Lessons

She was wearing her old school sports uniform. I said nothing. It was probably all that she had at the time. Increasingly over the previous few weeks, Amanda’s clothes had descended into the oldest and tattiest possible. I had the impression that she was having problems at home, but wanted to leave it there. So I never pushed her.

Watching her set up in those clothes, it reminded me of when I frequently saw her dressed that way. Little V-neck t-shirt and pleated mini-skirt: very distracting. But I had work to do. I never thought she’d take me up on my offer but she did. Maybe just to get away from home occasionally.

Amanda has very small hands - delicate would be the best word. And very small fingers, so guitar is not the ideal instrument for her. But I had offered to help her, and now she wanted guitar lessons. So it was a simple arrangement, I teach her some songs and techniques for one hour a week, and I get twenty bucks. Worked well, considering I wasn’t actually a guitar tutor.

At least that was how it was supposed to work, over the past month or so she hadn’t been able to pay me anything. But I was still willing to give her lessons. It gave me something to do and something to look forward to each week.

She sat on the chair across from my bed and started strumming a song I had taught her a while ago. She seemed content so I just watched and listened. I remembered a time when she smiled more often, a time when she would have worn that uniform for a reason other than that it was the only thing available.

When Amanda smiled, it was cute, but somehow gloriously beautiful at the same time. Something I had never thought possible, to look childish and mature at once. Her face would light up. And framed by her golden hair, she was to me something I could only dream of being close to. But she didn’t smile any more. She just looked weary. Her clothes faded and worn, with holes appearing in her shirt.

She continued strumming and asked me what the lesson plan was. I said that she could just play all the songs she could remember for me. So I could see how she was doing. “Sort of a revision lesson,” I said. And she just strummed away vacantly.

Amanda never used to seem so detached to me. She used to always smile and participate. That very distracting uniform used to fly in the breeze as she would toss footballs, chase tennis balls, and bounce around basketball courts. Bouncing, she always looked good when bouncing. Her torso matched her hands, small and delicate. But down below she looked massive in comparison. Her hips seemed too large for her upper body, and her thighs matched her hips.

The way she thundered around would shake her thighs and make her ass bounce beautifully. The disproportion of Amanda was such that she looked bottom heavy, but due to her delicate and very feminine features above, you couldn’t imagine her any other way.

“What do you think?” I was startled, but it was my own fault. She was staring at me with an unfortunately disinterested expression.

“Very good,” I felt stupid. Worse I felt like I was some old sentimentalist, dreaming about how things used to be. Of course that just made me think of what it could’ve been like with Amanda, but now she had grown distant and she would have no interest in me. She probably wouldn’t have been interested back then either.

“Hour’s up,” she said. I nodded, and she began packing up. I was suddenly brought back to more practical matters.

“Amanda, has everything been going alright?” I asked. She just looked at me. “I mean it has been a while since you’ve been able to pay me. I was just wondering, that’s all.” She looked down, finished packing away her guitar. I thought she was going to say she couldn’t do this any more.

She walked over to me, not looking in my eyes.

“Lie down,” she said to my chest.

“What?” She came closer and pushed me back onto my bed. She then proceeded to pull my shorts off. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. But really, I suppose I do. I already had an erection at the thought of it. Amanda didn’t even look at my stiff rod. She just climbed onto the bed.

She mounted me, fully clothed. A slight adjustment to her underwear and she slipped herself onto my rod, without comment or sound of any kind. She squatted, knees out to the sides, and bounced. It felt wonderful to me; Amanda seemed very loose, very accommodating of my member. She just bounced away, mindlessly.

Her eyes were closed. Her expression neutral. Gripping the sheets she rode me without any sign of pleasure. As for me, there was pleasure in abundance. She seemed to be exerting herself more as if in exercise than in passion. I attempted to stimulate her clit, but it seemed to make no difference to her.

Her motion made her skirt lift in only the slightest manner. Any view of her womanhood was also obscured by the panties she still wore. I think the continued lubrication came more from her sweat than from any possible arousal. Her breathing was shallow and ragged as of someone running a marathon. In essence, she was doing just that.

She continued. I became almost numbed by the monotony of her pussy, until I came. I squirted into her, barely able to move, moaning under her. She continued, and my orgasm lengthened, pouring more into her. She continued not seeming to notice my deposit.

Instead of going flaccid I remained erect, and Amanda continued. The most pleasurable feelings subsided yet my rod remained stiff, and Amanda did not cease her pounding. I began to observe her in greater detail. The way her thighs and buttocks rippled with every bounce, the glisten her sweat brought to her skin. The barely perceptible jiggle of her breasts, bound as they were and hidden beneath her shirt.

Her eyes remained closed; sweat soaked and matted her hair, dripping onto me. A frown crossed her forehead and remained there, testament to her effort. Speaking of effort, despite my continued erection, I found it difficult to remain aroused. I ran my hands over her legs, no change – in her or me. I fondled her breasts, no change. I caressed her face, she only frowned harder. I found that she was strangely attractive with her face screwed up.

I attempted to talk to her, no effect. I tried fingering her asshole, but her expression remained unchanged. And Amanda continued. After a while it was intolerable and I finally came again. Even more powerful than the first one, this orgasm produced more fluid than I would have thought possible for a second come.

Amanda continued to pound me while my come dribbled from her pussy down my shaft. This time I did go soft, gradually. As my strength lessened my semi-hard member slid from her womanhood, and she continued. Her bounces shook my come out from her and onto me. Her expression, her demeanour, her breathing all said that she hadn’t noticed I was spent.

“Amanda,” I said gently at first. “AMANDA!” That also didn’t work. I had to grab her shoulders and shake her violently before she stopped, so intent was she on her rhythm. And when I shook her, she looked very scared, and combined with her breathlessness, she seemed to me a creature terrified of a predator. Even though her expression softened, it didn’t stop her from scrambling off the bed.

“I have to go,” she said so quietly. She walked awkwardly to her guitar case, and had trouble bending due to her worn out legs. She reached down and fixed her knickers, looked at me and then left. I was still half-dressed, come covering my now very soft dick and matting my pubes. Somehow though, I didn’t notice this immediately, and simply sat on my bed for a while, thinking.

I couldn’t say who was fucking who. I wasn’t fucking her because she was the only one doing anything. She wasn’t fucking me because she didn’t seem to enjoy it at all. Indeed it seemed that she was spent after a great workout rather than an extensive session of sex. But she had gone for nearly an hour without showing any emotion.

The image of her walking from my house, flushed from exertion and sweat soaking her clothes and hair, and me just staring after with my flaccid member coated with my own goo, that replaced any smiling face or happy time in my memory.

Next time I saw her, she was still looking bad, but acted as if nothing happened between us. And it never did again, I was just her guitar tutor. I never asked her for payment again.