by Cole McCade
Leigh smiled to herself and toyed her pencil between her lips, savoring the rubbery velvet texture of the eraser and the coolness of the metal band against her mouth, making her lips feel soft and needy, wanting something more than just rubber and wood against her tongue. She liked when Sister Mary Anne watched. Liked when the nun looked at her, liked that potent sense of helplessness that clung to her like perfume. It made Leigh feel powerful. Just as powerful as his hungry looks across the table; just as powerful as her mother’s silent resentment and the forceful rattle of the silverware when she set her wine glass on the table. She’d liked provoking her mother. Liked making her pay for how many times she’d told Leigh to put her stupid books away and keep her opinions quiet and be seen, not heard, like a good little girl meant to be admired and paraded around but never treated like a human being.
She wasn’t a good little girl. Not anymore.
And the rules didn’t apply to her now.
She flicked her tongue over the eraser, and Sister Mary Anne tripped over something about William Butler Yeats as her lips twisted together. The nun cleared her throat and darted a resentful look at Leigh, before continuing—while Leigh just bit back her grin.
How much could she get away with? She slid forward in her chair, spreading her thighs a bit more. It was probably cruel to do this, to a woman who was supposed to be celibate. Could a nun even be a lesbian when they weren’t supposed to have sex? Probably. Just because she was sworn not to do anything about it didn’t mean she couldn’t like what she liked and want what she wanted.
Leigh just liked that what Sister Mary Anne wanted was her.
She liked that Sister Mary Anne looked at her. He still looked through her, during the daylight hours. Still patted her head and called her Rissa-Rabbit and only indulged her in quick, perfunctory hugs before shying away as if guilty. When she kissed his cheek and said I love you, Daddy he only smiled, thin and tight, his eyes blank and strange and so very different from the consuming fire that burned in them when he looked at her after dark.
Another hot glance from desperate blue eyes. Another thick catch in the nun’s breaths as Leigh let her hand slip beneath her desk and curled her fingers in the pleats of her skirt, pulling it up one inch at a time, nearly shivering with the dark breathless pleasure of exposing herself, bit by bit. The sister’s voice stopped, her words drying up. A few other students whispered, watching the stricken look on her face, but Leigh only smiled, as she pulled her skirt up to bunch around her hips and bare the wet white cotton of her panties. At this angle, Sister Mary Anne was the only one who could see underneath the desk, and see what Leigh offered that she could never have.
Do something about it. Leigh pursed her lips in a mocking kiss. I dare you.
The sister’s hands clenched against the edge of the podium. She glared down at the open book, snapping off No matter what disaster occurred / She stood in desperate music wound / Wound, wound and she made in her triumph…. Was Leigh, then, a beautiful lofty thing—a thing heroically lost, heroically found? If she was lost, she was lost in herself as she turned her hand to slip the pencil between her thighs, and caught her breaths with a liquid-gold jolt of pleasure as she dragged the blunt eraser tip down her panties, rubbing the cloth into the warm wet folds of her cunt until she wanted to whimper, and bit her lip on all but the smallest hitched sound. A sound she knew Sister Mary Anne heard when the woman’s jaw worked from side to side and her brows knotted together so fiercely, but the nun kept her eyes on the page.
Look at me.
Leigh pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and arched her back just to feel her nipples press against the crisp soft fabric of her bra, and circled the pencil eraser against her clit until her thighs trembled and the soft sensitive flesh swelled and throbbed. A hot wet trickle slid over her skin and threatened to drip onto the chair beneath her. She didn’t care, right now, if her classmates saw. If they called her a slut. All she cared for right now was Sister Mary Anne.
Look. At. Me!
Sister Mary Anne held on to the podium until her knuckles ridged with bone and her nails scraped brittle against the wood, scratch-scratch-scratch, underscoring her shaky voice discussing use of repetition in Yeats’ poems and its effectiveness in adding nuance to the meter of the work. Leigh didn’t think the sister even knew what she was saying, at this point. She bit the inside of her lip on another low sound as she shifted against the chair, the cold metal rivets kissing the undersides of her thighs, and slipped her fingers down the front of her panties to touch damp, burning skin.
