View Full Version : Sulina Toledo

Eve Adorer
05-21-2007, 08:16 PM
Sulina Toledo
Synopsis: A becoming mission beckons ambition.

Sulina Toledo – Part ONE
Sulina Toledo sat checking her clipboard. The all-female studio audience murmured, conversing. Sopranos and contraltos sounded in spoken song. There were fifteen minutes to ‘action’, and Sulina was making final checks during ‘a five out’ from last second micro-rehearsal.

Sulina was a stunningly attractive girl, and she was, rightly, proud of it. ‘The blonde bombshell’ was the description she was pleased to hear was most often used behind her back. ‘The devil’s own bitch’, was one she shrugged off as jealously.

Her combination of harvest-corn-blonde hair tumbling in an incredibility of intertwining curls to below her delicious rear, dark soft brown eyes, a honey smooth and natural almond complexion, a mouth with strongly delineated seductive Cupid’s bow upper lip and provocatively pouted lower, was married with obvious intelligence in her gaze.

Her cheekbones were prominently high, making her calf’s eyes the compelling first focus of the onlooker’s attention, before the same poor onlooker would see and long for the mouth.

Although her nose was slightly longer than perfection would ideally have demanded, her face, in total composition, was decidedly more to the ‘beautiful’ end of the spectrum than the merely ‘pretty’.

Nature had made Sulina looked haughty. Her self nurture had apparently done nothing to dispel nature’s mould. To those who knew the real Sulina though, there was nothing but sweet gentleness behind the case-hardened business shell.

If she had been sculpted as an hourglass, decidedly more ‘sand’ would have been needed in the top end. She was a fulsome 38D. But Sulina always dressed to cover her bosom fully. It was a concession to shyness.

Sulina was not for cleavage. She had two other weapons. Okay she had an ass that begged ‘slap me because I taunt and haunt you’, but that was just the dream topping for the treasures that ran to ground from it.

Strong long and eloquently elegant, she had assiduously practiced ballet since she had worn her first diaper, and it showed in the way she flowed as she walked. If a girl could really have ‘legs to die for’, Sulina’s legs would have turned the world’s nations into leaping lemmings.

Sulina dressed not to thrill, but to kill. She’d gotten a damned good income from the application of her intelligence to a PhD at Camford, after a Masters from Vale, and her subsequent rise to career star columnist. She could afford to buy Paris, but limited her purchases to its couture. To her, London was for millinery. And the shoes? Italian: hand crafted in Milan.

At least in her own mind, Sulina had an established reputation as an acerbic journalist. However, this was the first TV programme on which she had been an interviewer.

It was a one-off. She was only a guest presenter. But who knew where it might lead if she hit the cathode rays hard enough? ‘Taking the Lid Off’ was a crappy show, but hey, that’s daytime TV right? And this was just for starters: okay?

Make it in Ntobi the dump capital of Senabre, down here in deepest darkest Africa, and who knew?

Back home in the USA there were plenty of pretty girls doing regularly what she was about to do for the first time, but maybe one day soon it would be: ‘move over Onara Winfee, and let Sulina have Cam 1’ – good G she couldn’t be more cruddy than old ‘Windbag’, that was crap wrapped! Or so Sulina had long since concluded, in her crueller moments.

She was going to be a sure fire hit on this show. Sulina was hell bent on that. Controversy was what TV fed on, that and soap operas of course. But Sulina had no time for soaps, and was certainly not going to give their shite actors airtime when she got her very own full-time show.

Nor did she intend her show – yes this, or something better, was going to be ‘her show’ one day, and no go for anything she did not want in it – nor did she intend her show to hit the celebs trail. ‘Oh so you got a ghosted book out, made a film, recorded an album, camped out on Mount Décolletage for a year without leg wax’’. Give me a frigging break! All that was puerile pap. Sulina wanted ‘real TV’ on her show. One day very soon, she was going to redefine ‘real TV’ in her own image.

The jump from printed journalism, at a mere twenty-three, had been a risk. She’d wanted risk though. She’d gotten bored at ‘The Ntobi Courier’; it was so staid. Flashing her panties at Kerrerer Prachet had been the best two-seconds work she had ever done there.

Prachet owned forty-percent of the world’s media outlets. Sulina had always assumed Prachet had only seen the Courier in its recycled format; when she’d wiped her ass. But when Prachet had descended on ‘The Ntobi Courier’ for a very surprise inspection, Sulina had ensured Prachet had taken a good look – a good long look – at, and all the endless way up, her shapely legs. And it had worked. Prachet had ordered that Sulina join her day-tour entourage; and walk in front of course.

Lunch with Prachet had gotten tête-à-tête, and Prachet’s hands had tried to get everywhere other than where they should have been. But Sulina was used to that, and had used it to get her own way.

A night in Prachet’s hotel bed, and – holy shit! Had she really?! - lying , over a champagne breakfast, about being really in love for the first time in her life - was surely not too high a price to pay for her own TV show eventually – even if, for starters, she was just a one-off guest presenter on this one.

The time flew. The lights went up like twenty white suns, but hotter. Camera 2 was ogling Sulina’s expensively stockinged legs, expansively, as ‘come-on candy’ for the girls and women watching at home.

A sweet girl in her earphone, the director, whispered a high-tension: “Twenty seconds and counting down from now Sulina!”

Then Sulina next heard in her ear, and tried not to be distracted by, the ever-same voiceover introduction from another sexy girl up in the director’s box: the cameras eying up Sulina’s delicately muscled thighs with the hint of stocking-top meanwhile:

“Ladies! Here in the heartbeat of studio 10, and for you lucky girls at home, Ntobi National 5, ‘the channel with a smile’, presents: ‘Taking the Lid Off’!!”

A banner held up away from the camera’s eye, read ‘rapturous applause’. And, whilst straining to catch sight of themselves on one of the several monitors hanging above the stage on which Sulina sat, next to a presently vacant chair, the audience dutifully obliged, with accompanying cheers, mixed with occasional over-the-top, ‘woops’.

The girl on the stage edge who had held up the banner, then put a finger to her pretty lips, to direct the audience to a lull shush…..

