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Reply-To: "Archaic69" <Archaic69@hotmail.com>
From: "Archaic69" <Archaic69@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW Perfect Applicant (p4) Ff, hosiery, mc
Date: Thu, 21 Jun 2001 17:10:04 -0400
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Standard warnings apply.

If you like this story, or would like to share some ideas for
making it better, write archaic69@hotmail.com

                                                             
Perfect Applicant Part 4 (Ff, hosiery, mc)

Caroline Holcomb's situation was unenviable, to say the least.

She stood silently in the hidden sanctum of the HSA, hands at her
sides, feet slightly apart, blinking rapidly, and sweating
profusely. The blinking could be attributed to the brilliantly
white light that was highlighting her form, setting it off
against the haze of the office. The sweating, however, was due to
something else entirely.

 From her position atop the dais, Allison Taxton scrutinized her
pretty pet. Caroline wore one of her trademark skirt-suits, a
navy ensemble that fit her beautifully, and cut well against her
roundish breasts. Where it ended, about two inches above the
knee, shimmered a pair of almost glittery beige stockings,
semi-sheer and elegantly caressing the muscles of her legs. The
outfit was completed at top and bottom by a black choker (partly
covered by her long, black hair) and a pair of three inch pumps,
respectively. Allison knew her bitch to look delicious on any
occasion, but it was moments like these, when she stood nervously
at attention, that she was most vulnerable, and thus, most
appealing.

The silence was worsening (it was a favorite tactic) and Caroline
could feel her peril, almost as though it was a tangible thing.
Beyond the light's touch moved the servants: all female, Caroline
knew, as was their mistress' wont. Once in a while, their heels
would click across the cold concrete floor, and the echo,
sometime near in origin, sometimes far, rattled her nerves.
Finally, she could take it no longer.

"Mistress," Caroline began hesitantly, her soft Hispanic lips
barely parting for the word, "do you have need of me?"

Allison bolted from her seat, and took the stairs between them
two at a time. Caroline stepped back in fright from the assault,
but her cheek was grabbed, pinched, and held. The pain was
fierce, the nails sharp, and she heard herself cry out girlishly.
Shame overcame her. The woman she had been was gone. But she had
little time to contemplate that, as Allison pulled their faces
very close together, and then said something, not to Caroline,
but to the room: "This cow has spoken too much already. Bind
her." With that, she gave Caroline a hardy shove, sending her
teetering on her high heels before collapsing to the floor in a
heap. She lay there for a moment, dignity abandoned, skirt
climbing to her panties and stocking legs awkwardly spread.

But the moment was all she had. Responding to their mistress,
four servant girls converged on her from the shadows, and, each
grabbing a limb, hefted her aloft. Caroline had learned long ago
that struggling was useless, but she couldn't help herself. She
tried to hit and wiggle and kick her way free, a sight that
Allison took in with delight, but the girls' hold was firm.
Quickly, they carted her to a darkened room behind the dais,
where she knew she would be first drugged and then "prepared" to
her mistress' tastes. Silently, she ceased her wriggling, bit her
lower lip, and prayed that Jennifer Grey was worth what was
coming next.

Agent Grey stifled a yawn behind her perfectly manicured fingers.
All around her sounded the typical beeps, keystrokes, and rings
of an office on the go, but the noise was doing little to rouse
her.

After a year with the Agency, a year filled with kicked-down
doors, drug dealers, and the mafia, this undercover bit seemed
kind of tame. Especially if the days ahead held up to this one,
then she would be sure that nothing was going on. She sighed, and
sipped from her coffee mug. Perhaps she was just too impatient.
After all, this was, what?, her second time in the building?
Nevertheless, she'd expected more action than arguments at the
water cooler could satisfy.

A lovely red-haired head popped over the wall of her cubicle.
"Hey, Jen. I heard you yawn from over here. I told you this place
was dull."

Jennifer smiled. Tristen had been so friendly that night, taking
Jennifer by the hand, showing her the in's and out's of the
office, the computer network, basically everything Ms. Taxton
hadn't covered before rushing off to take care of some business.
"No," she replied politely, "of course it's not dull. I just have
to adjust to these hours." She held her cup aloft. "This helps."

"It'll be your best friend. Speaking of which, I have to go place
a requisition for various supplies. Anything you need, speak up
now. It'll be a while before I'm back."

Jennifer shook her head 'no' and thanked her, returning her focus
to the task at hand as the girl walked off. Such nice people,
Jennifer thought to herself. If there is anything going on here,
there's no way that it has suffused the whole staff.

Stretching her long legs underneath her desk, she slid her
stocking feet from her shoes. It felt so good to wiggle her toes
for a bit, and hopefully no one would notice her lack of
professionalism. Pantyhose certainly made her legs feel indulged,
but there was something to be said for lower heels, particularly
until she got accustomed to the office grind. She distractedly
crossed her legs, bringing one foot up on her knee so she could
rub the tension out of it.

God, that feels good, she thought, as she ran her fingers over
and over the soft, gray nylon. Soon the other foot was asking for
attention, and so she switched. It DID feel good. Better than her
foot massages usually felt. Maybe her clumsy
boyfriends-of-the-week just hadn't been doing it right. Slowly
and then quickly she glided her hands over her sheer hosiery,
even taking a moment to rub her well-muscled calves. She closed
her eyes. It was so quiet in the office all of a sudden. Perhaps
there was a break. That would be nice. She kept working her
hands, assured now that she could relax briefly. God, had her
hosiery been this silky before? It was so soft under her fingers,
so tight around her calves, her toes, her pussy.it caressed her
womanhood, oh her pussy. . . "Ohhnhh. . ."

Jennifer's eyes shot open, and she self-consciously ran them
around her immediate space. Had she said that out loud? Her face
flushed a horrific red. All of the noises so prevalent in the
office had resumed their typical volume. Had she just imagined
that? God, please let it be so! It would be so humiliating! No,
calm down, no one heard. Hurriedly, she slipped her stocking feet
back into her shoes, and replaced her fingers at the keyboard.
Slowly her heartbeat became more regular. Good, she thought.
Relax. But as Jennifer Grey recrossed her stocking legs at the
knee, her calmness was again overcome with mortification. Between
her thighs, her hosed crotch was warm and soft as always . . .
but it was also wet. And that it hadn't been in a long, long
time.



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