At eighteen Tasha had everything. Academically she was top of the class. She was captain of the basketball and hockey teams and had won 'personality of the year' each year since we had started secondary school. She was also an accomplished musician playing violin and piano for a young musicians club in the Central City. To top it all off, she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen and had the personality to match. Her honey blonde hair, dark complexion and green eyes were an uncommon mix and the way she carried herself, her flashy smile and twinkle in her eye always attracted a second glance.
When we had started secondary school 4 years earlier, Tasha arrived young and fresh from a small farming town on the West Coast. Being an all girls' school the new student's beauty was met with animosity. I didn't exactly know why but she was seen as a threat. The attention she attracted from neighbouring Boys High was obviously the reason but at the time I didn't have a boyfriend. I didn't have many friends at all really and didn't hang out with the 'in' crowd. Within a month Tasha ruled the 'in' crowd so we didn't have much to do with each other at all. We would greet each other with a friendly smile in class or on the sports field but I had never had a conversation with her.
Our final year before Varsity things changed. A lot of students had already left for University or to join the work force and this had cut our numbers down in the senior school. Teachers were moved around to accommodate the bulging junior roll and Ms Jones, our music teacher suddenly found herself tutoring the whole senior school by herself. Splitting the classes and having a 'relief' teacher help to supervise was only meant to be a temporary measure until another teacher could be rostered to help. As a result some of us students, including myself, got well behind in our rehearsals.
"Well I'm very sorry girls," Ms Jones said in her pitched, shrill voice, "But if we really want to be contenders for the Inter-school competitions we're going to have to spend more time rehearsing." We all groaned at this then looked around at each other laughing. " And with exams coming up in a month or so." Ms Jones continued," I don't think our extra rehearsals will be during school hours." We groaned even louder.
" I know it's a pain and I'm sure you've all got very important things to do in your afternoons but lets face it girls, we need the practice!" We laughed even more at that. Ms Jones pointed to a list she'd written on the board. "I've divided you all into groups and we'll rehearse alternate afternoons."
I liked Ms Jones. She was a good teacher and was always fair. I just found her tediously boring and dreaded spending extra hours with her. And as if she had read my mind she then said, "I've also asked Tasha Daniels to lend a hand. She will be taking group three, cello and violin."
And so the next day I found myself sitting in class at three thirty staring out the window. The afternoon heat had lulled me into a daze and I felt unenthusiastic about the whole idea. Across the empty playground I saw Tasha walking toward our classroom. She had on a white-buttoned shirt and the standard pleat skirt that was part of our school uniform. Her olive tanned legs moved quickly and surely as she walked with a definite confidence. I couldn't believe how attractive she was. In my half dazed frame of mind she appeared like an angel, filtering through my dreams and stepping into my real world. She entered the class throwing her books to one side and immediately sat in the chair in front of me.
"I know this is a drag girls," she said without saying hello and surprisingly unenthusiastic. "But we all know we'll be better off for it. I just think the best thing to do is to see how far into the 'piece' you are and we'll take it from there." So we played for her and when she thought we needed help she'd stop us to demonstrate how things should sound. She was competent with cello and violin and even though she sat in her chair seemingly disinterested and bored, once she got an instrument in her hands she transformed, playing it with a passion and commitment that was so obviously a gift that none of us possessed.
As I played I watched Tasha's face. She'd grimace and smile then grimace again at our slightly 'off' notes, sometimes laughing at us but not in a malicious way. Her hair hung below her shoulders and around her firm breasts and as she listened she paced calmly back and forward. I found myself looking at her legs again, long and muscled with thin calves. Her skirt was hemmed up shorter than most revealing slender toned thighs to die for. I slowly looked up her body to her face and found her staring right back at me. With a flush of redness that must have been all over my face I quickly looked down, then sideways, anywhere except directly at her. "Stop!" she suddenly, shouted as we were destroying what was supposed to be the climax of the piece.
