ENSLAVED TO MY TEACHER

DESCRIPTION

At such a young age, Ceilia Rose was diagnosed with nymphomania, making her the sin of all sins. Ceilia was always well-known for something, whether it her alluring demeanor, her ocean-blue eyes, or the fact that she was well-known for a past trauma.

Even still, a lot of people think that the young woman is only her mother's daughter.

The eighteen-year-old's father and her devout grandma send her across the globe to attend a living nightmare of a boarding school and college on her birthday.

At Hartford Academy, the only topics that may be discussed in the hallways are college and religion.

She can't resist wanting to breach the school's severe policies on improper behavior, including the ban on sexual relations between students and staff, when she sees such innocent brown people.

Lorenzo Rivers was the principal's son at that dreadful academy.

With her firm thighs pressed together and her lovely brown eyes that could astonish anybody, she was a figure to see. His eyes met ones that caused him to flush more than he had ever done before; innocence so uncommon that no one had ever been able to tarnish it.

Lorenzo's parents would never be in favor of his dating someone like Ceilia, particularly because she makes him consider the most immoral ideas and he's not sure whether her influence is good or bad.

Throughout his whole life, Lorenzo has been instructed to abstain from worldly sins, follow God's path, and ensure his parents' happiness.

That is, until she entered.

wherein a nymph perverts her son Dean's innocence.

character appeal

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Sex.

I was dependent on it; my body couldn't function without it for extended periods of time. Something that my body lusted for. Something I couldn't help but feel angry about.

Every time I denied my body its pleasure, it would only manage to subject me to excruciating pain.

My father used to tell me as a youngster to avoid things that were not mine or that I was not allowed to have.

However, I never paid attention since I always got what I wanted.

People used to call me a spoilt brat when I was younger, but they were all incorrect.

I was seen by the world as his daughter, a youthful seductress with an extreme lack of caution.

careless.

an adjective used to a person or their acts without consideration for the effects of what they do.

When I reached sixteen, the phrase "I seem to not have a care in the world" was used a lot to describe me.

My grandmother, a devout Christian, spent more than twenty minutes praying with me on my nineteenth birthday, encouraging me to live a long and pure life.

Grandma gave me a disapproving look as I came out of the long, white steps. "Must you show so much skin?" she said. With 'Happy Birthday Honey' emblazoned on a banner, the room was filled with the sound of conversation.

There were guys in business suits and ladies in floor-length gowns. Here I was, wearing a mid-thigh-length, wine-colored dress that was cut short. a deep v-neck showcasing my breast contours.

She glares at me and grips the little brown book even more tightly. "Isn't there something in that bible of yours which says, 'Thou shall be comfortable in thy skin'?" she asks.

"Honey, please come here." My father is talking to a guy and a lady when I glance over.

I stand next him, accompanied by a family consisting of a married lady who seems to be staring at me and her husband who can't keep his eyes off of my bare thighs from the short dress that reveals my full breast.

Father introduces Mariana and her husband, saying, "Honey, you know them well, yes." As I look at the pair, who I have never seen before in my life, he gives me a sneer to go along with it.

"To be honest, I don't." I flash her a quick grin, and she puts on a false one.

She puts her hand around her husband's arm and says, "I was best friends with your mother in college, around your age." He just licks his lips and looks directly into my eyes.

"Her eyes are just like mine. She will be sincerely missed," I say, threatening to lose my grin.

I bend my head slightly in response, "Mother had never mentioned you, are you sure the two of you were even close?"

Father says, "That's enough, honey," and I roll my eyes.

The insensitivity of half of these individuals to act as if they knew my mother as the kind person she was, only to be the same people who berate me and her for something we never requested.

I was even more enraged with the guy I was supposed to call my father since he permitted others to do so.

Regretfully, he felt embarrassed about it. of her, up to the point when she lost endurance. He stays silent about it until someone brings it up, and everyone-including him-seems to "comfort" us at difficult times by crying crocodile tears and saying nice things about her.

Her husband, who was unquestionably in his late forties, says, "I think it's best if I get you something to drink, would you like to come along?" Though the silver hairs that were gradually sprouting amongst his thick black strands appeared to indicate that the stress of being married to a false bitch must have gotten to him.

I accompany the handsome guy over to the big table, out of sight of everyone else, including my father and his wife. As soon as I feel him pressing up against me, I start to pour myself a drink.

After setting the glass down, I feel his hands drop to my waist. "Is there something you need?" I ask.

I feel like kicking my body for responding so rapidly.

He puts my hair behind my back and says, "Who I need is right in front of me." "It's underneath this dress," he says, dipping his head into my neck and reaching for the flimsy fabric with his hand. His index finger slides down my breast's valley very gently.

I attempt to tell my body that "you have a wife," even if my head is dead set on the contrary. I shut my eyes. If this guy had been a parent, my body would not have cared.

"As if you care, you're just another cock hungry whore. Like mother like daughter, no?" I said to myself, and for one of the few times in my life, my body and mind agreed to disregard the fact that I was drenched-not from him, but from contact.

