The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

This story is not intended to be viewed by persons under the age of 18, or under whatever age is considered adulthood in your neck of the world. It has no basis in reality, and is intended as a fantasy only. If over the age in question, please use your own good judgement.

This is my first story of this nature, so feedback () is appreciated.

Now enjoy!

The Perfect Applicant

(Ff, mc, hosiery fetish)

“She is beautiful, is she not?” Allison Taxton crossed her stockinged legs, and turned to address her subordinate. “An absolute spectacle. Look at her, Caroline, look at this footage from today’s interview: auburn tresses, slender build, buxom figure, uhhh.” The mistress encircled one of her own plump assets with gloved fingers, and began to pet herself. “I would suggest that you attend me now, lest I have to come for you.”

Caroline rose from tired knees to tired feet, and did not speak her acquiescence; the end of penis shaped gag parted her red lips, had parted them for the better part of an hour, it’s shaft and tip forbidding coherent language. What were not forbidden by either gag or mistress were the animal-like grunts with which her lips had been likewise associated this busy eve. Beneath the semi-sheer nylon of her black pantyhose, her buttocks burned with pain. It was the price Allison’s displeasure, and its memory moved Caroline quickly to her mistress now.

Allison watched her girl approach, moving only her eyes in anticipation. She continued to lightly pinch and massage her breasts through the rustling nylon of her evening gown, but after speaking to Caroline, the mounting passion had melted from her face. Now she stroked and caressed her own mounds almost off-handedly; cold intensity had supplanted erotic merriment in those beautiful, corn-flower blue orbs, and while she assessed, Caroline knelt silently before her chair.

Then, on the dark, silhouette-streaked floor of their office. . .she waited.

A business suit: black jacket and skirt, pinstriped, the former hung loosely over a bosom like a pair of grapefruit; between jacket and bosom was a creamy-colored blouse, soft, with discreet, pliant buttons lining the front. Between the pinstriped skirt and it’s obvious holding were pantyhose, a gentle black that cradled both legs and womanhood in their silky confines. Sensible black heels and less sensible black choker served as the only other unextraordinary adornments, though the latter was mostly concealed during the business day by long, dark hair. The hair was up now, the choker prominent against tanned, Hispanic skin. Allison liked the visibility of her control.

Caroline’s breathing was rhythmic and heavy, the rubber phallus depressing her tongue moved in and out slightly with each momentary sag and lift of her shoulders. Beyond that, the silence was deafening. Caroline knew that her mistress was interested in extending the moment. Only now and then would she spare the girl her fixed stare: when her fingers gently coaxed the more extreme pleasures from her breasts, her eyes would flutter open and shut quickly, yet no further sound was uttered. Finally, Allison smiled and sat straight in her office chair, returning her elegantly gloved arms to the rests, and above all signaling an end to the ministrations.

She stood quickly then, and her navy heels clicked as she circled behind her girl. With a business-like twist of the buckle behind head, the straps retaining her gag suddenly fell to the side, and the penis slid blessedly from her mouth, hitting the floor with a clatter.

Caroline knew better than to move until instructed. Within a moment, she heard stocking feet being slid from shoes, and then a clatter as they were tossed dismissively aside. Then, the voice of her mistress: “Pick it up.” Caroline did, holding the saliva-soaked gag carefully aloft with manicured fingers. “Now turn and face me.”

Still on her stockinged knees, Caroline complied. Her suit skirt rode a bit in the effort. Allison raised an eyebrow. “Sweet Ms. Holcomb,” she said softly, reaching forward to brush the kneeling woman’s brow, “tell me a little about the girl you were.”

Caroline’s eyes closed, and she breathed in, gathering her strength, attempting reassuring thoughts. It’s going to be this again. Please no. . .why must you make me remember? No. . .I’ll be strong; there may. . .even be some pleasure. . .if I am good. This last choked her more than the phallus ever had. What have I become? “I. . .” she started tentatively, eyes downcast. “I used to. . .”

“No, bitch.” Allison caught her in the chin with her stockinged toes, and raised her face until their eyes met. “You will tell me as you lick the penis.”

