Sex At Hotel Excel Pt 03

Author's Note: I worked at a hotel during my undergraduate years. These are my after hours experiences. All characters are 18 and older.

Fucking Sister Joan

Chapter One - Friday Night

Two strikes, two out, bases empty, top of the seventh inning and the visiting team was down to their last out. One more strike and the conference title was ours though any old ground out or fly out would do. I stood under the lights on the pitcher's mound of St. Michael the Archangel High School, swept the rubber with one cleat and the other then peered in between the legs of my catcher. Greg flashed two meaty fingers, pounded his mitt with an even meatier fist and held his glove where he wanted the pitch--low and away. From inside the cage of his catcher's mask his eyes said YOU GOT THIS MIKE. I wound up and snapped off the perfect curveball. It caught the outside corner of the plate landing in Greg's mitt. The batter's knees buckled. He had guessed fastball and didn't even swing getting a backdoor curveball instead.

"STEEEE-RIKE THREE!" called the umpire. "Game over."

The crowd which had been chanting "SLAYERS! SLAYERS! SLAYERS!" now roared. Greg reached the mound in three great bounds and practically crushed me in a bearhug. The infielders joined in and many hands lifted me in the air. The rest of the team sprinted out of the dugout and joined the celebration bouncing in unison which bounced me above them. Like anyone held and tossed in the air by so many hands I got the distinct feeling no one was in control and I'd end up on the ground any second but it didn't happen. Too many hands of strong young men held me up.

"Put him down! Let him down!" yelled beer-belly history-teacher baseball coach only to wrap me in a hug when they did.

His face flushed with the joy of victory and his eyes shone brightly while he thumped my back with one hand and tugged the bill of my cap crazily down over my face with the other. Honestly the man had never touched me before except to shake hands after other victories. I knew he hadn't won a conference championship in years but his unbridled display of affection surprised me.

"Congratulations coach!" I said hugging him back with my gloved hand in his back. Other hands pulled at my pitching arm - the left one - and slapped my shoulders and back.

"Thank you Michael!" he effused. "Couldn't have done it without you, son! On to state!"

It was the first time he ever called me Michael. Coach broke away leaving me hugging and shaking hands with all my teammates as we lined up to shake hands with the other team who were crestfallen in the agony of defeat. They beat us the previous year for the conference championship. This was payback.

"Good game," we all said to each other knowing it was for us but not for them. "'Bout time you won it," one of their players said to me getting in a dig even in defeat.

Then came the team trophy presentation. Second place for the runners-up and first place for us. Team co-captain shortstop Mike (yeah both of us Mikes) and I hiked the big garish gleaming trophy high overhead to the cheers of the crowd before presenting it to coach whose eyes were so wet I thought he might be crying.

Off to the side there was someone crying. Sister Joan. Tears ran down her face. She was our religion, English and social studies teacher, number one fan and honorary team member. The big toothy smile we rarely saw in school now just would not quit. Coaches and players posed with the trophy. Cameras flashed.

An hour later at the victory party at Mario's Pizza someone touched my arm while I waited alone at the counter for another drink. It was Sister Joan.

"I'm going now Michael," she said. "I just wanted to say congratulations again and goodbye."

"Are you leaving for the summer Sister Joan?" I said. "For your motherhouse?"

"Oh no it's just goodbye for now. I'm not leaving town till after the state tournament," she replied. "Besides my apartment is being remodeled so I have to stick around to make sure they do it right. I'm staying at Hotel Excel. That's where you work now isn't it?"

"Yes," I said.

"When do you work next?"

"Tomorrow night," I said.

"Good," she smiled turning to leave. "I will see you there."

"Sure you won't stay longer?" I said. "There's plenty of pie left. Hawaiian. Your favorite. No one else's."

"No thanks," she said through a rueful smile at my tease then stepping away called loudly, "Think STATE! We're going to win STATE! STATE! STATE!"

The crowd heard her and joined in the chant as Sister Joan walked out the door pumping an arm to STATE! STATE! STATE!

+++++

Sister. Joan. McCarthy. There are no cheerleaders in baseball--no pompom girls or drill team majorettes like the other sports. Joan was a one woman cheer squad.

