8 comments/  8895 views/  6 favorites

Bach & Elgar's Happy Ending

By: ReefBeach



Thanks for the feedback about classical music from my story, Byrd & the Bees. With your encouragement I've tried another nerdy music-themed tale. Please enjoy! A comment or a vote is more than welcome, as always.

*****

Great Scott woman, you have God's greatest gift to Man between your legs, and all you can do is scratch it!

These words were allegedly shouted in the middle of rehearsal by Sir Thomas Beecham, to a young lady in a festival orchestra (not a regular one), who was leading the cellos.

Is it true? Who knows; conductors pick up stories as they go along, a bit like medals or stickers on caravans. Beecham said a few provocative things, and he was rich so he could say what he liked. So, maybe it is true. 

I remember as I started to learn the cello, I didn't get the joke. I remember the moment I did, the exact time...

Middle high school, Practice Room 4, one Spring afternoon. I was practising after school, a new, quite challenging piece. My teacher thought I had promise, so she had given me extra work. When she first brought it up it had felt like a punishment for being good, which didn't make me happy. In fairness to her, she also dropped a couple of easy pieces and had not gone hard on the orchestra parts, for the section I was supposed to be leading.

It was Spring. There was something in the air. Here in Australia, one of the first plants to come out for the warmer weather is the Golden Wattle (our national flower). Any piece of native bushland will have bushes or small trees of wattle. As Spring approaches, all at once, the dark green bushland sprouts thousands of bright yellow pom-poms, only thumbnail-sized, but with so many the countryside looks splashed with yellow paint. There's a creamy caramel sort of scent in the air. It's quite unmistakeable. It lifts your mood.

The girls at school had had their moods lifted, as they chatted incessantly. The talk was even more about boys; who was nice, who not so much, who were the creeps. Of course, the talk turned about what they wanted (only one thing), what that was like, it's painful/boring/a necessary evil to keep them happy, etc. I knew the mechanics of "doing it" but it had never seemed remotely attractive to me, and was full of risk it seemed. If the word "intercourse" wasn't enough to put you off, monthly period pains (mine weren't too bad thankfully) just seemed to make the whole sex thing a kind of cruel joke. And no one had shown me much interest. I only ever half-listened in.

But the talk about boys, the new warmth and the scent of wattle in the air, the new piece, they all came together that afternoon. 

The piece was Bach's 1st Cello Suite. My teacher played it with her whole body, as the exquisite music dipped low then high, then danced at the top of the range while the deep notes supported the melody. I fell in love with it at first sight. But Bach is deceptive. It took hours and hours to get the big jumping arpeggios sounding even close to decent. I struggled.

So there I was, in Practice Room 4, with a strange sense of expectancy after the school day. a gust of pollen-laden air came over me just as I closed the door. I thought briefly of boys and the one thing on their minds.

Bach was smiling. The piece soared. My cello and I were one, almost singing to each other as my fingers danced over the heavy strings. I could hear tiny overtones ringing high above the notes I played. I was going so well I felt tears coming as I leant forward, playing with my whole body. My panties seemed to catch something in my skirt or somewhere.

I felt a wonderful hot tingling sensation, starting from my pussy but washing over my whole body. I remember my eyes widening, a warm flush on my face, my fingers and the bow still producing the beautiful music. I couldn't stop playing as erotic feelings shimmered in me. I rolled my hips as I played; it became part of the performance.

I've had a good vibrato technique from early on, rolling my fingertips on the strings for a sweeter sound, but now my legs were joining in. Perhaps it should be mentioned here that a cello is played sitting on the edge of your seat with your legs wide apart. I had an awareness of my body opened up and willing.

(To this day I can not hear any of the Cello Suites without recalling that discovery of unity of physical sense and spirit and joy.)

The music ended with its bright flourish and I was left panting. I carefully put the cello down and turned to the wall. Like in many music rooms there was a long mirror there, for checking posture and technique.

In the mirror I saw my legs, still wide apart. The school skirt had ridden up, as it sometimes does when playing. I slid it up to show myself my pale blue panties. One hand slid up my thigh into my special place. I watched the fingers stroke the gusset and I felt the warmth and sense of dampness. my pussy sent more tingles through me. It seemed to urge the fingers on and in, stroking up, down and separating my labia through the cotton, caressing my inner thighs. I gulped.

Hurriedly I pulled off the panties and stuffed them into my schoolbag. I couldn't hear any sound of people nearby, so I blindly hoped no one would disturb me. I had to finish.

In the mirror I watched my fingers play in my pubic hair. They pushed up and down the sides of my slit - I noticed my labia getting larger and softer. A sweet smell was coming out. I opened my vulva wide and was a bit surprised at how pink it had all become. But it kept urging me on. My fingertips found the entrance to my vagina.

One finger went in; it brought my moisture up to rub over my clitoris. Over and over, as my breath shortened. Then two fingers, running either side of my little white button. I think it was bobbing slightly.

Something animal took over. I could only watch as two fingers or three pushed into me and smeared my fluids over my hairs, my labia, my clit. My vagina stretched then sucked. I felt painful twinges tumbling with flashes of ecstasy. I saw ripples in the flesh on my thighs. It all condensed into a simple action of two fingers in and out of my hole then frantically brushing my clit. I couldn't breathe for whole stretches.

My body went rigid. My fingers moved too fast to make out. Then a great "AAAaaah!" escaped me as I came with shudders throughout my body. I leant back on the chair and noticed how dark-pink my vulva was. My smell changed. I could feel the heat in my face. Warmth flowed through me as I calmed down, and came down.

My mind was reeling in confusion. Relief and a softness from the best orgasm I'd ever had (out of not many I should say); the joy of the music was still there with my inspired playing; guilt at fingering myself in a school practice room (but it was part of the playing!); tiny shudders and twinges in my thighs and between them.

I noticed on one of my fingers a smear of blood. Had I torn my own hymen? That might have been the stinging I felt. A strange kind of shame rose up in me, choking me. Slut slut slut slut, a vicious whisper started in my head. I covered my face with my hands - but then I could smell my cum. In confusion I put the tackiest hand down and sat, hunched over, desolate.

For what seemed ages, I didn't want to move. I didn't want to see anyone ever again, least of all my family waiting at home for my after-school practice to finish. 

The guilt of leaving them wondering finally moved me. I found a tissue and wiped my fingers up. I put my underpants back on, straightened my skirt and fixed up my blouse. I picked up the bow and the cello. I saw myself in the mirror.

I held the cello by the neck. I sat on the edge of the chair with my back nice and straight and rested the beautiful scroll of the cello up near my head. I put the bow on the strings, ready to play. I could play. I could play well, if I practised. I had just played Bach's Cello Suite no. 1, and it had sounded wonderful. That looks so boastful written down, but a musician knows when it was good, or just average. I bowed a long, low note.

