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From: david@f-e-mail.com (David Shaw)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 19 Sep 2003 06:26:41 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} RP:  "HOME SWEET HOMELAND" (M/M/F(F): work; noncon) By David Shaw
Date: Fri, 19 Sep 2003 08:10:04 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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"HOME SWEET HOMELAND" (M/M/F(F): work; noncon)

By

David Shaw
caliban@iinet.net.au

THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

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And you thought the IRS were intrusive . . . 
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"Elisabeth, can you come into my office at once, please?"

Elisabeth Manning looked up from her computer screen, surprised at the
somber tone in Willard Aldredge's voice. He was usually a pretty
unemotional sort of a boss, the kind of steady going and rather dull
bureaucrat to be found in any government department in Washington.
Then again, Elisabeth would have had to use much the same words to
describe her own life; steady and dull. But something or someone had
obviously got Willard fired up today. He was standing outside her
cubicle with an expression on his face like an Enron accountant who'd
suddenly figured out the real figures. Shocked and tense and very
unhappy, that was how Willard looked.

"Sure. What's the problem?"

Willard didn't answer. He simply gave a shake of his head like a horse
bothered by flies and stepped back to let Elisabeth walk in front of
him. And it didn't need any female intuition to let her know that
somewhere, somehow, the turds had really hit the turbine. So what
could have happened to have caused major trouble for the Department of
Transportation, and especially for that section of it responsible for
drafting safety regulations?

There were three people waiting in Willard's office: two young men,
and an even younger looking woman. Mid to early twenties, all neatly
dressed in conservative business clothes, all staring at her with
sharp, hard eyes. One of the guys spoke first; mid height, stocky,
with hair as fair as Elisabeth's own, perhaps sharing some of her
Scandinavian genes in his ancestry.

"Thank you, Mr Aldredge. Could leave Ms Manning with us for a while?"

"Sure, sure. Take as long as you like."

Elisabeth turned and gaped at the sight of her boss allowing himself
to be thrown out of his own office by this upstart college boy.
Willard might be an pretty easy going guy but he was always a stickler
for the rules of the departmental game, and one of those rules was
that nobody pulled any of his staff in for an investigation without
Willard himself sitting in on it. Hell, that was her right as well, to
expect her supervisor's support in a crisis.

"Willard, what's this all about?"

"Mr Heynig will explain things, Elisabeth. I'll see you later."

The office door closed, Willard was on the other side of it, and she
was alone with these three kooks. Oh God, had a 747 gone down, or
what? The stocky one flashed a fancy looking ID card.

"Scott Heynig, Ms Manning. Investigating agent for the Department of
Homeland Security."

Elisabeth felt as if she was going to faint. It was worse than an
accident, it was a terrorism thing and somehow one of her safety
regulations had failed to stop an attack.

"You don't look too good, Ms Manning. Don't worry, nothing's happened.
Not yet, anyway. Here, sit down."

Oddly, the agent guided her towards the fancy leather desk behind the
desk. It was certainly the best seat in the office: it should have
been, it had taken a six months battle with the accounts office for
Willard to get it.

"Sit here, Ms Manning. Or can I call you Elisabeth?"

"Yes, of course."

"A nice old fashioned name."

It was the other guy who'd spoken. In a kind of a sneering way. He was
different again, tall and slim, olive colored skin, good looking in a
Latino film star style. He was sitting down on the corner of the desk
on her right and Scott Heynig was perching himself on the desk on her
left hand side. Elisabeth felt hemmed in, as though she was under
guard. It was an impression which strengthened considerably as the
girl drew up a visitor's chair and sat down on the opposite side of
the desk before opening up a notebook computer.

"I'm Catherine Haught. Also an investigator with Homeland Security."

Even under her present distracting circumstances, Elisabeth couldn't
help but feel a twinge of pity for Catherine. Her suit was expertly
tailored to do the best possible justice to her figure, but, as any
passing star fleet engineer might have remarked, ye canna alter the
laws of physics. And, in Catherine's case, the laws of physics had
decreed that no amount of sharp tailoring could effectively enhance a
dumpy body with a bust line which was far more bust than line. Worse
yet, it was topped off by a face that could charitably be described as
'strong-looking'. Indeed she bore a passing resemblance to a young J.
Edgar Hoover, which was perhaps a professional advantage but hardly a
romantic one.

Elisabeth often felt vaguely guilty about inheriting a metabolism
which maintained her figure without any real effort on her part, while
so many women had to walk around looking like Catherine. She also
wondered what sort of physical performance standards Home Security
operatives had to meet on recruitment and how Catherine had ever
managed to waddle through them. But what she really wanted to know was
why two -- three? -- Homeland Security people wanted to talk to her.

The Latino guy spoke again: "Jarrel Rohr: investigation agent,
Homeland Security."

OK, three of them then, but why? Why was an HS team breathing down her
neck? OK then, two guys in an investigation team were breathing down
her neck and also inspecting her own bustline as though it might
explode. Elisabeth fought down a panicky urge to giggle; a 36C bra
packed with plastic explosive could do some serious damage if it went
off.

Scott glanced over to the girl: "Catherine, show Elisabeth the ECHELON
intercepts."

Catherine turned the computer around on the desk so that Elisabeth
could read the screen. Her stomach wall suddenly felt as if it peeling
off and with good reason. The computer screen was showing extracts
from the emails she'd been exchanging with a guy Elisabeth had been
doing some very serious flirting with over the last couple of weeks.
Flirting, fuck, the pair of them had been screwing each other's brains
out -- virtually speaking anyway.

"What the hell . . . ?"

Scott's authoritative voice rode straight over Elisabeth's outrage.