Caroline swallowed, could feel her mistress’s silken foot move away from her cheek with a graceful ease. So sexy. . .God, no, stop it. She began again, this time lowering her eyes and raising the slimy rubber cock at to her lips. “I. . .I’m from a well-to do family in.California. . .and I. . .” she stuttered as she tongued the phallus’s base, “and I. . .I’ve always had everything -ummm- that I’ve ever wanted.”

“A rich girl?” Allison asked, playing an intrigued role. “A rich bitch?”

“Ungh, um, yes, Mrs.Taxton,” she closed her eyes and lathered the cock with her tongue. “I was so, so rich. Daddy. . .mmm. . .he would buy his little girl . ..mmm . ..he would get her anything.”

“You were Daddy’s girl. Daddy’s good girl.” Allison chuckled, and slowly seated herself, moving to grasp the hem of her dark blue gown. “I like that. But you got bad didn’t you?”

“Daddy, he didn’t want me to go,” she started, following the prompt, “I was. . .” her red fingernails played lightly over the cock, “. . .I was. . .I needed.things.”

“Yes, sweetheart. . .yes. . .we all need things.” Allison’s gown crawled slowly up her calves, her thighs, revealing more and more stocking as it rose.

Caroline began to lose herself, as had happened so many times before “I started. . .ungh. . .to be bad. I. . .wanted things. . .” her lips encircled the phallus’s tip in a kiss, “things. ..mmm. . .Daddy. . .couldn’t give me.”

The gown was crumpled about Allison’s waist now. She too had her eyes closed, her lace stocking tops exposed, her legs lean and outstretched in a ‘V’, toes pointed. “Why Caroline, you were becoming a woman, a sexy, beautiful woman.”

“Yes. . .I. . .a woman.” She tipped her head back in ecstasy, bending the penis slightly. “I. . .mmm. . .left. . .left Daddy.”

“Yes, you left for the east. You started school, you naughty young lady.” Allison began to stroke her panties, continuing in a carefully paced whisper, “You should be spanked for your urges.”

“H. . .Harvard,” she began to pant, and this time, as she continued to manipulate the fake cock between tongue and left hand, her right drifted slowly to the hemline of her own skirt.

“Such a fine school for young ladies. Taught you how to dress, how to. . .” a small gasp as her finger traced the outline of her panties, “. . .to act. You were to be a lady, my pretty pet.”

Caroline’s initial rigidity had abandoned her: she was half-bent now, with only one stocking knee still affixed to the ground, while the other leg stuck straight out awkwardly behind her. The hem of her pinstriped skirt now barely concealed the darker panty of her hosiery, while the majority of it was crumpled across the cheeks of her ass. Her eyes were closed, and she bathed the rubber phallus in long runs, from bottom to top and then back. A small whimper escaped her lips as she tipped off the penis a third time, for it was then that her right fingertips brushed her nylon-covered pussy.

“But then,” Allison leaned forward in her chair until her face was inches away from her unknowing slut’s, “you came to work for me.” And she snapped her fingers.

A light came on in Caroline’s mind, and the floor met her body in a rush. She laid there, crumpled, face in the floor with her long dark hair, still wrapped in its ponytail, cascading alongside. Then, without looking up, she gasped, in the quiet, shy little girl voice that belied everything she had been.“Mistress, may I?”

“Why, my little bitch? Are you in heat?”

The trance of the last episode had dissipated. Caroline lifted her head to the height of Allison’s knees. Her face flushed with humiliation. But under her hose, her pussy flushed with need. “Yes, mistress,” she panted, every muscle tensed. “Your bitch is in heat.”

“Then,” Allison, still leaning forward, extended a hand, and cupped one of Caroline’s breasts through her now disheveled blouse, “by all means.”

With a moan of lust, Caroline fell backwards onto the soft, thick carpet and shucked her skirt around her waist. Her hands shot to her swelling crotch, and she split the now sopping wet pantyhose that had concealed it. She grabbed the cock from where it had fallen, and, legs aloft and apart, plunged it into herself with desperation of someone who may never cum again. Her grunting was no less erotic for being self-inflicted.

“Uunhhhh!!”

