Teacher's Pet

Teacher's Pet

Prologue

Sexual abstinence is not the normal human state. Genesis 9:7 says, be fruitful and multiply. Suppressing one's normal sexual instincts can lead to an explosion of excess when released. Sister Angelica led a religious life of poverty and abstinence for thirty years. Then, in a moment of physical weakness, her suppressed sexuality exploded into an orgy of excess.

All characters engaged in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.

Chapter 1

Fifty-year-old Sister Angelica moved through the crowded halls of the exclusive private college with the poise and the measured gait of the lifelong teacher and nun she was. Each black Cuban heeled shoe was placed carefully before the other with practiced ease. With each step, her black below-the-knee skirt flowed around her full hips.

The pursed lips and pale blues eyes projected a stern, unapproachable visage. The students parted in front of her like water before the prow of a speed boat as she made her way toward her classroom. She was a formidable woman, stern in her visage, a 30-year fixture at this elite boarding school.

Her stern visage belied the confusion she had felt lately. Menopause caused her to feel uncomfortable in her skin. The night sweats alternated with hot summer-like heat. Her vagina went from painfully dry to flowing with juices hot enough to rival molten volcanic lava.

She informed her Mother Superior, who sent her to a doctor who put her on hormone replacement therapy. The doctor explained that the HRT patch would release a hormone cocktail to minimize the menopausal effect while she transitioned.

The doctor also alerted the nun to possible side effects, including some sexual arousal as her body adapted. Thirty years of celibacy left Sister Angelica unprepared for the raw sexuality the hormone replacement drugs caused.

The HRT eased the painful dryness of her vagina and reduced the hot flashes. However, the hormonal imbalance caused the nun to experience intense sexual arousal, something years of abstinence left her unprepared to handle.

The physician warned her that there might be side effects. She said she would have to adjust the drug to find an efficacious dosage that did not cause her undue discomfort.

The nun's heavily starched white scapula rose over the mounds of her large breasts. Unlike the nuns of yesteryear, she did not wear the penguin suit. The rest of her attire was more modern: a knee-length black skirt and a sensible blouse or sweater.

Even this modernized habit struggled to minimize the swell of her 34G breasts. Their size was a distraction, particularly with the young men. Any counseling session she held with her male charges began and ended with them staring at her tits.

The HRT made Sister Angelica feel like a stranger in her own body. Her hormone-induced emotions were all over the map. Her libido, suppressed for 30 years through prayer and fasting, raged to the fore. Her engorged nipples were sore from pressing against her white cotton bra. Also, she experienced what she privately thought of as her private summer, distracting random hot flashes.

The pungent aroma of her ten-person freshman art class's hormones assaulted her nostrils when she entered the room. Once, that scent caused the corners of her mouth to turn down in disgust. Now the acrid odor fueled her arousal. The gusset of her plain cotton panties moistened as her body reacted to the scent of rampant teenage hormones.

By the end of her teaching day, her nipples were hard and irritated from rubbing against her cotton bra, and the crotch of her fullback white cotton panties was sodden with her secretions. And, shamefully, when she showered, her fingers lingered over the hairy entrance to her sex, becoming a masturbation session.

She would stand with the steaming hot water cascading over her embarrassingly large breasts, her fingers buried in her hole while her free hand mauled her tits, pulling hard on her nipples. During these sessions, she came with a violence that caused her to sink to her knees, sated and weak in the aftermath of her orgasm.

While the overall student aroma was less objectionable, she found that individual students' scents had different effects. One teenager in her homeroom class seemed different from the rest, whose aroma was the least objectionable.

She took her place next to the podium; the object of her nightly masturbation sessions, a Black freshman, sat at the back of the room. Deandre Cambridge was a 6' 7", 220-pound basketball player and part of the elite school's new diversity program. Minority students received scholarships they otherwise could not afford.

Deandre was also an attempt by the chancellor to make the pitiful basketball team more competitive.

A veteran teacher with many private information sources, she frowned at the term snitches, Sister Angelica was aware that he was subject to constant hazing as the school's sole Black student. During the semester, she developed empathy for him. In her youth, back in Ireland, she was also an outcast.

