My Piano Teacher Put Me in the Shower

For months I insisted on continuing with piano lessons even though nobody at home understood why. My mother said that if I really cared about music, I would practice more and complain less about solfège. My father thought it was money thrown away, because my progress was slow and I still sounded like a clumsy beginner every time I sat down at the keyboard.

The truth was different. I went for her.

My teacher's name was Diana, although that wasn't the name I used in my head when I jerked off at night thinking about her long hands, her painted lips, and the way she leaned over me to correct my posture. She was an adult woman, the kind who filled a room without making any effort. She didn't need cleavage or anything exaggerated; her perfume was enough, along with the firm tone of her voice and the way she brushed my shoulder when she told me to loosen my wrist.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the first few weeks. She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, taught the lesson patiently, and said goodbye the same way. I played scales, flubbed arpeggios, and left with my cock hard and a goddamn sense of frustration. The only thing that changed was that it became harder and harder to look at her without imagining her naked.

I also noticed that she talked quite a bit with my mother at the end of every lesson. They were short conversations at the door, almost always in low voices. I couldn't hear much, but I could see Diana's expression: a tired, tense smile, as if she were pretending everything was all right.

Sometimes her husband showed up. He was a sloppy-looking guy, always wearing an irritated expression and carrying a work briefcase full of papers. He came and went without saying much. You could tell just by looking at him that something between them was rotten.

One night I heard my parents talking about it in the kitchen. My mother remarked that things between Diana and her husband were going badly and that they would probably split up. My father made a dry, half-mocking comment, saying that a woman like her wasn't going to go long without someone taking care of her. My mother told him to shut up as soon as she realized I was nearby.

That conversation left me horny for days.

I asked to add a second weekly lesson. I pretended I wanted to catch up, that I felt a real calling, that I was determined to improve. They half believed me, but they agreed. I only wanted to see her more often, breathe in her perfume twice a week, and keep feeding the fantasy that already occupied my entire mind.

Over time I began to notice small changes. She would come to open the door with swollen eyes, or with a hoarse voice from arguing. She got distracted more than usual. Instead of correcting me patiently, sometimes she would stare out the window as if she were far away. I watched her in silence, not knowing whether to feel sorry for her or take advantage of how close to breaking point she seemed.

The day everything happened, I arrived a few minutes early. The building was silent, but as I climbed the stairs I heard shouting behind her door. They weren't isolated words; it was an all-out fight, with insults, accusations, and a sharp blow that chilled me to the bone. I stood still on the landing, my folder of sheet music under my arm, not knowing whether to knock or leave.

Then another door slammed.

After that, the sound of a shower.

I knocked anyway, softly at first and then a little harder. The door flew open and he came out. His face was red, his shirt badly buttoned, and there was an animal fury in his eyes. He passed me without saying anything, barely shoving me with his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes. He went down the stairs muttering insults and left the door ajar.

I went in carefully.

—Diana? —I called from the entryway.

She didn't answer. I only heard the water falling and, a second later, her voice from the bathroom, loud, broken, and full of venom:

—And on top of everything, you're cheating on me with my cousin, you son of a bitch!

I moved a few steps closer, drawn and frightened at the same time. The bathroom door was half open. She appeared in the doorway for only an instant, soaked, one arm crossed over her chest, her wet hair stuck to her face. She looked at me as if it took her a moment to recognize me. I caught sight of one half-covered breast, the pink areola, and the nipple hard from the hot water and the tension of the moment.

Then she closed the door without saying anything.

Behind it, I heard her crying. It wasn't dramatic crying, but angry, broken sobs. There was a blow against the tiles, and for a moment I thought she had slipped or was about to do something crazy. I approached and pressed my knuckles against the wood.

—Are you all right?

There was no answer. Only the water and her ragged breathing.

I pushed the door open slowly.

The sight rooted me to the spot. Diana had her back to me under the shower, her arms raised and her palms pressed against the wall. Water ran over her nape, down her back, and over the firm curve of her ass. Shampoo still foamed on her skin and slid down the cleft of her buttocks, between her thighs, which were spread just enough to drive me crazy. Her dark, soaked hair clung to her neck. Everything about her seemed more real and raw than any of my fantasies.

I wanted to look away so I wouldn't come right there inside my pants, but then she turned her face toward me. Her makeup had run. Mascara stained her cheekbones, and her smeared lipstick made her look fiercer, less perfect, and much more exciting. She didn't look embarrassed. She looked fed up.

She held my gaze for a few seconds and spoke in a low, tired, commanding voice.

—Take off your clothes.

I felt a tug in my stomach. I thought I'd heard wrong.

—What?

—Take your clothes off —she repeated without moving—. If you're going to stand there staring at me, at least stop pretending.

