King: Cocksure

Chapter XI

Totem

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex.  It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events.  It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them.  New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

 

I was never quite sure who told him or why but perhaps because of our refusal to go along with the Republican dirty tricks, I received a personal invitation from the president-elect  to attend the post-election festivities in Chicago.   Dez and her girls were more than pleased to accompany me.

“You know, I’ve been a Democrat for a long while,” Dez said while watching Barack Obama and his family on the stage along with thousands of other rabid supporters.  “This is the first I’ve ever  had the chance to attend a Democratic event like this.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.”

She had tears in her eyes and did thousands of other Obama supporters that night. Despite all of the economic turmoil in the land, it was a night when anything seemed possible.  The eight dark long years of night had suddenly lifted.  No, I didn’t get a personal audience with the president-elect that night. Politicians don’t like to be seen in the open in the presence of pornographers, but several Obama supporters came over to thank me for our generous donations and for …   Well, they couldn’t exactly say but  I suspected someone must have told them about the Obama video we refused to do and the  one we did in behalf of McCain.

“You know the likeness to Cindy McCain was amazing,” one top Obama staffer told me .  “I kept thinking that can’t be her with the dog, can it?”

I left him still wondering, maybe because I wasn’t sure myself.   After the video was released, the actress in the McCain video disappeared as did Loyola Marin and the whole cast of characters assembled around her.   The Elizabeth Martin incident and her husband’s suicide caused a stir in the press for a time, but now even that had subsided.

I was sure we had not heard the last of them, however.  My conversation with my mother about great grandpa Mortuse and his founding of the American wing of the family business convinced me we were just in the early skirmishes of what would soon become a hot war for world dominance.   Tonight, however, I could afford to dispense with my worry and enjoy the moment.

“This is just too wonderful,” Dez said.  “After all of the crap at the Republican convention in Minnesota with their tit-suspended women and sick, sick practices, this seems so hopeful and wholesome.”

She and the girls had flown in from Minnesota the night before to share this moment with me.  As if I could have stopped them.   Baby, still on her high-protein diet, was as lovely as ever and much more relaxed with anal sex.  She and the other girls had returned to school in the fall and Dez informed me some had boyfriends their own age.

“You really loosened them up,” Dez  told me.  “But I doubt they’ll ever forget their experiences with you.”

“Only, too happy to be of service,” I told her.

 

I went back to my hotel room that night alone.   The girls wanted to stay later and party so I left them at the park and walked the mile back to my luxury suite. Getting a cab was out of the question and it felt great to walk in the brisk Chicago night.  I had walked about eight blocks and was on a quiet, nearly empty street when I heard a voice behind me.

“I thought that was you Totem,” the female voice said.

Only one person in my past called me by that name and I couldn’t believe she was here in Chicago.  

“Sister Raphael?” I said.

“That’s what I used to be called,” said the grey haired woman stepping out of the shadows behind me.  “I followed you from the park.  I am happy you turned out to be an Obama supporter.”

“Sister,  I am so happy to see you,” I said, genuinely elated.  “What has it been?  Eighteen years?”

When I first met Sister Raphael in middle school, she was a young, pretty nun who taught at the Catholic school in town .  When my Mom and sisters had pimped me out to the Catholic girls school in town, Raphael was among the nuns who I really enjoyed having sex with.   The other nuns at the school were older and fatter, but Raphael was attractive and had a toned body under those dark habits she wore.  She actually enjoyed vaginal sex occasionally, too, and when the other nuns would whip the school girls’ ripe, red bottoms and instruct me to pound them anally using no lubricant, Raphael was at least nice and respectful about it. She nicked named me Totem, because she said, “You have one attached to you.”

I figure she must have just been barely out of her teens herself back in those days.  Now that I could see her pure,  handsome face, I could see she hadn’t changed much even though she must now in her mid-forties.

“I was too young back in those days to know what I wanted,” she told me later in my hotel room.  “All I knew was that the hypocrisy of the older nuns  and their wild sex practices with you and their students convinced me they didn’t have a path to heaven.  In fact, the only path to heaven I knew was when you stuck that beautiful totem of yours inside me.  That was positively heavenly.  After that, I knew I could not live a sexless life as the church supposedly wanted me to and weary of the hypocrisy, I eventually left the convent and the church.”

“You seem to have done all right for yourself, sister,” I said.

