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Reply-To: "Archaic69" <archaic69@hotmail.com>
From: "Archaic69" <archaic69@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP! "The Perfect Applicant all parts!1-8" (Ff, fdom, hosiery)
Date: Thu, 18 Jul 2002 20:10:03 -0400
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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.

***Dear Reader,
    After you've finished part 8 (my latest), please share any ideas you
might have on
how to continue the series (if it should continue!).  I've run bit dry!
Thanks!

Archaic69@hotmail.com

The Perfect Applicant (Ff, mc, hosiery fetish)


    "She is beautiful, is she not?"  Allison Taxton crossed her stockinged
legs, and turned to address her subordinate.  "An absolute spectacle.  Look
at her, Caroline, look at this footage from today's interview: auburn
tresses, slender build, buxom figure, uhhh."  The mistress encircled one of
her own plump assets with gloved fingers, and began to pet herself.  "I
would suggest that you attend me now, lest I have to come for you."
    Caroline rose from tired knees to tired feet, and did not speak her
acquiescence; the end of penis shaped gag parted her red lips, had parted
them for the better part of an hour, it's shaft and tip forbidding coherent
language.  What were not forbidden by either gag or mistress were the
animal-like grunts with which her lips had been likewise associated this
busy eve.  Beneath the semi-sheer nylon of her black pantyhose, her buttocks
burned with pain.  It was the price Allison's displeasure, and its memory
moved Caroline quickly to her mistress now.
    Allison watched her girl approach, moving only her eyes in anticipation.
She continued to lightly pinch and massage her breasts through the rustling
nylon of her evening gown, but after speaking to Caroline, the mounting
passion had melted from her face.  Now she stroked and caressed her own
mounds almost off-handedly; cold intensity had supplanted erotic merriment
in those beautiful, corn-flower blue orbs, and while she assessed, Caroline
knelt silently before her chair.
    Then, on the dark, silhouette-streaked floor of their office. . .she
waited.
    A business suit: black jacket and skirt, pinstriped, the former hung
loosely over a bosom like a pair of grapefruit; between jacket and bosom was
a creamy-colored blouse, soft, with discreet, pliant buttons lining the
front.  Between the pinstriped skirt and it's obvious holding were
pantyhose, a gentle black that cradled both legs and womanhood in their
silky confines.  Sensible black heels and less sensible black choker served
as the only other unextraordinary adornments, though the latter was mostly
concealed during the business day by long, dark hair.  The hair was up now,
the choker prominent against tanned, Hispanic skin.  Allison liked the
visibility of her control.
    Caroline's breathing was rhythmic and heavy, the rubber phallus
depressing her tongue moved in and out slightly with each momentary sag and
lift of her shoulders.  Beyond that, the silence was deafening.  Caroline
knew that her mistress was interested in extending the moment.  Only now and
then would she spare the girl her fixed stare: when her fingers gently
coaxed the more extreme pleasures from her breasts, her eyes would flutter
open and shut quickly, yet no further sound was uttered.  Finally, Allison
smiled and sat straight in her office chair, returning her elegantly gloved
arms to the rests, and above all signaling an end to the ministrations.
    She stood quickly then, and her navy heels clicked as she circled behind
her girl.  With a business-like twist of the buckle behind head, the straps
retaining her gag suddenly fell to the side, and the penis slid blessedly
from her mouth, hitting the floor with a clatter.
    Caroline knew better than to move until instructed.  Within a moment,
she heard stocking feet being slid from shoes, and then a clatter as they
were tossed dismissively aside.  Then, the voice of her mistress: "Pick it
up."  Caroline did, holding the saliva-soaked gag carefully aloft with
manicured fingers.  "Now turn and face me."
    Still on her stockinged knees, Caroline complied.  Her suit skirt rode a
bit in the effort.  Allison raised an eyebrow.  "Sweet Ms. Holcomb," she
said softly, reaching forward to brush the kneeling woman's brow, "tell me a
little about the girl you were."
    Caroline's eyes closed, and she breathed in, gathering her strength,
attempting reassuring thoughts.  'It's going to be this again.  Please no...
why must you make me remember? No...I'll be strong; there may...even be some
pleasure...if I am good.'  This last choked her more than the phallus ever
had.  'What have I become?'
    "I. . ." she started tentatively, eyes downcast. "I used to..."
    "No, bitch."  Allison caught her in the chin with her stockinged toes,
and raised her face until their eyes met.   "You will tell me as you lick
the penis."
    Caroline swallowed, could feel her mistress's silken foot move away from
her cheek with a graceful ease.  'So sexy...'  God, no, stop it.   She began
again, this time lowering her eyes and raising the slimy rubber cock at to
her lips.  "I. . .I'm from a well-to-do family in.California...and I..."she
stuttered as she tongued the phallus's base, "and I...I've always had
everything -ummm- that I've ever wanted."
    "A rich girl?"  Allison asked, playing an intrigued role.  "A rich
bitch?"
    "Ungh, um, yes, Mrs.Taxton," she closed her eyes and lathered the cock
with her tongue. "I was so, so rich.  Daddy...mmm...he would buy his
little girl...mmm...he would get her anything."
    "You were Daddy's girl.  Daddy's good girl."  Allison chuckled, and
slowly seated herself, moving to grasp the hem of her dark blue gown.  "I
like that.  But you got bad didn't you?"
    "Daddy, he didn't want me to go," she started, following the prompt, "I
was..." her red fingernails played lightly over the cock, "...I was...I
needed...things."
    "Yes, sweetheart. . .yes. . .we all need things." Allison's gown crawled
slowly up her calves, her thighs, revealing more and more stocking as it
rose.
    Caroline began to lose herself, as had happened so many times before  "I
started...ungh...to be bad.  I...wanted things..." her lips
encircled the phallus's tip in a kiss, "things...mmm...Daddy...couldn't give
me."
    The gown was crumpled about Allison's waist now.  She too had her eyes
closed, her lace stocking tops exposed, her legs lean and outstretched in a
'V', toes pointed.  "Why Caroline, you were becoming a woman, a sexy,
beautiful woman."
    "Yes...I...a woman." She tipped her head back in ecstasy, bending
the penis slightly.  "I...mmm...left...left Daddy."
    "Yes, you left for the east.  You started school, you naughty young
lady."
    Allison began to stroke her panties, continuing in a carefully paced
whisper, "You should be spanked for your urges."
    "H...Harvard," she began to pant, and this time, as she continued to
manipulate the fake cock between tongue and left hand, her right drifted
slowly to the hemline of her own skirt.
    "Such a fine school for young ladies.  Taught you how to dress, how
to..." a small gasp as her finger traced the outline of her panties, "...to
act.  You were to be a lady, my pretty pet."
    Caroline's initial rigidity had abandoned her: she was half-bent now,
with only one stocking knee still affixed to the ground, while the other leg
stuck straight out awkwardly behind her.  The hem of her pinstriped skirt
now barely concealed the darker panty of her hosiery, while the majority of
it was crumpled across the cheeks of her ass.  Her eyes were closed, and she
bathed the rubber phallus in long runs, from bottom to top and then back.  A
small whimper escaped her lips as she tipped off the penis a third time, for
it was then that her right fingertips brushed her nylon-covered pussy.
    "But then," Allison leaned forward in her chair until her face was
inches away from her unknowing slut's, "you came to work for me."  And she
snapped her fingers.
    A light came on in Caroline's mind, and the floor met her body in a
rush.  She laid there, crumpled, face in the floor with her long dark hair,
still wrapped in its ponytail, cascading alongside.  Then, without looking
up, she gasped, in the quiet, shy little girl voice that belied everything
she had been. "Mistress, may I?"
    "Why, my little bitch?  Are you in heat?"
    The trance of the last episode had dissipated.  Caroline lifted her head
to the height of Allison's knees.  Her face flushed with humiliation.  But
under her hose, her pussy flushed with need. "Yes, mistress," she panted,
every muscle tensed. "Your bitch is in heat."
    "Then," Allison, still leaning forward, extended a hand, and cupped one
of Caroline's breasts through her now disheveled blouse, "by all means."
    With a moan of lust, Caroline fell backwards onto the soft, thick carpet
and shucked her skirt around her waist.  Her hands shot to her swelling
crotch, and she split the now sopping wet pantyhose that had concealed it.
She grabbed the cock from where it had fallen, and, legs aloft and apart,
plunged it into herself with desperation of someone who may never cum again.
Her grunting was no less erotic for being self-inflicted.
    "Uunhhhh!!"
    Allison leaned back once more to watch the lewd show.  The expanse of
muscular thigh that now shot straight into the air shook and convulsed with
each of her bitch's thrusts.
    "Uhnnh. . .uhnh."
    "You make noises like an animal, Caroline.  I knew you would, the first
day you walked into my office."
    Caroline didn't -couldn't-hear.  She continued her thrusts, meeting
hand-held cock with eager pelvis, both working without rhythm, but with
mutual desperation.  One of her high-heels clattered to the floor, and she
distractedly moved her black stocking foot to kick off the other.
    "It puzzled me: your confidence, your intelligence, tempered with your
utter inability to discern my façade."
    "Oh, ugn, oh God...please." Caroline seemed ready to peak; her toes
were pointed, her eyes clenched shut, her words were whimpered.
    "You were a perfect applicant.  But sadly. . ."
    "UUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!"
    "...hardly a challenge."
    Caroline's legs fell to the floor like trees before an axeman.  She laid
there, phallus half-hanging from her delicate womanhood, sweat soaking both
hair and face, expensive suit and hose overwrought in her desire to cum.
    Allison stood, and slowly walked a circle around her girl, keeping a
motion not unlike a detective does a chalk outline.  She smiled.  "That is
why our new applicant will be so good for the company, pet.  You see, she,"
she indicated the glowing monitor which had been so utterly ignored for the
extent of their encounter, "she will not be an easy candidate.  She is
neither dense, nor extravagant: I judged as much during our session."
    Darkness began to creep across Caroline's senses, a sleep born of her
harshly-bought cum.  But she strained to hear the last of Allison's words.
    "And what is best...her entire purpose here is one of perception.
What better challenge than the game which knows it is in a huntsman's
range?"
    Caroline's shifted her body, and betrayed her inquiry by reopening her
eyes to catch her mistress's.
     "You see, my sweet, that beautiful creature asked one too many
questions. And what is more...when she stood to go, I saw the hint of the
wire tucked
behind her jacket."
    The darkness fled, and was replaced for the first time with a new kind
of light.
    "She starts tomorrow."

