The Perfect Applicant: Part 11

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"Tom, HSA seems to be primarily a holding company that owns or controls several defense contractors and a handful of biochemical research and production corporations. They also own a couple of shipping companies with offices in Liberia, Oman, Thailand, and Hong Kong. I've heard references to testing labs here in this office campus, but haven't had any luck finding them so far. Allison Taxton, the CEO, seems to be made from one hundred percent cast-iron bitch, and frankly I am a little intimidated by her." Allison lifted her eyes from the printed page to glance down at the blonde who sprawled before her on the thick woolen rug. "'Cast iron bitch' is a crude but rather apt description. Would you agree, Elena?"

"Yes, Mistress," the blonde gasped between cries of pleasure tinged with frustration. She had been, until recently, Jessica Green's lieutenant. Yesterday she had been promoted to Jessica's position after the unfortunate lapse of judgement of which her superior had been guilty. "That whore," Allison thought, "may well have ruined everything." Punishment, of course, was still underway: a thirty-six hour stint in the teasebox that had been preceded by a savage whipping vigorously administered by Allison herself. The nurse represented a minimal investment of time and effort, and had been easily replaced, so her punishment was somewhat more severe. She was now anybody's meat, a plaything for the servants, and Allison couldn't bring herself to care what happened to her next. The disobedience of those two, quite aside from the principle of it, had required accelerating Jennifer Grey's indoctrination. Fortunately the recent technical breakthroughs had been achieved to allow this.

Elena's first task as Director of Security had been to retrieve all the documents from Jennifer's computer at her apartment. It had been a rather simple task (since the girl's keys and driver's license were in the hands of HSA) but she had completed it without incident, and as a reward she had been granted an orgasm... with the caveat that she cum in Allison's presence.

The slim blonde's curls were in complete disarray as she squirmed on the floor seeking satisfaction, and her well-tailored black skirtsuit was disheveled nearly to the point of ruination. Her immaculately manicured hand was a blur under the sheer panty of her shining black hose as she desperately stimulated herself toward a climax she would never be able to attain on her own. Elena's sleek, muscular legs twisted and thrashed as though by sheer physical effort she could overcome the barrier that the drugs had long since imposed upon her. Her shoes had fallen off unheeded in the struggle, and several runs had developed in her expensive pantystockings. The distinct smell of her sex permeated her small office.

Allison finished reading the last memo that Jennifer had written and placed it with some care atop the small stack of papers. "For once, we moved quickly enough. The little bitch tipped her hand far too soon; I suppose that was fortuitous. At any rate, she was able to report nothing particularly damaging to her agency." Now she turned her full attention toward her beleaguered underling. "Ah, Elena, you are finding it difficult to climax, are you not?" An agonized sob was Elena's only response. A knowing smile touched the corner of Allison's lips. "So elusive, so close you can almost feel the very shape of it... but not... quite... reach it." The surge of triumph suffused her. It had taken nearly ten years, but the drug worked so well it had been worth the wait.

The CEO of HSA knelt carefully by the wriggling woman and placed her lips next to her ear. She whispered a phrase into Elena's ear softly but distinctly.

As if a current had been switched on, the effect was immediate and dramatic. Every muscle in Elena's body stiffened, her whipping fingers froze on her clitoris, and almost five seconds passed before she was able to open her mouth to release a shriek that would have brought her co-workers running in the certain knowledge she was being scalped by Apaches. But the walls of this office were soundproof as a matter of course, and no wail of pain ever contained this harmony of relief and success.

Allison continued kneeling, watching the echoes of orgasm pulse through the girl's body, each eliciting a tiny grunt from between her gritted teeth. Elena's pelvis continued dry humping the empty air, and the panel of her hose was freshly soaked with a small torrent of girl cum. Ms. Taxton knew better than to touch her sensitive, inflamed vagina at this point, so she contented herself with running a dark red fingernail delicately through a trickle of juice that had somehow spattered through the nylon mesh and stained the girl's inner thigh. She touched this finger to her tongue and savored the musky taste as she spoke softly.

"Yes, my darling, it is harder and harder to cum each time, and with every orgasm, the release becomes more intense. The early test subjects would wail and thrash with pain after only thirty orgasms, but now it takes approximately ninety before the pleasure crosses that border." She amused herself by brushing the strands of tousled hair away from Elena's moist forehead as she continued. "What is your tally so far, Elena? Fifty, perhaps, since you began the Program?"

It was so much more convenient, she realized, to use post-hypnotic suggestions. The wireless remote was effective, and there were times Allison appreciated its impersonal touch, but its range was limited, and it unfortunately required those hideously costly piezoelectric stimulators.