"Have you heard of ECHELON, Elisabeth? It's not exactly a secret, the
European Parliament even had a debate about it a while ago, but it's
not publicized much here in the States.

"ECHELON stations are only based on US soil or on the soil of our
closest allies, the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. They
intercept huge amounts of telephone, fax and email messages from all
around the planet: some reports say maybe up to three billion messages
every twenty four hours. The ECHELON computers scan each message for
suspicious words or addresses. And it happens that the guy you've been
writing to so freely is on our watch list of suspected terrorists.
That's why ECHELON has been copying all the emails he sends and
receives, and that's why we're here."

Elisabeth gaped at the agent in stunned disbelief: "But he's just a
guy I met in a chat room. His name's Jesse Kansas, he lives in LA. He
seems like any other guy. Why would I think he's got anything to do
with any terrorists?"

"His offline name is Abbas Sarak, he was born in the Gaza strip, and
two of his family have been suicide bombers. We think he has links
with Hamas. But it's true he can pass as an ordinary American citizen.
There's no reason why he shouldn't, he's been living in the States
since he was five."

"But I didn't know anything about any of that! I was just chatting to
some guy in LA!"

"Chatting?" The other guy, Jarrel, was grinning at her.

Elisabeth felt her cheeks flush as she realized they must all have
read the emails she'd sent to Jesse, or whatever the hell is name
really was. Oh, God!

Scott edged an inch or two closer to her along the edge of the desk:
"Elisabeth, let me explain how the system works on something like
this. A  red light comes and a team like ours goes out to check on
whether it's a genuine alarm or a false one. And if we decide it's a
false alarm and sign off on that, then we get the blame if we've made
a wrong call. If there's an incident down the track which leaves
thousands of US citizens dead and it turns out it was because this
investigating team made a mistake . . . well, our careers would be the
least of our worries. We'd probably end up squatting inside cages in
Cuba ourselves. You'd understand that."

Elisabeth nodded: her throat was tightening as if somebody was putting
a noose around it.

"OK, so what we do first off in a situation like this is a background
check on the subject we're interested in. That's mainly pulling
together our computer sources. So when I checked on you, Elisabeth, I
found Ms Straight as an Arrow lady.  Elisabeth Mary Manning, aged 32,
has worked for the Department of Transportation for seven years,
married to a nice guy called Peter for three years. Peter is a
lobbyist for the chemical industry, doing very nicely, thank you, and
you live with your nice guy as a nice couple in a nice twelve-story
condominium with a nice view of the Potomac river. Nice seems to be
the only four letter word I can find in your background, Elisabeth.
Maybe it should even be stamped in big gold letters across the cover
of your dossier."

He got up and walked over to the window, looking out across E Street
towards St Dominic's Church: "What do you think, Jarrel? Do you think
Ms Manning is nice?"

Jarrel had folded his arms and was grinning over them down at
Elisabeth. "Sure, she's nice. Nice long blonde hair, nice face, nice
figure, nice tits. Yes, Elisabeth is certainly nice."

"Hey!" Elisabeth protested at the agent's comments on her breasts.

"Elisabeth," Scott cut in, "I think I really need to make you
understand where we might be going from here. Now, one choice is to
say that you're this altogether nice lady who just happened to get in
touch with the wrong guy and now you know the score, the problem's
over. If you worked for an insurance company and your husband was a
dentist, that's probably what I'd do. I'd just warn you about not
contacting Abbas Sarak again and then walk out of your life.
Unfortunately . . . "  Scott's voice trailed off as if he was
unwilling to break some bad news. He glanced towards the female agent.

"Catherine, let's hear from you."

Catherine gave Elisabeth the sort of smile a wolverine would give a
trapped rabbit.

"But you don't work for an insurance company, Elisabeth. You work for
the Transportation Department and since 9/11, that's become one of the
most sensitive areas of government administration. Plus your husband
knows just about everything there is to know about most of the
chemical plants across the country. You two are a terrorist's dream
couple: you can tell them how to hi-jack a plane and your husband
knows exactly where crashing it will cause the most damage to a target
city. No way will I certify you're in the clear until we've done a
positive check on you and your husband."

"Yes, that's our problem," Scott agreed, still speaking as if he were
rather regretful about the situation.

He came over and sat on the desk again, even closer to Elisabeth.

"Or rather it's your problem, Ms nice lady Manning. You see, when
people know that Homeland Security have got an interest in somebody
close to them, they get very antsy. To do a positive check, we have to
ask around. Once the Transportation Department knows about your
contacts with a possible Hamas link man,  well . . . I guess they
couldn't just up and fire you, Elisabeth, but I think you'd be well
out of the loop promotion wise. In fact, I think you'd probably find
yourself working your time out in some cubicle so far down in the
basement that you'll be able to hear the trains going past."

"Of course, it's your husband we'd really be sorry about," Jarrel
added. He didn't look any sorrier than Catherine Haught did.

"My husband? Peter? Why?" Elisabeth was now very alarmed indeed.

"Think about it," Catherine suggested in a smug way. "A lobbyist who
has Homeland Security going around to all his contacts warning them to
be careful about what they say to Peter Manning? How much lobbying
will he be doing after that? He'll never see the inside of another
office in Washington. I doubt if he'll even find anybody willing to
sign him into any Federal building long enough to take a leak."

"But this is crazy!" Elisabeth protested. "I'm a patriotic American
citizen, and so is Peter. We'd never betray our country. I had no idea
who I was emailing with!"

Scott half turned towards her, lifted up his well polished shoe and
pushed against the side of her swivel seat until it had moved around
for Elisabeth to be facing him.

