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Amanda Loves Music

By

Romany.

(M/g oral)


My name is Amanda Petersen. Petersen is my married name. My
maiden name doesn't matter but this is a story about part of my
life as I was growing up. When I was 11, nearly 12, my mother
decided I needed to learn a musical instrument. I think it was
due to peer pressure from her friends whose children were
learning music. I wasn't musical and despaired at the thought of
the discipline involved at a time when I was more interested in
makeup, clothes and of course boys were looming on the horizon.
Puberty was not far off with the acquisition of my first training
bra.

I was sent to the school music hall at the start of the semester
and to my dismay, as I was a late entrant, handed a violin; the
least favored instrument by the class and all that was left of
the school instrument inventory. I hated it. Despite the
continuous playing of pieces by world renowned virtuosos before
each class, I hated it with a passion. All I could muster was
this dreadful squawking screech and the thing caused cramps in my
neck and left arm. After five weeks the teacher cried enough and
I was dispatched back to the gym classes; the other option for
Wednesday afternoons at middle school. I was no better at sport
but happy to be away from the crabby music teacher.

My mother was crestfallen. No Vanessa Mae prodigy here. So not to
be deterred, she hooked me into private piano lessons. I was
introduced to Mr. Robbins, the tutor, who looked very skeptical
about me joining his entourage of students. He made the comment
he had only one or two girls and they were not very good. The
boys apparently shined. However, if I were to listen and follow
his directions he would take me on. He had a sense of obligation
as most of his students came through our church of which my
father was on the church council.

I toiled away at the keyboard twice weekly and soon could muster
basic scales and the odd chord sequence, to his begrudging
agreement. But, like the violin, I hated it. My life took an
interesting turn one day when I turned up for practice in a pair
of jeans and plain sweatshirt. I had quite short dark hair at
that age. I usually wore a dress or skirt as the classes were
generally after school and being a fashion queen (ha ha), always
tried to out-dress my girlfriends on a daily basis. The
sweatshirt swamped what breasts were struggling to emerge and I
was very much a pretty boy in appearance.

Mr. Robbins stood in the cutaway of the grand piano and after a
while I realized he was staring at me, not listening or
criticizing as he usually did. I was somewhat surprised by this
and I flushed with a degree of embarrassment. He must have seen
the glance and blush and he came around beside me and sat on the
form (big enough for a tutor and student). He sat and looked at
me and then inexplicably he lightly brushed the back of his
knuckles across my jaw line and lightly stroked my face and under
my chin. I stopped; frozen, hands still on the keyboard, and
looked straight ahead. He continued to do this for what seemed
like an eternity. I felt uncomfortable. His hand was now
wandering around the nape of my neck, over my cheekbone and then
he drew his fingers across my lips. He did this a few times then
tarried at the lips and I felt one finger attempt to insinuate
itself into my mouth. After a few seconds of pushing the finger
at my lips I relented and parted my lips as he slowly slid his
middle finger into my mouth. It wasn,t a gentle insertion and my
mouth was dry from a combination of fear and excitement at what
he was doing and for why. He pushed it in some more; to the
second knuckle. He uttered "suck". The first word he had spoken
since sitting by me. It came as a low command. I did as I was
told and began sucking the finger. He had me do this for some
minutes and occasionally he pulled the finger back and traced my
bottom lip then would reinsert it. I was near tears due to this
seemingly demeaning situation but held my composure stoically. My
mind screamed this was wrong but I did not know actually what was
wrong about it. I thought this was an act with sexual overtones
but in my naive mind, I did not quite know why.

Then I felt his hand on my right wrist (he was sitting on my
right) and he took it from the keyboard and down. To my horror he
placed it on his penis which he must have removed from his flies
while I was sucking finger and staring straight ahead of mew. The
only penis I had ever seen was a glimpse of my older brother's on
bath night when we were small children and bathed together. It
felt slightly spongy but the underlying feeling was of something
big and very stiff. I later learned the sponginess was the
foreskin. He wrapped my hand around it deliberately and then
motioned me to stroke it. He kept my hand trapped and showed me
the rhythm he wanted; all the while I had his finger in my mouth.
I had stopped sucking due to the rising fear and excitement of
what he was doing. After a few minutes of this, I started to
relax with the feel of his penis and he muttered "suck" again.
This time it was more a request than an order. I resumed tonguing
his finger.

