Sister Monica Ch. 03

She came back around the desk, sat down in her chair. Josh was crouched beside her. She crossed her legs, the flowery skirt primly draping all the way to her ankles.

"Busy," Dr. Jenkins said. Through the opening in the underside of the desk, Josh could see his tailored black slacks and shiny black shoes. "But listen, I don't mean to keep you. I just wanted to talk about . . ."

Josh tuned him out. He could care less what Professor Don Jenkins wanted to talk about. Not with his sexy Shakespeare teacher's legs right there in front of him. It was too much to resist.

He reached under her skirt, gently stroked her calf. Up to her knee, then down to her ankle, then to her knee again, in a small, circular motion. She started to shake her leg a little, apparently trying to get him to cool it, but instead, he reached up higher, caressing the soft, smooth flesh of her thigh. He pulled on her leg, wanting her to uncross them, wanting full access to her panties.

She was prattling on about something to Dr. Jenkins, remarkably composed. But then she uncrossed her legs, as he continued his velvety assault. He reached up higher, took hold of her panties, pushed them aside. He rubbed her shaved mound (he could tell she had shaved it again herself within the last twenty-four hours; apparently what he had started last week, she wanted to maintain), then stuck his thumb into her vagina. It was soaking wet. He heard her gasp.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Sister Monica?" he heard Dr. Jenkins ask. "You don't look so well, if you don't mind my saying. I know there's a flu going around . . ."

"No, I'm fine," she said, as Josh inserted his middle finger and index finger inside of her. He pressed firmly against her G-spot, and her body jerked. "I . . . I, uh, mmm, I guess I'm just a little tired. It's been one of those days, y'know?" He imagined her smiling, trying to remain calm and ladylike, and that just turned him on all the more. He reached up with his other hand and massaged her clit, all the while continuing his onslaught on her G-spot.

"Well, I'd better get going anyway," Dr. Jenkins said. "Thanks for your time, though." Josh heard the chair move, then heard the footsteps receding toward the door. "Would you like me to lock the door, Sister Monica?"

No reply at first, then, finally, "Umm . . .mmmmm. . . . no, no, that's not necessary, Don."

Then he heard the door open, and close. In a flash, she stood up.

"I can't believe you did that!" she said.

He got up, too, and smiled. "Aw, c'mon, sexy girl. You loved it. Admit it, it was fun."

She started to speak, then burst out laughing. "What am I going to do with you?" she said. "How about this?" And he was on her again, kissing her, his tongue doing a ballet in her mouth. God, she tasted good. And her kissing skills were now top-notch. She kissed with such passion, such spirit.

"No," she said, and forced herself to pull away. "Gosh, I just totally lose all control when I'm with you." She took a few deep breaths. "Now, please, Josh. We really need to talk. Okay?"

More voices, loud and close, rose and fell beyond her door.

"Ugh, this place is such a zoo right now," she said, still breathless. A few strands of her red hair had come loose from her pins, and the effect was extremely sexy. "I wish it were quieter. I don't want us to be disturbed again."

His brain raced. He wanted a quiet spot, too, where we could ride her to an overpowering climax without being interrupted. Sure, they would talk. But she would come first—several times, hopefully.

But where . . .? He got it! The library! Upstairs, in the corner at the end of the Medieval History section—no one ever went there. Josh had studied at the light wooden table there many times. He had never once been disturbed. He'd even started to think of that back corner as his own private little world. They'd be safe there.

When he told her, he half-expected her to protest. It may have been a neglected portion of the library, but it was, after all, a public space. They could still be distracted if the situation wasn't right. But she agreed. As he left her office, he told himself that the sex they were about to have would be so good, she'd have no choice but to keep seeing him. If this talk she wanted to have was designed to end things, he'd just have to change her mind and leave her panting for more. . . .

♣

The library wasn't very large, by college campus standards—it was a small university, after all. But it was big enough to find a place to yourself—and the Medieval History section had been his refuge on more than one occasion. One time, he had even necked with a freshman there. He would have gone all the way, but she was too nervous, worried that they'd be spotted.

He arrived first, and paced the floor, absently flipping through the old, dusty volumes on the shelf. The thought occurred to him that Sister Monica might possibly stand him up. But no, even if she did intend to break things off, he didn't think she'd do that. It wasn't in her nature. She'd be there.

