0 comments/ 102005 views/ 7 favorites Music to My Ears By: NaughtyScribe It can be said that the mark of intelligence is knowing when opportunity comes our way. Missed ones make us lament for "one more chance," and force us to wait untold amounts of time for that chance, which, we'll squander again anyway in most cases. Upon hearing of her favorite musician's upcoming concert tour, my older sister, Denise, panned and trolled for tickets immediately, just like the thousands of others who found out he was coming to the main arena in the city. Oh, how she loved The Boss, Bruce Springsteen. A few years earlier, she had missed out on the chance to see him in New York due to other, unbreakable commitments, so, now, Denise was all-out dying for tickets. After hitting wall after wall with the normal ticket outlets and radio station contests, she figured that, yet again, others would get to chant "Brruucce! instead of her. That's where I come in. Being online a lot, I happened upon a little-known, new ticket site. After some searching for "Springsteen" and "FA Arena events," I had located two tickets, seated together, for the concert, priced at $75 each. A few keystrokes later, and, they were in my name, to be shipped within 24 hours. The concert was the following weekend, so, this was still fine with me. Originally, I hadn't planned on going with her, just making her happy and getting her the tickets (and maybe gaining some usable points). I emailed her, saying only: "Denise: I have Boss tickets! Interested?" knowing she would be ecstatic about it. Minutes later, my phone rings, and, sure enough, it's my sister. "J! How did you get them?? How much? Of COURSE I am interested!! You are a doll!" she says, finding it hard to contain her excitement. "Ah, let's just say, I know how to work online...They're yours, now, FOC" I told her. "How many?" she asks, and I tell her "two, in the same place." Still excited, Denise tells me she'll call me right back, and, "I owe you a biggie for this!" I thought to myself, "yep, you do." Later that evening, Denise called me back, still thrilled at the tickets, but, in a bind as to who the other one will be used by. She explains that her hubby has no interest (in fact, made fun of her for even asking), and her other two female friends who would love to go, can't. As if wanting to ask a question she knew the answer to, she said "unless...WE go? Hey, let's...It will be a blast! You up for it?" My happy mind (and other body parts) were quick to respond. "Hell yeah, D...I could use a good night out...You gonna get wild at this thing?" I added in a kidding manner. "Ahh...We'll see, just maybe...I do know that we're gonna have fun...I still can't believe it, BRUCE!" "Cool deal...I'll drive down" I said, and, fast as that, we were ON for a concert. Saturday morning comes, and, I'm already revving with energy for this concert. Not even so much for seeing The Boss, but, to make this trip and have this night with Denise. I knew from long ago that she got wild at concerts; Now that she was finally going to see her main rocker, there was no telling what could occur. That was a fact that I was banking on. I visit her house in late morning, and, she's already getting all jazzed up about the night. Still in her sweatclothes, I was privately wondering what she'd wear that evening. A few hours later, as I picked her up for the 2 hour ride, I was more than pleased: Denise had chosen tighter-than-skintight white jeans, with a red and black Springsteen t-shirt she had had for I don't know how long. She had done her nails cherry red to match the shirt. In short, she looked FUCKING HOT. The t-shirt had been out of her pants initially, but, after a trip to the bathroom, she'd tucked it in, making the shirt as tight as her jeans, molding her perfect hourglass body and serving to already, this early, drive me nuts. Controlling myself, all I said about her attire was "Look great, D...even have the matching shirt." "Yeah, had it for a while, but, figured this is the best chance to wear it...It's a little snug on me, though, you think?" she says, as we're alone in her kitchen. "Trust me, D...Snug is great on you" I tell her, and she smiles, simply retorting "Thanks," while smacking her hands and those long nails off of her hips and sides. Under my watchful eye, she strides to the staircase in her home, and yells up to her half-asleep hubby that "I'm going...Don't know how late we'll be." As she spoke up the empty stairway, I could not help but glue myself to her ass in those extremely tight white jeans. Her slender body looked like she was poured into the pants like sexy liquid. How the hell was I going to last a 2 hr. ride with her in the car like this?? I'd find out soon enough. The route proceeds as normal, and we are making regular conversation, although my sister keeps thanking me up and down for the tickets by putting her hand on my arm. During one chumly "high-five," I managed to run my palm over her 4 outstretched nails, and she said "they're dry...I just did 'em." Denise always could bait me with her nails, and, this was no different. "NICE color, D...Very hot on you, I say, now taking her hand in my right, while driving with the left. "May I?" I asked, referring to not just looking at them, but, licking them and getting them in my mouth. With another hour road time, this was a ballsy move: a yes, and, I was set; a no, and, the evening may be tainted. "Sure, go ahead...Just don't smudge the color, ok?" she nods with a sweet smile. I sex up her beautiful nails and hand for the better part of 5 miles or so before she takes it back, saying "save some for later, bud...I have another hand you know," flashing me her right hand. I nod with an "ok" and a grin to her, and, this harbinger of good things to come. We arrive at last, and get out of the car to stretch. Denise was already in pre-concert mood, and it showed. "Grrr...Sttrreeetttchh!" she says, reaching upwards, taking in the whole scene. "Damn" I say to her, "look at the people here...It's a madhouse!" "Yup, it's The Boss, ba-bay," with another stretching motion. Aroused and, in a concert mood now, myself, I jokingly ask her to "Do that again, will ya?" "Do what, J...Stretch liiike thissss" and she reaches skyward again and shakes her hips and ass. "Yeah, that...Boy, those ARE tight on you... Not that I'm complaining," I tell her, dying to feel her ass. "I know they are...Look at my back pockets, try to get your hand in there," she adds, knowing well that I was going in for a feel, even