Transcribed and sent to us by Kojo Black of erotic film studio Sweetmeats , this is the story that inspired the film The Harward Girls. Told to Kojo by one Laura DiBenedetta, it reveals the unusual and erotic teaching methods employed by the mysterious Ms. Harward. Read on to find out more, and don't forget to look out for Part 2, coming soon.

At the far end of the lounge we played. More specifically—I played. Nicole watched. And Ms. Harward watched us both. My fingers were moving over the keys as they had been trained, but my flute felt like little more than a rusty iron pipe in my hands. Behind us, Ms. Harward was like a tigress—senses alert, keen, hearing each note crystallized in the air; watching every twitch and motion of my body; breaking me down to essentials—arms, hands, fingers, bones, fibers, fluids and soul. She closed in on every error, bristling at every mistake. Just as a tiger could be a perfect hunter, Ms. Harward stalked us relentlessly. She was everywhere at once—and nowhere. Watching. Listening. Her own movements silent as she watched me fumble through this piece. I knew she was behind us, but I could not tell where or how near. Even when she was not with you, she was with you—in the house, on the beach, in town. So, to have her in the same room, she was overpowering. At each exhalation, I gave to her a piece of my soul. At every inhalation I took in the essence of her aura, absorbing her every mood and nuance—and I knew she was not happy with me.

To my left, Nicole smirked, mocking me silently. I felt my heart start to pound and my lungs struggle for breath. Ms. Harward was drawing closer. I smelled the waft of her perfume. That alone was almost too intimate. Her scent undeniably feminine but cut through with a granite-tough edge that could not be dominated.

“I can’t do it!!” I blurted, tearing the flute away from my lips.

“This is a school for the gifted. Not the infirm,” snapped Ms. Harward bluntly. “I like to think that I breed talent here. But Ms. Katie seems determined to prove me wrong.”

I could not bear to be a disappointment to the woman who was everything to me. “I….I want to please you, Mistress,” I stammered. “There’s just so much pressure!”

I didn’t mean to shout and I thought Ms Harward would become angry. But she was soft.

“Don’t think of your instrument as a machine. Treat it as a person. Treat it as a lover.”

I looked up at her from downcast eyes. “What do you mean, Miss?”

Without a word Ms. Harward removed the music stands from the middle of the floor and bade us sit on the wide, comfortable sofa. We sat and watched obediently, unsure of where this lesson would lead.

“Press your fingertips together,” Ms. Harward instructed us. She knelt beside Nicole and I, taking our hands in hers, pressing our palms together.

“Now touch one another’s lips with those fingers.” We obeyed—my fingers on her lips, her fingers on my lips. Already I felt how the touch that one gave could be different from the one received.

“Touch your necks, now,” said Ms. Harward and a tingle ran through me as both Nicole and Ms. Harward put their hands to my vulnerable throat.

“If this is restricted,” explained Ms. Harward, as her fingers stroked my neck, “The music that is within you will never be free. Shake away that tension and it will be as if an altogether different woman is playing your instrument. You’ll see. Forget where you are and work only to play the music of who you are.

“Now press your lips together,” she instructed.

Without hesitation, we touched our lips each to the other….kissed, I suppose. But it was only to illustrate the point of suppleness and sensitivity.

“Are you beginning to understand now, Katie?”

“I think so, Miss,” I replied softly.

“Kiss her again,” said Ms. Harward and Nicole and I drew together again.

“I wish your entire bodies to know the touch of your fingers,” she said then. “Please remove your clothes.”

Here, in this place, with Ms. Harward, it all made sense. There were no questions and there was no shame. To be naked was not an embarrassment. The only malcontent would come from disobeying Ms. Harward.

Ms. Harward knelt tall in front of us as we disrobed. Nicole and I peeled away our button-down shirts. Nicole didn’t wear a bra and her pert, pretty breasts stuck up and out petulantly. I removed my plain white bra, freeing my own heavier breasts.

“Now touch,” said Ms. Harward again.

We reached for one another. So different yet so much the same. Nicole’s hands squeezed and fondled my breasts as I ran my hands over her soft, less prominent bosom.

