Chicago Wildlife - 6. Contents Explicitly Sensual

Sylvester Yagatoni walked into the small room. The blinds were lowered and the incense was lit. A yoga mat lay on the floor, with a cheap pillow on one end. The ceiling fan turned at its slowest setting. Sitting on the work desk was a stunningly beautiful young woman, early 30s at most. She wore the traditional nun’s habit which, unfortunately for Sylvester, did not accentuate any of her well-sculpted curves. Even her breast size was concealed by her all consuming love of God and her total commitment to Him.

“Good evening, Mr. Yagatoni,” she said warmly. “I hope you did not have trouble finding this place?”

Her voice was low, like an alto’s, motherly, warm, and her accent did nothing to hide the fact that she had lived in Chicago for most of her life.

“Nah, you happen to give good directions, Sister Catherine.”

She chuckled to herself.

“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Yagatoni. It has not been the first time I’ve been complimented like that.”

She motioned towards the yoga mat.

“We may begin the first act towards forgiveness. You may choose to remove your clothing at any time. There is no rush.”

Sylvester took off his jacket. He appeared to not be in a hurry to get to the climax of their session. He laid on the mat. Catherine picked up some rosary beads and a copy of the Holy Bible.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…” she began.

“Amen,” they both said.

“We are here today to ask our Heavenly Father for forgiveness for this humble man’s soul, for he has sinned and seeks penance. You may now confess your sins in this holy sanctity.”

Sylvester spoke up.

“So I’m eating my spaghetti at Fazoli’s, y’know? And I hear this couple next to me arguing with each other. Something trivial, y’know? But they were doing it so loudly. Like, could you possibly pick a worse place to vent your marital issues? Like, I’m eating my spaghetti here, y’know?! I’m just trying to get by my day, and you two have to go and ruin it like that! So I hoped that their relationship would end badly. Just to spite them, y’know? How terrible is that?”

“Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee,” Catherine said.

“And later, I find out on the evening news that the quarterback for the Packers hurt his ankle during practice, and I’m thinking ‘I hope this guy broke his whole foot, irreparably, and his promising career goes straight down the toilet because of that.’ Like, those shouldn’t be the kinds of things you should think about towards other people, right, Sister Catherine?”

“Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee,” she said.

“I just keep feeling like I should be punished for having these obtrusive thoughts, y’know?

Catherine finally stood up.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen” they both said, making the signs of the cross with their right hand.

Catherine stared down at Sylvester, who was still lying on the mat.

“Your prayers to our Lord have been sent and heard and forgiven, but you have said in the past that this didn’t satisfy your need to be considered ‘redempted.’ You sought my own specialties that would improve your relationship to God.”

“Only then did I feel like I was truly being observed and punished for my evil misdeeds.”

Sister Catherine walked over to his body and then knelt down over his, effectively draping herself over hm. She had him breathe in. Her superpower was now taking effect. Whatever pheromones were being dispersed by her would make him feel aroused. He was well aware of this. Once she was sure that Sylvester had been thoroughly soaked, she rose up again to her feet.

“Then we may now proceed to the second act of this forgiveness arrival.”

Sylvester was now too out of it to really know what was going on. He only had one hand on the wheel, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Suddenly, a combat boot slammed into Sylvester’s chest, causing all of the air in his lungs to escape rather quickly. A quick look at those heeled boots showed that they would ill-fit such a holy lady such as Sister Catherine. Her hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up to her face.

“You think I don’t remember you telling me about your long dry spell? You think any self-respecting woman would want you? I’m not surprised trailer trash such as yourself hasn’t found a single woman dumb enough to want to be with you,” she snarled, her tone and inflection changing dramatically compared to her “professional” voice. Still Chicagoan, but higher, more acidic.

She smacked him like a disapproving girlfriend and dropped him to the floor.

“The Lord Almighty only brings into His flock the most powerful and faithful, with the rest being banished to Hell for all eternity. Can you high-school dropouts figure out the one you’re going to?”

She stepped on Sylvester’s crotch is and noticed that it was very, VERY hard. For all the more simple confessions he’d admitted earlier, this session would probably not be as long as others. She unzipped a little bit of her habit, showing off just a little skin. Of course, the mere existence of a zipper revealed that this was a custom-made habit of hers that she wore only when doing these kinds of sessions with clients. She then crawled on her hands and knees on top of Sylvester’s body, making sure for it to be as painful to him as possible.

“Are you looking?” she inquired.

“N-n-”

“Lying as well, Sylvester? We have discussed this before! Are you lying again in this house of sanctity that I have lovingly provided to you?”