He took his coat off—they always had the heat turned way up in here. He heard it humming, droning, as the stale, dry air filtered through the floor vents. Meanwhile, outside, the snow was coming down even harder. This was turning out to be quite a storm. Looking out the window, he couldn't see anyone. It was like a ghost town out there—the light from the lampposts cutting a swath over empty pathways, filling up, moment by moment, with snow.

"Hello, Josh." He turned around. He hadn't even heard her footsteps. "You're right. It's really quiet up here. I don't think I've ever even been in this little corner of the library."

She took off her coat, rested it over the back of a wooden chair, positioned alongside the rectangular wooden table where he'd spent hours studying for his midterms last fall. For some reason, he thought of the chunky girl from his Shakespeare class. When he'd walked in the front doors, he saw her right away, her nose in a book, seated in a chair not fifteen feet away. He was able to get passed her without her seeing him. Apparently, Sister Monica had been just as fortunate.

"Yeah," he said. "It's like a mausoleum up here." He spoke softly. Yes, it was like a mausoleum, but the main floor was beneath them, and, twenty feet to their left, though blocked off by a succession of book shelves, a railing overlooked the reference area, where a silver-haired matron and a middle-aged brunette (who Josh thought was quite attractive) studiously tapped on computer keyboards. If Josh and Sister Monica weren't careful, the reference librarians, or someone else, might overhear them.

She went up to him, looked at him, her eyes the color of autumn woodlands, deep brown, full of mystery and wonder. "So," she said. "Can we talk now, Josh? I mean, really talk?"

No. Not yet. Not until he made love to her, right here, right now. But instead of the direct approach, he chose subtlety.

"Sure," he said. "Let's sit down, okay?"

He didn't go to the table. Rather, he went to the ledge by the window. It was really a long, low book shelf, full of books no one would ever read unless they absolutely had to. The top of the shelf, smooth, wooden, was perfect for sitting. And for other things. . . .

She sat beside him, as he hoped she would. When she turned to face him, he leaned forward to kiss her.

"Josh, no," she said. "I—"

"Sssh," he said. "I know we need to talk, Sister Monica. But first . . . I want you so bad. We can talk afterwards."

"Josh . . ."

But his mouth was on hers. And there was no resistance. She kissed him back with everything that was in her. She was so full of lust, so full of sexuality that needed to be released. She was his. And he was going to make this very worthwhile for her, for both of them.

"Josh . . ."

He responded by cupping her right breast, rubbing it through the cotton of her white blouse.

"Someone will see us . . ." she said.

"I don't think so," he said. "As long as we're quiet, no one will come back here. Trust me."

She looked at him, chewed on her lower lip (that always drove him crazy; did she have any idea, any idea at all, how sexy she was?). She shook her head. "I must be losing my mind," she said with a laugh. "I can't believe the things I do with you."

"I can." And he was on her again, kissing her, caressing her, reaching underneath her blouse, fondling her breasts. He reached behind her, unsnapped her bra, and removed it, pulling it out from under her shirt, placing it in his pocket. "You have my underwear in your desk drawer," he said. "It's only fair that I keep something of yours." He punctuated this with another kiss. She responded with a moan.

He reached underneath her shirt again, and squeezed her naked breasts, cupping their fullness, circling the nipples with the tips of his fingers.

"You have the best tits, sexy Monica," he said. "You really do." He squeezed them harder for emphasis, and she moaned again, resting her head back against the window. And then he felt her fingers on the zipper of his jeans. She unzipped him, and he shimmied out of them. Then her hand was on his rock-hard penis, stroking it through the thin material of his briefs. Meanwhile, he continued to fondle her breasts underneath her blouse, pinching her nipples—which she seemed to love.

His dick was starting to hurt, caged the way it was. He directed her hand to his waist, had her pull his briefs down, and then his penis sprang out, standing, tall, and ready, pointing up toward his belly button. Sister Monica licked her lips at the sight of it.

She scrambled down to the floor, on her hands and knees, and took him in her mouth. He moaned with pleasure—it felt so good, her lips sucking him, her mouth sliding up and down his shaft—and he rested his head back, against the window.

It was quiet, only a few voices occasionally drifting up from the main floor of the library. And the drone of the heater, as the hot, stale air wafted through the vents. And Sister Monica's lips, making soft slurping sounds as she sucked him.

