Nate's #9: Sunday School Teacher

Nate's Summer #9: Sunday School Teacher

After returning from Meemaw's, Nate meets his Sunday School teacher, who wants to counsel him about defiling her adult daughter.

Author's Note: Part 9 of Nate's Summer Adventures. Nate's steamy summer heats up as he faces his Sunday school teacher after a wild night with Meemaw, while Nate collects another scandalous Polaroid. Catch up with Parts 1--8 for the full story, and stay tuned for Part 10! Author's note: If you don't like infidelity, pass this one by.

Meemaw woke me the next morning by knocking on the door to my room in her house, opening it a crack, and saying, "Nate, wake up, your mother says she needs you to come home. You have an appointment with pastor Sponset this afternoon."

"Ok, Meemaw," I responded sleepily, but my mind was spinning. Why did Mom arrange a meeting with the father of a girl I took on a group date to the skating rink? Yeah, I know I brought her home in a disheveled state, my semen all over her, in her hair, on her face, in her panties, and even in her shoes, apparently, but she was sober, and I had her home on time. Still, clearly, something had broken loose that I was being summoned to deal with. I had a bad feeling about all that.

I threw my clothes back into my suitcase and got dressed in a Boston "More than a Feeling" half-sleeve T-shirt and the jeans I wore last night after changing out of the muddy ones, and walked into the kitchen. On my way in, I patted the back pocket of my jeans to ensure the Polaroid of Mrs. Rosenthal that Joey Henderson had given me was still there.

Meemaw was puttering around in front of the sink, dressed in a lemon-yellow pantsuit with a yellow ribbon in her hair. She smiled and kissed me on the cheek when she saw me. "Good morning, Sweetheart. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I am glad we got to talk last night."

This response surprised me because we did a lot more than talk. I had fucked her in the front seat of my sexmobile, my Olds 88, but instead of mentioning that, I said, "Me too, Meemaw. Did Grandpa come home last night?"

Her face lost its smile and got grim. "He did, and fell right to sleep, then he got up and went to the jobsite this morning."

I nodded. "Then I guess you two did not talk about him fu..., having sex with Lizzie Kowalski."

She turned away from me toward the sink and began carefully folding a dish towel. "No, we did not, Nate, and you would do well to forget everything you saw in his truck. I need to forget it too, since it made me so angry, I found myself doing things last night that a grandmother should never even think about doing with her grandson, much less let herself do them."

I silently stepped up behind her, and I found the curve of her breasts with my hands, her sturdy Sears bra firm beneath her blouse, and whispered into her ear, "Like fucking me in the front seat?"

She threw her head back onto my shoulder and moaned as I squeezed her nipples through her blouse and the bra. She let me carry on for a few moments, then pushed my hands down, turning to face me. "Yes, like that. And please don't use that kind of language around me, Nate. We made a mistake in the heat of passion, but we can't repeat it. Look me in the eyes, Nate, and tell me you agree."

Mustering all the sincerity Mrs. Bondra, my debate coach, had taught me to use, I said, "I agree, Meemaw," while mentally crossing my fingers.

She patted me on the cheek. "You are a good boy, Nate." She turned away, moving toward the stove. "Would you like me to make you something to eat before you go?"

"Just cereal, will be fine."

She moved to the cabinet and pulled out a box of Raisin Bran. "I know it is your favorite, isn't it, Nate?"

She looked at me expectantly, wanting validation. "Yes, Ma'am, thanks for getting that for me."

She poured me a bowl, with some milk from the pitcher on the table. "You are welcome, Darling." Then she sat next to me to watch me eat.

After a couple of spoonfuls, I asked, "Do you know what I need to see Mr. Sponset about?"

Meemaw looked confused. "Who, dear?"

"The pastor Mom wants me to see."

Now Meemaw looked really confused. "No, wait, I made a mistake, you are not meeting the Pastor, you are meeting the Pastor's wife because the Pastor is at some kind of conference."

Mrs. Sponset? That was weird. I had chowed down all the flakes and was scooping up the last few raisins. "Um, ok, Meemaw, but do you know what the meeting is about?"

She patted me on the shoulder. "I don't rightly know, Darling, something about what the mother heard from her daughter, but she wanted to give you a chance to discuss it before she went to the Pastor. Did you do something to the Pastor's daughter, Nate? Did you push your big 'you know' into that little girl in your sexmobile?"