END

Part2

    The morning crept up on Jennifer Grey, first articulating itself only as
a sliver of light probing lightly between her curtains. As the hour crept
closer and closer towards 8 a.m. however, the fabric between her sleeping
form and the insisting day may as well have been tissue. Jennifer turned
once, turned twice, and turned again, still not comprehending the sun's
purpose in intruding on her coveted slumber. Not comprehending, that is,
until the phone rang.
    "Oh! Oh God." This wouldn't do. She snatched the receiver from its
mount, and in an instant composed herself utterly; when she spoke her
obligatory greetings, her voice had eschewed all suggestions of slumber.
Still...
    "Ms. Grey. We didn't wake you, did we? I do hope not. Occasionally our
hours of operation throw even our more seasoned employees off the clock, and
I haven't even a watch on today." The voice was unfamiliar, and a quick
glance at the caller ID panel disclosed nothing: 'OUT OF AREA.' But Jennifer
had seen to it that nobody else knew this number.
    "No ma'am. It's a perfectly regular hour. Ah...I was just under the
impression that I was expected at six-thirty?"
    There was a cheerful giggle. Definitely not Ms. Taxton. "Mrs. Grey, I'm
calling on behalf of the HSA to confirm your appointment with us today. Ms.
Taxton did mention the schedule; I just wanted to give you plenty of time to
prepare. The dress code was covered with you yesterday?"
    It hadn't been. Jennifer's mind raced, quickly attempting to
re-establish her character, her mannerisms so as to be consistent with her
performance at the interview. Acquiescence, not assertion, was the key. "No
ma'am. I presumed...business casual?"
    "Slightly more. We here at HSA pursue a lofty clientele, Mrs. Grey. If I
may suggest...?"
    Jennifer smirked to herself. My agency has a few codes of it's own,
girl. You might as well be filling evidence bags for me. "Please. I'm at a
loss."
    "Our attire is designed to compel, to sell, and to intimidate, Ms. Grey.
Stick with neutral colors at first. I suggest a charcoal suit, skirt of an
attractive but daring cut, a blazer that can be discarded without ruining
the outfit, pantyhose of course (gray would be preferable to beige with that
color) and sensible, patent leather heels." She closed at the end with a
tone was better left to the reading of a shopping list. "I have much to do
now. I must be going. Good day, Ms. Grey."
    Jennifer still held the receiver. Her mouth was open. I've just been
told what shade of hosiery to wear. Still, the woman had qualified the
comment as a suggestion. If there was anything to this HSA assignment, they
were no strangers to covering their backs. She hung the phone up, and,
smirking, picked up the other, a black cell that was no bigger than her
palm, before dialing. "Hunts, Jennifer M." A pause, and then, "6-R-7-Y-B.
Good. Thank you. Hello, sir. Yes. Tell me, what sort of cash flow was I
allotted for this assignment?"
**********
    The large hand of her watch inched ever nearer the twelve, while the
short one rested uncomfortably atop the seven. Shit. Jennifer's heels
clicked quickly as she trotted up the stairs, occasionally dropping an
anxious hand to tug at her too-short skirt. Shit, I'm late.
    The day had been spent enjoyably, after business with the Agency was out
of the way. She had, she'd discovered, a federally sanctioned budget of
$10,000 with which to pursue the operation. As she'd never had staff, and as
most of her missions involved less...subtle investigation, the sum had
been entirely a mystery to her.
    No longer. The exceptional suit which she wore so closely matched the
one described that morning that it might as well have been tailored by her
caller. The skirt was the best: colored nearly black, it was cut just above
her gray stockinged knees. It made her feel sexy and confident, but as she
rushed up the stairs towards HSA's sterile glass-laden entry way,
self-consciousness tempered her good feelings. I mustn't forget why I'm
here.
    The building was huge, pristine, and would have appeared vacant, if
Jennifer did not know better. HSA ran around the clock, she had been told,
stacking shifts differently as the need arose. Hence, it was explained,
their inclination towards unmarried employees.
    The glass doors parted with a whisper, and Jennifer slowed to compose
herself. With a deep intake of breath, she stepped across the threshold,
last week's instructions cradled carefully in her memory: "Mrs. Hunt, your
purpose there will be neither presume guilt nor innocence. HSA is either
squeaky clean...or it's the most meticulously shrouded illegality in New
York. Either way, we don't expect your stay there to be a short one." With
another whisper, the doors sealed themselves behind her.
    The entry was large and forbidding, consisting mostly of marble. Columns
paralleled the walls, and, at this late hour, succeeded at casting
sufficient shadow across the room that Jennifer did not see the other woman
until she spoke.
    "Ms. Grey." It was not a question.
    "Um. Yes. It's me." Jennifer approached and held out her hand in
introduction.
    "My name is Caroline Holcomb." She seemed to appraise Jennifer, and did
not take her hand until her eyes had had their fill. When they shook,
Jennifer wondered if she'd ever felt anything so soft as the other woman's
hand. It was as though it had just been doused in powder. "I will show you
the way to the main office, where we can get started."
    She turned on her heel (a very high heel, she noted: nearly four inches)
and Jennifer followed her to the elevator at the hall's end. But when the
door opened with a soft ring, she merely stepped to the side, and gestured.
    "Aren't you coming?" Jennifer asked, puzzled.
    There was a pause, and again Caroline roamed the new arrival with her
eyes. "I like your suit, Ms. Grey. And no, I cannot accompany you. I've been
assigned to other duties."
    "Then someone will meet me up top?" Jennifer was feeling a little odd,
suddenly, and didn't want to go upstairs alone.
    A strange light ran across Caroline's features...of
interest...or...anticipation? "No." She smiled. "Things run pretty smoothly
here, Ms. Grey.
You'll find that your office has been duly prepared."
    Jennifer nodded, and with a slight shake of her head to clear her
nerves, stepped aboard.
    Caroline watched the doors close, and then carefully withdrew a
cleansing rag from her own blazer before proceeding to scrub her hands.
Where she wiped, there came away a beige powder. 'I've gotten you for her,
pretty girl,' she thought as she examined the rag's new tint against the
light. 'I had no choice, but I've gotten you.' She dropped the rag in the
waste basket as she walked away. 'Out damned spot.'

Part 3
Perfect Applicant part 3 (Ff, mc, hosiery)

    When the elevator began its ascent from the first floor, Jennifer Grey
was feeling a little unsteady on her feet. By the time its seemingly rapid
climb had put ten floors behind her, she had sunk to her stockinged knees,
black spots speckling her vision. And when the doors opened at the 42nd
floor, her prescribed destination, she was no longer possessed of the
consciousness to appreciate the end of her ride.
    Allison Taxton peered appreciatively at the crumpled young woman from
her newly-taken position between the doors. She pursed her wet, red lips in
a soft whistle. Lucky for you that I am not one who favors the feast to the
hunt. Soon there would be time to gorge herself on the full-breasted,
tightly-muscled girl before her. But for now...the preparations.
    She stepped quickly, purposefully from the elevator, into the
cubicle-laden office space behind her. Gesturing to two young ladies,
short-skirted blondes, gartered stockings evident, she chose her words
carefully: "Girls, you must show Ms. Grey to my office via the scenic route.
Consider during the trip that she has not yet seen the breadth of this
place." One of them smiling, the other looking lustful, they nonetheless
nodded their compliance, and, with practiced ease, hefted Jennifer by hands
and ankles and maneuvered her deftly towards the other end of the level.
    Allison waited until they had rounded a darkened corner, counted to ten,
and then pursued, her four-inch heels clicking a steady pace across the
floor. In her mind ticked an insistent clock. They had six minutes: six were
all that the mind could conceivably discount, in disorienting circumstances,
all that would not be missed when consciousness was renewed. They would be
done in four.
    When she opened the doors to her office, the blondes were moving with
surgical precision. Jennifer's blazer had been doffed, was hanging neatly
from a nearby peg, and her creamy blouse was coming along just as quickly.
Allison smiled as Jennifer's breasts, pear-shaped, large, and firm, swung
heavily from the confines of her just-removed bra. When Ms. Grey's entire
torso was stripped, one of the two girls looked at Allison and smiled. "Not
bugged today, Mistress."
    "Excellent." This just kept getting better. "Quickly now, strip her
fully and proceed."
    Giggling, one girl moved slightly aside, and, withdrawing a transparent
packet and metallic instruments from her purse, began to fiddle with the
various lacy articles that were being handed her as Jennifer's violation
progressed. Allison, hands folded behind her back, began to circle the
scene, taking it all in. At this point, Ms. Grey's thinly cut skirt was
being worked down her long, grey-hosed legs, and Allison relished the lack
of panties under the hose. Allison knew that said something about a woman.
"You, my pretty pet, will be such a willful slut when I am done with you."
The stripee said nothing, of course, and the stripper, eager to please,
quickly began to roll the hosiery from her legs.
    Allison stopped, fixing her with a frigid glance: "Be careful not to run
them, bitch. Ms. Grey must never be compelled to consider the circumstances
of these senseless moments. She will wake, and all will be well with her
world." Allison renewed her pace, noting the dampening condition of her own
hose, white today, with a sheer, high-cut panty. "She will not know, for
instance, that three of her own co-workers here at HSA," Allison ran her
hands across the kneeling girls' hair as she passed,  "have seen her tits
and pussy. She will not know that one of those three," she hovered a bit
about the girl with the instruments, slipping a stocking foot in and out of
her black shoe, "has meticulously placed tiny, remote, sensory inducers,
within specific articles of her clothing. She will not know that, despite
their size, each is capable of soliciting a bodily reaction equal to a
vibrator in the cunt." A cruel chuckle. "She will not know that these little
wonders are, in fact, nearly transparent, especially against darker
clothing. . ." She placed index and middle fingers together, and began to
lightly massage circles across her own crotch, over her skirt and hose.
"Which, she will know, is what we require in our dress code."
    She practically purred then, and continued to stroke, ceasing her pace
about the room.  Allison knew that she was distracting herself, that she
should be focusing, but every time her eyes wandered across the nude woman
below, she became more and more aware of the ache between her legs, the
pulsing, moistening need.
    Her servants though, worked on regardless. 3 minutes had passed, and
more than anything in the world, they feared their mistress' wrath should 3
more transpire before the job's consummation. The tiny plastic slivers were
placed quickly but accurately, wherever in Jennifer's clothing an erogenous
zone might find itself. Three were in each cup of the black, lacy bra: one
on each underside, where the breasts' weight would be borne, one along the
top of the cup, where a lover's gentle kiss might be planted, and the last
along the centers, where Jennifer's soft brown nipples would likely rest.
Additionally, several were placed with rapid precision in Jennifer's silken
gray hosiery: one in each reinforced toe and in each sole, one along the
back of where each calf would be delicately encased, and two in the darker
gray panty itself, one in front panel, along the seam, and one opposite it,
in the back. "We're ready, Mistress," said the girl making the placements.
    "Hold for just a moment." Allison was a creature of control, but even
she could be beguiled under the right conditions. Still applying pressure to
her womanhood, she knelt over her naked, dozing prey, and with all the
restraint she could summon, limited herself to a brief kiss on each of
Jennifer's erect nipples.
    The moan took them all aback. Allison shot up, her eyes wide. The
powder. . .the powder was supposed to keep the victim utterly unconscious of
all stimuli. All stimuli for the allotted time. It had never failed. Unless.
. .it had not all been transferred. Caroline Holcomb. Allison smiled
appreciatively. 'Did YOU disobey me?' The prospect of it delighted her;
she'd
imagined that Caroline had lost all use as an entertainment piece months
ago.
    'Two minutes left now, if we are lucky.' She snapped her fingers
quickly,
and the girls rushed to dress the unconscious Jennifer, pulling on
pantyhose, shoes, bra, etc. Everything must be perfect, every fold and tuck
needed to match the condition of the apparel before it was removed. The
girls knew this, and satisfied the requirement as quickly as possible.
Still, the seconds ticked on.
    Finally it was done. Again hoisting Jennifer by ankles and wrists, they
rushed her to the elevator doors, which had been held ajar. Jennifer gave
little whimpers and stirrings during this time, but remained blessedly
asleep. Allison followed, her nerve unchallenged.
    Jennifer was propped up in a lean against the elevator rail, and one of
her shoes, which had fallen off during the transit, was replaced upon her
stocking foot by Allison, as the two little whores who had aided scampered
away to less public corners. Allison then made one final evaluation of her
victim, and, noting that everything was in place, stepped back behind the
closing doors.