as a joke. Stepping up behind her, I attempt to put my finger inside her pocket, but, instead feel her ass and side of her leg. These things were severely tight on her, that was sure! Now significantly turned on, I chide her into "one more...hang on...don't move or laugh...you'll bust out of them." She approves, and, I go up and down her tight body, ending on top of her tits. "This bra itches my boobs" she teasingly says, "It's coming off." I look at her real funny, and beg her "No, D...leave it on...Or, I can't be responsible for putting my hands on you tonight...Tight as hell jeans, tight shirt, and no bra...Damn, I AM a man, you know!" "Well, that's up to you...You can feel me up, it's ok... she says, fanangling inside her top and pulling the bra out of her sleeve. We locate out seats, and get an immediate whiff of somebody close by smoking a joint. The smell wafts around the crowd, making my sister pine for some. "God...it's been ages since I doobed...Wonder where it's coming from?" she says. Again, for better or worse, it's me to the rescue. Out of my front pocket, I produce two long, self-rolled joints, obtained from an old co-worker during the week while waiting for the tickets. I had planned this. "Holy shit!"she tells me, giving me a hug and kiss, "fire that baby up!" We smoke it down about half-way, and, hear the show-starting music. Denise goes wild (as did the rest of the crowd). 'BBRRRUUCCCE!! BRRUCCEE!!" she screams, jumping up and down, making her chest just flap about the creation. I may have been the only one of thousands there who saw the show as being secondary to who I was there with. Being the showman that he is, Springsteen starts off with his legendary Born to Run (also one of my own favorites). Denise is rocking to it, swooshing back and forth, and singing along with it and me. We sing to each other as well. Every song or so, I got in more and more good feels with her, and, she didn't mind one bit. The show, excitement, dancing around, and possibly the added-in doobage made her sweat, and, she tied her shirt up very close to her tits. She looked like a music video girl. My hands simply would not stay off of her after this point, not at all. Again, she didn't mind. During a brief break to change the stage, Denise and I are standing up, huffing and puffing, and she's got her hands on her hips, sweating like crazy. "Holy fuck!! This is great!" she yells, as I go in for some direct body action. "Ahh!!! My boobs! YES! Go head! Hell, I said I owed you! Have at it!" she exclaims to me, as I munch on her entire upper torso. As I finish, she tells me "Not so fast, buddy-boy...Lay one on these lips, and it better be good!" Excited, emboldened by the wildness of a concert scene, and intending on doing it anyway, I snake up her body and park my lips on hers, through the next song. I pull off of her momentarily, then, the intro to "My Hometown" starts. This slower, mellow song was perfect for me to go right back where I was on her, including more, slower body feeling and hip gyration. "J...later on...Wanna take this all the way, and be really nasty?" she asks me very slyly. "Christ, YES, D...It was my intention all along to nail you tonight." "I know," she says, lips barely touching mine, "why do you think I dressed like this and picked your favorite nail color on me?" "I knew it!" I joke with her..."I KNEW you did these gorgeous nails this sexy red FOR ME!" "Yep...I did. Dan (her husband) even asked me why I was putting on the "fuck doll" nail polish." "I never gave him an answer... Screw him!" she laughs, now with my hands all over her body and pulling her into me so close that she looks like she's attached to me. Throughout the rest of the show, we rocked, danced, sang along, screamed, and considered ourselves "together." Denise complied with my suggestions or requests "Your top! Higher!! Show off those tits, D!!" I said, caught up in the concert frame of mind. 'Flash 'em!! Flash 'em to the guys behind us!" which she did several times, drawing an immense chant of 'TITS TITS TITS TITS!!" from an entire row of men. I had her both on display, and, under wraps for the night. It was absolutely fantastic! I had total freedom with her, and, she, with me. Being the tease she is, my back had to have had 40 dig marks from her nails going down it, and, I mean, hard and deep. I think she let her excitement get the best of her while doing it, because, I was lined with her dig marks. And, loved it! After three encores, the concert ends, and now it's time for the real fun to begin. Still sky-high (from the excitement, not the pot, but, hey, who knows?), my sister gets very amorous on the way to the car. We must've made out 5 times in that parking lot. Finally back in my car, I'm practically ripping her tight pants off of her, and tell her "the...first...place...We're stopping, getting out, and, fucking like animals!" I get on the highway, and, see a sign for a travel center, advertising "great hourly rates for drivers." Those 6 miles from the sign to the travel center felt like a million, but, I passed it by devouring her 10 nails, fondling her tits, and unzipping her pants to get my hand inside. Denise, to her credit, barely kept her hands off of me, either. Pulling into the travel place, I tell her to stay in the car while I go get us some space inside. Waiting impatiently, I paid some grubby trucker $50 to take the room he had just gotten, and he could go get another. It works, and I spirit my sister to the truck driver's quarters upstairs in the travel center. The door isn't even locked, and her tight jeans are tossed onto the floor. "Get over here, you!" she orders me, with a sensual, long-nailed finger point. "Yes, ma'am...Order me around, sis!" I answered, as we started right then and there. Wanting to make this as hot and memorable as possible (and, not wanting to be in this skeevy room all that long), I picked my sister up, and she wrapped her legs around my body. Backing her up onto the top of a dresser, she leans against the wall and says "Oooh...On furniture?? I better not get pussy slivers!" A man on a mission now, I begin plugging her from straight-on, taking pride in her screams echoing down the tiled hallway. Denise heaved, hawed, and, at one instance, flat-out screamed my name! Also during the intensity, I recall telling her that 'All of my friends have always wanted to fuck you...They ALL wanted to fuck MY sister! Too bad only I AM DOING IT!" The nastyness and taboo of fucking family made this all that much more