Learning Pleasure Pt. 02: The Only Answer That Fits

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This story follows after Learning Pleasure (https://www..com/s/learning-pleasure). Chronologically, it takes place immediately afterward. I have done my best to make this one readable without reading the first. I think many readers might appreciate the characters more, though, if they read Learning Pleasure before this.


She reclined in regal elegance, her massive wine-colored leather wing chair making her look even more petite than she was.

She wore nudity with as much composure as she wore skimpy party dresses. Her generous bosom still rose and fell a little bit with heavy breathing, and her face shone with the look of a woman who has exactly what she wants.

She sat with her legs spread, undecorous, unladylike, and even so, regal elegance still fit her somehow. She grinned down at me, like an oracle with a secret joke, like she knew my future and it was fun.

Her name was Aria Thames, and she had conquered my world and claimed it for her own.

Only eighteen years old, Aria inhabited and personified the beauty of youth from her legs to her breasts to her jet black hair. Child of inherited wealth, she knew exactly what she wanted and expected to get it.

One entered Aria’s world as something she wanted, or one was not allowed to enter it.

I was in Aria’s world.

Naked but for diamonds she had given me, I knelt before her, smiling, playful, happy, and aroused.

She made me feel like a Volkswagen Golf next to a Ferrari. My brown hair framed a face showing it’s first laugh line or two. Willpower and the gym kept my figure from reflecting nearly four decades of life. Hips a little wider, breasts a little smaller, between my legs a little bushier, everything a little plainer than Aria’s perfection.

I had a husband. I had a daughter Aria’s age.

Everyone said Aria, the boss’s daughter, acted like she owned her father’s law firm. I thought it was just rumor and exaggeration, until she wanted me alone and my husband was suddenly called out of town for work.

Everyone said Aria was the most popular girl at school, able to make or break a kid’s social life. I thought that was just teenage melodrama, until Aria wanted me alone, and my daughter was suddenly invited to the popular girls’ first ski weekend.

Spoiled. Wealthy. Beautiful. Arrogant. Commanding. Selfish. Assertive. Aggressive. Demanding.

Aria mixed them all together in a kind of sexual alchemy until the world obeyed her every whim.

Including me.

Over the past two weeks, she seduced me with secret smiles and smoky glances and whispers. I was in awe of her, mystified, willing to be led — eager for it. Aria was graceful, smooth, and utterly, impeccably in command.


This story begins moments after Aria and I had just made love for the first time. Or, to be more accurate, after I had just pleasured her for the first time.

Her promise was part of her seduction: “I like teaching women like you to please me. I like teaching naive, demure women the taste of another woman’s pleasure.”

Moments ago, I had learned what was promised. The taste of her still sparkled on my tongue, the smell of her still tickled my nose. The memory of kissing her smooth, hairless vulva was overshadowed only by the reality in front of me, every bit as wonderful as the memory.

Her beautiful sex.

Once a great mystery to me, like a goblet of finer wine than I had ever tasted, now like a new home. Still learning all its secret places, still exploring every hidden place, but settling in and becoming very comfortable there.

Her labia shone with sweat and more precious moisture than that. Full and thick, like perfect fruit, they smiled at me, inviting me back.

The woman herself did the same, with a flash of teeth, a blown kiss, and a crook of her finger.

My first time pleasuring her on my knees hinted at something new about myself — something I had never known before. I loved licking her. I loved feeling her arousal and excitement mount with every movement of my tongue. More than all of that, I loved that I had been told before I came here that it was going to be about her pleasure, and my education, and not the reverse.

So when, at her ease in that huge chair, almost like a queen, she crooked her finger at me, nonverbally saying, “Please me again,” something stirred in me. Desire, yes. But more than desire. Something was awake now that went deeper than lust, deeper, even, than discovering the delight of another woman’s body.

She commanded. I obeyed.

I was shocked to discover that that felt hot — hotter than anything I had ever felt before. I wanted her to enjoy my obedience.

I crawled across the floor. On my hands and knees, neck uncomfortable from keeping my head up to smile at her, I made my way toward my new place in the world.

I tried to sway. It’s a lot harder on all fours than it is walking, but I moved my hands and knees to the center and let the rhythm of each bit of progress move my hips. Under me, my breasts swayed too.