“And taking the lid off today, is the very lovely Sulina Toledo!!” the voiceover sneaked in, with perfect timing.

More applause was beckoned by the girl in the wings. Then she signalled another quieter spell, with an overdramatic finger on lips once more.

“….And Sulina’s subject is: ‘The Sisters of Sisters’!!!!!” the voiceover finally called out, as if announcing the second coming, rather than yet more TV dross.

As the cameras continued to pan the audience for pretty faces, and those same faces turned to each other and pointed excitedly at the monitor on which they had just flashed for two seconds, and had gone by the time their prompted companion looked up, more polite studio applause followed, and the introductory theme music struggled to be heard under it.

Again out of camera shot, a hand held up as if stopping traffic, ordered the applause to cease. It did: instantly.

“And now!” said the director’s voice in Sulina’s ear.

“We have all seen them on the high streets and bye-streets of our cities towns and villages…” Sulina began ….. “They call themselves the Sisters of Sisters. I call them a fraud. They officially call themselves: ‘the Order of the Wholly Virgin’ not ‘holy’ as in ‘holy cow’ note you; though ‘cow’ might be appropriate for other reasons – And yes they really do spell it ‘wholly’ with a ‘w’. and an ‘h’. But I say they are wholly a sham as well as wholly a fraud…… Today, we take the lid off ‘the Sisters of Sisters’…..”

Sulina was just warming to a roasting on her subject…. Polite applause caused her to pause, till it settled to silence.

“….I call them frauds; but I cannot call them cowardly, because they have been brave enough to send one of their number to face me here in the studio this morning. So let’s give a polite ‘National 5’ greeting for ‘Sister Harmony’!….”

Woops cheers and applause came enthusiastically from an audience dreaming of being ‘on TV, with all its supposed glamour, themselves, and worshipping in its church meanwhile.

At this, a little look of concern flashed across Sulina’s lovely face. She had intended her introduction to turn the audience against her guest. The possibility that, if she did not choose her follow-up words carefully, she was at risk of being the St Joan in a human barbecue, had just flashed over her highly intelligent mind.

The creature that walked in from the wings, heading for the interviewee’s chair, looked like a babushka doll. It had the shape of a ten-pin from a bowling alley.

‘She’, if ‘she’ it was - it was hard to tell - wore the vestments of the Sisters of Sisters. They were of white rubber. The head garment was a completely enveloping hood, which consequently masked the face and hair totally. The ends of this mask disappeared within the neck of the ‘dress’.

The ‘dress’ had been draped over the mask, and its circular neckline clearly held the mask on the face and, presumably made a double-layer of rubber cover on the wearer’s shoulders.

In detail, the dress had no detail. It was formed like a drab bell. It fell from the neck to the ground all around the wearer, and had no visible joint, such as might have been provided for buttons or zip. There was in fact no other way in. The dress had a central hole for the head. It was obviously just pulled over the head till its central hole ringed the neck. There was not even a belt to give this dress womanly shape.

The size of the hands gave away that the wearer was a girl. They were small and pretty. At least, one could guess the hands were pretty. The all-enveloping dress had long sleeves, wider at the wrist, like those of a magician’s cape. But there was no chance of the hands’ escape, as the wearer’s arms were clad in white rubber gloves that must, to best guess, have run up to her armpits within the dress.

The front of the mask over the face had four holes. Each of these was exactly circular and less than an inch across. There was one for each eye, one for the nostrils, and one for the mouth. But each and all of them were covered over by multi-layers of gauze, so the wearer could see out, speak out, and breath in and out, but the viewer was totally denied a look in. Either side were like holes with gauze covers for the ears to hear.

As Sister Harmony walked her five-foot-three to the vacant chair for the interview, it looked, for all the world, as if she were a swan on water: for there was no sign of feet let alone legs.

She sat decorously slowly, putting her lower legs at a slope, as if she were riding the chair sidesaddle, and then clasped her hands, thumb-within-thumb, on her lap. The consequent slight raising of her dress’ hem, revealed only that she wore, what must be white rubber boots, flat with no heels.

Sulina had already decided her strategy. She wanted to get to her theme that all this dressing up was hooey, and that the women under such garments were just like you and I; but more crooked. She needed an armour-piercing salvo. She decided on light humour, rather than acidic derision.

“Sister Harmony, good morning and welcome”

“Good morning to you Sulina!” a sweet young voice with a touching hint of giggle responded, a little masked by the mask Sister Harmony wore.

“Bet you’re wearing rubber knickers under that lot: right?” Sulina queried with a look to camera that said: ‘there, I’ve put the wicked question you were thinking of yourselves back home, but would never dare ask’.

“Ah, but wouldn’t that be telling!” Sister Harmony answered, in a lovely Irish accent, with laughing joyfulness in every word. The salvo had glanced off the armour, even before the studio audience laughed and applauded the charming nun.

“How do you manage to eat in that garb, for goodness sake?” Sulina tried, with a lighter tone, less suggestive of taking sides against the nun, more an attempt at ridicule by stealth: a first step that way at least.

“But this is just our outside robes: the familiar and comforting face we show to the loving world, Sulina. Sure, it would be a challenge to eat in this little lot wouldn’t it now?” Sister Harmony giggled, “But if you were after drinking, you’d find that god had made straws in her wisdom”, the lovely voice of the sweet nun soothed.

“And back at the mission, we gets a good healthy tuck-in, with fruits and vegetables grown in our own gardens: ‘the gardens of Eden’ as our Abbess, Sister Mercy herself, has been known to call them.”

“But don’t you go letting on now that I overheard her, or poor Sister Harmony here will be in for a telling off about the size of her ears!” the charming voice all but sang with happiness.

The audience laughed and applause rippled.

This wasn’t working. The nun had the audience. If Sulina wasn’t careful, she’d be in for a metaphorical lynching by the minor multitude out just beyond the footlights.

She tried the light touch again.

“You can cross you legs if you want to”, was her next try, whilst using her own supreme dream strong long curvaceous exemplars of the finest of female lower limbs to demonstrate.

“Sure, but we’re not aloud” Sister Harmony answered, with a completely disarming sincerity that blew Sulina off track, “But don’t let it stop you!” the lovely nun joked, and the audience applauded: they had fallen in love with her.

