Lesbian Milf Seductress Secret Santa

Summary: 19-year-old Bree is Secret Santa to her favourite professor.

Note 1:

This was a holiday 2014 Contest story.

Note 2:

Thanks to Jedd for rejuvenating my Bree stories with ideas and for really co-writing this story.

Note 3:

In 2014, thanks to Robert and goamz86 for editing. In early 2019, thanks to Tex Beethoven for helping me add a fresh coat of polish.

Note 3:

This story stands on its own, but if you want to read more BREE stories, check out the following (listed in chronological, not date published, order):

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Pre-MILF (in Bree's senior year of high school)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Mom (late in her senior year)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Neighbor (late in her senior year)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Chocolate (immediately following Neighbor)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Bakery (a couple weeks after Neighbor & Chocolate)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: 30

th

B'day (late summer, last weekend before her beginning college)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Secret Santa (during her first year of college)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Nurse (during her first year of college)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Cop (summer after her first year of college)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Pop Star (summer between

sophomore and junior years of college)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Church Mom (immediately after Pop Star)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Spa (during the beginning of her junior year)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Bride (End of third year of college)

Lesbian MILF Seductress: In Flight (summer job after college)

*****

Lesbian MILF Seductress: Secret Santa

BREE:

The thrill of the chase is often the second most exciting part of a seduction.

I've seduced straight girls or women in just minutes at times, occasionally taking a couple of days. And on rare occasions it's taken weeks. Regardless of the amount of time I've invested, the very most exciting part is watching the expressions on her face as she gives into the lust that consumes her. Watching her drop to her knees, lean forward and become my newest pet is the greatest aphrodisiac there is.

A rush of adrenaline courses through me, like an athlete who shoots the winning basket, as I score yet another submissive pet and add her to my constantly growing collection.

Professor Yvette Garceau was special. She triggered a new lifetime goal of mine: to recruit a pet from as many countries or different nationalities as possible. She was my English 110 professor and here on a one-year exchange from London, England. Well, more accurately, via London from Versailles, France. She'd moved to England after getting married shortly after getting her Master's from Sorbonne University. Surprisingly, she was an English instructor and was very good at it, although with a delectable French accent that so many English-speaking people find seductive. She was in her late forties, always dressed in classy business attire, and always wore her hair up.

She was so proper that I knew by the end of September it would be a rewarding challenge to seduce her. Her sexy French-accented English really made me wet, plus she was beautiful, although she didn't remotely try to showcase her beauty. Her make-up was sparse and her hair, always up and usually in a bun, made her look prudish.

With her being a college professor, I didn't go for the aggressive approach I'd used with my high school teacher Ms. Martens, my next door neighbour the high school librarian... or my first black pet, an attorney. Instead, I took a gradual long-term approach, at least at first. I participated in class and I sat in the first row, often in sexy, not slutty, outfits as I tried to read her, but also trying to ensure I made an impression.

Mom had taught me that an effective seductress blends beauty and fashion: sexy, not slutty; alluring, not desperate. Mom was a highly skilled tutor, although demanding (which I eventually had to admit was a good thing), and I had learned much from her extraordinary seductress skills.

That meant in part selecting blouses that showcased my breasts, and a variety of skirts, nylons and heels. In the 21st century progression from professional to comfortable fashions, I was one of the rare college girls who treated fashion as a statement of who I was, as well as a tool for seduction.

Anyway, after three months of being subtly attractive while studying what made her tick (oh yes, and writing top-drawer essays in response to her assignments), I was ready to launch full force into a seduction I'd planted many seeds for, although none had yet grown to fruition.

Using the upcoming Christmas as my set-up, I decided to play Secret Santa. For five days I would leave her a gift with a note and see how she responded to each. Each would be a gift with a recommendation. Well, they would begin as recommendations, but gradually morph into requirements she would wish to obey.

This approach required a lot more thought and planning than the aggressive full-frontal attack I'd usually used to date. Yet I was hopeful this would work. It would be my biggest challenge to date.

Although I was usually right about many things, including seductions, this time I would need to pull in my horns a bit and say I was hopeful, since I was training myself in a new skill set. As events proceeded, I learned that the less predictable results were giving me a bigger rush than ever.

.....

YVETTE:

Teaching English in America wasn't much different from teaching it in England, truth be told. A good number of words and phrases had different meanings across the pond, and many spellings were different, but it was fairly easy to get a knack for predicting the differences, and it was still English. So syntax was syntax (although very different from that of the Romance languages and other language families), and the overall rules of grammar were very much the same. Also, students were students. The longer I taught, regardless of where I taught, the students seemed to be getting lazier, academically weaker, and feeling more entitled every year.

My life was going as planned, one more week of lecturing, two weeks of final exams, and then I was flying back home to spend the holidays with my daughter Samantha, who had been born and raised in Newcastle upon Tyne.

On Monday, I'd just finished lecturing my freshman English class. English 101 is by far my most painful to teach (the first semester for freshmen being the weeding out stage). My other classes were my strengths and my passions (Shakespeare and World Literature). I had just entered my office when I found an envelope on my desk with my name on it.