"Well, that's it, Elisabeth, that's what we've got to decide on, here
and now. Do I tell your boss that everything is fine and give him a
memo of thanks for his department's co-operation? Or do I go back to
my boss and tell him that Elisabeth Manning needs some serious
checking out? Just for starters, we're going to need to speak to all
the guys from your school and college background about your sexual
behavior. Because, according to your emails, you seem to have some
problems there. Well, if I was your husband, I'd certainly call them
problems. Have you ever told him about what happened in the boatshed
at that summer camp?"

Jarrel sniggered as the hot tide rose even closer to the surface of
Elisabeth's face: "Nothing like that ever happened," she said. "I was
just role playing, that was all. Making up a story to send to a guy I
was fooling around with. Some day I'd like to be a writer and maybe I
let my imagination run away a bit."

"Your imagination!" Catherine was smiling in open disbelief. "Some
imagination."

Jarrel was laughing as well: "Elisabeth, you even described the type
of boat you got bent over. I'm with Catherine; if your imagination is
that good you should be working in Hollywood instead of Washington."

"Let's just recap on what you wrote to Abbas, Elisabeth," Scott said.
"You told him that you were at a school camp in the mountains working
as a counselor. While you were swimming with another counselor you saw
two boys pick up your bags, wave to you, and then go into a boatshed.
So you and your friend followed them into the shed to get your bags
back, right?"

Elisabeth shook her head in renewed denial: "It was something I made
up, that's all. It never really happened. Please don't talk about it."

"Fine, we won't talk about it. I'll just tell my boss that you've got
a psychological problem you don't want to discuss," Scott replied
calmly. "Personally, Elisabeth, I think you're that kind of nice girl
who gets hot and bothered every time a bunch of bikers ride past. I
think you have a real desire to be made to perform group sex and I
also think that's something that could really turn you on to working
for a terrorist cell. Being gangbanged in a back room by a bunch of
unshaven tough guys waving AK-47's around would really make your day,
wouldn't it, Elisabeth? Even it wouldn't be quite such a nice thing to
happen to such a nice lady."

"That's not true! I don't want to do anything like that and I'm not
going to talk about it."

"You don't have to argue with me, Elisabeth. If you say you don't want
to talk to us, no sweat. We've already said all we came to say, so
we'll walk."

"No, no, please don't go," Elisabeth begged urgently. "This would kill
Peter. Please, I'll do anything you want me to do to prove this is all
a mistake."

"Will you?" Scott asked mildly. He raised his shoe again, resting it
on the seat between her legs.

"How about undoing my shoe then?"

Elisabeth hastily moved to obey. She didn't understand what was
happening but she did know that whatever happened she had to keep
Peter out of this nightmare. Her fingers were shaking so much that
she'd probably have gotten a lace completely knotted, but the agent's
shoe had a velcro tag that came loose with a single tug. He dropped
his foot to the floor and eased it out of the shoe.

"Elisabeth."

Scott's fingers closed together like crab's claws and then he pushed
his hands forward to indicate that he wanted her to pull her skirt
further back along her legs. For the first time she suddenly
understood what Scott wanted from her.

"Elisabeth, it's a simple deal. If you want us to risk our asses to
cover yours, then the least we expect is a piece of it in return. Hey,
look at me when I'm talking to you."

She raised her eyes to his. Scott's cold blue irises were examining
her as dispassionately as a technician inspecting a malfunctioning
computer. Only the curve of his lips and an air of tension seemed to
reveal how much he was enjoying Elisabeth's humiliation.

"What's more, nice lady, if you really need some exciting moments to
make your life complete, then you don't need to deal with any
outsiders. The United States government will be happy to supply your
therapy. In our time and for free."

Elisabeth gasped and looked over the desk towards Catherine. The
female agent was still smiling, apparently neither surprised nor
shocked by Scott's words.

"Go ahead, don't mind me, kids. Go on and enjoy yourselves. I've got
my own agenda here, but we'll discuss that later."

Scott's stockinged foot rose and rubbed itself slowly down the side of
Elisabeth's left calf. It felt hot and slightly scratchy. Her legs
began to tremble.

"Elisabeth, I'm still waiting. Do you want me to put my shoe back on
and leave?"

"No, no."

Elisabeth reached down to her black skirt and slowly drew it back over
her dark pantyhose to a point well past her knees. Scott's foot
settled on the seat again, as before, except this time it was down
flat on the leather. Then it slid forward in pursuit of the retreating
skirt, the toes disappearing out of view under the rucked up hemline.
Elisabeth instinctively closed her legs against the intrusion,
trapping the toes between her thighs. She gasped and glanced towards
the door. Christine rose and went over to it, securing the lock.

"Don't worry, nobody is going to come in for a while," Scott said
reassuringly. "The way your boss reacted to our ID, he's probably
hiding out in the broom closet by now. So I think you'd better open
your legs again, Ms Manning."

Oh God, they were all looking at her and what else could she do but
obey the agent's order? The arch of the foot caught against her skirt,
drawing it tight against the outside of her knees as she spread them
apart in obedience to Scott's commands. The toes slithered towards
once more, as far as they could between her thighs, then burrowed
underneath them until they were jammed below the gusset of her
panties.

"Huh!"

Oh God, the amused look on the watching faces as those damned toes
made her grunt by wriggling around underneath her pussy. This was
crazy, Scott was virtually ravishing her, even without a stitch of
clothing being removed and with his arms still folded as he kept
talking.

"Can you tell us some more about this camp thing, Elisabeth?"

His foot had twisted around a little, the toes were rubbing up against
the valley below her thin underclothing and her voice quivered as she
tried once again to make him understand the truth.

"It never happened, it never happened. Nothing like that has ever
happened to me. I made it all up."

Scott nodded as if he understood.

