Sister Monica Ch. 02

"And so what Shakespeare is trying to say here is . . ."

But Josh wasn't interested in Shakespeare. Who cared about Shakespeare when your professor was a red-haired, smooth-skinned, hourglass-shaped goddess who had surrendered her virginity to you just the day before?

He had to give her credit. She was composed, business-like, lecturing away as if nothing had happened. But there were clues—subtle clues, if you knew how to look for them. She was avoiding eye contact with him, for one. Normally during class, she made it a point to look at all of her students. Also, she seemed a little disoriented. A couple of times, she had stumbled over her words and had to start over. Again, nothing too obvious. No one would have suspected what the two of them had shared in her office yesterday.

Speaking of which . . . what about their "appointment"? They had left it that he'd pay her another visit this afternoon. He wondered. Would she change her mind? Was she still up for it? He would need to ask her after class.

She turned to write something on the blackboard, and Josh watched her with hunger in his eyes. That soft, round butt of hers was concealed under the loose-fitting slacks, but he had touched it, kissed it, caressed it yesterday. He couldn't get her naked body out of his mind all last night or this morning. He kept seeing her long red hair flowing loose, cascading over her shoulders like flowing lava. It was such a shame the way she always kept it primly pinned up the way she did. He was hoping their encounter yesterday would help to loosen her up in front of the class, but no such luck.

"And for Friday, please read Acts II and III," she said, turning back around to face the class. "Okay, I guess it's about that time, isn't it?"

The students shuffled their papers and books, and got up. They wasted little time leaving the room. Why linger, after all? There were more classes to attend, homework to get a head start on, lunch to eat. But Josh stayed at his desk, arranging papers that didn't need to be arranged.

When everyone else had left, when it was it was just Sister Monica and himself in the classroom, he approached her desk.

"So," he said, "I'll be seeing you later, right?" He smiled, winked.

She took a deep breath. "I don't think so, Josh," she said. She glanced out the open door, into the hallway. Students rushed past, darting this way and that. "Yesterday was . . ."

"Amazing? Incredible? Sexy beyond belief? Hot? Awesome?"

She let out a little chuckle. "All of those and then some," she admitted. "I'll never forget it. But it was wrong, Josh. I can't do that again. I—"

He kissed her. She gasped, but his mouth quickly locked onto hers, shutting it. She tried to pull away, but he held her there.

"You're crazy!" she said once he let her go. "What if someone saw us?"

Ignoring her, he pulled a folded, wrinkled grocery sack from his pocket and tossed it onto her desk. "There," he said. "A gift."

"Josh . . ."

"I'll be up to see you at your office at four o'clock," he said. "You be there, Sister Monica. And you put those on for me." He pointed to the grocery sack. "And don't worry, you'll like what I bought you. You'll love what I bought you. Because you're a sexy girl at heart, aren't you?"

He looked out the door, into the hallway. It was nearly empty now, by the sound of it. The rush of underclassmen, the buzz of voices and laughter had been replaced by silence.

He swooped in and kissed her again. This time he was more forceful, his mouth more persuasive. He kissed her upper lip, then ran his tongue across her lower lip. Her mouth gave way, opened. He put his arms around her, and she reciprocated. Their tongues danced and wrestled, exploring, thrusting, parrying.

"Mmm," she said.

He pulled away, and immediately she looked at the open door.

"Don't worry, no one's out there anymore," he said. "Believe me, I wouldn't do anything to get you into trouble, sexy Monica. I wouldn't want them to fire you. How would I occupy myself this semester without my favorite nun on campus?"

She was breathing hard, in quick gasps. Her face was red. He wanted her, here, now, this second. But he could wait. The anticipation would only make what came later that much sweeter.

"Remember, I'll be at your office by four," he said. "The rest is up to you. If you want this to stop, don't be there. But you will be, won't you, sexy Monica? Because you know how much you want me again. And if you're there at four—and you will be—you make sure to wear the things I bought you." He again pointed at the grocery sack. "Sorry I couldn't have them gift-wrapped. Pressed for time, you know?" He smiled. "See you later, sexy."

And he left. He turned back once, when he reached the doorway. Sister Monica was just standing there, mouth agape, her hand over her chest.

♣

Her office door was closed when he got there. He had little doubt that she was inside, though. He knocked.