My heel struck his foot so hard that a loud moan sounded in my ear.

My eyes and thoughts were clouded with anger as I left the pitiful guy to wallow in his agony. When they walked over to me, I saw my father talking to my grandmother, and she nodded in agreement with whatever he had said.

"We have a lot to talk about, we should head home now." Something about this seemed strange, like my birthday was going to end in another embarrassing evening.

We pull up to our opulent estate, and I follow them inside our limousine. Grandma settles onto the chair next Father, who is the first to turn around.

I say, "What is this about?" as I shut the door behind me.

Grandmother puts the little brown book on Morgan's lap and adds, "Go on, tell her, she deserves to know before tomorrow."

He takes a picture off the table next to him and says, "You are eighteen now, Honey. Chances have been given to you to prove that you aren't falling into her ways. And yet again you have failed."

He shows me the picture, which shows me slinking out of his business partner's residence. "How"

I give Grandma a direct scowl and she looks solely at my father. "See Morgan, the first words coming out of her mouth is how did they get this. This place will be perfect for her."

When he sighs, I let the picture drop from my hands onto the ground, asking, "What place?"

"Your Grandmother and I have made the decision to send you to Hartford Academy. You are of age and this place will help you continue to focus on your studies" -

She concludes his statement, "And teach you to ask God for forgiveness of your unspeakable sins."

"I'm not" -

This was the home where you were always expected to cut people off in conversations.

"Don't even protest because this isn't up for discussion. It's already been planned and your bags have already been packed."

I could feel the annoyance in my body rising, "This isn't fucking fair, you can't just up and send me across the world."

Almost as if they were waiting for me to screw up, they were that intent on getting rid of me.

Hartford was the world's best university and a distinguished boarding school; he was sending me to hell. It was renowned for its research on religion as well. It was the same school that my mother had attended, and I hold them responsible for destroying her life.

"Why not? You're proving to be just like her, Hartford helped her and it'll help you. You'll continue your English and Art Majors there, as well as finding your way back to God" Grandma responds promptly.

I choke down any feelings that want to creep into my heart and make my eyes well up with tears. "Helped? Helped her? Because of that school she's dead"

"Honey" -

She now rises and says, "Do not speak on my daughter when you knew nothing about her."

"You never talk about her, and when you do, it's only to embarrass her," I yell in exasperation.

She puts a hand on her breast, stunned by what I said. "One thing I do know, other than being a terrible mother. You're the same reason why she couldn't even remember my fucking name."

"That's enough, Honey. This conversation is over, and your flight leaves in the morning." I hear his study door slam as he ascends the white staircase.

Grandma gives me a dagger-like look and clearly displays fury in her eyes.

"Even if she could remember you, she would be disappointed in what you've become because you've turned out to be just like her."

She gathers her belongings and closes the door, saying, "Maybe in Hartford you won't be so disrespectful, something the two of you seem to have in common."

Grandma was a devout lady her whole life, and she became even more so after learning that her daughter had the "devils curse." She sent her directly to Hartford.

I was never told anything about her time there, but I can still see her cozy hug when she was a little kid. However, I also recall the many trips to the hospital and the late hours. Most would advise you to glance in the mirror if you really wanted to recall her appearance.

I looked just like her.

From my naturally tanned complexion to my raven black hair that falls in lovely waves all the way down to my ass. The variously colored iris, from the powerful ones swimming in the depths of an ocean view beneath the moonlight to the one that matched the afternoon sun beaming through a glass of whiskey.

The contours of my body, including the ones on my wrist and finger, my flawless breasts, my toned abdomen, and the tattoo reading Ceilia on the left side of my bosom. Some people even said that I had perfect lips and a craving for things that was out of my reach.

People have always been drawn to me because of my appearance more than anything else.

eavesdropping on my family's remarks about how hypersexuality was a disgrace and that it was sufficient for God to abandon us. Several times before my diagnosis, they were upset that they had failed to help me after my first diagnosis and sent me to therapy or the church to get rid of the negative energy in me.

I was constantly advised to blame her for my actions because, whether it was sexual or not, the slightest contact could instantly cause my body to burn with want. I have done things that would turn away even the most virulent sinner.

So let me say happy birthday to myself.

Grandma had been reading me a passage from the Bible throughout the whole car journey here.

I was on the verge of leaping from this speeding vehicle.

She would not stop talking about how ideal Hartford would be for me, even on the aircraft.

I had gotten up to escape her, and I found myself in the rear storage area with the attractive co-pilot.

"Carter, the Dean of Hartford, is a friend of mine. He knows about your mother, about your arrival, and about that thing you have." I shrug my eyes and glance out the window.

The word "nymphomania" was like poison to her tongue; she could not even utter it.

She places a copy of her own little bible on my lap and says, "Behave here, honey. God will only forgive those who have sinned and are willing to follow through his path."

The automobile, all black, stopped before the golden gates of the exclusive establishment. As soon as we arrived, I opened and looked around the academy.

The large buildings encircled the short one, which was coated in white paint akin to December snow, and the roofs resembled castles.