Look, Sister Mary Anne. Look.
“Clarissa Leigh Wellington!”
Sister Mary Anne’s palm came down sharply on the podium, making the book jump. Making the class jump, Leigh included; she sat up straighter, closed her legs, smoothed her skirt, and offered her sweetest smile.
“Yes, Sister Mary Anne?” she asked.
The nun’s jaw twitched, a tic leaping tight below a stern and forbidding glare. A glare that seemed as if it could call down the wrath of God for her filthy sins; a glare that might have had more effect if Leigh hadn’t known that Sister Mary Anne was a sinner, too, and half the fury in those snapping blue eyes wasn’t at Leigh, but at herself. Guilt wound tight in the stiffness of the nun’s shoulders.
“See me after last bell,” Sister Mary Anne bit off, clipped and stern. “I’d like to discuss your conduct in class.”
And amidst confused whispers from her classmates and a few gleeful giggles from the girls who didn’t like Prissy Miss Clarissa Leigh the quiet little trust fund baby…Leigh smiled.
“Yes, Sister Mary Anne.” She bowed her head over her notebook and rested the pencil with its gleaming eraser tip to the page. “Of course.”
Leigh held her peace for the rest of the day, while Sister Mary Anne studiously looked anywhere but at her, even when Leigh continued to smile. It felt like a sexy smile; a seductive smile. A woman’s smile. Through math and history, she held her smile. Through lunch and the free study period, too, even if she was tempted—so tempted—to slip into the bathroom and plunge her fingers inside herself and ease that building ache that made it so hard to concentrate on school. Sometimes it scared her, how she could never seem to turn off the wanting. How this thing he’d woken inside her could never be sated, never be satisfied, and if she had a choice she would spend every waking minute of every day on her hands and knees with a thick cock plunging deep, chasing every thought and fear and hurt from her mind to fill her up with nothing but pleasure.
The last bell rang. Her classmates rose with books thumping and chairs scraping and hushed chatter between them, many looking at Leigh furtively and smiling with snide, greedy interest.
What’d she do? Sister Mary Anne was suddenly just…mad.
I don’t know. But it must’ve been bad. We can find out later.
She just closed her notebook and folded her hands together and waited, and wondered why she felt this bright warm thrill of anticipation.
The last student filed out. The door closed. And the feet of Sister Mary Anne’s chair dragged loud against the floor as the nun rose, strode to the door, and locked it with a heavy click.
The weight of her gaze fell on Leigh, dark with disapproval. She pursed her lips, thin and pink, as she folded her arms over her chest.
“Explain to me,” she said coolly, “why you felt that behavior was appropriate in class. Or at all. Anywhere. Especially at your age.”
Leigh kept her head bowed, looking down at her interlaced fingers. “I have no explanation, Sister Mary Anne.”
The nun made an exasperated sound, then approached her desk. Long fingers slid into her vision as Sister Mary Anne rested a hand atop Leigh’s notebook. “I’ve noticed a change in you, Clarissa. I’m concerned. These past few weeks you’ve been inattentive in class, and you’ve been indulging in these lewd little displays more and more often—even if, to your credit, you’ve been more subtle up until this point.” When Leigh said nothing,
Sister Mary Ann sighed. “Look at me when I speak to you, young lady.”
Leigh lifted her head, looking up at the nun, feigning innocence as best she could when she still felt like a wild animal inside, and wanted to…to…she didn’t know. Spit in the nun’s face. Kiss her. Slap her. Laugh outright and walk out. Push her against the desk and teach her all the things he had taught Leigh, all the things that felt so good.
Sister Mary Anne pursed her lips. “If there’s something happening in your home life that you need to talk about…”
“No, ma’am.”
“It’s all right. You’re safe here. I won’t let any harm come to you if you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she said, then smiled her sexy smile that made her mouth feel sensuous and full. “What’s wrong with you?”