There was a pause, then a small voice said, "Come in."

He grinned, opened the door, stepped into her oak-paneled office with the volumes of the great classics lining her shelves, then reclosed the door. She was sitting primly in her chair, behind her desk, hands folded in front of her. Her hair, he was dismayed to see, was still pinned up. He wondered if she was wearing his gifts, but he'd find out soon enough.

He sat in the other chair, facing her. Through the window, behind her, a cold, meager winter sun was offering its last light of the day. Late-afternoon shadows spread along the pavement of the parking lot like two-dimensional silhouettes seeking a warm place of refuge.

He reached into his winter coat pocket. He had a surprise in store for Sister Monica. Feeling around, he made sure the items he needed were in there. Of course they were there. Why wouldn't they be?

"Glad you decided to show up, sexy Monica," he said. She took a breath, said nothing. "You probably thought about this all day, didn't you?" She swallowed, bit her lip (she looked so sexy when she did that), nodded. "I did, too, Sister Monica. We're gonna have fun, don't you worry. I'll rock your world like you can't imagine."

Already her breathing was quickening. Her need, her desire, oozed out of her.

"I bet you snuck off into a bathroom today and sat on the toilet and acquainted your fingers with your clit. Am I right?"

Her face flushed. Her breathing grew faster still.

"It's okay," he said. "Nothing to be ashamed about. You kidding? I had some quality time in the bathroom myself today. Last night, too." He smiled. "But we're not alone anymore, are we?"

He stood up, took his coat off, placed it on the chair, then walked around her desk. She was still sitting down, and she looked up at him with so much lust in her eyes he worried he'd come right then and there.

"Take out your hairpins," he said. "You have such sexy, long hair. It's a sin to keep it pinned up that way." She immediately obeyed, taking off first one pin, then the other. Her long, flowing red hair fell over her shoulders. His erection got just a little bit harder at the sight of it. She had the most beautiful mane of hair he'd ever seen.

"Much better, sexy Monica," he said, and then squatted down to kiss her. She kissed him back with fervor, thrusting her tongue in his mouth, moaning with desire.

They kissed, made love to each other's mouths, for nearly ten minutes. When he pulled away, she was literally gasping, her cheeks touched with fire, her hair alight.

He went back to his chair, reached for his coat. Time to unveil his surprise. . .

Suddenly there was a knock at her door. He dove into his chair, put his coat on his lap, covering the tent in his jeans. Sister Monica's mouth dropped open, her hand went to her mouth, and she pushed her chair in tight against her desk. The top button of her blouse had been undone while they necked, and she frantically rebuttoned it.

"Sister Monica?" a voice from beyond the door said. It sounded like Professor Keyes, the English department chair, a fat, bald old man who taught, among other things, the Romantics and Victorian literature, specializing in Dickens. Josh had taken a class with him last fall.

"Umm, y-yes, Dr. Keyes, the door's open," she said.

He opened it, and it was hard for Josh not to laugh. Professor Keyes's eyes bulged out at the sight before him. It wasn't so much that Josh was there—nothing unusual about a student having a private conference with his teacher. But likely the good professor had never seen Sister Monica's hair unpinned.

She smiled at Professor Keyes, and Josh felt his desire for her increase, if that were possible. She was great under pressure.

"I . . . I didn't know you were with a student," Professor Keyes said, flustered. He nodded at Josh. Josh nodded back.

"Oh, that's okay, Dr. Keyes," she said. "Did you need to see me about something?"

"Uh . . . no, not really. I was just about to head home, and I recalled that I had seen you come into your office a little while ago. So I thought you might still be in. I just wanted to remind you about the staff meeting tomorrow. Ten A.M. in Carroll Hall, Room 201."

She smiled again, nodded, and twirled her hand through her lustrous red hair. It must have been an unconscious action—but the effect was magnificent. Josh smirked when he looked at Professor Keyes's crotch. Was he mistaken, or was there just the hint of a bulge there now?

"I'll be there," she said.

"Very good," the professor said. "Uh . . . see you tomorrow then, Sister Monica. Good seeing you, Josh." And he was gone, closing the door behind him as he left.

Sister Monica exhaled. "Oh my."

"Did you see how he was looking at you, Sister Monica?" Josh said. "I'd say he noticed your sexy hair, wouldn't you?"