“Please, don’t call me that,” she smiled.  “I haven’t answered to that title for a long time.  Call me Marlane, my birth name.”

“Okay, Marlane,” I said.  “But you must have had some reason for seeking me out. “

“Well, when I saw you at the park tonight, I was determined to get your opinion on something. You see, I have followed your career path which you will be surprised to find somewhat parallels mine since I left the church.  And I thought to myself, who better to guide us in our new venture.”

“New venture?  What is that?”

“I can’t tell you,” the former sister Raphael said.  “I must show you.”

Two hours later because of the heavy downtown traffic remaining from the Obama victory party, we were at a church in a quiet suburban neighborhood near Chicago.   I had driven my rental through the celebrant mob until I got on the Interstate 55 headed south according to Marlane’s precise direction.  During the drive, Marlane informed me that she was, like me, in the sex business.  She became a prostitute after leaving the nunnery which seemed appropriate because in the early days of the church, that was among the main uses many convents served for weary travelers in Europe.  

“My sex drive knew no bounds,” she said.  “If I had no one who would pay me for sex, I would go to a bar and find a stranger to have sex with.  I think I was always looking for my lost Totem.  After awhile, I became convinced that sex was not just my passion. It also was my business.  I organized several  very successful escort services and made a lot of money.  When I drew new competition, I always found a specialty I and my girls could use to gain an edge. At one point, we offered the ripest, youngest girls in the region here in Chicago.  At one point, I had an escort service in New Orleans that specialized in girls who tongued mens’ asses.  The girls I hired had to demonstrate they had that talent before we’d send them out.”

Recently, Marlane explained, she and her girls had come up with a specialty that combined both of her past lives, one that seemed destined to be a can’t-miss hit.       

We stood in the sacristy of the church as she explained that she had invited several of her best escorts to meet us here.  Standing before me were 15 very sexy girls dressed in short Catholic school girl jumpers  and several other women dressed in nuns habits. 

“We call it, the Catholic bad boy experience,” Marlane explained.  “We open to the public next week but we thought we’d give you a chance to try it out first and tell us what you like and don’t like.”

She turned to the women she’d assembled on her command and introduce me as her friend, “Totem.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you Totem,” a wickedly cute brunette in a checkered jumper said.

She introduced herself as Patty Highsmith and looked not a day over 15.  She turned around, lifted her short skirt and showed me her butt.  She was wearing white cotton panties, knee white socks and oxford shoes.   Victoria Secrets and other modern high-fashion houses may have expanded the sexual catalog but it is difficult to improve on a sexual classic.

“I am kinda hoping Mr. Cocksure, er.. Totem… that you’ll test my anal cavity with that huge hunk of meat you own,” she said.

A tiny Puerto Rican girl stepped forward and introduce herself as Esmeralda Perez.

“My buns are not  so white as Patty’s,” she said. “But I’m sure you will find all my holes, tighter, wetter and warmer.”

“When I told the girls you were coming they were thrilled.” Marlane said.  “They wanted to come over and welcome you personally.  It’s an all-access, any-hole night.  Try them all out if you want. The girls will compete to accommodate you.  Let us know what you think when you are done.”

The girls all stepped up to me in unison.  I had no idea where Marlane was recruiting but she certainly had rounded up some super hot vixens.   Three girls stuck their tongues in my mouth.  Others undid my belt and  dropped my pants to the floor.  I felt soft, moist tongues probing my dick and testicles.  Others were licking my thighs and deep inside my ass. 

A girl I later learned was named Evelyn grabbed me by my balls and pulled me toward the altar at the front of the church. 

“Come on Totem,” she said, “ Want that super sausage of yours between the wafers of my white cheeks on the altar up there.”

Positioning herself on all fours on the altar, she hiked up the skirt of her religious costume (no easy feat) to reveal two round , white globes that seemed to glow in the flickering candlelight of the church.  Two other girls stepped on either to pull her ass cheeks further apart and invited me to take a position behind Evelyn.   The marble of the altar and the protruding tabernacle at its center made it a little uncomfortable, but soon I found myself slipping her the Eucharist in a place the church never intended.   She seemed just as grateful and boisterous as if touched by heaven itself, however.

“Oh my sweet, sweet, Lord,” she mumbled, her face pressed hard into the white marble altar.

Later, two girls in school girl outfits made me pretend to be the priest in the confessional and behind screens in the church confessional booth came in to “confess” all their terrible sins.