"OK, well, as agents we all think that we're pretty good at knowing
when people are telling us untruths. That's what we're supposed to be
trained for. So you tell us everything you told your boyfriend in LA,
word for word, and we'll have a vote afterwards on whether or not
you're just a plausible liar. Jarrel, you want to help me out here?"

"Sure."

Scott removed his foot from where it had been and knelt down to take a
firm grip on Elisabeth's calf. She was surprised, even more so when
Jarrel did exactly the same thing with her other leg.

"Up."

The two agents worked as a team, both lifting her feet off the carpet
and pulling off her shoes.

"And up some more."

At Scott's order the men rose and lifted her feet in their hands,
pressing her spine deep into the back of the big swivel chair. The
wheels underneath it rolled the chair up against the wall, leaving
Elisabeth's legs stretched out and parted in front of her, her toes up
at the same level as her chest. Scott and Jarrel sat side by side on
the edge of the desk, each holding one of her feet between their
clenched knees and lightly massaging the soles with their thumbs.

"Oh!"

Elisabeth was dumbfounded. Dumbfounded at their audacity, at their
teamwork, and at the effect their joint caresses were having on her.
Again, it was as if she was nothing but a piece of machinery which
needed certain things doing to it to get it working as they wanted.
The problem was that they seemed to be know where all her starting
buttons were and how to push them.

"Now, Elisabeth, we'd got to where you two girls and the two boys had
gone into the boat shed together. Right, what happened then?"

Elisabeth opened her mouth to protest once again that it was only
something she'd dreamed up in a hot moment but changed her mind before
she spoke. Whatever these people wanted to hear from her, that was
what they were going to get. As long as she got Peter out of the line
of fire.

"There were three more boys in the boat shed as well.  They'd been
waiting for us. With two fishing rods."

"I love this bit," Jarrel said. "Go on."

"They grabbed us and held our arms by our sides while one of them put
the fishing lines through our earrings and tied them there. Then they
turned us loose and started playing with us. Playing with us in two
ways, I mean. They started grabbing at us and when we tried to step
back the guys with the rods wound us back into the middle of the shed
again like we were hooked fish. I mean, it really hurt to have your
ear pulled on like that. When a guy tugged the rod and wound in the
line on you there wasn't anything you could do but walk towards him."

Scott smiled and began tweaking her toes, starting at the big one and
moving along the row to the little piggy. Jarrel tickled the bottom of
her right foot and Elisabeth gasped, then grabbed at the armrests of
the chair as she was forced to wriggle around by his scratching nails.

"Wow," Jarrel exclaimed as he stared at Elisabeth's breasts heaving
around underneath her crisp white blouse. "Catherine, how about coming
around here and loosening a few buttons for Elisabeth?"

The female agent strolled around the desk. In her hand was a small
video camera with the viewing screen opened out. Elisabeth's eyes
widened in shock at seeing it, a reaction the dumpy agent had already
anticipated and was ready to record.

"Don't worry, Elisabeth, I'll keep this tape for private viewing
only," Catherine said. "But anytime I want some information from you
about anything going down in this office, you'd better tell me
quickly. In fact, if anything happens around here I should know about
you call me in the next five minutes, otherwise you're going to have
even worse problems than you've already got. So lie back and enjoy
getting laid through this one."

The agent put the camera down carefully on Willard's desk, then knelt
down over the chair and began unbuttoning the buttons down the front
of Elisabeth's blouse.

"Set the scene for us some more," Scott demanded. "What were you
wearing when this thing at the camp happened?"

Elisabeth tried to remember exactly what she'd written. It was
difficult to concentrate while a set of neatly trimmed nails were
undoing her blouse buttons in front of two smiling men. Especially
when their fingers were doing things to her feet which were sending
high voltage shock waves clear up her spine.

"A swim suit. We both were. The one piece kind because counselors
weren't allowed to wear bikinis at the camp."

"How old were you both?"

"Eighteen. I was anyway, and I think Anita was too."

"So I guess you'd have grown yourself a good pair by then. Well worth
the handling. Jesus, they are now, that's for sure."

Catherine had finished undoing the blouse and held the sides open for
her companions' interested inspection. Elisabeth had slid down in the
seat until her face was almost hidden behind her white bra cups. It
was crazy, but she wasn't so upset about having to show off her
underwear as she was about the agents finding out that she was wearing
plain cotton panties and a bra bought at a Hecht's two-for-one sale.
Oddly, that seemed a greater intrusion into her privacy than the act
of being stripped. Go figure.

Jarrel tickled her foot again, and then Scott did the same with the
one he held. Elisabeth yelped, before Catherine's hand pressed down
over her lips, forcing her to snort like a surfacing dolphin as she
flung herself around in her chair, clearly aware of how much the
agents were enjoying their horseplay with her -- especially Scott and
Jarrel.

When they finally stopped tickling her feet and Catherine's hand was
removed from her mouth Elisabeth was panting as if she'd run up a
flight of steps, curls of blonde hair hanging down around her
forehead.

"Now, Elisabeth," Scott said, "We'd got to the stage where the boys
had hauled you back into the middle of the shed. I guess they had
plenty of time after that for whatever they wanted to do. You couldn't
run and you couldn't fight back, could you? So what happened next?"

Both of the agents were stroking her feet again, harder this time, and
Elisabeth knew that they knew how excited she was getting.  This
wasn't possible: three hours ago she'd been getting off at L'Enfant
Plaza station for just another day at the office. It was impossible
that this could be happening to her in Willard's office with the
picture of Willard shaking hands with the Secretary of Transportation
still hanging on the wall. Any minute now she was going to wake up in
hospital with somebody telling her she'd drunk a morning cup of coffee
laced with LSD.

"Elisabeth -- talk."

"The guys with the rods held them up over our heads and made us stand
still with our arms by our sides. Then the others felt our breasts.
Three of them were around Anita at the start, with her hands all over
her. They made her kiss each one of them as well, French kissing."

