Agent's Masturbation

I'm standing on the balcony of the apartment and my robe falls open in the center, while the hot morning sun warms my chest. The ocean breeze hardens my nipples. I'm looking at the street below. This is Miami during the summer, where barely-there outfits are the norm.

After a quick shower and light breakfast, I touch up my appearance, then dress in jean shorts and a tshirt. I look at my reflection in the mirror and ruffle my hair. I trace my fingers through my outfit. It's not enough to be attractive -- I need to look fuckable.

I grab my phone and keys and head to the appointment.



Outwardly the place is billed as a wellness center. A two-floor building where trendy women spend their money. Minimalist inside and out, with a receptionist greeting you with a friendly smile. Prices are high but that's the cost of exclusivity.

While checking in at the front desk, a woman in a tailored suit approaches me.

"I'm Vanessa," the woman says. "So the rumors are true. You're an absolute doll."

We shake hands and smile. Some people have aura. She's the one. And of course I know her. Vanessa's face is on the brochures and website along with a few notable media appearances. Some call her the hottest new face in the wellness industry.

Our brief meet and greet ends when the instructor calls everyone to start the session. Women lingering and talking in the lobby head to the studio. There are women of different ages here, dressed in sportswear or leggings. Everyone gets barefoot and takes their spot on a mat. It's very much like a yoga class.

Ambient music plays in the background, the sun shines through the tall glass windows, and the faint scent of eucalyptus permeates the air. Two instructors lead the class. A young woman and a guy with a trimmed beard and manbun, a classic modern day hippie.

After 30 minutes of meditation, breathing techniques, and stretching, the male instructor begins what the class is really about -- Orgasmic Meditation (OM). It's exactly what the name suggests, a woman's bare clitoris gets stroked in a controlled manner, while she lays back and focuses intensely on the pleasure she's getting. It's not officially about sex, it's about a positive shift in energy.

Two women agree to be the day's featured attraction. A thin woman with mostly white hair that's tied in a ponytail, and a 20-something brunette with a bob cut. With a cheerful applause, the two women walk to the front and remove their leggings. No one is shocked by the sight of this. They lay on the floor. Legs spread. And the instructors get to work stroking their clits, while explaining the details of the technique, telling the members to relax.

Someday soon it'll be my turn. I'll have to prove myself to stay enrolled. Stripping from the waist down is nerve-wracking enough, but having an orgasm in front of everyone is nauseating. Whatever the case, a job is a job.

xxx

The main reason anyone gives for joining the FBI is wanting to do good in the world. Pry a little deeper, in private conversations, you'll hear things like they were inspired by movies or tv shows. A little deeper, maybe after a few drinks, people want that sense of power and job title.

None of that applied to me.

In truth, I joined the Bureau as an economic decision the same way people join the military to get their loans paid off. My dad was an agent and that got me references. I liked the idea of being constantly active, going place to place, being in the action. If I could help people, even better.

A few months ago I graduated from the FBI academy with no clear direction in mind. I excelled in hand-to-hand combat for someone my size and I had outstanding scores in behavior analysis and undercover operations -- areas where most struggle. Perhaps that's the reason I got assigned to the Human Trafficking Task Force in the Miami Field Office.

Everything was arranged for me, it was all hush-hush and fast. I flew here with my belongings in a single suitcase and Special Agent Costa picked me up at the airport. He drove me to a government funded apartment located on prime real estate. And that was the moment I realized they wanted more than just brains.

Even before unpacking my things, Agent Costa sat me down and explained everything he knew about Vanessa Haspel's business practice. How certain female clients were singled out and given 'special attention.' Most likely for their emotional vulnerability. Whatever the case, they were groomed into having sex with rich men under the guise of spiritual practice.

At least that's the claim two women made to the Bureau.

"This goes directly to me," he said. "There's no case number, no records. Just me."

"What makes this such a secret?"

"Right now it's preliminary work. Could be nothing, could be something. Get what I mean?"

