Sexual Lessons Part One

by Lucy St. Vincent

  “This is not to say that you will not enjoy living here. It will be one of the most provocative, exciting experiences of your life. And, of course, you will be fed well and given individual, very specialized instruction by yours truly. I don’t anticipate any complaints about that.”

  The boys laugh impishly, still not looking at one another. I love to see virile young men, tongue-tied and embarrassed by the likes of me. It turns me on oh so much.

  “Please follow me to the amphitheater,” I tell them next. “It’s down the hall and to the left.”

  I lead them to a door that opens into a room that resembles a miniature theater with an elevated stage in the middle and seats that hover around and above the stage so a good view can be had from all angles. The room has no windows and is finished in dark wood with velvet seats. On the stage is a four-poster bed with sheer curtains. Beside the bed is a chest of drawers full of mysteries the boys will soon find out about. A stool sits off to the side.

  “This is where we will be conducting our group lessons,” I say. “Monday, Wednesday and Friday at eight o’clock sharp. The door will be locked at eight so make sure you are on time. I do not tolerate lateness under any circumstances.”

  Some of them look slightly dismayed by my mention of a Friday night lesson. “If you feel you have better things to do on a Friday night than spend an hour and a half learning about the art of seduction, learning that will equip you for the rest of your life, then perhaps you should go join a fraternity instead. You can get drunk all weekend and fuck all the girls you want.”

  I pause for drama. “Does anybody want to reassess their decision? It’s not too late to get a refund. You have until midnight tonight. Anybody?”

  There is silence. None of them dares to look at anyone else. The boys are huddled in a corner of the room like young sheep. “Come, come sit down,” I say briskly, clapping my hands. “The first thing I am going to have to break you of is your timidity.”

  “Before I begin with our lesson tonight, I have a few more things I want to mention,” I say as the boys find themselves seats. “I will be visiting you in your rooms on occasion. There will not be a schedule - it will be at my whim. You are under no circumstances to come to my quarters, however. For the time being, I am the aggressor.”

  “You will learn to be the pursuer in the future. Until I tell you that you are ready, I will pursue you. Here is what is unacceptable: I do not want to come to your room at midnight only to find filthy sheets and Doritos all over the carpet. You must always keep your rooms clean and ready for company. This will be a valuable lesson for your future as well. Less-than-fastidious men do not turn me on. Neither do they attract any other women. I do not employ housekeepers for your quarters because you need to know how to keep your own domain in immaculate condition. You will find all the cleaning supplies you require in the hallway closets, and you will be given some thorough lessons in housekeeping in the coming weeks. Not by me, of course.” Here I laugh.

  “As for your own personal hygiene, you pay a great deal to stay here, gentlemen, so use as much hot water as you see fit. I expect you always to be sparkling clean and washed. And for God’s sake, keep your underwear clean. Women will not stand for three-day-old underwear that is stained and saggy in the bottom. Be meticulous with appearance in both your under and overwear.”

  The boys are blushing and chuckling, warming up a little.

  “I hate to sound too much like your mother, but believe me, hygiene goes a long way toward winning a girl’s heart. Don’t forget it or you won’t be seeing me in your quarters.”

  I am standing in the middle of the stage with my legs spread and my hands on my hips: my signature pose. I am aware that I have extraordinarily nice legs and I that I am being carefully watched, even by the boys whose eyes are downcast. In addition to my sexy yet professional attire, my hair is done up in a chignon, my nails had been manicured that morning and my make up is meticulously applied. I am at my best. Truth be told, I am always at my best.

  I clap my hands again. “And now, let’s get down to the business of why you are really here. I am going to give you a demonstration on how a woman would like to be pleasured. Tonight I shall be the demonstrator and the subject.”

  The boys looked tantalized and disappointed at the same time.

  “That’s right, boys, I am going to masturbate for you.”

  There is a rustling in the room, breaths are being blown out or sucked in. Beads of anticipation are beginning to form.

