tagErotic CouplingsSister Monica Ch. 06

Sister Monica Ch. 06

byms72vt©

"This is one of our most popular rings," the sales girl said, smiling. She had a pair of silver bracelets on her left wrist, which jangled every time she moved. It was hard enough for Josh to think clearly as it was, trying to decide which engagement ring to buy Sister Monica. He didn't need the added distraction of the bracelets. "She'll love it, trust me."

The ring in question was way out of his league—$5,000 out of his league.

"Um . . . do you have anything less expensive?" he asked, feeling like an idiot. She looked to be around his own age—maybe a couple of years older. Under different circumstances, and before he had fallen in love with a certain soon-to-be ex-nun, he'd have probably made a pass at her. She was cute—short blonde hair, tan, slim, and drenched with Chanel No. 5 perfume.

She shrugged, jangled her bracelets, beckoned him to follow her with an index finger.

"This one's nice, too," she said. And it was. But again, way too pricey.

"Look," he said, "I can't really go any higher than a grand, okay? Do you have anything in that price range?"

She tilted her head, looked at him like he was a lost orphan or something. "Of course," she said. "C'mere."

He was glad they had the store to themselves. He was embarrassed enough bargain-shopping for an engagement ring without having other customers gawking at him. He had deliberately come first thing on a Saturday morning, hoping to beat the crowds.

"This one's a nice little ring," she said. The strong scent of the Chanel No. 5 made him feel like swooning.

He looked at the ring. It was dainty, basic—just a run-of-the-mill engagement ring, if anything with an asking price of $999.99 could be said to be run of the mill.

"It's got a white gold band, as you can see," the sales girl crooned. "Fourteen karat. It's a cute little thing." It sounded to him like she was patronizing—but so what? He wasn't exactly operating out of a position of strength here.

"I'll take it," he said. He wished he could have bought the $5,000 ring. But at least Sister Monica wasn't materialistic. He had that much going for him.

"Wonderful," the girl said. "Would you like it gift-wrapped?"

He told her no. The sooner he could get out of here, the better.

For a moment, when he was writing the check, he felt doubt. Was he doing the right thing? Did she love him, as he loved her? Was it too soon? Should he give this more time?

No. The semester would be over soon, and he'd be heading home to California for the summer. He hated the thought of leaving Sister Monica that long. But at least he could leave her with this ring—if she accepted it.

He signed the check, took the ring. His checking account was nearly wiped out now—he'd need to cry poverty to his parents when he saw them, hope they could help him out. Some (hopeful) fiance he was . . . needing to ask Mommy and Daddy for money. But he'd make up for it one day. He had no doubt about that.

For now, his main worry was choosing just the right moment to present Sister Monica with the ring.



"Hey, what's that?" Steve Dightmann wanted to know. Josh was sitting on his bed, in his dorm. Four hours had passed since he'd bought the ring, and he was twirling it between his thumb and index finger, examining it, hoping she would like it. . . .

"What's it look like?" Josh replied.

"Damn. . ." Steve sat beside him on the bed, his eyes wide. "I can't believe it. For Monique?"

For a second, Josh's brain raced. Monique? Who the hell was that? Then he remembered. That had been the name he'd given Sister Monica when Steve walked in on them a couple of weeks ago. "Yeah," he said.

Steve whistled. "Man, I knew you had the hots for that chick, who wouldn't? And I knew you, y'know, liked her and everything. But I didn't know you were this serious."

"Yeah, well, I am."

Steve shook his head. "You, married? Doesn't seem right. What's the world coming to?"

"What about you?" Josh asked, eager to change the subject. He put the ring in his pocket. "Any luck with the lonely wives on that site you've been playing around with?"

"Shit no," Steve said. "They keep e-mailing me stuff, but I can't write back! The damn site wants me to give 'em fifty bucks for one measly month. If I don't pay, I can't even respond to a freakin' e-mail."

That confirmed what Josh already had suspected. The site was full of spambots, nothing more. "You gonna pay the money?"

"I don't know. What would you do?"

Josh smiled. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm about to be engaged, remember?" Well, he hoped so anyway. His intended needed to say yes first. . . .



