Being a mature woman has its perks. I love watching your face flush when I lean close and promise a very private lesson. Tonight is our favorite fantasy—two consenting adults, you 28 and hungry to learn, me a little older and ravenous to teach. It’s roleplay, baby… and I always grade on a curve.

I straddle your lap on the tall stool, red hair spilling like fire across your shoulders. My blouse strains over my breasts as I breathe your name and feel your hands hesitate—until I guide them. “Study these,” I purr, arching into your palms, the lace warm beneath your fingertips.

Your touch starts careful, then confident. My nipples pebble, my hips roll, and the heat between us turns molten. “Good,” I whisper, kissing the corner of your mouth before tracing down your throat. I unbutton slowly, letting you watch—seduction as a curriculum, each layer a new chapter.

“Oral exam,” I tease, guiding your lips lower until you’re mouthing me through silk, tongue patient, thorough, eager. I reward you with a low moan and a fist in your hair, pulling you closer when you earn it, easing you back when I want you desperate. You follow beautifully, breathing hard, eyes blown wide for me.

I slide to the floor between your knees, tugging open your belt with a wicked smile. “Time for your practicum,” I say, tasting you slow, making you shake while I look up and hold your gaze. By the time I rise, you’re ruined on the stool—needy, obedient, ready. And class? We’re just getting started. This is the lesson you’ll never forget.