The thick black windows and large pillars in front block away the outside view from the inside. The elegant appearance of the school complemented the positive things that periodicals had mentioned about it.

A lady with auburn hair and a black portfolio with my information greeted me as the door opened for me. She gave me a thorough head to toe glance and then let out a little "hmph".

Her dark pumps made a lot of noise on the cement surface. Then there was a guy beside her who just appeared to look straight at me, a grin at Grandma's and a searing irritation at my presence.

As my things were being put on my side, she welcomed me as "Carter".

Carter had a towering build and his brown hair was neatly brushed back with a few silver strands. His dark, furious eyes were hidden behind glasses, and the side of his lips and forehead were adorned with creases.

He was dressed like a pope and had a crucifix around his neck. He bent down and clasped my grandmother's hand. "Lovely to see you again"

She exclaims, "Carter, Hartford has never looked better."

He looked at me again, as if he was gazing at my mother for the first time.

As he talks about my heterochromia, "you even share her eyes"

"She is my mother," I cruelly said, earning Carter a meek grin and Grandma a humiliated nod.

I turn to Grandma before she departs and say, "I think we should continue this conversation in my office. You even seemed to inherit her attitude."

I watch the vehicle drive off, saying nothing in response to "Your father will be in contact with you. Behave".

I trail after him into the expansive structure, past the depictions of God, and into another massive cross in the middle of the space.

As we go into his office, he says, "Please take a seat, Ms. Rose," and he settles onto his desk. He leans his elbows and crosses his hands on the oak wood desk as I take the seat in front of him.

"As you know Hartford Academy is made for students like yourself who feel as if tapping into their teenage hormones are more important than their studies. Hartford is an academic boarding school, along with our beliefs to deprive you of what you cannot seem to live without, sexual intercourse. This brings me to our policies" he continues.

"We have strict rules when it comes to sexual behavior and relationships between students. It is strictly prohibited, fail to cooperate with these terms and your scholarships as well as your studies here will be terminated" The Dean says while holding onto an oak wooden table.

He was in his late forties, but aging had little effect on him; his gray hair was vanishing slowly. Hatred running down his eyes as they settle on me, wrinkles over his forehead and the edges of his lips.

He starts to explain how involved my father is in my life here, despite the fact that he was the one who sent me to the same school my grandmother sent my mother to when she was younger. "We were very aware of your arrival, Miss Rose. We have contact with your father understanding who your mother is and her history here. We will have eyes on you at all times strictly because of your diagnosis and how it can interfere with our set rules."

"We hope you don't make the same mistakes, especially considering how intelligent you are as a student." I eventually pause to see whether he would say that before continuing.

I sarcastically say, "I'll be sure to be on my best behavior, sir," and he glares at me.

"Go with Adeline to your room, please. Take this too," he says, giving me the cross necklace and the bible. I look at the little white card; it has a timetable that instructs us to pray to the Lord for forgiveness of the sins we have done.

I close the door behind me and trail Adeline into a room where my luggage are.

The window was open, letting a gentle breeze enter the room and creating a serene atmosphere with white drapes fluttering gently. My luggage were already arranged in the magnificent bathroom, and there was a desk with a little light for studying late into the night. The spacious bed was covered in white linen that matched the draperies.

"It is my responsibility as the Headmaster's assistant to report any violations of the numerous terms listed here," she says, handing me a white packet with black writing that I had no intention of reading.

The statement, "Please note we observe your behavior here to see if you improve," bothers me since it seems like they are now doing child therapy.

"If you are doing well, we allow weekend visits back home or allow you to travel out in the city. Many of our perks are for the students attending, some control the on campus thrown parties."

"You are not allowed in the opposite sex room, neither are you allowed to sneak around. You're not allowed to be out past ten, later than that will result in punishment meaning you will lose the perks of privacy and we will have someone at your door to guide you through your time here."

"Follow these simply terms and you're stay here will run smoothly."

I'm so tired of this place that I question, "Is that all?"

"Greetings from Hartford Academy." She walks out without saying anything more, and I take my phone out of my purse.

I hurl the phone, tiny book, and necklace onto the pillow behind me while the no missed calls yell stares back at me.

I couldn't be reckless, and my father wasn't even there to say goodbye as I boarded the aircraft. He hasn't phoned since I arrived.

He was eager to send me out the same way his mother and grandmother had.

Grandma and father were quite close; they appeared to have the same brain and agreed on everything that was stated about the mother.

I was constantly chastised for something I could not control back home because of my condition and as my mother's daughter. Rather than sobbing, I tried to accept it.

The whispers I hear from people as I walk by on the streets, the slutty women who glare at me, and the men who think of me as just another disposable body or 'cock hungry whore,' as they would call me until my knee meets their small parts, which would never satisfy even the most sex-starved person, are not something I miss.

I entered the glass shower and let the warm water pour down on my skin. As I lathered the soap over my skin till it was completely gone, the aroma of vanilla and chocolate permeated the space. I turned off the shower and strolled outside, letting the water sink into my hair and bringing out the natural waves of my black hair.

What if this was my current life?

One of the many things I wasn't going to do was behave.