Teaching the Art of Seduction

The knock on my hotel suite was tentative at first, and then a little more insistent. I wondered if she could hear the brisk click of my heels on the tile floor of the entryway and kitchen as I crossed to open the door. Liz was her name, and I had never met her before but she had introduced herself through an online sex hookup site as a woman looking for a role play encounter with an older woman who would be the mean and bitchy stepmother to her innocent but over 18 stepdaughter. I had chuckled to myself when I read her request as I had had a stepmother in my late teens who I certainly thought was mean and I knew of many who thought me verbally caustic, so I could be talented with my tongue in more ways than one.

I wasn't surprised at all to find Liz matched the image I had of who she would be and how she would dress for our encounter. She had the appearance of a co-ed who hadn't quite learned to wear clothes that fit well or were flattering to her figure. Her short sleeved white cotton shirt was dishevelled and the buttons at the front strained and gaped across her breasts. I could catch glimpses of their round curves as she smiled shyly and quietly introduced herself. The hem of her short plaid skirt left a gap between her thigh high socks and crotch that I immediately longed to stroke as I invited her in, watching the pleats of her skirt sway over her ass when she entered the room and took a seat, as I had suggested, on the couch by the flickering fireplace. She began to fidget with the upper edge of her socks, much as an awkward late adolescent might, and I could tell she was nervous.

"Liz," I began, taking on the role of Dom that I was so comfortable with, that was so part of my nature to begin with, "Daddy tells me you have been a bad girl."

"Yes," her voice was muffled as she had her head bowed, body language that expressed shame.

"Do you know why Daddy told me you had been a bad girl, Liz?" I questioned, my voice crisp and assured.

"Yes, Mommy," Liz responded.

"Tell me."

"He . . . he caught me . . . "

"He caught you doing what?"

"He caught me playing with myself," Liz's voice had taken on a clearer tone although her body language was still that of an ashamed 18 year old.

"Playing with yourself? How? Show me," I demanded. "With your clothes on," I interjected as her shaking hands went to unbutton her shirt. "Show me through your clothes."

Liz's hands went to her breasts and began to stroke the soft cotton that covered them.

"Is that all you do to your breasts?" I questioned, and in response she shook her head, no.

"Show me," again I had no problem speaking in a firm tone, and Liz began to play with the faint outline of her nipples, erect under her young woman's blouse.

I knelt in front of Liz watching her play and our eyes met. The suit skirt and high heels I was wearing constricted my position but I could feel the warmth between my legs. I rarely wore panties and always wore thigh high stockings rather than pantyhose. The scent of my juices wafted up to both of us, I think, as Liz's eyes glittered slightly and I knew my own heat. "Let me show you," I instructed her, "Daddy asked me to instruct you how to do it properly, to show you what I do to myself so beautifully and to do it to you, so you will be graceful and elegant when he sees you next, rather than this fumbling and groping of a clumsy girl. You understand? When you play with yourself and Daddy sees, he wants you to be a good girl, not a bad girl," I concluded and reached to unbutton her blouse.

The intake of Liz's breath was ragged, as if she was trembling slightly, and as each button slowly slipped out of its binding, I could see the quiver of Liz's breasts. Like the cotton shirt she was wearing, her bra was an innocent white but the intricate lace of the lingerie did little to hide her dark areolas which excited me all the more. Like most caucasian women, my nipples were of the palest pink, only faintly darker than the flesh of my full round breasts. Liz's, on the other hand, were as dark as would be a woman's of South Asian descent, contrasting against the pale white skin of each small breast. This colouring, combined with her boldly erect nipples, sent a delicious shudder through me as I ran my long fingernail along the cups of her bra and then firmly grasped and squeezed the nipples through the cloth. Liz, too, moaned with what I took to be a frisson of excitement and I pulled the cloth of each bra cup down tucking it under so that her breasts were forced into a position that constricted them into round high points and it was these I took into my mouth.

"Now, of course, Liz," my lecturing step-mother voice was huskier than it had been, "you cannot suck or lick your own breasts when performing for Daddy," and here I returned my lips to one dark nipple and rapidly licked several circles around it, "but I do this for you to think about when you are stroking your own nipples, you understand?" I looked up into Liz's eyes as I sucked on the nipple, pulling it as far out as it would go. Her eyes met mine and the electric charge between us was palpable.

She nodded, and then murmured, "Yes, Step-mother."

"Will you take it off?" she asked in a small voice, "my bra, I mean . . . and yours?"

