Take Your Daughter To Work Day - Version Bravo
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It went remarkably well. Then again ... why shouldn't it have? People pushing carts of laundry across a parking lot wasn't an unusual thing to see at the stadium. And nobody saw half naked girls crawl out of those carts and slip into the bus. Their spare weight didn't even make the springs compress as they scampered along the aisle to the rear, to instinctively hide in the back sets of seats.
But the two men and one woman who did the pushing thought they must stand out like a bonfire in the middle of an ice rink. Which might be why, as the carts were emptied of girls, it was instinctive to hurry the carts back from whence they came.
"You stay with the girls," said Bob to Francine, his voice hushed. "We'll dump the carts and rejoin the team."
"Maybe I should stay here," said Brady. "Just in case ... you know." His comment wasn't a question, but more a statement that he expected Bob to know why it might be important for him to stay with the women. Bob did not, in fact, see why that might be important. But he'd just seen his daughter stark naked, being pawed by men whose intent was quite plain. He was rattled, and in no small part because, as a man, he could understand why all those men wanted to do to her what they had wanted to do.
He found, to his dismay, that he was fully capable of seeing Judith as his sweet, innocent daughter ... and as a desirable, sexy, sexual young woman, who some man was, very soon now, going to actually have sex with!
So he said "Good idea. I'll cover for you," and promptly started pushing one cart while pulling the other. Brady and Francine stepped onto the bus, where the first thing they did was take inventory of the girls. In a ritual that was at the same time normal as pie, and one of the craziest things Francine had ever done, she introduced all the girls to her former lover.
It wasn't until Bob was already back inside the stadium, that Francine froze, and her strained voice said "Where is my habit?"
The girls had naturally gathered at the back of the bus. They were a subdued lot, now. Francine was still angry with them, but she knew it would do no good to stay with them and beat what was, basically, a dead horse. At the same time, the only sensible option she had was to sit with Brady while they waited for the team. The problem was that, while her mind and body craved to be close to him, that would quite likely lead to her hearing the truth of the fact that, by making Brady a cheater, she had destroyed a marriage, something she now thought of as sacred. Just taking him as her lover had been bad enough. It had taken literally years for her to master the guilt she'd felt about her part in the adultery.
She'd had a difficult time adjusting to working in the convent. Only recently had her dreams calmed, and her emotions become less unpredictable.
And now she was afraid she might find her sin had been compounded, without her even knowing about it.
Unlike most women new to the convent, she had welcomed the stiff, formal habit she had to wear while she was teaching. It reminded her of what she was trying to do with her life now, and helped her close her mind to men in general, and Brady Hopkins in particular. It was inflexible, a mixture of subdued black, gray and white, and that comforted her, because when she had it on, she knew she could have no man. She had chosen that kind of life, but had also been sure she could never control her urges if she lived among men. The habit had convinced her she could. She had found that, while she still recognized that this or that man at school might be handsome, she could turn away from them all with ease. The habit helped with that.
But now, she had no habit. It was still in that cart of dirty laundry.
"I'll go get it for you," said Brady, standing up.
She thought of him handling her shield ... her underthings. If he did, she'd never be able to wear them again without thinking that his fingers had caressed them.
"No!" she barked, as he took a step towards the front of the bus. "It's not worth the danger that someone might see you with them and wonder what you were doing. I can get more clothes when we get back to St. Clementine's."
"Okay," he said, uncertainly. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure," she said, firmly.
"We can just catch up on things then," said Brady, sitting down beside her. "While we wait for the team."
He didn't understand why she groaned.
Francine knew she was in trouble. She suddenly knew what it must be like for an alcoholic to be offered fine Brandy, or whatever it was that was the crème de la crème of alcoholic beverages, and be required to just sit there and stare at it. She felt much better, in one sense, because Brady had convinced her that she hadn't wrecked anything. The only reason he had fallen in love with her was because his wife, after five years of marriage, had discovered that the affinity she developed for other women in college hadn't gone away like she thought it would when she got married. She loved him as a friend, but was no longer interested in him as a mate, or man. She was, she decided, a confirmed lesbian.