Jarrel seemed fascinated.

"So did one boy hold the rod tied to Anita's ear while all this was
happening?"

"Yes. They took turns at holding it with the tip over her head and
sometimes the boy holding it would lift it up a bit to make her stand
on her tiptoes. They did that just for fun a few times, really
enjoying having a counselor in a situation like that. Anita was
wriggling like a landed fish, especially when they began a kind of
game with one guy standing behind her holding her breasts steady while
the other two boys sucked on her nipples through the wet fabric of her
swim suit. After a while she was making the sort of noises that girls
do when they trying to stop something happening that they don't really
want stopped at all."

The agent's  thumbs were kneading away ever more deeply into
Elisabeth's soles as she was forced to open her soul to them.

"So what was happening to you while your friend was getting her assets
handled?" Scott asked her.

"My swim suit was still wet as well and it was like I was wearing
nothing. The boy who had me on the end of his line was laughing
because he could see that I couldn't take my eyes off what was
happening to Anita. He could see I was shaking like a jelly and my
nipples were puckering up and it wasn't just because of the cold. He
told me to get ready to show off my bare tits to everybody. Then he
called out to the other guys that I was ready for some of the action.
By that time Anita seemed like she was already halfway out of her
mind. She was licking at one guy's ear and stroking all of them she
could reach. It was like her being a counselor and the boys being a
gang of thugs didn't matter at all to her anymore."

Jarrel sniggered. "You tell this well, Elisabeth. So how did you read
the situation at that stage? How far did you think these guys were
going to go? After all, they were younger than you and your friend, I
guess."

"Yes, they were younger, but they were a bad bunch, a known gang.
Football jocks, those kind of guys who thought they could do whatever
they liked. All the counselors had problems with them, and I knew that
nothing would make that bunch happier than totally humiliating both of
us. But unless somebody came to the boat shed it seemed they'd be able
to do whatever they liked with us. As far as I could see it was down
to how much the gang were willing to risk, and they seemed to be the
kind that can get away with almost anything. What amazed me was how
easily they'd gotten us in that kind of a situation."

"And Anita seemed to be liking what they were doing to her?"

Elisabeth nodded: "The guys certainly seemed to have a lot experience
in handling girls. I could tell that before they'd even laid a finger
on me."

Scott looked around and across the desk to the female agent:
"Catherine, how does this match up with what's on the emails?"

"It's the same story, near enough. Except that she told her boyfriend
in LA that having to stand and watch the gang feeling up her friend
was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her in her life
until then. She also said that when they came over and pulled the top
of her swim suit down around her waist she nearly fainted while she
was waiting for them to start mauling her tits for her."

Jarrel moved forward against her foot, until it was pressed against
the groin of his pants. Elisabeth felt the sensitive skin of her sole
rubbing against tightly stretched fabric and Jarrel's stiff cock on
the other side of it.

"I'd like to have seen that myself," he said.

"So would I," Scott agreed. "But since we missed out on the boatshed,
how about we settle for a look at Elisabeth's tits here and now?"

Jesus, now her other foot was somehow up against Scott's groin, and he
was using it to deliver another tactile message from a male member
with attitude. Surely it was impossible they were planning to lay her
across  Willard's desk and fuck her? Elisabeth didn't know, but it
seemed for sure that they were expecting the full Monica from her. Two
men, at the same time, with another woman taping her going down on
them . . . holy blowjobs, Batwoman!

Jarrel eased her foot up and down against his cock: "Yes, I'd like to
watch Elisabeth shaking her bare tits around in front of us."

"No problem," Catherine said calmly. "Stand her up and I'll do the
honors for you."

The two male agents replaced Elisabeth's feet back on the carpet, came
alongside the sides of the chair, took an arm each and helped her up
onto shaky legs. Catherine came around the desk, the camera held up in
front of her, and then moved out of Elisabeth's sight behind her back.

Willard's horse faced wife looked disapprovingly at the scene from a
large photo on top of the desk. Elisabeth had never seen the front of
the photo stand before and wondered how Willard could feel that
looking at a picture like that improved his day.  Perhaps it made him
feel better about being at work instead of at home. On the other hand
Mrs Willard was probably doing her dutiful domestic chores instead of
having her hands firmly held as her blouse was pulled down to her
wrists and her bra clips tugged apart. Now Catherine's fingernails
were scratching against Elisabeth's skin as the bra shoulder straps
were eased down.

"Here you are, guys," the female agent announced. "From public service
to pubic service in one easy movement."

The straps continued dropping, down past Elisabeth's elbows, taking
the bra cups with them. Her unsupported breasts tumbled out, each
nipple screwed up tightly as if squinting against the sudden light
falling on them.

"You were right, Jarrel. Very nice tits. Great to look at and hardly
any sag at all."

Elisabeth was aware of Scott raising his hand, and then his fingers
were slowly running across the top of her stomach, close enough to the
bottom swell of her left breast for his thumb to brush against it.

"Good skin. Feels like a woman should. And her perfume is a knockout
as well."

Well, it was nice to know that her investment in some expensive Estee
Lauder hadn't been wasted. Scott's breath rustled against the nape of
Elisabeth's neck, lips brushed against her shoulder so lightly she
wasn't quite sure whether she was imagining their touch or not. But
there was a definite kiss falling on her left ear.

"Is this the ear where those boys tied you to that fishing line?"
Scott asked.

"Or was it on this one?" Jarrel wanted to know.

"Uh . . ."

Elisabeth gulped deeply as both her ears attracted the attention of
tongues, and then of lips and nibbling teeth.