“Bless me, father for I have sinned,” one girl said. “My last confession was a month ago, but since then, I have sinned, many, many times.  For example, I pissed in the holy water font and let a boy watch while I did it. Then he came and fucked me and pissed on me while I was still sitting with my butt over the holy water font.”

“And which holy water font did you use, my dearest,” I asked in my best priestly voice.

“Why, father, the one near the front of the church, of course,” she whispered.

“Then go forth and sin no more until I get there,” I said. “I want to meet you there and re-enact the act you confessed to show you the wages of sin.”

“And my penance, father?”

“You’ll be saying many Our Fathers, Glory Bes and Hail Mary’s, dear,” I said.

The girl on the other side of the confessional booth had an unspeakable sin to confess.

“At choir practice, while I was singing the praises of the Lord, I let a boy stick his weenie in my mouth and ejaculate while my sweet, wet  tongue massaged his balls and slobbered all over his weenie,” she said.   “Then I gagged on his thingy and spit up on his thingy and on the floor and he made me lick it off of him and off the floor.”

“My dear, only a child of the Lord could so thoroughly devote herself to swallowing what the Lord gives in such abundance,” I intoned.

“But father, I had just eaten supper and it was so gross,” she said.  “I felt so humiliated and so impure.”

“That supper will be your last for awhile,” I said. “Now go forth to the choir loft and wait until I get there to instruct you properly on the technique for ingesting the cumming of the Lord.”

“Yes, father, thank you,” she sighed.

“No, let me assure you that it is I who will be thankful,” I cautioned.

Later that night Patty Highsmith carried a large crucifix around the church and made me “nail” her to it at each of the 14 stops along the Way of the Cross.   A mob of boisterous girls followed and cheered me on at each stop.

“Nail that bitches’ ass to the cross,” one girl cried.  “Stick that spear of yours  inside her to make her feel really alive.”

When Patty turned around so I could “nail” her anally, I said:

“I don’t recall anyone ever getting crucified with their face to the cross.”

“No, but I bet a lot of so-called Christians got spared because they let the Romans go Greek on their asses,” Patty cooed.

I was surprised by how creative Marlane and the girls had been in their planning.  The chandeliers from the ceiling lowered so they could be used as sex swings. It was fun to swing a girl high into the air and then try to catch her in some orifice on my dick when she swung back toward me.

 Every smaller crucifix in the church came to a vibrating phallus-shaped end at the bottom.    The choir loft was slanted so it was easy for a girl to stick her buns in the air and “receive” a heavenly gift in her derriere. The “crying” room had been redesigned so that customers could “paddle” their favorite girl’s backside with a yardstick or actual paddle, Catholic style.   Of course, the communion rail was perfect for Catholic-style sloppy blow jobs.

“Take this in memory of me,” I told four particularly sloppy schlong slurpers genuflecting in front me at the communion rail.

“Mumph,” said the cute red head nuzzling my balls.

“Double Mumph,” echoed Marlane, who’d stepped to the rail to assist.

Every pew in the church was cushioned and could be enclosed for privacy.  

“How many young Catholic lads in their youth always dreamed of pounding the girl of their dreams in a church pew when they were younger,” Marlane said when the evening’s activities were over.  “So what do you think, Totem? Can we be successful?”

Having tried every gimmick, device and situation the girls had come up with, I was spent.

“I guess every Catholic lad who wasn’t being buggered by his priest had such fantasies,” I said. “As you know, I got quite a bit church fantasy when I was younger and I wasn’t even raised Catholic.  But I think this is a great concept. A lot of non-Catholic boys also shared the same fantasy.”

“We have so many more plans,” Marlane said. “Bingo nights where a winning card gets you free tail and every ‘O 69’ is rewarded with real ‘Omigod 69’.   We want to have ‘All Fish Fridays’  where we offer all the pussy you can eat for $599.   Then during Holy Week, we’ll offer “Wash Your Feet and Dog for Two Fifty” Thursdays and ‘Roll Back the Rock and Fuck Mary Magdalene in the Sepulcher  Sundays’” and ‘Easter Egg Cunt’ where you can guess where you search for  prize-winning eggs.

“And Christmas?” I asked.

“Oh, ‘Be a Beast at the Manger’” Mondays, ‘DeVirginize Mary Month’, ‘Joe the Carpenter Plumb the Pipes Tuesdays’,  ‘Fuck a Star Three Wise Men Wednesdays’ where you and two buddies get to fuck the porn star of your dreams.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?” I said.

