26 comments/ 59086 views/ 52 favorites Lesbian MILF Seductress: Secret Santa By: silkstockingslover Summary: 19-year-old Bree is Secret Santa to her favourite professor. Note 1: This is 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: 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 senior year of high school) Lesbian MILF Seductress: Mom (late in her senior year) Lesbian MLF Seductress: Neighbor (late in her senior year) Lesbian MILF Seductress: Chocolate (immediately following Neighbor) Lesbian MILF Seductress: Secret Santa (during her first year of college) Lesbian MILF Seductress: Bride (End of third year of college) Lesbian MILF Seductress: In Flight (Summer job after college) Thanks to: Robert and goamz86 for editing. Lesbian MILF Seductress: Santa The thrill of the chase is often the most exciting part of a seduction. I mean, I have seduced straight girls or women in just minutes at times, occasionally in a couple of days and, on rare occasion it has taken weeks. Regardless of the amount of time invested, the most exciting time is watching the facial expression 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 another submissive pet to my always growing collection. Professor Yvette Garceau was special as she triggered a new lifelong goal of mine (get a pet from as many countries or different nationalities as possible). She was my English 110 professor and on a one year exchange from London, England. Well, London via Versailles, France. She had moved to England after getting married shortly after university. Ironically, she was an English instructor, and was very good at it, though with that French accent that so many English-speaking peoples found seductive. She was in her late forties, always dressed up in classy business attire, and always wore her hair up. She was so proper that I knew by the end of September I wanted 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 as her make-up was sparse and her hair, always up, made her look prudish. With her being a professor, I didn't go for the aggressive approach I had with my teacher Ms. Morgan, my next neighbour -- or my first black pet. Instead, I took a long term approach. 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 make sure I made an impression. Mom had taught me that an effective seductress blends beauty and fashion: sexy, not slutty; alluring, not desperate. She was a good teacher, and I had learned much from the extraordinary seductress that was my mother. That meant blouses that showcased my breasts, skirts, nylons and heels. In the 21st century transformation from professional to comfortable fashion, 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 recon, I was ready to go full force on completing a seduction I had planted many seeds for, although none had yet grown to fruition. Using 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 reacted to each. A gift with a recommendation. This was a lot more work than the aggressive full frontal attack I usually used. Yet, I was hopeful this would work. It would be my biggest test to date, though. Of course, usually I was right; though this time I would have to say I was hopeful. Actually the not knowing was giving me a bigger rush than ever. ..... Teaching in America wasn't much different than England, truth be told. Although, the longer I taught, regardless of where I taught, the students seemed to be getting lazier, academically weaker and more entitled every year. 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. On Monday, as I got to my office after lecturing my freshman English class, by far my most painful to teach (the first semester for freshman is the weeding out stage), plus my other classes were my strengths (Shakespeare and World Literature) and 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 at Hair Haven From your Secret Santa. It's almost Christmas. For the next five days, you will receive a gift from me, your Secret Santa, each day. You are a beautiful woman, Professor Garceau. Yet, you hide it behind your very conservative attire and hair. Consider me your fairy godmother, your personal makeover trainer or your Secret Santa. Five days, five changes that will transform you from conservative wallflower to beautiful butterfly. It's time to release you from your cocoon. I stared at the brief message and coupon and wondered who could be Secret Santa and why they would get me a hair coupon and appointment. Also, reading the note that went with it, only confused me more. It was kind of pretentious, kind of forward and yet knowing I could indeed use a salon visit, I decided to call and confirm while simultaneously trying to investigate who my Secret Santa was. The call gave me no intel, but I did indeed have a four o'clock appointment and it was already paid for. That day, the hairdresser, Kevin, a very friendly, very gay man suggested a whole new look pointing out I shouldn't hide my beautiful hair in a bun. A bun or ponytail way quicker than doing my hair every morning, I had gotten lazy as he pointed out. I noticed that in addition to a couple other gay guys, the salon had several very attractive young ladies, all dressed to attract attention, probably to increase their tip potential. As Kevin was in the midst of shampooing my hair, one of these girls approached us, stating Kevin had a phone call. "Thanks Alicia, could you take over here?" Alicia replied, "Well, you know I haven't completed certification yet." Kevin dismissed that with an "It's Okay girl. It's just the shampoo. I'll be back in a jif", and 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 in the fashion of the others, which is to say scantily. In her movements though, I would notice her pressing her thighs into my own legs and hips at times. At other times, she would rest her breasts upon my shoulders or even brush them against my head. Was this intentional? Surely not, as her fingers never left my head. But even this seemingly neutral act had a sensual feel to it. Why was I getting these hints of excitement from this girl? This had never happened before. 