much more alike. Steam and wetness can make skins appear a decade younger. Patty continued on. The shower area was an open room with orange light and steam standing in the air. Naked women were soaping their bodies. Legs were both handed caressed with soap. Drowsy eyes starred blankly ahead as the hot water was running down their backs.

There was another locker row past the showers. Patty looked around the corner. It was mostly empty. There was only one middle aged curly haired woman. Patty quickly pulled her head back to avoid being detected. Running thrice into the same person would make her suspicious. So, she had to blend in, observe and wait for her mark to leave the locker room.

Patty withdrew to a bench, where she could see the exit of her mark’s locker row. She slowly started undressing. She unfolded her blouse one button at a time. Her eyes glanced at all the different sized boobs. There were small boobs, silicon enhanced boobs, naturally big boobs that came with fat bodies. Black bodies looked different than Asian bodies. Her bra was out in the open. She started pulling down her pants to wiggle her thighs free. To stall for time, she carefully folded her clothing on top of the bench.

Finally, her mark left. She walked over in her underwear with a hair pin in hand and the duplicate panty. She wiggled the lock a little. The cheap spa lock opened within ten seconds. She carefully lifted the clothing to find the pair of panties without changing the arrangement. The clothing still felt warm from her body’s mark having only shortly left it. It was eerie to hold the warm and moist panties in her hand. Out of curiosity, she smelled them for a moment. “Ugh, so rancid. What am I doing?” She placed the duplicate panty in its place. She locked up, swiftly dressed, and left.

“Good job,” said Grenoble, while the SUV drove off.

Back in the office, Patty asked, “where is everyone?”

“Oh, they are sent out on errands around town. I got an errand for you as well. You have to re-stock a few safe houses. There is a delivery van in the back. Take it. Check for the expiration date of everything in the safe house. If it expires within three months, toss it, and replace it. It should be easy as pie. Here is the list of addresses.”

Patty was happy to be on her own. She took a nice lunch break to eat a healthy sandwich. She liked driving the delivery van. She liked looking formal in her Yummy-For-You delivery service uniform. A couple people asked her for a menu. The agency had a fake menu with a fake web site that had such horrible customer reviews that nobody actually tried ordering anything.

It was fun to explore the safe houses. They were often studios or single bed rooms in a variety of buildings. Some were rundown joints on the Lower East Side. Others were noble apartments in door man buildings. Some were decorated tastefully. Others had only a queen sized mattress thrown on the floor. Patty added toilet paper and dry food that wouldn’t expire until a year or two.

This one brownstone building on the far fringes of the West Village near the Hudson took her particular fancy. It looked cozy from the outside. On the inside, it had mahogany stained stairs that were worn dark from time. Age seemed to have made it more charming. The doors were a little heavier wood than the flimsy new buildings. There was no elevator, yet the stair case was wide. On the second floor was the safe house.

She could hear naughty sounds walking down the hallway. She paused for a moment to grasp the details of the sounds. A young woman was cooing in passion. The heartfelt moans had a visceral response on Patty. It was like her innards resonated to the erotic calls. She wondered, if they were having an illicit affair, because it was during work time. She wondered if the real woman would ever randomly come home from work early and walk in on them. She giggled a little for her cliché movie ideas.

She unlocked the door and started methodically going through the kitchen cabinets. She marked on a clip board how much coffee and rice mixes she needed to bring back from the van. Something fell over. There was the sound of a lamp falling on the wooden floor. It sounded like it was in the apartment.

The sound had jarred Patty. She realized that the moaning from the hallway was actually coming from the apartment. It wasn’t that the walls were super thin. The sexual frolicking grunting noises were super close. Very quietly, Patty turned around. She quietly lifted the drawer with the knives to keep it from making sliding noises.

With a large chef knife, she tip toed along the wall towards the ajar living room door. Carefully keeping her balance, she got on her knees to peek in from a low angle. Peering eyes are less likely to be seen low.

There was a brown corduroy sofa. On top of it was lots of white naked skin. The firm butt of a young man rhythmically pushed in and out. One of his legs was half standing on the floor to get momentum. His head was dark brown and fluffy. A white, slightly chubby woman lay beneath him. Her body was raking against his body. Her mouth was ravaging his necks with bites, sucks, and kisses. Her well sized breasts were pressed flat between them.