I gestured to the expensive apartment. "I can read between the lines."

"Any of this bother you?"

"It's very last minute."

"But you want a fast promotion, right? Get noticed? Distinctions don't come from sitting behind a desk. If this case breaks, you'll move up with me."

If I'm being honest, it thrilled me.



xxx

There's a woman named LC who's the youngest of the group, a recent resident, having moved here for a tech startup job. She gravitated toward these classes as a spiritual outlet and to make new friends. I've grabbed coffee with her twice and she reminds me of my younger sister in real life, filled with so much love that she'll trust anyone.

It's an hour after class and I'm on a sun-baked rooftop across the street, watching the OM studio through a video recorder. The OM studio is two floors with the office space on top. Tall windows all around. Everything can be seen from my vantage point.

Vanessa is there introducing LC, who's still dressed in fitness attire, to a group of three older men dressed in business-casual Miami clothes. Thin layers with light color fabrics. The men smile at her, liking what they see. God, if only I could hear them.

When they stop talking, Vanessa slides LC's clothes off, piece by piece, leaving the young woman naked in the office. She looks small, unsure of herself, and her hands instinctively cover her breasts, but Vanessa gently lowers them. I've seen my friends naked before, usually in locker room situations. Never before she's about to get shared by a group of guys.

I record from my discreet position as LC is made to kneel and suck off three men. They stand in formation, her head bobbing between them. When they're done passing her mouth around, she's made to bend over the desk. They take several pumps each before LC kneels again and they finish in her mouth.

There's an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach as I end the recording. Given the circumstances involving this investigation, I wonder if she'd been pressured into this. Or if someone as unassuming as LC carries a gangbang fantasy. I've met plenty of girls like that in college. Legitimate sweethearts, good backgrounds, enjoys multiple cocks.

I return to my apartment after grabbing a sandwich to-go. I put the bag of food on the table and use the bathroom to pee. Then I sit on the couch with my laptop, the balcony open to allow a cool breeze on this hot day, and I connect the recorder to watch the video. The tension on LC's face and body language are a constant presence. LC's mouth was wide open from moaning when they took turns with her. The men made her cum.

When I've seen enough I close the laptop. My first taste of being a law enforcement agent is a sexual odyssey. Unlike other new agents for the FBI, my assignment requires me to have an orgasm at some point.

Now there's an amusing thought since a good orgasm is rare for me these days. I ditched my old sex toy before moving here, for obvious reasons, I didn't want my supervisor finding it. And between the undercover job and the stress of living in a new city, it's been hard to relax. I sink deeper into the couch and slip my hand below. I tell myself it's preparation, conditioning for the job. I think about LC's pretty face, how it twisted with pleasure when the men took turns fucking her.

x



A few days later I'm on the clothing-optional beach with the rest of the OM class. Because it's a weekday morning, fewer people are around. Fewer eyes, less attention. It's also the session where I'll have my first orgasm with the group. Delaying it would make me seem unserious, like I'm ruining the vibes and can't be trusted. And gaining the trust of Vanessa Haspel is my goal.

We start with our usual stretching routine but this time with our toes digging in the sand. The hot sun shines down on us and the sound of ocean waves is majestic. This is the main reason Special Agent Costa selected me for this job.

When I remove my bottom along with everyone else, there are glances my way, because nobody here has seen me naked from the waist down. Even the mature housewives take a peek. Baring my lower half in public is new to me. It's overwhelming, sure, but I think of it like going to the doctor's office. Eventually I'll never see these people again, so who cares?

We get in the water, waist deep, and I'm first in today's session. Clive, the instructor with the manbun, talks me through the process and I listen and nod. It's not like I'm going to offer any resistance at this point. I squat down to steady myself, then the touching starts while everyone gathers around me.

'Inhale through your nose, let your shoulders drop.'

The touch is non-penetrative but it's dangerously close to going inside. It's right on the edge, the ultimate tease. I try not to look at the women around me. I try not to think about anyone on the beach who may be seeing this. My focus is having an orgasm, then be done with this experience.