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 seemed 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 have an undertone that wasn't. As if she was 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 will have 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, and when he was done, I looked completely different, ten years younger and vibrant, something I hadn't really felt since my husband cheated on me two years ago, one of the reasons I had decided to do the one year exchange in America. That night, I pondered who this Secret Santa could be. ..... On Tuesday, 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 professors had definitely showed some interest in me of late, but I hadn't reciprocated as I knew this was just a one year exchange (plus the divorce with my husband of fifteen years 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," I answered. "Let me check," she said, putting me on hold. A moment later, she answered, "Mrs. Garceau, you are scheduled for the five star package." "Oh, okay," I said. "And what does that entail?" "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," she replied. 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 manicure since before I left the old country. Although I did wonder about the waxing. I made it to the appointment on time, where I learned the five star package was rather intense. It lasted over three hours and beside a full body massage, pedicure, and manicure, I got a Brazillian, which at first I refused, but the very nice Asian woman, who barely spoke English, ignored my protests. She actually moved fairly quickly, but efficiently in removing any vestige of my 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 have a finger slip ever so slightly between my labia. I was shocked at the effect this seemingly innocuous action had upon me. Of course, I also had three glasses of wine and 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 to be as bare as the day I was born, my head spun with who possibly could have bought such a gift for me. For one, this was expensive; for two, it was completely pretentious; for three, what was the end game for this Secret Santa? ..... The next day when I arrived, there was a small box on the desk. I couldn't explain it, but although I knew I shouldn't be excited and intrigued (this had stalker written all over it, or big time creep), this was all very exciting and strangely romantic. I opened the box and saw a few pairs of nylons which I thought strange. Professor Garceau I hope you enjoyed last night'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! 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 suddenly occurred to me that the writing on the notes was definitely feminine. Going back to the past two notes, they were also the exact same feminine handwriting. Was my Secret Santa a female? Was a woman interested in me? I didn't have time to really consider this as I had a class to prep for. I tried to focus on finishing my lecture, but I kept going back to the letter. Unlike the first two, this note was more direct. He or she was not generously giving me a gift and suggesting I wear the thigh high stockings, no he or she was telling me to wear them. Part of me was offended by such an expectation, while another part of me was undeniably intrigued and slightly turned on. I loved men who knew what they wanted, yet those relationships always ended up all sex and no relationship. That said, I was in America and some hot sex didn't sound so bad without the whole relationship crap. My cunt was figuratively building cobwebs of neglect. Yet, what if it was a female? I was just thinking of this when there was a knock on my door. I moved the open box 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, ironically, thigh high stockings, the skirt so short the top 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 the 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 who?" "Our Mistress," she answered. I was surprised by both words: 'our' and 'Mistress'. After a pause, I asked, almost feeling as if I was on a twisted version of candid camera, "What do you mean?" She explained, "Mistress has set her eyes on you next." "Who is she?" I asked again. "You will learn soon enough," she answered, ominously. "I think I wish to learn now," I stated with authority. "You are not ready to learn now. We think we know what we wish and when to know it, but that is not for us to decide. It is 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, holding up the hosiery. "Those are Wellingtons. You cannot find a better pair of stockings. And they are thigh highs, which our mistress finds sexier, and gives much better access," the girl explained. "What do you mean better access?" I questioned, even though I should have just ended the conversation. "You will learn soon enough. Would you just feel them? I promise they feel better than any you have worn. They are so soft, and feel almost like an extension of your skin," the college girl continued, putting her leg on a chair and offering her leg to me. Although her leg looked incredibly sexy in the sheer nylons I didn't touch hers, instead I decided to acquiesce, if for no other reason than to satisfy my own curiosity, and perhaps get some answers. As I ran them 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, right? You really should put them on. I'll assist if you wish. Mrs. Garceau," she said, moving toward me. "I have no need of any assistance" I began, as she grabbed the stockings from my hand, walked around to my side of the desk, rolled back my chair and dropped to her knees. I was dumbfounded, and struggling to speak. Finally, I stated, "Please, stop." She ignored my protest, instead responding, "Just relax, Professor." I watched as if from a transient plane, as if this was