"Damn," he said. "My God." He couldn't hold it in any longer. The fluid rushed out of him, streaming into her mouth. She took it all, and swallowed. Then, as she had done to him before, she licked the tip of his penis, cleaning it of the last straggling drops of cum. And then she took him in her mouth, and didn't stop until he was rock-hard again.

"You know, sexy," he said, "you're lucky I'm a young, horny guy with a lot of stamina. Most guys wouldn't be able to keep up with you."

She blushed, but smiled. Any notion of talking had been whisked away. She looked ready, so eager, just yearning to feel him deep inside of her.

He motioned for her to lean forward onto the window-shelf, her nose almost pressed against the glass. The shelf was short enough that she could rest her arms on it and still have her knees on the floor. She looked so sexy, fully clothed, except minus her bra. Which reminded him. He pulled her skirt up, exposing her legs, butt, and white cotton panties. He pulled them off of her, picked up his discarded jeans, and put them in the pocket, to join her bra there. He knelt behind her, stroking her naked butt, and she purred with approval. Next, he reached for the pins in her hair, removed them. Her red tresses fell luxuriously down, over her shoulders, some of it escaping to fall in her face. He ran his fingers through it. It was the sexiest hair he'd ever seen. He would do his best to persuade her to wear it loose from now on, even when she taught class. That was if, of course, she wanted to continue seeing him. That was if this little lovemaking session didn't represent the end. If she—

Shut up. Now wasn't the time. What the hell was he doing? Brooding, wondering. Worrying. Here he was, with his sexy nun-professor eager and ready for him. Now was the time to act, not think.

He reached in front of her, his hands going under her blouse, and cupped her breasts. He pinched her nipples, hard, and she moaned, throwing her head back, her hair cascading behind her like a scarlet waterfall.

Her skirt had fallen back down, and he lifted it up again. Not wasting any time, he positioned his penis at her opening, then thrust it in. He had made love to her a half-dozen times since last week, but she was still very small and tight. She had been a virgin for thirty-seven years, he reminded himself. So go gently.

"Mmmm," she purred.

"What do you want, Sister Monica?" he said, as he gently thrust, in and out, allowing her to get acclimated to his nine inches. She was soaking wet, her juices enabling him to slide in and out of her with ease. He pinched her nipples again, then squeezed the full mounds of her breasts.

"I want you . . . to make love to me," she said. Her breathing was getting very choppy.

He pinched her nipples again, then removed one hand from under her shirt, and grasped onto her hair. He pulled it backwards, and her head snapped back, her eyes looking at the domed ceiling.

"No," he said, and he felt the rush of lust explode throughout his body like never before. He sensed that she enjoyed his control, enjoyed for it to be rough. And she had so much untapped sexuality inside of her. She had released some of it already, but much of it remained, beneath the surface. He wanted to help her let it out. Because underneath the loosely fitted clothing, the all-too-often pinned hair, the prim exterior, she was a kinky, sexy, horny goddess.

"No," he said. "You want me to fuck you, sexy Monica. Say it."

He expected her to resist. But she didn't. At least not verbally. She said nothing, and so he pinched her nipple again and pulled her hair, this time harder.

"Oooh," she said, and he felt her vaginal muscles constrict. She was close. Too close.

He pulled out of her, backed away.

She looked back at him, confusion in her eyes. And frustration. "Josh . . ."

"You have to tell me what you want."

"I . . ."

"C'mon, sexy Monica. There's no reason to play games with me. I know you want it. And I know you're a naughty girl underneath that staid façade of yours. There's no secrets with me. You won't be struck by a lightning bolt for admitting what you want. Just tell me."

He reached under her blouse again and stroked her left breast.

"Tell me," he said, and pinched her nipple, harder this time than before.

"Mmmmm," she said, her body jerking. "Oh God, yes. Please!"

"Please what?" He placed his penis at the entrance of her vagina, rubbing his tip against her but not entering. He brought his hand back, then brought it down, hard, on her left ass cheek.

"Ohh. Please f - - - "

He slipped inside of her, half an inch, then pulled out again.

"Until you tell me, sexy Monica, I will have to keep you waiting." Another pinch of her nipple, another half-inch thrust—in and out in a heartbeat. Another slap. "Now you tell me what you want."