She was an 18-year-old, heavily freckled, overweight, with a ruddy complexion. The star player on the rugby squad seduced her and then told all of his friends, who incessantly teased her about having sex. The nun bore the emotional scars inflicted on her by her cruel classmates. That humiliation caused her to become a nun to vow celibacy.

Unusual for a first-year college student, Deandre Cambridge was alone in his dorm room because his classmates refused to share a room with him. She instinctively wanted to protect him from his uncaring classmates during the semester. She recognized the instinct as maternal though she never had children. Additionally, his pungent aroma was not as acrid as his classmates. It seemed to draw her.

Yesterday, after class, he lingered by her desk. The questions he asked were inane; designed, she was sure, to curry favor with her. However, for the first time, she felt a genuine connection. It was an unfamiliar feeling. She learned to control her emotions and libido by suppressing all emotions, focusing only on her duties as a nun.

The disembodied image she used for her nightly masturbation sessions stood beside her at the podium. Peremptorily, she raised one hand, palm up, fingers spread, silencing him while the other students filed out of the room. The reek of his hormones was particularly strong, cloying her nostrils. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

The miasma of his hormones caused her nipples to get painfully hard. The usual slight dampness in her vagina became a flood. She fought the urge to pull the sodden crotch of her panties from the crevice of her sex. The panties at once irritated her swollen labia and simultaneously rubbed against her clitoris. That rubbing sent shocks through her body. Long suppressed memories of the lone sexual encounter of her youth flooded back.

"Yes, Mr. Cambridge?"

Deandre Cambridge stuttered. When he was nervous, the stuttering got worse.

"Sister Angelica," he stammered, "where can I read more about the baroque artist like Rubens?"

She smiled quietly at his request. Though disadvantaged, he had an inherent love of the beauty of great art.

However, he stuttered so severely that the nun could barely understand him. During the semester, she found that if she sat at a desk next to him, the less formal setting seemed to help him.

Today she did not have time. Her panties were causing disturbing tremors in her body. She needed to get to her cell strip, shower, and change. However, her teaching instinct was strong; he needed her.

"Deandre, let's sit at the desks."

She attempted to step by him with her arm outstretched, indicating they should take their usual seats at adjacent desks. When she did, her sensitive breasts brushed against his arm. The shock of the contact sent thrills through her body. Her legs turned to water, unable to support her. Her hand shot out and grasped the podium, trying to regain her balance.

Seeing the nun slump, Deandre grabbed her under her armpits, trying to prevent her from falling. However, her momentum carried her into him. His hands slipped, covering her behind as he struggled to support her weight.

Deandre's touch caused her body to react to her fantasy. She fantasized about him touching her in her clandestine masturbation sessions. The tremors in her body became a quake as his hands slipped down further, cupping her ass cheeks and unintentionally squeezing them as he tried to arrest her fall.

Sister Angelica experienced a soul-shaking spontaneous orgasm. The intensity of the orgasm was such that she slumped against Deandre, her weight carrying them both to the floor. His hands were frantically grasping her habit, trying to break their fall, pulled her skirt up around her waist.

Disoriented, her body trembling as unfamiliar waves of sexual pleasure washed over her, she fell into his arms and on top of him on the classroom floor. They lay crumpled on the floor as she slowly recovered.

Her body betrayed her as she recovered from her orgasm, causing her to briefly humped his thigh between her legs, which was resting against her sex.

Deandre was terrified. Not only was she a nun, but she was also a White woman. His parents told him to avoid contact with White women, or the administration would find a way to revoke his scholarship. It was a belief deeply rooted in the racial mores of the era.

The youth's hands squeezed her ass while she humped his thigh, sending waves of sexual heat cascading through Sister Angelica's body. Her pussy spasmed as another orgasm washed over her body. Her head rose from his shoulder, and she looked into the terrified eyes of the student. His lips were moist and slightly parted, seemingly inviting her to kiss him.

She leaned forward, touching her lips to his, humping his thigh as they kissed. She sighed when the tip of his tongue touched her lips. Her lips parted, and she took his tongue into her mouth, sucking hungrily. She was oblivious to the fact that they were in a classroom, that just outside the closed door, students and teachers were ending their day.

