Take Your Daughter To Work Day - Version Bravo
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Francine found herself somehow holding Brady's hand. She lifted it and, despite the noise and furor that was going on all around her, noticed that the hand she held was his left one ... and that the ring finger was not wearing a ring.
"Where is your ring?" she yelled, automatically.
"I'm divorced," he answered back, tersely. He was looking ahead of them, pulling her through the throng. She was glad of that, actually, because the noise and crush they pushed into was insane. She couldn't reflect on what he'd just said, so it got tucked away in the back of her mind. Music blared from speakers and, combined with the shouts and laughter of celebrating men and nervous women, it was overwhelming. Her eyes registered naked women in various places, some up on tables dancing, and others in the arms of some of the men in the room. Then she realized some of those men were also naked. Pieces of football uniforms littered the floor.
A hand appeared from nowhere and groped her right breast. She jerked and Brady turned, his eyes wide with shock. Then thunder appeared on his face and he shoved the offending hand away.
"Knock that shit off, Harris!" he yelled.
"What's your problem?" yelled a grinning man, who was wearing only a jock strap. "Share the wealth, coach!"
"She's mine!" shouted Brady, and he pulled Francine into his arms, crushing her against him in an embrace that welded her front to his. She struggled as, in her peripheral vision, she spotted a young woman who looked exactly like Kendi Himura, except that she was wearing a leopard suit. Or at least part of a leopard suit. The front gaped open, and modest breasts thrust out. Hands were all over those breasts, and the woman's mouth was open wide in what, to Francine, was clearly a scream of fear. With shock, she realized it was Kendi!
"Over there!" she yelled, trying to get Brady to move in the direction of Leopard Girl.
"What?" he yelled back.
"Over there!" she shouted again. "I think that's one of my girls!"
They made it to Kendi just as the top of her suit was pulled completely down. Her elbows were pinned behind her, and Francine gaped as two men pushed their faces against the girl's breasts, each capturing the tip of a breast in their mouths.
"Help!" squawked Kendi, jerking her forearms ineffectually, trying to get her hands clear of the cloth they were bound up in.
"Let go of her!" yelled Francine. "She's just a girl!"
Her hands went to the hair of one of the men and she pulled viciously. His yell caused the other man to pull back from Kendi's chest and Francine pushed them both away. In truth, it was only her habit that got them to move, but once they did, the current of moving bodies swept one of them away away as Francine grabbed Kendi and pulled her into an embrace.
Francine looked at Brady, whose jaw had dropped as he saw his former lover raging like a lioness protecting her cub. "She is one of my students. I don't know what she's doing in this outfit, but we have to get her out of here!"
The other man who had been sucking at one of Kendi's young, tender nipples had resisted the surge of humanity around them and now complained.
"Hey! She's mine. I saw her first!"
Brady didn't know anything about Kendi, other than that she was one of Francine's students. But she looked about fifteen, so that's what he went with.
"She's fifteen, Phil. You want to go to prison for her?"
Phil hadn't stopped to drink champagne. He'd gone for a girl first. His mind was working just fine, and the horror on his face showed it.
"She told me she was eighteen!" he said, automatically, defending himself.
"I did not!" yelled Kendi. "You didn't give me a chance to tell you anything!"
"Beat it, Phil," yelled Brady. The man did. Brady stood on tiptoes and looked around. Whether he had noticed that Kendi was Oriental or not, we'll never know. The reason he chose Randy Nakimura wasn't because Randy was also Oriental. It was because he knew he could trust the man to act honorably.
"Randy!" he yelled. Francine looked and saw a young man, dressed in slacks, a shirt and a team windbreaker. He looked like he might be nineteen. He looked confused, as if he'd never seen anything like what was going on around him, but turned his head when Brady called out his name. "Over here!" yelled Brady. Randy started pushing his way toward them as Francine pushed Kendi toward him, sandwiching the girl between the two adults. When Randy got there, Brady pulled him close, inadvertently crushing the young man against Kendi's naked shoulder.
"Get this girl out of here. Find her something to wear. Stay with her and don't let anybody near her. She's not supposed to be here. Got it? I'll call you when I figure out where you should take her."
"Got it, Coach!" said Randy, who was an intern, and had been placed in charge of Gatorade for the game. His excitement level was almost off the charts. Finally, he was being given a job worth doing. He looked at the almost naked girl. Her Oriental ancestry was obvious to him, as was the fact that she was of Japanese extraction, just like him. She was cute. She looked scared. His eyes lingered on the pink nipples that were protruding from her breasts, and then he jerked his eyes up to her face. His mother had taught him manners, and even if she wasn't there, he tried to behave himself most of the time. He took off his windbreaker and held it out to the girl. The nun (!?) who was holding her helped her drape it over her shoulders, and she pulled the sides around to cover her body.