Scott's fingers gently rose up underneath her bared breast and cupped
it as though he was lifting a piece of precious porcelain. An action
matched by Jarrel's hand on the other side of her body. Since
Elisabeth's wrists were still entangled in her blouse sleeves there
was no way she could even try to fend the groping hands away. Which
also saved her from an equally futile struggle with her conscience.

"Which one was it then?"  Jarrel asked again. "Your left ear or your
right one? On this side?" He gave a firm squeeze to the soft flesh he
was holding

"Or this side?" Now it was Scott's turn to apply pressure to her.
Elisabeth could hardly remember what she written in those fucking
emails, her mind was in a whirl of complete confusion.

"My left ear -- it was my left ear."

Catherine Haught's arm had come around from behind Elisabeth, her hand
brushed against one of the exposed nipples, the left one, a set of
sharp nails pinched sharply around it.

"This side? Are you sure, Elisabeth?"

"Yes! Please, don't touch me like that."

"Leave her alone, Catherine," Scott ordered. "You're happy to let two
guys deal with your case, aren't you, Elisabeth?"

Somehow she was nodding her head as each of the men took a firm grip
on one of her nipples. They scrunched them up slowly and carefully, as
if crumbling styrofoam cups between their strong fingers. Elisabeth
looked down at what they were doing to her and spread her hands out
against the folds of the fallen blouse. Stretched them out to where
her feet had been rubbing against hard male flesh and found those
places again. God, both cocks were fully locked and loaded, thrusting
strongly against her palms. Looks like an early lunch break for you
today, Elisabeth, she found herself thinking. Which meant that she
must be going mad, but it seemed like the right day for it. And the
right company as well. Because, without a word being spoken, Scott and
Jarrel sat down on the desk again, side by side, and drew her towards
them by hauling firmly on her tightly held breasts.

"Is this what that gang did to you?" Scott asked. Before filling his
mouth with her nipple and a generous helping of soft flesh behind it.

"Or was it more like this?" Jarrel lightly bit her other nipple and
held it between his teeth as he swirled his tongue around it.

"Aaah . . . "

Elisabeth moaned deep in her throat. She squirmed and stamped her feet
on the carpet like a child in a tantrum, fighting to get her arms free
from the folds of the blouse. The agents were hauling up her skirt
around her waist in an untidy bundle. As soon as her panties were
uncovered a hand slid between her legs. Whichever of them it belonged
to, he was running a finger backwards and forwards on either side of
her mound, in the creases between her outer lips and her inner thighs.
Combined with the attention her breasts were receiving it was a kind
of caress which could send a woman out of her mind with desire.

"Enjoying yourself, Ms Manning?" Catherine asked sarcastically. The
agent's elbows were resting on the desk as she kept the camera firmly
aimed at Elisabeth's face.

Bitterly ashamed of her own excitement, Elisabeth looked away, to her
left and right, seeking something to keep her view averted from that
small glass eye. But all she found to stare at was an FBI warning
poster about how to deal with suspicious objects. For the first time
Elisabeth began to have some sympathy for suspicious objects, now that
she was one herself, and getting a increasingly thorough official
investigation. But Catherine wanted to hear answers.

"So, Elisabeth, how did you feel in the boatshed while the boys were
playing around with you? Did you get a cunt full of love juice, just
like you're getting now?"

Elisabeth knew she had to answer.

"Yes, yes! They got me as hot as hell. They felt my butt all over and
one put his tongue inside my mouth. Then they started blowing on my
nipples and kissing them. Then they started playing with them in their
hands and telling me how they had a lot of rubbers with them and how
both of us were going to get the shit fucked out of us."

"And what about Anita? How was she dealing with the boredom of being
left out of the main action?"

Elisabeth knew that Catherine already knew the answer to that, but the
female agent obviously wanted her male buddies to hear again what had
been written in those all too revealing emails.

"The guy with her was holding his rod up alongside him with the end on
the floor and Anita was down on her knees in front of him opening the
zip of his jeans. And as soon as she'd gotten his cock out she held it
with one hand and began giving him a blow job. It wasn't like he was
pulling on the line or anything to force her to do it, he was just
standing there and laughing at this counselor sucking his cock without
even being told to. Then he called out to one of the other boys, and
the boy took a camera out of his pocket and took a picture of Anita
with her mouth full of dick. Then they walked me over there as well
and told me I was going to have to help Anita out."

"Do I have to guess what happened next?"

"No . . . God!"

Elisabeth felt as if her nipples were about to explode inside Scott
and Jarrel's mouths. Finally, they freed her hands from the blouse and
she grabbed at both men's pants, fumbling at the fly zips until they
opened.

"You did some cock sucking yourself, hey, Ms Manning?"

"Yes, yes. It was crazy, what those guys did. There was a small flat
bottomed boat made of aluminum, upside down on some stands. One of the
boys stripped off and lay down on top of it, and we had to stand on
either side of him. The guy holding my rod was next to Anita and the
one with hers was next to me. Then another came back with a canoe
paddle. The big guy who was the leader said that the guy on the boat
would call out our name and then tell us to rim him, or lick his
balls, or take as much of his prick in our mouth as we could. And if
either of us didn't do a good enough job the guy holding our rod would
bend us over the boat and we'd get the canoe paddle slapped on our ass
until we learnt to liven up."

Catherine giggled: "So did you get paddled, Elisabeth?"

"Yes, yes. The guy on the boat, the first one, he wanted to come in my
throat, and he said I wasn't swallowing enough of his cock, but it was
so big. So they used the paddle on me, and then on Anita, and told her
to hold my head down by holding my ears while I was face fucked. And I
nearly suffocated before he blew off into my throat. Then they made
Anita lick some of the cum off my lips while the next boy was lying
down on the boat. Jesus . . . will you guys get started on me, please!
"

Elisabeth had her fingers around Scott and Jarrel's cocks now, pumping
away strongly as is they needed to be wound up like clockwork before
they could function. Scott removed his lips from the slippery patch of
saliva coated skin around her aching nipple, then gave it a final
quick bite before issuing his orders.