Sister Angelica took his face in her hands as they kissed, sucking on his tongue as she ground her sweltering pussy against his thigh. For several moments, they felt each other up as they dry-humped.

Deandre pushed aside her panties. His hand traced the crevice of the Sister's full mature ass, finding her starfish with his free hand. He pressed one finger against it while his other hand pushed between them and fondled her breasts. Sister Angelica shook and cried out as the waves of her orgasm finally crested and receded.

Sister Angelica came down slowly, her surroundings coming back into focus. She realized she was lying on her classroom floor, making out with a student.

Her skirt was around her waist, and one of his hands had found its way inside the elastic of her panties, fingering her anus. The other had pushed up her blouse and caressed her breast through her bra.

Mortified, she levered herself up, forcing her crotch against his rigid cock. Even distressed, she momentarily rotated her hips against his substantial manhood.

"Oh, my God! What's happening to me!"

The room spun slowly as Sister Angelica struggled to her knees. She looked down into the terrified visage of her student. Further down, she saw a substantial bulge in his crotch

"Sister! Sister! Are you okay? I'm so sorry...so sorry!"

Sister Angelica pulled her skirt down with hands that seemed to belong to someone else. Finally, she was able to rise to her feet and cover herself. She, too, was terrified.

"Deandre, get out of here. NOW!"

Terrified, Andre scrambled to his feet. He tried to speak, to apologize. However, his stutter, worst because of his fear, made him unintelligible.

"Get out of here," Sister Angelica screamed, watching as the terrified youth sprinted for the door. "And don't tell anyone...Anyone, you hear...What happened here!"

Chapter 2

Sister Angelica lay naked in her darkened room, her mature body drenched in sweat. A box fan sitting in the lone window was the only ventilation in the claustrophobic cinderblock room.

The bed was little more than a cot. Her spread legs hung over either edge. Three fingers of one hand were jammed into her overheated pussy and pumped furiously. Her juices ran down her fingers and soaked the sheet. Her body undulated as she thrust against her fingers. Periodically she would take a wet finger in her mouth and taste her pussy.

Perspiration and her pussy cream stained the white muslin sheet covering the cot. Her substantial chest, belly pooch, mature full legs, and thighs gleamed from her exertions. Her lips were pulled back in a snarl, exposing her even white teeth. Spittle foamed at the corners of her mouth. A grotesque, wanton grimace disfigured her otherwise handsome face. Her free hand pulled hard on her large coral nipples, eliciting gasps of pain and pleasure.

She was close, so close. Her body ached and trembled with her need. She reached back into her memory, trying to dredge up the image of a man, any man she could imagine impaling her on his cock. It had been years, decades since she had a man in her pussy. She ached for the full feeling, to have her cunt stretched, pummeled by a cock, any cock.

The ebony visage of Deandre Cambridge swam into view. She was on top of him as he was earlier that day in her classroom. This time she was naked, straddling him feeling his dick press against her needy pussy. Deandre was naked also, his hands explored her body, stroking her ass while squeezing her breasts. She saw his large dark eyes, sculpted athlete's body, with his rigid cock standing like a black flagpole.

She imagined those full lips sucking her nipple, those even white teeth tugging deliciously on her turgid nipple. The image was so vivid she could almost feel his cock in her. She imagined a cock of enormous size pressing against her engorged pussy lips, slipping between them into her needy hole.

In her mind's eye, she could see it. She could see his dark chocolate skin on her pale, freckled skin. The imagined male scent made her nostrils flare. She felt his ball sac slapping against her ass. She could almost feel the power of his thrust, taking her, driving up into her, and taking her to unimagined heights.

"Oh, dear God," she whimpered, "let me cum this time. Please let me cum!"

She fantasized about his ebony tool swelling in her. She imagined the explosion, the tidal wave of his sperm pumping into her. A shrill cry passed her lips, and her plump hips pumped violently as she oozed the fragrant juices of her orgasm around her plunging fingers.

