The Perfect Applicant: Part 9

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"My, now, this is undignified." Allison Taxton crossed her arms, a glint in her eye playing company to the smirk on her lips.

Before her, arranged in what appeared to be a state of total victimization, was one of the United States' new "Agents". The classification was silly and vague, a term applied by those more in-the-know than U.S. House members to an infiltrative corps of young, educated personnel sic'ed tooth and nail on enemies of the country. And where the conviction of these young people was often rabid and boisterous, their identities and even their purposes were exclusive to such subtle departments in the government as could convincingly deny their existence.

Ms. Taxton did not walk these halls, was not in any way under the employ of said government, but she knew more about this woman (in truth this barely-more-than-a-girl) than did any dossier-reading Senator. She knew, for instance, that Agent Jennifer Grey had recently dropped her bedtime apparel of flannel pajamas in favor of sheer, binding teddies and stockings. She knew that Jennifer, though in the past more career-focused than amorous, had been unable to sate herself with the shower head yesterday morning, though she had tried twice. And she knew that Jennifer was a natural brunette, because, unbeknownst to the then-unconscious agent, Ms. Taxton had run her hands lovingly through her soft vulva.

These source of all of these insights would soon become clear to Ms. Grey, but Allison observed that investigation and scrutiny were not her subject's present concerns. Jennifer Grey had just been molested, after all.

The agent was comically mis-mirrored to the cool, austere woman who regarded her: the waistband of her blue-toned hosiery had just been tucked under her knees, and her smooth young thighs were consequently very exposed. Her business-like skirt was still largely upturned, though it dipped here and there low enough to conceal her womanhood. Her face was flushed, and occasional strands of hair hung unwanted before it. She was presently shoe-less, her high-heeled loafers sitting on the floor beside Allison, and a pair of stainless steel cuffs bound her ankles within a foot of one another. As for her hands, they were unbound for the moment, but they clenched, shook, and generally moved about as though Jennifer could not conceive of anything to be accomplished by them.

The visible helplessness excited Allison, but she had had enough of undercooked meals, and the amateurish actions of Ms. Green and the slut-slave Caroline had upset her delicate manipulations. Jennifer Grey, unlike so many girls at the HSA, was not a pet, but a project. It was time to bring things back to task.

"You might want to, -ahem-," she gestured with a smile, pointing to Jennifer's disheveled skirt. Jennifer looked at her quizzically at first, then gave a start and rapidly rearranged her clothing, tugging skirt down and pantyhose up in a couple of quick movements.

"That's better, Ms. Grey. We here at the HSA do take pride in how we present ourselves to the outside world." She took a step towards her quarry.

Jennifer straightened her blouse, her eyes cast downward at first, but then she raised her chin. "I find that a little ironic," she said levelly.

Allison maintained her smile, noting the ensuing recovery. Remarkable. "Not at all. What it was your misfortune to experience down here is not what our company is proudest of. I would like to personally extend you an apology, Jennifer, for the awkward circumstances that you underwent here. But then, dear, you really did initiate this situation, didn't you?" Ms. Taxton punctuated the question by withdrawing a newly-reconstructed Beretta Tomcat, and dangling from between her forefinger and thumb by the handle. "This was extracted from our piping not fifteen minutes ago. I believe that the Employee's Code of Conduct clearly stipulates the prohibition of firearms in the workplace?"

Jennifer's forehead crinkle angrily. "And what about the raping of co-workers?!?"

"No," Allison coolly tucking the gun behind her suit jacket, "No, I don't believe there's any mention of that." She stepped closer to Jennifer, and the agent unwittingly took a half-step back, her stocking feet padding softly on the tile floor. A bump against the table behind her asserted that no such route existed for escape.

"Is-" she began, and pushed a hair from her face, "is this all that you're about? It seems like such an elaborate cover-up...for white slavery?" Other thoughts spun quickly from her lips as they occurred to her, and she straightened her back a little as Allison approached closer. "Does everyone here know? Are you in charge? You can't seriously expect to keep me here forever. I will be missed. And what else is your little group involved in?"

Allison moved still closer, and though they were nearly the same height, her own high heels lent her several inches over Jennifer. And she appeared to loom so that when she and Jennifer were mere inches apart, the latter futilely attempted another step backwards, pressing her painfully swatted ass further against the hated examining table.

"Such are not yet topics for this time, Ms. Grey. I realize even as we stand here together that I am before a trained government agent, probably the recipient of countless hours of combat training, dangerous in any situation, but most of all when cornered." Her smile showed teeth, not looking the least an expression of fear, and her tone became one near-sincerity: "I am in very real danger. I must take steps to defend myself."

She stepped back, then, and regarded Jennifer empirically as the agent strove to look unintimidated. "Ms. Grey, I need for you to cum now." She paused with expectation as Jennifer looked at her open-mouthed. "Oh, just a little bit. Enough to render your body helpless for a moment or so. If you need help, this room is being monitored, and we can activate the neural stimulators in your underclothes. But, to be honest, I'd really like to see Method B in action."