happening only in another dimension. She removed my shoes and ordered, "Please stand up, Professor." Oddly, I did, feeling the strange urges of the past two days come flooding back. My pussy twitched and leaked lightly into my panties when the young woman reached up, grabbed the top of my hosiery and tugged them down. I mindlessly lifted up my feet so she could take the nylons completely off me. What was happening? I had never given the first thought to another female sexually. Not even in the 'experimental' days so many seemed to have in college. Yet, the feelings I was having were undeniable . As the hose were pulled from my feet, the girl held the crotch panel to her nose and inhaled deeply. "Mmmmmm," she moaned. "What on earth are you doing?" I questioned, even though my mind was muddled by what I had already allowed. "Oh, I am sorry I was distracted from my task, but the bouquet was irresistible, much like a fine wine. Being French, I imagine you know all about fine wines, though you have never tasted anything like what you will soon taste," the pretty girl replied, from her knees. I was completely overwhelmed by the whole situation, yet I felt a strange need to obey, to allow this student to touch me. I watched, both mortified by my weakness and turned on by her touch as she slid the soft silk stocking up my leg. She was right. The stockings felt divine. I had always worn them as a symbol of aristocracy, not because I liked wearing them. These, though, instantly made me feel sexy. After both stockings were pulled to mid-thigh, she started stroking my legs, coming ever so slowly, but certainly, to the tops. I should have stopped her, yet her touch was so tender, so gentle, that I was completely at her whim. It had been so long since any real form of intimacy that this strange moment pulled me in easily. As her fingers finally encountered bare skin though, she abruptly stopped. "You will need to wear these from this day forward. Our mistress expects it. I must go now, but believe me, she will know if you disobey," the coed ordered. With that, she got up from her position on the floor, encasing me in the stockings, and without further words, exited my classroom. I was rattled and confused. While I had no intentions of obeying any hidden 'mistress', the stockings did indeed feel wonderful, making me again feel decadent and rich. I saw no harm in wearing them, and as there were a dozen pair of various shades, I could wear them every day. No point in ignoring such a wonderful gift. That night, still in the expensive thigh high stockings, I pulled my laptop out and went to a website I read on occasion when my pussy needed attention. The site, Literotica, was an erotic writing site that had stories in many different themes. Usually, I read stories of gangbangs, blackmail or female submission as I got turned on most by the idea of forced submission...just letting go and obeying, just letting go and allowing my body to lead and not my mind. To be seen as a sexy slut and not a professional professor. This time, I searched lesbian stories with search tags of submission, domination and so forth. I read a few stories, mostly younger girls domming older woman, my mind wandering to the thought of that coed yesterday forcing me onto my knees. I wondered, for the first time, what a woman's vagina would taste like. I closed my eyes and allowed today's strange encounter to play out except in my caveat, the gorgeous coed made me her submissive pet, like I had allowed a few men to do in the past. My orgasm came quickly and hard as I envisioned being a submissive lesbian. Once the orgasm ended and my mind regained control over my body, I cursed my weakness, promising myself I wouldn't allow myself to get into such a predicament again. Lesbian MILF Seductress: Secret Santa ..... On the 4th day, I was not surprised to find another box. My Secret Santa had said five days, and I saw no reason to assume she would not follow through. Though I did wonder how these gifts always seemed to be awaiting me in the morning before I arrived in my classroom. I figured this would all resolve itself, and although I appreciated the gifts, I had thought, no intention, of any reciprocation, after last night's resolve. Again there was a note. Professor Garceau, You look radiant in your new stockings. I noticed you were obedient in wearing them all day yesterday, and am confident you will do so from this day forward. In the box you will find your new gift. It is to be worn in a particular place, and you will not remove it until someone says I sent them to remove it. As always, I will know if you fail to comply, so you do not wish to be disobedient. Secret Santa. I opened the box to find some oval shaped contraption. Not sure what it was, I looked again and found two small batteries, and what appeared to be the instructions for this device. As I read, I became shocked. Apparently this was meant to be inserted into my vagina! It was called a vibrating egg, and once inserted, was meant to stimulate the user. I was aghast at the suggestion. Per the instructions though, I noticed there was supposed to be a remote control, but after a thorough search of the box, found none. On a whim, I mulled over actually inserting the egg, since the remote was missing. I mean it had been over a year. I pulled out my phone and searched vibrating eggs. The reviews for such toys were very good and many women raved about it being a toy you could take anywhere. Not surprisingly, my pussy was wet and dying to test it out. At the time, I had no intention of obeying the full order of wearing it inside me all day, although I was indeed wearing another pair of the super silky stockings (accidentally obeying yesterday's order). Feeling a bit naughty, and believing no one would ever know, I closed my door and tugged my panties down a bit. Whoever Secret Santa was, she was correct in the better access idea, I chuckled to myself. Since my