Her touch was almost maternal as she stroked the soft golden curls. Elena was weeping in earnest now, regarding her the face of her Mistress with something akin to adoration.

The late morning sun had climbed to a point in the cloudless sky where its rays shone through the small window, bathing everything within in a pure, clean brilliance and turning Jennifer Grey's tousled brown curls into a riot of spun copper. As the insistent sun burned through her eyelids, she grudgingly stirred and finally opened her eyes to look at her alarm clock.

The absence of the clock at first bewildered her. "Where the hell am I?" was her first coherent thought. Puzzlement rapidly giving way to panic, she sprang to a sitting position on the little cot. She was in a room scarcely larger than her apartment kitchen, painted a soft peach color. The room was completely unfurnished save for the small but comfortable cot on which she lay, still fully clothed in the rumpled skirt and ripped blouse she'd worn to work yesterday - or was it two, three days ago?

Her wristwatch had disappeared somewhere and she had not the faintest idea of how many hours had passed. Amazingly she was still dressed in her navy blue pantyhose, which - despite the multitude of stains which bore witness to the many outrages she'd suffered - were remarkably free of runs or tears. Her shoes had been carefully placed by the door of the cell. Upon seeing them again, Jennifer felt a hot rush burn her cheeks at the memory of the way those innocent objects had been used to violate and humiliate her. As if encouraged, other memories began to return. She had been locked in this cell late last night by an attractive blonde girl who could be no more than a few years older than she.

Her left cheek was tender from the spirited slap dealt to her by Allison Taxton, but this was the least of the aches she was discovering this morning. Her arms and legs were stiff from being unnaturally bound for so long, her nether regions still burned slightly from the outrageous raping she had received at the hands of Ms.Green, and she was certain that there were some spectacular Technicolor bruises on each buttock.

With a groan she swung her legs over the edge of the cot and padded toward the door. It glided inward silently at her approach as if it were aware of her presence. A wild thrill of hope surged up in Jennifer's chest only to be immediately squelched at the sight of the blonde girl from last night standing square in the doorway. She was holding something that it took Jennifer a few seconds to recognize as a cattle prod.

"Ms. Grey, I am Elena Jamison. I am here to take you to your bath," Elena stated in a voice that was soft, yet brooked no nonsense. "As one professional to another, I trust we shall have no trouble?" Jennifer slowly nodded. She had never been zapped with a cattle prod before, but she had seen one in action at the Academy. At the touch of the electrified baton, the three-hundred pound trainee had dropped as if he were a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Elena led her down a short hallway to a lavatory containing a shower stall and washbasin. Jennifer was exceptionally glad to see them both.

After emerging from the shower, she noticed her soiled clothing had been removed. A package of beige pantyhose lay on the washbasin, next to a neatly folded rose-colored camisole. She slipped into the camisole, and worked the pantyhose up her legs, grateful for even the minimal modesty afforded her by the hosiery's built-in bikini panty, for the camisole stopped far short of her waistband. Her shoes, she was happy to see, were still present, so she slipped into them on the way toward the door. If they expect me to walk around in this get-up, at least I'm glad to have some shoes, she thought.

Any hope that Elena might be temporarily elsewhere was cut short, as the statuesque blonde again blocked the open doorway. "Come, Ms. Grey. Someone is waiting for you."

The ten-minute walk was one that Jennifer would remember for the rest of her days. The door at the end of the hallway opened onto a hundred-yard long breezeway between buildings. It was packed full of professionally dressed women and men briskly striding in both directions on important errands. The low walls flanking the breezeway were made of concrete and no more than four feet high. Above them, the passage was open to the outdoors. The chill morning air was redolent of the smells of the city, fresh bread, diesel exhaust, and even a crisp salt tang of the sea.

For the third time that morning, Jennifer's thoughts of escape (it would be nothing to vault over that wall, kick off her shoes, and run like hell) were crushed as she immediately realized that the breezeway was at least fifteen stories above the distant street below.

She was forced to walk ahead of Elena through the crowd. The first time a hand brushed her nylon-covered hip she thought it was an accident. The third time it happened she allowed her reflexes to respond, knocking the unwanted hand away violently. The next thing she smelled was ozone, as Elena grabbed a handful of Jennifer's hair and moved the cattle prod dangerously next to her ear. "Now, Ms. Grey, you had better play nice. You are dressed in the uniform of chattel. Everyone here has the right to touch you anywhere they wish, and you do not have the right to refuse them." The prod moved away. " But don't worry, dear, it's only for a little while."

