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
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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?"
