Message-ID: <37337asstr$1026821405@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: Reply-To: "Archaic69" From: "Archaic69" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2600.0000 X-Original-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <3d33b92a_2@newsa.ev1.net> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 16 Jul 2002 01:14:02 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} RP: Perfect Applicant part 6 (Ff, stockings, MC) Date: Tue, 16 Jul 2002 08:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, kelly This story is not intended to be viewed by persons under the age of 18, or under whatever age is considered adulthood in your neck of the world. It has no basis in reality, and is intended as a fantasy only. If over the age in question, please use your own good judgment. ****Feedback and new ideas are greatly appreciated!!!!***** (archaic69@hotmail.com) Now enjoy! The Perfect Applicant (Ff, mc, hosiery fetish) Part 6 Sunday morning. St. Peter's Cathedral. Five hundred and seventy sinners. The light which burst through that stained glass each such morning had a special charge: cast every soul within, regardless of tarnish, in such a way as to devalue every mistake, accentuate every philanthropy, undermine all misfortunes, and ratify the beauty (internal and otherwise) inherently possessed. Jennifer Grey was one of those who hardly needed such a treatment. She sat about thirty pews back (twenty-eight behind the President) daintily attired in the same church-type clothes she'd worn since she was a little girl: flowery dress, soft, white hose, and sensible black shoes. Her brown hair hung loose across her shoulders, which were otherwise bare, and legs were crossed lady-like at the ankle. Her hands, naturally enough, were pressed together before her slightly bowed head. "Our father, who art in heaven..." But her heart was not really in it. Instead, she pondered the case, the Agency, and the HSA, sometimes coherently, sometimes just the random flashes borne of the instinct that had bought her position in the first place. There just were too many questions. Why did the building, the entire building, keep such strange hours? Why had the Agency isolated this particular cell for investigation? And why by her, an agent whose entire case history connotated assignments to homicide cases and blue collar smuggling? And, most importantly, what was it about her time in that office that had affected her so? The last three nights at the office had her taking a quick breather from work, only to find herself heavily daydreaming. The next thing she knew, she was hurrying to the lady's restroom to dry her excretions from her pantyhose. God, even now she shook her head in humiliation. Maybe, she thought, it just really has been that long since I had a decent orgasm. "SEX," the priest boomed, "is a HOLY and NATURAL act! It is NEEDLESSLY misconstrued by the DEVIL'S hand in order to..." Jennifer shook her head, embarrassed, yanked from her thoughts. The priest was going on and on about the dangers of homosexuality, how it had been mainstreamed by the media. Well, by them and by Satan. 'Same old, same old,' Jennifer thought. She wondered if anyone else was listening. As she cast her eyes about, however, she saw that everyone actually was unusually attentive. Rapt, even. That was odd. Usually, by about this point in the sermon, she could catch the wandering eyes of some gorgeous (but inevitably, she'd later find, conceited) guy and... "Psst. Jennifer." Jennifer turned to see a girl from the office, the pretty Hispanic girl who had greeted her on her first day, sitting beside her. Caroline, that was her name. Crisp business suit and black stockings. A little fancy, but whatever. Funny, had she been sitting there before? No matter. "Hi," Jennifer whispered, smiling. "Good to see another unrepentant soul." Caroline stood then, and moved sideways as if to cross in front of Jennifer to the other side, but instead knelt facing her when she was uncomfortably close. "THESE GAYS, THEY'RE NOT OUR ENEMIES!" the preacher exhorted. "WE ARE TO LEAD THEM BACK TO GOD! BACK TO..." Jennifer tried to scoot over a bit, to make room for Caroline to pray, although this wasn't exactly her conception of inspiring stuff. "Uh, Caroline, you're facing the wrong way." Caroline smiled up at her from the floor: "Am I?" And instead of clasping her hands before her, she reached down and took hold of Jennifer's ankles, uncrossing them with ease. Jennifer started with surprise, and she jerked her eyes around to see if anyone was watching. No one. Not a soul. All eyes were on the priest, now quite red faced, and shaking his Bible in the air. "Caroline!" she whispered harshly. "Caroline, what are you doing?" She tried to recross her smooth, stocking legs, this time at the knee, but Caroline still held them firmly apart. Her grip was like a vice! Caroline shifted her position, put her bottom more solidly on the floor, all the while holding Jennifer's legs apart. "Jennifer," she said amidst her shifting, "do you like me?" Then, quick as a cat, she slung Jennifer's left leg up onto her right shoulder, mindless of the pointy black shoe, and held it there. Jennifer began to struggle then, tried to tug her pretty white leg from Caroline's grip, her eyes repeatedly racing across her fellow church-goers, terrified of what might be perceived. Still, no one saw. God, were they blind!? She made no progress, and soon her other leg was atop Caroline's right shoulder, sliding back and forth silkily as she struggled. "I BESEECH YOU, IF YOU'VE BEEN HOLDING BACK HELP BECAUSE OF THIS 'POLITICAL CORRECTNESS,' IF YOU KNOW SOMEONE BUT HAVE SAID NOTHING..." Jennifer's face grew even warmer as her panic increased. Her stocking feet were now not only astride this girl's shoulders, but shoeless, as Caroline had quickly tugged them off and tossed them to the floor. The clatter as they landed was deafening in the hollow old building, but still her plight was unnoticed. "Jennifer," Caroline whispered in a voice so low she could barely hear, "Jennifer, I've wanted to do this for a long time." She released Caroline's right leg, but her next move made Jennifer forget to continue struggling. Quickly, and with precision, her fingers pushed button after button through the holes of her own blouse, tugged its shirttails from the waistband of her skirt, and pulled it open until her perfect brown tits, bra-less and round, protruded from within. In fact, the only thing holding the garment on at all, Jennifer took in with shock, were her legs atop Caroline's shoulders! That didn't last long; she