He kissed her along the cheek and moved her face to the side to lick her ear. The woman roared at the intense sensation of having her ear licked. She opened her eyes and fully faced the ajar door and Patty. The woman was Sandy!

Sandy was misusing a safe house for personal purposes. That’s grounds for dismissal from the agency. A yelp escaped Patty’s throat. The couple looked at her. The young man asked with a dull voice: “Is that your roommate?” “Fuck,” screamed Sandy with the deeply roused sexuality still in her voice.

Patty ran for the door. In her panic, she wanted to get out of this situation. She heard thick thuds of body’s slamming on the wood floor behind her. Half way down the hallway, she heard the apartment door slam open again. Sandy was chasing her.

“Patty, wait. Let’s talk about this.”

Patty paused and turned around. Sandy stood in the open of the hallway stark naked. Her body was a little chubby. However, it made her seem only more sexual. Her hair was wildly tussled like from hours of love making. She had loved bites all over her neck and boobs. Cum was running outside of her pussy and down the side of her thighs. Sandy didn’t care standing like this in the semi-public hallway. She only cared about getting Patty’s attention.

“Patty, c’mon. Nobody has to know. There is no harm done. I’ll have your back one day.”

“No harm done? This could compromise the location. We shouldn’t even talk in the hallway.”

“So come back in.”

Patty slowly followed back in. The young man was standing in the kitchen with an upstanding erection. He was completely comfortable being naked and showing off his mast. He had the beginning of muscle definition from a few months in the gym.

“Hey, so I could do you both. I am all riled up from you. Is your roommate up for it?”

Sandy hissed, “Get out. Show’s over.”

The young man left with his clothes in his hands. Sandy threw the door shut still naked.

“Hey, I’ll have your back, if you shut up about this.”

“I don’t pull stands like these. I don’t need a free pass for fucking up!”

“We really need to stick together. Do you want to be in a room alone with the Christian crusader Angela?”

“No, but I won’t do something illegal to avoid it being so.”

“Okay, I’ve got some information on why we really need to stick together. I walked in on our boss and overheard a phone conversation. I think that she is using us for freelance work. I heard her negotiate pay for some of the things that we did. The residential building phone reconnaissance and your bug planting are all part of some freelance operation.”

“You are just making it up. You were taught to make stuff up to get out of tough spots.”

Sandy leaned back on the couch. She was sitting there split naked with her beautifully full sized boobs. Her fleshy thighs were sprawled wide apart. She still had the sheen of sex sweat on her body.

“Why don’t we drive back together, and you think it over on the way back?”

Sandy put her clothes back on. They locked the safe house. Patty riled herself up to snitch on Sandy on the drive back. She silently drove and formulated the words in her head, “caught having sex with a civilian in restricted access.”

Patty turned off the engine in the back of the building. Sandy looked Patty straight in the eyes. “I am sorry to do this. However, while I got dressed, I got rid of all the evidence in the flat. It will be your word against mine. We will both end up on probation. Now, the ball is in your quarter. Tell and be put on probation, or I will watch your back for life.”

They both walked silently up to the office. Patty’s panty mark sat in Grenoble’s chair.

“Patty and Sandy, finally you are back. I’d like you to meet Ros. She is my supervisor. She wanted to personally welcome you to the force. You won’t see her again, because we are and a semi-independent operation of the CIA.”

Ros shook hands with Sandy, “I saw your academy test scores. You really have to work hard to make it. This is an opportunity to make up for your weak performance in the academy. However, some graduates surprise us by being bad on tests and excellent in the field. I hope you are one of them.”

Ros turned to Patty, “I believe we have met. You are a very nosy woman. You have to develop a little class and discretion. However, they have a sale next weekend at the store, everything is ten percent off. That’s your chance to do a little shopping.”

Patty smiled, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Patty wondered why her boss had her spying on her boss’s boss.

Ros replied, “Don’t call me ma’am or miss Robertson. Just call me Ross.”

