2 comments/ 15520 views/ 0 favorites Trumped By: SSobotkaJr (or "Lust Comes in a Little Black Dress") ***** "Dealer shows seventeen . . . and draws a four. That's twenty-one, and you bust, sir." The dealer reached out to scoop up the meager number of chips from in front of me, arching one eyebrow as he nodded towards the remaining pile sitting near my half-empty beer glass. "Would you like to purchase more chips, sir?" Shaking my head, I just scooped up what I had left and muttered, "Nah, thanks anyway." I rubbed the side of my face -- feeling two nights worth of red-stubble there -- before I picked up my glass and took two swallows. Making a face (never could stand warm beer!), I turned to flag down a waitress in a maroon cocktail dress as she ambled by. "Hey, honey . . . some Killian's?" I held up my glass. With a smile, she took the glass from my hand and said, "Right away, sir." Sashaying away, she put the glass on her tray and made her way among the blackjack tables; pausing ever so often to offer service to a couple of other patrons along the way. Turning away from the table I was at, I leaned back and sighed, staring out over the casino floor. The usual Friday night crowd was in attendance; young and old, locals, 'weekenders' and out-of-towners, couples, families and the swinging single . . . all milling about the islands of slots and gaming tables, looking for entertainment and a really big score. This, for better lack of a term, is my natural environment. Name's Steven. I came to Vegas ten years ago as a freckle-faced college kid, barely twenty-one and full of piss, vinegar and the desire to see Sin-City up close and personal. After all, watching cable shows and movies with the 'Rat Pack' in them just doesn't compare to the real thing. I was there with some buddies of mine, and . . . well, to cut to the chase, I've been back on a two-trip-a-year schedule since and, after my sixth year I made one trip a one-way affair and never looked back since. Granted, the job market out here's limited for anyone with a Liberal Science's major, but I quickly learned how to play the games. Poker brought home the bacon for the first couple of years, but Blackjack's my forte. I'm no whale -- a high roller, that is -- but I make enough scratch to keep a nice little place just outside of the city limits, and enjoy myself. Thing of it is, being a thirty-something anything in Vegas, one tends to get a little jaded after a while. Oh, there's plenty to do here, and what with the casinos and hotels popping up and pulling out all the stops to pull in the guests from the world over, the action never quits. Yet, for people like me -- one step removed from the old 'Hands, like over at the Sands or the Gold Nugget -- the neon and the glitz tends to . . . well, lose something overall after living here for a while. That's why I'm here, at my favorite casino, bored out of my skull on a Saturday. The money's been like a barometer all night . . . rising and falling, but the comps have been good (can't say no to free drinks and a quick spin around the buffet). Though I'll be honest, a little pleasurable company would pick things up in the right direction. Granted, it can't hide the fact I've got this head-start on a middle-aged spread and that my face won't grace the cover of Cosmo . . . but, hey, I never come into town just to look for 'tail' alone. Sex, that is. At least, not tonight anyways. Or, so I thought. Just then, the waitress returned with a fresh beer, placing it beside me on the rail with a smile and an offer for more, if I wanted to stay and keep playing. I just smiled and waved her off, turning to take my drink and throw back a good swallow of the cold, biting brew. Damn! Good stuff! So, where was I? Yeah . . . sex, I can take it or leave it. I'm not exactly a monk or anything, but I've got more than enough practical knowledge to know I'm fairly good at it. Last couple of trips to the Bunny Barn ended with no complaints, at least. I keep clean and at least I'm really selective as to whom I bed down with. Still, tonight wasn't about scoring . . . I was there to relax, drink, play cards and hopefully go home with a little more that the 'pocket money' I came in with. Well it was about that time that all my plans for that evening started getting off kilter. It's like when someone tosses a pebble onto the loose rocks of a steep shale. Starts out small, but then one thing leads to another, and another and then . . . fuckin' rock slide, kids. And for this night, the 'pebble' in question, came in the form of a lady . . . who was making her way across the casino floor, right by the clear space beside where my table sat. Lady? This wasn't just a lady. It was a woman . . . as in 'WOO-Man!'. The female in question looked well-made and fit -- if the lines and thews of her exposed arms and legs were anything to go by -- yet she had curves in all the right places; not stocky or bulked like a body-builder would be. Tall for her frame, she moved through the casino crowd like perpetual-motion personified, wrapped in pale skin that looked a shade shy above 'milk', yet with a complexion that practically screamed 'cream'. She came clad in this black halter-top dress that came down to a few inches above her knees, with a flirty slit on one side and a decollate that showed off her rather impressive cleavage. She wore little else than a pair of black, strapy stiletto heel shoes, a set of black fingerless fishnet gloves that ended in a small band around each bicep and a black choker. That last item had a single, flat silver cross hanging right above the center of her collarbone. Walking my eyes up her frame, I spied the small clutch in her right hand, and the single band ring riding on her left index finger. Further on, I caught sight of the bare traces of some inking on her left arm -- hidden mostly under the band of her glove. Then, I made my way up to her face. Dark eye shadow and purple lipstick made her face and pale-white hair stand out all the more . . . like she was some voluptuous zombie-Gothic type. Christ! I thought, This is some 'dish! Truth be told, in spite of that Gothic outfit, I was looking at a pure stone fox. From the way a smile flicked across her kisser as she swept her own eyes over the crowds passing by her, I just knew she knew it, too. A gal like that . . . surer than taxes and death, was bound to attract trouble. Proof in point: the sudden appearance of some tall, linebacker-sized guy, just popping up in front of her like he'd dropped in from sub-space. He had the typical tourist attire -- loud shirt, pleather pants and bargain-mart penny loafers. He clearly had been drinking since noon, and was making gestures with the beer bottle in his right hand towards our Lady there. This chump was practically screaming the fact that he was on the prowl for Vegas tail, and subtlety wasn't part of his tactics. Our Lady had stopped, standing there speechless as he went through his pitch, before she shifted back on one foot, crossed her arms under her breasts and frowned; her dark eyes hooded as she glared at Mr. Smoothy. After several minutes, when he finished talking, her mouth moved -- what she said, I couldn't hear for the sudden burst of cheers from the table behind me -- but it was clear from her body language that she wasn't the eager little 'fish' that could be enticed to nibble on Mr. Smoothy's line. She chose then to say something; short, to the point and clearly something he didn't want to hear. It only took the sight of a rush of red, creeping up the back of his neck and on up into his swayback haircut, to make up my mind for me. I can tell when shit's turning ugly . . . and brother, this was going to go from there to fugly in oh-point-three seconds. Normally I don't get in the middle of an approaching storm, but I've got this thing about not wanting to see a gal get roughed up by some boozed up idiot. Shoving off from the table, I started towards the pair, just in time to hear Mr. Smoothy growl something . . . to which Our Lady there replied to, saying sharply, "I chose when an' where I like to party, pauvre con!" Blinking, Mr. Smoothy stopped being so smooth, as he snapped, "What're you sayin', bitch?!" At that, Our Lady gave him a faux-smile and said tartly, "I am saying . . . tu m'emmerdes, or as you would say 'get fucked!'" With that, she turned on a dime and started to walk away. At that point, Mr. Smoothy snarled and threw down his beer, shattering the bottle on the carpet. That was all the warning Our Lady