Everything changed. I played a few of Bach's arpeggios slowly, carefully, sweetly. As the notes moved up and down I recalled the feeling of playing it so well. My body remembered it. Tears came as I found the joy and the connection of spirit and physical feeling. In the late afternoon light of that little room, I realised the unity of what I had felt. And I forgave myself.

As for Sir Thomas Beecham, I now understood the joke better. I had a gift between my legs, to use and to share, one day. The gift of music - especially the cello, can I say! - was another one, to use and to share. I also understood that poor cellist's humiliation, as well as a little of Beecham's frustration!

_________

Something was released in me. I was still wracked with teenage insecurities and doubts. I got teased and I didn't call out when I saw others getting served. Boys kept turning up in my thoughts. But I had this truth that I knew absolutely. Music, art, sex, my being, they were all linked. They could combine into something wonderful; like they did that afternoon.

That summer was a long research project. At the pool I studied everyone. Mainly boys (if they had a gift between their legs it wasn't very large), but also girls, men, women, toddlers. The attractive ones were the ones with a rhythm, an ease of movement. I didn't feel attracted to the "hot" bodies if there was no grace. I noticed a lot of people slouched.

I explored myself too. I had many more orgasms, but never matched that amazing one. It was probably best not to go there again, in case I really did my head in...

I found a tsunami of confusing messages on the internet. You should be shaved, or natural. One on one is best, or group sex. Try anal, or never do anal. Eat me, or not. You love sucking him off, or do it to please him. Cum inside me/on my tits/on my face (you just have to be joking with that last one). I saw too many pictures and videos. I found I could tell when someone was faking it - and most of them were. I tried to trust myself. I lurked on a few discussion groups but didn't have the courage to join in.

That was a few years ago. I was lucky enough to get a place in the cello section in a semi-professional orchestra, where I got glimpses of the wonder I felt with Bach. I became familiar with all of the suites. I got to know when the magic was working, but I saved no.1 for very special occasions. 

Then we got a new cello in the orchestra. He sat beside me and immediately I found him intriguing. His name was simply Jack. He was very shy at first, and he had a couple of annoying habits, like spinning his cello on its spike. I realised later it was his shyness causing him to do a the silly things. When he relaxed he was easier to get along with, and played better.

He had reddish-brown hair, a bit long and needing a cut. He was fairly thin with long arms and fingers. What was most striking were his long eyelashes over dark brown eyes. It made for a stunning smile, a smile that made me feel a bit ticklish inside. He had a good posture when he played, and he made a good sound. When he was carried away with the music he had a dreamy, trance-like look. When we stopped he sometimes looked slightly confused and startled, as if he'd been caught daydreaming. After he had settled in he was always courteous and polite to me.

One evening he suddenly asked if I'd like a coffee after rehearsal. We were close to performing Beethoven's 9th Symphony, a huge, taxing work. We had been working on the last movement, really playing well. With no choir or soloists there, the conductor had sung all the parts, putting on silly accents and voices. Everyone on the stage was cheerful, even laughing. I felt great, so I said sure, why not.

The relief on his face surprised me. Suddenly I realised the effort he had made to overcome his shyness to "ask me out". I took it as a compliment. Actually it felt very, very nice.

I had a coffee and orange cake. He had a coffee and two cakes, plus a donut and the last serve of lasagne. "Where do you put all that food?" I asked. "In here," he said, pointing to his mouth. I made a face at him and he gave me his stunning smile.

I had been hoping for an early night, but we found ourselves chatting for hours. We had similar tastes in classical and popular music, except I had never heard of Progressive Metal.

"Are you making that up? It's not one of those over-distinctions, like funk-soul and soul-funk?"

"Come up to my place and I'll show you something special!"

The poor boy went white as a sheet, then bright red, when he realised what he'd said. He shook and stammered with embarrassment. He seemed to shrink in his seat.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean... I mean you're welcome... but not to... to just hear my... I've got a big, thing - collection-"

Impulsively I took his hand (before he knocked a plate on the floor). "It's OK. I'm not offended."

"Oh, thanks Lena. Sometimes I think really well, and sometimes I get very tongue-tied. You have some effect on me! Like when you play. I sneak a look over, and it's like you're in a trance. Normally you're so smart and together, and a beautiful sound. But when we're in a long section it's different. Your face goes really soft and gentle and, far away." His thumb was over my hand.

This caught me out. Partly his speaking for longer than I'd ever heard before, partly what he was saying. This was so close to what I saw in him it was disconcerting. I noticed he was looking at me intently. He looked down at our hands, still clasped. The tickling inside me was getting warmer.

The performance was a great success. We played well, the soloists were excellent, especially the baritone, and the choir sound was enormous and hearty. The entire audience gave us a standing ovation. Many choir members were from university choral societies: they regarded the whole experience as a giant party, with rousing songs backstage, drinking and cuddling of everyone. It affected the orchestra too and hugs were shared - even onstage. Jack shyly offered me a hug and we embraced. 

Things went slightly strange at orchestra afterwards. We talked more, before and after, occasionally during rehearsals. This was not my habit and I surprised myself with this behaviour. We shared cheeky jokes and comments, and brought each other little treats. We were almost child-like in our simplicity.

Then one evening I was running late. I had showered and changed in a hurry. On the train to rehearsal I could feel my new briefs already starting to irritate me. The short walk to the hall confirmed what I feared: they were extremely uncomfortable. Sitting down was worse. The slightest movement made them chafe me more. It was unbearably distracting, but I could think of only one solution.

In the Ladies' I took them off. I always wore a full skirt so I could put my legs where I liked as I played. I hoped that would cover everything and no one would notice. And it almost worked - only one person did notice.

When I sat down again, Jack stared at me. He was puzzled. I smiled at him and carried on. He kept studying me. Then he started, blushing. He looked away, then at me, then away again. Finally he had to speak.

"Are you, are you, not wearing any... underpants?" he stammered.

I was caught out again, but something made me bolder. "Very good, Sherlock! How did you know?"

"You were fidgeting so much before that I was a bit worried. Then you suddenly stopped. I wondered if it was the chair, till I noticed - no elastic line!"

The skirt showed quite clearly there was no indent round my waist or thigh.

"Well, that's impressive you worked that out so easily. Your reward is... you have to do the same!"

I have no idea what made me say that. Jack wasn't expecting it and it made him blush again. I felt I had the upper hand now. 

After the break he sat down again with a huge smirk on his face. I suspected he had actually taken my dare, so I was wondering how to respond, but that was taken care of. When he adjusted his position his eyes popped open. He grimaced with pain, moving forward and back with little gasps. He muttered through his teeth.

"You and your rewards! Now I've caught something in my zip- oww!"

I tried so hard not to giggle. The rest of the rehearsal was not very productive for either of us.