stockings were thigh highs, and I didn't have to worry about rolling down pantyhose, it was a simple matter of sliding my panties down just a bit, inserting the egg, and slipping my panties back up. The egg did have an interesting sensation. There was, somewhat, a feeling of fullness. I could imagine that it may be very nice indeed if one had the remote to cause it to vibrate or pick up the slow teasing sensations. Five minutes before I was to be in class, just as I was about to take the egg out, there was a knock on my door. Before I could say anything, or take the egg out, Bree was again in my office. The pretty coed, dressed even sexier than yesterday, asked, "Is the egg in, Professor?" "Who is this Secret Santa?" I asked. "You'll find out tomorrow if you obey the simple instructions," she replied, glancing at the empty box still on my desk. "Good girl." she nodded. "Now keep it in that sweet cunt of yours until someone comes to get it." "This is ridiculous," I pointed out, shocked by her use of the word cunt. "Just obey," she ordered firmly. "I can see the lust in your eyes." I went to protest, even though she wasn't wrong. I wished she was the Mistress as my mind again went to last night's masturbation fantasy, but she walked out before I could. Realizing I really didn't have much time, and somehow compelled to obey, I left the egg inside me. Walking with the egg inside took a bit to get used to, but once I was in front of my podium lecturing, I eventually forgot the egg was inside me. I was in the middle of a lecture when I realized the remote wasn't missing. Someone in this room had it. My body went rigid a moment later as the vibrations pulsed through my vagina with a much greater intensity. It was only a quick jolt, and then it stopped, to be followed a few seconds later by another, and again in a few seconds by a third. I bit my lower lip in order not to cry out, the intensity of the vibrations causing pulsations of pleasure that rippled through my very core. I waited a moment for another intense vibration, but none came. I looked at my class full of students, who were all staring at me with a look of 'what the hell?'. I continued my lecture, cutting out the non-consequential pieces so I could sit down before my perpetrator started the vibrations again. As I lectured, I scanned the crowd looking for which student could be the culprit doing this. But either I had a class full of poker players or someone outside the room was operating it. No one seemed any different than any other day. Some students were paying attention, some looked like they were almost asleep and others looked dazed and confused...in other words just like any other freshman class. Bree was smiling in the front row, clearly knowing exactly why I was so flustered. Yet, she didn't seem to be the one with the remote control. Just as my lecture was coming to an end and I was giving them their next assignment, the egg came back on. It had been off completely, and the sudden jolt of pleasure had me let out a too loud to not notice moan. I stammered, "S-s-sorry class, I'm not feeling wellll. We will continue this tomorrow." The students didn't care why I wasn't feeling good, just that class was dismissed early. As the students walked out of class, I held onto the podium firmly while the buzzing inside continued to work its black magic. Then, just like the last time, it shut off. I was half way through my next class's lecture when the buzzing started again. I assumed it was someone in my freshman class, but I didn't have any students in two straight classes. The pattern of intense vibrations followed by gaps of nothing both drove me sexually mad, although thankfully I wasn't made to come in class. After the second lecture was done, I scurried to my office intent on taking the egg out. On my desk, I found another note: Professor Garceau I know what you are thinking. You are thinking I have to get this egg out of my cunt. But you won't! You will obey your Mistress's commands like a good girl. Because you want to obey your Mistress. You don't want to displease your Mistress. Now continue to be a good girl and you will be rewarded. Secret Santa P.S.: You look super delicious today in the thigh high stockings, the hair do and the red cheeks. I reread the letter a dozen times. Part of me was like 'Fuck you', another part of me, a growing part, was greatly turned on by the act of submission, the teasing and the voyeuristic risk. Something that had turned me on with one of my old college boyfriends was sucking him off in a taxi. It was humiliating, but exhilarating...just like what was happening now). In the end, the desire to obey overrode common sense as I didn't pull the egg out of me. but instead taught my last two classes while the pattern of off and on persisted, continually keeping me in a state of distracted arousal. Back in my office, my classes done for the day, but my office hours open for students, I tried to ponder how to deal with this predicament. Was my Secret Santa a student? A female colleague? Why was I so compelled to obey? The egg hadn't vibrated in almost an hour and I wished it would again. Over the next hour, students came to visit and ask questions about different things, none of them remotely giving any sign of knowledge of my situation, although a couple asked if I was feeling okay. Thankfully the buzzing never returned during this time. I was getting ready to leave and wondered about the egg. I wasn't going to go back to my apartment on campus with it still inside, yet I hesitated as Secret Santa had said I was not to remove it. She would send someone to do so. That was another reason to remove it as far as I was concerned. I didn't want somebody touching my nether regions in order to retrieve this, the impact of Bree's earlier touch almost making me do something unprofessional. Suddenly as if reading my mind, Bree walked in, this time unannounced. She asked bluntly, "Is it still