                                            ********

    Jennifer shook her head from side to side. Elevator rides up that many
floors always made her disoriented. Nervously, she checked her watch. God, I
didn't think I was THAT late. As the elevator bounced to a stop, a small
chime rang, and the doors slid open to reveal Ms. Allison Taxton, dressed
immaculately, and tapping a foot with impatience.
    "Ms. Taxton, I'm sorry. I just got caught up in things and lost track of
time."
    Ms. Taxton seemed to consider her excuse, a pretty weak on admittedly.
Then she smiled pleasantly and approached the new hire with an extended
hand. "Things happen, Ms. Grey. Welcome to HSA."
Part 4 (Ff, hosiery, mc)
    Caroline Holcomb's situation was unenviable, to say the least.
    She stood silently in the hidden sanctum of the HSA, hands at her sides,
feet slightly apart, blinking rapidly, and sweating profusely. The blinking
could be attributed to the brilliantly white light that was highlighting her
form, setting it off against the haze of the office. The sweating, however,
was due to something else entirely.
    From her position atop the dais, Allison Taxton scrutinized her pretty
pet. Caroline wore one of her trademark skirt-suits, a navy ensemble that
fit her beautifully, and cut well against her roundish breasts. Where it
ended, about two inches above the knee, shimmered a pair of almost glittery
beige stockings, semi-sheer and elegantly caressing the muscles of her legs.
The outfit was completed at top and bottom by a black choker (partly covered
by her long, black hair) and a pair of three inch pumps, respectively.
Allison knew her bitch to look delicious on any occasion, but it was moments
like these, when she stood nervously at attention, that she was most
vulnerable, and thus, most appealing.
    The silence was worsening (it was a favorite tactic) and Caroline could
feel her peril, almost as though it was a tangible thing. Beyond the light's
touch moved the servants: all female, Caroline knew, as was their mistress'
wont. Once in a while, their heels would click across the cold concrete
floor, and the echo, sometime near in origin, sometimes far, rattled her
nerves. Finally, she could take it no longer.
    "Mistress," Caroline began hesitantly, her soft Hispanic lips barely
parting for the word, "do you have need of me?"
    Allison bolted from her seat, and took the stairs between them two at a
time. Caroline stepped back in fright from the assault, but her cheek was
grabbed, pinched, and held. The pain was fierce, the nails sharp, and she
heard herself cry out girlishly. Shame overcame her. The woman she had been
was gone. But she had little time to contemplate that, as Allison pulled
their faces very close together, and then said something, not to Caroline,
but to the room: "This cow has spoken too much already. Bind her." With
that, she gave Caroline a hardy shove, sending her teetering on her high
heels before collapsing to the floor in a heap. She lay there for a moment,
dignity abandoned, skirt climbing to her panties and stocking legs awkwardly
spread.
    But the moment was all she had. Responding to their mistress, four
servant girls converged on her from the shadows, and, each grabbing a limb,
hefted her aloft. Caroline had learned long ago that struggling was useless,
but she couldn't help herself. She tried to hit and wiggle and kick her way
free, a sight that Allison took in with delight, but the girls' hold was
firm. Quickly, they carted her to a darkened room behind the dais, where she
knew she would be first drugged and then "prepared" to her mistress' tastes.
Silently, she ceased her wriggling, bit her lower lip, and prayed that
Jennifer Grey was worth what was coming next.

                                                *******

    Agent Grey stifled a yawn behind her perfectly manicured fingers. All
around her sounded the typical beeps, keystrokes, and rings of an office on
the go, but the noise was doing little to rouse her.
    After a year with the Agency, a year filled with kicked-down doors, drug
dealers, and the mafia, this undercover bit seemed kind of tame. Especially
if the days ahead held up to this one, then she would be sure that nothing
was going on. She sighed, and sipped from her coffee mug. Perhaps she was
just too impatient. After all, this was, what?, her second time in the
building? Nevertheless, she'd expected more action than arguments at the
water cooler could satisfy.
    A lovely red-haired head popped over the wall of her cubicle. "Hey, Jen.
I heard you yawn from over here. I told you this place was dull."
    Jennifer smiled. Tristen had been so friendly that night, taking
Jennifer by the hand, showing her the in's and out's of the office, the
computer network, basically everything Ms. Taxton hadn't covered before
rushing off to take care of some business. "No," she replied politely, "of
course it's not dull. I just have to adjust to these hours." She held her
cup aloft. "This helps."
    "It'll be your best friend. Speaking of which, I have to go place a
requisition for various supplies. Anything you need, speak up now. It'll be
a while before I'm back."
    Jennifer shook her head 'no' and thanked her, returning her focus to the
task at hand as the girl walked off. Such nice people, Jennifer thought to
herself. If there is anything going on here, there's no way that it has
suffused the whole staff.
    Stretching her long legs underneath her desk, she slid her stocking feet
from her shoes. It felt so good to wiggle her toes for a bit, and hopefully
no one would notice her lack of professionalism. Pantyhose certainly made
her legs feel indulged, but there was something to be said for lower heels,
particularly until she got accustomed to the office grind. She distractedly
crossed her legs, bringing one foot up on her knee so she could rub the
tension out of it.
    God, that feels good, she thought, as she ran her fingers over and over
the soft, gray nylon. Soon the other foot was asking for attention, and so
she switched. It DID feel good. Better than her foot massages usually felt.
Maybe her clumsy boyfriends-of-the-week just hadn't been doing it right.
Slowly and then quickly she glided her hands over her sheer hosiery, even
taking a moment to rub her well-muscled calves. She closed her eyes. It was
so quiet in the office all of a sudden. Perhaps there was a break. That
would be nice. She kept working her hands, assured now that she could relax
briefly. God, had her hosiery been this silky before? It was so soft under
her fingers, so tight around her calves, her toes, her pussy. . .it caressed
her womanhood, her sweet pussy, oh her pussy. . . "Ohhnhh. . ."
    Jennifer's eyes shot open, and she self-consciously ran them around her
immediate space. Had she said that out loud? Her face flushed a horrific
red. All of the noises so prevalent in the office had resumed their typical
volume. Had she just imagined that? God, please let it be so! It would be so
humiliating! No, calm down, no one heard. Hurriedly, she slipped her
stocking feet back into her shoes, and replaced her fingers at the keyboard.
Slowly her heartbeat became more regular. Good, she thought. Relax. But as
Jennifer Grey recrossed her stocking legs at the knee, her calmness was
again overcome with mortification. Between her thighs, her hosed crotch was
warm and soft as always . . . but it was also wet. And that it hadn't been
in a long, long time.

