Chapter 11

The crowd of people stared up at the floor light above the elevator, watching the light move from right to left the lighted number indicating the floor the elevator was stopping at. The weather was hot and everyone was uncomfortable in the ninety degrees muggy heat. Three-two-one-the doors opened and a car load of human sardines plowed out into the lobby, out through the revolving door into the street. Within an hour, they, and thousands of other herds like them, would be returning from lunch, crunching back into the tiny cans that daily take them to and from their life's work.

Sister Bernadette stood motionless in the mob waiting for the elevator to clear. Her poise was conspicuous and drew the eyes of those men around her. Her deep blue yes contrasted with her tanned brown skin and black mideaval habit. The elevator empty, a man held back the door with one hand and signaled with the other for her to enter.

She was the only one to get off at the twelfth floor. The hallway was empty of it's normally heavy congestion of people scurrying around. Her eyes peered deep from within her veiled face toward the row of crowded offices lining both sides of the hall.

Room 1222. "Mr. James Balkins-Executive Vice President," was printed on the door. She knocked, heard a voice from the other side, and walked in. The lobby was 22nd Century modern. Two sterile chairs and a white couch contrasted the stark green walls, and latest in-look. The receptionist, barely able to keep on her tight short stewardess type flight suit outfit, looked the good sister up and down twice before she reached the desk.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Sister Bernadette," she said in an emotionless etherial voice. "I have an appointment with Mr. Balkins for 12:15."

A quick glance at her calendar and the receptionist picked up her inter-office phone, dialed two numbers-"Yes, Mr. Balkins, I'll tell her. Thank you." Her eyes fixed on the good sister. "Please be seated. It'll be just a few minutes.

Sister Bernadette felt uncomfortable in the chair. Two high, her. feet barely reached the floor.

The inter-office buzzer rang out in just a few minutes. Without taking her eyes from her crossword puzzle, the receptionist punched up the lighted button-"Yes Sir-I'll send her right in."

The door to the conference room was opened and Sister Bernadette walked in. "Thank you my dear," she said, bowing her head, her hands crossed. The heavy door slammed shut!

Cindy Kalin was self-employed and this was the third appointment of the day. She was one of the lucky people in the world who made a living doing what they loved to do the most. For Cindy, what she loved to do was fuck. She was a prostitute. Maybe not the best, but one of the most clever. Long ago she had been busted and learned her lesson. Three rules guided her life. Don't have the men come to her-don't get caught and never give it away for free.

The idea of the nuns habit flashed across her mind after seeing the Nuns Story, especially the scene with Audrey Hepburn prostrating herself flat on the ground. If a nun could go down with her habit on-that was the job for her.

As far as the business world knew, Sister Bernadette was helping to raise money for orphaned children in Asia or Africa. She came and went as she liked, never suspected of anything. Raking the dough in hand over fist.

"Miss Jaslin, I don't want to be disturbed. Hold all calls. I want to see no one."

Jim Balkins, thirty-five and the son of Sam Balkins, Publishing Empire, was soon to take over the entire operation, lock, stock and barrel, when his father, now eighty-five, retired at the end of the year.

Cindy pulled off her shawl and flopped onto the couch overlooking Fifth Avenue. "Pour me what-ever you're having, I'm dehydrated from all this heat." Her long red hair fell to her shoulders as she yanked out the pin.

Jim mixed another Bloody Mary, dropped in three chunks of ice and stirred. Tall, handsome, a yachtsman, a horseman-Jim was everything any girl would want or ever dreamed of. But marriage was the farthest thing from his thoughts. One night stands-preferrably hookers, no grief were his bag.

One quick drink and off with the habit. Off with his clothes and on with the stereo, then long steaming shower together in his private bath.

... First, she washed him from head to toe with a thick layer of rich bubbley soap. Then, before he went under the hot, steaming water he lathered her rounded soft folds of flesh. They played and kissed and wrestled standing in the tiny stall. Rubbing their bodies they slid back and forth, unable to stay in contact for long because of the slippery soap. His joint jutted straight out at her pussy. She cupped her hand around it and jerked him off sending squirts of hot come splashing on her cunt hair. They kissed, exploring each others moist mouth as she slid her hand back and forth along his slippery cock that measured only four and a half inches.

