It was the annual student concert at a music school. The little ones sat in the front row and fidgeted towards their first performance. Some of them were still at pre-school age. Others were already in elementary school. There were also three teenagers. All of them had probably been urged by their parents to learn to play the piano. Because that’s what this morning was all about. The elegant piece in traditional black piano lacquer stood in the middle of a semi-circle of rows of chairs and was already waiting to make its first sounds.
Ambitious mothers are instantly recognizable. They are usually girls who sit next to them in little dresses and with bows in their hair, doing what is expected of them. None of them will probably make it as a concert pianist. But their mother is mighty proud when her daughter performs at the next family party and all the relatives smile benevolently. And it is precisely this pride that is written all over their faces this morning.
It is strange that such mothers rarely seek contact with each other. It’s as if each one lives in her own world and sees herself as a competitor to the other. It’s not about a competition here, but just a few simple children’s songs that more or less skillful fingers lure out of the big black box.
It is precisely this imaginary behavior that turns me on and triggers very special thoughts and fantasies in me. There are exactly seven mothers who have brought their offspring with them. Some have come alone. Others are accompanied by their husbands, who are sitting there with feigned interest and seem to be waiting for the end even before the beginning. Most of the students are schoolgirls. But there are also two boys.
You can tell very quickly which social class a woman belongs to. This is more difficult with men, but women attach great importance to showing their status. Even if this is rarely based on their own abilities, but simply on marrying the right man. Without exception, the seven here are well dressed. You can even tell from a pair of jeans whether they are wearing a famous label or not. They are women of the traditional kind. The kind who see motherhood as a profession and spend a lot of time at the gym on the side. Or shopping.
At a school concert like this, you have plenty of time to take a closer look at the people around you. The program is rather boring, but the mothers are all the more interesting. Especially if they are still young and fall into the MILF category.
One in particular catches my eye. She is extremely petite and has gorgeous golden hair that reaches down to her ass. He, on the other hand, is girlishly small and wears sand-colored pants, whose close-fitting cut accentuates his apple-shaped curves remarkably well. Her husband remains unknown. Her gaze is expressionless, but reveals a hint of snootiness. Exactly the kind of woman who plays her role well, feels better than everyone else, but in reality is anything but happy. She has probably had a strict upbringing and does what is asked of her. As a daughter. As a wife. As a mother.
The two older people in tow seem to be part of the family. The parents, presumably. Or the parents-in-law. People she has to prove herself to. The man has an angular face and a firm gaze, the woman a straight posture and pinched lips. I don’t need much imagination to picture the young mother’s youth. The old man probably beat her with the strap more than once if she didn’t parry. And her mother dutifully told him off whenever she did something wrong. Girls who grow up like that end up being either meek mice who cower under their husbands. Or they are full of duty and want to do everything right. Or both.
Incidentally, the daughter was the only one her age who played her piece fluently and without mistakes. She probably had to practise for days until everything was perfect. And she will get a reward afterwards.
Another woman also caught my eye. She is dressed quite simply but tastefully in black trousers and a white blouse. Only the chewing gum that constantly sets her lower jaw in motion doesn’t quite match her appearance. Since taking her seat, she has alternated between her cell phone and her tablet. She’s the kind of girl who has countless friends and needs to communicate with them all the time. Later, she will record her daughter’s game on her smartphone and probably send it to everyone via WhatsApp.
She is also there without a man. She is completely herself and doesn’t seem to notice what is going on around her at all. Her daughter seems to be quite independent. At least she barely makes contact with her mother, plays her program reasonably flawlessly and then sits down again as if the whole thing were just routine for her.
The chewing gum gets on my nerves. If one of them has been spanked too much, she’s probably never been spanked. And she obviously doesn’t have a man to tell her how to behave and how not to behave. Women like this go through life with a constant „I don’t care“ feeling, know everything better, find fault with everything and are actually unbearable. I hope for her husband’s sake that she’s at least a good fuck. And I’d like him to know that a firm ass like hers is just made to feel a hard, flat man’s hand. She would probably make a loud scene, but never leave him. Above all, women of this type need a man with a good income to live the life they could never afford on their own. And they put up with a lot for that.