Allison leaned back once more to watch the lewd show. The expanse of muscular thigh that now shot straight into the air shook and convulsed with each of her bitch’s thrusts.

“Uhnnh. . .uhnh.”

“You make noises like an animal, Caroline. I knew you would, the first day you walked into my office.”

Caroline didn’t -couldn’t-hear. She continued her thrusts, meeting hand-held cock with eager pelvis, both working without rhythm, but with mutual desperation. One of her high-heels clattered to the floor, and she distractedly moved her black stocking foot to kick off the other.

“It puzzled me: your confidence, your intelligence, tempered with your utter inability to discern my façade.”

“Oh, ugn, oh God. . .please.” Caroline seemed ready to peak; her toes were pointed, her eyes clenched shut, her words were whimpered.

“You were a perfect applicant. But sadly. . .”

“UUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!”

“. . .hardly a challenge.”

Caroline’s legs fell to the floor like trees before an axeman. She laid there, phallus half-hanging from her delicate womanhood, sweat soaking both hair and face, expensive suit and hose overwrought in her desire to cum.

Allison stood, and slowly walked a circle around her girl, keeping a motion not unlike a detective does a chalk outline. She smiled. “That is why our new applicant will be so good for the company, pet. You see, she,” she indicated the glowing monitor which had been so utterly ignored for the extent of their encounter, “she will not be an easy candidate. She is neither dense, nor extravagant: I judged as much during our session.”

Darkness began to creep across Caroline’s senses, a sleep born of her harshly-bought cum. But she strained to hear the last of Allison’s words.

“And what is best. . .her entire purpose here is one of perception. What better challenge than the game which knows it is in a huntsman’s range?”

Caroline’s shifted her body, and betrayed her inquiry by reopening her eyes to catch her mistress’s.

“You see, my sweet, that beautiful creature asked one too many questions. And what is more. . .when she stood to go, I saw the hint of the wire tucked behind her jacket.”

The darkness fled, and was replaced for the first time with a new kind of light.

“She starts tomorrow.”

Part2

The morning crept up on Jennifer Grey, first articulating itself only as a sliver of light probing lightly between her curtains. As the hour crept closer and closer towards 8 a.m. however, the fabric between her sleeping form and the insisting day may as well have been tissue. Jennifer turned once, turned twice, and turned again, still not comprehending the sun’s purpose in intruding on her coveted slumber. Not comprehending, that is, until the phone rang.

“Oh! Oh God.” This wouldn’t do. She snatched the receiver from its mount, and in an instant composed herself utterly; when she spoke her obligatory greetings, her voice had eschewed all suggestions of slumber. Still...

“Ms. Grey. We didn’t wake you, did we? I do hope not. Occasionally our hours of operation throw even our more seasoned employees off the clock, and I haven’t even a watch on today.” The voice was unfamiliar, and a quick glance at the caller ID panel disclosed nothing: ‘OUT OF AREA.’ But Jennifer had seen to it that nobody else knew this number.

“No ma’am. It’s a perfectly regular hour. Ah...I was just under the impression that I was expected at six-thirty?”

There was a cheerful giggle. Definitely not Ms. Taxton. “Mrs. Grey, I’m calling on behalf of the HSA to confirm your appointment with us today. Ms. Taxton did mention the schedule; I just wanted to give you plenty of time to prepare. The dress code was covered with you yesterday?”

It hadn’t been. Jennifer’s mind raced, quickly attempting to re-establish her character, her mannerisms so as to be consistent with her performance at the interview. Acquiescence, not assertion, was the key. “No ma’am. I presumed. . .business casual?”

“Slightly more. We here at HSA pursue a lofty clientelle, Mrs. Grey. If I may suggest...?”

Jennifer smirked to herself. My agency has a few codes of it’s own, girl. You might as well be filling evidence bags for me. “Please. I’m at a loss.”

“Our attire is designed to compel, to sell, and to intimidate, Ms. Grey. Stick with neutral colors at first. I suggest a charcoal suit, skirt of an attractive but daring cut, a blazer that can be discarded without ruining the outfit, pantyhose of course (gray would be preferable to beige with that color) and sensible, patent leather heels.” She closed at the end with a tone was better left to the reading of a shopping list. “I have much to do now. I must be going. Good day, Ms. Grey.”