That tack was not going to work. Time was running out. Sulina now bid herself: ‘Load the torpedoes and fire’.

“Sister Harmony, have they sent you here today to explain the moneys that have gone astray: the well document disappearance of charitable donations from the hard-working well-meaning public, and the less well-documented and therefore alleged but as yet unproven reappearance of those same dollars in a Swiss bank account?” Sulina barked, her lovely eyes shark, her perfect teeth threatening razors behind her soft moist lips.

“They have indeed”, came Sister Harmony’s surprise answer. Sulina had no answer to that answer. As sailing ships went, her sails were sagging in the doldrums: there was no wind in her spinnaker anymore.

“The world renowned auditors, Arnett and Yang, have agreed to inspect and audit our accounts. And, praise be, for free at that. The accusations are very grave and hurtful. We wanted the best. We’ve got the best, and they have got a completely free hand… Goodness, I do hope that wasn’t advertising Sulina…. Sure they’ll be wanting me to sell cola next if it was!” Sister Harmony laughed with love in every sweet note, as the audience cheered her on, and applauded her rather weak joke.

Sulina was becoming discomforted. She began to see flames nibbling away at the thus curling edges of the contract she had hoped to get for her own show. She had to find a bale out and use what she baled to save her contract too.

She was also becoming discomforted in another way. What was it about the contrast of her own freedom to display her manifest manifold charms in a micro-dress; and the claustrophobic imprisoning cling of the nun’s vestments, that was causing such a disturbance in Sulina’s tiny silk panties?

Sulina’s crossed legs tightened. An urge to squeeze her minx flexed the pronouncedly curved calves, and momentarily displayed the sweet muscles in the forefront of her long strong thighs: calf curvature and thigh muscles sculpted and cultivated by her ballet training.

“Your mission: the mission of the Sisters of Sisters is, as we are always given to understand, the saving of what our Victorian mothers would have called ‘fallen women’”, Sulina began this time, using a tone of voice inferring superior education and consequent condescension. It was yet another mistake. Without being in the least rude, Sister Harmony leaped in:

“Sure, a little corrective there Sulina: ‘tis the poor girls reduced to prostitution that we Sisters of Sisters are here for, for to help them find a life outside the gutter to which misfortune has confined them. No heart could not break to see those poor girls, many of them also victims of the drug-taking culture rife throughout society, but not within a poor girl’s affording, unless she sell her own god-given body to other women seven nights a week three-sixty-five days a year……”

…. The audience was spell bound. They were eating out of Sister Harmony’s gloved hand. A dozen pins could have dropped, they were so quiet and so wrapped by the lovely voice with the charming champagne bubble intonation. Sulina tried to hide her defeat behind the ‘go on I’m listening’ nods of her gorgeous blonde curls.

“……And believe me, Sulina, I know how wonderful the Sisters of Sisters are, for I was once one of those poor girls: one of those ‘fallen women’ as you so rightly describe them….”.

As Sister Harmony stopped her intensely sincere summation of the role of her mission, there was, for a long moment, absolute silence. And then the studio audience broke into sustained applause, accompanied by some out-of-place woops and whistles, as, to a girl, they stood to applaud the sweet nun.

The cameras now turned from Sulina, to show the audience reaction. The depth of the sincerity that reaction demonstrated, showed, in that not one woman or girl there looked at the monitors to see if their faces were being broadcast.

Sulina knew she had lost. She had to wind this up. She must make the best of a bad job. It was time for the soft soap once more.

“Sister Harmony, you have just wowed our studio audience, and, if they are anything like me, the millions of girls and women watching at home will, too, have a tear in their eye. Thank you!”

The applause that came next, was the punctilious punctuation for the thanks Sulina had expressed.

“Sister Harmony, it has been just such a wonderful experience to have you on ‘Taking the Lid Off’, and I would like personally, to contribute my fee for this programme for your cause”.

The audience did not even seem to hear, let alone cheer this, as Sulina intended they should. It was a cynical manoeuvre she was now regretting. She covered quickly, several thousand dollars the lighter though she instantly was. To wind the show up, she returned to the light touch:

“How can you bear to be dressed, draped so anonymously head to toe like that? Doesn’t the girl in you long to lounge beach in a bikini?” Sulina tried.

“Would you believe me if I told you that to take the veil and wear the rubber is the, but the most liberating experience it is possible for any girl to ever encounter, this side of heaven itself!” Sister Harmony answered, in an intense whisper conveying such sincerity, that the audience would have signed-up for the nunnery there and then, if she had asked them.

“If you don’t believe me, you should try it yourself!” Sister Harmony finished, with sweet golden giggles galore as she touched Sulina gently on her hand, with her gloved fingers, to convey that she, Sulina, was not being laughed at.

Sulina smiled, without her eyes joining in. She had to make the best of this bad job.

But then ‘Pulitzer Prize’ and ‘Nobel for literature’ flashed across her mind. It would be a hell of a subject to get the inside out on. She hadn’t been planning a sabbatical, but…. Well, there might be an option here for a report or factually based novel. There were a few seconds left…..

“Sure. Could I get a short-term contract?” she half-joked in response.

“Join the novitiate. Wear the red. After a year you have the free choice. Convert to the white like little me, or go back into the outside world with our continued blessing!” Sister Harmony answered.

“You’ve got me won over”, Sulina found herself saying, for the sake of the audience reaction, the viewing figures, and her continued desire for a contract; and to her own almost complete surprise.

“Lady’s: this was Sister Harmony right here on ‘Taking the Lid Off’”, Sulina announced as the cameras now panned back, and the audience read and obeyed the order on the held-up placard reading: ‘long strong applause’.

As the studio lights dimmed and the fade-out credits rolled up the home TV screens, too quickly to be read, the two people on stage, the beautiful interviewer and the white-rubber robed nun, were clearly still talking.

And lip-readers would not be able to see Sister Harmony say: “If you meant that Sulina, Abbess Mercy’s door is always open, and we will welcome you with the widest of open loving arms my sweet sister.”