Between the two hands touching and stroking me and the ocean waves flowing between my legs, I have to lean on Clive for support. The water laps, the finger technique, and this doesn't feel like a choice anymore. I'm going to cum regardless of nerves or fear.

A woman rushes to my side to make sure I don't fall over from the waves and the weakness in my legs. My body jerks. My orgasm isn't the biggest I've ever had, but it's unforgettable because of how exposed I am.

Clive and the other instructor keep telling me to focus on the sensation and flow of energy. I pretend like I'm doing that but honestly I don't care about their 'unity' or 'flow states.' This is a job, but given the surreal experience, I'll remember this for the rest of my life. I'll definitely fantasize about it for years to come.

Back in my apartment, my hair is still wet from a quick shower and I'm drying naturally from the apartment heat. The curtains and windows are open and I'm sprawled on the couch in an oversized tshirt with my feet up. As fit as I am, squatting in the ocean and fighting against the waves will always be exhausting. Factor in that orgasm, I'm drained.

My phone buzzes on the table. The name Vanessa Haspel flashes across the screen.

I sit upright and get my thoughts in order. Back into character.

"Oh, hey there," I say.

"Hey there. Sorry I missed today's session. I'm still in Los Angeles for business but I've heard great things."

"What did you hear?"

"That you're a rock star," Vanessa says. "I mean, seriously, first time and you're doing that on a beach? Most women need more time. Anyway, I'm busy and I'm sure you are, too. I wanted to call and congratulate you. I like having you around."

There's a slight pause in our call, and it takes me longer to think than anticipated, because I need to reevaluate my decisions. My life, my career... my sexuality. Everything.

"Can this stay between us?" I ask.

"Sure, what's going on?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I've become close friends with LC, she tells me things. You know, personal things."

"Such as?"

"LC on her knees."

The line goes silent.

"So you know the secret then?" she asks.

"I'm good at handling secrets. I always have been."

The line goes quiet again.

"Let's talk when I get back to Miami soon. These conversations are best when face-to-face. There's much to explain."

"I'm open to that."

xxx

A week later Agent Costa is pacing around the apartment living room. His clothes are disheveled in the evening hour and he carries the weight of someone juggling multiple cases at once. It's clear he's become frustrated while I've become more motivated.

I'm the one physically involved, not him.

The laptop is open and he already watched two recordings I've made of women being stripped naked and having sex in Vanessa's office with business men. Rough, dominant, tinged with degradation. He had watched the videos with a stone face.

"People fucking in an office. Since when was that a crime? Without witness testimony, that's a normal Tuesday in Miami."

After some back and forth, he follows with:

"You've got two weeks to make something happen. No one will know about you, officially speaking. If there's actually a case here, you'll get credit behind the scenes, I'll make sure of that."

He leaves soon after. I know exactly what he's implying I should do.

Afterward I sit on the living room couch with the laptop on a coffee table. The balcony window is open and the curtains are wide. The nightlife is alive in Miami with bright neon colors and the sound of music and partying from nearby clubs. A warm breeze flows into my space.

I rewatch the most recent recording I took from the same rooftop location. This time it's a woman named Jeanette, a single mother who recently got out of a marriage. Latina. Great smile. Works at the front of a high-end Brazilian steakhouse.

This video was taken last night when Jeanette went to the OM studio after finishing her shift, so she was dolled up, wearing a low-cut dress which hugged her curves and stopped mid-thigh. The kind of outfit meant to turn heads.

It's the same scenario, where Jeanette was taken to the office on the upper floor to meet with a group of men, who were different than before. From the looks of things, Vanessa did most of the talking while Jeanette stood there as eye candy before her panties were slid down and her top was also pulled down, exposing large breasts with dark nipples, but they were mindful to keep her dress on because it enhanced her appeal.