Aria Bayan Eskort twitched her lips up to let me know she appreciated my effort, but said nothing, waiting for me to reach her. I wanted to be there instantaneously. I wanted to taste her again. I wanted to lose my soul between her thighs again. I wanted to breathe in the scent of her pleasure and forget all of my boring, bourgeois past.

But I made myself move slow. This was my second time pleasing Aria. My first, mere minutes ago, taught me a lesson or two. One of them was that Aria enjoyed it more the slower I went. So I made my crawl into sensual art, rather than pouncing on her with the greed and hunger I truly felt.

Her face contained no impatience at all, only approval. That approval hit me like blowing on a fire — it made me hotter. Just the look in her eyes was making my whole body tingle.

I arrived before her throne, the Princess gazing down at me, still simply letting me do this my way. Even then, just a hint of her intoxicating aroma reached my nose. I could hear her breathing. I could only be imagining it, but almost I thought I heard the beating of her heart.

And as I hung my head down for just a fraction of a second to give my aching neck a rest, I saw something and thought something I had never thought before.

Redder than her chair, redder than the dress pooled on the floor beside the chair, Aria’s perfectly painted toenails.

This new desire she had planted in me whispered in my ear. At the merest thought of my next act, the heat in the middle of me became an urgent need.

I looked up at her. I gave her my own grin, as if to say there was still a bit of this show that belonged to me rather than her.

And I bowed my head down to the floor, and pressed my lips to her feet.

The sound that came out of Aria was like a purr and a hum, like a big cat content in the sun, and like a sigh of delight.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm oh Plaything. Oh Plaything. You learn *so* fast.”

In response I breathed on her ankle before touching my lips to it lighter than a feather. Then I licked the base of her calf muscle, and ever, ever so slowly let my wet tongue find its way to her knee.

And then her thighs.

I kissed the inside of one thigh, just above her knee. I moved my head and kissed the other one. I made my tongue broad and flat, and left a wet trail up the inside of her thigh. I moved to the other one and kissed, sucking a bit of skin between my lips, and letting my teeth just barely touch her.

Her hands came down on the back of my head. Her fingers twisted themselves into my hair like kneading dough. She made no move to push or guide me. Her touch by itself was enough.

I trailed my tongue the rest of the way up her thigh, just the tip tickling her, until the smell of her went from being just a hint teasing my nose, to everything I breathed.

I kissed her sex.

Just as if it were an eager, hungry kiss on her mouth, I pressed my face to her and let my tongue explore. At once the ever so slightly bright taste of her was all my world. Her beauty, her spellbinding scent, and the silky smooth feel of her skin took a back seat. The moisture of her arousal covered my tongue. Each lick gave me more of her. I lost myself in the flavor of Aria’s pleasure.

Aria drew in a quavering breath, teetering on the edge of becoming a whimper. “Oh, my beautiful Plaything,” she whispered, toying with my hair.

One small part of my brain took notice of her repeated use of that word. I felt like I should have been a bit mad about it. I felt like I should have felt degraded. But the same unknown something deep inside me that wanted to obey her — the same unknown something that had inspired me to kiss her feet — that unknown something liked it.

That unknown something wanted to hear her call me Plaything again.

I gave myself to the taste of her, lapping it up. My tongue pushed and probed, finding new folds of her flesh I hadn’t sampled yet. My lips caressed and massaged her. Her strong thighs squeezed my head as I devoted myself to serving her.

I wanted new heights for her. I wanted to give her more than I had last time. Earlier I learned the lesson she had promised me: what it was like to give a woman pleasure. But it was no longer enough.

I didn’t just want to know. I wanted to be good at it.

Aria squirmed in her chair, trying to get her vulva at a better angle for me to kiss and lick. I attacked her ever more vigorously, lapping, sucking, kissing, tasting. I wanted every drop of her. I wanted every millimeter of her. I let my tongue delve into her, pushing even just a little bit inside her, truly eating.

Aria was past moaning and whimpering now. Loud cries of pleasure echoed off the walls of her palatial bedroom. Her fingers twisted in my hair, hard enough to hurt, but I barely even noticed. The words that came out of her were rough, demanding, grabby.

I loved it.

“Eat me! Yes! Suck it! Suck my pussy! Eat it Plaything!”

