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Reply-To: "Archaic69" <archaic69@hotmail.com>
From: "Archaic69" <archaic69@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Perfect Applicant part 7 (Ff,stockings, control)
Date: Tue, 16 Jul 2002 09:10:07 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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.



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

(archaic69@hotmail.com)
Now enjoy!

The Perfect Applicant (Ff, mc, hosiery fetish)


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.

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