in, Professor?" I considered playing dumb, yet strangely feeling the need to be honest with this pretty coed, I answered, my tone hinting at my frustration, "Yes." "Great," she nodded, "I won't be punished then." "Pardon?" I questioned, her words piquing my interest. "Mistress has given me the job of making sure you obey," she answered. "If you do, I will be rewarded, if you don't I will be punished." "You'll be punished for my disobedience?" I asked, completely baffled. "Yes, all pets are part of a family," she answered, before adding, "so be a good sister and obey every order without hesitation." Before I could respond, she left, clearly having a knack of leaving before I asked questions that were too intrusive. Sighing, and somehow feeling I had to protect the pretty coed, I kept the egg in my pussy. I had dinner with an egg in my pussy. I graded a few papers with an egg in my pussy. I skyped with my daughter with an egg in my pussy. I was in bed, still in the sheer nylons which were already beginning to feel like an extension of my body, and nothing else, reading Literotica when suddenly the buzzing began again. My fingers were already rubbing my clit, so the sudden electricity coursed through my body. The vibrating continued at varying speeds, until it arrived at an intensely high rate, causing me to thrash about on the bed in utter sexual euphoria, my laptop falling harmlessly beside me. For a couple of minutes, I was a human earthquake, tremoring , until my orgasm crashed over like a tidal wave, washing over again and again like waves off an ocean shore. Suddenly it stopped. I lay back on the bed, completely exhausted. After a couple moments, as I tried to recover, my phone buzzed. I weakly got up, my pussy juice leaking down my leg as I gathered my remaining strength to look at the message. My pet professor, I hope you found that pleasant. It was a reward for your obedience in wearing the thigh highs and inserting the egg and keeping it in all day. It is but a taste of what is in store if you remain obedient. I trust you see by now I will know of your continued obedience. Secret Santa PS: the egg stays inside your kitty until further notice. I texted back, as I stared at the words my pet: Who are you? Although I enjoyed all the presents, and was naturally submissive and thus enjoyed the game that was being played, the secrecy of it, and the risk was both a turn on and causing anxiety. After waiting a few minutes, staring at the phone as if that would give me the response I was asking for, I frustratingly returned to bed, trying to contemplate the recent happenings. This was certainly not something I wished to have happen in public, but I could not deny that was one of the best orgasms I'd ever had. And I would not be removing the egg tonight for a multitude of reasons, not the least being pure exhaustion. ..... The next day, upon arrival, I went to my office curious as to what I would receive on this, the fifth and final day of gifts. I can't deny, I was very curious what I would receive today. As I entered my office I saw the expected box. My pet professor, I trust you enjoyed last night. After today, you will have your questions answered. Please make the most of today's gift. It will be your last until you have a taste of a different sort. Secret Santa. 'Well, that certainly wasn't vague,' I thought to myself. Still, except for the egg, all the gifts had been thoughtful. And although indeed pretentious, I couldn't even say that had been unpleasant, though yesterday was the most humiliating day of my career, kept on the brink of orgasmic bliss all day. Curious, like a child on Christmas morning, I opened the box, and then the envelope within the box. I was stunned. Whoever this was may have been full of surprises, but they certainly had good taste. Enclosed was a ticket to the local symphony. They were performing music from the French composer Schubert. This performance had been sold out for months, yet here I not only had a floor seat ticket, but a backstage pass to meet a performer, in this case Kimberly Rossi. I knew of this young lady. While she was not in any of my classes, she was well known on campus as she had already completed enough coursework during high school and this first semester of college to be nearing her junior year. And she was evidently an accomplished cellist as well. This was a profound gift, and one I could see no way of being turned sexual, unless Kimberly herself was the 'mistress', which seemed unlikely. The school day passed without incident, despite still having the egg inserted. I expected it to turn on all day and was surprised by the disappointment I felt when I was ignored. I also wondered when someone was going to come and remove it. I had actually been looking forward to someone removing it today. It may have felt good last night, hell, who was I kidding, there was no 'may have' to it, it was the best orgasm in years, but I didn't want it to come on during the symphony, or while meeting with the young virtuoso afterwards. Nothing happened though, and by 6:00PM I was dressed in an evening gown, with matching thigh highs of course. I arrived at the concert hall and upon showing my ticket, was escorted to a center seat in the third row. It couldn't get much better. The symphony was beautiful and passed without an egg incident. As I exited into the corridor, an usher greeted me and said, "This way Mrs. Garceau, to Miss Rossi." I was led backstage to an empty dressing room, but in only a moment, the young cellist appeared. She was a beautiful young lady, who carried herself with poise. "Good evening Miss Rossi. You look lovely, and your music tonight was a thing of beauty." "Please call me Kimberly, and you look ravishing yourself," she smiled genuinely. We chatted for 15-20 minutes about music before Kimberly stood up and approached me. She ran her fingers through my hair, and stroked my shoulders and upper back as she said, "I