Part 5

    Caroline could remember -barely- that she was still kicking and fighting
the lingerie-clad girls as they brought her into the preparation chamber.
She could remember also that she was not their match, and how easily they
deposited her, like a sack of grain, face-down over the table.  She vividly
recalled the more extreme sensations of the ordeal, wrists pinned by two of
the more toned girls as her skirt was unzipped by another and dropped around
her ankles.  The cold concrete beneath her stocking feet as her shoes were
removed.  And after her lace panties were moved adequately to one side. .
.the syringe in her bottom was particularly memorable.
    The rest, naturally, was a haze, though she could surmise much from her
present situation.  The girls had stripped her of suit and stockings,
obviously, and replaced it with this. . .costume that she wore now.  Then
they had toyed with her some -a bit of play that she most certainly hadn't
objected to, given the nature of the HSA's narcotics.  And then, likely that
when they were required to present her to Mistress Allison Taxton, they did
so with slavish devotion and girlish giggles.  Afterwards, her drug-wrought
malleability fading, the girls bound her into her current position, and
scampered pixie-like back into the shadows to watch.
    And what a show it would be.  Caroline could tell just from the setup.
    Atop the dais, observing her plaything, sat Mistress Allison.  Her legs,
as always, shone prettily in their silken stockings -white this time.  She
had stripped off her business suit of earlier in the eve, and was wearing
only a beige, satin camisole.  Her blond hair fell down her shoulders, and
with every cock of her head seemed to glide about them as though dancing.
Caroline could only survey her mistress for a moment at a time, and had
learned the inherent defeat of looking her in the eyes; but God, she was so
beautiful.
    In sharp contrast to Allison's majesty was Caroline's own position.  The
chamber was oriented like some sort of modern throneroom, replete with cold
stone columns lining the path to the dais.  The first time Caroline stirred,
she realized that her movements were restricted.  It took only a moment
after that to discover why: a tiny but invariably sturdy chain ran from one
of those columns, the one nearest her Mistress' platform, to the choker that
always adorned her lovely neck.  With her mistress watching, Caroline would
not try her slack, but past experience suggested that she had exactly enough
to reach the top of the dais, and her mistress' touch.  'Oh lord,' she
thought pleadingly, 'please don't let it be bad.'
    As she grew more nervous, she began to stir, and the rustle of her
costume brought it's details to her attention.  It was quite unlike anything
that she'd ever been forced to wear, outrageous and gaudy beyond all of her
former standards. The first thing to strike her was the glaring pinkness of
it all: not a hot pink, but a soft, girlish pink, the sort that might
speckle a nursery room.  She wore pink tights, though they were more sheer
than most tights, almost like the variety worn by ballerinas.  There were no
shoes, but around her ankles were tiny pink bands, upon which were tied
little bells that rang softly when she moved.  Her waist, she found, was
similarly ringed, but instead of bells there were harnesses on the belt,
shiny clasps that stood out as the only non-rosy shade of her garment.  It
seemed to restrictive and harsh, especially relative to the soft, sheer
teddy that cradled her beautiful breasts, midriff, and shoulders.  The teddy
seemed almost like a body-stocking in it's texture and hugging confines, and
about it were sprinkled sequins: a few here and there to give the bodice an
even more eye-catching quality, if that was possible.  Lastly, her long,
dark hair, normally flowing over her shoulders, was bound in a thick braid,
tied up at the end (or course) with pink ribbon.
    'What is she doing?' Caroline thought. 'This can't be my punishment. .
.It's too. . .soft, too feminine.  Where are the whips, the paddles, the
dildos?'  Caroline grimaced as she envisioned the instruments.  But a tiny
voice in the back of her head whispered, 'But the paddles taught you
discipline, girl.  And the dildos made you scream, made you look at her and
whimper for more.'
    It was at this moment that the mistress stood, and descended the stairs,
high heels clicking menacingly, and she whipped her hand behind her and then
before her in an arc.  When Caroline beheld it, she saw the device.
    "Get on all fours, my bitch."  And she pressed a button.
    A surge of pleasure assailed her pussy.  A virtual wave, that eclipsed
her crotch and ripped all coherence from her mind.  Never had she felt such
pleasure there.  It rolled over her in a surge, and then ebbed, the
aftershocks hitting her cunt like a car hits speedbumps.  Caroline fell down
flat where she stood, struggled to obey her mistress, to pull herself onto
hands and knees, but the cum was too powerful.  It put her back down onto
the floor like no blow could have.
    Ms. Allison continued to advance, placing one beautiful foot daintily in
front of the other in her approach.  "Bitch?  Did I not call you to heel?"
Another push of the button.
    "Yeeeeeeeeeeuuughhhhhhhhhh. . . unh. . .unh. . .mis. . .mistress. . .oh.
. ." She tried again, pushed her pink stockinged knees underneath her. .
.but again the button was pushed.  It almost hurt this time, so tender was
she under her tights.  "UNNGHHH!!"  And again she sank, groaning, panting
prettily, perfect shoulders rising and falling.  All the while the bells and
harness adorning her uniform tingled quietly.  "Mist. . .mistress, please. .
."  A moment, a moment to obey was all she needed.  Just had to catch her
breath.
    But now Allison stood over her, the opulent lighting casting an
oppressive shadow.  "Bitches do not speak.  They howl."  She held her finger
menacingly over the button, and Caroline hefted her weary head in time only
to see her smile.  The next orgasm brought blackness.

                                                    *************

    When she awoke, perhaps moments later, perhaps hours, her position had
not changed.  She was still costumed, still chained.  And Allison still
stood near, still in stockings and camisole, though this time with another
woman, fully attired, a young-ish brunette with more rounded breasts and
hips.  They were not looking at her; instead they had their heads together,
speaking quickly and frankly.
    "So," Allison said, with an air of finality, "she suspects nothing?"
    "Nothing, Ms. Taxton.  In fact, she's more conscious of herself than of
the happenings here.  When you first wet her, she ran to the restroom so
quickly I feared she might trip."  There was a pause.  "Mistress, I wonder
at that hidden potential you perceived.  Was the really the most perfect
applicant?"
    There was warning in Allison's tone.  "Do not presume too far.  We
mustn't underestimate the Agency's presence here.  It's the nature of the
game, Tristen, that you must keep up appearances."  Caroline's heart seized.
She knew that name.  Her body shifted a bit involuntarily, and the bells at
her ankles betrayed her movement.
    Allison and Tristen both turned to regard her with raised eyebrows, but
the latter spoke first: "And as for her, Mistress?"
    Allison stepped forward, withdrew a stocking foot from her shoe, and
dragged her toes sensuously along the outside of Caroline's thigh, the
nylons
rasping together appealingly.  "Her access to Jennifer will be limited,
starting tomorrow.  But that is tomorrow.  For tonight. . .she is yours to
play with.  Just remember the rules."
    Tristen clapped her hands and laughed heartily, quickly beginning to
disrobe.  Caroline cringed.  Tristen had been with the HSA longer than most
of the others, she had heard, and totally gave herself to Allison years ago.
Since, she had be become as cruel and demanding, if not as surgical, as her
mistress, adopting both Ms. Taxton's penchant for humiliation and fetish for
hosiery.  Caroline had never seen her up close, but the serving girls gave
her as wide a berth as they did Allison.
    "Caroline, tonight you are to be a bitch in deed as well as name,"
Allison said, moving back to the dais.  "Get up on all fours, and let
Tristen examine you."
    Caroline obeyed quickly, expecting another burst to her pussy.  She was
surprised and mortified at her disappointment when there was none.
    Tristen approached, and Caroline arched her back carefully, tension
running through her body.  "Oh," Tristen said, "oh, mistress, this is a fine
bitch."  She ran her finger tips through Caroline's dark hair, tracing the
braid to where it fell along her back.  "Well bred."  She knelt and looked
beneath Caroline as a farmer might a cow, and grabbed one of her
pink-wrapped nipples.  Caroline made a small, girlish noise, despite
herself.  Tristen smiled at Allison from over her back.  "And in heat."  She
continued to touch Caroline provocatively, cupping her at the base of her
breasts, and then moving her hands downward to pinch her nipples.  She
repeated this over and over, petting Caroline's tits, pinching harder and
harder each time.  The texture of the teddy was no protection, and it's
stocking-like feel probably only encouraged her torment.  Tristen persisted
until Caroline squealed cutely every time, then she stood, and renewed her
surface examination.
    Her hands stopped when they reached Caroline's bottom, heart-shaped and
plump, and pressed into the air by her position.  "Now this," she said with
admiration and glee, "is the crowning touch."  With that, Caroline felt
something tugging at the back of her tights, pulling the already-stretched
material to it's limit.  It was weird how she pulled, Caroline thought, as
though a handle had been affixed to the seat of her hose.  Despite herself,
she turned to view her tormentor.  She wished she hadn't.  Her face went
crimson with humiliation.  In Tristen's hands and stitched onto Caroline's
panty was a fluffy pink tail, the sort that adorned Playboy bunny costumes,
only bigger.  "It's like she's a puppy!"  Tristen let the waistband of her
tights snap back, and Caroline grunted at the sting.  "Well, Caroline," she
said as she completed her circuit, "would you like to go for a walk?"
    Caroline shook her head with embarrassment, not meeting her eyes.
"Please, mistress...I just-"  Then she felt a jolt in her vagina, not the
pleasurable sort, but a sharp, quick burst that widened her brown eyes and
made her look to the dais.
    Allison held the control menacingly. "My bitch, you do not learn well.
You may not speak, or I will become angry."  She crossed her stocking legs
slowly at the knee.  "You will go on a walk.  Show Tristen that you want
to."  She turned to the darker recesses of the throne room, and snapped her
fingers twice: "And you, servant girls.  Lay down some carpet.  I do not
want her running her tights on these cold, hard floors."  There was the
clicking of high heels as they rushed off and returned with a massive,
rolled up rug, which they unfurled along the length of the room.
    Then there was a tug at her collar.  Tristen had unhooked the chain from
it's clasp, and held it before her like a leash.  She looked menacing in her
pitch black skirt-suit, high, strappy heels and equally dark stockings.  But
she sounded bright and chipper as she gave the leash another tug.  "Come
puppy."  Then she began to walk.
    Caroline knew innately that she couldn't stand and follow, and the slack
was already beginning to run out.  It was either follow or choke, she knew.
Flushing to the hairline, she moved as quickly as she could on her hands and
knees, pursuing Tristen's quick, dignified pace with one of mortification.
    The reward was a different sensation in her pussy.  A warm, glowing
sensation.
    Caroline continued to follow.  By the second circuit, she was growing
tired and her knees were becoming sore.  She began to slow, falling farther
and farther behind Tristen.  The jolt in her pussy this time was not
pleasant.  It spurred her on.
    She knew what was being done to her.  She'd studied Pavlovian responses
at Harvard.  She knew about HSA's technical marvels, tiny slivers that could
manipulate a body's pleasure zones, and knew that she wore them in her
tights and teddy now.  Still, the knowing made little difference; she could
not resist the sensations.  As she matched Tristen's pace, her cunt grew
warm again, as did her breasts and calves.  Soon the ache was sponged away
completely, and Caroline began to breath heavily without influence of the
walk at all.
    When they stopped before the dais, Tristen walked in front of her, and
slipped off her shoes.  Caroline's head came only to her knees, but she
could see the length of her legs was luscious.  There was an electronic wave
that rolled alongside her breasts, then, and Caroline's nipples stood out
tautly against her teddy.  Still on hands and knees, she began to make soft
little noises of pleasure.  'Please,' Caroline thought, even through her
whimpers, 'please leave me some dignity.  Please, I was a strong
woman. . .' She closed her eyes. 'A beautiful woman.'  The humming in her
breasts was joined by a renewed warmth in her pussy.  God, she couldn't let
herself enjoy this!  Where was the agent?  The one she'd tried to help?  But
these thoughts faded into the background as she felt hands in her hair,
loosening the ribbon, then untwining the tightly-knit braid.
    "Shhh. . .you're a good girl, Caroline."  The voice sang, perfectly
harmonized with the humming of her body.  Slowly, the hands moved through
her hair, smoothing, petting.
    Caroline couldn't help herself.  She arched her neck to receive the
attention.  "Mmmmm. . .please, mistress, please. . .don't stop. . ."
    "Shhh."  The hands moved down back now, stopped her waist.  There was a
jinkle as they grasped her harness.  Slowly, willingly, Caroline allowed her
body to be manipulated by Tristen, until she was upright, sitting lady-like
on a hip with her legs crossed at the ankle beside her.  Her pussy continued
to glow.  Slowly, she felt the hands move away, and heard the rustle of
clothing behind her.  Her eyes stayed shut, she began to rock her hips back
and forth gently to the rhythm of the pulses in her body, her ankle bells
ringing softly.  She was close, so close.
    The hands again returned, this time from behind her back.  The fingers
danced like a light rain atop her breasts, pausing once in a while to tug
the silky material of her teddy softly back and forth along her nipples. .
.oh, God, her nipples. . .'Please,' she thought, 'please pinch them. . .'
The hands obliged.  God, had she spoken alou. . ."Ohh!"  Another pinch,
harder: "Oh!"
    One hand slid down her stomach while the other cupped and squeezed.
"Caroline, my goodness.  You're such a naughty girl."  The hand had reached
the sodden pink crotch of her tights.  "Bad," she whispered in Caroline's
ear, "bad, Harvard girl.  Such a mess."
    "Ohh...yesss. . ."
    The hand gently rubber her crotch, so gently.  "I think that you want to
cum, Caroline, that's what I think."
    "Y-yess. . ."
    The gentleness stopped.  The hands gripped the harnesses on her belt,
and then wrenched her around.  Tristen grabbed her at her shoulders, and
shook her: "Do you want to cum, bitch!?"  Caroline's head drifted backward
from her ordeal, her eyes still closed.  But the warmth in her pussy had not
abated.
    "Mistressss. . .yesss..."
    "Then open your eyes."
    Caroline's beautiful brown lashes fluttered open, and she saw that
Tristen had indeed stripped herself down to nearly nothing.  Only her sheer
black pantyhose remained, at the crotch of which Caroline could see a stain
which rivaled her own.  Her breasts were full and round, C's to be sure; her
hair was darker than Caroline's, but still brunette, and it fell nearly to
tops of her bosom, teasing and tantalizing as it swept them with her
gestures.  This, she could barely see, because the room's lighting had been
diminished.
    Retrieving the end of her leash, Tristen stood, moved with Caroline to
the foot of the dais' stairs, and softly descended until her hosed bottom
rested atop the third.  Caroline was entranced by her legs as she spread
them slowly, until there was but a foot between her knees, and straightened
them, pushing one between Caroline's own.  She then looked pointedly at
Caroline, and moved her silky foot up Caroline's calf.  "You have proven an
obedient bitch.  Now to your reward."  With that, she jerked downward on the
chain, and Caroline fell into place, her pink legs astride Trister's black.
    Her eyes gained some clarity then, and she began to understand.
"Mistress. . .I. . .you want me to. . ."  It was obvious what she wanted her
to do.  Moreso when the pulse in her vagina renewed.
    "Ohnnhh!  Yes!  Y-yes!"  She would, she would, and she moved her wet
crotch up and down Tristen's thigh, slowly at first, but then, as she began
to warm to the rhythm, faster.  Faster.  Hands grabbed her tits, squeezed it
through the teddy, the ridiculous pink teddy, pinched her nipples, she
humped and humped, hoping for pleasure, caught in the moment. . .
    "Yes, bitch. . ugh!. . .yes, that's it, hump my leg like the bitch you
are. . ."  And Tristen began to hump back, pulled Caroline's hands onto her
shoulders to brace them, started sliding her crotch up and down those
girlish pink tights.  "Oh, God! OH YES!"
    "Ungh. . ." No, don't stop, so close, so close, she stopped sliding her
crotch about Tristen's thigh and just began hoisting herself up and down,
pounding her crotch against her thigh again and again. . ."Unh. . .unhhh. .
."  and again. . .until. . .
    "UHNHGHHHH!!!!"
    She felt unhinged, felt herself spilling, toppled off of Tristen, caught
herself, and rolled to the carpet below.  Blackness began to overcome her,
she felt so wet, so warm; a moment of unconsciousness. . .it would be a boon
now. . .
    A moment. . .
    A moment of quiet as she laid there, soaked with sweat and girl-cum, the
carpet soft upon her features.
    Until there came a new tug upon her leash.
    Allison Taxton, looking creamy and magnificent as usual, smiled and
jerked insistently.  Her turn, after all, had not yet begun.