But they would have seen, Sulina Toledo answer: “I need to get my head together on that one Sister Harmony, but I really feel as if I heard a call just now. And, whatever I decide, the blessing is on you for bringing me to the choice”.

Two hours later: “Forgive me Revered Mother, for I have sinned”, a sweet Irish voice confessed in the cubicle reserved for that assignment and named from it: the nunnery’s confessional.

“Sweet Sister Harmony! I cannot believe for one moment that you have just robbed the Bank of Senabre!”, a kindly ‘voice of reason’ responded from the neighbouring box.

There was a moment’s silence.

“Tell me my child. What worries you so?” the same ‘voice of reason’ enquired.

“I did my duty at the television studio today Revered Mother. And I found I could not take my eyes off the interviewer’s; off Sulina Toledo’s legs. Even now, as I think of her, it excites me in an unforgivable way Revered Mother”, Sister Harmony whispered with a hint of tears breaking.

“Dear dear. You poor child”, the Abbess answered in contemplation.

“What should I do Revered Mother? I keep seeing her whenever I close my eyes. It makes me want to be very naughty with myself, and I fear I may have a wicked dream.”

“The cure for dreaming is to stay awake all night Sister Harmony”, the Abbess observed.

“Must it be that?” Sister Harmony asked, with an edge of resignation accompanied by anxiety in her voice.

“It is within my powers to order you, sweet daughter”, the Revered Mother observed, gently.

“I will obey without order”, Revered Mother.

“Then your forgiveness will be all the greater and stronger for that my child”, the Abbess concluded quietly.

Post midnight in the nun’s dormitory, chains chinked, beds creaked, and a girl quietly sobbed.

Another girl waking in a wet dream, cried out for her god to save her, but audibly came nonetheless. Her subsequent whispered prayers for forgiveness hissed sibilant across the noisy silence of a steamy African night.

A television camera touring the sleeping quarters, as if in a secretly filmed documentary, would first of all have set scene with the humid African night, and the full moon’s wan face. The accompanying microphones would meanwhile capture the cacophony of the nocturnal wildlife.

Moving in, indeed apparently flying through one of all the nunnery’s windows left open for ventilation, it would have panned or scanned over the rigid rows of individual beds. On each bed it would show an individual girl naked lying atop.

Focus on any one girl would show the wooden block she had for her pillow, and her wrists and ankles held out in an ‘X’. She is shackled to the corners of her bed, lying on her back. Her only covering is the mosquito net. The net is for covering the bed. It covers the girl coincidentally.

All the girls are lying on their backs. All the beds are under mosquito net tents.

Several beds are completely empty. One bed, though made up for sleeping, with wooden pillow and sacking mattress, is empty.

Now the imaginary camera in the fictitious documentary looks for the source of the quiet sobbing: the girl missing: the cause of the one empty bed with a pillow readied.

It sees an open window. Nothing unusual there. It is a hot night and all the windows are open, as has already been established. But there is a light at this window and it is not that of the moon alone.

A shadowy figure stands obediently there. She wears her nun’s cowl covering her head, but is otherwise in her underwear. In essence, she has removed the rubber ‘bell’ that makes up her dress. Even so, she is still clad head to toe in rubber vestments.

She is clad head to toe but for two all too beautiful parts of her anatomy. Her vest is purposely designed to let her bare breasts poke through. The light the camera has seen, the light adding to moonglow, comprises two lights in fact.

The two soft spotlights are beamed on soft breasts. The camera finally moves close in. It has discovered whose sobs of distress are being heard. The sobs of distress other than those from the girl who has just had a wet-dream in her bed that is.

It moves in on the standing girl. She has her hands clasped behind her back. Her feet are slightly apart. She is there to be punished for having lascivious thoughts about the lovely reporter Sulina Toledo’s elegant legs. We can see, in the camera’s eye we can see, the girl who owns the lovely bare breasts.

We wonder why she sobs so. Is to be made to stand all night so great a punishment? Then we see her nipples and how hugely distended and erect they are.

Now we realise she is sobbing in the greater part, not because she cannot take her punishment like a girl, but because her nipples have become heavily engorged by their being engaged in the process that has caused her to spurt in her rubber knickers. Something has made her cum.

Has she been dreaming on her feet? Sleeping whilst standing. Has he been seeing Sulina Toledo’s inspirationally erotic legs before her minds eye? All that strength in such smooth curves: the caressing cling of those fabulously lucky stockings: the hint of stocking top at the hem of Sulina’s dress: the hem atop those powerful perfectly smooth thighs?

Yes and yes. Yes and also. The ‘also’ that has made the girl cum we now see. The girl’s bare breasts are a sea awash with crawling insects. She bears the horror of their repeated and constant bites.

She sobs as they suck blood from her bare breasts and nipples.

She is voluntarily saving her companions from these insects.

These insects are her punishment for admiring Sulina Toledo’s beautiful legs.

Sister Harmony’s bare breasts and nipples are being, all but eaten alive, by hundreds upon thousands of mosquitoes.

Sulina Toledo – Part TWO
Next day the sensuously scented Sulina Toledo swayed her just-below-knee-length black-tweed-pencil-skirt-clung buttocks and thighs, into the offices of ‘The Ntobi Courier’.

Her lovely bosom was testing out a cool cotton cerise shirt for its tensile strength. The shirt’s very life was being saved by the retaining strength of the same cantilevered bra that was torpedoing-out Sulina’s heavy breasts. The sleeves of her shirt were short. It could thus be seen that her lovely arms were tanned, with their uppers sweetly sculpted. She had used gym weights judiciously, and deliciously effectively.

The contrasting weight of materials, the wintry below waist and summer style top-out was a style choice. It was current fashion. So was the scarlet pillbox hat, with the black net drawn down from it casting shade on her hauntingly attractive face.

From the skirt and hat at least, one could almost see her in a late 1940s movie. Indeed, she was surely only missing the yappy toy poodle under her arm. The long strong legs too were in black and white. The seams of her black stockings were on tanned white legs. The ‘clumpy’ red leather high heels were old fashioned looking also, to say that they were brand new too.

Sulina’s torrent of tormenting wavy blonde curls tumbled over each other as they outraced each other to roll down to just below her saucy buttocks.

