I’d been giving free guitar lessons to Helen the neighbor lady for eight weeks, in return for her housecleaning skills. My condo had never been cleaner thanks to her. And she was steadily improving as a guitarist. Not jamming Hendrix riffs yet, but eight weeks of practice helped her a ton.
This was supposed to be the end of our agreement. After this, no more guitar lessons, no more housecleaning.
Her living room was cozy and always smelled of waxy cinnamon candles. Just big enough for the sofa, heavy oak coffee table, and a TV. We had to shove the practice amps in the corner near the nook/kitchen area, and sat on the barstools. Today, she was dressed in blue leggings and an oversized yellow sweater. I always found her attractive, even when she wore goofy clothes, which was most days.
Near the end of our session, Helen set down her Fender. “Damn, how did it get in here?” she said.
I wore a t-shirt and jeans. “If you say so,” I said. “That sweater looks hot and scratchy.”
“You know, you’re right.” Helen took off her sweater, revealing her sports bra underneath. She had a well toned body, and her breasts were nicely squished up.
Up to this point, she and I lightly flirted with each other, and shared pervy jokes, but nothing ever came of it. We lived our own busy lives. Guitar practice had become something of a replacement for dating, for me at least. I didn’t mind doing this for free, for Helen, and was going to miss our sessions.
She picked up her guitar again. “I’m having a hard time with barre chords. Just can’t get it right.”
I walked up behind her, and placed her fingers in the correct position for the A barre chord. “It’s not hard. Just have to do it enough. To build up strength.”
“How often do you do it?” she said.
“Not enough,” I blurted out, feeling a blush heating my face. Helen looked up at me, a smirk spread across her lips and a laugh in her throat. She smelled nice, like a bubble bath.
“Oh?” she said.
“Not what I meant. I mean…” I lost my words. Helen was so cute, with a lock of red hair covering her face. “What the hell.”
I pecked a kiss on her cheek.
Helen reached around behind her and clutched at my head, bringing me down for another. This time with tongue action and more than a little heat. One of my arms snaked around and copped a feel on her boobs. She responded by shifting her butt towards me, pressing herself into my torso.
And then it was too late to back away. I made out with her like that for awhile, her facing forward on the barstool, me behind her. Down below, I got hard, and let her know by pressing my member against her back. Soon enough, I urged her to unstrap her guitar and follow me to the sofa.
She was more than eager, and stripped off her leggings on the way, revealing a neatly trimmed patch of hair between her legs. I wasted little time in stripping my clothes off.
I pushed Helen on all fours over the armrest. I pushed just my tip inside, to tease and make her wet. I finger fucked her, rubbed her clit, gripped the G-spot. Didn’t take much before she was begging for more.
Not quite believing what I was doing, I slammed my cock inside her. I had dreamed of this, rubbed myself out several times at night with this fantasy, but I hadn’t thought I was Helen’s type.
Apparently, good friends have good benefits.
I pumped her twat hard, varying my pace until we were both sweaty and the room really was hot. And then she curled her back upward like a cat, howling and screaming. Wet juice flowed down my shaft and balls.
I pulled out. Helen relaxed, laying her head down on the sofa’s armrest, breathing hard. I stroked myself until I spurted all over her back.
Pulling her into my arms, I held her for a long time. Until we decided once wasn’t enough.
That night, Helen kept me up until near dawn. I didn’t mind going to work half-zombie the next day.
I pretended to reluctantly agree to giving her more guitar lessons. Unfortunately for her music career, those lessons don’t involve a lot of scale or chord practice.
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