enjoyable, for both of us. After a good 2 hours (straight, mind you), we were exhausted but knew we had to get going again. Keeping each other awake for the remaining hour and a half trip, Denise and I vowed to be considered "brother and sister" only in company, while knowing otherwise in private. Music To My Ears After twenty years of marriage I can't think of a single thing that annoys me about my wife. There is really nothing that bothers me enough to change anything about her. Anything that is except the fact that she snores when she sleeps. She denies it, especially when I tell her how loud she is and the fact that I can't get to sleep if she beats me into bed and falls asleep before me. Deep down she knows she snores, she's just in denial about the amplitude of her nocturnal log sawing symphony. It's the same thing with farting and sweating. She says that women don't fart, they fluff, and women don't sweat, they perspire. Gimme a break I would tell her whenever she brought either one up. A farts a fart and sweat is sweat! She says she gets nasal at times, if the air is dry while she's sleeping. I laughed again, and told her that where I come from getting nasal means you snore! She didn't find it as funny as I did. She's beautiful and I love her very much and if you saw her you'd want her too. It's hard to imagine a woman such as her, so gorgeous, lying in bed naked, fast asleep and snoring like a lumberjack. If she goes to bed before me, I'm screwed. And I don't mean screwed as in a piece of ass. I'm screwed because my wife Linda falls asleep in a matter of a minute or two. By the time I get into bed she's already sawing logs. It takes me forever to get to sleep with her buzzing away so loudly next to me. I've tried everything. I nudge her with my arm and make her turn over which buys me a minute or two of silence. I make loud noises to disturb her enough to stop for a moment, I've even turned the bedroom lights on and woken her up completely. But all my attempts are in vain when she rolls over and slips back into slumberland in seconds only to start up the buzz saw again. Apart form this one thing though, I'm the luckiest man I know. Linda stands 5'7" tall and although she thinks she's overweight at 155 lbs. I love her soft rounded curves and how she has matured in such a sexy way. Her big 36DD tits are topped off with delicious big nipples. The slightest change in temperature and her nipples stiffen, sticking out like the hard tips of bullets. Her pussy and ass are just as perfect. She shaves her pussy now, but when we first meet she had the thickest, bushiest snatch I'd ever seen. I used to love burying my face in her fragrant wet bush, smearing her juices and wet pubes all over my face. She's just very sexy and so responsive to my constant state of arousal. We have sex every day and we do everything together including watching the kinkiest porn flicks and the nastiest porn sites on the web. Linda loves sitting naked with me at the computer while we have a few drinks and tokes. We both get pretty worked up seeing all the people and all their weird and kinky antics. We even surf through the bestiality sites. Although she says it's gross she doesn't seem to mind or get enough of it, she was still getting turned on. This brings me to my point. I enjoy surfing the porn sites and do it often. Not long ago I came across a few sites that gave me an idea. The sites were ones that featured "drunk and passed out women", "sleepingpeeping" and other stuff of the same nature. They showed guys jerking off on and playing with girls that were in semi-conscious states or fast asleep. Some of these women were right out of it, either due to drinking too much or just plain tired and fast asleep. Hmmmmmmm.....? I thought to myself. My lovely wife Linda sleeps in the nude, so I'm halfway there! I looked further and came across a sequence showing a guy with his fingers inside a sleeping woman's mouth. The next shot showed him putting his cock in. The more I looked at the pictures and movie clips the clearer my plan became. My cock got hard just thinking about what I had in mind. I also knew that I needed no planning and I could put my plan to the test immediately since Linda snores every night. The evening went as usual and my wife was nodding off by around 10:30. We both work long hours so I never complain about her dozing off, it's just her snoring. I let her sleep till 11:00 and then woke her, suggesting she go to bed. She gladly went without a word, kissing me and going up to bed. Although she falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillows tonight I wanted her to be fast asleep so I could put my idea to the test. I can tell how deeply she's asleep by the tone and sound of her snoring. I waited an hour or so and checked out more porn sites while I waited. My cock was hard and drooling precum and my balls ached for release. I started up the stairs and could hear her deep nasal log cutting already, followed by a silent pause and then a wispy exhale. She was gone. As I slipped off my underwear I turned on the hall dimmer switch and set the light to low so I could see Linda's naked body as well as where I was going. My stiff cock flenched with anticipation of what we planned to do. Turning her head away from the faint light from the hallway she faced the side of the bed where I was, and in perfect position. I quickly tucked my pillows and the comforter on the other side of her to try and prevent her from rolling over. Well, this is it I said to myself. I walked to Linda's side and my cock was right over top of her lips. As I touched her warm lips with my throbbing cockhead she inhaled, snoring loudly, then went quiet for a second. Her lips fluttered and tickled the underside of my horny knob. I felt so nasty and sneaky that I started shaking all over. I let her suck and blow my cock with her flapping lips until I saw some precum leak out of my peehole and trickle onto her lips and then roll into the corner of her mouth. She reacted by closing her mouth and pressing her lips together and then licking them, and the snoring stopped. I watched as she swallowed and the second later she let out a loud snore and her mouth opened wide. I put my finger inside to she how she would react and what she would do. It felt incredible! When she drew in her breath she closed her mouth and snored through her nose, sucking my finger in along with her breath. her mouth then opened upon exhale and her warm breath washed my finger. I placed my cock alongside of my