We got on even better after that. We felt a real care for each other, sharing news, highs and lows, almost whatever was in our minds.

Then we shared the most extraordinary thing.

I was arriving for rehearsal, in good time this time, when I saw him sitting in his car, head down. As I approached I could hear music coming out, a frantic orchestral finale. I almost recognised it as I tapped on the glass. He looked up.

Tears were streaming down Jack's face. He wasn't sobbing, just weeping quietly. Then I recognised the music. I hurried round the car and got in the passenger seat.

"That's Elgar, isn't it. His cello concerto." He nodded slightly.

"And that's, Jacqueline du Pré, isn't it." He nodded again.

She was a beautiful cellist, whose career and life was cut horribly short by MS. Her version of Elgar's cello concerto is one of the greatest recordings ever made - of any piece.

"It was on the radio. As I was getting ready." He had trouble speaking. "I've been listening as I've driven here, to the whole thing. I couldn't leave it. I'm sorry, this piece always breaks me up - I must look pretty lame, but I thought of her beautiful playing, and I thought of you-" I was quite moved.

"That's a nice thing to say," I mumbled awkwardly. "But we can't stay in the car park. Let's at least get into the hall."

I helped him get his cello out and led him inside, where I could see he was quite a mess. I took him down a corridor to a smaller room.

"Practice Room 4" read the sign and I almost stopped dead in my tracks. My head whirled with memories as I sat him in the quiet room.

Jack sat down with one hand across his face. Instinctively I came closer and put a hand around his head. He reached out and hugged me close.

His arm went around my hips. His hand came to rest on my full skirt, where my pantie elastic would be, except I wasn't wearing any.

I can't explain why I didn't put any on. It was a silly thing, which I'd only done once or twice before, never knowing why. It was to do with him, of course. I was secretly daring him, urging him to take another step, but he had been too polite.

Now here we were, alone in a room after hearing du Pré's Elgar. What would happen? A thrill ran through me, making my breath shorten. I hoped he wouldn't notice.

There was a pause. Then he brought his other hand up to my waist and gently turned me so I was facing him, just to one side of the chair. He put his head on my hip and hugged me tightly, breathing strongly. I suddenly realised he was breathing my scent, smelling the different intimate odours, of my clothes, my skin, my arousal. I rustled his hair.

He looked up into my face. He was looking for a sign - consent or disapproval. I was in a state of dizziness, just trying to stay standing.

Slowly he slid one hand down my dress to about my knee. Then up again, scrunching some of the fabric. I tried not to shudder. Slowly he went down then up, always looking into my face, asking, almost demanding I watch and be part of it.

He had worked his way to the front of my thighs. He was careful to stay on my legs and not move into my centre. My mind was thinking a thousand things, but my body said yes. More. I could feel my breathing change.

Jack's hand went down to my hem, then up, then down. His hand found its way under my dress and I gave a small gasp. I closed my eyes to his, but then I seemed to feel his roving hand even more.

Gradually, patiently, he moved higher up my thigh. I tried to hide my shivers of desire, but I knew he could sense them. I could sense his progress, sense my heat rising to meet him.


Bach & Elgar's Happy Ending Ch. 02



Thank you for the feedback for Jack and Lena's first story. Please enjoy the next chapter, with a tiny spot of Debussy.

*****

"Jack," I whispered.

I had woken in the dark. The half-dark. Although it was my bed, it felt so different. It was warmer, to start with.

I was lying against a man. There's a man in my bed; the thought came to me. part of my mind was shocked by this, another part was completely unsurprised. He was familiar; he had a man's unmistakable smell, but he was fresh and clean. My hand was stroking up and down his leg without being told. It brought up a fragment of memory. My voice spoke his name without being told.

"Jack, you're in my bed..."

"You're in your bed too, just like we were before."

"But it's dark. What happened..."

"Well, it's the middle of the night."

More fragments came to me as I lay there. I was stroking his leg the way he had stroked mine all that time ago. No, it was earlier that same evening. Events moved far away or closer in my mind, almost at random.

In the gloom I could faintly make out his slim body. There seemed to be a tuft of hair on top. My fingers felt through the curly hairs to a soft something. They curled around his penis. Every touch was bringing back memories. I stroked the shaft and felt it thicken. Jack made a long "mmmm" sound.

Hard now, I stood his cock up in the half-light and played with the skin. Stroking up and down made Jack shift his hips. I rubbed over the hips, down to his thighs and up his sides, over bony ribs and fine chest hair. He was real, a living, breathing man, he was Jack, my Jack.

My lover. My first. 

The words in my head gave me a warm feeling and a calm sense of joy. Whatever comes later, this moment is mine, for always; that idea reassured me as I lay against his warm body. I realised the faint light in the room was moonlight. Debussy's Clair de Lune started up in my head and I think I smiled to myself.

* * *

I woke again, partly. My dream was still with me. 

In it Sir Thomas Beecham was conducting us. We were all nude - but no one was disturbed by this at all. Some of the players were actual orchestra members, some were memories from summer swimming pools. There was a range of ages and sizes. Beecham was a kindly uncle-figure, smiling at me and saying, "See, it's good isn't it! With a little practice you'll soon be leading the cellos!" My bow felt warm, a little soft...

I had Jack's penis in my hand, held between thumb and fingertips, as a bow. I smiled to myself again. I slid my thumb around the semi-hard shaft and played with the soft skin. Jack made small, approving noises. The shaft hardened.

I wanted to see what was happening, so I turned on the bedside light. Jack squinted and turned his head away, but he spread his legs to allow me more room.

I rolled the skin around his now-stiff pole. I could easily see dark blue veins and redder arteries twisting up the outside. It was marvellous. The round, slightly pointed head grew and darkened as I pulled the skin up and down. the look, and Jack's arousal, spurred me on. I could hear his breathing get heavier. A hoarse whimper escaped him.

I noticed his hips start to move, thrusting up with their own rhythm. I was suddenly reminded of his cock thrusting up inside me. I felt a warm tingle in my pussy (along with a slight tenderness from my pounding on him) and a warmth through my body. I stroked long and smooth, down and around his balls then up over the tip of his cock.

I felt a hand on my head. It brushed down my hair and onto my shoulder blades, lightly scratching my skin. It made me rub my nipples against his side. Jack was panting now, whispering my name. With my free hand I tweaked and stretched my nipples, I was panting now.

I rubbed my face against his shoulder and up under his arm. My hand on his cock rubbed longer and harder.

His legs stiffened and he was there. "Aaah, AAHH! Lena, cumming..." he said hoarsely and again I felt the ripple in his cock. I directed it this time, so his semen shot up in a spurt, landing on his belly. There was another spurt, then one more tiny one. His cum ran over my thumb and into his dark hairs.