“Good morning to you Miss Sulina! My oh my, but do you look a million-dollars?!” the cheeky cheerful desk clerk greeted, with her cherubic smile.

“Why: I thenk you Missy Jane there”, Sulina gently teased, in a bad cod Southern States drawl, prompted by the clerk’s insistent use of Sulina’s given name as if it were her surname.

“Any messages Abubaka?” she then smiled, with the genuine sweetness that was the real Sulina.

“Just the one Miss Sulina. Old Firenza herself said to be sure to go right up and straight in, next time you dropped by. She’ll have finished the editor’s conference by now. Hope you haven’t been a naughty girl. Last I saw our dearly beloved editor, she was in one foul mood!”

“You mean you can tell when she’s not?!” Sulina quipped over her slender shoulder as her erotically clicking stilettos headed her graceful body to the elevator.

“Good to see you Sulina. You’re looking just great!” Firenza Peoria greeted, as she chewed on a huge Havana.

“Cheesus! Look at me will you. I’m scrabbling round for a frigging lighter, and I gave up smoking new year gone for chrisakes!” she then added, after she had recovered herself from her unthinking reflex, and sat square facing out over her cluttered oak desk.

She now threw the cigar from her mouth onto the desk. It rolled off the piled papers and dropped on the floor. She moved to pick it up, could not see where it had gone, and waved a hand as if to say ‘oh fuck it then’, before she again drew her attention to the lovely Sulina’, leaving the cigar to its fate.

Firenza Peoria, a thirty-year old afro-American of considerable loveliness, had been expressly appointed by the Courier’s owner, Kerrerer Prachet. Peoria had previously edited the ‘Illigoix Illustrator’ back home in the USA. It had folded under her editorship.

Kerrerer did not usually give second chances, but she knew Peoria’s mother. They had once been lovers. So she gave Peoria the no chance choice of taking on the ‘Ntobi Courier’ way out in darkest Africa.

It was intended as a punishment. Peoria had answered the slight though. She had added twenty-percent to circulation inside nine months. Advertising revenues had also doubled. The trick had been, and still was, the pretty girls now frolicking near-naked on page five each day.

“Whatdya want Sulina, I got me a plate full, and some, just now? You gonna give my photographer some intelligent ass on page five, you bewitching witch, or you gonna pain my butt some more? Which is it?”

“I understood you wanted to see me Firenza”, Sulina answered, cool as her cotton summer top.

“Oh cripes yes. Your column Sulina: ‘Yesterday’s Tomorrow’? It’s out”, Peoria announced, with no attempt to soften the blow.

“Sorry kid. That was a bit blunt I know. I got ‘gossip’ lined up for those inches. You can do gossip ifin you wanna. It’s crud, but I gotta keep up circulation. You’ll find another job before I relocate that friggin cigar just now. You’re shite-bright kiddo. Your column is your own copyright. Take ‘Yesterday’s Tomorrow’ to the intelligent papers. Try the weeklies. Honey, I hope it makes out for you some….” Peoria concluded as she rose from her chair and offered Sulina a handshake.

As she left the editor’s office, Sulina turned, and saw that Firenza Peoria had found her cigar and was lighting it.

And, as she walked to the elevator, she heard a growl of: “Oh for chrisakes, what the fuck am I doing?”

“A whole year?”, Cindana repeated, stunned.

Sulina’s long-time live-in lover, a stunning mulatto native Senabran, with wonderful dark brown eyes, a profuse confusion of brunette curls, and negress’ lips that said prayers even when they were closed, was used to her companion wondering off on assignments, but never before for such a lengthy time.

“How the hell am I going to manage without you?” Cindana expressed in her express distress.

“You’ll manage without me very well. You always did. You always will. I love you. You do know that don’t you? I do love you Cindana, never ever doubt it”, Sulina confirmed with genuine soul.

Cindana knew that to be true, but it did not stop the lovely twenty-year-old from testing its limits: “You love me, and yet you can disappear for a year, just like that. What kind of love is that?” she snapped.

Then she realised the hurtfulness of what she had just said, and ran to Sulina, wrapped her arms around the older girl, and sobbed: “I’m sorry Sulina. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so sorry”.

The gentle kisses that followed spoke more of true love than any mere words could convey.

Cindana was comforted. Her tears had almost dried, but she wiped away a last vestige with a lovely forefinger crooked.

“A complete ban on communication will be the hardest bit”, she then croaked, before clearing her throat, to make her voice sound braver when she next spoke.

“I think its best to assume that. But, if I’m allowed visitors, you’ll be the first to know, that’s for absolutely sure, you darling girl”, Sulina reassured.

“They can’t make you stay in can they? Oh god I just couldn’t bear losing you forever. I’d die Sulina: truly I would!” Cindana answered, with her anxieties rising to the fore once more.

“You’re not going to die, you silly. You’re going to start on our book. Your part will tell what it was like to lose a lover to the Sisters of Sisters. Mine will have to wait till I’ve done the year as a novice, and found out what its all about from the inside. What we both have to keep under wraps, is that this is all a put up job. You mustn’t let on that I went in for what I could get out of it. That’s all”, Sulina repeated, she being anxious about word getting out, and her scoop being scuppered.

The interview had already lasted an hour and a half. The Abbess, Sister Mercy, seemed to be singularly unconvinced by Sulina’s plea of a ‘road to Damascus’ style insight during an on-screen TV interview with Sister Harmony.

She had not asked one telling question; she’d fired off over two-dozen.

Sulina was assuming that she was about to go back to Cindana and apologise that the whole escapade had fallen through, when Sister Mercy suddenly announced:

“Sulina, I hope you’re as sincere as you are beautiful, for you need to be sincere to enter god’s service, and you must know that your beauty will be buried alive forever: forever if you convert after the initiate year that is. The price a truly lovely girl like you pays above all, is to surrender her beauty to the veil and robes.”

“That means celibacy my child. Complete and absolute abstinence: a renewal of your virginity. You will say goodbye to physical and mental love in the form that manifests itself in sexual intercourse, and above all, sexual monocourse. Masturbation will be your strongest temptation. It is as forbidden as it is abhorrent. Have no doubts whatsoever, masturbation is not and will not be tolerated!” This was the first time that Sulina had heard the sweet Abbess raise her voice.