got, before he reached out and snagged the arm nearest to him and jerked her back around. "Hey, cunt! No one talks like that t'me!" She had her feet braced, her one free arm swinging back behind her as she tensed up; the hand holding her clutch curling around it like she was going to smash it into the side of his head. From the set of her jaw, I could see in that second she meant to show this tourist just what he was uncorking from the bottle . . . She never got the chance, because I stepped in on his close side, and aimed a chop at the arm holding onto her -- aiming for the exposed, soft tissue at the fold of his elbow. I wasn't out to break the joint, just hit him hard enough to wake up his 'funny bone' and make him let her go. It worked. He jerked his arm back, yelping as he felt the glass-spider-feeling go racing down that limb. "What th-!?" "I believe the lady's not interested, chum." I said, moving to put myself ahead of her, but not in front of her. Figured that wouldn't be smart. Giving Mr. Smoothy my best 'College Dean' impression and said, "If I were you, I'd go look for my entertainment . . . elsewhere." He was wriggling his arm, but the lingering pain wasn't enough to cool his jets. "Just who do you think you are, bub!?" With a snort, he locked eyes with me. "I'll kick yer chubby ass for stickin' yer nose in where it don't belong-!" I never saw the punch coming, but the effect afterwards is something etched in my memory forever; In mid-rant, Mr. Smoothy's nose flattened into a strawberry-shape, accompanied by a crunch of bone and squelch of cartilage. For a second, he just hovered there, shocked into silence as his eyes crossed to focus on the ruin of his schnozola. Then, with a whimper, he tottered backwards on to his heels. I turned my head, just in time to see Our Lady holding her left fist, rubbing the now-reddened knuckles as she swore something in French that I couldn't catch. Concerned, I started to reach out to her. "Hey, Ma'am-?" Big mistake of the night, at least for me. Mr. Smoothy, while hurt bad, wasn't hurt bad enough to go down after that punch. He'd rebounded and come at me with a fist the size of a wrecking ball, and planted it alongside my head, sending me crashing to the casino floor. Dazed, I tried to shake off the onset of cobwebs quickly . . . last thing I needed was more lumps from this lunkhead! Turning around on my knees, I had my fists balled up to meet him, but let them drop when I saw one of Our Lady's feet snapping out in a vicious kick -- landing squarely in his 'sweets'. I couldn't help but wince, because she hit the dude with enough force to pick him up off the floor a good two feet! With such a blow, all Mr. Smoothy could do was cup his crotch and let a high-pitched squeak spill out of his lips before he collapsed into a fetal ball on the floor. Scowling at the downed drunkard, Our Lady spat at his moaning form -- "Encule!" -- before turning to look at me, her eyes still glowing with indignant fire. Well, some big help I was, right kids? Standing up, I shook my head and gave the dude one last look before I simply said, "Sucks to be you, chum." Our Lady shot me a look, and from the way she was looking at me, I was probably going to get my ass chewed for stepping in to help her, when she clearly didn't need my help at all. About that time, several security goons from the casino's staff showed up and corralled Our Lady; asking several questions at once (Hell, all the cameras in these joints, and now they show up?). Well, at least the problem was in their hands, not mine. Giving her one last shrug, I said, "Sorry, ma'am.", before I turned and headed off back towards the blackjack tables. I couldn't see an empty table among the fleet nearby, so I decided to continue on and find the casino bar . . . at least a drink would help the throbbing pain in my jaw. Hell, that bozo must've had a chunk of granite for a fist! * * * * * Minutes later, I planted my backside in a seat at the bar, down near the end where it wasn't as congested as the 'high traffic' area closer to the main floor. Truth be told, the bar wasn't crowded that night. The last thing I wanted right then was a lot of chatter while I nursed the developing bruise on my right cheek. The bartender was helpful on that score. He didn't ask me any extraneous questions. He just took my drink order, served me and moved on to take care of the rest of his guests along the polished length of the bar. I sipped the mixed drink and sighed, taking a second to glance at my face in the reflection of a massive fish-tank that decorated the back of the bar. Even though it wasn't fully showing, I just knew I was going to have a beauty of a purple-smear on my face come daybreak. Cripes . . . not the way I expected this night to turn out. Still, I'd wager I'd suffer further beatings, if I got to look at that woman again. She was pure sex, kids . . . but, I guess after that goofball's antics she probably wouldn't want to be addressed by another man tonight. Shame really. In any case, I pushed any further thoughts of her out of my mind just then. The only thing I wanted at that point was to let the effect of the drink numb out the throbbing roar of pain in my cheek. So I took another swig, turned to hunch myself over the edge of the bar and tried to block out the sounds of the casino around me. The next thing I knew, a pair of hands were smoothing over the shoulders of my bomber jacket, slipping down onto my upper chest with a soft, silky touch that I could feel through my shirt. Speaking of feeling things, two large, cushiony breasts were pressing up against my back, along with a body that was warming me by direct contact! I got a whiff of a scent, like sandalwood, with a strong undertone that tasted like musk on my palette. Something moist came in contact with my right ear; slipping down along the curve until it touched my earlobe, before it was curled back and captured by a set sharp objects -- teeth -- that tugged at it in a playful manner. The teeth then left my ear . . . and a second later, I heard an accented voice, dark like fine rum as the speaker breathed into my ear. "As much as I prefer to stand up for myself, I would much prefer to be able to thank any would-be saviour, before they go stomping of into the night, non?" Stiffening, I glanced up towards the back of the bar, where I could see the speaker's reflection in the fish tank's glass. Standing just behind me, with her head peering over my shoulder was Our Lady . . . and from the look on her kisser, she wasn't at all upset. At least, not with me. "Well, considering what you did to that yokel back there-." "Yo-kell?" She cocked her head, her eyes locked onto mine as she smirked. "You talk like you come from an old Bogart flick," she said, grinning slightly. Unable to resist, I tipped my driver's cap to the side and made with my best Rick impression: "Of all'ah th' gin joints, in all'ah th' towns-." I stopped when she suddenly reached around and jerked my head to the side, coming nose-to-nose with her face. "Do not, finish that line. Please, can you be any more corny?" "Sorry," I said. It was then I realized that she had red eyes . . . not bloodshot, but RED. Both of her irises were as crimson as a stop-sign. "Don't apologize, chér." she purred, moving around to take a seat on the stool next to me. "I never do." "Well, forgive me this once, Miss . . .?" "Call me Tara," she said moving to put her clutch on the bar next to us. "Tara deLioncour." She opened the clutch with a flick, removing a cigar and a silver lighter. With a couple of quick flicks she lit the cigar and replaced the lighter back in her clutch before I could blink. Drawing in a deep breath, she paused before letting the smoke blow out through both nostrils. With her eyes, this made her look positively draconic as she stared back at me. "And your nom-de-plume?" "Steven." I said, leaning back a bit as we continued to lock eyes. "Just Steven." I glanced away for a second as the bartender came alongside us. "Would you like a drink, Tara?" "Oui, Stéphane." She drew another drag on her cigar, letting the smoke drift out of her mouth as she said, "I must say you were not exactly being a knight-in-armor back there, non?" I just rolled my eyes, nodding to the barkeep to bring another round. "Damned fucker threw a sucker punch at me." I tilted my head to the side, letting her see the developing bruise on my face. Reaching up, Tara traced a line right through the bruise with a not-so-gentle fingertip. "Poor