Sister Monica Ch. 02

"Well, you'll feel ten times sexier when your pubes are smooth and hair-free," he said. "Trust me."

"But . . ."

"I'll be careful, you won't feel a thing," he assured. "Believe me, the last thing I'd ever do is harm or injure that sexy, perfect body of yours. Now, where is the best place?"

The desk. That was the ticket. She could lie down on her back on the desk, with her legs dangling off the side, her genitals wide open before him.

He told her his plan, and together they cleared away the clutter on the desk top. She still acted nervous, but she would go through with it.

"Where did you put the underwear I gave you yesterday?" he asked her as she laid down on the desk.

"In the drawer," she said with a smile.

"Did you sniff them today?"

"Probably a hundred times," she admitted with another blush. "I was sniffing them just before you got here, at four o'clock."

He smiled. "You are a naughty girl, aren't you, sexy Monica? I love it. And now you're going to be a naughty girl with a smooth mound . . ."

He squirted some shaving cream on his hand, and applied it on her, being sure to rub it in smoothly, slowly. She squirmed, moaned at his touch.

"Now, I'm glad this turns you on, sexy Monica," he said. "But once I start shaving, you gotta keep still. Can you do that, you horny girl?" He kissed her clitoris, and when he raised his face, shaving cream was plastered onto his nose. She laughed, and he wiped it off.

"I can keep still, sexy Josh," she said, and he thought he would faint. That was the first time she had called him sexy. Probably the first time she had ever uttered the word in her life.

She was ready. He brought the razor down, made one fluid stroke. A thick wad of red hair stuck to the blade, along with the cream.

"Damn. I forgot—no running water, no cup of water to rinse."

She gestured to a cobalt-blue vase on one of her shelves. It was empty, perfect. But where would he get the water he needed?

"There's the bathroom at the end of the hall," she reminded him.

"I'll be right back," he said. When he returned, she hadn't moved. The trust she had in him was remarkable. She was fully exposed, fully vulnerable.

He brought the blade down again, and removed another strip of cream and hair. Sister Monica stayed perfectly still, though when the blade was in contact with her flesh, she bit her lip and scrunched up her eyes, as if readying herself for an accidental cut. But none occurred. Josh was as careful as he'd promised. And when he was through, she was perfectly smooth, perfectly hairless.

"How do you like it?" he asked. She got off the desk, stood up. She stroked herself, rubbed herself. She smiled.

"I love it! It feels so nice."

"Mmm, looks nice, too," he said, and winked. "Does it feel irritated at all?"

She shook her head. "Not really, no. That oil you applied really helped, I think."

He loved this. Here they were, he and his nun-professor, fully naked, fully comfortable with each other, sharing their bodies with ease and confidence.

"Come here," he said. She came, and he kissed her. Again they tongue-wrestled, again for many minutes. He tasted the hint of his manhood on her lips, which gave him an idea.

"Here we are, both freshly shaven for each other," he said. "Let's enjoy the fruits of our labors."

He motioned for Sister Monica to lie down on the floor, on her back. He climbed on top of her, his face over her freshly shaven mound, his penis hanging, rock hard and fully erect again, just above her mouth. She didn't need instructions. He felt her take him in her mouth, and he lowered his head and began to lick her clitoris. He flicked his tongue like a snake, teasing, tantalizing. Meanwhile she sucked on his penis with gusto, and he could hear her moaning even with her mouth full.

He attacked her clit more aggressively now, nibbling it, sucking it, and she bucked at the hips. He inserted his tongue into her vagina, probing as far as he could. She tasted so good, so musky, so aroused. Like nectar. He flicked his tongue inside of her, and she bucked her hips so hard his head was snapped back.

He felt her release his penis. "I'm sorry, Josh," she said breathlessly. "Are you okay?"

"I'll show you how okay I am," he said, and he turned his body around, positioned his penis just so, and slid inside her.

"Mmm," she said.

He kissed her, and they tasted each other on their lips. They probed with their tongues, sharing their juices, their arousal.

He went into her slowly, softly, allowing her to adjust to his size. She was so tight, and so small. But she was so wet, he slid in and out of her with ease. It didn't take long before his full nine inches was buried inside of her.

They continued to kiss as he made long, slow love to her, the two of them moaning in each other's mouths.

Then he picked up the pace. He broke the kiss, arched his back, and went after it. In and out he thrust. When he thrust all the way in, he would grind his pelvis against her clit, causing her to squirm and gasp. In, out. In, out. Her breathing degenerated into pants. "Oh God, yes," she said. "That feels so good." He picked up the pace even more, thrusting, thrusting. Suddenly her hips jerked and spasmed and she screamed. "Ohhhhhh!" Then she went limp.

He looked at her. She was sweating, her hair was a mess. No woman had ever looked more beautiful. He was still inside of her, but he had stopped thrusting. He leaned in close, kissed her.