My hands trembled. I closed the door behind me and began undressing clumsily, my heart racing. I took off my shirt, then my pants, and my underwear last. My cock sprang out hard, stiff and heavy, throbbing in front of my body as if it had a life of its own. I felt embarrassed for half a second. She looked at it and snorted, almost disdainfully, almost hungrily.

—Come here —she said—. Or do you need me to teach you that too?

I approached barefoot across the wet floor until I was behind her. Steam enveloped me. Water struck my chest and shoulders. Her wet ass was so close that I immediately brushed my cock against the curve of her buttocks. The contact tore a moan from me. She spread her legs a little farther.

I placed my hands on her waist. She was hot and slippery with soap. My cock slid awkwardly along the cleft of her ass, and I pushed without thinking, blind with desire, looking for an opening where there wasn't one. She gave a dry, humorless laugh.

—Not there —she murmured—. Never like that, especially not the first time.

My face and neck burned. I wanted to apologize, but she had already brought one hand between her legs. Without letting go of the wall, she touched herself in front of me, opened her wet pussy with two fingers, and then reached for my cock. She gripped it at the base. Her hand was covered in water and soap, and even so the contact was brutal, firm, exact.

—Watch and learn —she said.

With slow movements, she ran the head of my cock over her swollen lips, up and down, coating it with her wetness. It wasn't just water. Her pussy was already open and hot, throbbing. I felt the tip slide over her entrance once, twice, until she positioned me exactly where I belonged. Then she pulled my hips forward.

I went in hard.

My legs went weak. Her pussy swallowed me whole, tight and wet, much hotter than I had imagined. Diana arched her back and let out a hoarse moan, as if the air had been knocked out of her body. I stayed still for a second, buried to the hilt, my hands digging into her waist, unable to believe I was really fucking her.

—Don't just stand there —she told me, glancing back—. Fuck me.

I began moving awkwardly. I pulled out only a few inches and went back in, too fast, too eager. Each thrust made my hips slap against her wet ass. The sound of the water mingled with the wet noise of her pussy swallowing me. She spread her legs wider and gave me a better angle. Then I could really drive into her, hard and deep, again and again.

—Like that —she gasped—. Harder.

I held her more firmly. My cock slid inside her with obscene ease, but her inner walls squeezed me each time I withdrew, as if they wanted to milk me. Diana threw her head back and exposed her neck. I kissed that wet skin while I kept fucking her, first hungrily, then desperately. I felt her buttocks striking my pubic bone, the heat of her back against my chest, and her broken breathing every time I went deep.

—Do you like it? —she asked in a hoarse, mocking voice.

—Yes.

—Say it properly.

—Yes, I love it. It drives me crazy.

She gave a brief laugh and reached one hand back between our bodies to squeeze one of my balls and then the base of my cock while I kept fucking her. I nearly came from the shock.

—You always stared at my ass when I leaned over the piano —she said—. You weren't as discreet as you thought.

A mixture of humiliation and arousal made me even harder.

—I know —I admitted, panting.

—And you probably jerked off thinking about me.

I thrust deeper, unable to lie.

—Yes.

—That's what I wanted to hear.

She slipped two fingers over her clitoris and began rubbing herself while I fucked her from behind. Seeing that hand move over her pussy and feeling her tighten around my cock every time she touched herself completely threw off my rhythm. She noticed and gave me a sharp command.

—Don't slow down now. Keep going. I want to feel you fill me before I come.

The sentence struck me like a blow. I began thrusting into her for real, without tenderness. The soap had almost washed away, and now the friction was rawer, more carnal. My cock came out shining and plunged back into her open pussy. She panted, moaned, and sometimes cursed. The water kept falling over our bodies, but nothing could cool that shower anymore.

—God, yes —she hissed—. There. There, don't change.

I found that spot and kept hitting it. Every time I thrust, her body responded with a spasm. I felt her muscles close around me, softly at first and then with greater force. It was as though she were sucking me inward. My breathing became animal. All I could do was fuck and listen to her.

—Are you going to come? —she asked.

—Yes.

—Not yet.

She moved away from the wall and turned around with a sudden, decisive motion. For a moment I was outside her, soaked and panting. I saw her from the front for the first time. Her breasts were heavy and wet, her nipples hard and dark from the cold air outside the spray. Her stomach rose and fell rapidly. Her pussy was open and shining, her lips swollen from rubbing against my cock.

She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me. It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was wet and urgent, with teeth. Her tongue entered my mouth like another command. While she kissed me, she lowered one hand and jerked me hard, just a few times, enough to bring me to the edge.

—Kneel —she said.

I obeyed without thinking. The floor was warm and covered in water. She spread her legs in front of my face. The smell of her pussy hit me full force, a mixture of soap, skin, and fresh arousal. I didn't need another order. I grabbed her thighs and put my face between them.