She blushed. "This is so crazy," she said. "I should have my head examined."

"Aw, admit it. It turned you on. The excitement. The secrecy. So close to getting caught red-handed."

She smiled. "It was exhilarating, I'll say that. But, just to be on the safe side, would you mind locking the door?"

"Gladly." He again worried that he was going to squirt in his pants before he even touched her. She was so eager, so ready. Any pretense of resistance had long since vanished.

"I have a surprise for you, sexy Monica," he said, and reached for his coat. From the pocket, he pulled out a disposable razor, a can of shaving cream, and a small bottle of grapeseed oil.

"What's that for?" she asked. Behind her, in the parking lot, Josh saw Professor Keyes walk briskly to his car. The wind was whipping, and the bald department chair's fast walk turned into a run. When he got in, he turned the headlights on. The sun was setting rapidly now, the sky morphing from ice-blue to pink.

He set the items on her desk. "You'll find out soon enough. But now I want to see if you put on the gifts I bought you."

She blushed again, and he knew right away. She had put them on, all right.

"I still can't believe any of this," she said, as he again walked over to her side of the desk. "I mean, nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I thought . . . I thought I knew myself. But now, I'm feeling things I never felt before. And I . . ."

"You want me, is that it?" He motioned for her to stand up. She did. "You can't stop thinking of me kissing you, sucking you, sticking my dick deep into you, licking you from head to toe, making you squirm and beg for more. Is that it?"

She swallowed, looked away. "Yes. I . . . never felt a need like this before. It's scary. And it's . . . I mean, I have a calling, don't you see? At least, I thought I did."

"You can love God and love sex at the same time," he said. "I never understood why someone needs to be a virgin in order to be 'in love' with God."

She shook her head. "It's not that simple, Josh. It's . . ."

"Sssh," he said. "Don't worry about it, Sister Monica. You're a good person, a nice person. Everybody knows that. And I'm sure God knows it, too. Don't think about it. This is a secret, between you and me."

"And God," she said, quietly.

He took a breath. This was turning into a slippery slope. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose her now. He needed to act. Words weren't any good.

"Look at me," he said, and she did. And then his mouth was on hers. He kissed her with all the passion, all the gentleness, all the lust that was in him. He ran his fingers through her beautiful hair, kissed her forehead, her ears, her nose, then her mouth again. "I want you, Sister Monica," he said. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. Don't worry about a thing." And he kissed her again. He loved kissing her, and she had gotten very skilled at it, very fast. Her tongue worked wonders in his mouth, and he found himself meeting her moans with his own. They kissed for many minutes, and he didn't pull away until the last hint of daylight had been bled from the sky. In the parking lot, the lights turned on, cutting a beacon through the darkness.

"We better turn on a light," he said. He flicked on her desk lamp—not too bright. Mood lighting.

"Do you think anyone can see us through the window?" she said. She was looking outside, and he came up next to her, placed a hand on her butt, rubbing it through the fabric of her slacks. She closed her eyes and sighed.

He looked out the window. Only a handful of cars remained. More would surely arrive soon, though, as evening classes were about to start. He hated to do it, but with the light on inside the room, he thought they better close the blinds.

"Have you read all these books?" he asked her once the blinds were shut. He gestured toward the many volumes that sat on her wall shelves.

"Yes," she said. "I am an English professor, remember?"

"Hmm, so now we're getting smart, are we?" he said, and he kissed her. Would he never tire of her lips? But this time he pulled away quickly.

"I need to see my gifts," he said, and he slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She rested her arms at her side, looking him directly in the eye. There was no shame, no embarrassment left. When her blouse was fully open in the front, he pulled it off of her shoulders, and she led it slide down her arms, to the floor. He gasped. Her perfect breasts were hugged tightly by the thin black lace bra he had bought her. The black color contrasted wonderfully with the lily white of her breasts. He couldn't resist. He leaned in and kissed them, licked them, and when her nipples grew taught and erect, he nibbled on them through the lace. He felt her heart beating frantically in her chest. She moaned, threw her head back, ran her fingers through his thick black hair.

"Oh yes," she said. "Yes, Josh."

His head was buried between her mounds. They were full and soft—and he felt proud—and aroused—that the 34C bra he'd bought her seemed to fit her just right. He was glad to know he had a good eye.