“Nonononono!” he said.

By this point, Sister Catherine was applying all her pressure from her knee being on top of Sylvester’s balls, and her squeezes on his skin were definitely going to leave marks, if not cuts (though certainly none that would require more than a BandAid to apply to). His lips were almost touching one of her succulent nipples. He hadn’t been this hard since his last confessional.

The door to the office was literally kicked open.

“Jacques!” Catherine said, pulling herself up and forgetting about the man she was treating in an instant. “I put bolts on those doors for a reason. You’re paying for those, I hope you know.”

“Don’t worry about the effing doors! One of the guys, who knew a guy, who knew a gay, who knew a guy, told me that there’s been some purple lightning going on East Side!”

Sister Catherine’s eyes lit up. She’d been bored lately. Thought she’d killed them all. Nice to see things were still as apocalyptic as ever. She turned over to the man masturbating to himself on an old yoga mat.

“So sorry that we’ll have to cut our meeting short. Something much more important that my bosses gave to me just came up. I’ll see you again next week, same time and place,” she said, now adopting a third tone of voice, her true one, when she wasn’t in her nun or dominatrix role. It was a faux-British one she’d picked up from one too many BBC marathons.

“Ah-AHHHHH!!!” Sylvester screamed as he came all over himself.

Ignoring him, Catherine turned to Jacques Hein.

“YOU’RE going to be my escort for the night. You know these ‘men who know men,’ and you’re going to track them all down for me so I don’t waste any of my power before figuring out where the demon entrance is coming from.”

Unfortunately for Jacques, he knew just as well as Sisterly Bond, the “superhero” persona that Sister Catherine puts on when she’s “in costume,” that purple lightning typically means that a demonic summoning rite was being performed. And worse, now Sisterly Bond was forcing him to retrace his steps that he’s been taking for the past hour or two.

“It’s East Side, right? Let’s just hightail it there and see if we can find anything man wasn’t meant to see.”

“Hmm …you see, Jacques? If you put that noodle of yours to good use beyond ranking which Harry Potter actress you want to anally penetrate from 1 to 10, you might be able to achieve some great things.”

“Rrgh …let’s just go before a demon portal swallows us all.”

“Not before I put all my clothes on.”

She walked over to behind her desk and opened a drawer. She pulled out a pair of golden pasties and tucked them into her pocket.

“Come along then. We haven’t got all day.”

They exited the room, leaving a man panting in his own jizz behind. A normal occurrence.

Soon they were driving down the highway towards the East Side.

“So you’re telling me that those gold things give you all those superpowers?” Jacques asked incredulously.

“The men in my order thought no woman should be a part of it. When we demanded inclusion, one of them thought to teach us a lesson by fashioning one of the strongest weapons they had into a pair of these babies,” Sisterly Bond said, brandishing the pasties momentarily. “He thought we would consider it too demeaning to wear. For the past 200 years, there has always been one selected woman who proudly wears these as she does battle against the forces of evil.”

Jacques was simply stunned.

“The emotional manipulation bit I have is just all-natural powers, though,” she continued. “It really helps with calming my clients down during a session …or making demons more furious than they already are, which helps them to make more mistakes.”

“I think I’ll pass on the pastie-related superpowers,” Jacques said.

Just then, they both saw a flash of purple lightning coming from the northeast horizon.

“Step on it!” she yelled.

“You got it!” he replied.

In no time at all, the duo had arrived to where they had spotted the lightning coming from.

“Of course the Satanist would want to summon a legion of demons in a metal scrap yard,” complained Jacques.

They came to a small clearing and found the evil sorcerer standing in the middle. His skin was bleached white, his hair long since gone, his tattered robes befitting more an evil warlock than a former president, and it seemed that his posture had gotten worse since the last time Sisterly Bond saw him. He was chanting some arcane incantation when Sisterly Bond stepped out of the shadows and spoke up.

“Cue Ball!” she said, bemused. “Have you returned for another good spanking?”

“Wench! Harlot! I’m not ‘Cue Ball!’ My name is Trump Card!” yelled former president Card.

“But what a fitting name ‘Cue Ball’ is for you, darling. Your shiny white head always manages to get shoved into a dark hole eventually. Not to mention that everyone actively avoids you until they need to get rid of you.”

“You dare speak lies against me?! I’ll have your soul arrested and detained in Hell for all eternity for this!”

She smirked.

“Let’s get this show on the road. I’d like to make the seven o’clock charity drive.”

Trump Card laughed.

“You’re too late, she-demon. The portal’s about to open, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

He turned around and chanted the final verse.

