practical sex lessons

The light from the crystal chandelier reflected off the marble walls as Kris entered the room, followed by the trail of silk and muffled sighs. Elena, the Whitmore heiress, was already lying on the king-size bed, her wrists bound by her own lace bras—a "spontaneous" gift he had persuaded her to buy hours earlier. Her arched body glistened under the oil that Marta, the housekeeper, had meticulously applied minutes before.

"You brought *help*," murmured Elena, grating her teeth against her lower lip as her eyes swept over Marta's impeccable figure.

The 60-year-old housekeeper adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose, unperturbed by the fact that she was wearing only a black satin corset and lace stockings.

"You called me," she said, as if Kris had asked her to polish the silverware.

He pulled Elena by the hair, making her sit on the edge of the bed.

— "She's going to teach you how a true heiress should behave."

Marta didn't hesitate. With precise movements, she slid her hands over Elena's breasts, pinching her nipples with the expertise that only six decades of life could provide.

— "First lesson," she whispered, as her slippery fingers slid down the heiress's belly. "Nobility doesn't moan like a tavern whore."

Elena arched her back as Marta pushed her back onto the bed, spreading her legs with a firm knee.

— "Second lesson," Marta continued, spitting into her palm before rubbing it between Elena's thighs. "Getting wet is an obligation. Asking is optional."

Kris watched, unbuttoning her pants as the heiress cried out, not in protest, but in ecstasy—Marta had unceremoniously shoved three fingers inside her, while her other hand gripped her throat.

— "Third lesson," growled the housekeeper, bending down to lick Elena's hardened nipples. "Never keep your master waiting."

She pulled the heiress by the hips, positioning her on all fours with her face buried in the mattress and her rear end raised—directed toward Kris.

— "Your turn, sir."

It was just another night of tutoring.

The next morning, Elena woke with her thighs throbbing, Marta's tongue still dry between her legs, and Kris's scent lingering on the sheets. The housekeeper, now in impeccable uniform, served coffee as if nothing had happened.

— "Etiquette lesson at 3 p.m., girl," she reminded her, adjusting the bow on her apron. "Today we're teaching… how to receive guests *seated*."

Elena smiled, licking her lips.

— "Obviously."

Private lessons were as *normal* as the sunrise.