He lay, utterly relaxed, a sleepy smile across his face. One hand idly played with my hair. He squeezed me. He whispered into my hair, "I love you," and that did it for me. I rolled up onto his chest and looked down on him.

"And I love you, but I need to cum too!" I spread my legs across his torso and searched for his hand.

But Jack had other plans. He gently rolled me over and back onto the bed. He kissed me softly on the lips, then on my chin and down my front. He alternated down each leg, kissing one thigh then the other, one knee then the other and finishing at my feet but looking up towards me. I recognised his cheeky smile.

He lifted both my legs at once and kissed his way down from my ankles, behind my knees and to my buttocks. I was panting more, wanting to demand more, but he was set on building me up.

Legs back down, he kissed and blew on my skin up my legs. Now I shuddered with desire. My legs parted for him as he found his way up to my vulva. He kissed me there, a new, dizzying sensation. My mind reeled as he gently probed with his tongue and pulled with his lips. I cried out with pleasure. He gently spread my hairs open

Jack's tongue pushed into me, licking my vagina, my lips, my clitoris, his wetness matching my own. The pleasure overwhelmed me. When I closed my eyes I saw flashes of light. I had trouble breathing. I thought went through my head: I wonder if I can get him to do this to me every day? Another thought followed: if I could survive it.

With my hands in his hair I could feel each movement, doubling the excitement in my pussy. My thighs could feel the hairs on his arms, my bottom sensed his hot breath. When his fingers opened my lips I could feel each breath and kiss and suck.

As my climax moved up I could feel my own thighs moving. Jack was now rubbing my clit from above while tonguing my hole below, faster and faster. I realised I was loudly whimpering.

I was getting noisier as my pleasure rose. I'd never done this before and I decided it felt good. Each pant became a cry or a moan.

My orgasm was a long, running leap. My legs were quivering, then my whole naked body. I felt it coming, and somehow Jack did too. He played me beautifully, holding me at the peak until I think I screamed. Hot waves rolled over me. I felt my hands pulling on him, trying to drag him up to lie on me and let me hug him, but my skin was now damp as well as hot.

My roving hands felt his muscles flex as he moved up my body. I could taste myself on his cheeks and lips when I kissed him. It was a strange, extra taste that mixed with his manly smell. I revelled in his scent, his weight, the feel of him as I wrapped myself around him. I felt all dozy and dreamy again. I pushed my hands through his messy hair.

But I was curious as well.

"So, what happened after we made love?" I asked him after a while. "Did you have a shower?"

"Umm, yes. I hope you don't mind. I borrowed your towel - I could tell yours from your smell. It's wonderful." He has a beautiful smile.

"I had just had the best orgasm of my life, so I slept with you for a bit, but then I woke up. I was wide awake, maybe because we left the lights on. I turned everything off, then had a shower, then said hello to your flatmate. She gave me a good long look; I think she was trying to work out if I met her standards and wasn't a bastard. I think it helped when I offered to help put away the shopping."

"My... wait, what? My flatmate? You already met her??" I hadn't worked out how to introduce Jack yet. I wasn't ready for all this. But I was. I felt so weird and wonderful I could've walked out naked and maybe even have done the shopping myself like that...

It was light the next time I woke up. My hand was down between my legs and had lightly stuck to my skin. It confused me briefly, but as I moved it I tugged my pussy lips and a wave of feeling washed over me. About the same time I rolled and brushed the firm, warm shoulder of Jack and the night's wonderful memory came back. I climbed on top of him.

"Urrgh. Ahh. Good morning, Lena." He must have been asleep.

I played on his body. I kissed his bony shoulder blades, then his neck and each ear. I rubbed the soles of my feet on his calves. I brushed my nipples across his back. I ground my furry mound against his bottom, tugging my pussy lips again. He made little noises, that might have meant "that's nice", or maybe "I want to go back to sleep".

I was hungry by now, so I got up. I wanted him with me so I pulled and got him up (with a little effort). I led him down the hallway, out to the kitchen area and there was my flatmate, in her nightie, calmly eating breakfast and reading the Saturday paper. She looked up at us and smiled warmly.

It was then I realised Jack and I were completely naked. I paused, he paused behind me, everything became quiet for what seemed an age. I could almost hear my modesty saying, "Now what, Lena?"

I simply burst into girlish giggles. Jack picked it up immediately, as did my flatmate. I demurely covered my breasts while shaking with laughter. "We'll be right back!" was all I could manage as I hurried us back to my room.

In my room I took his shirt. He gave me a look. "Are you serious?" he said with a smile.

"I've seen it in enough movies. I'm going to give it a try!" I smirked back.

"And for me?"

"Third drawer. The flannelette pyjamas are bigger. They're at the back."

"This wasn't in the contract," he muttered as he found a top that nearly fitted.

"It matches your beautiful eyes," I said with a kiss, and his smile got bigger.

In the kitchen there were two glasses and two bowls already out for us.

"Thank you! George, this is Jack. Jack, this is George." I nearly started giggling again at such a mannish introduction. "Always George, never Georgina!" I whispered.

George gave us a knowing smile. "Hi Jack. Come here, sweet girl." She gave me a huge hug and kissed me softly on the lips. "Nice catch! You lucky thing!" she whispered.

"I, I don't usually do this..."

"You silly, you think I don't know that? You're always so quiet and modest - and who cares if you did 'do this'??"

"Actually, he's my first-"

"You serious? Are you OK? She held my shoulders, genuinely concerned. "How was it? Don't bother telling me: I heard something earlier this morning that can pass for an answer! You can be very noisy if you want! Come here, you!" She stretched her hand out to Jack.

"I tried to work out last night if you were OK. You were very polite, which was a good start, and I can see from the state Lena's in, you are OK. Which is just as well, 'coz anyone who hurts my little Lena..."

"I promise you, that won't be me!" Jack smiled his stunning smile.

"You two are as bad as each other, I can tell! C'mere!"

George wrapped us in a big, long hug. I could feel her arms squeezing me and her generous breasts pressed against the two of us. She kissed us both on the lips.

"Now tell me Jack, what do you think of her boobs?" That caught us both off guard.

"Her... boobs, are incredible."

George smirked at me. "What have I been saying? There's nothing wrong with them! I've wanted to have a feel more than once, I can tell you! By the way Jack, that was a test for you, which you passed perfectly." She gave him another kiss.

"Now, I will make you a true-lovers' breakfast! I can smell you've had first course already, but now I've restocked we can have some proper food!"

"George, you are so rude!"

"That's rich coming from someone who forgot to put clothes on for breakfast! Now, eat! Muffins, eggs, bacon, my famous smoothie?"

Jack spoke up from the lounge. "Can we have some music? I've just found one of my favourite pieces." The was a slide and a click from the CD player. A second's silence, then a strong low note on a single cello followed by a trill of higher quavers, dancing phrases changing subtly with each repetition. Bach's Cello Suite no.1 filled the room.