"Bring her round the front, Jarrel. Get the chair around there as
well, Catherine."

Elisabeth didn't know what Scott had in mind, but she soon began to
realize as he put the chair in the middle of the office and then
tilted the back of over as far as it would go, to about forty five
degrees.

"Keep telling us about your boating adventures, Elisabeth," Catherine
demanded.

"It went on for what seemed like ever, with us giving them blow jobs.
They pulled off our swim suits and their fingers were up our cunts all
the time we were bent over. We had to keep wriggling our bare asses
for the rest of the gang to watch and if you didn't have your mouth
full you had to keep begging them to fuck you. If you didn't shout out
loudly or often enough you got a tap from the paddle as a reminder.

"Then the boys put Anita down on top of the boat on her back, and then
they made me stand at the other end. They said the boat was a punt for
a cunt. Then they lifted up Anita's legs and told me to hold onto her
ankles while they lined up to fuck her. She was staring up at me
between her knees with her eyes rolled back and squealing away like a
puppy getting pinched. And every time a new boy began pumping her the
camera flash went off again."

Elisabeth was finding it harder and harder to keep her story anything
like coherent as Scott finished his preparations. He took his own
jacket and Jarrel's, folded them and put them on the top of the seat
backrest. Then he put his tie underneath one armrest and Jarrel's red
silk tie underneath the other one.

"OK, Elisabeth, time for some intensive interrogation techniques."

She was moved forward, against the seat, the tops of her thighs
against the folded jackets. She gasped as the men forcibly bent her
forward, so far forward that she had to press her palms down against
the edge of the seat itself to support her weight. The pain on her
lower stomach would have been intolerable without the cushioning
effect of the two jackets. Then she felt the ties being drawn around
the back of each of her knees and tightly knotted.

"Oh God!"

She was a prisoner, her legs secured on either side of the chair, her
feet on tiptoe, the upper part of her body bent forward and down, with
her butt stuck out behind her as though on display. Which it was, and
even more so as her skirt slid down her inclined back until the hem
was hanging around her shoulder blades, her blouse underneath it.
Elisabeth's hands squeezed against the polished leather below her
hands as exploring fingers moved up between her pinioned thighs. Air
blew out between her lips like steam from a boiling kettle.

"Isn't this how you wanted it. Ms Nice Lady?" Scott demanded. "You
told your boy friend you got it doggy style in that gang bang. So tell
us about it."

"God . . . God! The guys took me to the other end of the boat. Then
one of them told me to kneel on top of the boat support. It was like a
plank with a rubber mat on top of it to stop the boat getting damaged,
so I could put my weight on my knees without it hurting too much. But
I had to put them down on either side of the boat, with Anita's legs
underneath me, and then they bent me forward so I was showing them
absolutely everything. That wasn't all though, because my face was so
close to Anita, we were looking in each other's eyes, and our tits
were piled up against each other. And then the jerks tied the fishing
lines to both our earrings so we couldn't move our faces away from
each other. The bastards . . . they lifted up Anita's legs against
mine, and they put a belt around our knees on one side and tightened
it, then they did the same on the other side, so we couldn't move our
legs either. And while we were in that position I got my first show
and tell fuck from some boy I couldn't even see while Anita screaming
in my face because the other guys were fingering our clits at the same
time."

Elisabeth tried to catch her breath. Only to have it snatched out of
her lungs as two pairs of hands began pulling down her pantyhose,
their strength overcoming the increasing tightness of the material as
it forced over her opened thighs until the waist band was cutting into
the very bottom of the curve of her buttocks. Cool air flowed around
the expose wet patch in her briefs, but only for a second as the
fingers returned to the promised land.

"Oooh. . ."

"Don't worry, Elisabeth, Scott's getting his clothes off now. You keep
talking and I'll get you ready for him. You want that, don't you? You
want a really good fucking for the camera, hey? So keep us interested.
Keep talking about how you counseled those guys in the boat shed."

"Jesus, Jesus, the next one put his cock into Anita's cunt, then into
mine, and then right up my ass!"

Elisabeth jerked against her restraints like a mare smelling a stud
stallion as Jarrel dragged her panties down to the same level as her
hose. A twanging sound sounded across the office as the over stretched
waist elastic snapped and the panties were left hanging around the
tops of Elisabeth's legs like windblown laundry. Catherine giggled and
circled the scene, the camera at her face staying aimed at the chair
all the time.

"Elisabeth, I've got to show this to some male friends of mine
sometime," Christine cooed. "They are just so going to love watching
you get fucked in that position. And aren't you loving it too, Ms nice
lady?"

"Yes . . . Oh, Sweet Lord!"

Jarrel pulled her ass cheeks wide apart, put his lips against them and
gave her a Bronx cheer right up the butt. Then his tongue trailed a
wet path down into her cunt, right onto the swollen lips spread out
like budding rose petals covered with morning dew. The tongue ran
around on them as if trying to decide on a place to finally settle,
sending Elisabeth into a moaning fit of desire.

"Jeeeeesus . . . fuck me!"

She heard Catherine call out mockingly: "Come on up, Scott Heynig.
You're wanted."

"OK, but put your hand over her mouth again or the whole building will
hear her sounding off when I give it to her."

Elisabeth made no protest at Catherine's fingers covering her mouth:
she concentrated on sucking in as much air as she could between them
while she had the chance. Jarrel's tongue finally touched her
clitoris, his fingers stroked the backs of her tied legs and the chair
rocked and creaked underneath her weight as Elisabeth convulsed again.

