Vanilla Guitar Lessons


Elizabeth was like no other student I’ve had, before or since. Most adults who want to learn to play guitar are folksingers, or fans of fingerpicking bluegrass. They come as they are, the guys in jeans and t-shirts, the women looking pretty much the same. No makeup, just plain vanilla (though as you’ll see, Elizabeth had her own uses for vanilla).

Elizabeth was not like that. She had grown up in New Orleans. She wanted to learn how to play ragtime guitar.

She had a way of carrying herself with a sexy dignity and a quiet, playful side to her made-up face and sexy clothes. She didn’t make movements or comments that were directly sexual, but everything was sensuous.

Maybe it had something to do with being descended from Southern belles. Her grandmother lived in an old house in Atlanta, and Elizabeth told me some of the family stories about how General Sherman’s boys mistreated everything and everybody and nearly destroyed the house, back in the Civil War.

The first time she walked in for a lesson, I was sure she was out of place. It must have been a Christmas present from her husband or something, a miscalculation that would soon play itself out.

But she hung in there and made progress, learning fingering and picking pretty well.

Until Elizabeth, I mistrusted such obvious sexual signals as the slinky walk, the rustly, clingy dress, the smoothly madeup face with bright red lipstick. They seemed contrived.

But she was a natural with all that. She would slink into the room with a sideways look of her eyes, a soft smile on her red lips. Her clothes seemed to suit her so well, but she made me feel almost as if she dressed for me.

I couldn’t help noticing her shapely ass as she sidled across the room. She seemed to make the most of those few moments each week when she walked into the room in front of me.

Her cleavage was always suggestive. She had good-sized boobs, large, full, with firm, tasty nipples (oops, I’m getting ahead of myself).

Sometimes she wore tight slacks, but often dresses or skirts that were on the short side, with dark pantyhose over shapely legs. She usually sat down cross-legged in such a way that showed as much leg as possible..

Now when you hold a guitar up against your chest, it’s usually like a shield for your breasts if you’re a woman, but Elizabeth practically made her guitar into a platter, serving up one or both of her breasts on display. It was hard not to stare at them.

And if her breasts were squeezed behind the guitar, her cleavage was that much more open and revealing. She of course acted like nothing unusual was going on, and she was so relaxed about it that I couldn’t be sure anything was out of the ordinary–for her, anyway.

She never minded when I sat opposite her with our knees nearly touching, and helped her with her strumming hand, or helped position her arm under the neck of the guitar, my hand practically brushing her inner thigh.

Once I had her do an exercise where she closed her eyes and tried to find a high fret without looking, and then slid her hand back to the base of the guitar neck, to see if she had the feel for where things were without looking.

She got pretty close to the fret I was asking her to find but then when she slid slowly back to position, she missed the end of the strings, and continued her slow, sliding fingers back along the pegbox to the very tip of the guitar’s neck where she gave two subtle strokes to the tip before opening her eyes and smiling.

“Oh, I guess I went too far!” she exclaimed in her slow Southern accent.

After watching her fingers stroke the narrow phallic tip of the guitar, with her left breast displayed over the curve of the guitar body, and plenty of bare skin revealed above the low cut blouse, I realized that my cock was not asleep.

I got up to help her find the proper fret and this time stood behind her and helped hold her arm so she could learn the distance her hand needed to go to find that note. Looking over her shoulder down into that cleavage nearly showed me all the way to her nipples and my cock was actually poking straight into my pants. She wouldn’t have missed it, if she was looking. She never let on that she saw anything, but then she never seemed to miss anything either.

At first, I was embarrassed and while still trying to teach, I was also scrambling to think of how to hide my arousal. But then I thought to myself, so what if she sees? I even went further along that line of thinking and (while talking about fingerpicking technique) imagined just acknowledging the hardon and saying, “See what you do to me?” and then my half-daydream pictured her putting down her guitar with her measured, smooth way of moving and without hesitation, turning back to me and saying, “Well, maybe I can help with that,” and placing her soothing hand on my crotch while unbuckling and unzipping me to release my hardon to her attentions.

But neither of us let on we noticed anything and she packed up her canlı bahis şirketleri guitar at the end of the lesson, and left, allowing the next student to come in. I carried on as if all were as it should be.