She waited. Jennifer seemed to be trying to wrap her mind around too many things at once; her mouth was still open, stunned. But when she started finally to respond, with at last a bit of her own victory intoned ("I'm not sure what kind of power you think you have over me, Ms. Taxton, but if you think for one moment-"), it happened. ("Oh!") Her nipples pushed noticeably against her camisole and blouse, her knees seemed to lock together, and her eyes squeezed shut, blocking out everything but her unexpected pleasure.

She moaned from the throat, the sort of sincere, throbbing noise so rarely heard by men, and Allison waited until the orgasm had her in its thrall before moving. Seconds in, Jennifer nearly collapsed to the ground, but grabbed the corner of the table catch herself. "OHH, uhh, uh...ugh! Ohhmmhhyygodddd!" It was incredible to witness this, the culmination of so many years, of so many disappointments. Allison almost forgot herself in the sight, but realized at length that this cumming, straining woman would not be so forever. Quickly she seized hold of Jennifer's hand, and with a swift, measured motion, snapped a steel cuff around her wrist.

By the time the cum had subsided, Jennifer Grey had both hands cuffed behind her back, and knelt on her stocking knees upon the cold tile floor. A look of absolute shock, mixed with perhaps a bit of revulsion, lit her beautiful young eyes. And a tear rolled down her cheek.

"You asked me many questions just now, Ms. Grey. Choose your next carefully, for I will answer in good faith only one inquiry that you put to me. After that, I will reveal only that in which I have some interest, and your needs to know may go unmet."

Jennifer's nyloned thighs still quivered from her invisible assault, and it was all she wanted in the world to cut the chain binding her hands so that she could simply hug herself in comfort, but her desire for answers had not been extinguished. But...one question? Allison watched the silent deliberation of her quarry, waited until she was ready to speak.

At last Jennifer's eyes met Allison's, and the tears that had washed them might never have been, for the new conviction that was shown there. "Why?" she asked.

So predictable, so very innocent. Ms. Taxton formed her lips around the answer with relish: "Because."

Jennifer bit her lip quietly, and nodded. If this bitch wouldn't give her the satisfaction of an answer, Jennifer would not give her the satisfaction of appearing disappointed.

Allison seemed unmoved by the lack of response, and promptly took on a business-like demeanor, directing Agent Grey to slip on her shoes, step carefully (her ankles were still bound, after all), and follow her. A few casual reminders (the gun in her coat, the security in the complex, etc.) were issued and tallied on her fingers, like points during a presentation. "And, having hopefully precluded any unpleasantness relating to escape attempts, we will not board the same elevator you took to get here, but will instead turn to the left. Again, mind you, keep your steps small."

Not seeing any true alternative, Jennifer followed Ms. Taxton in an embarrassing, hobbled stride that her newly replaced shoes did not abet. Ms. Taxton would walk a few yards before pausing once in a while to watch Jennifer catch up, which only heightened the sense of humiliation and helplessness.

But through the veil of embarrassment, Jennifer began focusing on gaining a clear assessment of her situation, something which had eluded her throughout the assignment. 'But it's not too late,' she thought. 'It may look bad, but I've got more of a chance than ever to see the inner workings of this place now. And to plot an escape.' For the HSA clearly did not want her dead, or they'd have killed her already.

They walked in silence through concrete halls. Jennifer observed no other living person circulating the apparent labyrinth of corridors, but security implements, cameras mostly, were innumerable. Even in her highly distracted state, she ventured guesses at the huge scope of the HSA's control center.

At last they approached a change of scenery, a two-way mobile runway, similar to those found in an airport, which continued the corridor through which they'd traveled. Ms. Taxton did not board right away, but instead stepped aside and gestured for Jennifer to go first.

Jennifer hesitated. Her feet were still bound and the runway moved at a brisk pace. She didn't want to stumble foolishly in front of this woman, but...

"If you are looking for answers, girl, step aboard. Otherwise I'll assume I've overestimated your faculties and lock you in a holding pen with the rest of the chattel."

Jennifer looked down at her feet. It would be easier without these shoes, to be sure. She bit her bottom lip momentarily, contemplating the best way to couch her decision.

"Ask," Allison said, and Jennifer knew that her mind was as good as read. "I don't think I'll be able to get on that thing like this," Jennifer raced through the words. "I want to take off my shoes."

"Ask," Allison repeated, her tone growing more adamant.

Jennifer swallowed her pride, because she knew that a severe stumble in front of this woman would down it much more voraciously. She looked at her feet, but spoke loudly. "May I take off my shoes?"

She could almost feel Ms. Taxton's serpentine smile. "You would like to board the runway in stockings only?" she asked. "I need you to be clear, and I need you to know who it is you address. Courtesy would dictate that you address me by my name."

Jennifer raised her head fiercely, throwing her brunette locks over her shoulder, only to witness Allison consciously fingering the deadly bulge in her suit's jacket pocket. Suddenly the enclosing danger of her position revisited her. She was a law enforcement officer, cover blown, bound hand and foot in the presence of a woman who would likely do anything to protect her secrets. And that same woman, however refined her diction and demeanor when speaking to Jennifer, had likely ordered her capture and subsequent rape. And now she handled the only weapon between them, and a glint of anger flashed in her deep eyes.

