The Perfect Applicant

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.

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"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."