  “I spoke about restraint earlier, but let me reiterate. This is a demonstration. Your hands will remain folded in your laps at all times.” (I pause for a smile.) “When you go to your rooms tonight, you may do as you wish, but this demonstration will call for perfect silence and perfect stillness on your part.”

  With that, I flick a switch that cascades warm air in my direction. I flick another and a stage light bathes me in a flattering rose color. The adventure is about to begin.

  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let myself succumb to my desires. I love to be watched; I love to be in charge. I love that I am about to turn these boys into shuddering bundles of nerves.

  Slowly, I untie the sash of my wraparound dress so it falls open, exposing my lingerie underneath. I am wearing a lacy black pushup bra, panties to match, a garter belt and sheer black stockings. I stand there, my legs apart, my dress undone, showing my womanly beauty and growing wet. I love what I am doing to them. I arch my back and run my fingers down my neck: little things, but the audience is heating up.

  I pull the mahogany stool from the corner of the stage into the spotlight. I slip the dress off, letting it fall to the floor in a silken puddle. I put one leg on either side of the stool so my legs are spread widely.

  Searching eyes. Throbbing penises. Their palpable excitement spurs me forward and I have to remind myself to slow down. I undo my chignon, and toss my loose hair, long and dark. I run my fingers languorously through my hair with my back arched and my head flung back. Then I lean forward with my hair falling in front of me, and fling it back like a mane. Men love that.

  I move on to my breasts, encased in black lace, such a powerful contrast with my porcelain skin. I gently remove one breast from its cup and cradle it in my right palm while massaging it with my left hand. I begin with its outer circumference, lightly moving around it with my fingertips. As I grow closer to my nipple, I hear the first moans from my audience.

  “Quiet!” I say sharply and continue the caressing. My nipple is fully erect and long. I put my index finger in my mouth, suck, and then return it to my nipple, plucking at it gently and then a little more sharply. The boys are intrigued.

  I follow suit with my other breast, only this time removing my bra so my breasts tumble forward. I love the sensation of loosing them from their restraints. I love watching the nipples harden and elongate. As I meander to my second breast, I stare straight into the audience, electing one boy at a time to laser in on, not averting my gaze. I catch Gabe’s eye first. He is a handsome young Hispanic buck with brilliant eyes. When he sees me staring at him, he turns a deep red and instinctively looks down. I keep staring.

  “Gabriel, I’m looking at you,” I say. “Look at me. Look at my breasts. Don’t I turn you on?”

  He nods.

  “Well, if someone turns you on, you don’t turn away. Face them head on. Women love being looked at. Feel free to admire me. Stare at me. And when I look at you, you look at me!”

  While staring out at select boys, they meet my unwavering stares and try to stay in control. I grab both of my breasts and knead them together: squeezing, releasing, going back to the nipples and then squeezing some more. To end the breast ritual, I sensuously suck both my thumbs and press them down hard on my nipples, finally giving each an intense, extended pinch. Then I sit down on the stool, lean backward, and further spread my legs, my pubis pointing in the direction of my expectant audience. They are on fire.

  I have come to what they are
waiting for. I make my way down to my pussy, though not removing my underwear. I take my index fingers and begin to gently massage the area where the lace meets my legs. I perambulate far back, almost to my perineum and then all the way forward again. This has a decided impact on the audience. I can see their faces: intent, laser focused, and completely oblivious to the others around them.

  Next comes the garter. I stand up and turn around, exposing my posterior for the first time. There is a noticeable gasp. I prop one leg on the stool while keeping one on the floor, still wearing my heels. They can see my buttocks in the thong, shaped like perfect peaches, ready for the picking. The tension in the room is palpable and I can feel my wetness, my sex beginning to permeate the room.

  I unclip the garter from the back part of my stockings on each leg and then face them again. With one foot on the stool, I slowly work the first stocking down my leg. With the stage light on me I’m sure the boys can see the sweat glistening between my legs as I languidly roll the stocking down, my breasts bouncing lightly as I do so.

