The Perfect Applicant Ch. 5-8

"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.

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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.