Chapter 3

“Likewise. I named my business High Heels, Red Lipstick with her in mind. It’s the least I could do. Maybe someday I’ll reconnect with her and tell her all about my adventures.”

“You sound like you’re still enamored with her,” Lizzie noted.

“Yeah, well, you never forget your first. And in many ways, I try to model my middle aged life after her. I’m every bit the soccer mom she was. I go to every PTA meeting and assist with as many school fundraisers as I can. That’s most of what I do with my free time.”

Marchent paused for a while, then added, “Enough about me. Your turn. Explain your attraction to me. Do you have a thing for women my age?”

Enough with the hiding, Lizzie thought to herself. If Marchent could easily reveal so much, then surely Lizzie could do the same.

And so she did. Lizzie started from the beginning and relayed the story of her early days as a young dancer. Then came the story of her beautiful Instructor, an older woman in her late 30s. It started in the locker room, being naked in front of each other all the time. Then it escalated to private sessions which ended in kissing. Then a private backroom meeting before a show, in which the Instructor gave her an earth shattering orgasm with her mouth as an early celebration for a great performance.

Lizzie concluded, “That was my first and only time with a woman. It was an exquisite experience. I loved the connection we shared, which was only possible because I looked at her like a motherly mentor figure, and according to her, I made her feel young again. So it was like a symbiotic relationship of pleasure. We each fulfilled the other’s needs.”

“You know the rigors of a dancer’s life. She retired as a performer and took a more lucrative job somewhere else. I also moved on to other opportunities. This sort of thing was never meant to last anyway.”

“Would you be surprised if I knew all that already?” Marchent asked with a knowing smile.

Lizzie was taken aback. “I don’t believe that.”

“The truth is, Lizzie, your former dance instructor was actually a protege of mine. We were both dance students together and had remained friends ever since. That performance you spoke of, where you did those naughty things backstage with her, I was there that night and I later watched you perform. I didn’t know all the details until she told me afterwards.”

Lizzie was plainly shocked. “Really?”

“No, I’m not,” Lizzie honestly replied. “I don’t know how to feel.”

“Well, how would you feel about expanding on these experiences? You’ll get to learn more about yourself and others in the process. It’s a glorious journey, in my humble opinion.”

“Why are you asking me this? Are you trying to pursue a relationship with me?”

“I. Am. Recruiting you,” Marchent said in a matter-of-fact way. “My associate is looking for new talent and I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while. You’re just the kind of woman we’re looking for. Smart, gorgeous, and you have a real ability to connect with people on an emotional level. It won’t interfere with your day job. In fact, it will enhance your day job. You could do something rewarding for yourself, and for others.”

Lizzie was both perplexed and drawn in. Although she knew that Marchent had the resume of a businesswoman, she only had a vague notion of what that main business actually was.

“I think I might be interested,” Lizzie replied in earnest. “But of course, I’d need more details.”

“First, I need to know if you’d be willing to become my new protégé, and not just for the night of the Ball. I need to know if you trust me, and want me in your life.”

The answer was obvious to Lizzie. “Yes.”

“Alright then. I’ll give you the details. Can you keep a secret?”

“Promise?” Marchent pried further.

“Cross my heart. I swear.”

Marchent scooted over to sit close to Lizzie, bringing her lips to the young dancer’s ear, then whispered…

December 15, 2012 was when the first encounter between Lizzie and her Instructor happened before an evening performance.

Everything was routine by that point. The dancers had finished getting dressed and made their way backstage. Most of the audience had gotten to their seats. And music was playing to set the mood and created a nice ambience.

“Don’t go yet,” the Instructor said, putting a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder.

Lizzie had looked into her Instructor’s eyes to see that same flirtatious expression. Sure, they had kissed a few times on the lips at this point. Twice they made out in the parking garage after a show.

But she had assumed that this was the full extent of their fling (or whatever the hell this was called). Why complicate their relationship any more than it had to be? Lizzie thought they both understood that, even though neither of them had ever said it.

The Instructor gave a quick kiss on the lips. “Thank you, for being a good student, a wonderful dance partner, and for being discreet.”

“Believe me, I don’t want anyone else to know either,” young Lizzie blushed. “You’re a great kisser by the way.”

“How about I kiss you again? Good luck for the show.”

“We can’t ruin our lipstick.”

“Just mine,” the Instructor said, her eyes gesturing up and down. “I want to eat your pussy. Please?”

Lizzie’s heart skipped a beat. “Now?” was all she managed to say.

“No one’s here. I’ll be fast.”

The Instructor pulled Lizzie to the side of the dressing room, in the open space, but away from the view of anyone walking in the hallway. The dressing room door was still open. Lizzie stood frozen as the instructor dropped to her knees, pulled the bottom of the leotard to the side and pressed her mouth between Lizzie’s legs.