I've described her in previous stories but in case you forgot I will again. She's tall and slim, easily 5'8, with big brown eyes and a brilliant toothy smile. What little I could see of her hair was dark. The rest remained hidden under the blue veil of her religious order. Did she have long hair? Was it cropped? Like everyone else I wanted to know what was hidden under it. She wasn't a nun in full habit. Except for the veil she wore civilian clothes--dresses, skirts, blouses, sweaters--but nothing immodest. No make-up. No jewelry either except for the silver ring on her right ring finger signifying she was in holy orders.

Though the top button of her blouse was always open she showed no cleavage despite ample breasts. A cross always rested over her heart where her cleavage would be if not hidden. It wasn't a small dainty cross like the one my girlfriend Kim wore. Nor was it overly large and ostentatious like some nuns wore. Still it sat prominently on her chest pushed out by sizable tits I longed to see.

"Tomorrow night," she had just said touching my arm. "I will see you there." Was this an invitation?

I thought of all the times I caught her eyes below my waist ogling the bulge in my baseball uniform. I thought of all the times she caught my eyes on her breasts. I thought of all the times we smiled at each other having caught each other leering. I thought of drill team girl Michelle blowing me in my car telling me how all the girls thought I was already fucking Sister Joan because of the way we flirted with each other.

I decided Saturday would be the night--hopefully the first of many nights--between sister Joan's legs.

Chapter Two - Saturday

No rest for the busy. Though our baseball team had won the 1980 conference championship the night before I was up early lapping in the pool at swim club practice. When it finished my 25 year old swim coach Sharon asked me to wait in her office after showering and dressing. She closed the place down--it wouldn't open to the public until noon--then locked her office door, pulled down my shorts and blew me as I sat on the couch.

"Saw you on the news last night," she gasped drool stringing from her lips when she came up for air. "Congratulations. You're famous now, Mike. College and MLB draftee. Have you made your choice?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Columbia."

"In the Big City. Nice," she said.

Clearly loving my long thick cock in her hands she went back to working it over with her hungry mouth and sucking my balls in her lips. When I tried to pull her up to me she held me off for a few more minutes of cock worship before standing, dropping shorts and panties, straddling me on the couch and sliding on.

Supervisor of lifeguards at the swim club meant Sharon was also my boss when I worked there. You may remember that she started blowing me once a week shortly after I turned eighteen last winter. The pool was closed for the season but she had invited me to what I thought would be a swim team meeting about indoor winter practice at the Y but turned out to be her getting into my pants. After blowing me once a week on her office couch for four weeks--and letting me eat her--she said "bring condoms next week" and we added fucking to our oral repertoire. Now it was early June and her desire for me had not diminished.

"I don't have a condom on," I gasped holding her waist as she pushed on.

"It's okay," she squeaked through a smile.

I understood instantly: her wet bare married pussy was my reward. So were her deep kisses. So were her firm breasts in my hands and her hard nipples on my lips.

"Fuck I love your big prick!" Sharon gasped bouncing on all nine inches of it.

She squirted when she came, squealing in delight before collapsing to me panting. I held her former NCAA Division One women's swimmer body. She squeezed me between strong swimmers thighs. I kissed the palm of her left hand then sucked her left ring finger tasting the gold band and diamond of the man I was cucking.

"You are so wicked," Sharon sighed but squeezed me with her pussy.

"Am I bad for you?" I said looking deep in her big baby brown eyes while flexing my cock inside her.

"So very bad," she said then kissed me.

As I stood up she wrapped long swimmer's legs around me. I held her muscled thighs carrying her on my cock which was imbedded deep in her long smooth flat swimmer's belly. At 25 she was the youngest married woman fucking me. The others were all middle age--some old enough to be my mother.

"Your turn," Sharon said breaking a kiss, her face a mask of bliss.

Without uncoupling I laid her down on the couch and took my turn pounding her till I filled her unprotected pussy with my seed.

"I (something something) baby," she gasped in my ear so softly I barely heard.

Did she say 'I love you baby' or 'I want your baby'?

I put my mouth on hers to stop her saying anything else. It also stopped me from saying I wanted to marry her. Like all other women who let me fuck them bare I hoped I was impregnating her. Call me an arrogant fuck but I didn't care how many women I knocked up.

+++++

That night I knocked on Sister Joan's hotel room door at eleven-thirty. Before I tell you what happened let me set the table.