Jennifer still held the receiver. Her mouth was open. I’ve just been told what shade of hosiery to wear. Still, the woman had qualified the comment as a suggestion. If there was anything to this HSA assignment, they were no strangers to covering their backs. She hung the phone up, and, smirking, picked up the other, a black cell that was no bigger than her palm, before dialing. “Hunts, Jennifer M.” A pause, and then, “6-R-7-Y-B. Good. Thank you. Hello, sir. Yes. Tell me, what sort of cash flow was I allotted for this assignment?”

* * *

The large hand of her watch inched ever nearer the twelve, while the short one rested uncomfortably atop the seven. Shit. Jennifer’s heels clicked quickly as she trotted up the stairs, occasionally dropping an anxious hand to tug at her too-short skirt. Shit, I’m late.

The day had been spent enjoyably, after business with the Agency was out of the way. She had, she’d discovered, a federally sanctioned budget of $10,000 with which to pursue the operation. As she’d never had staff, and as most of her missions involved less. . .subtle investigation, the sum had been entirely a mystery to her.

No longer. The exceptional suit which she wore so closely matched the one described that morning that it might as well have been tailored by her caller. The skirt was the best: colored nearly black, it was cut just above her gray stockinged knees. It made her feel sexy and confident, but as she rushed up the stairs towards HSA’s sterile glass-laden entry way, self-consciousness tempered her good feelings. I mustn’t forget why I’m here.

The building was huge, pristine, and would have appeared vacant, if Jennifer did not know better. HSA ran around the clock, she had been told, stacking shifts differently as the need arose. Hence, it was explained, their inclination towards unmarried employees.

The glass doors parted with a whisper, and Jennifer slowed to compose herself. With a deep intake of breath, she stepped across the threshold, last week’s instructions cradled carefully in her memory: “Mrs. Hunt, your purpose there will be neither presume guilt nor innocence. HSA is either squeaky clean. . .or it’s the most meticulously shrouded illegality in New York. Either way, we don’t expect your stay there to be a short one.” With another whisper, the doors sealed themselves behind her.

The entry was large and forbidding, consisting mostly of marble. Columns paralleled the walls, and, at this late hour, succeeded at casting sufficient shadow across the room that Jennifer did not see the other woman until she spoke.

“Ms. Grey.” It was not a question.

“Um. Yes. It’s me.” Jennifer approached and held out her hand in introduction.

“My name is Caroline Holcomb.” She seemed to appraise Jennifer, and did not take her hand until her eyes had had their fill. When they shook, Jennifer wondered if she’d ever felt anything so soft as the other woman’s hand. It was as though it had just been doused in powder. “I will show you the way to the main office, where we can get started.”

She turned on her heel (a very high heel, she noted: nearly four inches) and Jennifer followed her to the elevator at the hall’s end. But when the door opened with a soft ring, she merely stepped to the side, and gestured.

“Aren’t you coming?” Jennifer asked, puzzled.

There was a pause, and again Caroline roamed the new arrival with her eyes. “I like your suit, Ms. Grey. And no, I cannot accompany you. I’ve been assigned to other duties.”

“Then someone will meet me up top?” Jennifer was feeling a little odd, suddenly, and didn’t want to go upstairs alone.

A strange light ran across Caroline’s features. . .of interest. . .or. . .anticipation? “No.” She smiled. “Things run pretty smoothly here, Ms. Grey. You’ll find that your office has been duly prepared.”

Jennifer nodded, and with a slight shake of her head to clear her nerves, stepped aboard.

Caroline watched the doors close, and then carefully withdrew a cleansing rag from her own blazer before proceeding to scrub her hands. Where she wiped, there came away a beige powder. I’ve gotten you for her, pretty girl, she thought as she examined the rag’s new tint against the light. I had no choice, but I’ve gotten you. She dropped the rag in the waste basket as she walked away. Out damned spot.

Part 3

When the elevator began its ascent from the first floor, Jennifer Grey was feeling a little unsteady on her feet. By the time its seemingly rapid climb had put ten floors behind her, she had sunk to her stockinged knees, black spots speckling her vision. And when the doors opened at the 42nd floor, her prescribed destination, she was no longer possessed of the consciousness to appreciate the end of her ride.

