To be honest, I never used to like the Japanese. In fact it would be closer to the truth to say I hated them. I think this has a lot to do with what happened to us in WWII. The short of it is that I made friends with a Japanese lady 4 years older than my 22 years. I first saw Kamari when she was playing at a concert, and I was totally blown away. Looking at her from behind, lithe and wasp-waisted, and hearing her beautiful music, I knew that I wanted to know her as a friend at least. As it turned out I was even luckier. She heard that I was trying to relearn the piano and offered to tutor me every evening in her apartment.

Kamari looked totally conservative, wearing glasses and a full dress complete with long flowing skirt. Her hair was long and black and silky. Her clothing were of the sort that tended to flatten out a prim lady's curves, yet even under that exterior it was not difficult to make out the lovely shape of her ass and the hint of the globes on her chest. What I particularly liked about her was that she always wore high heels, normally black opera pumps.

But her slender, tapered pianist's fingers, moving as cleverly as they did across the keyboard over which she was mistress, were what was most seductive about her, and when we first shook hands, I was electrified at the feel of them.

It so happened that one evening, Kamari was giving me tuition on a powerful piece I had never been able to get right. "No feeling!" she was complaining from time to time. "No expression when you play!" She was very helpful and enthusiastic as usual but that evening, I felt something I never had before. I guess that it must have been those shiny spike heels she was wearing that were sending very non-academic messages to my brain, which in turn were sending equally non-academic impulses to my cock. At one point, she leant over to guide my hands on the keyboard and I felt her boobs press against my back.

Not knowing how to take it, I thought I would just try my luck and pushed back. To my surprise, Kamari continued encircling my arms and pressing the keys on the piano. I could already feel my cock erecting and looking at those slender hands, I wondered if she could use them as delicately and expertly drumming on another organ. That lewd thought sent my cock all the way up as it tented and strained against my shorts. I was still playing but understandably it was getting off key real fast. In frustration, Kamari, hands still around my shoulders, straddled me from behind, to better position my hands! It was amazing, her two thighs straddling my hips, her boobs against my back, and her fingers guiding mine, and I was still trying to render my music to completion!

I was still playing away when she seemed satisfied and removed her hands. I could remember actually thinking that perhaps the whole incident was perfectly innocent. That is, until her hands now encircled my waist, and then slid down smoothly to my crotch, touching the bulge on the front of my shorts. Then, with a speed and fluidity that surprised me, she had my erection out. The feeling of those slender, silky fingers caressing my penis were everything I'd ever dreamed and nearly caused me to shoot my load then and there, but she was stern.

"Put more feeling into your playing! I don't want you to stop playing! Let your passion and emotion carry through!" I couldn't believe that this whole thing was happening just for the purpose of my improvement. But I did know that if I stopped so would she. So on I played.

She stroked my penis expertly to the cadence of the piece with finesse and skill. When it was legato, she stroked softly, slowly, and gently. When it was allegro, she was lighter and quicker. A million things were going on in my mind, not least of which was the fact that I felt my masturbation rising to a crescendo in time to the piece. I began to moan but she spat "Shut up! Don't spoil it!" The music reached a presto and she picked up her speed. It hit prestissimo and she rubbed frantically. I had never played so expressively in my life, and now, as the music was coming to an end, so was the build up in my stimulation .

Finally, when the piece ended with a fortissimo, a final hard jerk from those delicate hands caused my sperm to spurt out in sharp, thick gouts, spewing onto the keyboard of her grand piano, and when she moved her hands to caress the head of my cock, onto those slender, tapering hands. I could hear Kamari crying out in joy as her legs squeezed my hips on an off. I shot load after load in a climax I could not believe, and covered those beautiful pianist's hands in a white mess of sticky goo. With a groan I collapsed over the keyboard, Kamari slumping across my back, arms encircling and clutching my chest, and the wetness from her organ percolating through her skirt and the back of my pants.

As the discordant note of our crash onto the keyboard faded away, and as we both regained our breath, I felt Kamari pull away from me. I turned around but she stopped me. "No. That was very beautiful playing, but now we must do it without looking. " "H-How?" I managed to stammer. "Practice." she smiled.

I knew that I could play the piano without looking but it was a f***e of habit that made me keep wanting to look down at the keyboard. Kamari stood up and came around to sit next to me. Lifting her long skirt, she wiped the goo from the keyboard. But after that, she did not let it fall, instead hitching it up all the way to her hips. I gasped. She was not wearing panties, and that hairy bush stared up at me proudly and challengingly. "Get off." I did so, and she began playing.

I had been proud of my own rendering of the same piece just moments before, but Kamari's playing was light years ahead of mine. Her fingers danced and flitted everywhere, improvising and embellishing as she went. It was an amazing sight to behold, and the music flowed beautifully.


to be continued…

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