He was a big man, solid and very muscular, but she had to be careful about what she did and said about his small joint. Every since she had started coining to his office, over two years ago, she had learned what to and what not to say. At first, she had tried to tell him that his cock wasn't small, that it was big enough, that he made her feel like a woman when he fucked her, but it made no difference. For the guy well over six feet, four and a half inches wasn't anything to sneeze at. She had known a guy once who was only three and a half inches erect and he fucked the hell out of her, but he didn't care to listen. Standing as tall as he did-6' 6"-and weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, he felt like he was slung like a kid in kindergarten.

Just as he started to come, he pulled her into the jet-of water pouring down. The soap washed away while his come stuck to her pussy hair. She knew if she stopped he'd shrivel up and he'd never get up again. So, she quickly dropped to her knees and shoved his wet cock into her mouth and started sucking him off. As a lover, he lacked the finesse that anyone would have assumed a man of his charm, poise and position must have. In fact, he was a pig, unable to nor desired to satisfy a woman. From his standpoint, women were there to serve him, so why should he waste his time trying to make love. Love was a line of bull-shit the average person used in order to keep his woman. A woman's fiber he wasn't. Because of his money, he could and did buy women the same way people buy cars, shirts and food. He had money to buy anything he wanted. He'd simply see a girl he wanted for the moment and showered her with cars, diamonds, trips, whatever it took to turn her on. Wherever business took him around the world, there were always three or four broads close-by when ever he got the fancy. They weren't stupid or naive either. They knew his reputation and understood that their presence lasted only as long as they appealed to his animal desires. It could be a free two day ride, or a three year gig. They were strickly free-lance, but got paid well for their services.

She panicked. He was getting limp. Unless she turned him on and fast, she was in trouble. With the deft touch of a skilled master craftsman she mobilized her emergency contingency plan. He paid too good not to have prepared a first aid procedure. With the precise technique of a highly skilled emergency room nurse fighting to save a man's life, she took his nuts in her right hand and started squeezing them gently in her palm, her long fingers caressed them sequentially.

Her left hand stretched up around his wet waist, probbing blindly for the bar of soap she knew was there. Mustn't panic, she told herself, not letting on to her `patient' the severity of the moment is imperative. There ... she had it in her fingers. The water splashing down on her head blinded her, so she was operating under blind instinct. SHIT! The bar slipped out of her fingers and she heard it slide around the tile around his feet. Without losing a single stroke with her lips or a single massage of his nuts that hung in their sack like a Brahma bull (more than making up for his plebian penis, as he referred to 'it'), she slid her hands down his hairy leg, tickling him as a decoy to get her hand to the floor. It worked. She tried to see through her wet strands of hair that hung wildly over her eyes, but it was still no use. But lady luck was with her. This time it wouldn't get away. Grabbing it firmly she picked it up out of the pool of backed up water waiting to go down the drain and rubbed it up along side his inner thigh, Shaped like a giant penis and a good five and a half inches in circumference to boot, she inched it up between his cheeks, wedging it from side to side for position until she felt it find his tight anus hole.

He knew what she wanted and lifted his right leg up on the marble half seat protruding out from the wall. Now only. seconds were left. Her mouth to mouth resuscitation was failing. Only a small miracle would turn the trick. His prick was going soggy between her lips. Once it fell out of her mouth, but she quickly dropped her lips and sucked it back in. Nothing was helping. Nibbling on it failed. Flicking it was a total bomb. Her last hope in her magic medical bag of tricks was her rectal shot of adrenalin. If it didn't work, the operation would have been a total success but the patient would have died ... in her mouth.

He stood facing the shower watching the water pour down on her back while she was on her knees sucking off his joint. Operation "Cock" had begun, but just for luck she crossed her ankles feeling that every little bit would help. A quick check of all systems-his balls were being handled ok and his cock was being worked over-and she shoved the carrot shaped soap as far as it would go up his ass. His body jolted under the shock. Blood poured back into his shaft. His testicles reacted to the shock by pulling up into their tiny cavities. As fast as she could move her hand, and by now it was getting tired, she pumped the soap in and out, up and down like a wild stallion when he humps his favorite mare. It was working, but if he didn't come soon her arm was going to fall off.