believe, Miss Garceau, you have something I need to retrieve." I couldn't believe it! Was Kimberly the one behind the letters? She certainly possessed the intelligence and poise to pull it off. But while she certainly looked sensual enough, she didn't give off the air of supremacy to indicate she believed herself to be a mistress; yet, before today I had never met her, so why would she try to secure me. Still, I had to ask. "Are you the mistress then?" Kimberly gave a demure laugh and responded. "No, we share a mistress. I am just to retrieve the egg, perform my service, and give you further instructions." "Well, then who is it?" I asked, as the elegantly dressed Kimberly dropped to her knees in front of me. She moved her hands under my dress and stroked my thighs above the stockings, sending shivers through me, before she reached to remove my panties, and answered, "You get no answers tonight, only service and further instructions. Please lift up your ass. "Wh-what are you doing?" I asked, both shocked and undeniably horny. "Mrs. Garceau, how am I to remove the egg with your panties on? Obviously I must remove them," she said, as if my question was silly. Mindlessly, I lifted my ass up and watched as another stranger touched me sexually as she slid my panties down my legs. As if entranced, I lifted first one ankle and then the other to allow her to finish the removal. Reaching between my now trembling thighs, she dragged her thumb up and down my opening before centering it on my clit. Did I just think 'clit?' What was happening to me? As I struggled to retain my composure, she inserted her fingers and removed the egg. I let out a loud moan, as she fished inside my pussy, before removing the egg. I was both relieved and disappointed at its absence. "Well, it's out now, what are my instructions?" I asked, strangely curious what was next and desperate to put a face to this Secret Santa. "Patience, professor, I have a service to perform first," the pretty young lady answered, remaining on her knees. Although I suddenly envisioned her pleasuring me with her tongue, I asked, "What are you talking about? What service?" Was all I got out before I experienced a woman's tongue on my pussy for the first time. Did I just think pussy? "Mon dieu," I moaned, reverting to my native tongue. I could not believe the sensation. She licked up and down my slit. I was past caring now that I was thinking in vulgarities. I may have never had such thoughts before, but I had never had a woman's tongue buried inside me before either. "Do you like this Mrs. Garceau?" she asked me as she flicked that wonderful tongue over my clit. "Oui oui!" I responded, in French. Her mouth was the most incredible thing I had ever experienced. She sucked my cunt lips into her mouth individually. She would alternate licking up and down my pussy, and then plunge a stiff tongue into my opening. She would gently suck on my button, and then nibble it with her teeth. She even lifted my legs over her shoulders and moved that magical tongue to my asshole. The act was both nasty and intimate, a contradiction in every way, and my body responded with the same contradictory way. Although I was shocked, my body gave in without hesitation as my virgin back door was teased. Where did she learn this stuff? It was obvious she had much practice in these arts. She returned to my desperate cunt and as she used her tongue as a small cock, her finger teased my rosebud. When she sensed my impending orgasm, she slipped a finger inside my ass and bit down on my clit. The result was earth shattering. My juice flowed from me and covered her face, running down her chin. As she slowed her licks to bring me down slowly, she looked up at me, her tongue only lazily moving now, and I noticed for the first time, she was, astoundingly, still in her concert dress. "I hope you enjoyed that Mrs. Garceau. It may be the last orgasm you have for a while. My instructions for you are this. I am to take the egg, and your panties, with me. You are to wear normal dress of a skirt, a tight blouse and the Wellingtons tomorrow, but no panties. In fact, unless given permission, panties are no longer part of your attire. At 8:00 tomorrow night, you are to go to your classroom. I know it is a Saturday, but that is what you must do. You will finally meet Mistress, and you will be pleased. Or perhaps more accurately, she will. Good evening to you." And with that she exited the room without another word. Leaving me still coming with my legs spread open like a well-used groupie after a concert. It took me several minutes to recover. I could not have asked her anything during this time if I wanted to, my mind shut off from logical thought. That may have been the most wonderful experience I had in my life. I could certainly not remember ever coming like that. My ex-husband, bastard though he was, was a good lover. But even he had nothing to rival this. I anxiously looked forward to meeting Mistress, if for no other reason than to thank her for this wonderful week, culminating in this most amazing orgasm. Little did I know the price for such attention. ..... At 7:55 the next day, I walked towards my classroom, dressed exactly as instructed, not wearing any panties though that took quite a while to get used to. I didn't try to be early to see who it would be, what point would there be in that now? I was about to meet her. Lesbian MILF Seductress: Secret Santa As I entered my classroom, I noticed a feminine figure sitting on my desk. The lights were out, so with only lights from the outside I could not make out who she was. "Please come in Mrs. Garceau, and close the door," she ordered. Well the voice was not Kimberly, who I still thought it may be...but I did recognize the voice immediately...but it could not be her. "Turn on the lights, Mrs. Garceau, but just the dim ones," she instructed. As I did so and turned around, I saw one of my freshman English students dangling