“And I say in my mother tongue: blight all who are not me! The bitches and the midgets, the niggers and the chinks, the faggots and the wetbacks and the gypsies and those greedy, God-killing Jews! Smite them all, and use my hate as your sword!”

Sisterly Bond was momentarily taken aback by the constant stream of slurs used just in front of her. Sure, people felt that way, but no one had the audacity to say it out loud, and in front of a nun no less.

The purple lightning struck once again, and now a demon portal materialized in front of them all. From within the portal, winged demons spewed forth, intent on annihilation.

“Jesus!” Sisterly Bond could hear Jacques say from a distance.

She only continued to look bemused for a moment.

“It’s time for some divine punishment,” she said.

And at that, she took out her pasties and threw them into the air. Then she ripped off her habit, revealing a bondage outfit underneath that was both pleasurable to wear and see AND practical enough to fit hordes of demons in. Though she had sleeves on and some straps going along her stomach, she was completely topless and quite well endowed. Only Jacques would appreciate that, if he weren’t cowering in fear for his life at the moment. She jumped up in the air and, hands free, had the pasties attach exactly where they needed to be on her breasts. After a stellar landing, she rubbed the pasties in a circular motion, much like one would do to a genie’s lamp. They started to glow and she chanted the mystical phrase:

“Slut Sword of Sodom!”

A rather thick greatsword materialized out of nowhere and into Sisterly Bond’s hands. She then sprang forth and sliced the nearest demon cleanly in half. She turned 90 degrees and cut another one. And another one. And another one. She mowed down a dozen demons in the time it would take for a passerby to realize this was their horrible new reality.

A demon managed to make it past her and towards Jacques. Sisterly Bond rubbed herself again.

“Tainted Fucker Upper!”

A golden handgun popped into her free hand, with which she fired upon the demon until it was too busy being dead to harm Jacques. From there on, she hacked and slashed and shot her way through demon after demon, all while twirling about like an Olympic gymnast. A demon managed to swat the gun out of her hand. It made an attempt to swipe at her, but she merely backhanded it in such a way as to brush her hand against the pasty on the upstroke.

“Whore’s Lash!”

A bolt of white lightning fried the demon instantly. It was the last to escape the portal. Sisterly Bond casually walked up to her gun and bent down in the most seductive way to pick it up.

“You will not defeat me, you bedeviled seductress of the night!” yelled Trump Card.

She turned to face him, gun resting on her hip and sword on her shoulder.

“I must say, I’m a little bit miffed. Here I am, forced to call out all these ridiculous attack names because some sexist old man decided to name them that way, and all you can come up with is ‘bedeviled seductress of the night?’ You had more spark and creativity in your oath of office speech.”

“Silence, witch!”

The nun put on a mock expression of shock.

“Well that’s just rude.”

Trump Card cupped his hands close to his chest and muttered some forbidden words, causing a purple energy circle to form between his hands. Sisterly Bond tossed both of her weapons into the air and they dematerialized. She rubbed her pasties.

“Spit roast, cowgirl, sixty-nine, doggy. Lotus, butterfly, scissors, missionary!”

As she said these holy words, two white energy circles formed around her breasts. Trump Card fired off his black magic, and Sisterly Bond fired off her holy magic, the two beams clashing together between them. Shockwaves could be felt all around them as the two diametrically opposed mystical forces tried to overwhelm the other.

“Just finish the bastard off already before you get me killed!” shouted Jacques.

“You heard the man. Lie down and die!” she yelled over the sounds of magic firing.

“Rrgh …never!”

The reverse tug-of-war between the two beams had almost made its way to Trump Card. After a few seconds, it finally reached him, causing a bright flash and stopping the two spellcasters. When Sisterly Bond’s eyes adjusted, she saw Trump Card crumpled in a heap on the ground, smoke wafting from his body. His body then rose like an invisible hand was pinching the back of his robes and lifting him.

“Foolish woman. You may have bested me today, but it seems my brethren still see use in me.”

His voice was unsettlingly calm compared to what it just was seconds ago.

“When next we meet, a new circle in Hell will be created just for you. I count the seconds.”

And then a portal opened beneath him, whereupon shadowy hands came out of it and dragged his body through the portal, and then it closed.

Sisterly Bond had more of a satisfied look on her face.

“I’ve had worse rejections on Myspace.”

She turned around and walked over to Jacques.

“Let’s go home. I need to put on a fresh new habit before I take part in the charity drive.”

“You mean you weren’t just making that shit up to get under his skin?!” he asked, incredulously.

“Of course not. I’m an ordained nun.”