"Ms...Taxton...I would like to be in my stocking feet when I approach the runway. May I take off my shoes?"

Allison nodded imperiously, and there a soft rasp of nylon on shoe leather as Jennifer Grey slipped from her footwear. She then approached the runway -only to have it slow abruptly at her step. To a rate manageable by even a toddling child.

She looked back to see Allison slipping the small remote control behind her belt, a condescending smirk on her lips.

The runway ran longer than it should have, to Jennifer's calculations, though it switched so often between ascent and descent that she wondered whether any of it's progression had been lateral at all. At times it grew quite dark, and it seemed at these points that Allison stepped progressively closer towards her, to the occasion where, at one period of prolonged darkness, she felt the other's warm breath on her neck. Jennifer would shift uncomfortably, but it was an offence of significantly lesser consequence than Ms. Green's attack, and could likewise not be prevented.

At last there was a sustained light, and the runway stopped before whatseemed to be a large window pane, akin almost to an aquarium, where a view was granted of what looked like an office waiting room. In it, seated primly, dressed in a gray suit and shimmering beige hose, was someone Jennifer recognized.

Geoffrey Herbert Higgins III was in a hell of a rush. He took the steps in front of the building two at a time, his well-disciplined thirty-eight-year-old physique complaining not in the least in spite of the fact that it had been a long time since Geoffrey Higgins had moved this quickly for anyone.

In the lobby he flashed a perfunctory smile toward the stunningly attractive receptionist, who, without a word, handed him a visitor's badge with a substantially more sincere smile of her own. There were not many young women in the City who would not have recognized the well-known face of one of Wall Street's hottest moguls, even if he had not been arriving at HSA every other day for the past two weeks.

The reflection of Higgins in the mirrored steel straightened the knot of his two hundred dollar tie one last time before the elevator chimed open on the twenty-seventh floor. He hurried down the hall to the conference room, its interior hidden by the darkened, electrically opaqued glass. He did not need to see inside, however, to know who waited within.

Caroline Holcomb had no more time for doubts or self-loathing. As she heard the footsteps approach the door she shakily inhaled a deep breath. When the latch of the doorknob clicked, the old familiar mask slipped into place. Her troubled features took on a pleasant, slightly bored look – the Harvard Girl I've-seen-it-all-before persona she had played so often. She gracefully rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt behind her as Geoffrey entered the room and carefully clicked the lock on the door behind him. "Darling!" she breathed, as the billionaire crossed the short expanse of carpet to her.

"Caroline," Geoff moaned, as she stepped into his embrace and quickly covered his eager mouth with hers. Further conversation was made momentarily impossible as her tongue greedily entwined his. This was fine, this was good. As long as he was kissing her, she wasn't bent over the table like a common gutter slut, prostituting herself for Allison's purposes. Breaking the kiss, he buried his face deep into the chestnut silk of her jasmine-scented hair. "I've been thinking about you all damned day," he groaned breathlessly. "I need you so badly." Yes, Caroline thought, I fear you do.

"Mind my suit, darling," Caroline admonished automatically as she reluctantly stepped away from him. "Let me see you, please," she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

Geoffrey immediately unfastened his belt and let his woolen trousers slide to the carpet. His raging erection stood at full mast, a proud four inches away from his loins. "Hmm," Caroline breathed, "you do appear to be ready for me, don't you, dear?" And I see you complied with my request to omit the undershorts, double-damn you. She made a great show of appraising his rather pathetic endowment. She was profoundly grateful that at least he wasn't going to pound her with a ten-incher for a half-hour like Duggan always did. That was the chief reason she so detested Thursdays.

"Please, may I fuck you now?" he asked in a voice that was, Caroline estimated, about thirty seconds away from being an honest-to-God whine. You poor clueless bastard, they really have you, don't they? Just like they have me.

"Of course, Geoffrey darling," Harvard Caroline cooed, drawing the hem of her skirt to her waist. The beautiful brunette bent elegantly over the table and spread her long, flawless legs in a motion that was somehow both incredibly graceful and supremely wanton at the same time. Her swollen mound was lewdly visible through the missing crotch of her silken sheer pantyhose, the moisture on her pink lips belying her outward calm. It was so difficult to keep from gritting her teeth with resentment as she uttered the next line in her script. "But you'll need to fuck me extra hard today, my dear... I've been playing with myself since I got to work."

Higgins needed no further prompting. He immediately grasped Caroline's silky hips and plunged the full length of his cock into her like a javelin. He was rewarded with an unfeigned moan issuing from deep within his lover's throat. An animal grimace twisted his tanned, handsome features as he began a savage jackhammer rhythm. His frantic gyrations were met, for the most part, with silence from the fully clothed brunette, a silence which could easily be assumed to have its genesis in boredom. In fact, that was precisely what Geoffrey assumed. In truth, Caroline dare not open her lips for fear she would beg him to stop, or blurt out the truth. But that would enrage the surely watching Allison. And that possibility, of course, was the one thing that was worse.

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