"Please," she said, as he spanked her hard and thrust into her, just half an inch again. "Oh God, please fuck me!"

He leaned in, kissed the back of her head, and she turned her head around to offer him her lips. He kissed her, and her tongue had never been more aggressive. It snaked in and out of her mouth, wrestling with his tongue, vying for supremacy. Then she turned to face the window again and thrust her hips back. He got the message, and he entered her, all the way this time.

"Oh yes," she said. "That is so good. Oh God." In and out he thrust, and her hips matched his rhythm in perfect harmony. He was gentle now, his hands running through her fiery red hair, caressing her blouse-covered back, her full, fleshy breasts. And she was moaning and panting, completely oblivious of their whereabouts—to the point where he became worried. Would someone hear them?

"Ohgodohgodohgod," she panted more than said as he rammed in and out of her. This was the first time they had done it doggie style, and his penetration had never been deeper. "Ohgodohgodohgod," she kept saying, and then she arched her back, her muscles tightened, and she shrieked. He had never seen a woman come quite like that before.

He pulled out of her, looked around, waiting for them to be caught. But no one came. How could no one have heard that? But apparently they hadn't. Breathing a sigh of relief, he went back to his sexy professor. She was sitting on the floor now, her expression one of perfect contentment.

"Oh my God," she said again, and offered him a tired smile. "I am speechless, Josh."

"That's a switch," he said, and she playfully hit him. "But really, I thought you were gonna give us away, Sister Monica. I mean, jeez! I can't believe no one heard us."

"I know," she said. "But I couldn't help it. I never felt anything so incredible in my life."

"You liked talking dirty, didn't you?"

She blushed, sweat beading on her forehead, her hair a mess. She looked breathtaking.

"Yeah. It really turned me on."

"You're a sexpot, you know," he said. "Underneath it all, you are a horny, sexy, kinky, naughty sexpot. And I really wanted to draw that out of you, sexy Monica. It's like you're a force of nature, just wanting to be unleashed." She laughed, and so did he. "But . . . I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not. How could you have?" She looked genuinely puzzled.

"I mean, when I pulled your hair and spanked you. I sensed you wanted it rough, you know? But I didn't mean . . . I mean, I didn't . . ."

She caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand. "It's okay, Josh," she said. "You didn't hurt me. I loved it all. I've never felt so completely alive. You didn't hurt me at all. But thank you for asking. You're sweet."

Now it was his turn to blush. The way she was looking at him. Could she be feeling the same thing he was? Could she be falling in love, too? Could she really?

She motioned for him to sit beside her. He did, and she kissed him. "Do you want me to, um, relieve you?" she asked, winking. He was still fully erect.

"You can't get enough of me, can you?" he said.

Her answer was to lean forward and suck him. He ran his fingers through her hair as she did, and slid his hand beneath her skirt, massaging her clit. She moaned, and he moaned, as he came in her mouth.

A minute later, he was fully dressed. And he knew, now, that there was no way to put it off any longer.

They sat down on the window ledge again, their backs resting against the glass. Behind them, snowflakes, fat and sticky, fell against the pane.

"Josh . . ."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I guess it's time for you to tell me what you've been wanting to tell me," he blurted out, and then swallowed hard. He looked out the window. A couple of students walked along the snow-strewn pathway, moving fast, wanting to get out of the cold.

"Don't be afraid," she told him.

"Yeah, easy for you to say," he said.

She looked hurt, and he instantly felt like a jackass. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that. It's just . . . I never thought anything like this would ever happen. I mean, I liked you right from the beginning, Sister Monica. Thought you were so sexy. And I really just wanted to have some fun with you, y'know? I mean, yeah, I admit it, it turned me on that you're a nun. And then, when you told me you were a virgin . . . and you're just so freaking beautiful. But I didn't mean to get in so deep. I didn't think . . ."

He shook his head. He didn't know how to tell her he was falling in love with her. He hated feeling so vulnerable. He absolutely hated it.

"I was attracted to you right away, too," she said then, and stroked his cheek. "That's very unusual for me—to feel so drawn to one of my students. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. And so when you came into my office that day, and . . ."

"Yeah, you couldn't resist me, could you?" he said. Then he kissed her. He needed the reassurance of her lips. Before he knew it, his hands were back inside her blouse and they were full-on necking, moaning in each other's mouths. Finally, he pulled away.