“We’re always open to new ideas,” Patty Highsmith said. “And other things.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” I said. “In fact, if you could use another investor…”

“I was hoping you’d ask, Totem.” Marlane said.  “Gosh if we could get more money, we could buy the old Catholic School next door and offer ‘Fuck a Nun in the Urinal’ Days and ‘Raise Your Hand and Hold It ‘til You Pee Your Pants’ Days and we could offer ‘Poop on the Pope’ Days and…”

“Obliviously,  I will leave the creative side to you,” I told Marlane as I pulled out my checkbook.   This might be the most expensive night of debauchery I’d ever enjoyed.  Marlane told me some of the girls had to get back to the real convent early the next morning so they could teach.

“You mean some are still real nuns?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, but they’re mad nuns because none was exactly what they were getting,”  she replied.

 

When I got back to the hotel, it was dawn.  I had no difficulty getting through the Wednesday morning traffic.  After the delirious celebration the night before, Chicago was in a sort of groggy back-to-work mood.

Dez met for breakfast in a cafeteria in the lobby.

“I guess you were out catting around all night from the look of you,” she said, sipping her coffee.

“It was an incredible experience,” I said. “Sometime, I will have to tell you all about it.”

“Well, fine, but I want to tell you who I saw last night,” she said.

“Who?”

“The girls and I were just leaving Lincoln Park when Loyola stepped out of the crowd and handed me this note,” she said, fingering an envelope in her purse.  “She told me to give this to you.”

“What does it say?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she protested.  “I’m not in the habit of opening your mail or notes from your multitudes of willing admirers.”

“Well, hold on,” I said. “I’ve got no secrets.  I’ll read it to you.”

The letter read:

“Dearest Brad:

“I write you now in shame and in pride that you made me do the right thing .  It was good what you did to foil the Republican dirty trick machine at last.   I think that even with a worsening economy, Obama might not have won had Exeter’s plans succeeded. 

“But you must now know that you have shaken the powers in Europe to their knees and re-opened old wounds.  After eight years of incompetence foisted on the American public, the world now sees a resurgent nation rising from the ash heap to which they thought it consigned.

“They will not take this loss or trickery easily.  Revenge is what motivates them.  Now as you know from your mother, some are your own family from the old world and their memories are long.  They still carry grudges inflicted by your great grandfather Mortuse and others in the new world wing of the family.  Their history is eons deep and they have old and ancient allies, particularly within the church.

“Watch your back.  Trust no one and be very careful.  They are coming for you and unless you are very smart, they will have you.

“You are our Totem.  We need you to be safe.

“Love, Loyola.”

Dez could tell I was puzzled by some aspects of Loyola’s note.

“Something wrong?” she inquired.

“Other than the fact that this letter seems calculated to make me extremely paranoid and cautious,” I said.  “She used one word that only one other person has even used around me.”

“What word is that?” Dez asked.

“Totem,”  I said.  “She called me her Totem.”

“And?”

“Totem is what Sister Raphael—Marlane—used to call me when I was a kid,”  I said. “I hadn’t seen her in years, until last night.”

“That’s no coincidence,” Dez said, a worried look crossing her face.

“Yes, I am beginning to think so,” I said.

“What does the word Totem mean to you?” Dez asked.

“As someone who grew up in the Northwest where I met Sister Raphael, I believed it always referred to Indian mythology and totem poles,” I said.  “I figured it referred to my totem pole that she prized so much.”

“Leave it to poor Brad to believe that everything starts and stops with his cock,” Dez said.

“Well it usually does when it come to women,” I replied.

“In this case, I think the other meaning of  totem has more importance,”  Dez said.  “It’s a animalistic spirit who watches over a clan or group of people.  Even back in those days, Sister Raphael knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That one day you would be the totem for our clan, for all of us who love you.”

“I’m beginning to wonder who that is,” I said.  “Loyola says to ‘trust’ no one.”

“Brad, I’ve known you a long time and I’ve never known you to give in to paranoia or fear.”

“That just what I was about to say,” I said, pounding the table.  “I am not changing because of these bastards.  Let them come after me.  They’ll find me waiting for them at every turn.  I am not about to stop trusting the people I care for now or ever.  When I first got into this business, I swore I would go wherever it takes me.”

“So your plans are unchanged?”

“Yes, I leave tomorrow for the Middle East,” I said emphatically.