Sister Mary Ann stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“You keep looking at me. Every time I lick my lips, every time my skirt hikes up, every time I leave just…one…button undone.” She punctuated each word with a flick of her finger against the buttons of her shirt, undoing the high collar, opening a V that let her skin out to breathe cool air, that left her tingling when Sister Mary Ann’s gaze dropped to stare, following the path of Leigh’s fingers. “You look. Isn’t that a bad thing for a nun to do, Sister Mary Anne?”
The sister wet her trembling lips, mouth working soundlessly, before she ground her teeth and jerked her gaze up to fix blankly over Leigh’s head. “I look because it’s a disciplinary infraction and it’s my job to maintain standards of appropriate behavior.”
“That’s not the only reason you look.” Leigh slid out of her chair and circled the desk, drawing close enough that she could feel Sister Mary Anne’s warmth baking through the thin black fabric of her habit. “Do I make you wet, Sister?”
“Clarissa Leigh!” Mary Anne gasped, jerking back, high spots of color in her cheeks.
“It’s okay if I do.” Leigh tugged another button open. Another. Then slipped her fingertip behind the sweet little pink bow in the front of her bra, and traced the soft dip of flesh with the tip of her fingernail, gasping out as just the slightest touch made her skin prickle, made her breasts feel tight and warm. “You don’t have to follow the rules, you know.”
The sister swallowed thickly, her throat moving visibly, her eyes wide and almost terrified. Yes—that frightened, helpless, compelled look. Leigh loved that.
“Stop that,” Sister Mary Anne choked out. “This instant.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” She ran her tongue over her lips and stepped closer, reaching out to curl her fingers in the sister’s habit. “I don’t think you want me to, either.”
For just a trembling moment, she thought Sister Mary Anne might kiss her. The nun swayed closer, her lips parted, her breaths shallow. Then her hard-edged narrow hand snapped up.
And cracked sharply across Leigh’s face.
Her head whipped to the side, wrenching her neck painfully—but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the sudden bursting bloom of hot pain in her cheek, crawling up her face with a burn like a candle held too close, knocking the wind from her.
She touched her cheek, livid heat under her fingertips, and blinked several times to clear her spinning vision. The world cut into bars beyond the disheveled strands of hair flung across her face. It took a moment to even process what had happened; longer still to process the way every sweet sensitive delicious point in her body felt like it had lit on fire, that slick needy searing sensation licking its way up inside her again.
She turned her head back to look at Sister Mary Anne. The woman had backed away, putting several desks between them, and now stared with her mouth open, her hands clutched under her chin, gripping with shaking fingers at the rosary around her neck, lips moving in whispered prayer stark with the horror and self-loathing that reflected from her eyes like shifting kaleidoscope colors.
And Leigh smiled.
“Did that feel good?” she asked, pressing her cool palm against her cheek.
“Oh God,” Mary Anne gulped. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me…”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Mama.” Leigh tossed her head back and stepped down the aisles of desks. She was learning to walk in just that way—that way that made her hips feel oiled and sleek, that made him look and made Sister Mary Anne’s breaths shudder. She crooked a finger. She was predatory and full of singing madness, and the pain in her cheek only fueled the high. “Come a little closer.”
Sister Mary Anne retreated until the backs of her thighs hit the thick slab of the oak desk at the head of the classroom; her chest rose and fall in little rabbiting pants. “Wh-why…why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.” Leigh didn’t stop until she’d backed the nun against the desk. Until she pressed hard against her tall spare body and felt the warm softness underneath her habit, yielding against the crush of Leigh’s breasts, shivering as if she’d been shut out in the cold. “Because I like watching you tremble.”
Need wrote itself into every line of the woman’s body. In the shaking claws her hands made against the edge of the desk; in the flush in her cheeks; in the rasp of her inhalations and the dark dilated hopelessness in her eyes. Leigh pressed closer, molding herself to Sister Mary Anne, drunk on the power she had to make a grown woman let out such a despairing moan.
Until Sister Mary Anne thrust her back, hands gripping her shoulders hard enough for spikes of pain to dig in around her collarbones.