Allison Taxton peered appreciatively at the crumpled young woman from her newly-taken position between the doors. She pursed her wet, red lips in a soft whistle. Lucky for you that I am not one who favors the feast to the hunt. Soon there would be time to gorge herself on the full-breasted, tightly-muscled girl before her. But for now. . .the preparations.

She stepped quickly, purposefully from the elevator, into the cubicle-laden office space behind her. Gesturing to two young ladies, short-skirted blondes, gartered stockings evident, she chose her words carefully: “Girls, you must show Ms. Grey to my office via the scenic route. Consider during the trip that she has not yet seen the breadth of this place.” One of them smiling, the other looking lustful, they nonetheless nodded their compliance, and, with practiced ease, hefted Jennifer by hands and ankles and maneuvered her deftly towards the other end of the level.

Allison waited until they had rounded a darkened corner, counted to ten, and then pursued, her four-inch heels clicking a steady pace across the floor. In her mind ticked an insistent clock. They had six minutes: six were all that the mind could conceivably discount, in disorienting circumstances, all that would not be missed when consciousness was renewed. They would be done in four.

When she opened the doors to her office, the blondes were moving with surgical precision. Jennifer’s blazer had been doffed, was hanging neatly from a nearby peg, and her creamy blouse was coming along just as quickly. Allison smiled as Jennifer’s breasts, pear-shaped, large, and firm, swung heavily from the confines of her just-removed bra. When Ms. Grey’s entire torso was stripped, one of the two girls looked at Allison and smiled. “Not bugged today, Mistress.”

“Excellent.” This just kept getting better. “Quickly now, strip her fully and proceed.”

Giggling, one girl moved slightly aside, and, withdrawing a transparent packet and metallic instruments from her purse, began to fiddle with the various lacy articles that were being handed her as Jennifer’s violation progressed. Allison, hands folded behind her back, began to circle the scene, taking it all in. At this point, Ms. Grey’s thinly cut skirt was being worked down her long, grey-hosed legs, and Allison relished the lack of panties under the hose. Allison knew that said something about a woman. “You, my pretty pet, will be such a willful slut when I am done with you.” The stripee said nothing, of course, and the stripper, eager to please, quickly began to roll the hosiery from her legs.

Allison stopped, fixing her with a frigid glance: “Be careful not to run them, bitch. Ms. Grey must never be compelled to consider the circumstances of these senseless moments. She will wake, and all will be well with her world.” Allison renewed her pace, noting the dampening condition of her own hose, white today, with a sheer, high-cut panty. “She will not know, for instance, that three of her own co-workers here at HSA,” Allison ran her hands across the kneeling girls’ hair as she passed, “have seen her tits and pussy. She will not know that one of those three,” she hovered a bit about the girl with the instruments, slipping a stocking foot in and out of her black shoe, “has meticulously placed tiny, remote, sensory inducers, within specific articles of her clothing. She will not know that, despite their size, each is capable of soliciting a bodily reaction equal to a vibrator in the cunt.” A cruel chuckle. “She will not know that these little wonders are, in fact, nearly transparent, especially against darker clothing. . .” She placed index and middle fingers together, and began to lightly massage circles across her own crotch, over her skirt and hose. “Which, she will know, is what we require in our dress code.”

She practically purred then, and continued to stroke, ceasing her pace about the room. Allison knew that she was distracting herself, that she should be focusing, but every time her eyes wandered across the nude woman below, she became more and more aware of the ache between her legs, the pulsing, moistening need.

Her servants though, worked on regardless. 3 minutes had passed, and more than anything in the world, they feared their mistress’ wrath should 3 more transpire before the job’s consummation. The tiny plastic slivers were placed quickly but accurately, wherever in Jennifer’s clothing an erogenous zone might find itself. Three were in each cup of the black, lacy bra: one on each underside, where the breasts’ weight would be borne, one along the top of the cup, where a lover’s gentle kiss might be planted, and the last along the centers, where Jennifer’s soft brown nipples would likely rest. Additionally, several were placed with rapid precision in Jennifer’s silken gray hosiery: one in each reinforced toe and in each sole, one along the back of where each calf would be delicately encased, and two in the darker gray panty itself, one in front panel, along the seam, and one opposite it, in the back. “We’re ready, Mistress,” said the girl making the placements.