They had talked about it. What convinced him she was firmly in the lesbian camp, was how much she cried about hurting him, and trying not to be attracted to other women. She didn't want to embarrass him with a divorce, but did want to be free to enjoy the lover he hadn't known about. He'd just thought Sharon was his wife's best friend.
That had been a year before he met Francine Fox, who began teaching at his school. She was irresistible even though they had no real contact, other than casual smiles traded in hallways, or across rooms. And then, he was thrown together with Foxy Fox, as the boys he taught called her, and they ended up under the bleachers. He had needed Francine. And she had seemed to need him.
He knew she was uncomfortable about the ring on his finger, but he was too embarrassed to admit what the state of his marriage really was. He didn't want there to be any chance she might think he was feeding her a line of bull. Lots of men did that, telling a girl his marriage was on the rocks, and that he'd get a divorce, when all he really wanted was to get his dick wet.
He finally talked to Johanna about it, confessing his feelings for Francine. Johanna saw his need, and his hope that he might find with Francine what his wife hadn't been able to give him. They were still friends, and had talked about his feelings and why he hadn't told Francine about things. And it was then that Johanna said she felt guilty about holding him back. That was how they came to a point where the divorce was less threatening than the fact that the marriage might deny him the happiness she already had. So they agreed to quietly end it and she went off to live with her best friend lover.
The next day, Brady had gone to school, eager to tell Francine the news. But she was already gone. He looked for her, but couldn't find her. When the job offer came to work for the Ocelots, he tried to leave the pain behind him and buried himself in his new job. At least that part had paid off.
"But now I've found you again," he said, holding her hand, "only to find out you're a nun! How did that happen? Your turn. Tell me everything!"
"I'm not a nun," she said, automatically. "Not yet, anyway. I'm a novice. It's sort of like studying to become a nun."
She stopped there, pain rushing through her like fire. He had gotten divorced for her! But not because of her! Not really. Yes, she had been a factor ... but not the reason. She didn't know how to feel about that.
"But why?" he begged, unaware of the turmoil that was within her.
"Because of you!" she blurted. He looked shocked.
Then she explained.
In twenty years, all this might seem humorous.
But it wasn't at that moment.
The normal aftermath of what happens in the locker room of the winning Super Bowl team goes on for a long time.
But this aftermath hadn't been normal. Before Bob got back from whisking his daughter and her friends off to safety, every player in the room was aware that there was a daughter and her friends. Before this, eighty percent of the team had no idea their coach had a daughter. Or had ever been married, for that matter. The few who did only knew that the wife was firmly in the past. Some of them had wives in the past too, so they were familiar with the concept, and understood why a man might not want to talk about it.
Initially, of the entire team, probably only twenty were actually aware that five of the naked girls they had manhandled ... shouldn't have been manhandled. In fact, that they shouldn't have even been there. But the word was that Coach had gotten those particular girls out of the locker room, and now the team, with nothing more than the suggestion of certain of their teammates, banded together to present a solid obstacle to the members of the press who were fascinated with the fact that there had been naked, and partly naked women running around in the winning team's locker room. Those women had vanished, but it was still news, and a few of the members of the fifth estate had gotten pictures. They'd have to be pixilated to put on the news, but that was no problem for a story that juicy.
The team's mission now was to create confusion to cover Coach Tanner's escape with the girls and ensure the press wasn't allowed to find out those particular females had ever been there.
So most of the team was busy doing that.
Another, however, was still cowering in the shower room. All he'd heard was that the locker room was full of underage women, and he was terrifyingly afraid he had fucked one. So far, nobody had singled him out. He had announced to the fucking world that he was popping a nut in that little teeny bopper! He was afraid he was going to shit a brick pretty soon. He'd tried to get out of the shower room when he first suspected he was in trouble, but the press of players had prevented that. Finally he'd retreated further into the room, as the girl he'd fucked was taken out. In the end, he slid down the wall he had just fucked that girl against, and put his head in his hands. Only the sight of his sperm-streaked penis, lying on the floor between his legs, got him up again and under the water, as he frantically tried to remove the evidence that could put him in prison for the rest of his life.