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.

PART 7

    The clicking of her patent black heels along the sidewalk was a bit more
frantic than it should have been, the pace a bit too hurried.  Jennifer
forced herself to stop midway between cab and office building, put her hand
to the reassuring bulge in her jacket pocket, and breathed in.
    It was a measure of her unease with both herself and her circumstances
that she was carrying a weapon so early in the insertion.  The dreams had
rattled her, had rendered her once-assured sense of self shaky and insecure.
And the gun, as primitive as it would sound if she mentioned it to her
superiors, was the stitch that retained her integral sense of control.  "And
I must have control," she thought to herself.  "I must.  Or I might as well
just march into Ms. Taxton's office and tell her why I'm there."
    There.  That felt a bit better.  A final sigh, and she measured the
hundred or so steps to the HSA in more confident, long-legged strides.


********************

    Within the HSA, however, the gun was not a comforting thought.
    Tristen was herself only half-dressed when the paper detailing this
development was pushed across her nightstand by a bodyhose-clad serving
girl.  She snatched it angrily it first, resentful of having to divert her
attention from the squirming brown body beneath her for even a moment.  She
held the notice as a debutante might, scanning it quickly, while idling a
whippet-like riding crop through the air with her free hand.
    With every twirl of the crop, the woman atop the room's opulent
centerpiece (a rose-colored featherbed, soft as silk between the enclosing
boards' rusty shackles) tensed her pretty ass in fear.  Caroline had felt
the implement along her thighs and rump for the better part of the hour, and
though Tristen had ordered her into a pair of girlish white tights and Mary
Janes before this "session", they protected more against welts than hurt.
Thirty minutes ago, she had cum at Tristen's ministrations.  That had made
her mistress angry, and now Caroline welcomed the notice and any reprieve it
carried.
    And the reprieve was lasting a surprisingly long time. Caroline tried to
see her new mistress from her position, but it was difficult, as visibility
had certainly not been a goal of her bondage.  She had been tied facedown,
with just enough give in the chains around her ankles to draw and thrust her
silken legs sexily as blows were delivered.  She also had precious little
maneuverability in her arms or naked torso, as the former were stringently
cuffed and the latter uplifted on a mass of pillows.  This last, she
discovered early on, was to provide lift to her bottom, to simulate the
posture of a petulant schoolgirl mounted across Father's lap.  Only her
father had never touched her like that between spankings.
    This said, Caroline could really follow Tristen's movements only with
her head, and that she dared move little.  So when Tristen spat a string of
shrill vulgarities ("The little bitch!! The whore, the uptight little
skank!!...oh, her tight little chute will know pain...the slut will beg!!!")
the bound and strapped woman could only guess at the meaning.  Somehow,
something had gone awry.  And as she heard the stocking feet of her mistress
shuffle rapidly away, Caroline wondered whether this would be better for
her.  Or worse.


****************************

    "We will use this to our advantage," Allison snapped.  "Quickly!  How
much time?"
    Tristen, still flushed from the dash there, was nearly the shade of her
barely-applied costume.  Lavender stockings adorned her legs, held fast
during her run by a garter belt of rich purple.  Her pussy was concealed,
barely, by semi-sheer panties of the same hue.  Above that, she was
completely nude, and the combination of large pink breasts and athletic glow
was distracting Ms. Taxton even during this moment of semi-crisis.  But
barely.
    Calculations spun through her mind in the generic sort of way that they
always did when a problem involved a tactical solution.  She was brilliant
when put under the spotlight; it had made her what she was today, and
rendered nearly all business problems juvenile to her.  All, save for those
which involved a significant human element. Emotion, lust, psychoses,
irrationality, control, submission: each of these was a wild card, capable
of besting even her if circumstances turned sour.  It was the rush of
pursuing and risking these x-factors that had established this lifestyle so
long ago.  And she would cling to it voraciously.
    She looked up sharply at her henchwoman, awaiting her reply.  Two
breaths too long, but Tristen answered wide-eyed: "Ten minutes."
    "First, you will need to dress.  Then proceed to the second floor for an
interception.  This is what you will need to say..."