baby. Shall I kiss it for you?" She grinned like a shark smelling blood in the water. "You'd probably like it too much." I glared at her, but I shrugged. "Sorry. I grew out of getting my 'boo-boos' kissed years ago," I said. "So, what's your angle, sister? You wanted to thank me-." "Oui," Tara said, cutting me off as she tipped her torso towards me; the strapless top of her dress affording me a bird's-eye view of her massive cleavage. "I usually just say so . . . however, I am thinking that mere words will not please you, chér." I couldn't help but look down at the twin mounds of tit-flesh, squeezed together by that little black dress. Christ! I glanced up, and saw the smiling-pout on Tara's face. Busted. "Ah-ah, caught you looking at the 'girls'," she said, her voice lilting as she drew her arms in , lifting her breasts a bit to deepen her cleavage. She drew another drag on her cigar, rolling it between her fingers as she glanced around, before she saddled up a bit closer to me. "To be honest . . . I do not mind, if you look at them. Or at all of me." "You don't, huh." I cocked my head. "Seems to me, you'd as much punch me in the nuts, as like that fucker from before-?" "That, was because I was not interested in some salaud, with beer on his breath," Tara said archly, before she softened her next words with a soft sigh as she walked her eyes up and down my frame. "You, however . . . I could take a great interest in, chér." "Oh?" Now had to wonder what her angle was?! I'm no Fabio, and I'm nowhere nearly as ugly as Homer . . . but, gals like Tara just aren't attracted to dopes like me. "Do tell, honey." Tara chuckled. "Because . . . while you are clearly interested in me, you aren't trying to tear my dress off with your eyes." She blew out a slow stream of smoke, shaking her head to make her feathered, white hair shimmer under the bar's neon lights. "Though, I feel I should be insulted at that." "What, doesn't every man you come across try to get into your panties?" "Mmm . . . but you're not trying very hard. That means you are either gay . . . or that you have principals." Without warning, she suddenly put her free hand on the inside of my thigh and ran it up towards my crotch. When her fingers brushed across the bulge underneath the denim, I jumped in my skin at the sheer electric sensation, and the sudden stiffening it caused in my cock. When she felt that, she smiled and curled her fingers around the thickening length. "Ah, that answers one part of my question, non?" "Ah-hah . . . yeah, you could say that!" I tried not to squirm, but it was hard not to sit still while she continued to rub the growing shaft in my pants. "How do you know if I have any principals?" Trumped By now I should have known better, slipping home early to surprise my wife usually turned out badly. Over the years there have been so many strange vehicles parked in my driveway that I should have kept a valet on staff. Of course if only parking were the issue things might have been fine, but as it turned out I would have needed another valet for all the men visiting the master bedroom. Hell if I had a valet he'd have probably been slipping in for some free parking too. Understanding that, on a certain level, I'm at fault for coming home and discovering the extra marital parking in my driveway and escapades in my bedroom, I guess I should have just stayed at work. I mean does it really happen if I'm not there to find it? Well, if you ask my wife you get a different story than if you ask me. Okay, okay, so I'm to blame because I slip home early occasionally, so does that mean I get to take the credit if what I come home to is a boon, not a bust? I mean as Donald Trump has said, "You have to think anyway, so why not think big?" So coming home early that Wednesday morning I once again had to park on the street because I found a large white limousine parked in my driveway. Cutting across the grass I nodded to the limo driver, who as wiping away a bird spot on the hood of his vehicle. The driver nodded to me and smiled. I'm sure he thought, "There goes a lucky bastard." Anyway, I wasn't surprised when I stepped in the door to hear my wife's moans from the bedroom and I have to admit I did get a little nostalgic when I peeked in the door and saw her toes perfectly pointed to the ceiling, just like she did way back when I walked in on her and a strange man those many years ago. This time of course it was no stranger's ass that was flexing, thrusting his cock into my wife. Yes, I could tell by the way his blondish toupee was flopping on his head and on the powerful way he held his body as he plunged in and out of my wife's pussy. Sure enough, I could see he was a proud and powerful man just by they way his cock glistened. Funny thing, you'd think it might have been bigger, but no, I'd bet mine was a good inch longer and a bit thicker too. Of course with him you didn't need a big cock, it all has to do with the passion. As Donald himself used to say, "With out passion you don't have energy, with out energy you have nothing." Well he certainly had passion and energy as I watched him quicken his pace, his ass flexing as he withdrew and then thrust again and again. My wife was just coming for what appeared to be the first time, so I pulled up a chair to the bedroom doorway so I could watch without really disturbing the activity inside. Yes, it was my wife's first orgasm, I could tell by the intensity of her moaning and the way her legs trembled when she wrapped them around his waist. I continued watching, nodding to myself as her each subsequent orgasm was just a bit less intense. I must admit Donald had stamina, making my wife come four, maybe five times before he finally groaned, arched his back and judging by the way his balls constricted and released, pumped spurt after spurt of cum into my wife's pussy. He remained on top of her until I could see his cock slip out of her pussy, he then rolled over beside her, seeing me for the first time. Donald looked at my wife, then at me, then back at her and asked, "Are you married?" "Of course I'm married." "Oh good, I thought he might be someone stalking me because I fired him." "No, that's my husband," she said, waving to me. I waited until Donald got dressed and was heading out the door before I got up from my chair. As he passed me in the doorway he leaned over and whispered, "Everything in life is luck." He then walked across the living room, slipped through the door and walked to his limo. I quickly pulled off my clothes and climbed into bed, slid my cock into her cum filled pussy. It slid easily and as I thought to myself, "Well, Donald came first, but now I'm Trumping him," I felt the pleasure shoot through my cock. Arching my back I came, adding my cum to my wife's pussy. Hopping up from the bed, I got dressed, rushed out, bought a new car and waited. In just over two weeks I got a notification that my car had been paid for and at the end of the month the mortgage company notified me my mortgage had been paid off. Donald was right, "Everything in life is luck," and I was a lucky guy to find his limo parked in my driveway that day. Trumped With an expression that looked positively lecherous, Tara lifted up out of her seat to lean in further; filling my nose with the smell of her perfume and tobacco. Putting her lips near my ear, she murmured, "That, I would very much like to find out . . . if you would be willing to come with me." "With you, where?" Giving my cock a squeeze before letting it go, Tara slipped back onto her seat. "If you are interested, chér . . ." She studied the lit end of her cigar, before reaching over to stub it in a nearby ashtray. "You'll have to follow and see for yourself, oui?" With that, she stood up and started to walk away from me; her steps slow, making her wide hips sway like a serpent's coils. She got ten paces across the barroom floor . . . before she stopped to look over her bare shoulder at me with a licentious look that could've melted pig-iron. "That is, if you are interested, chér." Sue me, but at that point I was damn interested! * * * * * We ended up leaving the casino and took a taxi to another hotel, further down the Strip. Tara kept my interests all the way by constantly fondling my crotch and any other part of me she could reach, even going as far as grinding her ample bottom against me while we waited for the elevator to arrive in the hotel lobby. She must've given the old couple who were on the elevator cab something to talk about, the way she had