  After I slip off one stocking and shoe, I decide I will do things a little differently than usual. I rarely let the boys touch me on the first night, but this will be a slight indulgence on my part. I am hungering for someone’s touch.

  “Let me see,” I say, looking out at my clients. There he is - the beautiful, shy boy at the back with a fresh haircut and a clean scrubbed face. I knew on our first meeting that he was hung like a warrior yet had no idea what to do with his wonderful appendage.

  “Alex, come up here please. I need some help.”

  Alex looks as if he might die. He makes his way forward, amidst the heavy breathing of his classmates. His head is lowered. He reaches the stage, standing off to the side, not knowing what to do next.

  “Alex, I require your assistance. Could you come to the stage, please?”

  I put my leg enticingly on the chair, challenging him. He comes uncertainly toward me, not knowing how to proceed with my command.

  “Alex, are you turned on by me?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he mumbles.

  “Touch my breasts then,” I say. “Go on and touch them.”

  He is tentatively reaching forward when I say, “But I want you to touch me from behind. I want to feel your body against mine when you fondle my breasts and stimulate my nipples.”

  Alex does as he is told. He is just the right height and his crotch presses into my buttocks as his hands come forward. I can feel he is huge and bulging. He is bucking under his khaki trousers, highly charged, almost ready to ejaculate.

  “Go on,” I encourage him. “I’m waiting.”

  And his hands are on me, pushing and squeezing and he is pressed hard against me. It is an immense turn on for me, but I stop him.

  “Go slower,” I say. “Play with my nipples. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  Alex does as he is told and I begin to moan. This surprises my audience. I guess I haven’t struck them as a moaner, but I am.

  I am going to come if I don’t watch out, so I bring Alex back to the task I had originally intended for him to perform: removing my remaining stocking.

  “Take it off slowly and sensuously. I want to feel my pussy crying out for you, but you must resist it and do as you are told, no matter how much I beg or any other woman begs you in the future. Draw out the pleasure.”

  Alex doesn’t quite have the hang of it. His hands are not practiced and it is more a wrestling match than a seduction. One of his poorly manicured nails gets caught in the nylon and snags it. He is terribly embarrassed and flustered. I feel badly for him. I can tell he feels as though he has failed his first test.

  “Alex, tomorrow you may buy me a new pair of stockings. I prefer sheer, Donna Karan. You can get them at Nordstrom. In the meantime, trim and file your nails. It’s all part of what you must do regularly in order to be prepared for sexual encounters. Don’t feel embarrassed. This takes time. It was a good first try.”

  Then without warning, because I like to surprise (and be surprised), I come up behind him and put his balls in my hand, holding them there for about ten seconds. He is writhing uncontrollably under his pants and his body is bucking furiously. He stands there facing his classmates, unable to do anything but stare and concentrate on not blowing his wad. He is terribly embarrassed but highly turned on; and even though he may think he looks foolish, every one of those lads would kill to be in his place.

  And then I release him saying simply, “You may go now.”

  Now I am standing on the stage alone again in only my thong panties. It is time for them to come off. I bend over and slip out of them, left foot first. There I stand in the spotlight completely nude, bathed in light. I stand tall and erect and proud. I have worked hard for this body. I am proud to show it to these boys, to let them take their pleasure from it.

  I let them stare for a moment, and then I spread my legs a little further. I have a light snatch of fur over my pussy (I’ve always preferred that to the pre-pubescent pussies that so many girls sport as of late), but I want them to see deeper. I take my hands and knead my thighs, breathing heavily as I do so. I gently massage all around my pussy, not entering, just enticing. Then I take my left hand and put my fingertips on my mons pubis, the fleshy area just above the vagina.

  “This is a highly sensitive, erotic area,” I instruct while massaging it. “Most men don’t know about it because they just want to get inside. It is called the mons pubis: you will find some reading material about it on top of your bed when you get back to your quarters tonight. Please acquaint yourself with it and be prepared to give me a demonstration when we meet.” As I speak, my voice is trembling slightly. It is obvious that I am heating up.