I looked across at Jack's hopeful face and burst into tears. He and George both rushed up to me as I laughed and choked and sobbed. I couldn't explain, couldn't even speak, so I just let them hug me as tears streamed down my cheeks and into my smiling mouth.



Bach & Elgar's Happy Ending Ch. 03



Welcome to Part 3 of Jack and Lena's story. Bach gets a mention, but Pachelbel figures more! I didn't know he was a family friend of the Bachs until I researched this story. A vote, or a comment is welcome, as always.

*****

George was meeting a friend, so she had dressed and left us.

She had stayed to comfort me after my little meltdown. Our silly banter, the wonderful night, then the wonderful morning and I was completely overwhelmed, lost in hysterical tears. George and Jack had rushed up to me as I sat and wept, not realising they were tears of joy. They helped to calm me down; it was comforting to have my two favourite people with me. Sitting down, The height difference had meant her generous breasts were at the level of my face as she hugged me. It was very comforting to feel her soft form against me, warming the tear stains I left on her nightie. Jack's long arms were skinny, but only added to my comfort. I felt George's nipple brush my cheek and in my mad state I had a vision. Jack fucking me from behind (that word again) while I was kneading and sucking George's luscious tits. I was excited and startled at the same time.

After the breakfast and a lot of innuendo, there was just me and Jack, at the table in the late morning sun. I looked across at him and felt a twinge in my pussy. It was strange, a mixture of pleasure, pain and demand. The strange fantasy with him and George popped up again. He looked at me. A little laugh escaped me.

He whispered, "incredible boobs" and I laughed again.

"George's are more incredible," I said. "They roll around like she can't control them!"

Jack pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure how to answer that without getting myself in trouble! They are... nearly as nice as yours."

That made me laugh harder. "That was very diplomatic of you to say that! Part of me wants a body like hers, but since, well... a long time ago, I've somehow known how sexy I could be, so I was happy with how I was. Which was lucky, because nothing much more developed after primary school! I like my tiny titties. I know they can make me feel good when I touch them, or when you touch them... I like what you do."

Jack looked away and stared out the window. "It's funny, I've always loved breasts. All breasts. Round, pointy, small, large. They're part of the curves of a woman. My mates would say, hey look at that set, or, gee not much action over there." He cupped his hands far out to show a Beyoncé, then close in for a Keira Knightley. "But I like them all. I don't know any boy who would actually turn down a girl's offer just because she had a small pair. How are you making me say and do these things? Lena, I'm losing my mind with you!"

I was loving it; I wanted to play with him. "Show me the big pair and the small pair again!"

"NO! It's not how you should think of a girl! They've got feelings, they're people who deserve respect. They're not sex objects for you to leer at and..." It dawned on him that he was in fact talking to a girl. He blushed and closed his mouth. I needed to touch him and reassure him.

"I think you have the highest regard for women. The world would be better for having more men like you." I tried soothe him.

He settled a little. I smiled at him.

"But now you have to admit, you planned the whole thing last night! Took advantage of me, seducer! From practice room to bedroom!" That shattered the calm.

He blushed furiously. "What? No! It was nothing like that! I was a mess! I couldn't plan a thing - if anything it's her fault!" He pointed at my Jacqueline du Pré poster, in the hall facing whoever came in the door.

"I remember now, yesterday evening. I was thinking about a last-minute practice before going to rehearsal, when the Elgar came on the radio. His cello concerto has always moved me so much, and du Pré's version just knocks me sideways. I even wondered about skipping rehearsal, but then it got, complicated. As du Pré played away, I remembered seeing her on an old TV show, but suddenly i noticed it was you playing in my mind, in the 60s clothes and everything. It was very weird, I can tell you. You get the same faraway look she had.

"I'll have to admit, I can't get you out of my mind. From the first time, when I sat beside you in the cellos. You smiled so warmly, then you turned to the music and played so beautifully. I don't think I played one good note that evening. It's funny, no one's been able to make me practise as much as I should - except you! I needed to have the parts right. I needed your approval of my playing! I was schoolboy-crazy for you!"

That phrase struck me as I listened. Were we thinking the same thing again?

Jack went on. "So last night. I had to go to rehearsal, to please you and hopefully clear my head. The slow movement was on by now, so I felt I wouldn't lose it as I drove to the rehearsal rooms. But of course the third movement got going, and I couldn't leave it." His voice had become quite low.

"I'd got there. I sat in the car, music up, head down. If I closed my eyes I saw you again, swinging your hair as you played the finale. I was crying by now with the beautiful music, and just plain confused. I had a crush on the Elgar, a crush on you, probably a crush on Jacqueline, the rehearsal was about to start...

"And there you were! At the window, in the dusk. Your face looked soft in the light, like it does when you play. The music was playing. I couldn't move. I remember you got in the car, you held my hand, not saying a word, letting me sit there. I won't forget that."

There was a pause. We both sat, reliving that moment.

"You took me inside, then into a side room. Did you carry both cellos? I can't remember. But you went very still outside the practice room. I was a bit puzzled."

Practice Room 4. My life was never be the same after it.

Jack wasn't talking to me any more. He was more thinking aloud. "You sat me down. I appreciated you didnt take me into rehearsal like that. You smelt so good! Comforting. And gentle. I had to hug you, feel your strength, but I got your hips, since you were still standing. And not wearing any..." He smiled absently.

"What came over me? Your scent, your body, your kindness, my tears? You went very still again as my hands wandered over you. All over your legs. The curve of your hips is wonderful. I looked up at you. There was that faraway look, but fire in your eyes when you looked at me. I couldn't stop. The fire in your eyes said, yes. Over your legs, under your skirt. I remember hearing your breathing change. Up your thighs, into your pussy..."

Had he realised he gave me the best orgasm of my life? His words had trailed off, but not before stirring up feelings in me. I felt that demand again, a tingling in my fingertips and in my pussy.

I was finding the morning more and more disconcerting. Too many feelings, too many thoughts, too many emotions were crashing and jostling inside me. I too had seen the old footage of Jacqueline du Pré, and the idea of getting mixed up with her was weird, then Jack describing our encounter in Room 4 was arousing me in a very strange way. I needed to settle myself. As a diversion I got up for some more fruit juice.

It was the pineapple, from last night. I started to worry this was all too much again. I needed to get back to my bedroom.

But Jack was sitting in front of me. I needed him, needed to touch him. He had suddenly noticed me again and was looking at me, probably trying to work out what on earth I was thinking. I took his hand. That settled me a little, but also stirred me more. I suddenly stood up and led him to the bedroom.

In my room, I noticed my cello sitting in its case in the corner. With my ears still hearing Bach's Cello Suite, I took the cello out, tightened the bow and started to tune up. The cello was very nearly in tune with itself already. Sitting on the bed, Jack watched with a bemused look on his face as I sat on my stool and prepared to play, wearing nothing but his shirt. I tucked the shirt-tail under me. Bach and my cello should be a remedy for me.