finger. When Linda's mouth opened on her next exhale I made the switch. I kept looking at her eyes for any indication of her waking up, but she was in a deep sleep. Her mouth felt wonderful around my cock and her unconscious sucking of my knob had my balls tightening and my legs shaking. I wanted to shove my cock all the way down her throat but knew for certain that she wake up for sure at that point. The purring and fluttering of her lips, the vibration of her snoring and the occasional movement of her tongue when she swallowed had me turned on like never before. I took in the innocent beauty of her sleeping body and she moved slightly causing my dick to plop out of her mouth. Rolling onto her back she lay there facing the ceiling, close to the edge of the bed, thanks to my pillow barrier. Her snoring got louder than ever as her mouth opened wide as she breathed. She was snoring on the exhale now as well as the inhale. I grabbed hold of my cock and started jerking off over top of her face and open mouth. Using my fingers I tickled her lips and tongue making her lick her lips and swallow. I could tell she was dreaming by the way her eye lids were moving and every so often she mumbled things. I couldn't make out what she was saying but she was definitely out of it. My cock tightened and swelled and I leaned forward and fired my cum onto Linda's lips and tongue being careful not to make her choke. She instinctively opened and closed her mouth, bringing her hand up and wiping her mouth, before swallowing again. When her mouth opened again I slipped my drooling cock back in and let her suck my noodle clean in her sleep. I quietly slipped into bed after shutting off the hall light, snuggled into her and fell asleep. It wasn't until the following morning that I realized that Linda never made a peep after I lubed her throat with my creamy cum. Although I haven't told her about my little trick yet, I've use my silent night treatment many times since that first and most unforgettable night. Now when I hear Linda snoring it's music to my ears!! Music To My Ears I was honoured when the talented English Lady agreed to help me with my editing. I like to take the opportunity here to express my heartfelt thanks to her. Thank you for your help English Lady. Should there be any errors in the story would be entirely my fault as I must've missed out the correction done by EL. Lady She looked at the gloomy sky with its ominous dark clouds, heavily laden with moisture. It would rain very soon. She gave a sigh and quickened her steps and turned into the alley. She hated taking the alley but she had no choice, it was the fastest way to get home to before the rain fell. She was so absorbed with her own thoughts that she did not realized where she was going until she ran smack into someone. The person gave a grunt and fell to the ground while the grocery bag she was holding against her chest was bumped out of her clutch, and fell to the ground, spilling its contents out (tomatoes, garlic, a packet of pasta and a bar of Cadbury almond chocolates). A few fat heavy raindrops had started to fall from the overly pregnant dark clouds and had found their way into her beautiful short raven curls that framed a small oval shaped face. "Damn," she muttered under her breath, she quickly bent down to retrieve her goods and stuffed them back into the bag. Meanwhile, she noticed the fallen person she had bumped into didn't seem to be making an effort to get up, but had continued to lay sprawled on the ground. She took a look at the person and noticed it was a man in shabby clothing. "Mister, are you alright?" she asked the fallen man but there was no reply. The rain was now pouring down in fine mist yet he still didn't stir from his lying position, was he hurt? She thought to herself and hurried over to him. She noticed his very scarred right hand was holding onto a whiskey bottle. Damn! A drunkard, probably a homeless drunkard by the look of him, she tried to rouse him by shaking him on his shoulder. "Hey, mister! Wake up!" She called loudly. He didn't stir. "Oh shit! He must've knocked himself out when he fell over," she muttered to herself. She reached into her bag for her mobile and dialed 911. The call was immediately answered. After giving details to the dispatcher she took off her coat and covered the drunkard from the drizzle. She had a good look at him while waiting for the ambulance. He had long unkempt hair; tangled bushy beard and moustache that covered his lower half of his face completely. He stank to high heaven of fish. She wondered briefly when was his last bath or shower, but underneath all those shabbiness and hair, he looked oddly familiar and rather young. Then she noticed something else about the man; both his last pinkies on his scarred hands were completely missing. Just then she heard the siren of the ambulance and saw the vehicle stopped right outside the alleyway. The paramedics hurried over to where they were and carefully examined him before rolling him onto the stretcher and carrying him to the ambulance. "He might've a concussion, we need to bring him to the hospital for a thorough check-up." said one of the paramedics. "Can I go with him too? I was the one that knocked him over and I want to make sure he'll be alright," said Dominique Whitley or Nicky to those who knew her well. "Sure, hop on," said the paramedics. About ten minutes later they reached the hospital and had wheeled him straight into the examination room. A male doctor and a nurse went into the room as well. She tried to look inside the room but a blue curtain was drawn around the bed, there was nothing else she could do except to wait outside the room. After sometime the male doctor came out and Nicky hurried over to him. "Hi, I'm Dominique, the man that I came in with just now, is he going to be alright?" asked a worried Nicky. "He'll be fine, just a slight concussion and a bump on the back of his head, the bump will go away in a couple of days. In fact, he is already awake. But it would be better if you can persuade him to stay here for a day or two in case there might be a hairline fracture." explained the doctor. "Thank goodness!" Nicky sighed with relief, "Can I see him?" "Are you acquainted with him?" asked the doctor. "No, well, it was my fault that he ended up in here…so I thought I should at least make sure he is alright and pay for the bills," said Nicky sheepishly. "Well, good luck to you. He is throwing a tantrum right now and insisting on being discharged immediately," said