"Come with me," he said, leaning toward her.
"Sister?" said the girl, looking at the nun.
"Go with him," said Francine, who was looking around, trying to find the other girls. Then, as Kendi started to move, Francine reached to stop her. "Are the rest in here too?"
Kendi nodded. "We were just supposed to dance. I mean it was just for fun."
"We'll talk about it later," said Francine. "Go with him now."
Randy put his arm around Kendi and started shoving his way toward the entrance to the locker room.
He wasn't prepared for the reporters and cameramen waiting for him in the hallway, waiting to get in. When he saw them, he knew it was a bad idea to try to get her through them.
He turned her around and went back toward where Brady and the nun had disappeared into the crowd.
Bob stared down at his naked daughter. Ten feet away the party was still going on unabated, but there was a circle of clear space around the tangle of two naked girls on the floor. The men who had been tangled up with them were used to getting out of a tangle on the ground, and the tone in their head coach's voice had motivated them to scramble away from the girls quickly. Tiffany had been abandoned first when the head coach had roared. Then things in that part of the locker room got quiet as one of the naked girls addressed their head coach as "Daddy".
"What the fuck?" came the clearly audible voice of the winning coach.
"It was just for fun, Daddy!" complained Judith, who knew she was in the most trouble she'd ever been in, ever. "I mean we were just going to dance." The buzz of the alcohol was beginning to fade.
This made no sense to Bob. What intruded on his consciousness, quite suddenly, was how grown up his little girl looked. In fact, he realized, it would be impossible for him to ever think of her as a little girl again. His eyes flicked between her legs, where, oddly, she did look like a little girl! It occurred to him that a couple dozen of his team members were looking at exactly the same thing.
"Somebody get her a jersey!" he barked. One landed on his shoulder within seconds. It was number 43.
Judith managed to stand up. She reached down to help Tiffany up too.
Stress, mixed with excitement, alcohol and fear can produce odd reactions in otherwise normal people. Judith was no exception. Her father had met Tiffany before, had taken the two of them out to eat several times, in fact.
So she introduced Tiffany to all the men staring at her.
"This is Tiffany," she said. "She's my best friend, and my roommate at school." The strangeness of the introduction overcame the last of the alcohol in her system to cause a giggle to burst from her lips.
Another jersey appeared from somewhere, flying over the crowd around them. It landed on Tiffany's head. Nobody had to tell her to reach for it and shrug into it. This one was number 86. Only Bob himself noticed, as the shirts slid down over both girls' hips to cover them, that both numbers belonged to tight ends.
He had the insane urge to laugh at the connotation.
Monica was scared. That was because she was watching Janice, and expected what was happening to Janice to happen to her any second now. At the same time, part of her was elated ... because Janice was obviously having the time of her life.
What that involved was being pressed against the cold, hard tile wall of the shower room, by the hot, muscled body of a huge black man. She hung as if she was weightless, but Monica knew she was actually suspended on the thick, stiff penis that belonged to that body. Monica had seen it slide into her friend's pussy, and then her feet had lifted to bounce in the air, as her body slid up and down, making squeaking noises against the wet tile.
It looked very violent, but Janice wasn't trying to get away. Her hands didn't push at the man. Rather, they were sliding all over his wet back, digging in, as if she were trying to pull him closer. Her arms and legs, both wrapped tightly around him, completed the picture of a woman who was quite happy where she was. She was screaming, but it wasn't a scream of anger or refusal. In fact, nobody could possibly mistake her mantra of "Yes! Yes! Yes!" for anything other than acceptance of the fact that she was getting the (happy!) fucking of her young life.
Monica, whether by design or instinctive empathy with her friend, also barked "Yes!" as a thick finger speared into her pussy. It belonged to the man on her right, who was sucking her right nipple. There was another man on her left, who was sucking her left nipple. Her Bat Girl costume hung on her in tatters, which was why the two men had access to those parts of her body. What they were doing to her nipples seemed to have created zinging pathways to her pussy. One of them suddenly stopped making those zings happen, and spoke to the other.
"Me first," said the one on her right.
"Fuck you," said the one on her left.
"No, fuck her," said the one on her right. "But me first."
"Why the fuck do you get her first?"
"Because I caught an eighty yard pass," bragged the other.
"Well I sacked the quarterback twice."