"Oh," she said. "My God, Josh. That was . . . I can't even describe it."

"You can do better than that, sexy Monica," he said, and kissed her again. "You're an English teacher! Your job is words. I want a poem from you next week, describing the sensations you just felt."

"You what??" She giggled like a schoolgirl. He began to thrust again inside of her, slowly, slowly. "Mmm," she purred.

"Well," he said, as his breathing began to become more rapid, "we can keep it short. I know you're busy and all. How about a haiku?" He picked up the pace.

"I don't . . . know . . . if I . . . mmmmm.. . . could ever . . . describe . . . this feeling," she said.

He pulled out of her. She frowned.

"Don't worry, sexy Monica," he assured, "we're far from through. That bathroom at the end of the hall has a shower, you know."

Her eyes bulged. "No," she said. "No way. We couldn't."

"We could, and we will. The offices are deserted. All the profs are at home, having supper, banging their wives, or teaching the evening classes. No one'll see us. Besides, we can just lock the door."

He stood up, then reached down to take her hand, helping her up.

"C'mon," he said, and opened her office door.

"Josh, no! We're naked!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Last one to the shower's a genetically mutated armadillo."

He took off, running down the hall. Turning around, he saw Sister Monica at his heels. Her breasts jiggled, up and down, as she ran. She was smiling. It was hard to believe this was the same prim and proper nun who wore loose-fitting clothes in class, with her hair pinned up tightly like a schoolmarm in a children's television special set in the 1880s.

He let her beat him to the bathroom, and as soon as he closed and locked the door, she was on him, kissing him, hugging him, taking him by the hand and dragging him to the shower. What passion, what untapped sexuality must have been burning within her, under the surface, for decades.

He turned the water on, adjusted the temperature, then activated the shower. They stepped inside the tub, holding hands. The water flowed over them, hitting their hair, their faces, their chests. Sister Monica's bright red hair straightened and darkened as it got wet, falling all the way to the small of her back. They joined their lips, their faces getting soaked, and they kissed and laughed and tickled each other.

He took her in his arms, hugged her close. The feelings inside of him were intensifying. He hadn't counted on this, hadn't ever experienced feelings like this before. He felt such tenderness for her, such warmth. It was crazy. Not only was she his professor. A nun. She was also seventeen years older than him! This was supposed to be harmless fun, sexy play. Nothing more. Why, then, the flutter in his heart? The pang he felt when she pulled away from their kiss and looked deeply in his eyes?

He couldn't take it—not one second longer. He pushed her against the wall, positioned himself properly, and was inside of her. He pinned her arms against the wall, his hands in hers, their fingers laced together. He kissed her, and kept kissing her the entire time he made love to her. She moaned and squirmed, as the water struck their undulating bodies, running down their arms, their backs, their legs.

He was about to come, so he pulled out and squirted in the shower. In an instant, she was on her knees, taking him in her mouth, getting him hard again.

His heart beat so fast, he thought it would burst through his chest. She was insatiable!

"Let's go back to my office," she said, after they had toweled off a few minutes later. Who was he to argue?

Back in the office, he sat down in her chair, and she sat on his lap, her back to him, her feet firm on the floor.

"Please turn off the desk lamp," she instructed. He didn't know why she would want him to do that, but he did it. A moment later, he had his answer. She reached up and opened the blinds, letting the lights from the parking lot filter in through the window.

"Make love to me, Josh," she said, and she positioned herself, sliding onto his once-again fully erect penis. "Make love to me as we look up at the stars."

And there were stars out. It was perfectly clear. He wheeled the chair closer to the window, and they both looked up at the sky. No one was in the parking lot, as least not as far as Josh could tell. Even if they were, they probably would not be able to see inside Sister Monica's dark office.

She lifted herself up on his lap, then slid back down again. Up, down. Her vaginal walls felt like a hot glove squeezing his penis. He reached in front of her, cupped her full breasts in his hands, massaged them. In front of his eyes, her red hair bounced as she did—up, down, up down. He sniffed her hair. It smelled like flowers on a spring morning, with the dew on them. He asked her to turn her head back, toward him, and they kissed.

She turned around and faced front again, peering up at the stars as she rode him. He felt her vaginal muscles constrict, and she threw her head back. "Ohhh. Yes," she said. "Yes, oh God, yes."

He kissed her hair, continued to fondle her breasts.

She got up, then sat back on his lap again, this time facing him. They kissed. They kept on kissing deep into the night, and they made soft love again, and then they fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

When dawn came, when the first hint of daybreak filtered in through the window, Josh got up, softly. Sister Monica was still asleep. She looked like an angel lying there.

He quickly dressed, then bent down to kiss her on the cheek. She didn't stir.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, Sister Monica," he whispered to her.

Then he stood up, went to the door, and silently let himself out into the hall, closing and locking the door behind him.