Towards the end of the concert, it’s the older pupils‘ turn. In this case, they are all schoolgirls. I know them all from when they were still children and I find it extremely interesting to watch their progress. Right now there’s a slender little thing sitting at the piano. I still remember her first choppily strummed children’s song. Now she’s playing a piece by Edvard Grieg and it’s admirable how her long-limbed fingers jump over the keys.
Her parents come from the Czech Republic. That’s the country where children are still brought up with a stick as a matter of course. Her mother is a resolute woman in her mid-forties and I can well imagine that the stick was always at hand at home when she had to practise the piano until the discordant notes became melodies. She was always a bit wooden and awkward. Especially when she shot up remarkably quickly and developed her first feminine attributes, she didn’t really seem to feel comfortable in her body.
Today she wears a flowing skirt in combination with a white T-shirt with sequins. Her hips have widened noticeably compared to before and her bottom has taken on a pleasantly round shape. Even her tits have grown to a size worth mentioning. Nevertheless, she has somehow remained calm and introverted. Just like girls whose self-confidence has fallen by the wayside because they grew up in a climate that demanded diligence and obedience above all else.
I wonder if she still gets the cane today if she hasn’t played her program flawlessly. It’s not easy being the daughter of an ambitious mother and constantly having to give your best.
The teacher is not to be sneezed at either. Sure, she’s no longer the youngest. But she attaches great importance to an elegant appearance and she has a figure that makes her exceptional in her age group. Today she is wearing a red dress that perfectly follows the contours of her body. A discreet necklace with a Swarovski stone is the only jewelry she has put on and I know that some of the fathers present cast discreet glances in her direction from time to time.
When the concert is over and all the students and their friends have left the hall, I put my arm around them. We have a light lunch in the restaurant next door and then head straight home.
Sunday afternoon is our time and, especially on a rainy day like this, the idea of simply going back to bed, which is in exactly the same condition as when you left it in the morning, is an obvious one. She is naked. I am naked. We feel our bodies. My hands glide over the round curves of her bottom. Her legs open. Her eyes are closed. Her even breathing expresses relaxed contentment.
She is definitely an independent woman. One of those who has turned her dream into a profession, because there is not much in her life that means as much to her as music. She lives for music and is completely absorbed in it. Her students like her because she has an endearing manner that is impossible to resist. She is all woman and wants to be treated like a woman. She is extremely sensitive and therefore particularly vulnerable. So she needs a man who can protect her and on whom she can rely.
We are quite opposites and don’t always understand each other. But we complement each other and both of us are only too aware of that. I’m more the laid-back type who can’t be shaken easily. She can’t deal with stress at all and longs for harmony and security. A woman who somehow hasn’t really grown up. But a woman who feels like one and wants to be taken as such.
Sometimes she’s a good conversationalist with whom you can have a good conversation. But sometimes she also behaves like a petulant teenager who is not open to any argument and just wants to get her own way. Those are the days that end in a fight. Then she runs up and down naked in front of me and says things that she shouldn’t say. Until, yes, until the point comes when she lands above my knees and I turn her firm round globes into a fiery red. Just with the flat of my hand. But hard enough to make her scream. Until her lips close and every pore in her body signals that she wants to be taken, fucked, loved. Because the best thing about a fight is always the reconciliation afterwards.
She is not responsive before a concert like this. Afterwards, a pleasant tiredness comes over her and she enjoys being stroked, caressed and kissed. I know that she is slowly but surely getting wet. And it’s foreseeable that sooner or later my cock will be deep inside her, while quiet whispers of pleasure shake her body and the rainy afternoon becomes the highlight of the week.