The next time Elizabeth came for a lesson, she told me she’d be missing the following lesson. She and her husband were going away for a week over New Year’s.

The lesson proceeded as usual, with me focusing on teaching her as well as I could, while enjoying my usual views of her sexy mouth, her full bosom, her lowcut thin blouse, her short skirt with crossed legs showing me thigh nearly to the hip, and I even took it to heart (or should I say I took it to crotch) when she kicked off her shoes to be more comfortable. Her toenails were freshly painted to match her red lips, and it was almost as if she wanted me to see them.

At the end of the lesson, as she packed up her guitar, and just before she put on her coat, I cheerily wished her a good trip, and a Happy New Year. I made to give her a New Year’s hug. Months of being increasingly turned on by her couldn’t hold me back from at least trying.

She was happy for the hug and pulled me tight enough for her hip to feel that my crotch was growing very pushy.

She suddenly pulled me in for a quick kiss on the cheek, and I turned to give her a dry kiss on the lips. Her hand brushed my crotch, and I heard her mutter something so fast and so barely audible under her breath that I wasn’t sure what it was, so I said loudly, “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said.

But my mind had pieced together what she had said. It was something like, “Kiss? Down there?”

And I said loudly, “Yeah, sure, you want to?”

And she started and looked at me to gauge whether I had actually heard what she said, and then she said, “Okay.”

I leaned over to push in the door knob lock, thankful that this teaching room didn’t have a window like some did.

There was incredible tension in that room in that moment as I went back to my teaching chair to sit down, still not sure if she really said what she said.

But she came over to me and slid her hands from both my shoulders down my arms to my hands as she knelt down in front of my chair. Her face was serious as she turned her attention to my tented pants.

I unbuckled my belt, and undid my button. She unzipped my pants, and I pulled down my underpants. My cock was completely hard, thick, hot, pointing straight upward, and precum was already showing at the tip.

She paused, eyeing my large cock, and slowly wrapped her hand around it. She settled herself, kneeling on the floor and approached my penis and gave the tip a quick lick to taste my precum.

Then she moved lower and licked one lick up the side.

It felt like we had had months of foreplay. It felt unbelievable that this unabashedly sexy woman was holding my naked cock and about to take me in her mouth.

It also seemed unbelievable that this dream was suddenly coming true, and her hold on my cock, and her red lips approaching, made me ready to cum already, after only two licks.

I didn’t think I could hold off. I told her, “I’m going to cum already.”

She nodded slightly and, closing her eyes, she quickly and smoothly took the head of my penis in her mouth. I was ready to explode, and just as she took me all the way in, I did explode into her mouth. She kept moving down and up and sucked and pumped on my cumming cock, taking all the cum and swallowing as she pumped me dry. She kept sucking and tickling with her tongue and pumping me down and up regardless of my cumming and kept me hard for a while after she’d had sucked me dry. Clearly, it wasn’t enough that she had my cum, she also wanted me filling her mouth with my thick, hot cock.

Finally she drew back and released me, sitting back on her heels. She looked up at me with a big smile on her face, and I of course looked at her with an even bigger smile on my face.

“Sweet!” she exclaimed.

“What?” I said.

“Sweet! You’re so sweet. No bitterness; you taste so good. I’ve never tasted cum so good.”

“There’s more where that came from,” I said quietly. “But not today.”

“Of course,” she said.

We both collected ourselves, though I felt like I was in an altered state of mind for the rest of the day.

I thought during the couple of weeks before her next lesson about what to do with her now. It occurred to me that if she’s paying for lessons and we just have sex, then I’m some kind of prostitute. I decided to proceed with the lessons and take my cues from her.

When she showed up after New Year’s, I asked how her vacation had been, and she said it was fine, and said nothing more. We took up with her guitar from where we’d left off and I worked with her as always, though I was less shy about dwelling on the sight of her breasts hanging over the guitar and her sexy mouth and her sensuous way of moving. She had her guitar case in front of her this time, and had been very slow to bend canlı kaçak iddaa forward and take out her guitar, giving me a very good view of her cleavage and breasts in a black bra.

