Girls were chatted upin bars by men who had no idea of their true gender, their breastsfondled ("It didn't do much for me: they were cotton wool, dar...ings"),and then taken away to seedy hotel rooms in where they used variousimprobable strategies to avoid discovery. The attempts at humour fellflat, the embarrassing stories stuttered to progressively moreunconvincing conclusions, and the audience became bored and restive.A long interval followed - evidently designed to give the entireaudience. They wore normal street clothes, and had their hair in regular styles. You couldn’t tell they were nuns by just looking at them, but they still used Sister in their names, at least to the clients.They were nice to us. Mother Superior Agnes (who said we should call her Aggie!) took Sister Olivia into her office, telling me to wait on a bench. They talked for a long time and then came out. Aggie stared at me for a few seconds and then spoke to me for the first time.“Sister Olivia is in charge of. Creating surrealistic images from ever day objects was a passion of mine I had always had, and my inspiration usually came post orgasm. Primarily because that was when my mind was the clearest.Without my husband home, I had no choice but to induce some self pleasure. So here I sat on the couch surfing the net for the spark to ignite my creative blaze. I had to admit though, as I was skimming the videos it was becoming longer and longer for me to get a rise. Usually by page 2 of the creampie. She never got to drink it!) he had pulled a chair up close to the cushion and sat looking at her with a little smile on his lips. She could feel herself colouring up under his gaze - he had looked at her as though deciding which bit to eat first - and when he reached forward to take hold of her ankles to ease her shoes off she had jumped at the touch, making him chuckle. “A pretty little kitty shouldn't wear such restrictive things, her soft paws don't need to be covered like that.” He had held.