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Message-ID: <31776asstr$996718201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: "Archaic69" <Archaic69@hotmail.com>
From: "Archaic69" <Archaic69@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW! The Perfect Applicant part6 (hosiery, Ff, mc)
Date: Wed,  1 Aug 2001 22:10:01 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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 judgement.

Please send feedback!  It makes this thing worth writing!  And sometimes,
it really helps (i.e. this "part" was largely due to 'Hose Freak'!  Thanks!)
Ideas and such? Archaic69@hotmail.com

Now enjoy!
The Perfect Applicant (hosiery, Ff, mc?)
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. 

It was becoming too much. So many eyes on her, on this girl beween 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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