“I have no doubt that you are a passionate girl, with all the physical and emotional needs of a young woman with god’s full equipage for sexual love. It is this that you will find the hardest to bear. It is this that you will leave behind in the nunnery”.

Sulina looked at the masked face that was talking to her: the completely anonymously rubber-clad clone before which she sat, and real doubts began to tumble in, falling over each other in their rush to dismantle her previous certainty and determination.

“As you’ll see, I have the honour of wearing the black. Sister Harmony, whom I feel certain will be my successor, wears the white. I have the honour of the black as the Abbess. Sister Harmony wears the white as a fully-fledged nun.”

“You, my dear daughter, may wear the red. The red marks you as a novitiate, ‘an apprentice nun’. Since you will be an apprentice for twelve-months, it is for me to appoint a supervisor. Sister Harmony will take on that role. I will tell her to do so right away”

“Welcome to the sisteren Sulina”, the Abbess confirmed as she held out her left hand, gloved in black rubber, for Sulina to kiss the huge ruby on the ring finger.

“Thank you Abbess”, Sulina whispered after she had kissed the priceless ruby with lips more beautiful than its mere cold carbon could ever be.

“Just call me ‘Sister Mercy’ the Abbess laughed.

Then she paused: “But what are we to call you Sulina? ‘Sulina Toledo’ came into our loving home, but ‘Sulina Toledo’ cannot dwell here. I sense that we are going to have a challenge with you my sweet child. I also sense that your true self will win through, and that Sister Harmony may not be the only contender for my place when I finally shuffle off the coil.”

“I feel that you are testing us. We must therefore test you in turn Sulina. I am going to give you a name that it will be your challenge to live up to, and to grow into. At one and the same time, it will tell you what I know you are presently short from, and also therefore what you need to aspire to and attain. From now onwards, and forever I pray, you my sweet daughter, will be known as ‘Sister Truelove’”.

“Did you see what she had in that suitcase? Leg wax and a razor! I ask you, leg wax and a razor!”

The two white-rubber clad figures caught midst chitchat, curtsied dutifully surprised by the Abbess’ approach.

“Be about your business please Sister Charity and Sister Hope. And think yourselves lucky if it isn’t the nipple-clamps for the pair of you tonight”, the Abbess gently scolded.

Turning to Sulina, she then confirmed: “We will keep your personal belongings for your novitiate year, Sister Truelove, they will then be disposed off as useless trappings. You will not need anything you brought with you. That you presently wear, will be added to the temporary store of your belongings”.

“Ah! At last! Sister Harmony. I might have known you’d be hiding!” the breathless Abbess joked, as she and Sulina had reached the top of the flight of steps that led to the nun’s dormitory.

“This is Sister Truelove. She needs to experience the veil and the robe without further delay. Her present clothes can join her suitcase in the storeroom behind my office. Once you’ve dressed her, or, rather, shown her how to dress herself in the required manner, show her around and introduce her please, Sister. I’m relying upon you to look after her. She is your novice, Sister Harmony. I know I can rely upon you, even if I can no longer on these poor lungs of mine…”

Sister Harmony curtsied and kissed the Abbess’ ruby ring. The new Sister Truelove, Sulina, felt obliged to do the same, realising she had gone further than expectation only when it was too late.

“I’m so sorry Sister Mercy!” Sulina gasped, her lovely lips moist cherry love beacons as she spoke.

“Worry not my darling daughter. It’s almost entirely forgivable. It will count as one contra-point for the week. Sister Harmony will explain. They help with your training: contra-points”, the Abbess half-explained to the puzzled Sulina.

Inside her white garb, Sister Harmony prayed against the temptations of the flesh, as she watched Sulina undress.

Sulina was making no attempt to be seductive. With her stockinged feet on the worn out old cold slabs of the dormitory floor, she could not feel any less Mata Hari than she did.

But Sulina was a natural siren. The startling contrast of her warm brown eyes with her sun-ripened-corn-gold hair; the intricacies of her endless curls capering a glowing robe down her femininely-arched back, her slim neck and tiny pretty ears, as her dainty hands removed her white plastic-pearl earrings: Sister Harmony increased her prayers.

Now the cerise shirt was being unbuttoned, and oh god how lovely the breasts as they gently heaved with Sulina’s steady breathing, and how slender the arms, and how fine the golden down on the forearms, and how sweetly delineated the biceps and triceps, though still so softly feminine: Sister Harmony doubled her prayers.

Sulina unhooked her bra and took its shoulder straps down her arms, and poor Sister Harmony’s eyes filled with tears as she saw the full majesty of the gentle breasts with the two-inch diameter areola centred by the half-inch high Mount Fuji nipples themselves, as the bosom swung into its natural freedom, and hung soft-firmly down, sweetly flattened on Sulina’s chest by the gentle reminder of gravity.

‘Oh please god, don’t let her be wearing suspenders: if you love me god, don’t let her be wearing suspenders’ Sister Harmony begged in her head.

It was all that Sister Harmony could do not to gasp aloud, as Sulina ran the zip at the side top of her skirt down, unhooked its waistband, and let it drop.

Sulina did not need to undo the last few buttons that had held her shirt hitherto dangling within and above her skirt’s hem, for Sister Harmony to see that she did indeed wear translucent white-lace-panelled suspenders, the belt part of which was on her soft gently curved belly, and that what must surely be god’s finest ever pair of legs were being shaped, unavoidably supremely erotically, as Sulina stepped out of her skirt and dropped her shirt aside.

The panties came next, still warm with Sulina’s body: still hot from her lovemouth: still strong with her natural full-female aroma. They were so tiny once off, that Sister Harmony thought it a miracle they had ever covered anything.

The firm tightly inturned lips smiled vertically between her dream thighs, as Sulina continued to undress. She was completely shaven. She was as nude and bare between her legs as a holy innocent: Sister Harmony’s prayers became almost manic.

Sister Harmony knew she was creaming as she watched the golden curls of Sulina’s glorious hair swing round to cover her left eye, when she bent to unclasp her left suspender. Her leg was so supremely smooth, that the let-loose stocking slid slowly, but immediately, to Sulina’s ankle.