Over and over she twisted those few words into new combinations, each time louder than before, until more than crying out, she was screaming in pleasure.


I didn’t need to be told. With a hunger I still didn’t understand, I ravaged her tender flesh as if it were everything. All of existence, all of my world, wet and quivering between her thighs. Life was mouth and vulva, juices and tongue, her greedy screams above me like a primal soundtrack.

I felt like I was almost as rough as she was. As she grabbed my hair and mashed my face against her ever harder, I slavered at her pussy, sucking folds of her skin into my mouth, pushing so hard on her with my tongue it ached a little for me.

“Now Plaything!”

I drew a sloppy, hard circle around her clitoris with my tongue. I could feel how hot her flesh was there, how much heat flowed through her body at that moment.


And her hands shoved my face to her so hard it hurt my nose. Her fingers, twisted in my hair, hurt as they tugged, and I was afraid of losing control; I thought she might just rub herself off on my nose. So I put my lips around her clitoris and sucked.

The screaming was like nothing I ever heard before. The words “Plaything,” “pussy,” and YES!” were in there somewhere, but it was hard to make anything out she was yelling so loud and smashing all the words together.

I kept sucking her as she came, letting her pull my hair, even liking it. She had a hell of a set of lungs, still shrieking loud enough that if she had any neighbors they would probably be calling the police to report a murder.

She came and came. I loved it. I was lost in it. I forgot there was any other world. I didn’t know I had a husband. I didn’t know I had a daughter. I didn’t know I had a name. I just knew Aria’s ecstatic vocalizations, her sloppy wet sex, her scent on every molecule of air I took in, and the silky smooth feel of her skin. That was life. That was everything. That *was* me. I felt like the experience of Aria’s pleasure encompassed my entire existence.

She finally stopped screaming and, one gulp of air at a time, descended toward breathing something slightly closer to normal. She still didn’t let up on holding me to herself as if she were drowning and I was a life preserver. I didn’t mind. I was happy right where I was.

She eventually eased the pressure of her hands on the back of my head. She didn’t unwind her fingers from my hair, but she transitioned into more playful tugging than pulling as hard as she could. But even then, she gave no sign of releasing me or of speaking. She just came down, caught her breath, and kept herself warm by holding me to her.

Finally she released me. I shifted position to rest my head on her thigh. My heart pounded like the pistons of a V8 engine. Between my own legs was a pleasurable ache more powerful than I had ever known. My body wanted a climax worse than it ever had. I felt a kind of physical longing to be touched there, to have something inside me, to pull it in deeper with my muscles.

Aria gave zero sign that any relief for that ache had even crossed her mind.

“Do you like the position Plaything? On your knees at my feet?”

I giggled, not sure about answering. It was embarrassing to admit how deeply this whole experience was affecting me.

Aria twisted her fingers in my hair. She gave a tug, playful, but enough to sting — a response to my non-answer.

It was almost like being punished.

She reached down to get a finger under my chin, and tipped my head up for locked-in eye contact. Her expression was like a cat that had cornered a mouse. She repeated her question.

“Do you like kneeling before me, Plaything?”

The way she looked at me; the way she grinned, the way she held my hair… She left me no doubt. Aria knew exactly what my answer was going to be, and she *wanted* to hear it. She desired my confession about it.

I gave it to her despite the flaming blush in my cheeks.

“It turns me on. All the cultural baggage about kneeling… like a subject before her Princess, Aria. Like accepting your rule. Yes I like it.”

Her humming purr was almost exactly like the one she gave when I kissed her feet.

“And do you like being called Plaything?”

“I… I wasn’t sure at first. Now… yeah. Yes. I like it. It’s hot.”

Her next words reached my ears like the tinkling of crystal chimes. Her voice drifted down melodically, almost completely alien to the climactic shrieking that had come from her earlier.

“Do you like… *my*… pleasure? she asked, getting more specific, pausing and emphasizing firmly.

I took a deep breath. I felt melodramatic admitting it. “Aria I loved it. I love your ecstasy. I love your climax. I love the taste of you feeling pleasure. I love being the one who’s giving it to you.”

With my head resting on her thigh, she petted my like a cat, stroking my hair, almost purring herself. She took some time before replying, just caressing my brown locks, brushing strands out of my face only for them to fall back down.