  “And now I think it’s time to retire to the bed,” I say. There is a sigh of disappointment from the audience.

  “I believe I called for silence at all times, did I not?” I pause dramatically, removing my hands from privates. “You will be pleased to know, however, that I am not referring to your beds. I am referring to this bed,” I say pointing to the bed that had been all but forgotten what with all the action going on without it.

  “Unfortunately the view from the seats is less than perfect and I want you all to see all of me so I’d like you all to move up on to the stage and make a ring around the bed.”

  Amidst a muted, but highly charged surge to the front of the room, I saunter over to the bed and lay atop a down duvet of light blue silk complementing both the warmth of my skin and my blue eyes. They are all standing above me now and I am luxuriating on a pillow of warmth. Looking at their eager, twisted-with-the-pain-of-not-being-able-to-touch-themselves faces, I grow enormously hot. I am veritably bubbling inside.

  I open my legs wide with my knees bent and say, “Make sure you’ve all got a good view, now. This is important.”

  I move my hands downward to separate my labial lips, exposing the inner depths. “I’m going to stop talking now and just pleasure myself. Watch closely. Watch every part of me. Watch how I am responding and what is turning me on. As for you, stay perfectly still. And I don’t want to hear a peep.”

  The warm light is bathing me, I am glistening and beautiful, and my captivated boys are surrounding me. It doesn’t get better than this.

  I take a deep breath and open my lips, both sets of them. I lick my lips with my long tongue and take the plunge.

  Starting with an index finger, I swirl lightly on the surface around my clitoris but do not touch it. The boys have all but stopped breathing and so have I.

  “Look at how wet I am,” I command. “Women get wet then they are excited. And look at my clitoris,” I add. I pull my lips open wider so they can see.

  “It’s the pointy thing right there. Look at it. It’s erect and the blood has rushed to it, just like your penis. It’s like a little penis.”

  The boys are staring intently at my pussy and I am beginning to hump gently up and down on the soft bed, completely on fire by their gazes.

&nbs
p; I begin touching my clit, flicking it back and forth with my fingers. I begin writhing even just a little bit more, knowing it won’t take much to make me come.

  “Joe, come here. Have you ever felt a women’s clitoris?”

  He stumbles over his words. “I don’t know, actually.”

  “Feel this,” I say. “Don’t be shy. Come here.”

  Joe bends over and tentatively reaches for the enflamed flower. He touches me and I moan loudly. The class startles. They are still shocked by my responses.

  “You see how sensitive it is?” I ask. “If you think your penis is sensitive, you should try having one of these for an hour or so. You’d all wish you were a woman if you could know.”

  Everyone laughs uneasily and I say, “I want you all to feel it, to investigate it and to know where it is. But just for a moment,” I add. “If you all got as long as you wanted, I would probably be dead of a heart attack.”

  “One at a time and only for a moment,” I remind.

  The boys approach one by one. Quite frankly, they all blur into one beautiful sensation that has me soaring in the clouds. Their hands are rough and confused. I see their shaking faces and their big hands with red knuckles coming at me as in a dream. I guide them: “Right here. That’s right. Stroke it just so. Do you feel how hard it is?” My comments are all rote. Inside I am melting and working my way toward ecstasy. After the last boy has touched my private parts, I am ready for capitulation.

  I like it best when my legs are straight and completely tensed, so each part of my body, particularly my legs, are in knots: the building tension, the intense desire that finds its way into every muscle in my body is what I relish. I straighten my legs while spreading them and arching my toes and then I bring my fingers flutteringly to my vulva. While I start to slowly pet and stroke, I bring my glazed eyes up to the boys and watch their longing while selfishly fulfilling my own. My buttocks are sliding up and down on the bed and I am sounding like an animal. I hear several of them emanating my sound, but biting their lips, trying to keep still, trying to refrain from touching themselves.