quickly lifted them and tried to place her feet on the floor, knees together. Caroline giggled softly and shrugged the rest of the way out of her blouse, now sleek and naked from the waist up. She did this quickly, and so still had time to retrieve Jennifer's fleeing legs. Jennifer grunted in discomfort as Caroline tugged them open again, and ducked her head to move between her knees, her pretty tits swinging in the motion. Caroline pursed her lips in a low whistle as she gazed fixedly up Jennifer's dress. "You want me to pleasure you, Jennifer. I just know it." "Caroline...no! God, this can't be happening..." She had to stop this, before.... "MY GOD! MY GOD, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!?" The priest's scream was too aghast for anger. Jennifer covered her face with her hands. Caroline didn't turn, but stiffened, like an athlete preparing for some burst of physical energy. From between her fingers, Jennifer watched the priest approach, legs and arms swinging forward with equal momentum, his stride propelling him down the aisle while he shouted his indignity: "GOD ALMIGHTY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE IN HIS HOUSE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" There was a noisy shuffling as the congregation turned as well, to observe the source of his outrage. Caroline still stared at Jennifer's exposed crotch, seemingly unhearing. Her fingers danced softly over Jennifer's imprisoned legs, pulling at and petting the hosiery that enwrapped them. Then, she too began to approach. And before the priest was halfway across the distance between them, her assailant had her face in Jennifer's crotch. There was a collective gasp from the congregation, followed by one of Jennifer's own. She pulled her hips back impulsively, found she couldn't retreat any further, and Caroline pursued, first nuzzling insistently, and then opening her lips over Jennifer's own. The priest was nearly there, shouting and waving the good book as though to ward off demons. She didn't know what to do. Atop the bench, she writhed and struggled, watched by hundreds, the bodice of her soft, flowery dress pushed and pulled across her midriff, across her bosom, the skirt shucked mostly above her waist, Caroline's black hair playing across her thighs, a sharp contrast to the white silk which sheathed them. And then there was the warmth, the wetness of her tongue, able to bathe her womanhood despite the pantyhose, to make pointed incursions between the lips of her vagina, to stiffen her clit to the point where it stood so firmly against its silky confines that Caroline could rub it with her nose. The priest had reached them then, and stood, fists on his hips like a disapproving parent. They made quite the scene; Jennifer could see it, as though through the priest's eyes: Caroline, oblivious, nuzzling, arms wrapped around the muscular thighs, holding them, which in turn held her, as they pressed tightly in on her ears now, so that likely the only thing she could hear were the legs working within the stockings themselves. And working they were, pulling and pushing against the arms and shoulders that held them prisoner, Caroline's nails pulling deep runs in her hose. But to no avail. Every other second the struggle would subside, and one might notice that Jennifer's toes curled sexily, that her thighs flexed around Caroline's ears, but then the moment would renew itself to Jennifer, and her legs jutted and kicked again. She could feel her breath on her pussy: deep, hot exhalations that seemed to speak louder than the priest above them, who now had taken to whispering furiously about her sin. But it seemed far away, and soon her own breasts began to rise and fall heavily, and the noise of the congregation and preacher both began to fade before the rhythmic sound of her gasps. Caroline began to bite, to nibble gently on her clitoris, and her hose were so soaked and strained now that they began to tear along the seam, permitting further access. It was becoming too much. So many eyes on her, on this girl between her legs, on her thrusts and moans. She had lost control, felt them all watching her, mouths open and eyes barely registering. The priest too had stopped, arms resting at his sides for the first time that morning, mouth open with nothing to say. The heat built, and there was no question now as to who was holding whom; her legs, now wrapped at the ankle behind Caroline's back, now pulled her closer, wetter, warmer, to finish the job. Jennifer saw those wagging brown tits, saw them wiggle as she pulled and forced her would-be assailant, compelled her with her stockinged legs, ran them sexily along Caroline's muscular form, until finally...she bucked, and bucked, and..."OOOHHHNNNNGHHHHHHHHHH GGGGGGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDD!!!!" They watched. All of them. The men among them pointedly avoided the eyes of the women. At last it was over. Jennifer teetered over in her seat, dress twisted to point of irrelevance, and slumped against the pew. Caroline stood slowly, the sides of her face red, teetered, and placed a hand on the priest's shoulder to regain her balance. Beyond that, she acknowledged the existence of no one besides Jennifer. And to her, she offered the other hand. "You know," she said, "that you need this..." But Jennifer was beyond it all now, tired and glowing in a manner that she'd never known. She did not refuse the hand, yet nor did she seize it. Instead, she closed her eyes, and let her head slump to the cold wood below. Even with them shut, she could still feel their stares. And this time, the light of St. Peters did nothing but intrude. It just shone and shone, through her lids, persisted, would not go away...until... ****************** At home, in her bed, Jennifer Grey started awake. Her hand went to her forehead in a gesture that was glaringly Victorian, as belying of her old self as was the nightgown and stockings which had become her sleepwear of late. Both were soaked with sweat. She sighed heavily, as though trying to expel the dreams through her breath alone. It had been the fourth in as many days. Since she had started work at the HSA, as a matter of fact. And that woman...the one who....Jennifer put her face in her hands, and began to cry. But only for a moment. The clock marked 4:00. She slid from her bed, and moved to the nightstand. The old wood creaked in protest as she opened her favorite drawer...and withdrew her handgun. Then she slid from her lingerie, and began to dress. It was almost time for work, after all. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+