He spent the next day downtown, at the museum with Sister Monica. He never thought going to a museum could be so much fun, but it seemed like everything they did together was fun. She was so interested in all of the displays, and her enthusiasm rubbed off on him. Still, after walking through the corridors and slowly browsing through the displays for nearly three hours, Josh had had enough culture.

"You wearing the butt plug?" he asked her as they looked at a wax figure, which stared straight ahead, expressionless eyes watching them. He had asked her to put it in last night. He hadn't penetrated her ass in a while, and he really wanted it.

She smiled. "You'll just need to check later."

He loved the way she flirted now. She had become very comfortable with it. Looking at her, he was awestruck, as usual. She had on a sleeveless blue top, which he had bought her just last week, and a knee-length skirt. Her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders in lustrous red waves. And she was wearing a silver chain necklace—another of his many gifts to her. She was breathtaking, and Josh couldn't help but notice the many admiring looks she received as they strolled through the museum.

"I can't wait any longer," he said. "Let's get out of here."

She checked her watch. "Wow. We've been in here for hours! I completely lost track of the time. Are you hungry, Josh? It's way past lunchtime."

"I'm hungry, all right," he said. "But it's not food I'm wanting."

She giggled, took his hand, and said, "Mmmm, I like the sound of that."

"C'mon, sexy lady," he said. "Let's go somewhere more private."

They went to his car, and he quickly merged into traffic. It was a half hour drive back to the college, and he didn't want a minute to go to waste.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he used his free hand to unzip his jeans, and then slid them down his legs. Next, he lowered his briefs. His nine-inch penis was fully erect, and freshly shaved.

Sister Monica shook her head, but couldn't contain a giggle. "Josh! There are cars all around us. Someone could look right in and see."

"Good," he said, and with his free hand, he slowly pulled her skirt up, bunching it around her waist. He licked his lips at the sight of the G-string she was wearing. "Pull that sexy G-string down your legs, baby," he said.

She said nothing, but she did it. He could tell she was feeling horny, aroused by the idea of doing something so daring.

He wasted little time. He reached over, found her pussy lips, and began to rub, slowly, going in circles. But the access was limited.

"Spread your legs, sexy," he said.

She hesitated, but then she did it, exposing her smooth, hairless mound. He inserted a finger into her vagina, and smiled. Moist already.

"Hey, I'm feeling a little neglected over here," he said, nodding down at his dick. "The big fella wants a little love, baby."

"Josh . . . " But her words were cut short by a moan. He had inserted a second finger into her vagina, and was rubbing the grooved folds of her G-spot. "Oooh," she purred.

A horn honked beside them, on the passenger side. Josh looked out the window. A car-full of teenagers waved at them, smiling so widely it looked like their faces might crack from the strain.

They hit a red light. The teenage driver next to them rolled down his window, and he motioned for Sister Monica to do likewise.

Josh didn't wait for her to do it. He rolled it down electronically, from the control panel on the dashboard.

"Pull your shirt up!" the teenagers all yelled. "Show us your tits!"

Sister Monica turned away from them, looked at Josh. "Oh God," she said.

"Don't worry, sexy," he said, as the light turned green. "We'll be out on the highway in a minute." The whole time, he continued to rub her vaginal walls. She threw her head back against her seat when he brushed his thumb up against her clit, apparently oblivious now to the car beside her.

"C'mon!" the driver next to them yelled. "Light's gonna turn green."

Then it did turn green, and Josh sped away. The teenaged driver honked at him again, several times. But a minute later, Josh lost them. They turned off on a side street, while he continued straight, heading for the expressway.

He rolled the window back up, then continued with his silken onslaught. He pinched her clit, and she moaned.

Then he grabbed hold of her hand, placed it onto his penis. She didn't need any more coaxing. She squeezed him, and began to jerk him off, running her fist up and down his shaft. Meanwhile, he inserted three of his fingers inside of her, thrusting them, slowly, in and out, in and out. Her breathing grew choppy, and her grip on his dick tightened.

She came a moment later, squirting her juices on his hand.

"Oh my God, yes," she gasped.

Her hand moved along his shaft more quickly now, and he was getting close himself. Several cars had passed him, some of the passengers looking in at them, eyes wide, with either smiles or frowns on their faces.