Perhaps it was the culture of violence the two men lived with in their chosen profession. Or, maybe it was simply the muscle memory from the game they had been playing not long before. Whatever the reason, Monica was suddenly abandoned, as the two men grappled and all the stimulation that had been making her brain rattle disappeared. She was conflicted about that. It was loud in the shower room, but over it all she heard the man fucking Janice roar. She looked to see his regulated, even metronomic bouncing of Janice on his prick had changed to something jerky and violent.
"Cummin' in that pussy!" he screamed.
"Get some!" yelled another man, somewhere. There were hoots and hollers generally.
Then the thundering music stopped, cut off as if someone had jerked the plug from the wall. Overcompensating by shouting was no longer needed, and everyone's instinctive response was to pause speaking. Quite suddenly, the only noise in the room came from the cascading showers.
"This party is over!" came a male yell from the entrance to the room. People turned to find Coach Tanner standing there, still in his game jacket. Beside him were two of his assistant coaches. "Get these women out of here!" he yelled.
The men objected. Strenuously. Until Bob yelled, "Half of these girls are underage, and the cops are on the way. If these women don't get the fuck out of here, we're all going to jail. They might even take the fucking trophy back and give it to the other team!"
The whole statement was full of lies. Half the girls were not underage. Only four of them were. Janice was eighteen, and the fact that semen was running down the insides of her thighs wouldn't put anybody in jail at all. Not unless she said it was put there non-consensually. Tyrone Washington, wideout for the Ocelots, and the donor of this particular semen, turned quickly and wove his way between other players, abandoning Janice. She was still catching her breath, standing on shaky knees, and didn't notice. The cops were not on the way. At least Bob hoped not. Finally, while there might be a scandal, the trophy was already awarded, and the entire world knew who had won the game.
But Bob Tanner knew how to motivate his team.
There started a flow of female bodies towards a door leading to the therapy room that was being held open by a man Bob had assigned to do that. There was another exit to that room that led out of the locker room complex, and the idea was for the women to leave that way, rather than face the media that was trying to get into the locker room from the hallway. The reporters were being stalled by a knot of players who were quite willing to stand there naked, knowing that nobody would push past them or even take their pictures unless they at least wrapped a towel around their waist.
Even so, the exodus was sluggish. Part of that was because some of the men were with women who were clearly not jailbait. Relationships, albeit temporary ones, had already begun. Some of the girls were better at controlling difficult situations - and difficult Johns - than the others, and quite a few deals had already been struck. Neither the hookers nor the johns were happy about the party being truncated.
Another reason the flow of the crowd was slow was because the women who didn't have anything on (which was most of them by now) were being provided with jerseys so that when they were spirited out of the locker room they might not draw too much attention. It would turn out that didn't work, but the pictures taken of those women were explained by the story that the jerseys were souvenirs. Some of those jerseys ended up going for big bucks on Ebay. But that would be much later.
And so, quite a few of the women were invited to the celebration dinner that was planned for later, as they were herded out of the area by three of Bob's assistant coaches, and four of the players whose conservative life style had caused them to be horrified at the debauchery they had just witnessed.
Bob turned to see his assistant coach for special teams with his arm around a nun, of all things, coming toward them. He gawked as the nun rushed up to Judith and Tiffany who, he noticed, he'd never think of as a girl again either. The nun grabbed each girl by an arm with what looked like an iron grip.
"Did you lose your minds?" she yelled.
"We're sorry!" bawled Judith. "Everything went all wrong. We were just supposed to dance!"
"We'll talk about this later!" snapped Francine. "Where are the others?"
"I don't knooooooow," cried the girl.
Just then Randy, who had seen the nun across the room, arrived, towing Kendi with one hand.
"There were reporters outside," he panted. "I didn't think it was a good idea for them to see her."
"You thought right," said Francine.
Somebody yelled a warning from the opening to the therapy room. "Press!"
Bob looked at the three girls. The two entrances that led to the parking lot where the buses were parked were blocked by members of the press. If he tried to get them out that way, the reporters and cameras would have a field day. He looked the other direction and saw the double doors that led into the weight room they'd been assigned to use. He looked at Brady.
"Take these in there while we look for the others." He pointed to Randy. "You herd all the players toward the press. Have them stall. Then come back and guard that door. We'll get there as soon as we can."
"Got it!" said Brady, as Randy excitedly said "Will do, Coach!". Brady started away, only to find that he was holding Francine's hand. Everyone in their little group saw as their linked hands came up and, quite obviously, let go of each other reluctantly. Both Brady and Francine looked as shocked by this as all the others.