her legs off my desk. Like me, she was wearing a skirt and thigh highs. "Bree Summers, is it you?" I questioned, as the reality that the person who first made contact with me, eliminating her completely from being a suspect, was indeed who it was. I would not have expected her, and yet I would. She always dressed in a combination of sexy, yet classy. Her attire was not the slutty fashion of so many women today. It did serve to show off her beautiful body, but left the mystery of not openly showing her wares. She sat in front of the class and asked questions with complete confidence, yet never was rude in her approach. Yes, if one gave it some thought, it was believable this young lady was the one. She undoubtedly had the allusive aura of a seductress. "Your correct response is 'Mistress Bree," she firmly replied, confirming both the fact that she certainly was capable of being so, and in fact was the one whom I had come to know as Mistress. "You may now approach me." As silly as it sounded, I approached her upon MY desk, and stood awaiting instructions. "Kneel, my pet," she instructed, looking directly into my eyes, my soul. "Pardonez-moi?" I questioned, my nervousness showing with the reverting to French again. "Well, even though you are French, you are an English professor, so perhaps, I should put this in plain English. Get, on, your, knees, now!" Without understanding why myself, I complied, slowly lowering onto my knees in front of this beautiful, seductive coed. "Did you enjoy your week, my pet?" Bree asked, uncrossing her legs. Glancing up, I noticed she was without panties like me, and her cunt was bald, also like me. And, I just now realized, her snatch was dripping wet. Just, like, me. My cunt was literally leaking in anticipation of the culmination of a week-long seduction and now submission. I felt a strange sadness when she re-crossed her legs, hiding her treasure. "Yes Mistress." I answered, understanding what I was expected to say, easily being drawn into the submissive role I desperately craved. "And you liked the makeover?" She asked, her heel dangling from her foot. "Yes, Mistress, I definitely needed it," I again answered, saying exactly what she wanted to hear, yet equally meaning it. "And the full spa treatment," she added, "How was that?" "Surprisingly relaxing," I admitted, recalling how nice it was, even the Brazilian. "You like having your box smooth?" She asked, more crudely. "Yes, Mistress," I nodded, again feeling much sexier with a smooth box, as she so eloquently put it. "And the thigh highs?" She asked, "You enjoy your new expected nylon attire?" "Yes, Mistress," I again agreed, before adding, "they make me feel sexier." "And sluttier?" She added. "And definitely sluttier," I agreed. Although the fact that I was willing to bury my head in-between her legs at a moment's notice was, I imagine, even sluttier. "And your little dance with the egg was OK?" She continued, replaying each day. "Yes Mistress," I nodded, trying to be sexy and witty I added, "It was quite the buzz." She laughed, "It was adorable watching your facial expressions when they first hit." "How did you get it turned on in other classes?" I asked. "I have a lot of pets," she answered, making me wonder how many is lots. After a moment, she continued, "And I trust slut Kimberly was pleasing? She usually is." "Yes Mistress. I have never felt that way before," I admitted, memories of last night's intense orgasm coming flooding back, pun intended. "I am glad to hear it, slut. Of course, you know everything in life comes with a price. I gave you a taste of your life to come. Now it is time for you to have a taste of something else," she continued. I heard her call me a 'slut', a term that had always given me mixed feelings. I always hated that if a women slept with a few men they were a slut, while a guy sleeping with a few girls was a stud. Yet, I also liked the idea of just letting go, being a vessel of pleasure, an obedient sex puppet. I also knew instantly what she was expecting me to do...lick her. Although I loved being pleasured yesterday by a woman, I wasn't sure I wanted to be on the giving end. I feigned confusion, "What do you mean?" "I will just assume something got lost in the translation pet, so I will give it to you again in plain English. By pet, I mean you are mine to do with as I wish. By slut, I mean you are just that. You will be my slut to be used for my pleasure. I will use you as I please. When I please. And you will also please whom I tell you to please," she explained, again uncrossing her legs, but this time keeping them wide open. I stared at her pussy, curious what she would taste like, curious why so many submitted to her. She continued, smiling at me as I stared at her cunt, "Do you understand now, my little croissant?" I stammered, "I don't know." "Oh yes you do," she purred, as her finger went to her cunt and she slowly rubbed her pussy lips. I stared as her finger disappeared in her cunt. I stared as she briefly fingered herself. I stared as she pulled it out and moved it to my lips. I stared as she gently suggested, "Go ahead, my pet, taste perfection." Again her words were pretentious, again I obeyed like a good submissive. I opened my mouth and took the wet finger in. The scent was exotic, the taste was exotic, the desire for more overpowered me. I bobbed on her finger like it was a cock. She laughed, "I knew you would be an eager pet." When she pulled her finger out, she smiled, "Don't worry, I'm not stingy with my cunt, but only truly obedient pets get the privilege." "Okay," I mindlessly nodded, my mouth watering for more, my eyes beating in to the prized pussy. She continued, "You are to submit to me unconditionally. You now have a choice. Refuse me, and I will leave you be. I will never mention this and you will be free to live your life with the memory of this. C'est la vie as you say. But you will also never again have the pleasure