First, it trembled, sending vibrations along her lips. Then it shook, shock waves that exploded in her mouth into convulsions of pleasure. She felt his come rising up from his bag and race along the narrow tube heading for her mouth. She was only driven on to suck him off faster. Commmmmmmmmmm! Globes squirted out from his mushroom head buried deep in the dark cavity of her mouth. Salvos of white hot sticky sperm splashed against the back of her mouth and trick-led down her throat. Squirts landed on her tongue but she couldn't swallow fast enough to keep her mouth clear.

Just as the last blob left the slit at the top of his head and was flying through the air, he pulled his cock out of her mouth and opened the shower door and walked out. He was finished, at least for the moment, and wanted to dry off and rest. If he had waited two seconds longer she would have drunk his last ounce of come, but instead it landed on her lips and dribbled down her chin. She sat back on her heels letting the water wash it off her face lifted back into the stream.

Little did he realize how close he had come to being pronounced dead, she thought wrapping the towel around her waist, leaving her two globes dripping wet and covered in a slick coating of water. He offered her a cigarette as she snuggled up next to him on the couch. The two of them looked like twins wearing their matching robes. He pressed the third button from the left on the top row on the console next to his arm rest and his office became engulfed in a cloud of romantic music. Another button turned off all the lights, but one, a red one directly over head. The last switch closed the twenty foot long drapery cutting out the magnificent view of the sky line of New York.

It was exactly the same every time. If they didn't know better a stranger peeking in would have thought they had been married for over twenty years. Never did he say a word to her, nor did she ever volunteer small talk. She did the first time and was put in her place and learned her lesson. He simply smoked a cigarette or two, got his second wind and let her know he was ready by pulling open her towel and running his fingers through her pussy hair. That usually took five or ten minutes top. Anything longer would stretch out her hour appointment and eat into his various business appointments that were scheduled after-wards. After all, wasn't she only an appointment fitted into his already tightly scheduled and efficient day?

Like clockwork, she felt his fingers followed by the twinge that always vibrated the head of her at. Just once she would have liked him to eat her box and lick up her honey and let her sit on his head. Little did he realize that he turned her on. Every time she went there and saw him in his suit, behind his desk, before they took their shower, her clit became erect and her pussy lips swelled up and dripped from lubrication. Just once she'd like him to throw her down on the couch and fuck the living hell out of her. To make love to her like a man, and not like a boy in a whore house. Just once ... but why have pipe dreams. She'd have a better chance being raped by a wild stampeding rhino, on Sunday afternoon in Central Park.

Hand jobs and head jobs were all he wanted. She would have gladly thrown in a flick on the house, but it wouldn't have-made a single bit of difference. So, why try to change the system, she thought, dropping to the shag rug propping her head up with the throw pillow from the couch. She watched him crush out his butt and stand up, leaving his towel behind. He was limp as a wet dishrag, but as soon as he saw her, it twitched and filled like a balloon. He stood over her head then dropped down on his knees slidding his prick into her mouth. Resting his hands on the floor he started pumping 'it' in and out, again between her rounded, tight, wet lips, till he came. There was no emotion, no feeling, just a convient depository, a quick release. She often wondered why he just didn't do it himself. Would save him money, not that it mattered, but just think of the time he'd save. All he had to do during a meeting was open his fly and cuff off under his desk without interrupting his conversation. He'd get his rocks off, and they'd be none the wiser.

But who was she to criticize, her the national founder and president of the "WHATEVER TURNS YOU ON CLUB." Being cynical didn't become her and besides it was time to climb back into her habit and take a few laps around the beads for repentance.

The executive door opened. "Miss Jaslin, see the good Sister to the door. And-oh yes-arrange another meeting in two weeks. Make the time for 12:30-she's coming too early now for me!" Jim winked to the good sister, patted her on rump, when Miss Jaslin wasn't looking, and slammed the door shut.