J Long - Motel peeper

Hiram was shocked.

Very shocked.

This had never happened before. This was absurd.

He rubbed his eyes. Returned his peepers back to Mrs. Whistler's eye sockets. Jesus! It was true! And it was not absurd!

That was Elsa Manly on the bed, and over in the corner… over in the chair was… Hiram's face nearly went through the wall and the painting of Whistler's Mother as he tried to bugle out his eyes and see who the Hell it was sitting in the corner.

Then his eyes straightened out and his gaze was intent upon a huge man with a huge prick. Then Hiram knew who the man was – Eddie Grossman. Because Hiram knew Eddie Grossman's prick better than the owner did. After all, Eddie Grossman had been characterized countless times in Hiram's fuck books. Yes, Hiram was very familiar with Eddie Grossman and the obscene things he could do with his cock.

Then Hiram got pissed. This wasn't fair. Prudence Meeker was supposed to be in room six tonight – and he needed her to be in room six because he was on page eighty-four of The Secretary's Brown Pubes and he needed a masturbating scene.

"Shit," Hiram said in an irate whisper.

Christ, there was nothing to do now but to write down what, was happening in room six and hope he could use the scene in a later part of the book.

But that led to other problems. Like, would his publisher accept bondage and S amp; M scenes? Did readers of fuck books get their rocks off on toilet-plunger scenes? How as he going to fit a bondage scene into a story about a secretary who fucked around so much that she finally feels so guilty she ends up a nun?

"Shit!" Hiram mumbled again, watching what was happening in room six.

There was only one way he could get the S amp; M scene into The Secretary's Brown Pubes without sounding dumb or corny or taking too much dramatic license – or would his publisher revoke even that?

Hiram knew he would have to realize what was actually happening in room six, soften the S amp; M scene so there wouldn't be much pain or screaming, change Mrs. Manly to a nun who had escaped from the nunnery, but who was captured by a friar from a different order, one who believed in Inquisition type torture, then have the secretary with the brown pubes, Tuesday Salary, meet the nun after she had been tortured and have her talked into joining the friar of the different order who believed in using torture to convert heathens to Christianity.

Now, things were beginning to make sense.

Now, things looked much brighter.

Hiram felt ingenious again. And he was even eager to start hacking out the words needed to describe what was happening to the nun in room six as she was made to confess her sins under painful, but pleasant, duress.

Quickly Hiram set the brake on his mini-trolley, grabbed the Mattel typewriter, set it on his lap, rolled in the butcher paper and began:

Pain, like sunlight on a morning when the sun comes up, can be very surprising as an element to change people's minds.

Pain accompanied the friar as he stared at his nun who was garbed in a long black robe with a white choker. Her cross was gold.

The friar smirked his lips. "Confess, nun Nancy, or the Lord's wicked wrath will plague you until you vomit."

Nun Nancy, who was about twenty-eight years of age, nodded with her head, telling the friar that she will confess if he would not use the pain that he had promised to use in order for her to go back to where she had run any from.

"Good."

"Thank you."

"Repent and we will forgive what you have trespassed against."

The nun's head drooped with shameful ignorance.

"Repent and we will forgive what you have trespassed against."

The friar repeated it for her sake as well as his.

Nun Nancy would not repent the trespassing. Tears, made of water, came from her eyes as if they had been peeling onions.

"Repent and we will forgive what you have trespassed against."

This time louder.

Nun Nancy whelped in tears.

"Then pain it will be, like I promised you until you repent against what you have trespassed against. Do you fully understand all these offensive charges?"

"Y-y-y-y-yes," she stammered clearly.

Undressing, the friar did that to the tearful nun.

He completely divested her of what she was wearing around her body. Then, with his hands, he used them to unbutton the shameful nun Nancy's outer garments until, like the layers of an onion that are peeled one leaf at a time, he had her completely, starkly exposed except for her panties and her bra and the gold thing that hung like a noose from her chin.

The friar pulled out his cock almost by mistake.

It was as if he had used a baseball bat to piss with because he was finely endowed with a gorgeous prick. The prick poked out from near the crotch of his clothes like a gopher coming out of its hole on ground-hog day.

Nun Nancy's body heaved. She shook like a fragile leaf that blows in the cool winter blizzard. Her tits, too.

Fear grabbed her cunt-lips, and though she had black-net-lace panties on, he could see the oozy stuff that comes out of a nun's hole when they are hot to trot.

Ripping the panties off, he removed them with his hands.

Now, the nun was completely naked to his eyes except for where her bra covered up her hugely-exposed nipples and the other parts of her good breasts. Also, the gold thing on her neck.

Ripping the bra off was the next thing on the agenda. He ripped them off with cold, murderous hands, determined to repent the nun for her trespassing sins.

Then they fucked.

In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.

It was erotic.

The nun helped him a lot for she was feeling pleasure whereas most nuns would have held off their climax enough to show how much they thought about their captor.

Then the friar did a strange erotic thing. Pulling his cock out without the usage of his hands, he removed his prick entirely. Then, because his hands were empty, he used them to grab some ropes that also happened to be on a chair nearby. Also, his hands found a hundred-pound counterweight and two things that had wood handles on them with something that looked like a big set of bra cups on the ends, which were nearby too.

These he used to suck her tits with. After he tied up her hair, connected it and ran it through a pulley that appeared from the ceiling and finally ended it on the weight of something that weighed about one hundred pounds of some kind of metal.

Then, from his toilet kit, he produced a banana and a carrot. The carrot was orange. He shoved both articles of defilement into her two bottom holes. One of which was her pussy. The other was close to her pussy and was connected to it by a hairy taint.

The friar looked at what he had done.

It was erode.

Nun Nancy's eyes fell out of her head as she had watched him tie her up this way. She had not wanted any part of the eroticism that he was partaking in. But she was completely useless to resist.

Then, suddenly, as rapid as water rushed over a waterfall, nun Nancy changed. Her expression expressed harmony with what held her onto the bed and what was stuck in her asshole about a foot and what was in her cunt about five inches.

She was happy, and now contentedness arose in her heart like blood that had been filled with champagne bubbles. This is what she knew she wanted forever and ever and beyond time and eternity.

The nun climaxed as the friar shot his erotic jizz all about her pronged titties.

Hiram was sweating. Sweating because it was hot as Hell in his peeping Tom tunnel. And sweating because he was looking over the pages that he had just written and found them to be excruciatingly erotic. Something that would really turn on fuck-book readers.

Quickly, he rolled up the butcher paper. Put the $10.95 typewriter back into its case. Farted twice and merrily wheeled down to the end of the trolley way and back to the receptionist office.