Her stomach convulsed as she came, and her hips thrust up until she was balanced on her head and heels. She held that position, her back arched, for several moments as the violent spasms of her orgasm shook her. She collapsed on the bed, sated; her chest heaved, and her breath came in short hard gasps. The beads of sweat formed streams running down her body, further soaking the sheet.

Sister Angelica struggled to control her breathing. Even as she fought for control, her fingers continued to slide between her swollen butterfly lip pussy. Small tremors shook her. The small window fan whirred as it tried in vain to clear the air of the heavy pungent scent of her arousal.

I must see the doctor again, she thought. The hormone therapy she prescribed for menopause awakens sexual feelings I have not experienced in three decades.

The nun turned on the lamp on the nightstand next to her cot. She blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the light. She stood and walked into the tiny shower in the corner of her room. She needed to hurry. She had a meeting with the chancellor in his office.

Chapter 3

"Sister Angelica, for the first time in my 20-year tenure here, we have a chance to win the state basketball tournament. As a private college, we usually don't have access to five-star basketball recruits. They go to the big schools to be drafted into the pros. Deandre Cambridge gives us that chance. However, there's a problem."

A short, squat man, Chancellor Allen compulsively arranged and rearranged the pencil and papers on his desk as he considered what he would say. As he did, he stole glances at his longest-tenured teacher. She needed to go along with his request. She began teaching here right out of the convent 30 years ago. She never missed a day. Despite being a harridan, she seemed to get the best out of her students.

"Yes, Chancellor Allen! I'm aware the team is doing well athletically. However, Deandre Cambridge is ineligible. He failed my Art history midterm."

"Yes! Yes! I know! That's why I asked to meet with you!"

Thomas Allen looked up at the head of his English Department. She was not much to look at. Her nondescript clothing did not help her appearance. Charitably, he thought it made her look chunky. She was about 5' 4" with an inordinately large chest. Her face was passable, although it usually screwed up like she had just tasted a sour lemon. Her thin, colorless lips were pressed together and slightly puckered. Her pale blue eyes squinted myopically behind her thick black horned-rim glasses.

"That's why I asked you here. Since he failed your Art history test, the regional superintendent and I thought you would be the perfect person to tutor him."

Sister Angelica eyed the chancellor suspiciously. When he summoned her to his office, she suspected he would ask her to change Deandre's grade. Tutoring him was a more acceptable option.

"As I understand it, Chancellor Allen, the tournament starts in two weeks. I could never teach in two weeks what he didn't understand in half a semester."

"The superintendent and I thought you might choose one artist and focus on that artist and his technique. This Deandre isn't dumb. It's just that he doesn't see the relevance of art."

The nun considered the request for a moment.

"Very well, Chancellor Allen, I'll do it! For the school!"

She spun on her heel and walked out of the chancellor's office,

Chancellor Allen grabbed the phone and called the Regional Superintendent. "Yes! The old biddy agreed! The state basketball championship is ours!

Chapter 4

Deandre Cambridge took a deep breath and knocked on the Detention Room door. Being the lone Black student in this lily-white elite boarding school made him uncomfortable. He was acutely aware that his basketball skills, not academic acumen, got him into this exclusive private college.

However, his parents were ecstatic. Graduating from this school assured him acceptance into the old boy network and a job at a prestigious business. His future would be secure.

The pungent aroma of Deandre's youthful hormones assaulted Sister Angelica's nostrils when he entered the room. Once, before menopause and the HRT treatment, that scent disgusted her. Now Deandre's acrid odor fueled her arousal. The gusset of her plain cotton panties moistened as her body involuntarily reacted to the smell of raging teenage hormones.

She felt a moment of unease as the embodiment of her nighttime fantasies stood before her. The incident in her classroom added some reality to her fantasy. She recalled him sucking her nipple and the disgusting yet arousing recollection of his finger pressing against her anus.

"Have a seat, Mr. Cambridge!" her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat.

Sister Angelica watched as he eased his outsized frame into the too-small chair. She took a seat next to him.

"I...uh...I want to thank you for helping me, Sister! Especially after what happened."

The nun raised a hand in the universal gesture to stop.

"We'll not discuss what happened that day." Sister Angelica paused for a moment, considering her next words. "I apologize for losing control and putting you in a compromising situation."