The walk took less than ten minutes but to Jennifer it felt like a year. Every other hand, it seemed, whether male or female, would reach out to grope her as she preceded Elena down the concrete walk. Most of the touches were gentle and fleeting but once her left nipple had been viciously captured and twisted by a grinning Asian woman in a smart houndstooth suit, earning an involuntary cry from the scantily-dressed brunette. The men, she noticed, tended to concentrate on her pubic mound and ass. After a few minutes had passed, Jennifer began to realize something strange was happening.

She was suddenly aware of the familiar itching burn growing deep within her womb. Her breath began to come to her in short pants, her nipples jutted like stiff buttons, prominent against the thin rose-colored silk of her camisole, every caress of the soft material like a kiss as her tits swayed to and fro with every step. She felt her crotch moistening more with every additional touch that she was subjected to. Oh my God oh my God what is happening to me? The question bounced around her mind like a cruel riddle. It was all she could do to concentrate on putting one foot ahead of the other. It wasn't long before the dark tell-tale spot on her crotch was quite visible to everyone. Realizing this, she became very deeply flushed in the face, with nothing but a filmy pair of beige pantyhose to protect her from the crowd.

Jennifer had almost made it to the end of the runway when the first orgasm hit --slowly, the itching burn deepening unbearably inside of her. She was able to go on for a few more steps, but the orgasm didn't stop. Her heart started racing uncontrollably and she couldn't breathe. Her desperately twisted face searched the knowing faces of the crowd for help, her violently furrowed eyebrows and trembling, panting mouth, but all she could see was blackness and blinding lights. She stumbled and would have collapsed if not for Elena's quick hand grasping her elbow.

Half-sprawled on the rough concrete floor, supported only by Elena's grasp, she felt her toes curl in unison. Her expensive heels were forced off, and were immediately seized by passersby as souvenirs. She couldn't hold in her moans at all anymore, her screams of rapture echoing throughout the concrete structure to the grinning delight of two hundred strangers.

She rode the pulsing waves of shameful pleasure until she could bear to open her eyes. Her mortification was complete, but somehow the usual cold embarrassment of climaxing against her will wasn't there. What remained was a heightened sense of arousal that was nearly as strong as it had been a few minutes ago. The powerful surges of pleasure had quieted to a dull throb. She found that she could stand with Elena's help. Jennifer dared not meet her eyes, but the powerful blonde was completely unruffled, acting as though her charge had not just suffered the ultimate humiliation of a screaming orgasm in the midst of hundreds of people. I can't believe the sick fuckers actually stole my shoes, was the thought that kept running through her mind.

Mercifully that scene was not repeated. After exiting the breezeway into the opposing building, Elena herded her into another elevator which lowered them, Jennifer estimated, a couple hundred feet to open on yet another of the seemingly thousands of unmarked concrete hallways, sparsely lit overhead with buzzing fluorescent fixtures. The hallway ended in a thick steel fire door marked ominously with AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY -- CLASS III HAZMAT GEAR REQUIRED FROM THIS POINT FORWARD. Jennifer watched carefully but surreptitiously as Elena produced a magnetic access card on a chain from inside her blouse and used it to key the door open.

Without a word they continued down the passage beyond, which was at least painted, tiled, and better lit. Elena seemed unconcerned with their lack of hazmat gear and Jennifer was damned if she was going to ask. I'd better remember the way to that elevator if I ever want to get out of here, she thought. She sneaked a glance backward to see if this side of the door had a crashbar on it. It did not. So that door's to keep people in as much as keep them out, she reasoned.

It wasn't much further before Jennifer began to hear what she eventually recognized as screams. Tortured, despairing shrieks, echoing faintly down the hall. They raised the hair on the back of her neck, and a million years of instincts made her decision for her. Faster than thought itself, she whirled on the ball of her stockinged foot, the edge of her left hand a hard-edged blade actually whistling through the air aimed precisely at Elena's unprotected throat.

Except Elena wasn't there. Jennifer had no time to be puzzled. She started to spin to the other side but suddenly she was staring up at the light fixture on the ceiling and the wind was knocked out of her as the unyielding floor rushed up to meet her back. Dust raised in a cloud and she lay there for an awful moment, mouth vainly gasping at the air that refused to enter her lungs. She thought, I'm OK, I've just had the breath knocked out of me, I'm not dead yet.

Then she saw Elena's smirking face looming only inches away from hers, and was not so sure.