the doctor with a wry smile. The blue curtain that was hiding the unkempt man from view was now pulled back and Nicky could see that he was indeed arguing with the nurse and was trying to climb off the bed, the nurse was trying to calm him down but he was adamant to make life difficult for her. Nicky opened the partial glass door and walked into the room. "Leave me alone! I'm fine! I want to get out now!" the unkempt man shouted as he tried to get off the bed. The nurse gave up trying to coax him back onto the bed just as Nicky cleared her throat to announce her presence. The nurse and the unkempt man turned to look at her. Nicky gave the nurse a nod and smiled sheepishly at the unkempt man, she could see his eyes now. Although they still looked bloodshot, she could distinctly made out the color of his irises. It was of ocean deep blue-green and she was even more positive now that she had seen this man before but from where? "Well, looks like your family is here to fetch you mister," said the nurse huffily. "I've no family!" came the gruff reply. The nurse rolled her eyes upwards and gave a shake of her head, "He is all yours Miss!" and walked out of the room. The unkempt man didn't seem to care about Nicky's presence anymore after the first glance; he was busy putting on his shabby clothing. Nicky could see that he was rather tall now that he was standing upright, probably about 6' 3". "Hi…" said Nicky tentatively. "What do you want?" growled the unkempt man without turning back to look at her. "I…wanted to tell you… how sorry I was…for knocking you down," said Nicky apologetically. The unkempt man turned back and glared at her for a second then turned back and continued with his task. "Look mister, the doctor said it would be better if you stay here for another day or two just in case you might have a hairline fracture," said Nicky helpfully repeating the doctor's words to the man. The man simply refused to answer her at all now. He had finished putting on his clothes and pulled out a pair of gloves and pulled them on. Hmm, he must've forgotten to put them on earlier but now in his sober state had put them back on. He brushed past her to get out of the room. He strode over to the registration counter and began to fill in the forms. "Here, let me take care of the bill, I can use my insurance." offered Nicky as she put her bag of groceries on the counter to reach into her handbag. The man didn't seem to hear her but continued with his registration then pulled out his insurance card and handed it to the nurse, Nicky frowned at his cold attitude. The man continued to ignore her and walked off after completing the procedure. Nicky chased after him, trying to keep up with his long stride. Nicky noted he didn't seem to be drunk anymore; the knock must've cleared his brain. They came to the lobby and Nicky could see it was raining heavily outside now but he didn't seem to be bothered with the weather and walked straight out into the pouring rain. Nicky's natural instinct as a social worker kicked in and immediately followed him out into the rain, after a while she was totally soaked to the bones. The unkempt man kept on walking, turning and twisting at corners and running across the streets uncaring about the honking vehicles. Nicky still pursued relentlessly on - running behind him and never letting him out of sight. She felt like an idiot but she wanted to make sure he reached home safely, that was if he even had one. Finally they arrived at a very rundown apartment, the unkempt man pressed a number on the side panel and pushed the lobby door opened. He disappeared inside and Nicky hurried through too before the door closed on her. At the stairs landing the man turned back and glared at her, "Why are you following me?" She was beginning to feel the chill and stammered through chattering teeth, "I…I jus…just want to…to make sure you're…al…alright." "Go home little girl!" growled the man and bounded up to the second floor. Nicky frowned. Little girl? She had heard that somewhere before! His apartment was right at the end of the corridor. He inserted a key into the door but did not unlock it. Instead he turned back to Nicky again. "If you insist on following me, maybe I should take you to bed. I could use a little body warmth in this cold weather since I don't own a heater!" said the unkempt man and giving her a lewd grin. Nicky gulped down a gasp and backed away from him slightly, fully aware of his meaning. Nicky could see his mouth and teeth now through those bushy facial hairs of his when he had grinned at her. Surprisingly he had very nice, even, white clean teeth, very out of place with his whole appearance. "Well, I just wanted to make sure you…" "Yes! You've told me that already - to make sure I'm alright. Now scoot before I changed my mind and take you into my bed." He warned again. Nicky was determined not to let him intimidate her with his vulgar suggestion; she scrounged through her bag and drew out a card and inched closer and hand it to him. He didn't take it but just stared at her. Nicky then slipped the card into his shabby front pocket. "Here is my card. I'm a social worker. If you need anything you can give me a call." That said she hurried away from him and back out to the street. The rain had somewhat cleared off, but the sky was still gloomy, then she remembered her bag of goodies that she had left at the hospital, she decided to go back and get them. * * * * * "Hi, I'm sorry. I was wondering if you've seen a bag of groceries? I left it here earlier…" said Nicky to the counter nurse. "Ah, yes, I thought if you weren't coming back for it, I'll take it home later to make a nice supper." Said the nurse playfully as she bent below the counter to retrieve the bag of groceries. Just then Nicky remembered she didn't know the unkempt man's name. The nurse stood up with her bag of groceries. "Err…nurse Madison," as she peered at the nurse nametag, "Would it be possible to give me the name of that man I brought in earlier? Well, I'm a social worker and I thought he might need some help and since I was the one that caused him to have a bump…" Nicky hurriedly delved into her bag to draw out her social worker ID and her name card for Nurse Madison to verify. "I suppose so. Just give me a min," said nurse Madison. She scanned through the registration book and then announced to Nicky, "Ah…the name was Eric Dillon, age 32. You need his address?" said nurse Madison. Nicky's eyes popped wide with surprise, no wonder he looked so