***************************

    "Have I ever been what?"  Jennifer was aghast.
    "Drug tested.  Really, Jen," Tristen whispered, though the corridor was
otherwise empty.  "you're acting as though you've never worked for a
corporation."  She took her hand quickly.  "I don't know about your old job,
but this happens here all the time.  Got me twice last month."
    Jennifer narrowed her eyes...a coincidence, or...?  Well, she had heard
about corporate drug tests.  Since the last Supreme Court case, companies
had been doing them all the time.  "But aren't these supposed to be random?"
she asked a bit shakily.  "I've only been here a week!"
    "Luck of the draw, dear," Tristen smiled reassuringly.  "Everybody's
gotta have an escort." She released her hand. "Let's go upstairs."
    Panic started to set in.  Jennifer's entire cover could be blown.
Everything, because she felt insecure!  Because of dreams!
    And it was at the thought of those dreams, Jennifer suddenly felt a
sensation in her groin.  "Oh, God!" she thought, "God, not now."
    Tristen had turned to lead the way past the rows of cubicles to the
elevator, but if she had not, she would have seen Jennifer, suddenly down on
one blue stockinged knee, a hand on the wall to steady herself, and the
other frantically covering her midsection.  "Oh, God, please, God, no, why
now?  So humiliating...Please don't turn around...please, please..." she
thought, over and over.  Beneath her navy suit, she felt sensations that she
had experienced only two times before: such sexual excitement that it was as
if she had three lovers tending her.  Her nipples, behind the black silk of
her camisole, pushed and rubbed and were rewarded with the silken
back-and-forth rubbing of the lingerie.  The undersides of her breasts felt
so sensitive that the sway of her movement towards the floor would be
swelling them with arousal.  The arches of her feet, still in shoes and
wrapped in nylon, felt as though they were being licked and kissed by a
lover.  Even her knees, both atop and behind, were suddenly rendered
infinitely more sensitive to the soft, teasing texture of her dark blue
pantyhose.
    But none of that had driven her to the ground.  Beneath her short,
tapered skirt, and beneath the darker panty top of her hose, her womanhood
throbbed and hummed as if she was being fucked by a stallion.  She could
almost feel kicks to her pleasure center, and she had never been so enslaved
to the throes of her body.  She bit her lip to contain moans that would
alert the entire building.  Tears filled her eyes as she kneeled, such was
her desire for...anything...anything to make it...stop?
    Tristen continued to walk, and in Jennifer's mind, she knew it had been
mere seconds as opposed to the hours her body suggested.  Still the feelings
dominated her, kept her from moving, from standing.  She could feel herself
losing to the mounting orgasm within, sensed that even as she knelt, there
in the corridor, that her hose were growing stained with girl cum.  The moan
that was escaping her lips could not be held back; her jaw clenched and
fought the signal of her body's relish, lest Tristen, now just perhaps
twelve feet away, would hear.
    Then, as suddenly as it had arrived...it vanished.
    It was just gone.  Jennifer Grey was now just a woman, kneeling on an
office floor, flushed and perspiring.  For no apparent reason.
    It was then, of course, that Tristen turned: "Oh my gosh!  Are you
okay?"  She rushed over, kneeling quickly to stroke Jennifer's hair.  "What
happened?" and then, "Look, it's not that big a deal!" Still stroking:
"What, did you smoke pot or something?"
    Jennifer knelt there a moment, uncomprehending, before dragging herself
back. "What?"
    "Look, we invest in pharmaceuticals.  The HSA understands a mistake now
and then.  It won't get you up the corporate ladder, but hey, just don't
make a habit out of it."  She smiled down at Jennifer, an encouraging smile.
    "N-no.  I...I just need to get my footing.  Can you help me up?"
    Tristen reached down to oblige, pulling the taller woman up, tottering
on her high heels.  As she stood, Jennifer could feel her legs shake, could
feel her juices from where they'd slid down her thighs, wetting legs and
nylons alike.  She could also still feel the weapon, pocketed subtly in her
jacket.  "Look," she addressed Tristen levelly, "I just need to use the
restroom.  Is there one nearby?"
    "Two cubicles to your left, but..." she hesitated, looking Jennifer's
disheveled suit over once, "But I'm really not supposed to let you go off
alone..."
    No. This might be her last chance. "Please, I'm just a little shaken up.
Please, Tristen.  Just understand. I'll be out in two seconds; you can time
me."  She smiled weakly, to press the point.
    Tristen pulled her stockinged foot in and out of her purple shoe
nervously.  Finally, "Well...okay.  But you need to hurry.  And I'll be
right outside the door."
    "Thanks," Jennifer said earnestly, and rushed into the ladies room while
Tristen took up a position outside.  She was into a stall and preparing in
two seconds flat.  The gun was miniscule, as most of the Agency's models
were, and after dissecting both barrel and handle (in under thirty seconds)
each component was dropped into the toilet for flushing.  As the commode
struggled with it's unusual cargo, she attended to the mess in her
pantyhose.  She had never worn panties, always figuring that between cotton
modesty panel and elastic form control, most hose made them redundant.  "But
maybe I should start," she thought angrily.  Quickly she wiped the remnants
of her ordeal clean, not devoting the now-precious seconds to contemplating
the source.  She could think about that later.  Lastly, she tended to her
vagina, padding it dry, and stifling the small, cute noises that
self-touching usually brought on.
    A quick glance at her watch: 1 minute, 15 seconds.  Not bad.
    "See?" she started, swinging open the door, "I told-"
    It was not Tristen awaiting her outside.  "Ms. Grey?  Ms. Grey, we'll
have to ask you to come with us."  Two women, both beautiful: one a tall
blonde in a soft dark suit and black tights and loafers; long hair cascaded
alongside her face, past a mouth that was grimly compressed.  The other was
an African-American, one of the first that Jennifer had seen here; her
outfit left no doubt as to her duties: a white uniform with black buttons,
complemented with white cotton tights and comfortable, black flats.  But the
white cap and red emblem on the nametag confirmed it.  A nurse...and
security?
    She was a bit startled, but, "Yes...yes, of course.  Lead the way."
They did, one before her and one after, all the way to the elevator.


*******************************

    The elevator ride had been a bit silent, a bit uncomfortable, but
eventually they reached their destination.
    The clinic was unoccupied -a surprising number of the HSA's facilities
were, but an equal number were overcrowded- and Jennifer supposed that the
test was to be privately administered.  It spanned at least a hundred square
feet, and carried on its walls and shelves a number of medical instruments
and charts.  Like much of the HSA, it had a sterile, surgical feel, with
most of its walls and floors made of aluminum, but here, at least, the
feeling was not out of place.
    For the first time in their encounter, the tall blonde in black spoke.
"Ms. Grey, I am here as an additional witness to the procedure, to ensure
that all goes as it should.  You may look upon my presence here as a comfort
if you like."
    Jennifer stepped into the room, smiling unsteadily.  "Okay."
    She continued.  "My name is Ms. Green.  You are here for a medical test
to ensure that you are up to the HSA's code."  She pulled her hands behind
her back and paced over to take a position in the corner.  "I won't lie to
you.  That performance with the bathroom bit looked a little suspicious."
    Jennifer shifted in her heels quietly, not knowing what to say.
    The nurse moved over to her, her white tights rasping together between
what must be muscular thighs (there wasn't an ounce of fat on her!).  "Don't
mind Ms. Green, honey.  You just do as I ask and you'll be back to the daily
grind in no time."  She handed Jennifer a scrunchie.  "Pull your hair back
with this.  It's not quite the drug test you're used to."  She patted the
exam table a couple of times, and Jennifer hopped up, crossing her legs
before binding her hair.
    The nurse moved along behind her and began tugging on her jacket from
the shoulders.  "Let's get this off of you first."
    Jennifer shrugged out of her jacket, suddenly very conscious of how wet
the back of her soft, white blouse might be.
    "Yes, honey, that's the girl."  She harumphed loudly, then appeared to
be waiting for something, but Jennifer didn't know what.
"Honey?  You should know what's next..."
    "Oh!  Oh, right, sorry.  It's been awhile since my last visit."
Jennifer moved her fingers hurriedly to the buttons of her blouse.  This was
always so awkward.  She remembered her first physical with the Agency, and
how embarrassed she had become, her straight out of college, when her
physician was an older man.  Soon she was down to her black camisole, skirt,
hose, and shoes, the blouse and jacket having been retrieved by Ms. Green
and hung over a chair.
    Ms. Green, seemingly at greater ease now, sat at a chair, one shiny
tighted leg crossed over another, and let her shoe dangle as she watched the
procedure.
    Cold metal suddenly moved to her left breast, as the nurse applied the
stethoscope.  "Breath for me now, honey.  Deep breaths."
    Still gasping a little from the instrument, even through the camisole,
Jennifer breathed in and out, slowly.  "Again," said the nurse, as she
shuffled to the other side of her breast.  "Again," she repeated, as the
stethoscope found its way just under her firmness, hardening her nipple with
its frigid touch.
    "Again, honey.  I can't get you all the way."  Jennifer yiped as the
tool suddenly came up to her tit from below; the nurse had stuffed her hand
beneath her camisole!  "Oh, be calm, dear.  I do this all the time."  She
smile pleasantly.  "Although it usually doesn't get quite this reaction."
Jennifer looked to see that both of her nipples were budded, tips pressing
awkwardly outward.  She reddened.  For some reason, this always happened to
her.  From her position in the chair, Ms. Green leaned forward a bit,
watching intently.  Her presence was anything but "a comfort".
    "Got it." She withdrew the instrument, put it away, and opened a drawer.
"Now, a little blood work.  Don't be scared, honey," she laughed.
    "I'm not scared," Jennifer snapped.  This was getting a little
patronizing.
    "Honey, I'm gonna give you this sticker right in the bottom, okay? It's
easier that way."
    "O-okay." Jennifer slid off of the table.
    "Over here, Sugar." The nurse motioned to join her at the opposite end
of the examining table.  Then she put her hands on the table, miming a "bend
over" position that would put her ass right in the face of Ms. Green!
    "Can't we do this over here?  I mean, I don't think Ms. Green wants to
see that much of me."
    "Ms. Grey," Ms. Green spoke warning, "You will do as you are instructed.
We are all professionals here."
    No choice, then.  She could balk some more, but to what end?  More
suspicion from Ms. Green?  Slowly, almost shuffling her feet in those high,
black heels, Jennifer joined the nurse at the tableside, placing her hands
about a foot apart.  She started to slip her shoes off, noting that the
nurse's height was nothing like hers, but she was stopped.
    "Leave them on."
    "What?"
    "I'm telling you, Ms. Grey, to do as you are instructed and to do
nothing else until.  Leave your high heels on."  The voice from behind her
was stern, but it was also shaky, almost breathy.  Jennifer acquiesced, also
making no move to stop the nurse as her skirt's zipper was lowered, and the
garment slid quickly down her legs and to the floor.
    "My, dear," said the nurse, and suddenly Jennifer felt fingers on her
stockinged thighs, high on them, nearly too high. "What have you been doing
today?  Boyfriend?"  One finger traced a line upwards, leaving her flesh to
goosebump beneath the hose.
    Jennifer was about to turn around ("This is too far," she thought) but
before she could move, she felt a pair of hands at the waistband of her
nylons, yanking them down to bind her thighs, and then, instantly
thereafter, the sting of a needle in her butt.
    The next couple of moments were nearly lost to her.  She seemed to be
becoming very warm, and little lights danced moth-like before her eyes.  She
could hear the nurse's voice as though from behind a wall: "There, there,
sweetie, there, there.  It happens all the time, just a little bit faint."
No...something was wrong...Jennifer tossed her head a bit, tried to shake
off...something...and nearly toppled over in the process, her balance upset
by the skirt around her ankles.
    "Oops! You almost fell, there pumpkin.  Ms. Green, why don't you come
help me with her."  Each arm was clutched, and Jennifer seemed to be
hovering towards the lights on the ceiling, all the white lights.  Pretty,
but they nearly made her ill.
    Then, plop, onto solid ground again.  "Just a few more tests, honey,
then back to work with you."  The black woman moved in front of her, then
around her, to the left and then circled to the right.  Ms. Green was stable
though, steady, bent to pull her skirt from where it was dangling off of an
ankle.  Her shoe nearly slipped too, but nope, saved by Ms. Green, slipped
back onto her stocking foot. Didn't want it to fall, long way down from
the...
    Table.  She was on a different table, now.  "Lie down, pretty.  Lie down
and relax.  Just a few more tests." The nurse's hand between her breasts
pushed her -not hard- and she settled down to the table.  Yes, that felt
better.  Maybe if she...slept...no, not quite right for some reason.
"Honey, you just lie back. Ms. Green and I are gonna do all the work from
here on out."
    She felt hands at her ankles then, lifting them from the table.  She
tried to pull them away, but they would not move the way she wanted them to.
"Lie still, bitch." The rebuke was from Ms. Green, Ms. Green who had her
ankles, silky smooth in blue stockings, lifting them.  Something not
right...
    "Take off those ridiculous shoes, Green, or she won't fit in the
stirrups."  The nurse.  Stirrups.
    "Fine.  But have you ever seen calves like these?"  There was a sudden
wetness along the back of her nyloned calf, a line being drawn? More tests?
She smiled.  Tickles.  "See?  Taste her.  She enjoys it."
    There was a soft sound as she lost her shoes, and suddenly her feet
weren't held with fingers, but with...it was hard to say...something
unyielding, around her ankles.  Cold.
    Her nylons were rolled down to her knees, then.  There was someone
screaming in the back of her head, but she couldn't make out what was being
said.  More and more she was encircled: Nurse, Green, Nurse, Green, always
measuring, touching, doctor stuff.  Finally: "She'll be coming out in about
ten minutes.  Do you think we have time?"
    The nurse: "Yes."
    "Cuff her."
    Cuff?  Wait...Jennifer...suddenly...understood...
    "Danger."
    Danger, said the voice.  You should not be here.
    Jennifer Grey got very, very scared just then, just as the pair of
handcuffs was slipped onto her wrists.  With no thought, no coordination,
she started trying to thrash about, make noises.
    "She's with us.  Hurry."
    She was handled like a baby.  She had no fine motor control.  She was in
very, very grave danger.  She tried to speak, to demand her release, but her
tongue would not move.
    Her eyes worked the room.  Same room.  She was trapped though, straps
around her stocking feet and cuffs around her hands.  Where was her skirt?!?
    "She's panicking!  Do something, Green.  Blindfold her."
    It must have already been in the works, because in seconds, a strip of
black descended across her eyes.  Black.  She shook her head, or tried, but
it just slid lazily about, more under gravity's control than her own.
    She could still hear.  From in front of her, and down:
    "Look at her.  Have you ever seen anything so sweet?  She's flowing like
a fountain."
    And feel.
    God, could she feel.
    And as the bumpy wet tongue touched what she knew to be her protruding
clitoris, she learned that she could also make sounds.  Exactly the kind
they wanted her to make.

