My face goes red. He knows how to get under my skin. He's just 18, but going on 30. Parading around with an arrogant swagger, Mother Superior called him a "bad boy" and ordered the sisters to avoid him.
He writes, I watch, and my mind wanders to that moment of weakness last November. It was just a kiss, nothing more. Our wet mouths met. Temptation overpowered me, and I told him to follow me to the backroom.
Mother Superior interrupted that moment. Perhaps God sent her to prevent me from breaking my vows. Perhaps it was just bad timing.
I daydream the moment as I intended it to happen.
"Hunter, I need you...in the backroom," I say, and he follows.
I climb the ladder in the backroom. I chose not to wear my undergarments today. He'll see my bare vagina if he looks up. He's does and my knees buckle.
There's a nail on the shelf; I put it there myself. As I come down the ladder, it catches my frock. I let go.
I fall, he grabs me, my frock snags, and I am in his arms, my vestments torn, my bare buttocks exposed.
I make a weak attempt to cover up. He climbs to get the garment. I support him and put my hands on his muscular rear. He comes down with my frock; we stand face to face, inches apart. I feel his breath. I move to kiss him, but he drops to his knees. He is not there to pray.
He lifts the remains of my slip, exposing my vagina. No man has ever seen it, ever. I feel a drip down my thigh. I am so wet I create a puddle on the floor. I can smell my essence. It's exhilarating.
"No?" he asks. "No," I say, implying the double negative. "Yes?" he asks. "Yes," I reply."
We're clear. I want this. That was permission.
His tongue presses against my hairy pussy, and I can feel it within me. He's young but knows his way. He laps at my large, moist clitoris. I know that spot from self-satisfaction. My knees buckle, I spread wider, and he ventures deeper. His face becomes soaked with my pungent wetness. Five minutes of this, and the room smells of sex.
I unbuckle his pants; his thick penis is throbbing. I lift my leg slightly. He intends to deflower me, and I need this to happen. I feel his hard flesh push against my vagina. This is it. The end of my innocence. He slides inside. A moment of pain followed by euphoria...
"Sister Wendy?" I open my eyes. Hunter is at my desk, apology in hand.
"You want to read it?"
"I'll count words first."
I catch a few words as I count—pleasure, climax, cum, breasts.
He has my attention. I read the page. It's a detail of how he got detention six times just to be alone with me. This is not an apology; it's a formal letter asking permission to seduce me.
I continue to count his filthy words. My vagina waters uncontrollably. My undergarments are soaked. My nipples are swollen in pain.
748, 749, 750. My hands are shaking. He smiles. I look at him with a stern face.
I hear myself say, "Hunter, I need you...in the backroom."
You can read Hunter's apology letter called:
SISTER WENDY, I APOLOGIZE...
