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.