It had been a busy Saturday afternoon and evening at hotel Excel which meant more tips than usual but things were finally slowing down as the shadows grew long outside. As I exited the elevator heading back to my bellhop position a beautiful woman walked in the front door and strode across the lobby without stopping at reception which meant she was a guest who had already checked in. She had no luggage but carried a couple of shopping bags. One looked heavy. I wondered if carrying it for her would rate a tip.

Tall, slim and busty she wore a dark form fitting skirt which showed long smooth legs from mid-thigh down. It was a hot summer day but she wore black sheer hose. Stiletto heels made her almost as tall as me and caused her hips to roll in ways I could not ignore. Her stylish red open blouse showed ample cleavage which bounced as she strode. Her eyes were hidden by big sunglasses but a face full of makeup accented high cheekbones and long dark brown hair held up in a clip swept back over her shoulders. As the distance between us closed I felt my cock move. When she stopped in front of me her breasts jigged in her top.

"May I carry your bags up for you?" I said flashing my best smile.

"Oh. Um, yes... uh, Michael," she said in a low sultry voice peering at my name tag. "Thanks."

"Which floor, please?" I said in the elevator.

"Five, please."

I pressed the button. Mr. Otis's box did its magic.

She stood near clutching the purse slung over her shoulder but said nothing. As a rule bellhops never speak to customers unless spoken to. She was so elegant and posh she had to be a wealthy millionaire patron, or wife of one, which I found a bit intimidating. Her rich fragrance smelled expensive. To quell the blood rushing to my groin I thought of my wrinkled old grandmother.

I followed her to her room. She inserted key and entered.

"Come in and put them on the bed please," she said closing the door and digging in her purse for a tip.

When I turned from the bed she handed me a fiver, pulled off her sunglasses and smiled.

"Do you recognize me Michael?" she said.

Frown. Double take. Triple take. "Sister Joan? What the...? Whoa. Is it really you?"

"Like it?" she said twirling in her outfit.

"Wow. You look fantastic," I said. "I didn't recognize you at all."

"That's the idea," she said. "When are you off work?"

"In three hours," I said looking at the clock. "Eleven."

"Will you come?"

"Yes."

"I'll be waiting."

+++++

It was that easy. Just like the swim team moms who bedded me and my older sister's friends who bedded me and my girlfriend and her drill team friends who bedded me and my English teacher who bedded me and hotel patrons Patrice Devere & Dorothea Jones who bedded me now Sister Joan McCarthy would bed me. I worked the rest of the evening leaking into my jock every time I realized we were going to fuck.

Now back to her door at midnight, when I knocked it took her a moment to peer through the peep hole and unlock the door. It opened a few inches and stopped. Either she didn't want to be seen opening her door to me or was undressed already. I entered quickly, shut the door and threw the bolt. Joan stood barefoot several feet away wearing a thin cotton nightie with tiny straps over bare shoulders. Braless her full breasts pressed tightly against the fabric. Hard nipples showed through. Her nightie ended at the top of long smooth pale white thighs.

The hair clip was gone and her rich dark brown hair fell to her shoulders but no further. How many years had I longed to peek under the veil? It was beautiful. I had never seen her in makeup until a few hours ago, but no longer incognito she had removed most of it. Still she looked like a completely different woman. Elegant. Sophisticated. Worldly. Sexy. Alluring. Not so innocent.

"Don't say anything," she blurted when I opened my mouth to say hi. "Take you clothes off."

My four favorite words from a woman's mouth. It had never not ended in fucking.

I opened my red waistcoat, removed my metallic blue tie, opened my collar and unbuttoned sleeves.

"Hang your clothes there," she said looking at the rack by the door next to me.

I did. Her huge eyes watched me remove shoes, socks and uniform trousers. I stood there in my jockstrap with half a stump bowing it out. Her eyes locked on it. She bit her lip then her mouth opened a little and her chest swelled.

"Take it off, too," she said.

By the time my jock hit the floor I was fully erect. How many times had I caught Joan's eyes on my junk in my skin tight knit baseball uniform? How many times had her eyes riveted on my bulge pushed out further by the extra large athletic cup I had to wear? Now she had full view of not just my junk but me fully erect. All nine inches of it.