Toward the end of the lesson, I asked about her husband, and what he does.

“Oh, he trades stocks. He even works at home a lot. But he doesn’t pay me much attention. I’m tired of it. I fix him a drink and he won’t take it, so I drink them both. I catch him between the office and the kitchen and hold him and rub him, hoping to take his pants down and suck on his lollipop, but most of the time his mind is on something else and usually he just pushes me away.” She sighed. “He won’t even pay any attention to my breasts. He used to. I miss that so much.”

“You have beautiful breasts,” I said.

“You think so?” she asked coquettishly. She put down her guitar and held up her breasts with both hands, looking down at them and then up at me with a coy smile.

Then she slowly opened the buttons on her blouse, watching me carefully. I was spellbound.

When she had them open to reveal her black bra, she suddenly pulled open the front latch of the bra and her breasts fell free as she pulled aside her blouse and bra.

I was drawn immediately to touch them, lick the nipples, lick the undersides, pull and suck one of them as far into my mouth as I could, and then breathe through my mouth, letting the cool air flow into my mouth around the wet nipples.

“Don’t be too gentle,” she said, “I’ve nursed two kids with those. I want to really feel something.”

So I lightly bit and nibbled and they tasted great. Firm, full, with erect nipples, I gave her the business for a while, and she moaned very slightly, almost in spite of herself. She seemed to try to keep cool in the face of everything, yet she also seemed to want so much to be made hot.

I slipped my hand up her short skirt to the top of her pantyhose and down again underneath along her bare skin to her pussy hair. In spite of her seeming coolness, her pussy was sopping wet. I slid my finger, then two fingers inside, and brushed her clit with my thumb. In a little while, she was no longer acting cool, though she managed to sit up quite well. She had a dignity that never seemed to desert her.

Her breath was short, she grabbed my head and shoulders, I felt like she was cumming but she remained hard to read so I couldn’t be sure. I looked at her closed eyes and I knew she was floating in another world.

She felt me looking at her and snapped her eyes open.

“That was…interesting,” she ventured. “It’s not the right time of month, but pretty soon, I’m going to ball you. I want that big thing of yours inside me. And I have to warn you, I don’t like it too gentle. I want rug burns on my back.”

She rearranged her clothes, and picked up her guitar, gave me a dry kiss on the mouth and a gentle stroke to my hard cock through my pants. Then she grabbed my cock hard and jiggled it up and down a few times.

“Next time, I’ll do him up good,” she whispered, and stepped out the door.

I had to sit for a while to collect myself and tame my aching balls.

Then I went to welcome in my next student. He was a round, pudgy man who had been taking lessons for several weeks.

He sat down and I noticed he was flushed and sweaty, and he stared at me a lot.

This man had told me at every lesson a little bit about Jesus. He was a fundamentalist Christian and made sure I knew it.

But this time, he gave me every indication that he had practically listened at the door with bated breath to everything Elizabeth and I had said and done.

He didn’t mention Jesus this time. And he never came back.

Elizabeth had one more lesson. It was her first lesson of the month, so she opened her purse–this week she had a huge carpetbag of a purse– and paid for the whole month of lessons in advance. I was thinking about Shakespeare’s comment that “music is the food of love”… and I was pretty hungry.

She wore her usual sensuous kind of clothing, except I noticed that under this short skirt, she didn’t wear pantyhose. Her legs were bare, and it didn’t escape me that she had nothing to hide. Her legs were perfect and smooth shaven.

As she reached for her guitar that day, she started telling me about her housekeeper, or maybe it was a maid. It quickly crossed my mind–maybe unfairly–that the maid, whom Elizabeth described as young and beautiful–might have stolen her husband’s affection. That might explain this whole escapade a bit better.

Then she went on to say that I would really like Kate, the maid, and that Kate would definitely take a shine to me. Elizabeth offered to invite me over some time to meet Kate when just the three of us could get to know each other better. My mind went to some lengths with the possibilities of that gathering. I even wondered if Elizabeth and Kate had something going.

But we did get on with the lesson, as usual. By now, Elizabeth was starting to learn canlı kaçak bahis a simple ragtime fingerpicking song. She was thrilled about that.