After I had stroked him for what seemed like ages, he started to
rise. I took the opportunity of him moving to let his penis go.
He stood quickly and straddled the form, a leg either side; one
hip against the keyboard, and he faced me. He then took my hand
and put it back on his penis; forcefully as if in admonishment
for letting my grip go. He motioned the rhythm again and I
obeyed. He had eased his finger out of my mouth and turning his
hand, I felt the pad of his thumb enter the lips. I parted them
again and started to suck the shorter stub of his thumb. This way
his fingers trailed my face and he could actually hold me. He
turned me more to face him. I was stricken. For the first time I
saw my small hand wrapped around this enormous thing jutting from
his trousers. I stopped sucking his thumb and I am sure my jaw
sagged in amazement. It was huge. Angry red head and I could see
veins just back from the cap. The skin was wrinkled above my hand
as I pushed the foreskin back. It was so thick that my hand could
not close fully around it while moving the skin up and down to
his coaxing rhythm.

Emboldened by revealing it to me and having me stroke it, he now
took his thumb from my mouth and slid the hand behind my
head...he paused then quietly spoke again..."such a pretty boy",
in a low, almost wistful tone. And with that he urged my head
towards him. I balked and actually uttered a feeble "no" but he
was strong, I had a hand wrapped around him and there was a
certain feeling of excitement mingled with the fear I felt. He
was able to bring it to my lips and when I clenched my teeth he
cupped my jaw and started to apply pressure to the side of my
face with his fingers. It hurt and I reluctantly began to open my
mouth to ease the discomfort the pressure was causing me. As my
mouth opened, the bulbous head slid past my lips. He was in
control and now he had the crown in my mouth and was holding my
head in both of his hands.

For about 4 or 5 minutes he coached me with his hands and
murmured encouragements, barely audible. I heard the word "boy" a
number of times in the words. By now he had coaxed me into taking
about a third into his mouth and had me sucking. He told me to
swirl the tongue around the head. Many times he pulled out and
rubbed it against my chin, lips or cheek smearing my own saliva
and what I now know was the precum oozing from his erection. The
ultimate subjugation, I think, when a man assaults a woman this
way. Then he pushed it back in. He had me take him with both my
hands holding the base as I pumped and sucked him.

After awhile I realized it wasn't too difficult. I used my hands
a little further up the shaft to stop him from pushing it to
deep, and apart from a dull ache in my jaw, it wasn't actually
unpleasant. I was also becoming more bold as he was clearly now
responding to my ministrations and I felt some parity return to
me; I was realizing I had gained some small amount of control. He
was now making guttural noises and uttering "yes" and "so nice"
and groaning. I knew that men impregnated women with their penis
but never actually knew about the taste of semen; or its smell or
consistency. The penis was also for peeing and I wondered if it
was the same in context of a seminal ejaculation from the penis.
That worried me. Would he be peeing in my mouth? Was it dirty; or
dangerous perhaps?

He was now starting to get ragged in his breathing and he
suddenly pushed my hands away. I felt him push in and I balked at
the intrusion deeper in my mouth. He took his penis and held my
head by grasping my hair and I could see he was now stroking
himself quickly. His cock was further in my mouth than before and
it took some adjusting to this without gagging or choking. I
tried to shake it out but he held me tightly and I simply held
onto his trouser front for dear life as he fucked and stroked his
huge cock into my mouth. Then all of a sudden he groaned loudly
and came; I know now it dribbled in globs, not the classical
spurts I had heard about from my friends when we talked of such
things in giggles and whispers. He wrung the globs out with loud
groans each time and I saw his hand sort of milk his cock. The
semen filled my mouth quickly and I tried to pull away again. He
held me firm and some of it dribbled, overflowed out of my lips.
I also swallowed some involuntarily and started to gag and cough
and splutter. I finally shook free of him but he had finished
anyway and I coughed a lot out over his pants and it dribbled
down my chin and onto my sweat top.