"Hey! BD!" said his best friend, "Tank" Theodore Busby, who was a starting lineman, and who appeared at his side like magic. "I heard you got some pussy. Izzat so? Did you save some for me?"
"I didn't get no pussy!" yelled "BD", AKA Tyrone Washington, who played wide out, and who had caught a touchdown pass during the game. The euphoria from that, which had fueled grabbing that little white girl and fucking the shit out of her, was completely gone now.
"I heard you did," said Tank, who was actually happy for his friend.
"Shut up!" hissed BD. "You gonna get me thrown in fucking jail!"
"What? Why?" Tank might be big and he might look dumb, but he wasn't. A glint came into his eye as he realized what the deal was. "You got it all wrong, BD. Coach was lying to us. Well, sort of. I guess he got a daughter, and she brought some friends to the game. Somehow they got mixed up with them other women. But they were the only ones underage. All the others were legal. Coach got all the jail bait out of here. We're all good, now."
"You sure?" asked BD, perking up.
"You see any cops?" asked Tank.
"Damn!" sighed Tyrone. "I saw them fucking bars closing in my face."
"Naw. We good. But I'm pissed at you, bro. You know we supposed to share the wealth. I can't get no women by myself, man. I'm too fat. The girls all think I'll kill them if I lay on them. I got to take your sloppy seconds, you know?"
"They scared of me too," said BD, grinning for the first time since he unloaded his balls in that girl. He wondered where she'd gotten off to. Probably somewhere to look at her pussy and make sure it wasn't torn to shreds. They all did that the first time he got in them. But later they came back for more.
"At first," he added, grinning even wider. "Don't you worry. I'll get us somethin' to play with at the dinner tonight."
Then the word started filtering through that Coach Tanner was back, and that he wanted them all out to the buses ASAP. And what that meant was that if you hadn't gotten a shower yet, it was too bad.
They had showers at the hotel.
Brady and Francine might have made further progress on damage control, but they were interrupted by men, still full of the ecstasy of winning, who began pushing onto the bus. That ecstasy, and the adrenaline that had resulted from it, aided by what they found in the locker room, was only now beginning to fade, being replaced by the dog tired dazed looks of men who had given everything they had.
Mixed in with them, though, were those who had sat on the bench. They weren't tired. And the party atmosphere was carried on by them.
A gaggle of them were faced by Brady Hopkins, who stood at the back of the bus with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread. He looked serious, which was all wrong, because they'd won!
Then the men saw the group of girls, wearing jerseys, augmented by what was clearly a hooker, occupying the last two rows of seats.
Rumor had given these men partial information.
They sought to confirm it now, and get even more.
But Brady represented a stone wall.
"Do not speak to them," he said, clearly. "Do not look at them. Do not even think about them. They do not exist. You got that?"
"What the fuck ever," said Jeff Hodges, the kicker. "Is it true there were hookers in that locker room?"
"I don't know," said Brady. "You'll have to ask Coach Tanner."
"So why do you get a whole handful of them, and Coach chased the others off?" asked Rodney French, the left guard on special teams, who had happened to be walking next to Tommy when he had earlier told Brady he'd hired hookers for the party. He'd been steadily telling that to anyone who would listen to him since the party was broken up. And he was looking past Brady at Francine, who looked like a hooker to him.
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Brady, who suddenly remembered Tommy's accusation that Francine was, in fact, a prostitute. "These women are not hookers, Rodney."
"They look like hookers," insisted Rodney, who had been so busy telling his teammates there were hookers in the locker room that he'd completely missed out on the information about who the girls in the back seat of the bus might be. He was pissed off that Coach had cancelled the party before he got his own hooker. "Especially that one," he said, pointing at Francine.
"You're fined, Rodney!" barked Brady. "Five grand, for sassing a coach."
"You can't do that!" scoffed Rodney.
"I can!" came the stern voice that every man on the team knew. The gaggle of men around Rodney turned to look at Coach Tanner, coming up the aisle. "And so can he, French, because as the Special Teams Coach, Rodney, he's your coach."
"Fuck, Coach!" wailed Rodney. "That ain't fair. He gots himself six sluts back there, after you chased off all the others and cut the party short. It ain't right, Coach, and you know it!"