I jumped at the sound of her voice feeling even more like I had been caught out. "Just because we are building in intensity it doesn't mean we play necessarily louder or harder," she quipped putting down her violin. "If you forget that you're playing and actually listen to the notes you'll see what I mean." She moved across the room, grabbed the cello and sat in her seat. Putting bow to instrument she played a long haunting intro to a piece I'd hadn't heard before. Her hair hung low as she leaned into cello with her head down. Legs taught and up on tiptoes she magically wove her composition from a lulling dreamlike state to an intense crescendo of sound that filled the room, teasing our senses. And that wasn't all that was being teased. As she played her knees parted slightly and from where I sat I could see her right up her thighs to her white-laced panties. Just flashes as she moved around on her chair but enough to quicken my heart and flush my skin.
Later that afternoon when I had finally arrived home I walked straight up to my room. My head was in a haze, I felt frustrated, hot and very, very horny. I stood in front of the mirror, unbuttoned my shirt and unhitched my bra. I pulled the bra off through my shirt sleeve and looked at myself. My long brown hair and eyes seemed boring compared to bombshell that Tasha was. I'm slightly shorter than she is but I have bigger breasts and more hip. People have told me I am beautiful but I have never really believed it myself. Lifting a hand I pulled my shirt aside. My heaving breasts seemed larger, my hardening nipples begging to be touched.
I traced a finger up my body sending electric currents racing through my veins to my inner thighs and my moist aching cunt. I parted my legs lifting my skirt high enough to see my panties. Their whiteness reminded me of Tasha playing her cello in the music class. "Mmmmmm...!" A moan escaped my open mouth as my hand gently rubbed the outside of my now soaked panties. I fantasized about Tasha's open legs, her panties pure white. She looks at me with a teasing grin and says in a deep, sensuous voice, "Come and get it honey.", making me rub my cunt even harder. Looking in the mirror again I see my flushed face, mouth open and panting, my breasts hanging down as I leaned forward to stop myself from falling over.
My hand was under my skirt rubbing furiously. I tried to lift my skirt without stopping what I was doing. I had to see myself. I have to see my hand rubbing my clit, parting my lips. I love to watch myself as I masturbate. I'd love to watch someone else masturbate. I'd love to watch people make love, but have never had a real opportunity. To satisfy my voyeuristic tendencies I'd fantasize about watching or I'd position the mirror and watch myself.
My skirt came away with a short, firm tug. I grabbed my panties and gently pulled them up between my swollen lips. The feeling of the cotton on my clitoris made me gasp and I started grinding my hips and pulling tighter on my panties. I could see part of my labia as I humped back and forward and it all became too much to bear. I pulled my panties off then, lifted a leg up onto to the dresser.
Opening up my glistening cunt I plunged two fingers deep into my passion letting out a gasp loud enough for the neighbours to hear. Sliding my fingers in and out and desperately 'bashing' my clit with my thumb I looked at myself again and huskily whispered, "This is for you Tasha!" "Ooooh....oohh....arghhhhh!....Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrghhhhhhh!" Throwing my head back I came gasping and shuddering with uncontrolled ecstasy. I fell back onto my bed with my fingers still up my cunt. I had never felt them so wet before. Slowly pulling them out of myself I examined them, sniffing and then tasting the sweat smell of cunt juice. 'I bet you're sweet tasting too,' I whispered thinking of Tasha. My beautiful Tasha.
The extra music classes became the sole reason for my existence. Just the thought of Tasha left me warm and excited. After class I'd race home, lock myself in my room and masturbate. And the more I'd masturbate, the more obsessive I became. Not your stalking, dangerous kind of obsession, but the frustrated, self absorbed, sex crazed kind of obsession. I laughed to myself at that thought but it was partly true. I had become obsessed with my own cunt, watching myself massage, pinch and probed myself into ecstatic orgasms while I dreamed of Tasha making love to me.