her buxom body molded to my front. Getting out on the appropriate floor, Tara led me down past the general row of rooms and into the end-suite section, pausing just long enough to fish out a pass card key from her clutch before opening the door to Suite Twenty-One. Inside, she barely gave me time to admire the decor and view through the high glass window. With a shove, she had me backed up against a wall and had her purple lips pressed against mine, prying them apart in a demanding kiss! Christ on a Crutch . . . she had her tongue halfway down my throat before I could recover enough to begin returning her lip lock, and even then, I was nearly too late as she'd pulled back to smile at me. I tasted the lingering flavor of tobacco smoke, a hint of mint and that musky flavor that just screamed 'sex'. "Mm-Christ, lady! Give a guy a chance before you rape him, willya?" That must've been the right thing to say, I figure, because Tara's red eyes went wide and her smile just turned all-shades of smoky. "Mmm, as good as that sounds, I believe you would find what I have in mind . . . much more fun, oui?" "Depends," I said, trying to keep my heart under one-hundred beats a minute. "Just what-?" Tara pressed a thumb over both lips, stilling my reply before she switched to a finger, which she trailed down along my chest as she stepped away from me. Reaching out with one foot, she snagged a stool that sat underneath a low table and dragged it out towards a clear space. "Come." She snagged the collar of my shirt and dragged me along, until she had me up against the end of a large, king-sized bed that dominated the one side of the suite's sleeping area. "Now . . . sit, boy." she commanded, nudging me with enough force so that I had no choice but to drop down onto the edge of the mattress. As I did, she made quick work of my leather jacket and cap, removing them so she could toss them onto a reclining chair in the corner. She then dropped her clutch on an end table and scooped up a remote control box that was sitting there. Moving back to where she'd put the stool, she aimed the remote at a cherry-wood boudoir just opposite from the bed; her fingers tapped out a sequence on its keys, before she tossed it into the recliner. A moment later, the speakers of a hidden sound system came to life, filling the air with a brassy selection of horns and percussion that were playing a four-bar 'vamp . . . just before they gave way to a old-time piano that segued into a classic burlesque beat. Taking the 'vamp as a cue, Tara shifted over and put one foot on the stool and started to move her body to the beat and rhythm, taking her hands and smoothing them down her sides, onto her buttocks and down her raised leg. Bent over, she turned her face towards me and bit her lower lip in a sexy gesture. Man, so this was the plan! I thought, just as the song turned into a full-on jazzy piece as the singer began to croon: Baby, take off yer coat . . . real slow, Take off your shoes . . . I'll take off yer shoes, my babe. Rising back up, Tara kept her eyes on me as she shimmied over, before placing her left knee on the stool. Pulling her hands back up, she moved them to the side and, with a flick and pull, she lowered the zipper on the side of her little black dress. I could feel the sound of its teeth making a rasp as she pulled it down to the edge of the hem. With a laugh, Tara shifted around to face me, with one arm now up underneath her decollate to keep the top of her dress from falling down. Take off your dress! Yes, yes, yes . . . You can leave your hat on. Again, the song dictated the pace of this whole deal, because Tara slowly, achingly dragged the top of her dress lower, revealing more and more of her impressive rack to me, until one, then both of her nipples popped into view. Christ! Staring at both paps, I couldn't stifle the groan as I saw two glittering pieces of metal riding next to each nipple; twin pearls of chrome, which were stark against the dusky color of each stiff nubbin of flesh. Tara clearly caught my reaction, her eyes going half-closed as she stood back up and swayed to the music coming from someone pounding the ivory keys. Rocking on her stilettos, she let the dress slip down further and further, exposing her toned pale tummy and the tops of her hips. Caught, the dress didn't move another inch . . . until she hooked her fingers into the fabric and wiggled it down over the swells. With wink, she whipped around and bend over, sticking her bottom out as she worked the dress down and onto her legs. At this angle, I could see the mere strip of jet-black fabric flossed between her butt cheeks, which was held up by a spaghetti-thin string around her waist. Swallowing against the thick lump in my throat, I didn't dare blink as I drank the sight of her and this sinful striptease. "Damn," I groaned. Tara just chuckled, letting the dress fall down in a puddle on the floor as she shook her backside in a fetching motion. Stepping out of the folds of her dress, she kicked it over to the side, before turning around to give me the full treatment of herself; now clad in black heels, those gloves, her cross-bedecked choker and a thong panty . . . which really didn't have enough fabric, to my mind, to be even called that! It barely covered her mound, and was pulled in tight enough to show the indentation of her pussy lips through the silky fabric. With her body tone, dynamite legs, breasts and tush, she was just oozing pure sex! "Fuck me," I murmured. "That's the idea, chér." Tara continued to sway and grind, taking the time to turn, kneel and bend her body in a succession of classic stripping poses. I wager if the room had been built with a pole, she'd be working that, too. By then, I was certifiably stone-dicked and drooling like Pavlov's dog . . . and I hadn't even gotten my clothes off yet! Seemingly sensing that thought, Tara moved slowly over to the bed and trailed both hands down my shirt front. "I think you need to be on more equal footing." With that, she shoved me backwards, so I was laying flat on the bed, while she knelt and tugged off my shoes and socks. Popping up, she worked up to my waist and wasted no time getting my belt and pants undone, before slipping them down and off before I'd even dropped my backside back onto the bed. She moved back to put them with my jacket, pausing by the end table before she crawled onto the bed and slithered up until her buxom form covered me. I started to move my arms to grab her waist, but she used her elbows to drive my arms up and out to the sides. "Ah-ah . . . be a good boy now," Tara purred. "That is, until I tell you not to be." I just nodded. "Yes, ma'am." With that, she leaned in and captured my mouth in another hot kiss, while rubbing her nearly-nude body up and down my own. The friction of her skin against the fabric of my shirt and briefs was sinfully hot, driving me wild inside . . . Then I noticed she had something in her right hand. I tried twisting my face away to get a better look, but she reached up with her left hand to stop my head from moving. A heartbeat later, she'd flicked her fingers . . . and a glint of metal reflected the light coming from the ceiling, as she pressed the object close to the side of my face. Pulling back from our lip lock, Tara turned my cheek so I could see the length of the straight razor just a scant inch from my face. "You know, if I wanted to, I could give you . . . a really, big, smile, right now." She pressed the flat side of the blade against my skin, before she said, "Still . . . I didn't come here to have that sort of fun." She moved the razor away and rose up so she could put the edge near the collar of my shirt. "I always did love to unwrap my toys . . ." With that, she ran the razor down the length of my shirt, catching it under the edge so that the blade caught on the threads holding each button in place. With a series of soft rips, she neatly cut them, then she reared back onto my thighs and curled her fingers under each side to fling my shirt front open. Now bare, my exposed chest and belly were vulnerable to her heated gaze, and I couldn't help the shiver as Tara dragged the blunt tip of the back of the razor down over my nipples. "Mmm . . . you have a Teddy-bear tummy, chér," she murmured. "Not like I'm used to, but I'm too horny to care just now!" With that, she scooched further down onto my legs, taking a moment to tug one side of my briefs up so she could slip the razor underneath it. I couldn't protest further, before she