Patty got this unreal feeling. Too many facts around her were compounding to a spy mystery. It was like a novel. This was real life. She had to stop her fantasies. The facts was that the phone record matched her boss’s boss name. She had bugged her boss’ boss. Sandy had claimed that her boss had used them for a rogue mission. The CIA manual called for the ‘princess frog’ procedure to be initiated. Doing so was big time stuff. There would be a tribunal. The director would be briefed. She would go into detention for months until the situation was settled.

Ros smiled at everyone to announce that she was leaving.

Patty hastily lurged forward to get a hold of Ros hand. She held Ros’ hand in both her hands. That way her right pinky was completely covered from few. She started pulsing her message with the pinky onto Ros’ hand: short-short-short-long (repeat) short-short-short-long. Ros looked straight into Patty’s face with a dazed and stunned look. Patty repeated, short-short-short-long, with her gaze firmed planted into Ros’ eyes.

Grenoble walked out Ros. Everyone but Patty relaxed their posture and sat down.

“Princess Frog” is a protocol to recover an agent, who has been bugged without giving away to the bug that the bug has been discovered. There is no way to talk without being heard by the bug. Some bugs have cameras built in. Visual signals can be give aways. The usual procedure for bugs is to simply enter the dead room. The dead room is completely shielded. Thus, the bugs can be retrieved and manipulated. However, if the bug placer is so high value that the bug needs to remain in place, the “Princess Frog” protocol is invoked.

Patty waited for five minutes. When Grenoble returned to the office, she picked up the bathroom key and left. Outside, Ros was waiting around the corner. Once Ros saw Patty, she started walking at a comfortable pace to make it easy for Patty to follow. She entered the subway. She took the A train downtown. Patty kept half a train wagon distance. Ros kept walking to the YMCA.

The reception desk woman recognized Patty, “there goes the crazy girl.”

Patty went into the women’s locker room. The locker room had only a few women in the afternoon. They were leisurely combing their hairs over sinks with white towels wrapped over their breasts and hanging down to their butts.

Ros was already naked next to the locker. Her body was trim from the CIA training, even though she was middle aged, she looked tough. She had muscle definition. Her thighs were shapely. Once Ros saw Patty, she walked into the steam room.

Patty quickly took her clothes off. She ripped the top over her head. She let her pants fall to the floor without the usual care to not let them touch the ground, so that she get her panties off faster. She had a slender body. The most notable thing about her was her vagina. Her vagina lips were dark brown. She was a white girl, yet her vagina lips had a dark pigmentation. It looks odd. She had been teased for it during Lacrosse practice in high school. She got over it. Guys got especially aroused by it.

Because she didn’t have a towel, she stepped into the steam room split naked. Even though, she was in a locker room, she felt exposed, naked, and judged among the other women without a cover up. Two other women were in the steam room. Ros was under the shower with cold water in the center of the steam room. People could use the central shower to cool down. Ros was using it to drown any bugs potentially planted in her hair or otherwise on her body.

Patty followed the example. The cold water made her jump a little and firmed her nipples. Thick streams of water ran down her face and quickly soaked her hair. The other two women were barely visible in the thick steam standing in the air. A timed release erupted to blow more steam into the room. A white out ensued.

Ros came close up to Patty and opened her mouth as a signal for Patty to open her mouth. Ros’ finger went so swiftly inside Patty’s mouth that she couldn’t protest in time. There was a sharp taste to the fingers. The fingers swiftly swirled under her tongue and cleaned in between her cheeks and teeth. Patty felt violated, yet endured the oral bug sweep from the senior officer.

Ros signaled Patty to do the same to her. Ros patiently like a cow offering its udders for milking waited for Patty to put her fingers in her mouth. Patty hesitated. She gingerly touched Ros’ soft and quivering tongue. She felt the smoothness of Ross’ teeth. She felt the saliva pockets in the cheeks. Ros was unsatisfied and checked her own mouth.

Satisfied, Ros rough handled Patty’s head. Ros turned Patty’s head to look into Patty’s ear and up her nose. Ros closed Patty’s mouth with a flat hand to force Patty to breath through the nose. Satisfied that nothing plugged it, Ros presented herself to be inspected. Patty gingerly and uncomfortable about probing her superior’s superior’s intimate space checked the head orifices.