“Hold for just a moment.” Allison was a creature of control, but even she could be beguiled under the right conditions. Still applying pressure to her womanhood, she knelt over her naked, dozing prey, and with all the restraint she could summon, limited herself to a brief kiss on each of Jennifer’s erect nipples.

The moan took them all aback. Allison shot up, her eyes wide. The powder. . .the powder was supposed to keep the victim utterly unconscious of all stimuli. All stimuli for the allotted time. It had never failed. Unless. . .it had not all been transferred. Caroline Holcomb. Allison smiled appreciatively. Did YOU disobey me? The prospect of it delighted her; she’d imagined that Caroline had lost all use as an entertainment piece months ago.

Two minutes left now, if we are lucky. She snapped her fingers quickly, and the girls rushed to dress the unconscious Jennifer, pulling on pantyhose, shoes, bra, etc. Everything must be perfect, every fold and tuck needed to match the condition of the apparel before it was removed. The girls knew this, and satisfied the requirement as quickly as possible. Still, the seconds ticked on.

Finally it was done. Again hoisting Jennifer by ankles and wrists, they rushed her to the elevator doors, which had been held ajar. Jennifer gave little whimpers and stirrings during this time, but remained blessedly asleep. Allison followed, her nerve unchallenged.

Jennifer was propped up in a lean against the elevator rail, and one of her shoes, which had fallen off during the transit, was replaced upon her stocking foot by Allison, as the two little whores who had aided scampered away to less public corners. Allison then made one final evaluation of her victim, and, noting that everything was in place, stepped back behind the closing doors.

* * *

Jennifer shook her head from side to side. Elevator rides up that many floors always made her disoriented. Nervously, she checked her watch. God, I didn’t think I was THAT late. As the elevator bounced to a stop, a small chime rang, and the doors slid open to reveal Ms. Allison Taxton, dressed immaculately, and tapping a foot with impatience.

“Ms. Taxton, I’m sorry. I just got caught up in things and lost track of time.”

Ms. Taxton seemed to consider her excuse, a pretty weak on admittedly. Then she smiled pleasantly and approached the new hire with an extended hand. “Things happen, Ms. Grey. Welcome to HSA.”

Part 4 (Ff, hosiery, mc)

Caroline Holcomb’s situation was unenviable, to say the least.

She stood silently in the hidden sanctum of the HSA, hands at her sides, feet slightly apart, blinking rapidly, and sweating profusely. The blinking could be attributed to the brilliantly white light that was highlighting her form, setting it off against the haze of the office. The sweating, however, was due to something else entirely.

From her position atop the dais, Allison Taxton scrutinized her pretty pet. Caroline wore one of her trademark skirt-suits, a navy ensemble that fit her beautifully, and cut well against her roundish breasts. Where it ended, about two inches above the knee, shimmered a pair of almost glittery beige stockings, semi-sheer and elegantly caressing the muscles of her legs. The outfit was completed at top and bottom by a black choker (partly covered by her long, black hair) and a pair of three inch pumps, respectively. Allison knew her bitch to look delicious on any occasion, but it was moments like these, when she stood nervously at attention, that she was most vulnerable, and thus, most appealing.

The silence was worsening (it was a favorite tactic) and Caroline could feel her peril, almost as though it was a tangible thing. Beyond the light’s touch moved the servants: all female, Caroline knew, as was their mistress’ wont. Once in a while, their heels would click across the cold concrete floor, and the echo, sometime near in origin, sometimes far, rattled her nerves. Finally, she could take it no longer.

“Mistress,” Caroline began hesitantly, her soft Hispanic lips barely parting for the word, “do you have need of me?”