Jack smiled as he recognised the piece I started to play, with its strong low notes and light arpeggios on top. I quickly discovered the Cello Suite is very difficult to start cold, even at a slower tempo than written. I looked up with a guilty smile with each wrong note. Jack just grinned as I ploughed on.

At a pause, he said softly, "Take the shirt off."

Staring at him, I shook his shirt off my shoulders and felt it slip away. The sensation of the delicate air on my skin contrasted with the weight of the cello and the heavy strings under my left fingers. I looked down at my body curved around my instrument. I looked at my flat chest and wide-spaced nipples - or as Jack and George had called them, my "incredible boobs". It felt good to recall that. 

My legs were spread to accommodate the cello and I could just see a fuzz of brown hair peeping between them. As I played a little more I basked in the joy of the music, my art, my sex, Jack's beautiful ways. Even Sir Thomas Beecham gave me a wink.

"That's a nice view," commented Jack when I stopped again. I gave him a cheeky look and swung the cello away to reveal my furry vulva to him. His eyebrows went up. "That's even better!" he said. "Can I join you?"

Pulling me up, he sat on the stool and then put me on his lap. He took the cello's neck in his left hand, took my bowing hand in the other and made me put the bow to the strings. I played a note and giggled as he changed it by stopping the string

"You know the Canon in D?" he asked.

I twisted to look at him. "Pachelbel?? You're not serious!"

"We'll start simple for now. Elgar or Bach is for Lesson 2. If you're a good girl and do exactly what I want!"

I surprised us both by trying to bite him, but not very hard.

I counted us in and we played the famous, easy walking bass of Pachelbel's Canon. It is famous, beautiful and very boring for the bass (the violins get the melody). But it was perfect for the two of us to play as one. My left hand rested on his as he stopped the strings, or went down his forearm to feel the muscles flex under the downy skin. His effort and his breathing against my cheek went beautifully with the music. My senses filled to overflowing as I smelled his scent and felt his body under mine, all the time the long, easy notes filled my ears. I felt myself settling down as the gentle music took over. I started to hear the three violin parts in my head, imitating the bass at first, then weaving and dancing like playful children. I closed my eyes and let my arms play and my body enjoy the feel of Jack underneath me.

Then his spare hand slid over my thigh and stroked the inside. I gasped at the new touch, but Jack whispered into my ear, "keep playing!"

I tried to concentrate on the notes as I played each one, but the hypnotic rhythm of the music made my mind wander. I felt every fingertip of his hand as it stroked my leg, brushing over my knee as it pressed against the cello, tracing my buttock against the stool. Occasionally he would lightly sweep up into my curly pubic hair. My breathing tried to speed up, but the pull of the music was strong.

He touched my vulva and I wriggled. "Keep playing!" Jack ordered as his fingers explored inside me. I felt open and available as I played the music and he brushed and spread my labia. I felt a warmth rising in me and my skin felt damp. My thighs stuck to his skin under me while my bow hand slipped on the bow. My hips wriggled with lust. I could smell my aroused juices. I had to bite my lip to keep going.

Jack's left hand was still holding the strings, and somehow I kept bowing, so the music played on, but now his other hand was circling my clitoris. My breathing was a mess now and I couldn't press the bow onto the strings properly, but Jack urged me on. Waves of pleasure swirled through me, from my ears, or my skin, or my pussy. My bowing arm ached, but in some strange way this added to the pleasure. He rubbed over my clit, faster and faster. I felt my thighs quivering against the cello.

Then it came. A great wave crashed over me and I dropped the bow. I saw flashes behind my screwed-up eyelids. Jack saved the cello as I ground my hips into him. My orgasm rolled through me as I pressed my back against him, then my hips, then dug my nails into whatever I was touching. I struggled to breathe. I got a vague sense of his cock moving underneath me. I think I moaned, or howled.

Then I felt completely soft and relaxed. I lay against Jack's chest and felt his cool skin against my heat. His arms around me held me up and kept me safe. As my breathing slowed I became aware of his long, slow breaths. I nuzzled my head against his cheek as I rested on his shoulder, feeling his strength.

I stretched my arms up and over, running my fingers through his messy hair. He leant over and carefully put the cello down. I felt so loose, I just went with him, but he was careful with me as well. We sat together while he gently stroked his hands up my thighs and front. He circled my nipples, whispering, just mouthing really, "incredible boobs." I turned and kissed his face. He kissed my ears and neck. The sun shone.

I twisted in his lap and kissed him deeply. I felt his soft stubble and softer lips. I brushed over his teeth and felt our tongues brushing each other, sticking together the same way as our damp skin. My hands went up and down his neck and back. His hand rested easily on my hip. A different warmth was spreading in me.

I could feel different surfaces on his body. Under his arms it was warm and sticky, with his man's smell stronger. His forearms had downy hairs on them, but his torso had very little. His belly button was almost flat.

I felt his cock stir under my thighs again and something in me took over. I kissed his lips and chin, then went down to his nipples. As I kissed down his front I slid off his lap. I turned to him as I went and there I was, kneeling in front of him, arms on his thighs. I looked up at him with a drowsy, sexy smile. He looked down, completely puzzled.

Without breaking eye contact I ran my hand down into his bush of hairs. I found his semi-hard cock and gripped it. He looked surprised.

It took only a few strokes to bring it up and proud. I stared at this pink spear that had pushed its way into me. Was it Jack, or the cock I wanted? I played with the foreskin.

It was fluid: I wanted both. Sometimes his touch and his smile, sometimes his weight on me. Sometimes my sexuality demanded the locking together, the thrust of his body. These ideas came to me as easily as that orgasm in high school, as easily as realising how much I already loved Jack.

I loved Jack. And I had watched the videos. The shiny head of his cock seemed to beckon me down. We both froze for what seemed an age.

I kissed it. It was amazingly smooth. I ran my lips over it, to the rim of the helmet. Jack let out a long sigh. "Leeenaaa, that's, nnnice..."

I was sucking his cock. I was bobbing slowly, or sucking the head while I stroked the loose skin of his shaft. I thought of the girls in the videos, so much bad acting, my revulsion at some of the humiliations I had seen. And now I was sucking off my lover, wondering where this would go. I liked the feel of it in my mouth, but making sure I didn't gag was a bit of a challenge. It tasted of Jack, like his smell down there. He had a tiny line of skin under the head which I liked to play with.

I glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open, lost in the pleasure I was giving him. It stirred a warm feeling in me to be giving him such delight. It was arousing me again as well. As I sucked I slid a hand to my pussy and was vaguely surprised to find it so wet. I slid my fingers easily through the folds of skin and around my vagina while my other hand fondled Jack's balls and teased the skin of his shaft. He smiled and rolled his hips.