"One of those 'sluts, ' Mr. French," said Bob, his voice low and dangerous, "is my daughter. And the others are her friends. And if you say another fucking word, I'm going to make that fine fifty thousand dollars, Mr. French. You got that, Mr. French?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he pointed to the front of the bus and said "Now, go find yourself a seat at the front of this bus. And if you can't find one, then go to a different bus, because I'm tired of looking at you!"
It was deathly quiet on the bus. That was partly because they all knew why Rodney French was going to pay that fine and not make a single frown while doing it.
And the reason he would do that, was because everybody knew that when Coach Tanner started calling you by your last name, with a "Mister" in front of it, then you were teetering on the brink of disaster. Most men addressed that way had been traded in the past.
It had stayed very quiet on the bus until it pulled away from the stadium. All eyes faced front, where Bob was standing. Eventually though, the men started talking about the game, and by the time they rolled up to the ornate front doors, and the waiting press at the hotel, they were boisterous again.
After the players left the bus, Bob told the driver to find a side door around the corner and let the seven remaining passengers off there. Then he told Brady to hold the women on the bus until someone he trusted opened the door and waved at them.
That person turned out to be the same Randy Nakimura whom Brady had asked to look out for Kendi. He was also the only Oriental person associated with the team. While no one ever actually asked Bob why he chose Randy, it was because, like Brady, he thought of Randy as a nice guy, and also because he could be fired without harming the team, should he shoot off his mouth about what he was about to do.
And that was sneak Brady and the women up to Bob's suite.
It was almost eerily quiet in the room.
They had no luggage. Their school uniforms were gone.
Francine wanted to question the girls, but she was still too unsettled by being around Brady. And he wasn't making it any easier, staying close to her. And he kept touching her too. Granted, it was quite innocent. He only touched her on the elbow, or with his fingertips in the middle of her back once, as he "helped" her move around an obstacle. He'd briefly held her hand on the elevator, but she'd pulled away. Now he hovered, worried that he'd said something wrong.
"We have so much to catch up on," he said, his voice low.
"Not yet," she said. "Not now."
"I can't lose you again," he moaned, softly. "Please ... let's talk."
She turned to face him. "I never thought I'd see you again," she said. "Let me get used to the fact that I have."
"Got it!" he said, raising both hands, as if to show he wasn't holding a gun or something. He looked hurt.
"We'll talk, Brady," she sighed. "This is hard for me, okay?"
"I thought you loved me," he said.
"I did!" she snapped. Then her shoulders slumped. "I still do. And that's the problem."
"Okay," he said, softly, recognizing this wasn't the time to press.
Bob walked into the room and closed the door. With a sigh, he took off his jacket. For the first time, Brady and Francine noticed his jacket was still damp from the drenching it had gotten when they'd won, and that Gatorade container had been dumped over his head.
He looked at the girls, who were sitting together around the edge of one bed. They looked bedraggled. But a woman who has natural good looks can look good even when her hair is wet and all she's wearing is a football jersey that is, in effect, 4X in size.
"Somebody want to tell me what the hell happened?" asked Bob.
"We had a flat tire," said Judith, as if that would take care of everything.
"I went to take care of the tire," said Francine, joining Bob. "You were supposed to stay with the van."
Monica shifted on her feet. There was still a strong residual of excitement running through her. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Janice yet, but it was clear Janice had suffered not at all from her experience. And that made Monica feel jittery, because she had been close to having a similar one. But only close. She'd been terrified, but now she felt like she'd been robbed. Her unsated passion gave her the courage to argue with Sister.
"We were missing the game," she whined.
"You didn't go to the game," snapped Sister Francine, in her best nun's voice. "You went to an orgy!"
"That part was an accident!" insisted Janice, finally getting in line to defend their actions. She had thought up a line that contained just enough truth that it might get them off the hook. "When we got here, some lady with a clipboard told us to go down this hallway and another woman told us to go in the locker room. It was full of women in costumes and while we were trying to figure out what to do, all these guys rushed in there and everything went crazy!"