All this while, Sulina was unaware she was being sexually ogled. She could see nothing of Sister Harmony’s eyes under the hood, behind the gauze that prevented the gaze in, but not the ravishing of her lovely dancer’s legs by the deeply frustrated Sister Harmony.

You will find it easiest to put the knickers on first, Sister Harmony pointed, causing the beautiful Sulina to turn to the bed, where her new garments were neatly laid out.

Sulina picked up the red-rubber knickers, and was shocked to find that they were lined with rough sacking. She looked up at the characterless mask of the white-robed companion.

“All we wear, Sister Truelove, is lined for sacrifice. The hairshirt has its descendents”, Sister Harmony explained obliquely, to try and ease the trouble lines she longed to see off the lovely, soon to be hidden, face.

How could she make this girl smile? For the world to be lit for one last time by the glorious light that such a face was beacon too, was more that the world deserved; but for the flame to be snuffed without one last glow of its astonishing beauty, seemed so cruel to Sister Harmony.

Sulina drew the rubber knickers up her legs and giggled, putting her pretty fingers to her moist cherry lips, and her face glowed golden girl and her eyes shone lovelight, and the stars hid for shame they could not compete with such glory; but the universe found reason for its continued existence, and poor Sister Harmony had tears trickling from her eyes for the sacrifice so shortly to come.

Sulina giggled because she recalled school-issue knickers, and these, though in red rubber, were they. The waistband was tight just above her hipbones. The legs, some three-inches down her thighs, took firm grip, compressing the tops of her thighs starting from just below the cheeks of her firm ample bottom, fit to all but cut off her circulation. If these were not passion killers then the dictionary needed immediate review!

It was only when she pulled the knickers right high up, that Sulina discovered that their crotch was lined, not with the irritating itching rough jute sacking, but with the opened out skin of a hedgehog, and that its spines were biting into her tender sensitive love-lips, and invading her pink where and when her lips parted. To say that this was decidedly unpleasant, would be to understate the literally painfully obvious.

“The vest next”, Sister Harmony gently prompted, with a catch of sadness in her voice that caused Sulina to pause and look briefly at the hooded figure.

The vest – red rubber of course – had short sleeves. It was akin to a long-bodied tee-shirt. Sulina slid it on, only to find that it too was lined with the jute sacking material that made her soft smooth complexion itch furiously.

That her breasts poked out of two holes at the front of the vest surprised Sulina. Then she thought to herself that they were hardly likely to poke out of holes at the back, and giggled nervously at the silly thought, despite the pain from her crutch still.

The vest covered her delicately boned shoulders. Its hem draped half down the rubber knickers. A quick glance showed Sulina that the side edges of the vest’s hem had hanging suspender clasps. And that there were buckle arrangements on the vests sleeves: these sleeves half-down her upper arms.

“One more sign of amusement, Sister Truelove, and I am afraid you will score another contra-point”, Sister Harmony informed, with quiet sadness. “You already have two.”

Sulina looked at Sister Harmony with astonishment. Then she lowered her lovely calf’s eyes, still mystified, but not daring to ask what these ‘contra-points’ signified.

“The stockings”, Sister Harmony prompted.

At least the rubber stockings did not contain the irritant that was making Sulina itch inside her knickers and her vest, as if a contest were being held to see which could aggravate the more.

The rubber stockings were clasped to the suspenders on the vests hem. They were quite flattering to the legs. Sulina’s legs therefore made them devastatingly shapely, and thus devastatingly sexy.

The stockings were thicker at the heel than the sole. Sulina had already deduced that they combined the only shoes she would wear as a nun.

“You had best put on the gag before the gloves, you will find it so much easier”, Sister Harmony suggested, matter-of-factly.

“Gag?” Sulina asked.

“You are not allowed to question. That is another contra-point. However, I would have told you anyway, that a novitiate wears a gag to stop her mouth for the first month. It is to instil discipline. Don’t worry sweet sister. We will not let you starve, as long as you do not talk when we are dining”, Sister Harmony assured.

The gag worked like a branks. Sulina examined it, working out how it fitted. She then put it over her head and around her neck, before slipping its straps together with the buckle in the very end eye.

Now lifting her lovely arms so that her pectorals raised and swung her divinely heavy breasts beckoningly seductively, she buckled the gag under her golden curls at the back of her neck, thus filling her mouth with a four-inch-long rubber penis, with a narrow central hole through it, so she could breath and drink via a straw.

The armpit long gloves, like the stockings, hugged the shape of the limb, and thus took the sweet shape of Sulina’s very pretty arms and hands. To buckle these to the short sleeves of the rubber tee-shirt, took Sulina a while. It was clearly something she was going to have to practice; her gloved hands were so clumsy.

It was in Sister Harmony’s gentle mind to whisper: ‘say goodbye to the world sweet beautiful angel’ as Sulina picked up the hood. That the same thought had crossed Sulina’s own mind, only marginally less emotionally, showed in her momentary hesitation.

Then she lifted the red rubber hood and slid it over her golden curls, twisting it till she could see out of the two gauze windows for her eyes, and then a margin more for her mouth and nose.

Thank goodness this hood, unlike the knickers and vest, contained no irritant sacking lining. Its lower edges rested on Sulina’s shoulders. The hood would hug her head when the bell dress was in place.

Sister Harmony watched to ensure Sulina put the dress over her head the right way around. As Sulina’s gloved arms slipped up its sleeves, the central round hole rested on the top of her hood for the while. Now she pulled the hole down over her face, and let the dress’ hem fall to the ground all around her.

Tears came to her eyes at the finality of this. Sulina had said goodbye to the world. Sister Truelove had arrived in the nunnery.

It came as no real surprise to Sulina to find that the inside of the dress was lined at chest height with two more hedgehog skins, and that her nipples were rubbing on the sharp spines even as she merely breathed. The holes in the vest thus showed their purpose.

It crossed her mind to ask if such torture was the preserve of the initiate nuns: the nuns in the red rubber she wore, but her gag would have prevented her asking even if she had dared.