But I had worked myself up now. My fingers around his shaft, my lips on the rim of the head, my other fingers playing with me; a need was growing. My nipples and my fingers tingled. I needed that penis inside me.

Suddenly I got up and reached for the bedside drawer. Luckily I had stolen a few condoms. I smiled lewdly at Jack as I pulled him to the floor. His face had gone from surprise and dismay back to pleasure.

Lying on the floor between my cello and my bed, I rolled the condom on. (A part of me wanted to be raw and unprotected, taking everything of him inside me, his body possessing me as I possessed him. Thankfully another voice - George's maybe? - said, we need to be more careful.) I crawled up his body, rocking so my nipples were stimulated by the brush of his skin. His knobby hip bones surprised my thighs. When I reached his face I kissed him hungrily.

Kneeling up over his slim frame, I watched as I guided his cock into me. My juices made it quite easy to slide his rod between my labia and up into my waiting channel. I felt a twinge that was not pleasant but not painful, but also a demand to feel him deep inside me. I wanted to be taken, his cock intruding but welcomed. It was a new sensation.

I bent over his face again and kissed him in time to my thrusts. This was new to me as well: taking my pleasure from him as I wished. It was fun to watch him as I sucked his cock, but this was what I really wanted.

I went onto my elbows so I could run my fingers through his hair. I whispered in his ear, "Jack. Fuck me. Fuck my cunt. Push it into me!"

His face showed his astonishment at my language. I was astonished at my language - I never normally used "bad words". I was brought up not to, and never did. But now it seemed my body was making me talk. And it didn't beat about the bush.

Jack had rested his hands on my hips as I'd ridden him, then kept them there as I tilted over. As I whispered obscenities to him I could feel his grip change. Now he was holding me, gripping and squeezing and pulling my buttocks. I felt a heat rising in me as he pushed up into me, giving me pleasure and pain in a crazy mix. I felt his hips work furiously against mine as he thrust deeply inside me.

I stared down into his pleasure-filled face. I lightly kissed his nose, or one eye, or his rough chin. I kissed his ear and whispered, "Fuck me. Drill me. Tear me!" Where did this come from?

I felt wonderful, giving such pleasure as I took it. Then Jack moved his hands. He slid around to my wide-spread cheeks and started to stroke my pussy lips. He ran his fingernail around my anus and suddenly I was mounting up. I started to roll my hips urgently. He sensed my new need and played with me more, pulling at my lips or wrapping them around his rod. My body took control of me.

My orgasm was coming to my whole body. My nipples tingled, my elbows on the carpet tingled, my fingers tangled themselves in Jack's hair. My head could only hang down, brushing his scratchy cheek.

Then a wave broke from my cunt and roared up my body and down my legs. I felt hot and cold, an ache from his mad thrusts but wild pleasure. I lay quivering on Jack, legs on his legs, sticky body to body. My breathing gradually came down.

There was the soft warmth again. Although Jack seemed to have knobbly, bony bits everywhere, all I wanted was to lie on him and feel his hands gently stroke my back. I was at peace. I could just feel the body of my cello lying beside us.

Jack eased his penis and the condom out. I was vaguely surprised. 

"You came? When?"

"I didn't think you'd picked that up! It was somewhere in the middle of your orgasm, with you sobbing "Jack" and "Fuck" into my ear! Don't worry I felt just fine, and the ringing will stop soon! Though I hope, not too soon."

I could feel his eyes crinkling as my cheek lay beside his. I imagined his eyelashes and his stunning smile. Another wave of warmth gently came over me. I tried to speak, but only one word came out.




Bach & Elgar's Happy Ending Ch. 03



"Jack," I whispered.



Bach & Elgar's Happy Ending



I barely felt the brush of fingertips in my pubic hair then he brushed my vulva. I gasped again and wantonly opened my legs. Someone else's fingers were caressing me, spreading my lips. I felt my vagina tested, circled, then he was inside me. Smearing my fluids up to my clitoris, brushing it, rubbing it, spreading me...

I didn't take long. Head down, clutching his hair, pressing him against my hip, I came shuddering and shaking. He played me as sweetly as a cello, sensing my orgasm, holding me there, then gently easing me off.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still looking up at me, still smiling, but with a touch of lewdness in his beautiful eyes.

He took my hand off his head and kissed it. He took out his other hand, kissed that and breathed its scent with eyes closed. Then he silently got up and left me in Practice Room 4.

I don't remember anything about that rehearsal; no conversations, not even the pieces we went over. I was in a warm daze. Only Jack cut through it.

"Can I drive you home tonight? I need to thank you somehow or other." I agreed in case I wandered off on the way back to the station.

In the car it hit me. "This is it. I've thought about it so much, now suddenly it's going to happen. Tonight."

Another thought struck me even harder. "Jack is the one. He's caring, sensitive, funny, intelligent, so sexy... he's for me. I love him. All the signs were there, if I'd bothered to read them. It's obvious now I've said it to myself."

In my tiny flat I was relieved my flatmate wasn't in. We got on well, but I was in such a wild state I was thankful I had the place to myself, with just my favourite poster.

Jack saw it as he kindly brought my cello in. In fact you couldn't miss it as it faced the door. A huge photo of Jacqueline du Pré, with her long golden hair falling around her face as she looks down her cello. Golden light on golden wood. It's a picture of skill and sensitivity. Jack was stunned and almost became tearful again. I lead him away to the kitchen.

We needed a diversion. I had been feeling thirsty in the car so I checked the fridge. All there was was pineapple juice. At least we had two clean glasses.

I gave him his drink and we clinked glasses. We sipped the tart drink together and I watched him blink in surprise. Suddenly I had to kiss him.

It was so easy to put my arms around him, to draw him down and feel his lips on mine. It was easy again to taste him (and the pineapple), to feel our tongues brushing, grazing teeth, exciting us. I felt his eyelashes on my cheek. We kissed and kissed.

Then I hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear. "Jack, you are the one to take me." I laughed gently. "You probably already know I love you, and now I want you. But I have so many crazy ideas about my first time that you must be careful - it has to be special."

Jack hesitated a fraction. "Did you say your first time? To have sex?"

I laughed again. "Well, I might have taken my own virginity when I was 16, and I've done my own thing... but you are my first lover, so you must promise."

I could feel him smile against my neck. "I promise, it will be wonderful." Then he stiffened and choked slightly. "My first wasn't. It was, cursory. Careless." I hugged him tighter. 

He kissed my neck and earlobes, then quickly nipped my collarbone.

I laughed at being tickled. Then all my emotions exploded. Every feeling I'd had that evening - all my overworked expectations of sex, the realisation about Jack, Elgar's Cello Concerto, cumming to his touch, even the taste of the pineapple juice... everything bubbled up and washed over me.