familiar! She 'saw' him everyday in her living room! Well, it was his picture on the three CDs she owned. His full name was Eric Jordan Dillon and was once an up and coming pianist whose music captured the hearts of millions of Americans especially the females. At the age of twenty-six his first album 'Midnight Run' sold more than 5 million copies in its' first week of release. And at twenty-seven he released another two more albums, which hit number one spot on the music chart and stayed at the top for more than three months each, breaking all other previous pop pianist records. On the eve of his 28th birthday he was supposed to meet up with some friends to celebrate his birthday but he never made it to the restaurant. On the way there two men in a pickup truck had smashed into his Ferrari and he had gotten out of his car to confront the men when it turned ugly. The two thugs apparently had beaten him up so bad that they even broke his fingers and one of his pinkies were being chopped off while the other one had to be amputated because the bones were too smashed up that it was impossible to put it back together again. The assailants were never found. After the incident, he never played again and slowly he faded from the public view and music scene. Nobody knew what happened to him after that except a couple of his few close friends who declined to talk about him when being approached by the media. Sometime later, Peter Selleck who used to be Eric's close friend married his ex-fiancée and Peter Selleck went on to become the next top pianist. Nicky was one of his fans. She remembered she had gone to his first live performance after the release of his second album, which sold out to a full house. After the performance, she, like all other adoring fans had gone to the back stage door to wait for him hoping to get an autograph. When he made his appearance the fans went wild and almost mobbed him. Thanks to the securities officers there, the fans were finally persuaded to form a line and Eric promised them he would sign each and everyone's album. When it came to her turn, she went all red and tongue-tied. She could only looked at him in awe and he had smiled at her with his heart-melting smile. "What's your name little girl?" he asked charmingly. "Nic…Nicky Whit…Whitley," she stammered and blushing a bright red. And Eric had signed her album - 'From Eric to Nicky. May you find love and fulfillment in my music. Love Eric' - and even drew a heart on her album. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she did not realize Nurse Madison was calling her. "Miss. Whitley? Are you alright?" "Oh, oh! Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for the information," said a startled Nicky as she snapped out of her reverie. Nicky got home to her own small but cozy two rooms apartment. She had shifted to Gloucester County, Philadelphia five years ago and graduated three years ago with a BSW. She loved her work. It gave her a sense of great satisfaction knowing she was able to help less fortunate people who were not as lucky even though her work hours were inconsistent and the pay was just mediocre. She went over to her hi-fi and put on Eric's disc. His music never failed to soothe her tired mind or lift her spirit when she felt down or troubled. As she put the pasta into the pot of boiling water, her thoughts turned back to Eric Jordan Dillon. She could sense his bitterness and anger even though he had acted tough and boorish, but there was still a fire in those ocean deep blue-green eyes of his. There must be something she could do for him - to counsel him, to make him face his demons, his challenges again? What else could a disabled ex-pianist do besides playing piano? Compose music? Be a music conductor? Or an arranger? Maybe became a social worker like her? Whatever it was to be, Nicky was determined to help him even if it meant on her own personal time. She felt it was such a waste of that talent of his. What he needed now was someone to prod him, to bring him out of his shell again, to tell him it wasn't the end of the world just because he could not play the piano again. If Beethoven could continue to compose music when he had gone deaf, why couldn't he? But first she needed to break through that invisible barrier of his. He had cut himself from the outside world far too long; she doubted he even knew who he really was anymore apart from wallowing in self-pity and anger. Tomorrow she would approach her boss and make known her intention to help Eric. This would be one of her biggest challenge if she succeeded in turning Eric Jordan Dillon, the once well-known pianist life around. Feeling very please with herself she turned back to her cooking. "Oh no! Drat!" She groaned. She had overcooked the pasta and it was now too soggy and starchy. * * * * * "Are you sure it's him, Nicky?" her boss asked her excitedly. Her boss, Mimi Black outwardly looked stern and authoritative but was actually a warm-hearted, bubbly woman of forty-nine and she was a fan of Eric Dillon too. "It's him alright. I don't know about others but I definitely won't forget his music," said Nicky, "or his eyes," "But how are you going to help him when no one refer him and I doubt he will come in himself. You just can't go to his place and counsel him," said Mimi "Why not? I AM a social worker, am I not? And he does look like he needed all the help he could get," argued Nicky. "Well, I don't know anything about a disabled ex-pianist but I doubt they are very approachable," said Mimi. "You bet he is not. Definitely not friendly but I'll break through to him," she promised. "So when are you going to start on him?" asked Mimi. "I think today will be just fine," said Nicky. "Ok, you'll understand this is off the record and you'll be on your own and I didn't hear it from you unless you get a referral," said Mimi in all seriousness now. "I know, I know. I just want to let you know what I'm doing and not skiving," said Nicky as she gave Mimi her brightest prettiest smile. Oftentimes Nicky and her colleagues of this non-profit social worker center would do things out of the extraordinary like helping people they picked off the street, just like that, with no referrals. Many times they would received complaints from other social welfare centers that they were out of line in their duties but Nicky and her colleagues would prefer to call it 'going that extra mile' and Nicky was well known for her 'notoriety' in rebelling against the rigid rules and regulations of the social worker's