The Perfect Applicant Ch. 5-8

Part 5

(You may find the other half of this story under my other name: Archaic69. For some reason, I couldn't submit new things, so I had to start a new account.)

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.

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.

This story is not intended to be viewed by persons under the age of 18, or under whatever age is considered adulthood in your neck of the world. It has no basis in reality, and is intended as a fantasy only. If over the age in question, please use your own good judgment.

****Feedback and new ideas are greatly appreciated!!!!*****

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.