Licking her was even better than penetrating her. Her clitoris was hard and sensitive, and as soon as I ran my tongue over it she braced one hand against the wall and let out a much sharper moan. I opened her lips with my fingers and ate her hungrily, sucking and licking from bottom to top, pushing my tongue into her entrance while water ran down her stomach and dripped onto my forehead.

—Don't stop —she gasped—. There, keep going there.

Her pussy began throbbing against my mouth. I sucked and licked her shamelessly, swallowing her increasingly intense taste. She grabbed my hair and began guiding me with impatient movements, pressing my head against her vulva. Pleasure was undoing her; it showed in her legs and in the way her abdomen contracted.

—I'm going to come —she said, almost voicelessly.

I didn't stop. On the contrary, I pressed my tongue more firmly against her and sucked her clitoris insistently. Diana came trembling. It wasn't a pretty or restrained moan; it was a wet growl, a spasm that buckled her knees. She squeezed my face between her thighs while her pussy shook again and again. I felt her grow wetter, opening and closing against my mouth.

When the pressure of her legs eased, she tugged my hair to make me stand.

—Now —she said, panting—. Fuck me again.

I got up, half dizzy. She turned around and placed her hands on the wall, but this time she spread her legs much farther and pushed her ass backward in a shameless invitation. I positioned myself behind her. I ran the head of my cock between her soaked lips and entered her again. This time it was even easier, because she was completely open and lubricated.

I thrust into her without restraint.

The sound of our bodies filled the bathroom. My balls slapped against her skin with every penetration. Her pussy was so sensitive after the orgasm that each thrust tore a new cry from her. I couldn't think clearly anymore; I only knew that I wanted to bury myself inside her until I emptied myself completely.

—Yes, like that, you son of a bitch —she spat, with an aroused anger that drove me crazy—. At least one of us knows what a cock is for.

That sentence made me lose the little control I had left. I grabbed her hips and began fucking her with long, violent thrusts, driving all the way in and pulling almost completely out before plunging back inside. She responded by leaning farther backward, offering me her pussy as if she wanted me to split her in two.

—I'm going to come —I warned, already on the verge of shouting.

Diana deliberately tightened the muscles around my cock, almost cruelly. She was milking me. I felt her strangle my cock from within, once, twice, three times, and that was enough.

I came with a hoarse moan, buried to the hilt. My orgasm burst out in thick, powerful spurts directly inside her. Each jet tore another spasm from me. She kept squeezing me with her pussy while I unloaded, trembling, unable to move except to give a couple of clumsy thrusts. I felt my balls empty inside the woman who had kept me fantasizing for months.

When I finished, I rested my forehead between her shoulder blades, exhausted. She breathed deeply, her body still vibrating. My cock remained inside her, slowly going soft, held by the heat of her pussy. At last I pulled out and watched some of my semen mix with the water running down the insides of her thighs and disappear into the drain.

We stayed silent for several seconds, hearing only the shower.

Then she took the soap and ran it over my chest as if nothing extraordinary had happened. I did the same to her shoulders, arms, and back. The gesture was strange, intimate and distant at the same time. Neither of us spoke. There was no urgency anymore, only the heavy exhaustion left by a fuck too intense to be casual.

When she turned off the water, we stepped out of the shower and dried ourselves with separate towels. She put on a white robe without looking at me. I got dressed, still dazed, my fingers clumsy and my head full of images I knew I would never forget.

Before she opened the door to see me out, she finally spoke.

—We'll leave the lesson for another day.

I nodded, unable to think of anything intelligent to say.

Then she glanced at me from the side, less furious now, almost amused.

—And next time, don't aim for the ass without asking.

I turned red like an idiot. She barely smiled, a brief twist of her mouth that changed her whole face.

I left the apartment with shaky legs. I went down the stairs as if I had just returned from another world. I carried the folder of sheet music under my arm, but I couldn't remember a single note I had practiced that week. All I could think about was the heat of her pussy, her voice giving me orders, and the way she had come in my mouth under the water.

I saw her again, of course. The lessons continued, although they were never entirely lessons anymore. Sometimes we played for twenty minutes and then she closed the piano lid with a sharp gesture. Other times we didn't even make it to the bench. We never talked about love, promises, or the future. What we had begun as an explosion on the worst day of her life became a dirty, silent, addictive habit.

But none of the times that followed had the brutal impact of that first one. The first time was in that shower, with her marriage going to shit on the other side of the door, her mascara running, rage in her voice, and my cock entering the place I had wanted to enter for months. That's why, when I think about my true musical education, I don't remember scales or sheet music.

I remember the hot water, her pussy squeezing me, and the order that changed everything:

—Take off your clothes.