To wear the rubber veil and vestment was not going to be the ‘lark’ Sulina had dismissed it as in her planning. It was going to be an experience of constant slow torture. Her sex was already sore, and her nipples were not far behind. She wanted to get this garb off and damned quick. She had already had enough of it.

“We dress thus nineteen hours a day”, Sister Harmony informed Sulina. “You will get used to its idiosyncrasies sweet Sister Truelove. The best answer is not to fight it. Let your body be taken to the higher sphere.”

“Our blessed clothing is designed to make us ‘other’. It is designed to take us away from the merely human and transport us nearer to heaven. That is why our suffering is focused on those parts for which we have now no further need where sex is concerned.”

“Our constant suffering finds its relief in holy thoughts. You must learn to pray constantly Sister Truelove, and you will find you are delivered from all earthly discomfort”, Sister Harmony enthused in her lovely Irish lilt, clearly believing all she said.

“Of the remaining hours of the twenty four, four are granted for sleep, the other one for a daily full body bathe, and for prayer. The one meal we are allowed, which comprises fresh bread, water, vegetables and fruit, when the fruit is in our orchards and hot houses, is also taken during the morning. We have had no cases of scurvy yet!”, She continued, adding an attempt at light heartedness.

Sulina’s sprits fell like a pre-storm barometer as she listened, and further still as she was shown the bleak beds with the rag-stuffed sacks that served as mattresses, the wooden block for a pillow, and the chains to fasten the sleeper in an ‘X’ on her back, so as to avoid any chance she might try to masturbate.

The individual tiled shower stalls in which there was a hole centrally in the floor for daily defecation, horrified her. “You will learn to discipline your bowels if you are wise”, Sister Harmony observed as she pointed this out.

“No makeup is allowed. You may comb your hair for five minutes and no more. Depilation is out of the question. Your body must return to its natural state. You will find your vestments the more comfortable for it”, Sister Harmony continued.

“During the first months, you will work inside the nunnery’s walls, learning the duties in the laundry, cleaning the shower latrines, and performing gardening and greenhouse duties, or the like. We multitask in the convent. We all work for each other Sister Truelove. No slacking is allowed. It is simply unacceptable”.

If Sulina had wanted to escape before, the unfolding of these horrors before her ears, if not all had yet been witnessed by her eyes, horrified her. The mind she had set on making mental notes for the novel or extended articles she planned, was now being cleared for planning her escape.

This had been a mistake. A wholly hideous mistake. Sulina’s heart was pumping fit to burst. Inside her terrible clinging claustrophobic hood and cloying clothes, she was on the verge of a panic attack.

Three hours had passed with the hot hell of the clinging rubber, and the slow drone of sweet Sister Harmony’s instructions on the history of the Sisters of Sisters, and how the robes had evolved, and the necessity for the robes and the hood-veil, along with the assumed name, to reduce the wearer to anonymity and make her a tool for god’s service, and not a mere girl among girls without god fully in the life heart and soul.

Three hours in which Sulina’s rising terror at her imprisonment within her rubber clothes, and then within a nunnery that in itself was surely worse than a prison, was being driven home with increasing horror, accompanied by the in-built causes for discomfort the clothes were lined with, and another discomfort causing Sulina to dance a little, in order to restrain a rising need.

The heavy breathing of the aging Abbess could now be heard as she entered to dormitory.

“There is a Miss Cindana Angelslove to see… well she used the old name, but she means Sister Truelove”, the Abbess informed.

“Welcome to the Sisters of Sisters my child”, the Abbess then confirmed as she stopped and looked, or at least directed her hooded head, to the now all red rubber clad initiate, Sulina.

“First days, even first hours in the vestments can be extremely traumatic and emotional my child” Sister Mercy continued.

“My advice to you would be to send me back with the message, I can assure you I will convey with all the gentleness at my command, that that sweet young girl, Miss Angelslove, must forget you, and that you do not want to see her ever again”, the Abbess advised.

But to Sulina, the news just given was so wonderful. Cindana was here. Cindana could explain. Cindana would take these dreadful robes off her, and set her free again….

“The choice is yours Sister Truelove. Just nod if you insist upon seeing Miss Angelslove; or shake your head if you accept my advised course”, the Abbess prompted.

Sulina tried not to make the nod enthusiastic in any degree.

“Be it on your own head then my sweet daughter”, the Abbess observed quietly.

As Sister Harmony led her into the audience room, and sat her down, the discovery that there would be a solid stone partition wall, and an iron grid between herself and Cindana, knocked Sulina metaphorically sideways.

Cindana’s pretty fingers clutched at the grid, trying, with all her pretty girls sweet mite of might, to pull the grille away, as she sobbed and repeated over and over, shaking her lovely brunette curls with her disbelieving head as she did so, staring in horror at the red rubber doll that was being made to stay seated in the neighbouring room:

“My god Sulina, what have they done to you? What have they done to you? Oh god, what have they done to you?”

“You must address the holy child as ‘Sister Truelove’ my daughter, or you must, I’m afraid, leave” the Abbess, who had just entered the room where Cindana sobbed inconsolably, insisted.

“I won’t! How can you do this to yourselves you damned witches?! And how can you do this to a sweet loving girl like my Sulina?!” Cindana screamed.

At a nod from the Abbess four nuns accompanying her, grabbed the lovely Cindana preparatory to ejecting her forcibly.

“Say something my love! Oh please god Sulina, I love you!! Tell me you love me still Sulina!! Oh please please tell me you love me!!!” Cindana begged as tears rolled down her lovely face.

Under her mask, Sulina fought her gag to try and respond. Sister Harmony held her in her chair to prevent her getting to the bars.

At Cindana’s final dreadful distressful cries, within her mask, tears coursed down Sulina’s face.

Tears from seeing the love of her life in such total misery for her.

And tears because Sulina’s muscles had lost the long fight, and she was slowly peeing into her rubber knickers: peeing and orgasming that is.

05-21-2007, 10:23 PM
Another interesting tale......thanks so much for sharing it....;)

05-21-2007, 11:25 PM
Thanks for the new stuff :)

05-22-2007, 03:27 AM
Thanx for sharing

05-22-2007, 12:02 PM
Great story ----many thanks for your time and effort :jo