association. * * * * * She had gone to his apartment to look for him but he wasn't in. Must have gone drinking again, she thought. So she had walked across the street to wait for him to come back. She had grab a hotdog, a tuna sandwich and a chocolate milkshakes from the little eatery not far from his apartment and continued to wait for him but he didn't return till way past 9pm. He didn't look drunk tonight but he was still unkempt and was still wearing yesterday shabby clothes, hurriedly she walked across the street to him. "Hi," she greeted him enthusiastically and noticed he had a pair of gloves on again. He stopped for a second but did not turn around then continued to press his unit number on the side panel, and the door swung opened and stepped through it. Nicky followed him in and up to his floor when suddenly he turned around and pushed her up against the sidewall. Nicky was caught off guard with his action. She gasped loudly more out of pain than fear. "What do you want? Why are you following me?" he demanded in a snarl. "I…I'm not following you. I just want to see how you are? If your head was alright?" she rasped, her breathing ragged. He stared into her eyes; angry blue-green ones against frightened golden brown ones. He was so close she could feel his beard scratching her soft facial skin and his breath on her, there was a hint of alcohol smell on his breath. Slowly he released her and she slid off the wall, her knees buckling slightly. "Don't come here anymore. You're not welcome!" he warned and turned to walk down to the end of the corridor to his unit. Nicky was obstinately determined to help him whether he objected to it or not, if she failed at least she knew she had given her best shot, and so far she had never failed in any of her assignments and she wasn't going to let this be her first failure. "I just want to help!" said Nicky a little louder after him. "Help? Why would I need your help? I don't need anyone's help," he replied fiercely. "I know who you are! You're Eric Jordan Dillon! The pianist!" said Nicky firmly. She saw his body go rigid at the mention of his name and waited with bated breath for his outbursts of anger. It didn't come. Music To My Ears "I don't know who you are talking about," he said very quietly. "Now leave me alone before I call the police." He unlocked his door and disappeared into his apartment quietly. She did not pursue him; she knew she had shaken him up a bit. He would never have thought people would still remember him anymore after four long years of silence. Tomorrow morning she would come back here to wait for him and try to talk to him again but first she needed to get back home and did some research on him. * * * * * Eric leant against his door and breathed heavily. Eric Jordan Dillon. How strange the name sounded when she had pronounced his name out loud. Nowadays he went by EJ only. Not unless it was necessary to use his full name like when he was at the hospital yesterday. Sometimes he even preferred not to be called anything. His name didn't mean anything to anyone anymore. He was no longer the handsome, charming, talented pianist he once was. He was disabled. His life was over four years ago when he was attack. Nothing could ever change that anymore. NOTHING! He screamed silently. He could still remember that night when he had woken up in the hospital after some passerby had called the 911. He felt excruciating pain in both his hands. When he looked down he was shocked to see the bandages. His best friends, Peter Selleck, Robert Duncan and his fiancée, Katrina were by his bedside. "How are my hands?" he asked painfully and drowsily. They had all looked uneasily at him; it was Robert who broke the news to him. "The doctor said you'll be fine…but…you won't be playing anytime soon," Robert choked back a sob. "Tell me the truth! What has happen to my hands?" Eric urged him as his drowsiness began to wear off. Peter was looking the other way while Katrina was sobbing into her hands. Only Robert was brave enough to tell him the cruel truth. "You…you lost your…pinkies…both…both of them," said Robert haltingly. He was devastated; music was his life, his dream and his everything. At the age of three he was being sent to the orphanage as both his parents had died in a freak car accident, which he was involved in too. Surprisingly he had escaped unscathed but he was so traumatized by the incident that he was robbed of his ability to speak. When he was five he was given his first piano lesson and his first word was 'Music'. The staff were overjoyed that he had finally opened up. His talent wasn't fully discovered until he was seven by Mrs. Simpson, the new music teacher of the orphanage. She noticed he had a natural flair and the talent to play the piano and had taken the task upon herself to teach him all she knew about music. At the same time there was another orphan, Peter Selleck who was also Eric's best friend that liked the piano too. And so Mrs. Simpson had given him lessons as well but Peter was a slower learner and he did not had that special ability to bring out the character of a music piece like Eric could. There was always something lacking in him. Eric would play from his heart, his soul and let his fingers weave the magic while Peter's style seemed to be more mechanical, more stilted. Both boys never went to any foster home but had stayed on with the orphanage and even became one of the in house staff until someone spotted their talent. When both Eric and Peter were fifteen they had entered the local piano competition and Eric had emerged the champion while Peter clinched the second spot. It was then both of them were spotted by the famous music director, John Cedric Bonn of The Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra and had taken them under his wings to nurture the budding artists. As they said, the rest were history. Over the years Eric had continued to grow while Peter was being overshadowed but Eric was always there for his buddy. They would do everything together. Eric would not play for a concert if Peter were not there together with him. The music director would get very mad with him. "We don't need two pianist for tonight's concert!" argued John. And Eric would shrug and say, "Fine, I'm not playing then. Either you let him play or we both play together," "I'll fire you," threatened the music director. "Ok," Eric had replied nonchalantly. And the music director would throw his hands in the air in resignation and that night they would be two