And that, was Lizzie’s first experience.

Lizzie and Marchent met a few days later when their plans and agreements were finalized. They had a light breakfast at a bustling upscale cafe across the street from the downtown studio, where they sat beside each other.

Marchent looked different today. She wore a business-casual outfit which somehow made her seem younger. On top of that, she wore this provocative shade of red lipstick, which really gave her face a different demeanor. And maybe, she seemed more vibrant because of what was about to come later (whatever that was).

“Her name is Shoshana Kalinski, your new client,” Marchent explained. “She’s an attractive Jewish girl. She moved to the city recently to attend law school. She also has an extensive background in dance, so she knows what she’s doing. Her body is slender and firm, ready for hard work.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “She must be busy as a law student. So what’s her interest in dance?”

“Private lessons. From you.”

“You know what I’m asking,” Lizzie blushed.

Marchent smiled. “As you can imagine, being a law student is quite expensive, so she’s looking to help supplement her income. She has an offer to do a solo ballet scene for her cousin’s Bar Mitzvah in several months, as well as other potential private events. She has enough family connections to get booked regularly.”

Marchent smiled wider. “And, Shoshana is quite shy. The problem is she has a bit of stage fright performing alone. That’s where you come in. Push her limits. Bring her out of her shell. Make her a woman, so to speak.”

There was a sudden clenching feeling between Lizzie’s legs. All she could think about was what this girl looked like. How it would occur. And if this would be a horrible mistake or not.

“When would this happen?” Lizzie asked.

“She only lives two blocks from here in a small apartment her father has rented for her. I can text her and we can begin her private sessions if you’re ready.”

The emphasis on ‘private sessions’ was enticing to Lizzie. It was all she could think about since yesterday and she had already mapped out her new process.

“I’m ready,” Lizzie said. “Text her and let her know that I’m free for the next two hours.”

“Remember everything I’ve taught you,” Marchent said. “You should be fine. You’re an excellent teacher and all of your students really admire you. This is simply… a different side of teaching.”

“I’ve missed you,” Lizzie said warmly, changing the subject.

“My touch? Or my lips?”

“Both,” Lizzie replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t make plans for us to meet again after our dressing room affair. I was sure that it would become a regular thing for us.”

Marchent leaned forward, whispering, “I need you pent up and full of desire. And for the record, I’ve missed you too.”

Before Lizzie had a chance to digest those words, Marchent reached under the table and touched her inner-thigh, making Lizzie twitch.

Lizzie’s eyes roamed the cafe as Marchent rubbed her clit through her panties.

“No one is watching,” Marchent whispered. “Unless, you make a scene and draw attention to us.”

“Never,” Lizzie whispered back.

Marchent dug her fingers deeper, pulling Lizzie’s panties to the side using her finger tips, and plunging two fingers inside the dance instructor’s cunt. She rubbed and Lizzie moaned.

“We’ll get caught,” Lizzie whispered.

Marchent kept her fingers moving. “You’re right. We need a more private place, like the dance studio. And we need a new play partner too, like Shoshana. Have you ever tasted Jewish pussy before?”

“No,” Lizzie breathed in anticipation.

“It’s delicious. You’ll find out soon enough. But I am fond of your taste.”

Marchent fingers, now wet, pulled out and tucked Lizzie’s panties in their proper place. Then she brought her fingers to her own coffee cup, which was now only lukewarm, and swirled her wet finger tips inside.

With the coffee laced with Lizzie’s flavor, Marchent brought the cup to her lips and took a long sip.

Shoshana was exactly as Lizzie had imagined. A youthful dancer with many of the physical attributes associated with Jewish American women. Prominent facial features. Olive skin. Curly hair, which was swept back to form a bun. Her body was slender and graceful. Proper manners and posture. She looked cute in her pink ballet shoes too.

Beyond that, Shoshana stood completely naked in the center of the dance studio with her hands clasped behind her back. Her trimmed pubic hairs were curly like the hair on her head. Her pert breasts and light brown nipples pointed forwards. And her chest seemed to heave as she breathed rapidly, most likely out of nerves.

All three of them were in a private dance studio. Marchent had taken a backseat on this matter, sitting casually by the window, with the expectation of a good show.

Lizzie paced the room in her teacher’s attire; barefoot with spandex pants and a loose tshirt.

They had already exchanged formalities and they all agreed that time was of the essence. Why wait? There’s no point in prolonging and discussing it, when you can just get right to it.

“My name is Lizzie,” she said with a faint hint of authority. “And I’ll be your instructor. My goal is to help you face your fears and become whatever you want to become. My methods are as follows; you will do whatever I say, whenever I say it. Are we clear?”