The Perfect Applicant

Tristen clapped her hands and laughed heartlily, 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 disapointment 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 embarassment, 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 magificent as usual, smiled and jerked insistently. Her turn, after all, had not yet begun.

Part 6

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 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, portruded 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 momemtum, 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.