“Good, Mrs. Cosgrove. What else?”

Lacey speaks up. “And when she licked her fingers and wet her nipples, her back arched.”

“Rolling them between her fingers made her knees shake,” says another housewife.

“All great observations. What else?”

“When she watched you watching her, it made her hotter. She wanted you to touch her. You could see it in her eyes.”

I freeze, forcing myself not to look in the direction of the voice. I was so close. So close to getting through this without actually thinking about it. So close to not feeling like I was doing something wrong. But now that unwarranted guilt is creeping back, filling my head with illusions of morality. Making me think twice about my next move.

“Uh, that was…” I stammer. Shit. Focus, Drake. Business before bullshit.“So…right. Moving on. Next, Erin will demonstrate some of the more known erogenous zones, starting with the clitoris. Watch closely; watch the movements of her fingers. Note which areas are the most sensitive.”

Without my prompt, Erin lets her hands travel down past her belly and between her thighs. First, she parts her sex, giving the women an in-depth view of her most intimate area. Then, with her other hand, she strokes her clit, moaning out her pleasure before applying more pressure.

My hand still on the inside of her thigh, I part Erin’s legs wider, letting the women see every tight, wet part of her. “I get that most of you have had children and are not as youthful as Erin,” I say over her fevered mewling. “But this is the type of pussy you all should aspire to have. Your job is not just to birth children and run a household. You are required to stay freshly waxed and groomed at all times. Your pussy should be pink and soft. If it’s not, there are procedures to get it that way again. Thisis what your husbands want to see when you open your legs. No one wants to fuck Chewbacca. Groom your pussy as if you’re Sharon Stone’s crotch-shot stunt double.”

Erin resumes massaging her clit, tracing circles around that swollen, throbbing button. Then she switches it up with rapid side-to-side movements before lightly slapping the emblazoned flesh, crying out with her climax. She looks up at me again with those needy eyes, shaking with the aftershocks of orgasm. I know what she was thinking about when she touched herself. I know she wishes it were my hands stimulating her silken skin.

I divert my eyes, acting as if I am engrossed in her quivering sex. “Clitoral stimulation can provide one of the most powerful orgasms you’ll ever feel. And for many women, that’s the only climax they’ve ever received. But there’s one type of orgasm that, unfortunately, very few women have had the pleasure of experiencing. Of course, I am referring to the G-Spot orgasm. Now, ladies…it’s not the Lost City of Atlantis. There’s no special code you need to crack this particular nut. Just patience and practice. And if you can find it, you’ll be able to lead your lover to it.”

I give Erin’s leg a tap and she complies with my unspoken command, moving a hand just a few centimeters lower and dipping just the tip of her finger inside her pussy. She rubs the dripping wet digit on her swollen clit before easing it inside her again, this time sinking in to the knuckle. She gasps at the intrusion, letting her muscles contract around her slender finger before easing it out a bit. Then she plunges back in, creating a slow, sinful rhythm.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Slow and deep,” I croon, massaging her thigh. “Add another finger. Fill yourself.”

Erin does as I command, picking up speed with the addition of the second finger. I can hear the sucking sounds of her tightness, begging for more.

“Now curl your fingers up, baby. You feel that? You feel how it’s throbbing for you? Begging for you? Milk it, baby. Milk that orgasm and come all over your fingers for me.”

With a strangled cry, Erin lets go, and a rush of sweet nectar flows from her contracting pussy. Still massaging her thigh, I coax her down from her erotic high, whispering reassuring words of praise. When I look back at the crowd, every eye is glazed and unblinking, and every face is flushed scarlet.

“I understand that it may be difficult to vocalize what we’ve just seen, so we’ll be cutting today’s class short. You’re all dismissed to your rooms, where a special gift from our friends at Lelo.com awaits you. I want you to explore your own pleasure points. Find out what techniques stimulate you the most. And while you do this, utilize the full-length mirrors stationed in your suites. Watch yourself get off. See what hesees when he’s pleasuring you.”

Without little persuasion, the ladies hastily file out of the room, all silently pondering their homework assignment. Once we’re alone, I turn to Erin, my expression burning with intensity.

“My house. Now.”

“WHAT THE FUCK was that?”

I pace the floor, trying to reel in my temper. Erin sits cross-legged on my sofa, only sheathed in her robe.

“What was what?”

“Don’t play stupid, Erin. You know what you were doing.”

She smiles, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit!” I shout, throwing up my hands. “You were giving me the fuck-meeyes the entire time. And don’t think I didn’t catch you moan my name.”

She looks down at the floor to hide her forlorn expression. “Nice to see you were paying attention. You make me feel like I’m invisible to you.”

I rub the back of my neck in frustration, before going to kneel in front of her. Erin may be confident and fearless, but she is still a woman. She still needs to feel desired. “Of course you’re not invisible to me, Erin. I see you. Shit, I was touching you…talking to you in ways I shouldn’t have been. For a minute, I forgot where I was.”

She lifts her eyes and hope floods her face. “You wanted me, didn’t you? You wanted to be inside me, right?”

I swallow, pushing down the instinctive Yesin my throat. “I’d be fucking crazy not to want you, Erin. You’re a beautiful woman. But you know I can’t cross that line with you. Not now, not ever.”

“But…but before we did-”

I shake my head, knowing exactly where this is going. “That was then, Erin. And that will never happen again. I told you that. Now if you can’t handle this arrangement, I can find someone who can.”

Tears well in her eyes and she shakes her head. “No. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just…”

I kiss her on the forehead and climb to my feet. “Good girl.”

For once, I’m actually not trying to be the villain. I like Erin, but not in the way that she wants. A few years back, I approached her in a Chicago bar, on her last dime, looking for any rich bastard to buy her a drink and hopefully be her sponsor. Despite being incredibly gorgeous, she reeked of desperation. I had to help her. It was my civic duty to do so before she got caught up with the wrong crowd.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked her, sliding onto the barstool beside her.

“Amy,” she answered, smiling too brightly.

“Amy, huh? What’s your real name?”

Her face fell, and she stared at the gin and tonic she had been nursing for the past hour. “Erin.”

Without a word, I slid her a business card. No name. No information. Just a phone number. Then I slapped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and turned and walked away.

Five minutes later, Erin was ringing my cell phone.

“There’s a diner on Michigan Avenue,” I answered without preamble.

“Which one?” she asked into the receiver.

“Whichever one you find me at.” End.

Half an hour later, Erin slid into the booth I was stationed at, flustered and irritated. I picked up my cup of coffee and casually took a sip before sliding her a menu.

“I’m not here to eat,” she said, pushing it back towards me.