He wanted to come in her mouth, and he told her that. She was so turned on, she didn't need to be told twice. Leaning over the arm rest between him, she got into position, and wrapped her lips around his dick. She started sucking immediately, her now perfect oral skills bringing him to the edge.

He reached down, stroked her hair. She glanced up at him, the lust in her eyes nearly making him come then and there. She was so completely turned on, she didn't even care about the other cars, the other drivers. But then she released him from her mouth, and voiced her one concern.

"This won't cause an accident, will it?"

They were on the highway now, and while there was ample traffic, Josh felt fully under control. Getting a blowjob while cruising down the road? That was heaven—not an accident waiting to happen.

"No way, sexy," he said. "Now hurry up, okay? He's getting cold down there."

She smiled, and went back to work, eagerly. She flicked her tongue out, licking his tip, then took him full in her mouth again, deep-throating him. He had patiently talked her through the deep-throating process weeks ago, and now she was great at it. She didn't even gag.

He moaned as she sucked him. It felt so wonderful. He'd come in a minute, at this rate. He reached over her, lifted her skirt back up, and caressed her butt. Then spanked it.

"Mmmmm," she said through a mouthful of penis. He spanked her again, and again, and then he came, squirting a huge load into her mouth. As she always did, she swallowed every drop and licked his tip clean when she was finished.

"Damn, I wanted to get back to campus and find a place there," he said, once she was back on her side of the car. "But I can't wait that long." He took the next exit.

"Where are you going?" she asked him. He was delighted to see that she hadn't pulled up her G-string yet, and her skirt was still bunched up at her waist. His penis was already springing back to life, with anticipation.

"I have no idea," he said. "First place I see that looks private, that's where we'll go."

Luck was with him. They came upon a softball field, the parking lot empty. Far off, in the outfield, a man was walking his dog, but there was no one else around. Softball season was a month away, and no would-be players were here. Still, he was surprised to find only one guy on the field. It was an unseasonably warm day for the middle of April, and a Sunday, too. But he wasn't complaining. Definitely wasn't complaining. . . .

"Now," he said, "let's see about that butt plug."



When was the right time to show her the ring? The question nagged him, wouldn't let go. The week passed, and still he hadn't proposed. He was waiting for the perfect moment . . . but when was that supposed to be? Time was running out, too. The semester ended in two weeks.

"It's now or never, man," he said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror on Tuesday morning. Outside the window, the sun was shining, birds were singing, the grass had turned green, and the forsythia bushes were erupting in a shower of yellow leaves. The world was being reborn, and he needed to seize the moment, take charge, do what had to be done.

He would ask her today. Sometime this afternoon, he would head to her office, and he would propose.

The day dragged on. He sat, lifeless, through his Classical Rhetoric class. Then he trudged to the library, finding his private little refuge upstairs, the same place where he had made love to Sister Monica a couple of months ago, with the snowflakes falling outside the window. As always, there was nobody back here. Just what he wanted. He didn't have it in him to talk with anyone. He just needed to wait, to have the afternoon while away until the right time finally arrived. And when would that be? He figured four or five o'clock, when Carroll Hall would be mostly free of other professors. Of course, she might not be there herself, but he thought she probably would be. Yesterday she had mentioned that she needed to grade more of those infernal essays. She'd likely be studiously reading someone's paper when he got there.

But how to pass the time? It was only one thirty. He had three hours to kill. He thumbed through the volumes on the shelves—medieval history, mainly—god-awful stuff that he wouldn't read unless someone paid him to. Even then, it would need to be a hefty sum.

He sat at the long rectangular table, dropped his head, pathetically, onto the table. Maybe he could fall asleep. That would make the time go quicker. But he was too nervous to sleep, too fidgety with anticipation.

"All right, you win," he said to the books on the shelf. "Guess I have no choice."

He pulled out a dusty, fat volume on the theology of Pope Gregory the Great. But that only served to make him think of Sister Monica all the more. She had mentioned the official renunciation of her vows would be imminent. And he hadn't spotted her in the halls today. He wondered. Was she even Sister Monica anymore? Or just Monica?

He closed the book, placed it back on the shelf. It was no use. Maybe he should go outside and jog five miles, get the endorphins pumping. Yes, that was the ticket. Do something. Be active.