He straightened up and kissed her on the lips again. "Now to see if you completed the set," he said. He moved like lightning, unbuttoned her slacks, slid them down her legs. She kicked them off, unasked, eager to share. And there it was. The black lace G-string. The sight of her thick red bush protruding through the sides jacked his lust up several notches. The G-string barely covered her, and her mound of red hair looked wild, untamed. He licked his lips, looked at her desk, at the razor and cream.

"Turn around, sexy Monica," he said. She did, immediately, and the sight of her butt, the snow-white flesh encased within the black straps of the G-string, was too much. He went up to her, bent down, and licked her butt cheeks. Then he took them in his hands, and kneaded them like soft clay. He reached around, slid his index finger inside her G-string, and inserted it into her vagina. She was soaking wet, and she moaned loudly at the touch. He pushed it in deep, then out, then in again. Making love to her with his finger. He thrust in his middle finger, too, and she moaned louder, and he felt her knees buckle, slightly.

"Oh God," she said. "That is so good."

That was all he could take. She needed to get naked, and quick. He (reluctantly) removed his fingers from her, and pulled down the G-string. Then he stood up and unfastened the skimpy bra. It fell to the floor, joining the expanding collection of discarded clothing. He turned her around, facing her. She was completely naked and he was still completely clothed, but she didn't try to hide. On the contrary, she pulled him to her and kissed him deeply. She took charge, making love to his mouth. Then she raised his arms above his head, reached down and brought his shirt up, over his head. He tossed it aside, so aroused by her boldness, her eagerness, he was sure he felt a drop of pre-cum ooze out of him.

He pulled away from her. This goddess was too much. If he weren't careful, he'd mess up his briefs in a second. He couldn't believe how sexy she was. It never stopped amazing him. Everything about her drove him wild.

She smiled, her eyes full of lust, and playfulness. He could tell she knew she had gotten to him, and that clearly made her feel good about herself.

He unzipped his jeans in record-setting time, ripped them off, and then slid his briefs down his legs. He was rock hard, and she stared at his erection, her mouth open. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't his nine inches she was gaping at—it was his lack of pubic hair.

"Oh, yeah," he said, and he actually felt a hint of shyness descend over him. He didn't like that. It wasn't supposed to work that way. "I shaved my pubes last night. I figured, what's fair for you is fair for me. You like it?" He had to admit, he liked it, himself. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but the net result made his penis look even bigger than it was. And he was surprised how much he enjoyed touching the smoothness. The sense of touch was stronger, more sensitive, now that the genital hair was removed. He had been careful, too, and only a few ugly red bumps had formed. He'd soaked the area with grapeseed oil once he was through, and that had helped to ease the irritation.

She looked at him, questions forming in her eyes. "What do you mean, Josh?" she asked. "What's fair for you is fair for me? What does that mean?"

He smiled. Now the shy feelings, the questioning feelings, had gone back over to her, where they belonged.

"You like?" he asked her, sidestepping her question.

"I . . ." She approached him, knelt down, licked the tip of his penis. She brought her hands up, rubbed his smooth genital area, cupped his smooth, hairless balls. "It feels so nice," she said. Then she took him in her mouth, just the way he'd showed her yesterday. Sliding her lips up and down his shaft. She moaned as she sucked him, and he reached down, stroked her flaming red hair. Suddenly, he felt a rush inside of him. He had reached the point of no return, and he let loose in her mouth, squirting and squirting. She was surprised, but handled it gracefully, eagerly swallowing his fluid, then licking the remaining come from his tip.

She stood up. "Sorry," she said, licking her lips. "I don't know what came over me. You take off your underwear, and I'm all over you. What you must think of me . . ."

"I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known in my life, in every way," he responded, and she blushed. He kissed her, and she accepted the kiss, and returned it, with the passion he had come to expect from her.

"Now," he said after they broke the kiss. "It's your turn, sexy Monica. Your body is so smooth, so flawless. Why don't we make your mound match the rest of you?"

She swallowed hard, looked at the razor. "But . . ."

"Did you feel sexy when you put on that bra and G-string earlier?" he asked.

She nodded. "I felt strange. I've never worn anything like that before. But yes, I felt good, too." She smiled, the color in her cheeks darkening. Did she have any idea, any idea at all, how sexy her blushing was?