We kissed again, lingering there this time, Ms Harward looking on in stern satisfaction. “That’s better,” she smiled.

Our hands became more insistent as did our kisses. Perhaps I enjoyed it. Perhaps we both did. Or perhaps we were only responding to the praise of the Mistress.

With a casual hand, Ms. Harward pried apart Nicole’s legs and took the centre-part of Nicole’s blue jeans in her grasp. Nicole lay back on the sofa and let out a little squeal as the Mistress touched her. I worked my hands around her pretty little breasts as my fingers stumbled over her hard nipples. The fabric of Nicole’s jeans was thick but the Mistress’s fingers were skilled and persistent

“That makes me wet, Miss,” giggled Nicole and I kissed her again.

“Please remove the rest of your clothes,” instructed Ms. Harward.

Ms. Harward stood before us, looking down. “Very good, girls,” she cooed. I smiled and Nicole, the good student, lifted her feet to show Ms. Harward the very centre of her secrets. She was very eager; Nicole, and her hands were already pleasuring her sex and mine as my more tentative hands sought simple pleasure in the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin.

Ms. Harward knelt down in front of us, testing my receptiveness, running a slow hand over my thighs. Nicole purred appreciatively as she, then I, stroked her blossoming sex.

“Yes,” sighed Ms. Harward. “Please do as you feel.”

Nicole kissed me again as I massaged the little bud that pleased her most. She held her legs open now, showing to our Mistress and me that she was prepared to receive what ever we might bestow upon her. The air grew thick with Nicole’s cries. The Mistress now had my own sex under her hand, manipulating my own pleasure-button under her thumb and fingers, bending my satisfaction to her will. Nicole could no longer wait for instruction. Into her sopping wet slit she pushed two fingers, the quickening spongy rhythm blending with her moans. The Mistress bade my fingers again to Nicole…to her pussy. This was, after all, an exercise in playing a separate instrument, not one attached. I struggled to concentrate as Ms. Harward’s fingers on my sex made me giddy and lightheaded. She was every bit the master of all that she played.

“When you play music,” she explained, “you must give with your flesh to receive with your soul. Now you will practice. Katie, you will begin.” And with that, she produced a fat, fleshy dildo from beside the sofa. She told Nicole to spread her legs wide and me to kneel down before Nicole’s anxious apex.

I knelt at the foot of the sofa and folded my legs beneath me. I peeled apart Nicole’s pussy-lips with gentle fingers and she let out an excited moan as the toy touched her sex. It was a tight fit at first, but more and more of her sticky honey covered the naughty toy and the resistance grew less and less until all the inches of the toy were slipping in and out with ease. Her heels were lifted high off the floor and she held her thighs wide with her hands as she moaned and sighed with the motion of the toy.

“Good girl,” whispered the Mistress. And I tilted my head back for her to kiss me deeply, all the while never relenting my control of Nicole.

“Nicole’s fingers began to massage the parts of her pussy that I was not and Ms. Harward’s hands drifted over Nicole’s belly and tweaked her little nipples to insistent peaks. The Mistress was soft as we followed her instruction and she caressed us delicately with musical hands. She sat above us, cross-legged beside the writhing Nicole. Elegantly, she peeled off her black top. Casting the garment aside, she turned to me and again poured kisses into my mouth. I dared to touch the Mistress’s skin and she received my touch to her perfect, silk-soft breasts with a wry smile. Nicole wrested the dildo from my grip and began to plunge the toy maniacally into her sweet pussy from tip to hilt. The Mistress’s semi-nakedness only added to the frenzy and she began to nip and suckle at Nicole’s breasts. Ms. Harward instructed me to regain control of the toy as her fingers swept down between Nicole’s thighs and became a blur over the girl’s clitoris. The Mistress’s fingers danced faster and faster as Nicole’s pussy slurped about the silicon cock. Nicole was helpless against. She orgasmed with shameless, joyful noise.

This story was the inspiration for the film The Harward Girls . Look out for Part 2, coming soon.

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