Eyes on my cock Sister Joan stepped forward, reached out and wrapped fingers around it. Finally she had in her hand what her eyes had wanted to see the hundreds of times they undressed me. She held my long hot cock, bounced it her hand lightly to test its weight then dropped to her knees and moved my cock side to side inspecting it. Her other hand joined the inspection cupping my balls and moving my boys. Precum oozed from my head. Joan spread it over my shaft, licked my head with her tongue then wrapped lips around it.

I couldn't believe it. My ex-high school religion teacher was blowing me! With fingers of one hand around the base of my shaft and her other hand holding my balls this bride of Christ stroked my head in her lips, kissed and licked my shaft, wiggled her tongue tip in my urethra and then lifted my cock and kissed and sucked my balls before sucking my head again only this time she looked up at me. Best sight in the world was her eyes on mine with her lips round my head.

She stood and stepped back licking her drool and my precum off her lips. Then her eyes ran up my torso and met mine. She swept the tiny straps off her shoulders. Her nightie fell to the floor. Her large breasts swung freely as she softly kicked it aside. Her areoles were large and pink. So were her nipples. A perfect little innie navel sat in the middle of the outline of her abdominals--not six pack definition but nice. This was a slim woman. Her hip bones stuck out in front with her abdomen sunken between them. Her bush was nicely trimmed to a small triangle. Large labia stuck out underneath. She was already open.

"If you want this come to bed," she said turning and walking to it.

I finally got to see the shelf ass that pushed out her backside so nicely in whatever clothes she wore. Her hips rolled in a way that made my rigid cock want to be deep inside her.

I followed and climbed in. She pressed to me immediately caressing my neck and arms and squeezing the muscles of my shoulders and chest in her hands. I held her waist and caressed her belly up to and over her tits brushing hard nipples with my fingers. As my hands moved up they met hers going down. We twined fingers and caressed wrists for a few moments but her hands wanted to be elsewhere. Lower. Her fingers traced my six pack and navel before palming my lower abdomen then wrapping around my cock.

Stretched out on the bed between my legs she worshipped the big teen dick she wanted while I held her hair aside. At one point she held my erection between prayer hands, her eyes fixed on it smiling. I giggled, so did she then shifted to my side and resumed her oral worship. I wondered how many times she had prayed this would happen.

Holding my cock in one hand while the other rested on my chest she looked deeply in my eyes. They were passionate hungry eyes telling me she wanted my love rod inside her. Needing more air her mouth opened more as I gently caressed the side of one of her breasts while my other slid up under her jaw and I swept a thumb across her lower lip.

"No kissing," she gasped when my lips pulled at her lower lip. "It's too..."

Intimate? She didn't finish the sentence. I kissed her neck and nibbled her ears. She didn't object and it made her gasp. Then she rolled up, straddled me and started rubbing her pussy back and forth along the length of my cock. She was wet. I felt her big overhanging labia brushing both sides of my erection.

"I'm ready," she said lifting herself, grabbing my cock and guiding it in.

"I have condoms," I said.

"Shhh. No talking," she said putting a finger to my lips then, "Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," as she pushed on.

I held her waist to slow her entry but she struggled against my arms.

"Let go!" she gasped. "Just let me. I'm ready for you. I won't hurt you."

I slid hands down and rested them on her long slender thighs. She planted hands on my pecs and slid slowly up and down on my love pipe, pressing down hard, opening herself to me, but not so hard as to bend me. I loved being inside her wetness knowing I was the object of her desire. Sliding hands up her arms I caressed her pits then her tits while she moved.

"Oh god!" she hissed then, "Ffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuck."

Joan followed the natural desire of her body. Like all women she didn't need to use the entire length of my cock. Sometimes she rode just the tip, sometimes half of it, sometimes the full length of it. Looking down at me her eyes made deep contact with mine. When I bit my lip the look of open mouth passion on her face melted into her big toothy perfect smile while her thighs moved her up and down on me and she pumped hips on my rod with her hands planted on my chest.

As I kept caressing her big giggling breasts sweeping thumbs over her nipples loving the feeling of my eighteen year old cock in her wet pussy I wondered how old Joan was. Thirty-five? Forty? More? Less? There were lines in her face but not many and those under her eyes compared to those of middle aged women who fucked me so I decided my teen cock was in and being had by a thirty-something pussy.