"Hold on, sweetie, Scott is just putting the rubber gift wrapping on
your government issue work bonus," Catherine cooed. "Now, I'm going to
take my hand away far enough for you to tell us how many times you got
reamed out in that boat shed."

"Ah . . . I don't know. They all had me, one way and another, and
Anita as well. Then they told us that when we went home on the bus on
the last night of camp we had to be wearing stocking and high heels
and no panties. They said they were going to put us together on the
back seat and we were going to have our heels hanging over the top of
the seat in front all the trip home. They said every boy riding on the
bus was going to have a ride on us as well  . . . God! God!"

Catherine's fingers pressed against Elisabeth's lips again, cutting
off her rising voice. "I don't know exactly what you're doing back
there, Jarrel," the girl said, "But it seems to have Ms Manning
interested. OK, guys, let's see the bulls start charging."

Jarrel's tongue left Elisabeth's rigid clitoris, the wetness of his
saliva mixed with her own juices. His fingers were no longer stroking
behind her knees, she was being left to melt in her own fires. Until
another, rougher hand patted her left ass cheek and squeezed it like a
rider reassuring a nervous horse. At almost the same moment something
hard and incredibly smooth nestled in between her cunt lips, parted
them, and then entered all the way into her, boldly going into places
she could have sworn no man had reached before. Oh, God, Scott, you
fit into me like nobody else ever has!

"What's she like?" Jarrel asked.

"She's good and tight. I think she needs a lot more fucking than she's
been getting. Christ, be careful of your fingers, Catherine. The noise
she's making, she might bite them off."

"Ms Manning won't dare bite me," Catherine answered. "Not unless she
wants to lose some teeth. Give her a few more deep ones and see if
she'll shake her tits for us."

Scott's hands clamped around Elisabeth's waist, he lunged forward hard
enough to make her hands almost slip off the chair and her hanging
breasts swayed around like balloons in a breeze. From behind her
Elisabeth could hear her cunt squelching and popping as Scott's body
slammed into her buttocks with grunts of effort. Christine used her
free hand to tug on Elisabeth's ear.

"It's a pity you can't see what you look like right now, Elisabeth,
ass up and panties down, but don't worry, I'll make sure you get a
complimentary copy of the tape. In fact I'll make sure you sit down
and watch every second of it."

"Hey, how about me," Elisabeth heard Jarrel call out. "Don't I get a
turn?"

"We'll let Elisabeth choose," Scott said. "Watch this."

His cock was taken out of her cunt and he moved the chair around a
quarter turn. Now only Catherine was touching her with her hand over
her mouth, and even that was removed. Elisabeth was left panting on
top of the chair, aroused, untouched and almost weeping in
frustration.

"Please, guys, please . . . I need more!"

"No problem." It was Scott's voice. "Your feet are touching the
carpet. You can swivel around to your right or left. Go left and
Jarrel will shaft you, come right and I'll give you some more. Which
do you want?"

Catherine laughed and leaned her head towards Elisabeth's, to whisper
in her ear. "Don't quote me on this, Elisabeth, but Jarrel has a
bigger dick than Scott's. I'd go for a ride with him if I were you."

Elisabeth dug her toes into the carpet and the chair creaked like an
ungreased windmill in a fading wind as she struggled to turn it to her
left. Around her the agents laughed as Ms Elisabeth Mary Manning
fought to swing her naked ass around inch by inch, a government
bureaucrat no longer caring about her situation or shame, all her
emotions stifled by an overwhelming desire to have a man mount her
again.

Jarrel called out to encourage her: "Twenty degrees left to go,
Elisabeth . . . ten degrees to go . . . five degrees, almost there.
All stop, down anchor And here comes the torpedo."

Catherine's hand clamped down over Elisabeth's lips again just in time
to stop her first squeals of gratified pleasure from echoing around
the office. Then they parted to allow a thick fleshy plug to be
inserted in Elisabeth's mouth. Catherine giggled and Scott muttered in
encouragement as Elisabeth sucked on his cock in total surrender to
his demands.

Jarrel laughed out loud and gave her a thrust from behind with a prick
so long and powerful it seemed like it had come off a NASA launch pad.
Elisabeth almost choked on Scott's dick and felt as if her ears were
about to pop. Then Jarrel's fingers rubbed against her clit and she
exploded as if he'd pulled a pin from a grenade.  Elisabeth thought
she was dying. Until her eyes opened again to see and feel her nose
rubbing against the blonde hairs of a man's pubic patch. They were
tickling her nostrils and if she sneezed now she would certainly die,
of suffocation. But, God, she was alive and living in a fever of
excitement as two men pleasured themselves on her trapped body any way
they wanted to.

Catherine's fingers tugged hard on Elisabeth's ear: "Be a good girl
for us, Ms Manning, and there'll be plenty more of this. For starters,
you're going to email some pictures to Abbas Sarak showing how you got
tied down across a chair in your office by a couple of guys who used
you like a total slut. Then you're going to tell him you're visiting
LA and ask him to get a few friends together to meet you. I guess
he'll oblige. And after his raghead gang have finished fucking you
every which way you'll tell them where you work and what your husband
does. If they get interested in any of that then we'll be interested:
understand?"

Elisabeth body was already building up for another climax. As she
realized what she was going to have to do for Catherine the orgasm
racked her body, stiffening every muscle like a lightning strike as
her ravishers emptied themselves into her with shuddering gasps of
triumph.

"Oh well done, Elisabeth," Catherine chuckled. "Ask not what your
country can do for you, ask instead how many men you can do for your
country."

 THE END

(Like sexy, intelligent stories -- especially fully illustrated ones.
Stop by at www.f-e-mail.com sometime then and browse around)

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