David Rutter, vicar of Chigwell drove up to the mansion that housed the Sisters of Our Lady of Succour. In the car park were a fleet of black luxury cars – a Bentley with the number plate SUC01 and a succession of six others that included two Jaguars, a BMW, two Porsches and a Nissan 300zx, all with similar number plates with ascending numbers.
Mrs. Marcia McNab, his housekeeper and general factotum (and provider of his morning blow job) had noted that the order had apparently prospered under the new Mother Superior but that appeared to be one of the great understatements of all time. The grand house was immaculate and so were the grounds and gardens, testament to a large workforce. The door was answered by an ancient crone complete with nun's habit and wimple. She gestured for him to follow and led him into a modern office on the ground floor and pointed him to a plush chair in front of large desk that had one of those lairy Apple Macs to one side.
The door opened and a smartly dressed and coiffed woman entered. The elegant business suit did little to hide a patently voluptuous figure with the vee of the jacket deep enough to show a tightly packed cleavage. While her features were smooth and unblemished, the hazel eyes danced with mischief. She wouldn't see 50 again but she showed all the signs of a very healthy animal.
"So you're the vicar of Chigwell," she announced in a surprisingly firm and business like manner. She extended her hand as he rose and gave him a strong handshake. The nails were buffed and well tended. She took in the tall dark and handsome vicar and her eyes shone with pleasure. "I'm Maureen McKinnon, Mother Superior of the Sisters of Our Lady of Succour. And I am very, very pleased to meet you."
"And I you, dear lady." David eyed her large mobile bottom as she made her way around to the chair behind the desk. "How may I be of service to you?" he drawled as he took his seat and crossed his long legs.
"I'm sure an intelligent man such as yourself might have noticed that we don't appear to be the religious order you might have imagined. The old girl that answered the door is there for show. Old Antoinette belonged to the previous management when they were poor and destitute. We are now in business, and a fairly profitable one at that. As a religious order we do enjoy considerable tax advantages so we haven't changed our name, although our business name is Succour Enterprises."
"Fascinating. What is the nature of the business then?"
"We manufacture products for enjoyment in the home. We do a great line in dildos and vibrators and other items of a like nature. You must remember that nuns have been getting themselves off by themselves for centuries. You don't seem surprised to hear this."
"Not at all. I too provide a service that the traditional church might frown upon."
"Indeed. And that is why I gave you a call. We have a problem that you appear to be eminently qualified to provide."
Rutter frowned. "What? You want me to shag a bunch of old tarts or something?"
Maureen laughed out loud. "My dear vicar, certainly not. I'll explain. Up until a year or so ago, we had a defrocked Jesuit priest with us, a Brother Jonas. A bull of a man, he kept the girls happy but more importantly provided us with the model for our most popular line of dildo. Unfortunately, he had a heart attack and the sales of his dildo have declined rather rapidly in recent months. You see, we girls like to try different dicks, real or manufactured." She opened a drawer and drew out purple latex cock. It was quite large and with an appreciable diameter. The helmeted head however was unremarkable and the balls that were attached were relatively small for the size of the barrel.
"This is where you come in vicar, er David. We have a number of patronesses and we understand that while your – er organ is not of the overly large variety, it does have a certain character that would be perfect for our needs. Should you agree to participate, we will provide you with 10% of the royalties. What do you say?"
"You want to use my cock as a model for a new line of dildos? Hmm, apart from the money, what other inducements are there? Any company benefits at all?"
"Well, Brother Jonas was the order's father confessor. Many of our order spent some time on their knees in front of him. He gave benediction up until the day he died. In fact, he was performing such a duty when he died." She chortled at that. "Come. Let me show you our manufacturing plant."
Rutter followed her out of the room, down a hallway and into what was previously the ballroom of the mansion. An assembly line had been set up from raw materials to packaging. All about the room were women of various ages working and wearing light weight smocks. As they entered, a tall raw boned but striking blonde woman strode up to them. "Maureen, we have a problem. Our last mould of Jonas' dick is about to go cactus on us. You had better find a substitute and quick. Is this it?" She eyed the vicar up and down and two large bulges suddenly pushed against the material hiding a pair of largish and clearly unfettered breasts. "He looks good, but has he got the goods?"
"Joan here is head of production. Sister Joan, meet the vicar of Chigwell, David Rutter. I am reliably informed that he does indeed have the goods. Not the size of Jonas but apparently much more interesting. Just explain to him how we go about making the mould."
"First we get you hard then you shove your penis into a box of setting plaster like this one. Once it's set, we cut you out, make a master then use that one to do a number of production moulds."