“Enough, young lady. Enough.” The sister drew herself up, looking down at Leigh with a harsh and forbidding stare, squaring her shoulders. “I am your teacher, and a nun of the Catholic church. You have no right to speak to me this way. No right to behave this way.”
Leigh lifted her chin, smirking up at her with a little purr. “Going to give me detention, Sister Mary Anne? A little more time alone with me? Or maybe you want to hit me again.”
Something hardened in the sister’s eyes. She let Leigh go and stepped back, fixing her with a stern, cold stare.
“Bend over the desk,” she ordered.
Leigh faltered, darting a look from Sister Mary Anne to the heavy, gleaming desk, with its stacks of severely organized papers. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me, young lady. You know quite well this school allows capital punishment, and perhaps you’ve been spared the rod a few too many times if you think you can behave in such a wanton fashion.” She pointed a sharp thin finger at the desk. “Over the desk. Now. And I’ll be having a long talk with your parents after this, as well as the guidance counselor.”
No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to turn out. She had just wanted to tease, play a little. Maybe she’d get in a bit of trouble, serve detention, and her mother would sneer at her and look at her in disgust when the bishop told her just what Leigh had been doing in class—that look that made Leigh’s hate curl up deep inside so she could cling to it with a sticky-sweet and sickly pleasure. But her mother had never hit her. No one had ever hit her, and while that sharp smack across her cheek was one thing, she wasn’t sure she could stand the heavy harsh bite of the ruler digging into her flesh.
She shook her head, her throat thick, the prickle of sniffles stinging in her nose, but Sister Mary Anne only waited, unmoving and unforgiving. Leigh had a brief thought of bolting for the door, but the sister was between her and the exit. By the time she got the lock open, she’d be caught.
She smoothed her hands over her skirt, then stepped closer to the desk and, stomach trembling, bent over it. A hot flush of humiliation washed through her as her ass thrust up against the air. She was too short for the desk, forced to stretch on her toes to keep her feet on the ground. The slick cool wood pressed against the V of bare skin left exposed by her half-open blouse, and she reached up to grip the edge of the desk over her head, bracing and pressing her stinging cheek against the soothing cold oak, closing her eyes with her teeth clenched tight and her breaths trying to build up into a sob
that she wouldn’t let out.
Trembling, she listened for the high keening whistle of the ruler—but instead came, without warning, the sudden hard smack of a hand against her ass, branding hot through her skirt and thin cotton panties, rough pain exploding through her and rocking her hips forward. She cried out sharply, but barely had time for another breath before that hard, unyielding hand came down again, slapping sharply enough to make her flesh bounce and pull painfully at the burning feeling sinking deep into her skin. She dug her fingers into the desk, whimpering, gasping out another cry as Sister Mary Anne’s hand came down again and again in punishing blows, lighting her skin on fire until deep down she glowed with pain that crawled inside her and pulled all those dirty little strings that made her nipples press hard against the wood and made her thighs spread just a little more every time another smacking strike inched her skirt farther up her legs and over her ass.
She didn’t understand. It hurt—it hurt in a sick awful way, but it made her tingle with that low needy desire that came when she craved his cock inside her and his bulk spreading her thighs wide while he strained and rutted over her. Tears seared behind her eyelids and scorched down her cheeks, pouring over her lips until she tasted salt on every cry, but each time Sister Mary Anne struck her she clenched up hot inside and felt that wet rush coming down to soak into her panties and leave them clinging and filmed against her.
Endless. Relentless. The sister spanked her with an almost frantic wildness, her breaths harsh, the only sound in the room other than those rhythmic smacks and Leigh’s gulping, sobbing cries. By now her skirt had bunched up around her waist. The tight-stretched layer of her panties might as well have not been there, a pathetic shield that did nothing to save her. She braced for another hit—one that never came.
Sister Mary Anne stopped. She stopped, leaving Leigh bent over the desk and crying. She started to push herself up…but froze as those thin fingers slipped between her thighs.