Create a similar story with title, keep the lesbian details and eliminate the sensual activities in the story. 
The spymaster smiled up at Jora from her seat on the sofa. She looked as frail as any old woman, but Jora knew the truth from years of training and working beside her. This woman was dangerous, even her smile. "Jora, dear," she crooned. "Remind me of your first mission in my service."
Jora cleared her throat and looked down. She hated how the old woman studied her, always looking for motive, always questioning. After twelve years in her service, Jora still did not even know her real name, though she had learned many of her favored aliases. "I was eleven, ma'am. I was tasked to pose as a serving girl in the palace kitchens."
"Indeed, you were." The spymaster laughed softy. "You made the perfect bumbling child. No one questioned your place."
At age twenty-three with over fifty accomplished assignments under her belt, Jora was one of the better apprentices. Praise of her raw talent was rare, however. An accomplished mission was never because of Jora's good work. It was the spymaster's careful planning, instead.
"Is there a reason you called me here?" she asked.
"Of course there is." Jora could hear the disapproval in her tone. She glanced up and met the woman's harsh stare. "You have an assignment back in the palace, in the kitchens, actually. You will need to be the same girl who worked there all those years ago, returning home after years of working in a village. You missed the heartland."
Jora raised an eyebrow. "And my objective?" The work sounded dull at best. She had hoped for something more challenging.
"Blend in. Make friends. I hear the queen is kind to the serving girls. If you were to find yourself in her good graces, I would not object. I expect you to find a way into your post tomorrow." She passed her an envelope. "Your work papers, as usual."
The official seal, a falcon encircled in an emblem, stood out on the paper. Inside would be the documents needed to get started working in the kitchens.
The spymaster waved a wrinkled hand at her. "Now get out. Go spend last week's pay on a pleasantry or two."
Jora nodded and bowed with a hand over her heart before turning to leave. She left the small home out the back door, stepping into a quiet alley. She followed the cobblestone path out of the housing district and back onto Market Street, the busiest roadway in the capital. The welcome buzz of people talking, haggling, and traveling eased some of the tension in her jaw.
As she walked along the street, someone called to her, "Jora!"
She turned her head and caught the gaze of Ingrid, a local shopkeeper who she had known for almost as long as she had known the spymaster. They had met as children during one of Jora's early assignments. She stopped and waved. "How are you?"
"Better if you'd come inside!" Ingrid called back. The young woman's cheeks were flushed in the midday sun, and her dark hair glimmered as she tossed it over a shoulder.
Jora smiled and nodded. She crossed the busy street and joined Ingrid in the ceramics shop. Ingrid shut the door behind her. "Business has been slow. Come with me to the back room and we can catch up."
Jora nodded and followed her through the little shop. It was crammed full of clay pots, plates, and all sorts of cast-iron wares. The dim lighting gave it the feel of a warehouse more than a shop. Jora smiled and nodded at the owner, an old man half asleep in a rocking chair, before joining Ingrid in the back room.
"So how have you been?" Ingrid asked. She sat down in one of the creaky wooden chairs. Jora took her seat as well, tucking the spymaster's documents in a pocket.
"Busy. New work coming in all the time." Jora glanced around the dingy room. It looked worse for wear since she had been by. "How are things here?"
Ingrid sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Not good. Worse since the new trade partners crossed in from overseas."
Jora frowned and leaned forward. "What new trade partners?" She had heard nothing of Osota's trade affairs on her last assignment.
Ingrid shrugged. "Recently formed sovereign nation, or so one of the dignitaries said when he came in the shop. They're not very nice, or at least the ones I met weren't. And they don't like Osota, or spending money, but they're royal guests so I tolerate them."
"Are they staying in the palace?" Jora asked. When Ingrid nodded, her frown deepened. Perhaps they had something to do with her assignment? Jora shook her head. The news suggested she was just going to be an informant, but the job hardly suited her skills. Jora hated going into assignments without all the facts, though the spymaster was fond of doing so.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking of how we met," she lied. They had been serving girls in the palace kitchens. They were both thirteen at the time and growing too fast. She smiled with Ingrid as she no doubt remembered as well. They broke more plates than they served just trying to keep up the pace at dinner parties.
"And why are you thinking about that?" Ingrid asked.
"I'm going to be working in the kitchens again, is all." She looked down at her hands. She liked having one person knowing where she was, even if Ingrid did not know the real reason. She would at least make sure Jora was still alive from time to time, something she was not sure she could trust the spymaster to do if things went bad.
"Really? You think Pel will be there still?" Ingrid asked.
Jora's cheeks grew hot as she remembered the other kitchen girl they had worked with. Pel had been their age, though much smaller and twice as crass as either of them. Jora was smitten with her before the end of that assignment. "Why would Pel still be a serving girl?"
"You never know." Ingrid winked. "If anyone could keep you in line, I'd imagine it would be her."
Jora snorted and shook her head. "Nobody needs to keep me in line," she muttered. The spymaster already did that.
"So when do you start over at the palace?"
"Tomorrow, I think," Jora said. When Ingrid raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. "It was a last-minute arrangement."
"It certainly beats starving," said Ingrid. She stood up and Jora did the same.
"That it does." Jora allowed Ingrid to pull her into a hug. She did not know exactly why she kept up her friendship with Ingrid. Neither of them gave much to each other aside from an ear to listen, and Jora could not even express all her frustrations to Ingrid without endangering her mission.
"Stay safe, and visit more often. I miss you."
Jora smiled. There was the reason. She needed one person in the world that did not see her as a tool. "I will," she said, though she did not know if she could even keep that promise.