Allison Taxton felt a great sense of anticipation as she watched the progress of Elena and Jennifer on the security monitor. The view automatically switched as the two women entered the indoctrination chamber next door. It was nearly time to begin the process that would irrevocably enslave the unsuspecting federal agent. She was unable to contain a shiver of excitement at the expectation of Jennifer writhing under her expert manipulation, cum after glorious cum being ripped from her shrieking, tortured form. Oh, they were so very unwilling at first, so bravely defiant... but it usually didn't take long before their cries of indignation were transformed into whimpering sobs of devotion. Ah, but in the meantime, there was another errant one to attend to.

Allison rose from the chair, and took two steps forward to the Lexan partition before her. Within the tiny space - at the size of a telephone booth, the teasebox could not properly be called a room - Jessica Green was suspended vertically, arms and legs fastened in padded shackles in a spread-eagle posture, the statuesque blonde's immobile body forming an X that echoed the steel frame to which she was bound. Thirty hours ago, Jessica had been roughly stripped nude and forcibly dressed in a seamless, sheer black bodystocking that covered her entire body, stopping at the neck. The thin garment was woven in such a way that the fibers culminated in a bundle that was gathered at the small of the back and was connected to a sophisticated computer. This gave the appearance of a catsuit complete with tail, which Allison considered an especially cute touch.

Whimsical cosmetic touches aside, however, she knew that this was the most expensive catsuit in existence. At a price tag of seven million dollars, it had been the most costly and ambitious training device ever conceived by the research team at HSA. Instead of nylon, each thread in the suit was actually an extruded piezoelectric conductor that could induce far more intense sensations in the wearer than the less powerful self-contained stimulators that had so recently been placed in Jennifer Grey's undergarments. The engineers had had a devil of a time designing a fiber that acted similar to nylon but kept the conductive properties of the more primitive stimulators.

Oh, but it had been worth it. As Allison enjoyed the faint struggles of the woman within the teasebox, she did not begrudge a single cent that the suit had cost.

The computer that was connected to the suit by the "tail" was currently running a fiendish program that had been designed by Allison herself. It controlled the stimulators in the suit in such a way as to keep the helpless wearer constantly on the verge of orgasm. Jessica had been brought up to a sexual fever pitch of excitement several hundred times by the impersonal skill of the computer. The first twelve hours in the teasebox, Allison recalled, Jessica had begged, wept, cursed, and shriekingly implored the uncaring machine to let her cum, please God let her cum! Ah, how Elena, Tristen, and the others had roared with laughter at that. Allison made a mental note to have the video footage archived for her own private amusement later.

As the CEO watched now, the girl's earlier struggles and vocal objections had all but subsided. After about twenty-four hours, they always tended to go semi-catatonic, rendering further treatment largely superfluous. Jessica's head drooped upon her chest, sweat-soaked hair framing a face featuring closed eyes, makeup long since ruined by tears, and now a thin stream of drool reached unheeded toward the floor. The fabric of the suit bore silent testimony to the constant arousal of its occupant; as her throbbing pussy had unceasingly flowed in preparation for the fucking it would not receive, the juices had by now streaked down the insides of her powerless thighs and reached nearly to her shackled ankles. Even her tight, stiff nipples had leaked somewhat, moistening the clinging fabric somewhat over the last thirty hours of rigid frustration.

Allison knew from past experience that even though the teasebox's computer was programmed to increase the frequency and intensity of the arousal stages, the girls would not -- in fact, could not -- reach orgasm.

Unauthorized orgasms were prevented quite effectively by the residual levels of "nymphotol" -- the name some witty pharmacologist at HSA had jokingly coined for the derivative of fluoroticlopidine they'd finally synthesized into a deliverable drug. With enough nymphotol in her blood, a woman would never reach orgasm, no matter how savagely she was fucked, how effectively she was stimulated, no matter how badly she wanted to cum.

Unless, of course, Allison triggered it. Which was, after all, precisely what all this was about.

Control.

As her fingers traced the inch-thick Lexan, tormentor exulting in the distress of the tormented, she idly wondered what role Jessica would play within the organization after the punishment was completed. Jessica had always treated Elena - as well as her other subordinates -- with exceptional arrogance and missed absolutely no chance to inflict petty abuses upon them, and was mortally despised by every one of them. Doubtless Elena and the others craved a chance to turn the tables; and Allison well knew exactly how... exotic some of those girls' tastes were.

Savoring that delicious thought, Allison strode toward the door. On the other side awaited an angry Jennifer Grey, who unknowingly awaited an ordeal that would ultimately make every other indigity she had yet suffered fade into insignificance.

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