Jeanette put her hands behind her back so they could cuff her wrists. I could see the look on her face. Her hard breathing. She was bent over the same office desk. From the angle of the first thrust that widened Jeanette's eyes, it seemed like they were interested in something other than pussy. I'd bet my career they shared her ass that night.

But what if I'm wrong? Some women thrive on submissive sex and perhaps Vanessa has an eye for finding them. The breeze from outside has a slight chill as the night goes on. It sobers me, helps me think. Maybe I'm too biased because I'm thinking of impressionable women like my younger sister.

Then I rewind the video to where Jeanette is first getting anally penetrated and then I think about my own release. How could a woman enjoy being shared? Has that always been Jeanette's fantasy, or LC's even? If I'm being real, it sort of has been mine. I think it crosses most people's minds at one point or another.

I slide my bottom off and let it fall to the floor, my eyes fixated on the screen as my hand drifts lower. I want to feel what Jeanette and LC have felt. The humiliation, the shock, the submission. The thought scares me. I wonder if Agent Costa would pull the plug if he knew about my conflicting feelings. I suspect he already has some idea but doesn't care. It isn't long before I cum.

xxx



It's late morning and the women head toward the exit with sweat dripping from their foreheads while having separate conversations. A hidden audio receiver is sewn inside the back of my sports top. It's so small you can barely see it. Agent Costa is listening and watching from across the street and this case is still unofficial.

Still barefoot, I linger around as everyone leaves. Vanessa turns her attention to me with a gleam in her eye. She's dressed down in a sports bra and leggings, beads of sweat around her nose and forehead, and even then she still looks vibrant. The energy of a CEO who never quits.

"Shall we talk in my office?" Vanessa asks.

"If you think it's the right step for me."

"Only one way to find out. And yes, I see great potential in you."

With towels wrapped around our necks, we walk barefoot up the stairs to her office. I wonder how often she goes barefoot to her office. I wonder if it's a mental tactic to keep me relaxed and have my guard down. I've never seen anyone come up here barefoot before and the carpet feels nice against my feet.

She makes small comments about climbing the social ladder as a woman. She shows me different pictures on the wall. I get the sense that she uses these lines routinely to charm her guests. And you know something? It's working.

"We're expanding to San Francisco next year," Vanessa says. "Ever been?"

"I actually used to live there. Long ago."

"Ah, interesting. Who knows, once we open that location, you could visit as a guest instructor. If we get to that point."

"You must really see something in me."

Vanessa steps closer. "Let me tell you a little secret."

"Please."

There are voices downstairs as some men arrive and they're greeted by staff. It's an informal conversation going on, like they know each and they're friendly. Hearing the voices downstairs makes my spine tingle and the pit of my stomach churn. Clients? Investors? Men that are kept happy for whatever financial reason?

"A woman's throat is an erogenous zone," Vanessa says. "That may be hard to believe, but it's true if you acknowledge it. The spot is difficult to find, almost by energy, but once you reach it, you can suck cock for an hour."

I gulp. "That's what you teach people?"

"Not to everyone. Only in private. It's a personal thing and only those with an open mind should be taught. Are you interested in learning?"

"Maybe, I mean, I'm still here. Guess I'm curious."

"Good because curiosity is where it always starts. Now I can see that you're tense. That's normal, but here we let go of normal. My friends are coming up soon. Would you like to meet them?"

"So you can train the back of my throat?"

"Yes, that's the plan. Don't let my boldness scare you. I'm a great teacher."

But it does scare me. How could it not? But it also excites me, this sexual brazenness and exploration, and part of me wishes I could have a private conversation with her. One where Agent Costa isn't listening and I could pick Vanessa's mind and indulge my curiosities. Maybe in another life.

Until then, my supervisor is listening from the audio transmitter, watching from across the street, and voices from the lower floor come up the stairs toward this office. My pulse quickens. Three men enter dressed like casual Miami investors -- slacks, linen, open collars. Two are white, one guy is black. An older group. They greet Vanessa like an old friend, giving her a warm hug with a kiss on the cheek. None of this feels transactional. It's normal to them.