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Disconnections
- a series of stories -
by Eve Adorer
Disconnections - Overall Synopsis:
‘Disconnections’ comprises independent, and not
interdependent, stories. Though not interconnected, the stories have a common
theme: the ‘disconnections’ of the overall title. I hope you’ll enjoy them ….
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
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
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
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
“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
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.
<>
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