"She's not a little girl; she had turned 18, even though she is flat as a board. And we were having a nice time at the skating rink on this group date, and while we were skating, she said she had heard rumors about me, down there, and wanted to see. So we went back to my car, and well..." I took another scoop of raisins and milk.

Meemaw began to flush on her neck, and she leaned closer. "Well, what, Nate? What did you do to her?"

"Nothing, Grandma. I mean, we tried, but it was too big; she was super tight, and I couldn't get it in. So, she rubbed me and sucked me, and I lost control and ended up squirting all over her. In her hair, down her body. Into her panties. She was soaked in it. Mrs. Sponset told my mom that she put Rhonda on the pill and was worried that she had been with more than one boy since there was so much spunk on her."

Meemaw closed her eyes and whispered a breathy, "Oh, Nate," as her blouse tightened across her chest, her nipples hardening while she imagined the scene. She stood up, taking my bowl and said, "That's enough, that's enough," as she walked toward the sink.

I did not know if she was talking about my story or about the Raisin Bran. She scrubbed the bowl furiously in the sink, which made her perfect heart-shaped butt wiggle invitingly. Reminiscing about Rhonda and seeing Meemaw shaking it was starting to get the blood flowing toward my cock. I idly tried to figure out how we could have a replay of last night, even with my promise not to think about such things, when she turned around, wiping her hands with a disapproving look on her face.

"I know what you are thinking, Nathaniel Stovall, and the answer is no. You need to get back. I have chores around the house, and I am not going to let you muss me up. I had to sit on the toilet for an hour after we got back to let you drip out of me. No wonder you made such a mess of that girl. So, take your bag, and go."

I looked a little crestfallen, I guess, so Meemaw said, "But kiss me first, on the cheek." So I did. Then she said, "Oh, and Nate, before you drive out, make sure you stop by Mrs. Rosenthal's house and let her know about Joey Henderson and what he is threatening. But don't stay long, there, you understand me?"

I could not be sure if that instruction was because Joey Henderson was around, or because Meemaw knew that the last time I had been at Mrs. Rosenthal's place, the lady warden and I had fucked like rabbits to fulfill Mrs. Rosenthal's fantasies.

Whatever she had in mind, Meemaw did not bother to amplify her thoughts. Instead, she said, "Kiss your grandmother again, Nate, and say hello to your Mother when you get home." Then she grabbed my arm after I kissed her on the cheek. "And don't say anything else about what happened here last night, and I promise you I won't say anything to your mother either."

I patted her hand. "I won't."

"Good, dear. We will go back to being grandmother and grandson, with no one being the wiser about what we shared. And for it never to be repeated."

"That sounds good to me, Meemaw." But this time, I actually did cross my fingers behind my back.

As I was leaving, she called from behind me, "Remember not too long at Mrs. Rosenthal's, promise me, Nate."

"Sure, Meemaw." Again, another promise I had no intention of keeping.

It did not take me much time to get to Mrs. Rosenthal's. I parked in her driveway, walked up to her door, and knocked.

Standing there on her front porch, I remembered one of the last things she said to me during our little role-playing game. "Oh, Nate, this is so humiliating. I can just imagine what I look like. A poor retired woman with gray hair, impaled in my butt on the end of your fat penis."

I was smiling at that when Mrs. Rosenthal answered, wearing a long gray skirt and a frilly white blouse. Her feminine outfit did little to soften her sharp gaze, and her gray skirt swished as she moved. But she smiled to meet mine, and she asked cheerily, "Oh, hello, Nate. What a pleasant surprise. Are you alone this morning?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She pulled me inside by the wrist, closing the door behind me, then asked in a low voice, "Oh, Joey, are you here to rape me again? A poor widow woman?"

These had been the roles we played the last time I had been at her house, which ended with me giving in to her demand for me to sodomize her.

But even in the context of role-play, her question had a strange effect on me. She was not an attractive woman, but her fantasy had been a massive turn-on, and I could feel the excitement building in the pit of my stomach as I walked into her house and heard her start the game again. But I had a mission before the fun and games could begin.

"Maybe in a little while, Mrs. Rosenthal, but my grandmother told me to stop by and let you know that I heard from the real Joey." Mrs. Rosenthal had been in character, cowering behind one of her dining room chairs, but she stood up and walked over to me when she heard me relate that.