Her voice was tentative as if afraid that making a request was too bold for the roles we were playing, and, indeed, I felt a brush of annoyance at her momentary slip and at my own rush of excitement at her request. My response to her request, however, was to slip a long fingernail under each of her bra straps and with an agonizingly slow movement, slide them down her arms where they hung, like small restraints, from the crook of her elbows. Again with deliberate slowness, I reached for the hem of my own shirt and pulled it off over my head and then caressed each of my own breasts under the navy lace bra I was wearing, finishing by reaching around my own back and unhooking my bra so that my full breasts bounced as they were freed from their constraints. Liz's fingers trembled slightly as if her inclination was to each out and touch me, but, remembering her role, she resisted this impulse which would make it all the sweeter when I did demand that she stroke and suck my breasts.

"Daddy will be so pleased," I informed Liz, "if he sees you fondling your own breasts gracefully and properly, like the elegant woman you are to become, not like the clumsy teen you have been." I played my tongue across each of her breasts again as I slipped her cotton shirt and white bra off completely so that she sat languidly on the couch in her little plaid skirt and white socks, naked from the waist up, and then I stood to remove my own suit skirt so that I was not constrained in any way during Liz's next lesson from her step-mommy. And for a moment I stood in front of her naked except for my thigh high stockings and heels, and at her eye level, droplets of juice beaded warmly on the fine hairs of my cunt.

Liz's eyes widened and she ran a wet tongue over her lips, leaving her mouth slightly open and the barest nub of pink tongue visible between her small white teeth. Her breathing had deepened and lost its usual smooth rhythm. Again, I saw her fingers twitch in longing to break the constraints of the roles we were playing and her tongue flick once more over her lips. I waited with a firm outward calm for her eyes to meet mine again and I think it was my aura of command that finally led her eyes away from my dewy pussy to once again meet mine. "So, Liz," my step mother voice was firmly in place, "do you think you could possibly show me what you have learned so far? Or are you still too clumsy to show even the slightest bit of grace? Hmmmm? Play with your breasts and nipples, Liz, show me you've improved even slightly." If mean was what Liz wanted, mean was what she would get.

Her eyes fastened on mine, Liz began to circle her nipples with her finger; faster and faster she stroked until she began to squirm with an uncontrollable spasm of pleasure. Then she moved her fingers to her nipples and pinched them with obvious delight, stretching each as far as she could before releasing them to a more erect position than they had been before, then gently cupping each breast with a whole hand and lifting them to me in supplication. My mask of critical step mother must have slipped from my face, revealing the lust I felt for Liz as I saw a delicate smile lift the corners of her mouth. "What do you think now, Step-mommy? Am I better? Will Daddy enjoy watching me more now?" the woman playing the role of my step-daughter, Liz, questioned.

"Oh, you are a long way from pleasing Daddy at this point," I countered, "and do not ask again. When I think you are ready for an assessment, I will give it to you. Not before, understand?"

"Yes, Step-mommy," she responded, but, not deflated by my stern response cheekily began to fiddle with the button fastening the waist band of her skirt. "Could I show you . . . " she began to ask my permission to take off her skirt.

"Of course not," I interruped firmly before she had finished her request, "that is another thing you need to understand better, Liz." "One of the best parts of seduction is creating a tantalizing, lingering anticipation of each event."

"Will you help me learn?" she requested in a quieter voice? "Will you teach me?"

"Yes," I sighed impatiently, "that is what I am here for, remember?"

"Thank you , Step-mommy," Liz responded. And things were quiet for a moment as I stood before her naked except for my high heels and thigh high stockings, firelight flickering tongue-like shadows across my skin.

Then I spoke again, "Put a finger into your panties," I instructed, "just one finger, your middle finger, and slide it in sideways, from the leg, not the top band. Keep your skirt down so I can see the movement of your finger and slouch slightly so I can see the crotch of your panties, but not by much, tantalize with glimpses, remember," I finished the list of tasks, "rather than satiate the appetite all at once."

" And slowly, slowly," I declared but it was for not, for Liz's gleeful delight at pleasuring herself in front of me meant it wasn't long before she was quickly rubbing up and down over her clit and between her pussy lips, gasps escaping her parted mouth accompanied by the eager juicy slurp of her cunt. Nevertheless, she had remembered to keep her skirt down with only a glimpse of panty crotch visible to me along with the movement of her finger under her skirt and I flushed with the eroticism of the moment.