“Good. Because you’re going to be doing it all weekend.”

The rest of Friday night, then Saturday, then half of Sunday passed in a symphonic recital of Aria’s ecstasy. Again and again and again and again, sometimes my tongue, sometimes my fingers, sometimes grinding on my thigh, sometimes grinding on my face, screaming, moaning, purring, whimpering, Aria took me through a crash course in her pleasure.

Early Sunday afternoon, I had a rare moment standing on my feet, rather than laying on the bed or kneeling. Aria embraced me from behind, her breasts pressing against my back, her hips to my buttocks, her nose and mouth buried in my hair.

Her hands, around me from behind, tickled my mound, a bit above my labia, just toying with my pubic hair. I was afraid even that was going to make me climax, I was so oversaturated with arousal after a whole weekend of giving and not receiving.

Together, her looking over my shoulder, we stared out the two-story, floor-to ceiling windows of her penthouse, with the city skyline before us, the ocean in view at the edge of the bedroom windows. A thick rug deep enough to bury all of my feet in kept my toes warm against the chill of winter outside.

“It’s about a three hour drive back to your house.”

The words shattered my perfect existence. Aria, her luxurious world, her delectable body, her exquisite pleasure. Gone and replaced with reality.



Tiny two-bedroom home in the suburbs.


Tonight’s dinner.

My old world crashed through like a dam bursting, flooding out my new existence.

Plaything had been my name, the only thing she called me, since Friday night. All of a sudden, in my head, I wasn’t “Plaything” anymore.

I was Carol Small, wife of Larry Small. Naked in someone other than Larry’s arms.

And now, for the first time in my life, dealing with a word I had never even imagined before.


I unpackaged it in my head. Swirled it around my mouth for the taste. Tried it on. Unfaithful. Cheater. Disloyal. Promise-breaker.

Stripped of all pretense, giving the word all of its hurtful power, I still could not escape the truth. No matter how many different ways I rephrased it, the answer was the same.

Aria’s pleasure was worth it.

This new thrill — this unknown something from the depths of my psyche — it felt too good to let go.

“I don’t want to go home,” I said to Aria, in a long-delayed response to her observation about travel times.

She stroked my hair, petted it, went through some half-hearted braiding. She kissed my ear.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” I protested, hearing the whine in my voice, ashamed of it, but not willing to give up.

“I like pleasing you Aria.”

“Mmmm…. you’re good at it too.”

“I want to please you. I want to… I want to…”

It was embarrassing to say. It was melodramatic. It felt like the kind of thing characters can only say on screen in hollywood, not in real life. And yet it was true. And I wanted her to know it about me. I wanted the embarrassment that came with admitting it. I steeled myself. I practiced the line a time or two in my head until I could deliver it without fumbling.

“I want to serve you, Aria. I want to obey you.”

Behind me she purred, and she made a sound not unlike the one she made when I kissed her feet.

“Mmmmm, Plaything, you really are a treat.”

“Let me stay.”

“And your husband? He comes home, he finds you gone, he calls the police… eventually they knock on enough doors in the neighborhood that someone tells them about the big black limo that stopped in front of your house Friday night…”

I sighed in her arms. She was, of course, right. She was Aria Thames. She was always right.

I didn’t want what she described. I didn’t want to abandon my husband. I didn’t want to leave him. I didn’t want to leave my daughter.

I just didn’t want my time with Aria to end, either.

“He weeps. Lisa weeps, her grades plummet in school because her mother’s run off with one of her classmates. Probably she takes a swing at me or something…”

I sighed again. “Of course I don’t want any of that. I… I… I don’t know how to make it work Aria. I don’t want to leave my husband. I don’t want to abandon my daughter. But I want to be your Plaything.”

“I don’t usually keep girls for more than a weekend, Plaything. I told you what I like when I kissed you the first time. I like teaching girls to please me.”

“You did! I learned! And Aria, I love it. I’ve never loved anything more. I love your pleasure. I want to keep giving it to you.”

“Teaching,” Aria said.

Just the single word, repeated from her description of what she liked. Just one word. But enough for me to understand.

She liked teaching, and I had already learned.

I just stood there in her arms, not speaking. This was, at the end of the day, not about my wants. Aria was about what Aria wanted. And, like anyone else, I could only give Aria my first time, one time.

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