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Message-ID: <37337asstr$1026821405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: "Archaic69" <archaic69@hotmail.com>
From: "Archaic69" <archaic69@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Perfect Applicant part 6 (Ff, stockings, MC)
Date: Tue, 16 Jul 2002 08:10:05 -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 judgment.



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

(archaic69@hotmail.com)
Now enjoy!

The Perfect Applicant (Ff, mc, hosiery fetish)



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 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,
protruded 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 momentum, 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 between 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.

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