"That is enough," my voice rasped with desire, "stop . . ." and I gasped a little, "stop playing with your cunt," I choked a little on the word "stop" but, obediently Liz's finger ceased moving and languorously she withdrew it from her panties, only to look at me cheekily and raise that finger to her mouth. Lips parted, tongue pointed at the tip and flared near the base, Liz slowly touched her tongue to her finger, slick with pussy juice, and began to lick it. It seemed she had been paying attention to at least part of my lesson as the finger's movement from her pussy to her lips seemed excrutiatingly slow and suddenly the inches of space between our bodies felt like a yawing cavern. In and out, Liz's finger moved with an insistence similar to that of a cock eager to thrust fully into a hot, wet mouth or cunt. "Mmmm," she moaned her pleasure at the taste and idea of sucking her own pussy juices and then, with a slow pop, pulled her finger from her mouth, leaving it glistening with her saliva.

There was a moment's silence, filled only with the sound of my rapid breathing and her more langourous sighs. I slowly regained some control of my desire and reminded myself of the role Liz had asked me to play. "Hmmm," the mean step mother voice had returned, " well, I see we have work to do before Daddy finds this in any way appealing." Liz's expression shifted from one of mischief to one of confusion. She had seen the lust clearly on my face and in my body language yet here I was, seemingly remote and unmoved. Once again I crouched in front of her and this time leaned close to her panty clad crotch but fixed my eyes on hers. "Watch, feel, and learn," I commanded, firmly back in charge, as Liz's expression shifted again from that of confusion to that of trepidation mixed with a wary desire.

And it was that wary desire that I wished to exploit, to shift from the glimmer of a small, flame in a pile of tinder, betrayed more by the curling column of smoke than anything beyond a spark, to the sudden upthrust of flames, like the scorching sear of a wildfire caught by the Santa Anna winds and exploding into the night sky with a ferocity that traces every nerve ending, every tender bit of flesh and leaves in its all consuming wake, embers that burn in the mind and on the sensitive places of the skin for days.

And so I began by drawing my fingernails in the lightest of traces up the soft flesh of Liz's inner thighs. Barely touching and very little pressure meant the experience hovered between a tickle and a scratch, delighting her flesh on that exquisite precipice of pleasurable pain, taunting her mind and her body. Then, slipping off her panties and quickly discarding them, I grabbed her legs and slid her down on the couch even further so that she was curled more onto her back than her ass and needed her elbows to keep her balance. Grabbing hold of her knees and spreading her legs wide, I commanded her to grasp her knees in her hands and keep them that way. So vulnerable is that position - barely balanced and spread eagle, pussy completely exposed, skirt ruched up around her waist, hands unable to do anthing other than hold on, labia parted revealing the oyster-like ruffles of her vagina and the barest hint of her pearly clitoris - my orchestration of her response was again a taunting way of keep her mind balanced on the edge of fear - vulnerable exposure - and a titillation at the taboos she was breaking by revealing herself so.

"Mmmm, see . . ." I murmured, "every detail, in the aesthetics of erotic pleasure, must be tended to," my hot breathe stirred her sparse pubic hair and quickened her pulse. "Every nuance of the mind and body catered to," and my tongue began to tease the ruffled lips of her vagina with a soft caress that barely whispered across her tender flesh. A shudder ran through Liz's body that left her legs and feet quivering and I rode the wave of physical desire she was experiencing by parting her labia even further with my fingers and plunging my tongue in deeper so that it drove a trench from her vaginal opening up to her clit in one swift, wet penetration. Again, a shudder ran through Liz' body and I could feel once more the tangible waves of desire that choked us both. I began to alternate with my tongue between the barest whispers of touch to the deep impassioned scoring excavation that dug a deeper and deeper trench in between her labia. The engorgement of her vulva was immediate and full. Liz pulsed and writhed with pleasure and I could feel the gush of my own pussy juices tricking down my legs. Yet, I persisted, varying between a quick tongue flick on her clit, then a tongued probe of her vagina, followed with nibbling bites to her labia, and then back to her clit in a powerful suck of my lips and mouth that threatened to draw it completely out of its protective hood. The moan that escaped Liz was uncontrolled and uncontrollable. It seemed to tear from the very centre of her being and a gush of hot fluid squirted from her vagina, drenching the couch she was bent back on and then trickling slowly down between her legs to her ass cheeks.

Liz and I both paused, and, almost reluctantly, our eyes met.

"You've made a quite a mess, Liz" the voice of a mean step-mother emerged from my throat and Liz blanched ever so slightly.

"Daddy will be so pleased," I concluded and a slight smile hovered on the edge of my lips.