I fell on him like a wolf. I kissed and nipped him back. He kissed and held me as I twisted and kissed whatever my lips brushed. I pulled his head down and kissed his beautiful eyes, his cheeks, even his lips. I bit him, I pushed him and pulled him, bumping doorposts until we were in my bedroom. Recklessly I pulled him onto the bed on top of me. He managed to keep up with me somehow - and not injure me in the fall.

On the bed he tugged at my top and I willingly peeled it off. I am endowed with an extremely flat chest - hardly any bump of breasts - but my nipples were hard and pointed and tingling. They tingled more as the fabric went over them, then when he kissed them I cried out, the feeling was so strong.

My hands roamed over his body above me. I came to his belt and tried to undo it. He whipped it off, tore off his trousers and jocks and I saw his precious, rampant cock, standing proud of his red-brown hairs. I had to touch.

I pulled his skin back and ran my hands to his balls. I tugged the fine skin sheathing him, up and down. He froze, thrust his hips out and give a hoarse cry.

I felt his cock pulsing under my fingers as I clutched it. Up the shaft, then I saw it. I clearly saw his cum flying up in the air, towards my face. I had a split-second thought of the uncomfortable girls I'd seen on the internet, then it landed on my neck. More spattered on my chest and down my tummy, warm and wet. Jack let out another hoarse cry.

We stopped. We were both breathing heavily, looking at what we had done to him. A drop of creamy cum peeped out of his cock. He still had his shirt on, I was in my full skirt.

I burst out laughing: my emotions were on a hair-trigger that night. So were his, as he joined in, laughing and gasping. 

We settled down, with him sitting astride me. He smiled down at me.

"That puts the score at 1-all."

"Not that we're counting," I replied. "But let's go slow. You promised it would be wonderful."

"I didn't say who for!" he said with a cheeky grin. "Shall we finish getting undressed?" He got off me and tugged at my skirt. I lifted my bottom for him and he bundled up the cloth. He put it to his nose.

"Mmm, smells of your cum and mine!"

"You're rude!"

He gave no answer but stared at me down his nose, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. There was lust in his eyes and his lazy smile. He slid himself down the bed.

He kissed my feet, so softly it didn't tickle. He kissed his way over my ankles and up my legs. His hands rested warmly on my hips as he kissed into my bush, nuzzling my mound. He kissed up to my navel. I do have a few soft curves, which his hands caressed on their way to my ribs. He rubbed his whole body over mine and came up to my neck and ears, kissing softly all the way. My nipples felt on fire as his fine chest hairs brushed them. It left me shivering and shaking with desire. I reached into my drawer and found the condoms I had stolen from my flatmate.

"Jack. Please fuck me." I could hardly believe I was saying such a word, but it was the right one. My whole body wanted him to fuck me.

Condom on, he lay on me and stared into my eyes. "Are you ready? Are we going to do this? Are you going to say stop any time you want to?" His concern made me feel even closer to him. For my answer I reached down and started guiding his cock into me.

He entered me. I felt my vagina opened and stretched, but also expecting the pressure and new sensations. It felt strange but fantastic. He moved in and out, starting with slow shallow strokes. He was unbelievably considerate.

With a start I realised he was all the way in. I strained to look. He paused.

"Feeling OK?"

"Wonderful. Strange. It doesn't really hurt, just, different. Don't stop!"

For a while Jack stretched over me, sometimes barely touching my skin, sometimes lying on me. All the time his cock moved gently in and out. I could start to play with it, squeezing and releasing it.

He tucked his legs up and knelt at my hips, changing the angle of his penetration. Immediately warm tingles shot out of my cunt and across my body. My legs moved round his waist as my hands gripped his arms. My body urged him on. I could smell his sweat as well as my own.

That animal feeling was rising in me. My body was becoming more demanding. I scratched his chest and shoulders, and pulled myself up to kiss his lips. 

I don't know how, but I ended up sitting, kissing him hungrily. I pushed him down and straddled him. A surge of desire and sheer power came over me as I forced his cock back inside me. I bounced down hard on his hips. I pushed on his chest to lever myself up. I ground my cunt against his pubic bone, mixing pain and pleasure in a way that made me dizzy. When he brushed and pinched my nipples or scratched my sides with his own nails, I nearly howled. Hot flushes made my cheeks glow.

I could feel it building up. I was now sliding back and forth on his shaft, slipping on my juices. A shuddering started in my cunt, spreading to my legs and up my body. Suddenly I came, crying out as I squeezed his hips with my thighs. My eyes were shut tight and I felt a tear roll out of each as I froze, impaled on my lover, feeling every nerve sing with pleasure.

"AAAHH! So good! So good! Cum! Cum now!" I demanded.

I hope it was the sight of me towering over him, having the best orgasm of my life, that pushed him on as he became more vigorous. He pulled me down and hugged me, at the same time thrusting up into my open cunt. "Lena, you're fucking wonderful. You feel incredible, Lenaaaah..."

I think he lifted himself off the bed as he clutched me and thrust up. He held there a moment, then fell back. His damp skin stuck to mine a second as he fell. I stuck us back together by lying down on him. We didn't move for what seemed ages.

"I wonder where the condom is," I heard from somewhere.

"What??" I rolled off him and looked him up and down. He was still wearing it, just. He discreetly took it off and grinned.

"Just checking! Anyway, now I can see you better." He looked me up and down with gentle eyes. He put a hand on my thigh, running it lightly over the curve of my hips and up.

"Mmm, beautiful." He traced over my shoulder and neck. He tucked some hair behind one ear and carefully went over and down my nose. He stopped at my lips and I kissed the fingertips. He went on down. He traced each of my subtle breasts and circled each nipple, rubbing the areolas to hardness.

"Mmm, your tits, they're incredible." 

"Thank you. I worry they're not big enough to be attractive."

"Can I tell you something? Boys like tits. All tits. Teen tits, granny tits and everything between. Trust me, these are attractive. They turn me on nearly as much as they turn you on!"

I had to laugh at that. "Well, I will admit it's handy I almost never wear a bra." Jack's eyes lit up with interest to hear that. "And mum said the good thing is, you'll never hurt yourself running for a train." I showed how little they wobbled. He had to laugh this time.

"Or bouncing on my lover." He stopped laughing and stared in wonder at me.

"Lena. Leena. Leeeenaa. I love Lena, and Lena loves me."

In my warm, sticky, happy state, the emotions bubbled up in me again. Hearing my name on his lips, hearing his love, seeing his beautiful eyes gazing at me; I felt the bed tilt and sway as a flood of joy washed over me. This is mad, this is schoolgirl-crazy, a little voice said in my head, but I answered, tonight who cares? I pulled myself to him and hugged him with my whole naked body. I tried to speak, but only one word came out.

"Jack," I whispered.