Ros sighed and got on her knees with her face right in front of Patty’s vagina. She slapped the inside of Patty’s thigh’s impatiently. Patty stepped apart shocked at the corporal order. Ros spit on her index and middle finger. Then, Ros swiped her fingers across Patty’s entire slit. Patty instinctively reacted by pushing Ros away with her hands. Ros grabbed one of those hands instantly trained like a commando unit, swiveled the arm around, and used her chest to push Patty forward.

Patty found her chest pressed hard against the blond wooden bench. Her hand was twisted behind her back and made it impossible to move. Ross’s fingers were fingering Patty deep inside her vagina.

The women that had previously been in the steam room had realized through the veil of the steam and the sounds enough to realize that there was some physical action going on that looked like lesbians getting it on. Both of them walked out together, “You are disgusting. You can fuck all you want at home. But, don’t make bystanders be part of it.”

Satisfied that Patty’s pussy was bug free, Ros presented her own genitals. Patty was still on her knees chest down on the bench. She half turned around to see that she was expected to do a vaginal exam. She froze at the prospect. Ros grabbed Patty’s hand. She spat a thick white one on Patty’s fingers and crammed the digits deep into her vagina. Patty’s fingers were small and slender in comparison to Ros. Whereas, Ros’ fingers had fully filled Patty’s young vagina. Patty’s fingers were a young, little tease for Ros’ vagina.

“You realize that you invoked protocol ‘Princess Frog.’”


“You better have more to tell than a single word for getting your fingers inside of my vagina.”

“I bugged you.”

“Why on earth would you bug a CIA agent?”

“I-I was ordered by Grenoble. I didn’t know that you were CIA.”

“You are not supposed to bug anybody. You are supposed to do mundane intelligence work.”

“I also went through your trash and got your phone records.”

“You did what? And, Grenoble ordered you as well?”


“You are going to end up in a black prison in Afghanistan.”

Patty told the whole story and all her observations, spare the part with Sandy.

“Patty, I have given you a hard time. You did fairly well. Although, you were misguided by your supervisor. I will let you in on a secret. We suspect that Grenoble is a double agent. That’s why we gave her a semi-clandestine team of rookies. We wanted to get her away from access to CIA information. I want you to go back to Grenoble and pretend that nothing happened. Tomorrow morning, a handler will contact you. You will be our inside spy on Grenoble’s team. Are you up for it?”


“Then, go. I have to attend to business.

Patty was left naked and alone in the steam room. The steam had started dissipating. Her face was glowing from the wet heat. A JAP (Jewish American Princess) walked in the steam room and set down with a coquette movement. Patty left the steam room dazed on what to do. She showered her body. Soap suds streamed down her slender naked body and pooled in a swirl near the drain.

She used one of the towels from the tray. She got dressed again. Her quickly tossed pile of clothes was still on the bench. It felt a little uncomfortable to get into already worn clothes with a clean body. She still felt Ros’ poking finger inside of her vagina. It was a weird mix of sexual arousal and violation. Any touch down there triggered deeply hard wired feelings of arousal. Yet, the probing nature made her feel bad about it. She felt bad about having had sexual feelings for being touched.

When she showed up at the office, two hours later at least, Grenoble welcomed Patty with an admonishing look. “Where have you been? (rhetorical pause) It doesn’t matter. You’ve been called on a mission. I don’t know how it happened. However, Ros specifically asked to put you on a live mission. It’s nothing spectacular. However, it is a live mission. I don’t understand what she sees in you.”

“A live mission?”

“Yes, a live mission. And, you have to get on the way now. Angela will take you. She will brief you on the way.”

Next thing, Angela pressed two bulky black cases into Patty’s hands, one each. They took off in a fast pace down the stairs with four bulky black boxes in total. In the street, Angela got in the driver seat of a black SUV. The SUV deeply dipped and bounced under Angela’s inexperienced control.

“Wow, Patty, we are going on a mission against a big time Serbian sex trafficker. He brings a ton of girls from Eastern Europe into America. This is part of the long arc research. He ordered a girl from an escort. You are that girl!”

“I am not going to fuck some pervert sex trafficker!”

“No, no, it’s a legit escort for com

© Copyright 2019 cowboy109. All rights reserved.

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