Curious, I opened it. It was just a card with a note:

Appointment at 4:00 this afternoon at Hair Haven. Prepaid, tip included.

From your Secret Santa.

Professor Garceau, it's almost Christmas. During the next five days you will receive a gift from me, your Secret Santa, on each day. You are a beautiful woman, Professor. Yet you hide your attractions behind your very conservative attire and hairstyles. Please consider me your fairy godmother, your personal makeover trainer, or your Secret Santa. Five days, five changes that will transform you from conservative caterpillar into beautiful butterfly. It's time to release you from your cocoon and give you your wings.

I stared at the brief message and wondered who could have decided to be my Secret Santa and why they would gift me with a hair styling and even make the appointment. Reading the note for a second time only confused me more. It was rather pretentious, and even forward. However, knowing I could indeed use a salon visit, I decided to call and confirm, while also trying to ascertain who my Secret Santa was.

The call gave me no leads about my benefactor, but I was indeed scheduled for a four o'clock appointment today and yes, it was already paid for, including a generous tip.

That day, the hairdresser, Kevin, a very friendly, very gay man suggested a whole new look, expounding loquaciously on his desire that I '

never again, darling',

hide my beautiful hair in a bun. A bun or a simple ponytail being way quicker than doing anything else with my hair every morning, I had gotten lazy, or as he pointed out,

'guilty of cruelly veiling a decorative angel from a potentially adoring world'

.

I noticed that in addition to a couple of other gay men, the large salon was also staffed by several very attractive ladies, all dressed to attract attention, probably to increase their tip potential. As Kevin was in the midst of shampooing my hair, a younger lady, probably in her late teens approached us, telling Kevin he had a phone call. "Thanks Alicia, could you take over here?"

Alicia replied, "Well, you know I haven't completed my certification yet."

Kevin dismissed that reservation with an "It's okay, girl. It's just the shampoo. I'll be back in a jif", and he sashayed off to get the phone.

"Well, I guess that's settled," Alicia opined and proceeded. I ignored her comments and her attempts at what she passed off as conversation. She was dressed similarly to the others, which is to say scantily. I also questioned her movements; for example I noticed her pressing her thighs against my own legs and hips at times. At other times she rested her breasts upon my shoulders or even brushed them against my head. Was this intentional? Possibly not, as her fingers never left my head. But even these neutral touches had a sensual feel to them. Why was I getting these hints of excitement from this girl? This had never happened in a salon before, and I'm sure if I were a man I would have wondered if I were being invited to enquire about a back room.

At that moment, Kevin returned. "Well, that was odd," he said. "Whoever it was surely had me confused with someone else. She kept asking about our date. Obviously, she was unaware of my preferences. Oh well, any problems Alicia?"

"Not at all," came from Alicia, "Mrs. Garceau seems to be enjoying her shampoo. She felt like she was melting under my touch. I'll be happy when I receive my certification." Her words which could easily be innocent, seemed to carry an undertone that wasn't. As if she were implying something sexual. I was surprised when my vagina tingled, a sensation I hadn't felt from being touched in a long time.

"Just be patient, it will be here before you know it, and you'll be growing your own clients," he told Alicia as she left.

She seemed to be smiling directly at me as she walked off.

Why did that leave me with a shiver?

I wondered.

Kevin proceeded with my styling, with no hints of anything sexual at all, and when he was done he had done a magnificent job. I looked completely different, years younger and vibrant, something I hadn't felt since my husband had cheated on me two years ago, one of the reasons I'd decided to do the one-year exchange in Boston.

That night, I pondered who this Secret Santa could be.

.....

On Tuesday morning, I received a second envelope with another card inside.

Appointment at Body Elements

4:00 December 2nd.

A brief note was written at the bottom of the card.

Enjoy the makeover

From your Secret Santa

P.S. your new hairdo makes you look even more radiant, and ten years younger.

I wondered who it could be. A couple of professors had shown some interest in me of late, but I hadn't reciprocated, as I knew this was just a one-year exchange (plus, the divorce from my husband of nineteen years had left me still very wary of men).

Curious again, I called the number on the card and asked, "Hi, I have a four o'clock appointment booked. Can you tell me what is booked?"

"Your name?" the woman asked.

"Yvette Garceau."

"Let me check," she said, putting me on hold.

A moment later she answered, "Mrs. Garceau, you're scheduled for the five-star package."

"I see," I said. "And what does that include?"

"Everything," she answered. "Massage, pedicure, facial, manicure and waxing."

"Oh," I said wondering who would buy me such a lavish gift. To clarify, "And it's already paid for?"

"Yes, ma'am. Tips included."

The idea of being pampered was appealing, and I thanked her before hanging up.

I figured what the hell, I wasn't going to waste such a gift, my shoulders were indeed quite tight, and I hadn't had a pedicure or even a manicure since I left France over twenty years ago. Although I did wonder about the waxing; I'd never had one of those.