you have experienced in one week. And you could have a lifetime of such pleasure. Mind you, I will not eat your pussy. I do not do that. But if you are good, you could be rewarded with pleasure from another pet. So make your choice. But choose wisely, for your decision is final." I would like to say I fought internally over this rather blunt expectation. This was a 19 year old girl. She was a student of mine. And she wanted me to be some sort of sexual servant. But the gifts had been wonderful. And the pleasure, both from the egg and the wonderful Kimberly's tongue, had been out of this world. How did one decide on something she thought to be wrong, but was amazingly pleasurable? When I walked into this classroom I knew something like this was going to be expected; I knew from the words of Kimberly this was going to be complex; and I knew my career here could be at risk; yet I wanted this, I needed this and as I started at the juicy peach before me, my decision was one of the easiest in my life. "What do I do Mistress? I wish to be your pet," I declared, not remotely ashamed, but eager and accepting my position. "Good choice my pet. You will not regret. Now get me off slut," she ordered. I leaned forward, and for the first time in my life, I tasted another female. I didn't quite know what to expect, but I was surprised at what I tasted. The taste was honey like in flavor. She had called me a little croissant. Well, if that was so, this croissant wanted to be slathered in that honey. I had no idea what to do, but I did my best to please my new mistress. I tried doing what Kimberly did to me. I may not have had her experience nor her expertise, but I did my best to bring pleasure to her. I must have gotten at least a little bit right, for I heard her groans. "That's right my Parisian slut, work that tongue in me." I did not correct her that I, in fact, was from Versailles." I merely did as requested and made further use of my tongue. After a couple more minutes, she pushed my head away and ordered, as she held her phone aimed at me, "Beg to eat my cunt, Mrs. Gar----." I saw the phone, knew I was being filmed and knew I should stand up and walk away. Yet, with her taste on my lips, the hunger to taste her pussy cum, and the natural desire to obey, I responded, "Mistress Bree, may your professor pussy pleasing pet lick your cunt until you come all over my face?" Liking my answer, she grabbed my head and pulled me deep inside her. "Yes slut! I want you to French kiss my pussy. I'm almost there. Do it!" She screamed out to me. As she held me by the back of my head and ground her box over my face, I could feel her humping become faster. Her coming could only be a moment away. I did my best to look as she used my face for her own personal pleasure, which only made my cunt leak. "I'm coming slut! Suck it up! Drink my juice!" She ordered, still grinding. I did as she said and still could not believe how good she tasted. It was better than the best French wine. As she finally became sated, she pulled my head away from her silky thighs and smiled at me, stroking my hair gently. "You are beautiful with my pussy juice on your face, slut. I believe we will have many good times together. I look forward to the use of your tongue over the holidays." It literally pained me to disappoint my new mistress, as the idea of pleasing her again excited me greatly, but I had to let her know. "Mistress, I am returning to Versailles for the holidays. I will be gone two weeks. I'm sorry. My flight has been booked for weeks." "Why would you do that? I am here, not in France," Mistress Bree asked as if my response was the silliest thing she had ever heard. "I'm visiting my daughter, Mistress. She is also on holiday from university, and I have not seen her since the summer. Should I try make other arrangements Mistress?" "Your daughter, you say? No, no, you may go, I've always wanted to go to France," she said. "Pardon?" I asked. "I wouldn't want to get between a mother and daughter. In fact I would love to see them come together. You will get me a ticket to go with you," she explained. I wanted to ask how I would explain this to my daughter, but I already understood that this was obviously my problem and not hers. Instead, I replied, pussy juice wet upon my face, "Of course, Mistress." "Are you horny, my pet?" She asked. "Desperately," I admitted, serving her being its own aphrodisiac. "Get out of your outfit." She ordered. Being asked in my classroom, even on a Saturday, to be naked scared me, but my desire to please and obey again took control. While I did, she was texting on her phone, not watching me undress, which oddly disappointed me. Once standing only in thigh highs and bra, she ordered, not even looking up, "Bra too." I again obeyed, feeling completely vulnerable standing in only thigh high stockings in my classroom. Bree stood up, and said, "I have to go, but Kimberly will be here soon. You will obey her as you would me." Hearing her words only enhanced the trepidation, she was leaving me here alone for another girl. At least it was a beautiful woman who I already had met. "Of course, Mistress," I agreed. "Make those travel changes, I have many holiday plans for you," she instructed as she began to leave. I again nodded, not sure why I was agreeing to all this. She reached the door and said, "By the way, I hope your daughter is as submissive as you. Merry Christmas, my pet." Before I could respond, she was gone. Anxiety again riddled me. Was she planning to add my daughter to her apparent harem of pets? I had little time to think about it as the door opened and a moment later Kimberly sauntered over and quipped, "I think it's time for you to return the favour, my pet." "Yes, Mistress," I nodded, as she lifted up her skirt revealing her completely shaved pussy. I leaned forward, my head spinning thinking this was going to be a very interesting Christmas. The End Merry Christmas... Love Bree