"Check the showers!" gasped Judith. "I think Janice might have gone there."
"For Heaven's sake why?" asked Francine. Then, "Never mind. You three go with Brady!"
So it was that Bob found Janice and Monica, both stark naked and dripping wet, in an embrace that Bob and Francine interpreted as frightened. They were surrounded by three naked football players, all of whom had erections. One of them said "They don't look underage to me, man," while another said "Get it on, bitches. I want to see you lick some pussy before you take care of me."
"They are underage!" barked Bob. The three players turned and froze as they recognized their coach who, for some strange reason, had a nun with him. It was enough to make them abandon their catch.
"Go that way!" Bob ordered them, pointing toward where the hubbub of the mixture of players and press could be heard now. Then he turned to the girls.
"And you two, come with us."
A football team becomes that "team" by working together towards a common goal. Each man has his part in the machine that is supposed to take the football and move it across a particular line on the field. In theory, it's simple. Practically speaking, it isn't simple at all, because there is a whole other team of men whose purpose is to stop you from doing what you are trying to do.
The team relationship doesn't dissolve when the game is over. But its bonds weaken significantly, as the men begin to pursue their own plans and the team no longer has any immediate common goal.
But provide them a goal ... such as preventing the press trying to come in through two sets of doors from finding out about all those underage girls going out through another one, and teamwork will rise to the surface all over again.
The press can be tough.
But they can't stand up to a football team that just won the Super Bowl.
The strategy was simple, really. Most of the men were naked. All of those pushed toward the reporters and cameras. They all knew that some of the reporters would be women. Women's Liberation had seen to that. But this room was still their property, and the men felt like they could go anywhere in it they wanted to.
Together, if need be.
Which is why the press was faced with a solid wall of naked and half naked football players, all eager to be interviewed. Bottles of champagne were thrust from hand to hand, until those facing the fifth estate held them out, grinning, to the startled faces in front of them.
It worked. The stone wall they presented gave Bob, Brady and Francine the time they needed to drape the girls in oversized jerseys and whisk them into the weight room.
"I'm so sorry, Daddy," moaned Judith.
"You can be sorry later," he said. "We have to get you out of here before anyone comes through that door." He pointed at the doors they had so recently escaped through.
It was Janice who thought of the solution. Later, more than one of the girls would think of that, and how that suggested her talent for getting out of scrapes was the result of getting into so many of them.
She pointed to one of the large, roll-around towel bins, which were made of metal rods with sides and bottom of thick canvas around them. There were four of them scattered around the room, containing towels tossed into them by various jocks after a workout.
"Two of us could fit into one of those," she said. "You could cover us with towels and roll us out of here."
"To where?" asked Francine, who thought the idea was crazy.
"To the bus!" blurted Brady. "We could roll them right up to the doors of the bus. They get on and we're home free. The windows are tinted. Nobody could see they were there."
"And what then?" asked Francine. "Where will you take them?"
"To the hotel, of course," said Brady. "The team will board the bus, which will go to the hotel. Meanwhile we can get them something to wear. They get off the bus like anybody else and no one is the wiser."
"It could work," said Bob.
"It's insane," said Francine.
"Okay," said Bob. "What do you want to do with them?"
"I don't know!" she said in frustration.
"Well, then, while you think about that, we're going to go with Brady's idea. Girls, get into a cart!"
The girls, used to following commands scurried to do what they'd been told. They discovered the flaw in the plan when they began pulling the towels out of the bins.
They stank of sweat.
But there was nothing they could do about it.
So two girls crawled into each of two of the carts. Kendi stood by a third.
"Do I have to go alone?"
"Francine will go with you," said Brady.
"What?" Francine turned on him.
"Don't you think people will wonder why a nun is helping push baskets of towels around?" he asked. "We need to sneak you out of here too."
"I will not sneak anywhere!" she snapped. "And certainly not under a pile of smelly towels, huddled with a half naked student!"
"Can we go please?" came the plaintive cry from one of the "full" bins of towels. "I can't breathe in here!"
"You take one of the carts out now," said Brady, to his boss. I'll be right back, and bring the other one."
"There are two," said Bob.
"Kendi?" said Brady. "Pick a cart. You're small. We'll have to make three of you fit."
"What about me?" asked Francine.
"You wait with them. I'll be right back."
He dashed to the doors to the locker room and opened one far enough to slip through. The noise from the locker room burst through the open door. It sounded like the party was going strong again.
"Pick one!" said Francine to Kendi.