I made it to the appointment on time, where I learned the five-star package was rather intense. It lasted over three hours, and in addition to a full body massage, pedicure and manicure, I got a Brazilian, which at first I refused, but the very nice Asian woman, who barely spoke English, ignored my protests and moved quickly and efficiently into removing any vestiges of my leg and pubic hair. In fact, it was very nearly pain free. I, however, found myself becoming surprisingly aroused at this woman working over my most private of parts. It didn't appear intentional, but it seemed unavoidable given the nature of her task, that she would on occasion drag a thumb across my clitoris, or slip a finger ever so slightly between my labia. I was shocked at the effect this seemingly innocuous action had upon me. Of course, I also enjoyed three complimentary glasses of wine and some chocolate covered strawberries, which may have contributed to the feeling, for the most part, of being decadent and rich... and aroused.

As my vagina was waxed as bare as the day I was born, my head spun with speculations about who could possibly have bought such a gift for me. For one, this was expensive; for two, it was completely pretentious; for three, what was this Secret Santa planning for an end game?

.....

The next day when I arrived, there was a large but flat box on my desk.

I couldn't explain it, but although I knew I shouldn't be excited and intrigued (this entire progression had stalker written all over it, or big-time creep, or perhaps rich playboy creep), this week so far was all very exciting and strangely romantic.

I opened the box and saw about a dozen pairs of nylons, which I thought strange.

Professor Garceau

I hope you enjoyed yesterday evening's pampering.

I assume that the nylons you wear in your conservative professor attire every day are pantyhose. Starting today you WILL wear thigh high stockings every day! I'm certain you will enjoy the difference.

Vive la différence!

Secret Santa

After two days of pretentious presumptuous gifts, this one was even more pretentious and more presumptuous than the first two. Yet, I couldn't deny that I was curious who was sending me these gifts. Although I had assumed it was one of my male colleagues, it now occurred to me that the handwriting on the notes was definitely feminine. Looking back to the first two notes, which for some reason I had saved, they were the exact same feminine handwriting. Was my Secret Santa a female? Was a woman interested in me? I didn't have much time to consider this, as I had a class to prep for.

I tried to focus on finishing my lecture preparation, but my thoughts kept going back to the note. Unlike the first two, this note was more direct. He or she wasn't generously giving me a gift and suggesting I wear the thigh high stockings, no, this person was telling, almost ordering me to wear them. Part of me was offended by such an expectation, while another part of me was intrigued and even slightly turned on. I loved men who knew what they wanted, yet in my experience those relationships ended up all sex and no relationship. That said, I was in America only temporarily, and some hot sex didn't sound so bad without the whole long-term relationship crap. My cunt was figuratively spinning cobwebs of neglect. Yet, what if this was a female?

I was just considering this possibility when there was a knock on my door. I set the open box on the floor behind my desk before calling, "Come in."

A girl I recognized from my freshman class walked in, dressed in a plaid skirt, white blouse and, interestingly, thigh high stockings, the skirt so short that portions of the tops of the lace top stockings were clearly visible. "Hi, Professor Garceau," she said with a smile.

"Yes?" I nodded.

"My name is Bree, and I have a message for you," she said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Wear the thigh highs," she ordered, not words I was expecting to hear.

"Pardon?" I questioned.

"I'm supposed to make sure you put on the thigh highs," she explained, looking me in the eye.

"Pardon?" I repeated, shocked by her words. I then asked, "By whom?"

"Our Mistress," she answered.

I was surprised by both words: 'our' and 'Mistress'. After a pause, I asked, almost feeling I was on a twisted version of candid camera, "What do you mean?"

She explained, "Mistress has set her eyes on you to be next."

"Who is she?" I asked again.

"You will learn soon enough," she answered ominously.

"I think I'd prefer to learn now," I stated with authority.

"My apologies, but you're not ready to learn now. We all think we know what we wish to know and when to know it, but that's not for us to decide. It's for our Mistress to decide. Trust me, I speak from first-hand knowledge," the young lady replied as if reading me a fortune cookie.

"I have no use for your first-hand knowledge Bree," I said with increasing frustration. "And what are these things anyway?" I asked, reaching to the floor and plopping the box of hosiery on my desk.

"Those are Wolfords. You cannot find a better pair of stockings anywhere. And they are thigh highs, which our Mistress finds sexier, and give much better access," the girl explained.

"What do you mean better access?" I questioned, even though I should have just ended the conversation.

"You'll learn that soon enough. But for now would you please just feel them? I promise they'll feel better than any stockings you've ever worn. They're so soft, and they feel almost like an extension of your skin," the girl continued, placing her foot on a chair and offering me her leg.

Although her leg looked incredibly sexy in the sheer nylons, I didn't touch hers; I decided to acquiesce, but with a pair from the box, if for no other reason than to satisfy my own curiosity and perhaps get some answers. As I ran a pair through my fingers, they truly did feel exquisite. I had never felt stockings so soft.

The girl must have noticed the look on my face. "See, I told you. You've never felt the like, true? You really should put them on right away. I'll assist if you wish, Mrs. Garceau," she said, moving toward me.

"I have no need of..." I began, as she removed the stockings from my hand, walked around to my side of the desk, rolled back my chair with me in it and dropped to her knees.

I was dumbfounded and struggling to speak through my astonishment. Finally I managed, "Please young lady, stop."