made two quick cuts and yanked the ruin of my underwear away. Now exposed from throat to toes, I lay there under Tara's gaze . . . pretty much like a piece of prime steak and I felt pretty sure this gal was going to slake her appetite with every bit of me she could get! "Ah," Tara sighed, eyeing my open crotch and the stiff column of my cock. Reaching out with her free hand, she curled her fingers around its girth and stroked it a few times. "Now, this has much promise!" With that, she bent down and ran her tongue along the rim of the crown, sending sparks down my spine. I couldn't stop the slight jerk of my hips, or the hiss that escaped my lips, as I felt her wet appendage leave a trail of saliva on the bell. Looking back up at me, she licked her lips, showing off the hint of a silver tongue stud. "Very tasty," she said, before she dipped back down to start working over my turgid cock. She licked up and down, placed teasing nibbles all along the sides, pecked sucking kisses all over my balls and pretty much tried to suck it inside-out with all the energy she was putting in to her performance. Fuck, this lady knew how to give a porn-class blow job! was the only thought I had for the moment, before the electric lines of pleasure raced up and down my body. Before long, she slipped around and straddled my head, moving her crotch within easy reach of my face. Popping off my dick with a loud suck, she peered back underneath herself and hissed, "Don't leave me all alone in my work, chér . . . my pussé needs some attention, too." Deciding not to risk things -- considering she still had that razor gripped in her hand -- I reached up and tugged on the sides of her black thong, revealing her wet box to my gaze. She had a pretty clean-shaven mound, with just a small strip of white hair above it. Both outer lips were pouting out, slick with her essence, as was her clit. Without preamble, I craned my neck up and ran my tongue along one labia, down then around to the other and back up again. The taste of her wasn't far removed from all the flavors I'd sampled earlier; female musk, laced with a tartness and an aftertaste that practically screamed sex. From above, I felt Tara moan into my flesh; her vibrations sending more shock waves of pleasure into me. Deciding to up the ante, I reached her distended clit hood and circled it with the tip of my tongue, before I reached up to cup her wide buttocks and pulled her pussy down for a real lashing. We both feasted on each other's intimate areas. Tara was practically drooling over my dick, filling the air with slick, slipping sounds as she ravaged my column with cork screwing motions and wild wiggling swipes of her studded tongue. For my part, I was slobbering wet from all the cream her pussy was pouring down into my mouth; now wide open as I drove my tongue deep inside her. At one point, she popped up, propped up on one hand as she gasped for oxygen. Her hips were rolling, trying to move in several directions at once as I continued my oral assault. "Oh, yes . . . mmha-ah! Bon . . . oui, just like that!" Her moans were stifled again as she plunged my thick stick back down her throat again. Fuck, the juice was starting to boil down in my balls! I gripped her cheeks harder, keeping her pinned against my face as I tried hooking my tongue downwards in an attempt to find that magical inch of flesh I knew most women had . . . that strip that would set them off like a bottle-rocket, if it was manipulated right. Tara was no exception. The second I found the mark, I felt her lower body start to quake, and she'd lifted her head and chest up as she labored for more air. This only seemed to fuel the fire that was building in her belly . . . and, without another warning, she suddenly cried out, "Oh! Ooh . . . aah, oui, OUI!" Her entire body locked up like she'd turned to stone. Only the savage mashing of her pelvis against my face gave any further indication to her reaching a violent climax. With little else I could do, I grunted and rode out her storm; keeping up the attentions to her now-gushing pussy as it covered my chin, cheeks and nose with her cream. For an eon, it felt like she'd never stop, but then her body just melted as she let the last waves of orgasm sweep outwards from her box. "Mmm!" That sound was a rich croon of beginning satisfaction. "That . . . was . . . fucking good, Stéphane." Letting my head drop back, I licked my lips and chuckled. "Glad you liked it, babe." Her chuckle was dark as Jamaican rum. "Oh, oui . . . but, I am far from finished with you, lover!" With that, she flipped around and slid down until she had her chest level with my groin. Holding my dick in her fist, she slicked it up further with the mixture of spit and pre cum, before she reached back down to her crotch . . . a few jerks of her body betraying that she was fingering her still-sensitive pussy for a bit. When she returned her hand to my crotch, her fingers were shiny with her own juice. With a grin, she wiped the fluids onto my peg, before she shifted forward a bit to press my cock into the valley between her two huge tits. "Have you ever been titty-fucked before?" I propped myself up on my elbows. "Not really," I muttered. "Then, you will enjoy this, lover," Tara said. Pressing inwards with her upper arms, she forced the pillowy flesh to envelope my cock. When she had it fully surrounded, she began to rock her body. Starting slow, she made her breasts rise up to hide my cock from view, before sliding back down to expose the head and the first two inches of flesh below it. Groaning, I just sat there for a bit, letting the slick friction send new waves of pleasure into my body. Then, as Tara started to speed things up a bit, I couldn't stop my hips from pumping up into her chest. "Oui, Stéphane . . . fuck my tits," she hissed, goading me as her crimson eyes seemed to glow as our lust and passions increased. "Mmm . . . fuck that thick dick into me! Give me all that you've got," she moaned. Panting, I slipped back on my arms a bit for more leverage. "You . . . ah, fuck! You want me to . . . come over your . . . tits, Tara!?" That shark's grin was back, as Tara dipped down on my upstroke to flick her tongue rapidly against my exposed dick head. "I want you to spray all that thick cum over me, lover . . . give me a good bath with your juice!" For another dozen strokes or more, all I could do was focus on the sinful sensations of Tara's tits rubbing my dick closer and closer to release. The spark of release was building in my balls, and I was sucking in air just trying to keep up with Tara's bouncing body as she tit-fucked me towards oblivion. "Ah . . . mmm, fuck, I'm close!" Tara slipped back, allowing my cock to fall into the clutch of her one hand as she tipped it down to aim towards her cleavage. "Oui, baby . . . do it! Come for me . . . cover my tits in your fuck-milk!" She goaded me on, rubbing my pecker in a rapid blur as she gave it one last sucking kiss. That proved to be my hair-trigger. With a loud groan, my hips froze at the apex of one upward thrust. "Ahh, fuckme!" A split second later, the first gout of white cream burst from the tip and splattered against Tara's chest. It left a single, stark-white line against her flesh, only to be followed by several more as my lurching loins emptied. Sighing happily, Tara took a couple of spurts across her cheeks and nose. With a feline smile, she let the juice drip down to where her tongue could sweep it up. "Mmm, so good," she moaned, clearly relishing the taste. Hell, she's a certified cum slut! I thought, trying to keep my wits from dissolving as my orgasm ebbed. From where I could see, she made for quite a picture; her face and upper chest painted with my fuck-milk, her eyes now closed as she reveled in the feel of it. In due time, I lowered my hips back down, literally falling back into the bed as waves of satisfaction rolled along my legs and torso. "Mm, so delicious, lover," Tara murmured, having taken the moment to reach up to run her fingers through the splatters of cum on her tits. Through that, she never let go of my cock and, from the way she was rolling it through her palm, it was clear she wasn't about to let me get soft. I groaned and moved one hand up to rub my eyes. "Shit, babe . . . that was . . . fuck!" At that, Tara popped upright, never letting go of my dick as she smiled wide. "That, chér, is a wonderful suggestion," she said. Shifting forwards, she moved her body until she had her crotch pressed up against mine, while still