"Are you sure?" whined the girl.
"Brady has never done anything to cause me not to trust him. I'm willing to trust him now," said the novice.
"How do you know Brady?" asked Bob, curiously.
"We can talk about that later," said Francine. "Kendi! Choose!"
A heap of towels bulged upwards, and Judith's head appeared. "Come on!" she called. "Stop fooling around. We can fit you in here!"
Bob left, pushing Janice and Monica's cart through another set of doors and, eventually, to the wide hallway that led to the outside of the stadium. There were only about seventy million people around the world who would know who he was instantly, should they see him, and all of them would wonder why he was pushing a bin of dirty towels around after winning the Super Bowl. So he grabbed a towel from the top of the heap and, wincing, draped it over his head, forming a deep hood of sorts.
Back in the weight room, Francine helped Kendi get in with Judith and Tiffany. She then tossed three more handfuls of towels on top of them. She heard whispering and said "Quiet!" The whispering stopped.
More of the party noise destroyed the peace and quiet, and she turned, trying to think up a reason ... any reason ... that a nun might be standing beside a bin of dirty towels. But it was only Brady. He had something in his hands.
"Put this on," he said, extending his arm. His hand contained a ball of sparkly blue fabric. "I'm pretty sure it will fit you."
"What is it?" she asked, taking it from him.
"It's not a nun suit," he barked. "Put it on!"
She held it out. It was a dress, probably part of a showgirl's costume. There was very little that would cover her upper torso, and the skirt wasn't long either.
"I can't wear that!" she gasped.
"Then you can look like a nun," he said. "It's up to you. You didn't talk to anybody when you got here, did you? There's nobody who will remember a nun going into the locker room ... right?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "A hundred people probably saw me. I even talked to that woman with the clipboard."
"So it's okay with you if people see a nun and want to interview her about her Super Bowl experience? On national TV?"
She glared at him. "You just want to see me in this."
"Desperately," he admitted. "But I also don't want anyone to take any notice of you. Right now, there are very few people in the world who know that the idea for you to bring the girls to the Super Bowl didn't go as planned. I'd like to keep it that way, and walking around with a nun is a lot higher profile than I want to be in right now."
"You push them out. I can leave by another entrance. I'll meet you at the hotel later."
"A nun is going to get into a cab and ask the driver to take her to the hotel where the winning team from the Super Bowl is staying? That won't raise any eyebrows."
"I'll have him let me off down the block," she said.
"And a nun walking into the Grand Mariner Hotel and asking where all those nice Super Bowl boys are staying won't raise any eyebrows either," he said, sarcastically.
Judith's head came out from under the towels again.
"Get us out of here! If I have to smell these towels for more than three more minutes, I'm going to scream!"
"All right, all right," gasped Francine. "Get back under those towels. And Brady ... you turn around!"
"Sweetheart, I've seen you naked before," said Brady, grinning.
"What?!" gasped Judith, who had been in the process of covering herself up, but then popped up again. The cart rocked dangerously as two other heads popped up as well.
"What?!" they both said, in unison.
"Joke," said Brady, as Francine glared at him. "Bad joke," he added. He turned around and, for good measure, covered his eyes with his hands.
Francine turned her glare on the girls, who sank back underneath the towels.
He gave her time to get her habit off, before he turned around. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth followed, but then she stopped as he held his index finger up to his lips. He grinned, and motioned for her to go on.
She felt conflict, as she wiggled into the costume he'd procured for her. It was see-through everywhere except over her nipples and the bush between her legs. She couldn't wear her bra with it. Not only would it be visible through the costume, but the sides were open, and would show it there too. When she got the thing on, she realized that if she lifted her arm, the side of her breast showed clear to the point that one could tell her breasts sagged, just a little.
Brady came and took the components of her habit from her. He stuffed them down into one corner of the cart, getting an exclamation from one of the girls.
He didn't give her time to argue. He pushed the cart toward the door and, looking over his shoulder, said "Let's go. Just act like you're walking with me while I push the cart. We're just a couple of people interested in each other and talking."
Francine's problem, as she followed him out of the weight room, was that she didn't have to act the part. She was interested in Brady. Very interested.
But now the original problem that had split them up had turned into a different one.
She'd only gone to the nuns because she'd fallen in love with a married man, and could not control herself around him. She wasn't willing to wreck one home just so she could build her own. She couldn't have lived with herself, if she'd destroyed a marriage.
But now, Brady Hopkins wasn't married any longer.
And what she was afraid she wouldn't be able to live with now, was her role in how he got that way.
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