Allison bolted from her seat, and took the stairs between them two at a time. Caroline stepped back in fright from the assault, but her cheek was grabbed, pinched, and held. The pain was fierce, the nails sharp, and she heard herself cry out girlishly. Shame overcame her. The woman she had been was gone. But she had little time to contemplate that, as Allison pulled their faces very close together, and then said something, not to Caroline, but to the room: “This cow has spoken too much already. Bind her.” With that, she gave Caroline a hardy shove, sending her teetering on her high heels before collapsing to the floor in a heap. She lay there for a moment, dignity abandoned, skirt climbing to her panties and stocking legs awkwardly spread.

But the moment was all she had. Responding to their mistress, four servant girls converged on her from the shadows, and, each grabbing a limb, hefted her aloft. Caroline had learned long ago that struggling was useless, but she couldn’t help herself. She tried to hit and wiggle and kick her way free, a sight that Allison took in with delight, but the girls’ hold was firm. Quickly, they carted her to a darkened room behind the dais, where she knew she would be first drugged and then “prepared” to her mistress’ tastes. Silently, she ceased her wriggling, bit her lower lip, and prayed that Jennifer Grey was worth what was coming next.

Agent Grey stifled a yawn behind her perfectly manicured fingers. All around her sounded the typical beeps, keystrokes, and rings of an office on the go, but the noise was doing little to rouse her.

After a year with the Agency, a year filled with kicked-down doors, drug dealers, and the mafia, this undercover bit seemed kind of tame. Especially if the days ahead held up to this one, then she would be sure that nothing was going on. She sighed, and sipped from her coffee mug. Perhaps she was just too impatient. After all, this was, what?, her second time in the building? Nevertheless, she’d expected more action than arguments at the water cooler could satisfy.

A lovely red-haired head popped over the wall of her cubicle. “Hey, Jen. I heard you yawn from over here. I told you this place was dull.”

Jennifer smiled. Tristen had been so friendly that night, taking Jennifer by the hand, showing her the in’s and out’s of the office, the computer network, basically everything Ms. Taxton hadn’t covered before rushing off to take care of some business. “No,” she replied politely, “of course it’s not dull. I just have to adjust to these hours.” She held her cup aloft. “This helps.”

“It’ll be your best friend. Speaking of which, I have to go place a requisition for various supplies. Anything you need, speak up now. It’ll be a while before I’m back.”

Jennifer shook her head ‘no’ and thanked her, returning her focus to the task at hand as the girl walked off. Such nice people, Jennifer thought to herself. If there is anything going on here, there’s no way that it has suffused the whole staff.

Stretching her long legs underneath her desk, she slid her stocking feet from her shoes. It felt so good to wiggle her toes for a bit, and hopefully no one would notice her lack of professionalism. Pantyhose certainly made her legs feel indulged, but there was something to be said for lower heels, particularly until she got accustomed to the office grind. She distractedly crossed her legs, bringing one foot up on her knee so she could rub the tension out of it.

God, that feels good, she thought, as she ran her fingers over and over the soft, gray nylon. Soon the other foot was asking for attention, and so she switched. It DID feel good. Better than her foot massages usually felt. Maybe her clumsy boyfriends-of-the-week just hadn’t been doing it right. Slowly and then quickly she glided her hands over her sheer hosiery, even taking a moment to rub her well-muscled calves. She closed her eyes. It was so quiet in the office all of a sudden. Perhaps there was a break. That would be nice. She kept working her hands, assured now that she could relax briefly. God, had her hosiery been this silky before? It was so soft under her fingers, so tight around her calves, her toes, her pussy. . .it caressed her womanhood, her sweet pussy, oh her pussy. . . “Ohhnhh. . .”

Jennifer’s eyes shot open, and she self-consciously ran them around her immediate space. Had she said that out loud? Her face flushed a horrific red. All of the noises so prevalent in the office had resumed their typical volume. Had she just imagined that? God, please let it be so! It would be so humiliating! No, calm down, no one heard. Hurriedly, she slipped her stocking feet back into her shoes, and replaced her fingers at the keyboard. Slowly her heartbeat became more regular. Good, she thought. Relax. But as Jennifer Grey recrossed her stocking legs at the knee, her calmness was again overcome with mortification. Between her thighs, her hosed crotch was warm and soft as always . . . but it was also wet. And that it hadn’t been in a long, long time.