rubbing my sensitive dick with firm strokes. Hissing with a mixture of pleasure and a bit of pain, I looked up at her with wide eyes. "Hell, Tara, I just came in buckets on your tits! You can't expect me-?" Tara just chuckled darkly, before she moved my thickening shaft in close to her wet pussy. "Ah, ah-hah," she said in a sing-song tone, before pressing me against her split cleft. "Never say never, Stéphane . . . especially when I have been dying for a good fucking, in so very, very, damn, long." She said each word, emphasizing them with one good pull on my peg with each word. "But-? Hell!" I couldn't stand it, even though her ministrations had pumped my cock back up to full mast in seconds. "Now, you let me take over," Tara purred, leaning over to let her cum-covered breasts hang over me, while she lifted her pelvis a bit to get my hard dick lined up. "After all, you fucked my titties . . . now, I get to fuck your thick dick, lover." With that said, she eased up on her grip, and socketed my dick head in between her pussy lips. Then with a deep sigh of anticipation, she let my rock-hard flesh find a new home inside of her as she slammed her hips down. "AHH, FUCK!!!" Trumped Fuck was so the right word! Tara had my prick surrounded in wet, sizzling flesh that threatened to scorch the skin right off me. Add to that, this gal must've been a religious practitioner of Kegles, because I felt like she could just about tie my dick into knots, she was squeezing it so tight! Bracing her hands against the lower part of my rib cage, Tara started to post up and down, making her slippery twat slide like silk over my rigid flesh. The pleasure ran on an exponential circuit; building in both of our groins with each passing second. This wasn't going to be a quick burnout either . . . Tara was in full control, pumping with a steady pace as she hissed, mewled and groaned as she rode high in the saddle. Deciding to not just lay there, I reached out and gripped her thick hips in my hands; first just to follow the power of her movements, but before too long I had a firmer hold on her as I began thrusting back to meet her. Our fucking soon flowed from simple cowgirl, to a more-than-standard missionary, then a rolling spoon position, before I had her with her ass cocked up in the air as I pummeled her pussy from behind. "Ahh, oui . . . mmm, fuck me, lover! Treat me like a slut," Tara growled. Her upper body was pressed down into the bed, with her head turned to the side so she could look back at me. "Ah, ahh, fuck! Give, it, to, me!" Her red eyes were practically aflame, her purple lips open to reveal her studded-tongue as she panted for air. I was pretty much in the same state; trying to get the energy to push on to the ultimate end, while Tara's pussy was rippling along the length of my dick. The air was filled with our mixed scents, the slap of sweat-slicked flesh and the mingled moans, growls and cries of two people in a hell of a rolling fuck. "Damn, Tara! You feel so, fuck-ing, good," I panted. Groaning, Tara managed to eke out a pleased chuckle. "You aren't . . . hmmm, too bad, either-!" A high pitched gasp burst from her mouth, as my dick scraped across a sensitive patch on the roof of her cunt. "Ooo, Stéphane! Fuck, fuck . . . fuck me, lover! Make me drown in your fucking cum!" We were both so close to reaching our climax, but Tara had enough sense in her sex-drenched mind to flip over into one last position; flat on her back, me between her thighs, which were spread so wide she was pretty much doing the splits. Driving back into her pussy, I had both hands clamped over her thighs, driving deep into her body with rapid-fire thrusts while she had one hand at her crotch, two fingers forked over her clit to rub it. Her other was spread over one billowing tit, twisting the pierced nipple as she stretched it hard from her chest. Gasping, Tara could hardly form the words, but she managed to squeak as the start of her climax hit with hurricane force: "Spray me . . . cum on me . . . Stéphane!" Her eyes sort of rolled over and crossed towards each other, just as she let out a shriek that threatened to rip my eardrums apart. Unable to last much longer -- her pussy was wringing the orgasm out of my dick like twisting a wet washrag -- I let the sensation boil up my flesh, nearly overwhelming me before I yanked my hips back to free me from her quivering slit. Aiming my cock, I let the cum fly across her belly, chest and neck, painting her pale flesh with stripes of thick cream. A couple did make it up to her face, draping over her purple-tinted lips. Groaning as the sensations raced up my spine, I watched as she slipped her tongue out to scoop up the fuck-milk and slurp it back inside. "Mmmm . . . délicieux, mon amoureux." Her body still vibrating from the shock waves of her climax, Tara stared up at me, her eyes half-open and that feral-if-pleased smile pasted on her kisser. "You . . . ahh, do not disappoint, chér." Her hands drifted over her torso, smearing the trails of my cum into her body. Trying to control my racing heart, I shot her a smile and said, "You, certainly . . . didn't lack for pleasing . . . me, either, Tara." With a soft chuckle, Tara propped herself up on one elbow, before reaching out with one slick-fingered hand to clutch at my half-hard dick. "Mm, and to think . . . this night is not yet over, eh?" That smile -- while tinged with a sleepy, cat-in-the-cream flavor -- turned practically predatory as she slowly fisted my flesh. "Not by a . . . how you say . . . a long shot, baby?" * * * * * For the rest of the night, and well into morning, Tara and I literally screwed each other senseless. She fucked me, I fucked her, we switched and coordinated positions and penetrations until we both couldn't muster the strength to continue for one minute more. I had a record of four climaxes, but that was chump change, compared to the seemingly endless chain of orgasms Tara wrung out of her pussy. By the time we both collapsed on the now-ravished bed -- laying side by side -- I'm pretty sure she got the fucking of her life. At least, I know I got mine. The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes to stare at the glowing blue letters of the alarm clock on the bedside table -- nearly nine o'clock in the morning. Hell, we did practically fuck ourselves out! Lifting up, I sat on the edge of the bed amid a sea of rumpled sheets and a wadded up ball of a comforter . . . but when I looked, Tara wasn't in bed with me. It was about then I heard the sound of water being shut off . . . coming from an open doorway, across on the other side of the suite. Seconds later, Tara emerged from inside, having replaced her slinky black dress on, as she was zipping up the side before wiggling her breasts to fit better inside the confines of the top. "Hey," I said, sounding rather roughshod and hoarse. Tara looked over and smiled at me. "'Morning, lover . . . you will forgive me, if I let you sleep in." She walked over to where the chair sat -- where I could see she'd gathered up all of my clothes, even my ruined shirt, and had folded them into a semi-neat pile. "Nah, I don't mind," I said. I watched her for several moments, while she sat down briefly to put her shoes back on. "Um, I take it you're not staying." Pausing, Tara looked up at me and just nodded. "Oui. I have some business to take care of, before my time here is over." "Sure I can't tempt you to stay for breakfast at least?" Something in the way she was acting was telling me she wasn't putting much thought into what last night might have meant between us. Hell, I've done the one-night deal before . . . but, I have to admit, where this lady was concerned, it had felt way better than any of my previous liaisons had been before. Fastening her other shoe, Tara sighed. "I would like to, chér . . . but, I really must get to where I need to be." She looked at me, a frank expression on her face. "Besides, you should be aware that . . . I do not prefer to linger long. All sorts of . . . problems can crop up, non?" I nodded. "Yeah, but-?" "Please, do not say anything more." Tara stood up and made her way over to the bed, standing in front of me as she crossed her arms underneath her tits. "You must understand, I . . . did enjoy fucking you and being fucked by you last night," she said evenly. "But, I cannot let myself stay, because then . . . you might become attached. I simply do not let such things happen to me." She glanced off to the side, biting her lower lip as if she