"You were naked ... in the shower room ... with naked men," pointed out Francine. She was all too aware of Brady's masculine presence next to her. A memory of them, together in a shower, flickered in her consciousness.
"I couldn't help it!" moaned Janice. "These guys went crazy. They took off my clothes. They took off all our clothes!"
"And put a leopard suit on Kendi," said Francine, dryly.
"I did that myself," said the Japanese girl, without thinking.
"Why?" asked Francine.
Kendi looked around. She wasn't used to prevarication. She didn't sneak around doing terrible, awful, simply luscious things. She crumbled under the gaze of her teacher.
"It was the only one that didn't show everything I had," she moaned. "It covered me, so I chose that one before anyone else could."
Francine turned her eye on the other girls.
"And what costumes did you girls choose?" she asked, her voice sweet, and lacking any trace of anger. "And don't try to snow me by saying that those men took the clothes off of all of you. I saw other women in that room that weren't naked."
Tiffany spoke next. She was confused, because something amazing had happened to her. It was already a haze in her memory. It had happened so fast, and she had drunk so much champagne, that she was afraid she might forget it altogether. And that would be a crime, because other than being scared nearly to death, the only person in the whole wide world who could suck her pussy better was her best friend, the girl standing right next to her. She spoke in an attempt to mitigate the punishment she knew was coming.
"Judith and I kept our uniforms on!" she said, bravely. "But the same thing happened to us that happened to them. The guys thought we were strippers, and they helped us ... strip."
That last part hadn't come out quite like it had sounded in her head. She looked nervously at Sister Francine, and moved to touch shoulders with Judith.
Judith held up her hand.
"It's all my fault. We were late, and it was obvious the game was almost over. We were all disappointed. They wanted to have an adventure, and I let them. I knew we shouldn't do it. I even told them it was a bad idea. But we'd already missed the game, and we thought it was just going to be a wild party ... so ... I let them join in."
"Finally, someone tells me the truth," said Francine. "So do you understand now, how easily things can get out of hand? Do you understand why they sent me as a chaperone? Do you understand why I told you to stay in the van until I got back?"
"Is everybody all right?" asked Bob, who had watched Francine handle the girls like a good cowboy handles wild horses. "Did anyone get hurt?" He got a chorus of "Fine" and "I'm okay" and the like. Still, he'd seen them all naked, being mauled by his team. "Are you sure? Did anything happen that we need to involve the police in? I'm not covering for the actions of my team. I know they won the Super Bowl, but that's no excuse to do what I saw them doing to you."
"You saw us?" gasped at least three girls, in unison. Their worst fears bubbled up and threatened to undo the quiet and calm of the room they were in.
"Well, I saw my daughter standing on a table ... dancing ... naked. And I saw what they were doing to..." He peered at the girls, one by one, until he came to Tiffany. "You," he finished, staring straight at her.
"Oh no," Tiffany whined, covering her face with both hands.
"I cannot believe you girls did that," said Brady, who was feeling left out. After he spoke, he wished he hadn't, because both Bob and Francine turned to look at him like he was a simpleton.
"I can," sighed Francine.
"You can?" asked both Bob and Brady in unison. Both looked astonished.
"I was a girl once," she said, sounding injured.
"And now you're a..." Bob let it hang.
"A novice," she said. "I'm teaching while I decide when and if I want to take my vows."
"When and ... if?" Bob stared at her.
"It's complicated," she said, darting a look at Brady.
"Yes, I can only imagine," said Bob. "So is it time, yet, to talk about how you and Brady know each other?"
"That's complicated too," blurted Brady. "Maybe later, over drinks, might be a better time."
Bob knew his assistant coach pretty well, and he recognized that "over drinks" meant "without the girls around."
"Perhaps at dinner tonight," said Bob.
"Dinner?" Francine's voice rose.
"We have to eat," said Bob, shrugging his shoulders.
"Oh," said Francine. "Of course."
"Unless you want to wait until the banquet, tomorrow night," he said.
"We're having a big banquet for the winners," he said. "Since you missed the game, it only seems right that you should get to go to that."
"Us too?" asked Judith, carefully.
Her father looked at her and frowned.
"You think I'd leave you anywhere alone after the stunt you just pulled?"
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