The Perfect Applicant (Ff, mc, hosiery fetish)    PART 8


    "Ahhh..."
    "Ohh..."
    "Ugh..."
    Allison Taxton, a knowing smile on her lips, waited a moment more before
entering the nurse's quarters at the HSA.
    "OHHnnhhhhh!!"
    That was it.
    The door slid open mechanically, to such a sight as only a masochistic
lesbian domme like herself could appreciate.  The applicant, a
twenty-something brunette named Jennifer Grey, twisted and jutted her torso
atop the examining table to which she'd been bound.  Above her head, her
hands clutched at the empty air, oblivious in her current throes to the
thick leather straps which held her wrists together.  She was still becoming
introduced to her predicament, a confused state further hindered by the
dressy tights drawn about her eyes in a makeshift blindfold.  Allison noted
that her captive's jaw worked furiously, proper speech refused by the
narcotic
injection of mere minutes ago, but low-pitched whimpers and angry squeals
slid through gritted teeth.
    The security officer had acted zealously, it appeared, with Ms.
Grey's clothing.  Jacket and blouse hung over the back of a nearby chair,
and Jennifer's grapefruit-like tits flopped to and fro within the looseness
of her silken camisole.  The pinstripe skirt she'd worn was similarly
discarded, crumpled on the floor beneath the nurse's feet.  The nurse seemed
to like it there, pinning it beneath her black flats as a conquest though it
kept her removed from the fun at hand.
    Allison's eyes roved further south, took in Jennifer's muscular legs
moving rhythmically, distractedly, inching forwards and then jerking back as
much as the stirrups which held them aloft would allow.  They were bare down
to just above the knees, where her struggles were further inhibited by the
restraining waistband of her midnight-blue nylons, which had evidently been
wrenched down in preparation for this evening's session.
    Jennifer gave a short little gasp then, but pursed her lips back
together as though outraged at the admission.  Ms. Green, from her kneeling
position at the end of the table (the one beholden to her twin, swollen
pussy
lips) turned from her feast to give Allison a quick, "See how she likes it?"
type of grin.  Allison merely nodded coolly in response.  This was nothing.
Green claimed victory in a stifled gasp, a muzzled moan from a woman whose
tongue was so deadened by drugs that she couldn't scream her outrage.  When
Allison was done with young Ms. Grey, the woman would wake each morning
conducting her every movement towards Allison's pleasure.  And then thanking
her for the opportunity.
    Allison folded her arms beneath her breasts, watched the scene, and
waited.  Of particular interest to her were Ms. Grey's stocking feet, bound
at the ankle about two feet apart, as was common with medical stirrups.
They moved back a bit, then forward, drawn through their bindings during
Jennifer's struggles, but seldom did the dark nylon mesh which enwrapped
them wrinkle, or stretch to conform to curling toes.  Indications that, as
much as Jennifer might begrudgingly enjoy the bumpy tongue gliding along her
clitoris, she was far from a true state of arousal.  Yes, it might be due
to the drugs, but those should be fading quickly.  More likely Ms. Green's
performance down there was amateurish.  Like Tristen, the woman had her
uses, but also like Tristen, she was better versed in temporary, forceful
domination than in the subtler art of true manipulation.
    Enough.  "Enough," Allison snapped.  Let this ruse end.  In time,
Jennifer would be brought about, but she was not in the state for it now.
"Dress her.  I want her back into the clothing she wore here today.  If
you've ruined any of it with your games, replace it with stock similar
enough to fool me when I come back."  She turned to regard the nurse: "Tell
Tristen that I expect our mutual pet to be prepped for her role in the tour.
I will be back in 15 minutes.  Be ready."
    The nurse, a statuesque black, whose long, muscular legs alone
could've snapped Allison in half, merely looked down at the floor.  "Yes,
Mistress."