didn't want to say what had just come up in her mind. I decided to let her off the hook. "Hey, it's cool then . . . after all, I'm a big boy. I can handle being used and abused." Tara looked back down at me, and something feral flickered across her face. "Oh, believe me . . . you only got used, lover." She leaned down to pinch the tip of my chin between two fingers, holding me steady as her eyes stared down into my own. "In honesty, you would not want to be . . . abused, by me." I thought back to the straight razor, and swallowed a bit. "Yeah . . . I guess not." With a somewhat sad smile, Tara leaned in and planted a French kiss on my lips for a second, before she rose back up and said, "Good boy. I will admit, for all I first believed when I met you . . . you were a wonderful lover." I had to smile at that. "Thanks." "For now, I have to get back to my hotel, before they throw my things out into the street." She turned and moved over to where the end table sat, scooping up her clutch purse before she headed towards the door of the suite. By then, I was up and out of the bed, moving towards my own clothes. "Fine by me, babe." I reached for my clothes, then stopped to look at Tara's back as she opened the door. "Hey, wait! What do you mean by that?" I asked. "Isn't this your room?" Pausing with her sexy frame halfway through the doorway, Tara looked over at me and said with that shark's grin, "I never said that, chér. I merely . . . borrowed this one. Good-bye, Stéphane." She finger-waved before she slipped outside and vanished from sight as she closed the door behind her. Borrowed? That made sit up straight. "How in the hell-?" I rubbed the back of my head, but before I could put more energy into thinking about her parting comment, I got a whiff of myself . . . phew! Clearly, Tara had the right idea before she left. A shower, before I got dressed and headed out myself, was in order. Getting up, I walked over to where a pile of bath towels lay on one of the nearby dressers; snagging one as I moved towards the bathroom. Pausing before the half-open door, I stretched out and yawned to shake off the last vestiges of sleep . . . That's when I heard it. A muffled whimper . . . like someone was crying, but it sounded like they were trying to do it through a ball of cotton! Pushing open the door, I whipped the towel around my waist and peered inside. That's when I got the biggest shock of that morning! There, in the back of the white-tile bathroom, seated on the closed toilet lid was a brown haired woman. She was clad in stockings, panties and a bra, but her legs and arms were trussed up with several lengths of fabric -- torn strips of a bed sheet! -- while another encircled her head, covering her mouth and eyes. "What the-?" I stepped towards her, and she clearly thought I was trouble, by the way she jerked back away from me. "Hey, hey, take it easy now," I said. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just, well . . . hold still so I can get these off of you." When she complied, I quickly untied the strips around her eyes and mouth, letting them fall away. She didn't say anything immediately, since I could now see a wad of something was shoved into her mouth. Gingerly, I reached out and pulled that from between her lips, letting her gag a bit as the saliva-soaked fabric cleared her lips. "Hold on, I'll get you some water." She coughed, but didn't say anything until after I got her a cup and let her take a few sips. "Ah . . . th-thank you!" she gasped. "You're . . . um, welcome," I said. "Ma'am, ah . . . just who-?" "I'm pissed, that's what! Who the hell are you?" she asked. I stepped back a bit. "Right now, someone that's a little puzzled . . . considering I just found a woman tied up in a hotel bathroom. What's your name?" "Susan," she said, getting her breath back as she muttered, "and this happens to be my bathroom, since I rented this hotel room!" Blinking, I absorbed that, then asked, "This . . . is your room? Tara said she 'borrowed it from someone." Looking up at me with spite in her dark eyes, Susan said, "Borrowed? That bitch practically stole it!" Seething, she squirmed against her bonds as she went on, saying, "I came here to get away for a weekend . . . last night, that white-haired French tart was sharing an elevator ride with me. Next thing I know, she's got a razor at my throat, threatening to bleed me unless I gave her my room card!" My face must've shown the shock I was feeling, because she sneered. "What else could I do? I let her have it, and so she drags me into my room, strips me, and starts cutting up my bed sheets before she shoves me in here, tying me up like some slab of prime roast! I didn't know what to expect, before she just sauntered off and left me here all night . . ." I let her ramble on, while moving to untie her as I pieced together a clearer picture of events that happened prior to Tara meeting me at the casino. Shit, there was going to be a lot of explaining to do before this day was over. All the while this one, single thought kept running through my head: I should consider myself damn lucky that all Tara wanted to do was fuck my brains out! FIN (...for now.) DISCLAIMER: The preceding story and plot is © of Stephen R. Sobotka / 2008. All characters appearing within are created by the author, with the execption of Tara "Nekro" deLioncour -- who appears with the permission and blessing of her creator, Jesse Powell. I would like to thank all of the people who have read/voted for my stories here on Literotica, and hope to bring you more new works of fiction in the coming months ahead. Please vote and comment. It's because of your influence that I find the muse to keep writing. Many thanks! -- S. Trumpet Lesson My job is pretty boring. Most people say that, and most people truly believe it. None of them have to deal with what I do though. I give trumpet lessons at a place called Up the Scale. All day I deal with zit-covered, teenage brats that are taking trumpet lessons at Mommy and Daddy's expense. The worse they play the trumpet, the more they come back. It's like their parents are deaf or something. Occasionally, I'll luck out and get a decent looking student, but hot girls just don't seem to stick with trumpet for some reason. It's crazy, but I've always had a teacher-student fantasy. Not the typical Catholic school girl with pig tails kind of thing—I just always wanted a student to try and seduce me. That day came when I least expected it. I was booked all day, but some bitch called my office and demanded that I take on a new student. I feigned relief when she said that her daughter was an "advanced" trumpet player. When a parent says that, it usually means his or her kid can play the B flat concert scale, but I didn't ask. I told her I had an opening at the end of the day, and I told her I expected $120 for an hour-long, "advanced" lesson. When 4 o'clock rolled around, I was bored limp with the kids that were in and out of there. I noticed that I'd scrawled "ADVANCED BITCH" on my calendar at 4 o'clock. I'd just laid my head in my hands and closed my eyes when my door creaked open. I kept my eyes closed and barked, "Have a seat. Get out your horn. Warm up." I heard the trumpet case zip open, and I was pleasantly surprised to hear my new student breeze through the chromatic scale. I looked up to see a chubby brunette wearing khaki pleated skirt and a blue, button up shirt. She was just sitting there breezing through scales like she was breathing them. Her fingers seemed to blend into the trumpet's valves as they moved nimbly up and down. When she saw that I was staring, she arched an eyebrow, but she continued to sweep on and on through her extensive warm up. Just as I was beginning to study her body, she put her trumpet in her lap. "So I've been working on another piece with my instructor at my dad's, but I'm staying with my mom for the summer. I'm stuck with you for three months because I couldn't find anybody qualified to teach me here on such short notice," she spat out in a strong southern accent. For a few seconds, I just sat there and looked at her. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I feigned annoyance. "Let me see what you've been working on," I said and topped it off with a heavy sigh. The piece she handed me had been mimeographed ages ago. It was hand written and the purple ink was smudged in several places. I looked to see who wrote or arranged the piece at the top of the page, but I didn't see any names. There wasn't even a title. "Where'd you get this?" I asked as I turned the page over to find an even more complicated series of syncopated rhythms. Just as I was handing it back to her, she reached out to get it. Her fingers seemed to purposely stroke mine as she took the piece of paper back. "My dad likes to challenge me when I get too cocky. He has one of his friends work something up for me," she said. I couldn't help but notice how great the first syllable of cocky popped out of the back of her throat, so I acted like I didn't hear her the first time. Not only could I hear her say it again, but it gave me an excuse to scoot closer. She said it again, making sure to speak as clearly as she could. Also, she'd leaned into me, holding her mouth a foot away from my face. "Ah, so you're a cocky girl?" I asked. A mischievous grin found its way to my face, not helping to disguise my sexual innuendo. "Some people might think that, but I'm just a typical 18 year-old," she replied, obviously missing what I was trying to hint at. "Right. Well let's get down to business. Let's hear you play the first few bars of this piece," I said in a half-assed attempt to sound professional. Before putting her horn to her lips, I could see her posture left something to be desired. She also had a terrible habit of not breathing with her whole body. Her phrasing wasn't doing this well-written piece justice. It interrupted the flowing notes with sharp gasps. "Alright. Just stop. You're butchering this piece." I stood up and walked behind her. I leaned forward and put my hands on the side of her thighs to scoot her forward. Then, I put a hand on her shoulder and the other in the middle of her back. This pushed her chest out, and I had a perfect view down her shirt. "Now don't move," I told her. My hand that had been on her back slid to her diaphragm, located just under her perky tits. "When you breathe, your stomach should get bigger, and your shoulders shouldn't move. All of your support is coming from right here." I patted my hand on the top of her stomach. My face was beside of hers as I told her to try it again. I whispered "breathe!" in her ear when it was appropriate. Her hair was so soft and sweet smelling against my face. I wanted nothing more than to kiss her neck and nibble on her ear lobe, but I knew she wouldn't respond well to that. I watched through peripheral vision as her legs eased apart. Her skirt rode up a bit exposing more of her tanned thighs. All of these sights to take in were causing me to get pretty hard. "Fuck," I thought to myself, "Fuck! FUCK! I'm going to have to cut this short because I need to run home to my wife and fuck her brains out." I stopped her because she wouldn't quit wiggling, and it was causing my arm to rub against her tits. She leaned her head back and looked up at me. In that motion, she'd spread her legs even further and given me a better view down her shirt. Her mouth was open, waiting for my instructions that I usually give upon stopping a student. Before I could stop myself though, I slid my hand up her body, easing it over her tits, straight to her shoulder. "You're not relaxing enough to play," I said. My hands started to massage her shoulders. "You need to quit wiggling so much too." Without missing a beat, my hands slid over her collar bones, to the top of her breasts, and then back to her shoulders. I whispered in her ear again, "Now, relax and make me something beautiful." Instead of doing what I said this time, she stood up and put her trumpet in her chair. She turned around to face me, and before I could ask what she was doing, she started kissing me. Her body pressed against mine. Her tongue darted in and out of my mouth. As she kissed me deeper, I felt my back slam against the wall. My thigh was between both of hers and she started grinding against my leg. I was still trying to grasp what was going on when she grabbed my hands and put them on her ass. At first, I didn't move my hands. They just kind of sat there, but when she bit my lower lip, I let my body take over. Instead of just letting my hands limply sit on her ass, I slid them down the back of her thighs. I pulled her skirt up over her ass. When I discovered her bare ass where her skirt had been, I said, "You know you're missing your panties." "I'm not wearing a bra, either," she cooed as she stepped back from me and lifted up her shirt, revealing crisp tan lines on her otherwise pale tits. Her nipples looked so tempting, so she wasn't surprised when I pressed my face to her tits. I timidly bit down on her nipples. When I heard her suck in a quick breath, I started pushing her back to my desk I felt the back of her thighs press against the marble top, so I lifted her ass, and I let her sit on the edge. "Take your shirt off," I commanded. She slowly began unbuttoning her shirt, starting at the top. She stopped about halfway down, showing me a fair amount of tempting cleavage. "You're taking too long," I said as I held her wrists above her head. I jerked her shirt open and stared down at her while she bit her lip. I bunched her skirt up around her waist to reveal a smooth, pink pussy. "Looks like you're ready to get fucked, missy," I said as I drug my finger over her wet pussy. I then began to roughly rub the palm of my hand up and down making her nice and messy. I made sure to get the insides of her thighs all wet and sticky before patting her wet pussy with my hand. I pushed harder against her pussy and rubbed up and down with my palm. Every time I'd rub against her clit, she'd moan a little louder. Her teeth were digging into her lower lip, and she was squirming so bad, I took my hand away from her wrists to push down on her hip to hold her still. "Oh God!" she cried out, "Fuck me now. Please!" That was all I needed to hear out of that thick little slut. I dropped my pants down to my ankles and revealed my throbbing cock. I rubbed it up and down her slit a few times to get it good and wet when she reached down between her legs and grabbed my cock. The little dick hungry whore pulled my cock right up to her pussy and guided it in. I'd like to say that I gave her a good long fuck, but that tight twat of hers squeezing around my cock was driving me crazy. She kept begging me not to stop, but I pulled my cock out of her long enough to roll her over so she was bending over my desk. I smacked a hand down on her plump ass and spread those big round twins apart. My cock was still covered in juices from her pussy, but for good measure I spit some on her puckering asshole. I told her to hold her ass cheeks apart for me, and just like the good girl she's proved to be, she did. I rubbed the head of my dick around that rosy hole before pushing it in her. I went in little by little until almost all 6 and a half inches of me were inside her. I couldn't believe it, but her ass was even tighter than her perfect pussy. I held on to her hips and pounded that ass like I hadn't had a woman in months. She grunted and moaned with pleasure. Then she started begging me to fill her up with cum. That's what did it. She kept talking about how she wanted my cum up her ass and I just lost it inside her. I kept pumping her ass as I filled it with cum which made for a nice gooey mess all up and down her slit. It took me a second to realize it wasn't just my cum oozing out down there. Her pussy had squirted cum all over my balls, and since they'd been slapping against that pussy of hers, it was pretty well all covered in a mix of our cum. I glanced up at the clock and saw it was 15 after 5. "Shit. Tell your mom I was late getting started with you," I said. She turned around and grinned at me. "It seems like you moved in for the fucking pretty fast if you ask me!" she declared with a giggle. She wiggled her ass and my cock popped right out. She stood with her bare ass rubbing against my crotch as she slipped back into her shirt and buttoned it. When she finished that, she slipped her hand between her legs and brought her fingers back up dripping in cum. I saw her hesitate and study her fingers like they were something completely new to her. She turned around and faced me suddenly and brought those cum drenched fingers up to her swollen lips and rubbed as much on them as she put in her mouth. After that, I was too stunned to say much. She brushed past me, picked up her case and music and walked out. I had wanted to ask if I should schedule her for next week, but I knew I had to get home to my wife so I could do something about this hard on my slutty student left me with.