He ended up jogging seven miles, then took a shower. It was only three o'clock by that time, but he couldn't hold off any longer. He'd go crazy if he did. He left his dorm room, made the familiar walk across campus to Carroll Hall and the English Department offices. . . .



He was in luck. Her door was half-closed, and, peeking through the crack, he saw her at her desk—not reading essays, just staring out the window. A couple of other professors were around, but that was okay. He wasn't planning on having her squirm and writhe beneath him, climaxing with a shriek. No, nothing like that. He just intended to ask her to marry him, that's all. No big deal.

He gently knocked on the door, let himself in. She swiveled her chair around. He saw that she had been crying.

"Hey," he said. "What's wrong?"

She forced a smile. "Nothing, Josh. Everything is right, I suppose. That's just it."

He went up to her, his left hand deep in his pants pocket, fingers massaging the ring. The band felt hot to the touch, as though it might burn him, even though he knew, intellectually, that it was cold.

He knelt down in front of her, took her hands in his. "What is it, Sister Monica? Something must be eating at you."

"Not Sister Monica anymore," she said, still sniffling. "Just Monica now."

Was that it? But . . . why would that cause her to cry? She had renounced her vows two months ago. The process had taken some time, but so what? Was she having second thoughts, now that it was official? Was she regretting her decision?

"No, that's not it," she said when he asked her. She turned to look out her window again, at the parking lot, half-full with cars, at the still-bare trees in the distance, at the clouds that had formed about an hour ago, gray, swollen with water. More than likely, a downpour was in the offing.

"Then what is it, beautiful?" He felt confused, out of his element. He didn't want to say the wrong thing.

"I don't know," she said. "I just feel . . . sad somehow. I don't regret it, Josh. But I don't know . . . such a crucial part of my life is gone now. I suppose that's what it is. It almost feels like I've gone through a divorce, if that makes any sense."

It didn't, not really. "Did anyone upset you? Say anything out of line?"

She shook her head. "They were all wonderful. Maybe that's what makes it so much harder." He didn't know what to say. He really didn't. Proposing was out of the question, now. It would have to wait . . . again.

"And . . ." she went on, sniffling again, "I got the job at the university downtown. I just got word a few minutes ago."

"Well . . . that's good news. Isn't it?" His head was spinning. Women. Who could figure them out?

She nodded. "Yes. It just feels like everything I've ever known is coming to an end. It's hard to describe. And on top of everything, I move into my new apartment in next week. It's all so fresh, too, I guess. So overwhelming. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow."

Was that a subtle hint? That she wanted him to get lost?

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping a tear that was running down her cheek. "I'm acting so childishly." She took a deep breath, composed herself. "You obviously wanted to see me about something. . . ."

He stood up. "No. That's okay. It's nothing." Yeah, nothing. Good one, Josh.

She stood up, too, put her arms around him, and he held her.

When she broke the hug, she kissed him, just a peck.

"Thanks for listening," she said.

"But you want me to leave . . ." he said.

She nodded. "Just for today. I just need to be alone, to collect my thoughts, remember. Pray. You know—nun stuff, even though I'm not a nun anymore." She smiled—a real smile, the smile he had fallen in love with. Full of warmth and compassion and a window to the generous heart that beat within her chest. "Can I see you tomorrow, though, Josh?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" he said. She laughed, and it was good to hear. "I love you, Sister Monica."

"Monica," she corrected.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Sorry. It'll take some getting used to."

She nodded, gave him a wistful look. "I know," she said.



He resolved to take her to the sea when the semester ended—for a weekend. He'd ask her to marry him then. He didn't know how he'd afford the five-star hotel he wanted to stay in, but he'd find a way. He had grown up beside the sea. That was the thing he missed the most, being at this university. It was located nine hours from the East Coast, nine hours from the beaches and wind-swept dunes and marram grass on the shore. He would take her there, they would have a special weekend together, and he would ask her to be his wife.

Later that week, he told her about his plan, about the weekend ocean getaway, at the end of the term. At that time, she would have just moved into her new apartment, too. It would be a celebration of all the changes—in both of their lives.

She liked the idea, but insisted that she be the one to pay for the trip. Not all the arguments he could come up with would change her mind. This time, she would be the one to treat him. She was adamant.

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