                                        *********

    If not for her bondage, Jennifer Grey would've kicked herself.  How
could she have been so stupid?  The whole thing, a ruse, a facade disguising
what she could only now venture guesses about: the true nature of the HSA.
How deeply did it run?  Was everyone involved?  She'd nearly cried when she
heard Tristen's name mentioned.  Jennifer had been so sure that she couldn't
be in it.  And these two: the Amazon and the nurse.  They'd had her hook,
line, and sinker.  But perhaps...perhaps things could be salvaged.
    That butch Germanic bitch had finally moved out from between her legs.
In truth, Jennifer's little noises had mostly been an awkward joke.  She'd
had her cunt licked by experts: the team quarterback in college, and a
young, pleaser newbie back at the Agency.  This bitch didn't come close.
Jennifer just hoped to keep her distracted until the drugs wore off, which
they apparently had.  She had no doubt now that she could speak, but kept
her silence so as to be perceived more vulnerable.
    "Keep her blindfold on, Ms. Green.  At least until we've dressed her."
The nurse.  That hideous woman.  She was supposed to be a healer!  Inwardly,
Jennifer scoffed.  Hippocratic oath, indeed!
    "Now, now, Ms. Grey," the thick voice of Ms. Green reverberated through
the room as Jennifer felt her wrists being unbound.  "I realize that you're
probably a little shaken from what we've shared, but if you're a good girl,
and stand and walk when we say, perhaps you will be given to me again."
    Jennifer merely moaned non-commitally, waiting to be untied. 'I don't
want to give her the pleasure,' she thought.  And at that moment, blood
flowed back into her hands.  The leather cuffs had been removed.
    "Quickly, Green.  Get her cuffed again."
    Jennifer did her best to sit up, and pulled her arms to her sides in an
attempt to escape further bondage.  Her balance was immediately thrown
however, by both the disorienting blindfold and the elevated position of her
leather-bound feet.  She was stopped with a sharp slap across the face.
    "Little bitch!  Stay still!"  Jennifer's cheek stung painfully.  She
decided, for now, to do as she was told.
    She was hefted by the shoulders and held seated upright on the table, at
which point she felt first one arm, then the other, pulled through the
sleeves of her blouse.  The jacket came next, pulled on tightly,
straightened into alignment with her shoulders, then buttoned just below her
breasts.  A new pair of cuffs, metal from the feel of it, was then slapped
onto her wrists, and held them behind her back  All the while they spoke to
her.
    Ms. Green, slipping the buttons through the little holes on her blouse:
"We've waited what feels like a very long time for this, Ms. Grey."  A hand
playing at smoothing the rumpled clothing, grazing her breasts until
Jennifer, embarrassed and angry, felt her nipples pushing against her
camisole.  Jennifer could feel Green's warm breath on her cheek as she
continued, softly: "Such a pretty specimen.  Did you-" a flick on her stiff
nipple "-come to shut us down, Pretty Jenny?"
    Jennifer gritted her teeth behind closed lips.  She would not answer.
She would not give this woman the satisfaction.
    With her legs still bound, the nurse should've had to struggle with the
wadded stockings at her knees, but no.  As she took her turn to speak at Ms.
Grey, she glided the silky blue sheath up easily, adjusting and
straightening until Jennifer's soft brown vulva was tucked into its
sheer blue package.  "You should just answer, sugar.  You may think we're
monsters here, but we're really just trying to be friends."  A quick pat to
her pussy served to punctuate the remark.  "If you try to play with Ms.
Taxton like this, dear, she'll make us look like saints."
    Lord, the indignity.  Jennifer Grey could feel her face redden.
    New shackles were placed just above her calves before her ankles were
pulled from the stirrups, then they were quickly slid down to fill the
absence.  Jennifer felt further manhandled as the women swung her bound legs
over the end of the table, positioning her to receive her skirt from the
afternoon. 'Was it really just this afternoon?' she thought, despairing.
'No, Jenny, keep a level head.  Take advantage of your situation.'  Although
as she sat there, bound hand and foot while being dressed by her rapists,
she
found it hard to be positive.
    At last she was allowed to stand.  Her stocking feet went up on their
tip-toes briefly upon touching the cold floor.
    "You may recall, Ms. Grey, how much I liked your shoes earlier."  She
could hear Ms. Green pacing before her, while the nurse retained a firm grip
on her shoulders.  "Indeed, I would've fucked you in them, had we the time."
Continued pacing, but not in shoes, or even stockings it seemed.  It sounded
as though Green's feet were bare.  "We are simple girls, here, Ms. Grey.
You'll see that soon enough.  I would like a pair of your shoes myself."
She paused, then closed the space between them.  A quick movement and a
slight tug at her hair, Jennifer could suddenly see again.  The blindfold
had been removed.
    She was no less helpless, however.  She blinked rapidly, eschewing the
onslaught of illumination which, ironically, blocked her vision still.  As
the spots across her vision faded, she saw the powerful blonde drawing on
the second leg of her shiny black dress tights.  'So that's what that smell
was,' Jennifer thought.
    As Ms. Green finished, she turned to regard the shoes where they rested,
upright and shiny in the abundant light.  She turned back to Jennifer, and
Jennifer saw for the first time a beautiful girl, eyes gleaming with the
delight of a child in a candy store.  But there was cruelty there as well.
She paced over, took one shoe in each hand, and returned to Jennifer as
though showing her something new.  'They're MY fucking shoes!' Jennifer
thought angrily, the inappropriateness of the idea lost amidst the pure
girlishness that comes out in such encounters.
    "I like them, Jenny.  Be a good girl.  Tell me: where did you get them?"
    Jennifer tried to draw herself straight up.  The shoes were nothing
special, a simple pseudo-loafer, black and shiny, leather with a thick,
three-inch heel.  But that wasn't the point.  Jennifer Grey smiled, met her
eyes, and said nothing.
    She could feel the nurse's grip tighten on her shoulders.
    Ms. Green approached her again, leaned in close, so close that their
jackets rustled together and their breasts touched.  She whispered in
Jennifer's ear.  "Where...did...you get them?"
    Jennifer, again, held her peace.
    Green stepped back, a frustrated smile breaking her pretty, solid,
sorority
girl face.  "Fine.  Fine, Ms. Grey.  You had to do it the hard way!  Nurse,
hold her!"  With that, Jennifer felt one arm threaded in between her back
and bindings, pulling her off her feet.  The other hand tangled itself in
her soft brown hair, and used it as a handle to tug her
head backwards.
    With a few rapid moves, Jennifer had been rendered almost puppet-like by
the strong black woman at her back.  Her bound, stocking feet couldn't grant
her the leverage to even steady herself as they slipped about on the metal
floor.  Green advanced on her struggling form with a vengeance, holding one
of her shoes as though to club her with the heel.  But no, as she
approached, the nurse tugged her now-tangled mane anew, and the pain was
enough to make Jennifer call out.  There was no sound, however, for as her
lips finally parted Green
determinedly PUSHED the shoe into her yelping orifice!
    The taste was horrendous.  And it enveloped Jennifer's tongue before
she'd even realized what had happened, a thick,
dirty, leather tang that nearly made her gag.  She shouted angrily around
her new mouthpiece, obscenities that any sailor would be proud of, but all
that made it out were the obvious muffled cries.
"MMMPPPPPHHHH!!!! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHH!!!!!"
    The nurse held her tightly, expecting the outbursts, while Ms. Green
sadistically withdrew the leather shoe a bit before pushing it back in,
smiling all the while.
    "MMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
    "On second thought, Jenny, you may keep your shoe," Ms. Green chuckled.
"Nurse?"
    The nurse handled her writhing form easily, dodging the infantile kicks
her shackles couldn't withhold and spinning her roughly around to face the
table once again.  "Honey, I warned ya.  You don't want to start here this
way.  C'mon, now, honey, bend over here now.  Just go back over the table
like before."
    But Jennifer remembered "before" over the table, and suddenly the shoe
dangling awkwardly from her jaws became a low priority.  With renewed vigor
she struggled, her vicious thrusts and kicks creating such a display as
could seldom be seen outside of a rodeo.  Capably though, the nurse and Ms.
Green handled her, overpowering her slim frame with precise and unyielding
force.  Within seconds, she was bent at the waist, her heaving breasts
mashed against the cold steel of the examining table, the leather shoe tied
in place between her jaws, and her pinstriped navy skirt shucked up around
her waist.
    What was presented to Ms. Green, as the nurse sat Indian-style on their
captive's back, was one of the prettiest, pinkest, pantyhosed backsides she
had ever seen.
      It was breathtaking to have a woman so prone.  Her legs were straight,
feet flat on the floor, apart no more than six inches.  They were also
sheathed in stockings that, while stressed, amazingly showed no signs of
runs.  The cotton gusset of her hose peaked out cutely at the point where
the underside of her bottom started to diminish into her crotch, a small
spot of white
practicality amidst a sea of silken blue sex.  Green couldn't resist
touching it lightly with her index finger.
    "MMMMPPPHHHHH!!!!!"
    Jennifer was exhausted, mortified, and near tears.  But her fight wasn't
completely gone.
    In her left ear, her seductress whispered: "Ms. Grey?  These are such
pretty
pantyhose."
    "Mmph."
    "May I ask...Where did you get them?"
    "Fmph YUMMph!"
    It was clear enough.  Ms. Green pulled back and exchanged a knowing
glace with the nurse.  This one was strong.  Well, so much the better.  She
picked
up the other shoe from where it sat on the table, temporarily forgotten.
Turning it in her hand, she admired its shape, color, and condition.  A
shame that Ms. Grey would not reveal her sources.  Yet.  Vengefully, she
raised it into the air.
    The first blow landed just under the right buttock, and Jennifer was
quite taken aback by it.  Then the second.  By the third, she was squealing,
struggling, and stamping her sexy stocking feet in panic.  Again and again,
Ms. Green brought the rubber sole against her buttocks in fierce, punishing
strikes.
    WHAP!
    WHAP!
    WHAP!
    WHAP!
    There was no rhythm to adjust to, as there'd been when her father had
struck her, so many years ago.  She'd expect a blow to the right cheek, and
the left would quiver from a spank.  She'd tense and wait for attacks which
were several seconds in coming, while others left her not a second to catch
her breath.  But if there was one consistent element, it was the strength of
that bitch's arm.  Never were the slaps to her hosed rump playful or gentle;
there was a fury in them that managed to make even her extraordinarily firm
cheeks undulate beneath her stockings.
    WHAP!
    WHAP!
    WHAP!
    WHAP!
    At first she had managed not to cry out.  She'd clenched her teeth into
the rubber heel between her lips as though it were her only friend.  But as
the nurse too began to torment her, rubbing herself hornily on Jennifer's
pinned form, she started to groan like a punished child.
    WHAP!
    "Where...did...you get...your pretty things... Jenny?"  Ms. Green
    "Ohnnhh!"
    WHAP!
    "Must I...hit you...some more, Jenny...with your sexy shoe?"
    Jennifer had her eyes closed, and tried to deaden herself to all
sensations.  Her jaws ached; the acrid taste of dirty shoe leather would not
go away.
    WHAP!
    She grunted meaninglessly in response.  She wouldn't give this bitch an
answer.  She knew it was all just an excuse to beat her, and she would not
cave in now.
    WHAP!
    Her bottom burned. The hosiery was no protection.
    WHAP!
    "Ohnh!"
    It went on like that for some time.  For so long, in fact, that the
promise of Allison Taxton's eventual return fled from all of their minds.
But time has a way of passing, regardless of its perception, and it was
stroke 35 before the door slid open to admit the HSA's head mistress.
    And when she did walk in, the activity before her was not pleasing.
    "Ms. Green!  Unhand that young lady AT ONCE!"
    She flinched, shoe in mid-swing, and hastily stepped away from her
punished victim.  The nurse moved quickly as well, dismounting Jennifer and
attempting to melt into the background.  Allison was very, very stringent
with her specifications.  And this little bit of play had NOT been
authorized.


*******************

    It was a moment or so before Agent Jennifer Grey regained her senses,
but she heard a lot of screaming in the interim.  When she could finally
hobble gently around despite her cuffed ankles and swollen thighs, she found
the room empty of all save Ms. Taxton and herself.  Strangely, that was the
scariest circumstance of all.

To be continued...

Archaic69@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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