Sexual Lessons Part One (2 page)

I’ve been a den mother cum professor for several years now and I am not a whippersnapper any more.  I am in my early fifties and still very attractive.  I like to think I have a Catherine Deneuve type appeal, Catherine also being my name.  My students, however, call me Ms. Redding.  I take time to pamper myself and I am always attractively garbed in suitably classic outfits that accentuate my assets.  I have my hair and nails done regularly and I always wax, deodorize and keep a fresh mouth so I will be prepared at a moment’s notice to seduce and instruct, which go hand-in-hand in my profession.  I am meticulous in my ablutions and preparations and I expect “my boys” to be the same.

Though they are sworn to secrecy, the gentlemen (and perhaps their fathers) know from the signing of my contract what living in my harem entails.  It does seem, however, given my long waiting list, there must be some lads who let the news leak.  I don’t care so much about this so long as conservative parents and the law don’t get involved.  This is not, after all, a brothel.  It is a place of higher learning. 

So that is my business in a nutshell.  What actually happens?  In the first week that the boys arrive they are fresh, naïve, and ready to delve into their studies.  More than that, however, they are ready to dive straight into bed with the first pretty girl that they see.  But if they are going to live in my residence, they must play by my rules. 

I, more than anyone else, want these boys to go out and have successful, sizzling relationships with women.  I am not in the least bit jealous by nature.  I am sexually voracious, yes, but I am an instructor, after all, not a potential mate for these blossoming men.  Nonetheless, I insist that the boys sign a contract that they will not begin a sexual relationship until they have had, at a minimum, five months tutelage.  This is because I do not want them to jeopardize their chances of having authentic, exciting relationships that are satisfying and deeply fulfilling for themselves as well as the women they want to, for lack of a better word, fuck.

If I find out the contract has been violated, I am forced to send them packing.  As far as I am concerned, they have lost the opportunity of a lifetime to train under me, pun intended.  If they want to throw it all away by not being able to delay their gratification, that is their prerogative.  In my eyes, however, the wait will be most beneficial to their futures.  It’s a shame that some boys can’t see past the ends of their dicks.

This year, the boys arrive on September 3
rd
.  I greet them each at the door, by name.  They have already been through my rigorous screening process so they know me and, in a general way, what to expect.  In my house, each boy has his own room and his

own toilet facilities.  No, it is not cheap to live here, but gentlemen at this age need privacy.  Needless to say, girls are not allowed upstairs in the living quarters.  They may visit in the sitting room or they can meander the lovely private gardens I have out back, but under no circumstances may they climb the stairs to the bedrooms.  The only females allowed upstairs are the cleaning women I employ and myself.

On their first evening, I have a meeting.  After dinner, the boys gather in the dining room where I serve hot chocolate and cookies.  I am, after all, a den mother.

“Good evening, gentlemen” I say.  “You are about to undergo some of the most rigorous training that you will ever experience.”

I pause.  “And I don’t mean your schooling at the university.”

The boys look at each other and smile shyly.  I imagine most of them have hard-ons already, though there is much more to come.

“Now don’t think this is all going to be fun and games,” I continue.  “Learning to please a woman is an art that takes years of training.  This will be an intensive course, but it is just the beginning.  And I expect you to pay close attention.”

I know they are all envisioning themselves having never-ending sex with both me and other lady friends I invite over.  I know they picture constant masturbation during my demonstrations and such things, but I am about to set them straight.

“Don’t start thinking that this is going to be a big free-for-all, boys,” I say.  “I run this place like a boot camp and I expect perfect attendance
and
perfect behavior.  In other words, I call the shots.  If that comes into question at any time, I will be forced to ask you to leave.”

I continue:  “It invariably happens each year that at least one fellow gets his knickers in a knot, so to speak, and thinks he’s the one who should be in charge: that he’s some kind of Valentino.  Let me assure you, not one of you knows the first thing about a woman and what makes her tick or what she wants.  If you’re just in it for yourself and you want to let your cock lead you blindly, I suggest you leave now.”

I pause and look around, with my hands on my hips.  I am aware of the power I hold over these men and how transfixed they are by my words and my appearance.  For the purposes of tonight, I have put on a navy Diane von Furstenberg wraparound dress that hugs me in all the right places.  My long legs in their blue stilettos are spread to the capacity of my fitted dress as I warn them in my clipped English accent.  I can tell they are suitably impressed.   

“
Sweet young things
,” I think, licking my lips.  “
They all look so young and scared
.”  I smile with delight.

“If, on the other hand, you feel that learning the art of pleasuring a woman could become something that is an amazing turn on for you and could actually lead you into some sexual experiences you never thought possible, I’d suggest you stick around.”

I look at them with foreboding.  “
But
,” I say, “and this is a big but: your lessons are going to call for restraint.  There are no orgies here.  Your time here will involve a lot of observation  - it won’t be just sex and more sex.  Actually, there will be very little sex, you may be sorry to know.  What you
will
have is hands-on practice in pleasuring women.”

“And not hands on
yourself
,” I add sharply. 

At this stage, the boys are looking downward, cowering.  I like this part of the game: the introduction; the way I can scare them into submission.  I ease up a little, not wanting them all to flee on the first night. 

“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.