Her demeanor completely changed. She was suddenly full of authority and said, "He is around here? Where is he? What did he say?"

"He is hiding back in the woods behind Mrs. Henderson's place. He told me to tell you he has some pictures of you...and your husband from inside your office when you were warden. And he wants you to call off the search for him and get him some money and clothes, or he is going to show the pictures."

She blanched when I said "pictures" and croaked, "Did you see any of them, the pictures, I mean?"

"Yes, Ma'am, he showed me one. I recognized you at your desk, and there were two other men on the couch, doing that thing we did the other night." I am not sure why I left out the part about still having the picture in my back pocket, since I did not have a real reason for not handing it over to her.

She put her fist to her mouth, no longer the in-charge former warden of a men's prison, but instead seeming like a frightened old woman. She barely spoke above a whisper. "That lousy chief of the guards told me he had given me every one of those pictures. I paid that blackmailing scoundrel $1000."

"I don't know anything about that, but Joey said he stole them before he broke out. You can have them if you help him. He said he would meet you here, at your place, tonight."

She recovered from her fright and got grim again. "He said he is coming here? Then I have just the thing for him." She reached into a drawer of the sideboard in the entranceway and pulled out a black-steel hog-leg revolver with white pistol grips, the barrel of which was as long as her forearm.

She clicked a lever, and the revolving chamber fell open. She looked at the shells in the chamber and then snapped the chamber back into place, cackling, "Magnum.357, just like Dirty Harry had in that movie. It will be nice to see Joey again, only this time, over my sights."

She cackled again, and her eyes looked crazed. She was no longer the frightened old woman.

The interest I had in renewing our role-playing evaporated. At that point, I was just eager to get out of there. "Uh, ok, Mrs. Rosenthal. Well, that is all Meemaw told me to say. My mom called and said I needed to get home."

She put the pistol back in the drawer and closed it. She smiled at me, but her eyes still looked crazed. "Good boy. You come back again soon for a visit. I may need some more help around here. I thanked your grandmother for sending you over, you know?" I nodded, opened the door, and got out of there as quickly as I could.

The ride home in the middle of the week took no more than an hour. Mom had told Meemaw that I should go right over to Mrs. Sponset's house as soon as I got into town, so I pulled up to their modest two-story, which I remembered from dropping Rhonda off after our date at the rolling rink.

During the ride, I had wondered whether the small-town gossip would follow me home, as Mom worried. I also wondered, after noticing the large wet spot Meemaw and I had left on my front seat, if I would feel some guilt about that. As I got closer to town, those thoughts were pushed to the side, replaced with concern about what Mrs. Sponset was going to dish out to me.

Mrs. Sponset's white Chevy Impala sat in the driveway, and I parked behind it, walked up to the door, and opened the screen to knock on the sturdy wood. Mrs. Sponset came to the door with the pleasant smile I had seen so many times in Sunday school, but her face became stern when she saw it was me.

"Nathaniel Stovall. I imagine I should say thank you for coming, but I am not particularly grateful, given the discussion we must have."

Since I was not sure what kind of discussion we were actually going to have, I just nodded.

She pulled the door fully open. "Well, come in, Nate."

She was wearing one of those full-length Laura Ashley dresses that she always wore. Long floral dresses were her look, I guess. The one she was wearing was a deep blue, almost purple, and it had blue and white flowers printed all over it. Her neckline was high, and did not show any of her cleavage; but the fabric clung to her full, rounded figure, her bosom lifted high, her breasts spaced wide apart.

Whenever I saw those TV commercials for bras that lifted and separated, I would always think of Mrs. Sponset. Walking into her house, my mind was again taken over, wondering if she was wearing one of those Playtex bras. My next thought was that imagining the type of bra Rhonda's mother was wearing right before she was about to give me the business was probably not what I should have been thinking about. But I yam what I yam, fascinated by older women and their breasts, so I could not help myself.

Mrs. Sponset led me into the living room and sat stiffly on a plaid-upholstered chair, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles whitened. She directed me with a nod to her sofa, arranged perpendicular to her chair.

She adjusted her gold necklace, her voice sharp but trembling with emotion. Her attractive face was grim, her mouth in a line. "Nathaniel Stovall, I can't believe I'm sitting here with you like this. You, of all boys, one of my Sunday school students, who always seemed like one prepared to walk the straight and narrow. But now? I am having a hard time reconciling in my mind the way you left my Rhonda in... in that state after that skating rink nonsense. Semen in her hair, on her face, in her panties. And the most shocking thing, even in her shoes! What kind of morally upright boy does that to a girl?"