After we composed ourselves I sat there overcome by the
experience and started to sob. He looked at the semen on his
pants and started to scowl until he realized I was sobbing. Not
crying or wailing, just sort of convulsing and my eyes were quite
dry. It was the release, and relief of the whole incident. It was
more of an emotional release than crying in hurt or pain. He
looked frightened and run his thumb over my chin asking if I was
alright. He realized there was a considerable amount of semen on
my face and also dark spots where it had already soaked into my
sweatshirt material. He put his penis away and quickly zipped
himself up. He walked to his desk and returned with a box of
Kleenex and started to clean my face. Then he told me to stay put
and left the room (we had these lessons in his house) and soon he
returned with a moist facecloth and lanolin soaked towelette. He
wiped my face and hands, which also had semen on them, and made a
few cursory dabs at the sweatshirt where the semen had landed. He
was never going to clean that with the face cloth.

It was about 15 minutes until the lesson end. He sat on a chair
and looked at me for a minute. Then he came over and started
talking about how I would make a good piano player if I practiced
hard and pleased him. I was sitting on the form and he patted my
arm and smiled as he talked to me. He said that this was our
secret and it would ensure I got all the tuition I needed to pass
the exams. I nodded my agreement. I knew what he meant without
him spelling it out. I had thought about boys, penises and had a
rudimentary knowledge of sex in the form of preparation my mother
had given me for my period when it when it finally arrived. And I
knew about sexual behavior including blowjobs. But I had never
really understood the significance sexually despite my friends
joking about it and other sexual nuances they had gleaned from
movies, books or older brothers and sisters. Truthfully I was all
appearance and no substance with my sexuality. Basically I was
too young and closeted to really know about much.


I did not realize until afterwards but in essence it did sit more
comfortably with me, now he had backed off me and I could study
him and reflect on what had happened. Truthfully I wanted to see
his penis again; to hold it, and yes, to suck it at my
instigation. I wanted to understand the power of his emotions
when he came. To handle it better. I knew I could. The fear had
dissipated quickly once I was settled at sucking him; and then
returned with the frantic nature of his ejaculation. I realized
that. That was all I had to contain. To manage myself better when
he came. And I knew for a short time during the incident that I
was in control - without realizing it at first. But I came to
realize that I could be in control to some extent, judging by the
way he abandoned himself to what I was inflicting on him. I had
what he wanted - what I could give. And he knew the consequence
of disclosure. After all, I was a minor. He had molested me.

Eventually lesson time was up. He looked at the sweat top once
more and the semen splashes were now not so visible, unless under
real searching scrutiny. It was a charcoal color so hard to see
from a normal distance or personal space closeness, even when the
drops were fresh. He was satisfied I looked just as I arrived,
and bid me good evening. I went outside and my mother was in the
car waiting. She smiled and asked me how it went. I grinned at
her and said I thought I was going to be just fine and Mr.
Robbins had said I would probably pass. On the drive home she
noticed a faint smile on my face.

"Well you really must have hit it off with Mr. Robbins. I hear he
is somewhat of an ogre" she laughed.
"No mom" I replied, "we boys get on just fine with him". She
laughed and then a quizzical look came over her face as she
digested my words. I smiled and looked straight ahead. Practice
on Friday. I can't wait. Wear blue jeans and a sweatshirt and do
my tomboy thing. I would dress for the lesson.

The End

� 2004 Romany. Protected by copyright law. Please do not copy,
edit, amend or post this on any website without the author�s
permission.

Also by Romany �Amanda Love Kyle� at
https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/gypsey/romany/



  
Amanda Loves Music