After she got the first part of the song down, she said, “I think it’s time to celebrate.”

I had visions of her opening her black bra for me again, or kneeling in front of me to settle the score from last time, but she surprised me again.

She opened her carpetbag purse and pulled out a bottle of wine and two beautiful glasses. She poured the wine, and we toasted. She made me drink my glass down and poured another.

She was sitting opposite me with her legs wide apart. Her left leg was swinging a little. I noticed something sparkling and looked again.

“Is that something sparkling on your leg? A sticker or something?” I asked.

“Yes, a little gold sticker. It’s kind of an intricate Irish design,” she said quietly.

“Really? Do you mind if I look at it?”

“No, go right ahead,” she said.

I knelt down to take a quick look. It was, as she said, a gold design of Celtic knotwork on a small sticker, located on her inner thigh not far from her knee. I approached closer, and noticed the scent of vanilla.

At this point I needed to either get back up to my chair and continue the lesson, or touch her thigh and risk moving past music into love.

I say “risk” because not only was she married, making this affair always feel excitingly but dangerously illicit, but also we were in a teaching room that had a window to the outside, so getting wrapped up in something sexual might put us on display. There were also students out in the hallway waiting for various teachers.

I guess I made my choice. I took hold of her knee and then, to hold her leg a little steadier so I could look at the intricate design more carefully and appreciate it better, I took hold under her thigh as well.

I got very close to look at the sparkling design. It occurred to me that maybe the Irish part explained Elizabeth’s red hair. I couldn’t help slipping my hand very slightly a little farther up under her thigh. She responded by opening her leg more.

I bent and kissed the sticker, and said, “It’s really quite nice, especially for just a sticker.”

Then I kissed a little farther up her thigh, and meeting no resistance, I slid my hand just a little farther and lifted her skirt a little, smelling even more of the scent of vanilla.

I peeked over towards the top of her leg and my heart skipped a beat to see what was staring back at me: a shaved pussy.

I placed another kiss on her leg but this time didn’t lift my mouth. I slid my tongue along her inner thigh, slowly towards that pussy. I saw juices begin to moisten all along the edges, and at the bottom, a trickle of juice dripped down towards her ass.

I licked my way up her leg slowly and smelled more and more vanilla scent, which I really liked. When I came close to her pussy I could even taste something that was sweet and vanilla flavored. She must have swabbed her pussy with something sweet, something vanilla.

I licked to her pussy lips and tasted the sweetness. I licked up as much of the vanilla as I could, up and down her pussy lips, and then thrust my tongue inside, and still tasted it there.

She was squirming a bit by now, and I felt her hand holding my head to her cunt. I licked up and flicked at her clit and she shuddered; then I kept licking up the vanilla flavoring and sucking at her pussy lips. I licked higher again and placed my lips around her engorged clit, sucking it in between my lips and flicking it left and right with my tongue, then up and down, then in circles, and I slipped my fingers into her cunt as I licked her clit.

I was in no hurry and between the vanilla and the smooth shaved pussy, I was enjoying myself. It did occur to me that I had another student coming at some point and that there was a window to the street behind her, but I put those thoughts out of my mind, as her hands pushed my head hard into her and she ground her pussy more against my mouth, in slow circles, and then back and forth, and again in circles. The pushing became suddenly intense and she was in the grips of being near orgasm, grinding me, shuddering as I flicked her clit, and suddenly she collapsed over me and convulsed time after time after time, and pulled away from my mouth, and gasped and panted.

She traced her hands over me and found her way to my achingly hard cock, and freed it from its constraints. It occurred to me that this might be the time she wanted to ball me, to sink me into her, to ride me, but no, she wanted me in her mouth. She devoured my cock and licked and sucked and as her mouth pumped down my cock, her hand slid up to meet it, then her mouth moved back up to the tip as her hand slid down to the base. It did not take long for me to explode, shuddering into her mouth.

The teaching room was awash in the smell of sex, and I couldn’t picture bringing another student in there. We each covered ourselves respectably and made our ways one at a time to the bathroom to rearrange ourselves and wash up.

Not much was spoken. We had our job cut out for us–to not keep the next student waiting suspiciously long, and to get me back in shape to go on with my day.

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