I slouched on the sofa, my Boston "More than a Feeling" T-shirt damp with sweat. She was definitely giving me the business. "Mrs. Sponset, I'm real sorry. Rhonda wanted to... see what she'd heard about me. We got carried away in my car, but I didn't force her. We got really friendly, that's all. She was totally into it, I swear."

Mrs. Sponset's eyes blazed, and she stood, pacing, her dress swinging as she marched back and forth. "Into it? Heard about it? Nathaniel, you were raised better! I spent years teaching you restraint, telling you to honor and respect women. Rhonda's reputation is likely ruined. I am sure the folks at church are whispering, calling her a harlot! And you, you just... unleashed on her like some kind of animal."

She stopped pacing to stare down at me, her chest heaving, her dress straining over her ample breasts. "Do you have any idea what this does to a mother? Seeing my baby girl come home like that, knowing it was you, my student, a man I trusted?"

My face was on fire from the embarrassment of hearing Mrs. Sponset speaking that way, guilt mixing with the memory of Rhonda's eager hands. "I didn't think about that, Mrs. Sponset. I didn't mean to hurt Rhonda or you. We got friendly, and it just... happened."

She turned, her gaze softening but still intense, locking onto my eyes. "Happened? Oh, Nate, you don't understand. I cleaned up Rhonda's clothes, smelled you on her, and it's... it stirred something in me. Memories of experiences from the time just after I turned 18 myself, that I have successfully repressed for these years, but they came flooding back, overwhelmed me." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she stepped closer, her fingers brushing the armrest of the couch where I was sitting.

She did not make eye contact with me, but was looking off toward the fireplace, musing to herself. "I have not been able to stop thinking about it, thinking about you... My husband, Pastor Sponset... he's away, like always, leaving me alone in this house, with only my thoughts. He doesn't touch me, hasn't in years. I'm just a prop for his sermons, while he's off with his..."

She trailed off, then looked back at me, embarrassed to have spoken those things out loud. She touched her luminous blonde hair with a couple of idle pats, then clasped her hands under her breasts. "Pardon me, I should not have said such a thing out loud, to a young man in my own home. I invited you here to confront you, and to confront this...feeling inside me." She began pacing, not making eye contact with me.

My pulse quickened, catching the shift in her tone, and the way her eyes had drifted to my crotch, before she started pacing. For the second time that day, I got that feeling in my belly that maybe this was a date, and not some discipline session. I watched Mrs. Sponset walking back and forth, smiling as things clicked into place in my mind.

The other day, Mrs. G told me something about Mrs. Sponset that I had not been able to reconcile with my memories of the Sunday school teacher I had known for a decade, but a part of me wanted to find out if it was true. I generated some more of the fake sincerity I used on Meemaw, which had worked such charms for me during my debate competitions, and said, "Mrs. Sponset, I'm sorry you're lonely. It is not right that it should be that way for you, especially since I heard you were so popular with the boys in high school."

She stopped pacing and stared at me, her mouth open with surprise. Then she moved over to the sofa and sat next to me, heavily, her hip bumping mine while she grabbed my hand in hers. "Nathaniel, I am shocked to hear you say something like that to a married woman."

I put on my most angelic face. "All I meant was that you are an attractive woman now, so you must have been a knockout during high school. I am sure the boys back then noticed that. How could they not?"

She looked down and raised one shoulder, as if she were bashful. She smiled. "Well, I did have my share of dates."

That was certainly one way of putting it. The other was how Mrs. G, right before she gave me a handjob, had described Mrs. Sponset. "The future Mrs. Sponset was the town bicycle. Everyone took a ride."

Mrs. Sponset was still holding my hand, so I patted hers with my other hand and smiled, looking into her eyes. Since she had said she had been thinking about me and what I did to Rhonda, I figured it was time for a bit of boldness. "And you are still popular with boys, even ones who turned 18 and just graduated from school."

Mrs. Sponset froze, her face unreadable as she processed what I had just said to her. It felt like the heat was rising in the room, and her palm was getting sweaty in my hand. I figured that if she dropped my hand like a hot potato, that would have been the end of it. And it would have meant that things had gone sideways, bad. But, lucky for me, that is not what happened.