pianists; one, to play the first half, and the other, the second half of the concert. Sometimes John would ask him if he and Peter were lovers, if not why Eric was so protective over Peter. "Holy shit! No way! I'm a ladies' man!" And Eric would laugh and walked off much to John's chagrin. When he was twenty-five, Eric was approached by Robert Duncan a record producer cum well-known composer of Duncan Records to record a ballad, 'Midnight Run'. Two months before his 26th birthday they had launched his first solo album and it was a huge success. Eric left the orchestra with the blessing of John to concentrate on his solo career while Peter had become the resident lead pianist of TPSO. It was around this time that Eric had met Katrina Benson, a supermodel at a party and they had hit if off immediately. They were engaged until six months after his attack when he had gone over to her apartment looking for solace only to find her in bed with Peter. His fiancée and best friend had betrayed him when he needed their support most at his darkest hour. Katrina was blaming him for not understanding her emotional trauma she was going through having to see his scarred hands everyday, which terrified her. "Eric! I really can't pretend that…that there is nothing wrong with your hands! I really can't! I had nightmares about your hands! Please try to understand my feelings too!" Katrina had cried viciously. Peter tried to explain saying he was only trying to console Katrina when she had called him and then one thing led to another and he found himself in bed with her. Eric could not believe his ears. He was the one that needed consoling and here the two persons he loved most, betraying him. He knew everything was really over now. Not only had he lost the used of his hands, he had lost his fiancée and his longtime friendship with Peter. Bad things didn't just stopped there for Eric though. A well-known luxury goods company, BCHT that promoted upscale brand products like expensive watches, branded leather goods and high fashions was now suing Eric for breach of contract because he could not fulfilled his role as the official "brand ambassador' for their range of luxury watches since now his hands were scarred and disabled. Even though the company BCHT had expressed their regret for Eric loss of the use of his hands but business being business they had gone ahead with the lawsuit. The settlement wiped out Eric's earning and almost all his insurance claim. Robert had tried to help Eric in anyway he could but Eric declined his offer. To rub salt into wounds Katrina had filed a lawsuit against Eric as well. When Robert got to know about it, he was angrier than Eric. "You gotta be kidding me right? Katrina is suing you five million for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? What the fuck is that?" said Robert in disbelief. Eric briefly explained the medical term to Robert without any emotion or drama. "This is fucking unbelievable! She is suing you because she was traumatized with…with the appearance of your hands and it affected her well-being?" said Robert loudly. Eric didn't reply to Robert but kept to his whiskey, wishing the alcohol could kick in fast enough to drown out his miseries. He had been drinking more and more since the day he found Katrina in bed with Peter. "You're the one that is suffering here and she…she…Fuck! I can't believe this! So are you going to file a counter-suit against her?" Eric just shook his head. "Jesus Christ! Don't tell me you're just gonna let her get away with it?" said Robert. "I'm not going to court anymore, Bob. The last one wore me down. I don't think I can go through with another one, with the media hounding me every time I step out of the courtroom. I just want to be left alone. I'm going to sell this penthouse and pay her," said Eric quietly. "The hell you're gonna do that! You caught her in bed with Peter! She should be fucking ashamed for what she did to you and you even let her sue you? You're fucking out of your mind too, Eric!" Robert continued ranting. "I can't blame her, Bob. I can't even bear to look at my own hands let alone her and I really treated her like shit the past six months. It was a surprise she hasn't left me sooner," said Eric as he down another glass of whiskey as though it was water. Eric didn't care for anything else anymore. He just wanted to be left alone. He sold his luxurious apartment and paid Katrina the money then shifted to this present rundown apartment. He lived on whatever saving he had but after two years without any work his saving was gone too. Robert of course was pissed with Eric reckless behaviour for paying Katrina but Eric was still his friend and he tried to support Eric in anyway he could. "You can always compose music exclusively. You've composed many pieces yourself and you've collaborated with me on your albums too. It's not really necessary to play. Come work for me, Eric. We'll find someone to play your music! And for God sake, stop drinking so much!" Robert reasoned. But try as he might, Eric couldn't even write a single note and each time when he picked up his pen and saw his disabled hands he would start replaying the scene all over again of how his attackers had viciously mutilated his hands and he would went into a fit of anger. He now pulled off his gloves and held out both his hands in front of him and examined them. How he used to love his hands, his fingers. They used to be so beautiful, so graceful, and so fluid as they ran across the row of keys on his piano. No, not ran but danced across the row of black and white keys. He remembered how he would run his fingers over Katrina's sexy body, how Katrina would scream with pleasure when he had slipped his fingers into her core of wetness. But now he hated the sight of them. They were now scarred and ugly and inflexible although he could manage all normal daily activities except playing again. He hated to see the empty spot where once his pinkies were. The worst day was the rainy days where he could feel stiffness and pain in his fingers and it would remind him of the attack. To avoid people looking at his ugly hands, he would wear gloves wherever he went. The more he looked at his hands and fingers the more he hated them. He was so consumed with rage that he ran into his small kitchen and tore opened his rather big fridge and pulled out trays and trays of ice and dumped them into the sink then dashed his hands into it. He let his hands and fingers stayed in there for a long time until he felt the burning sensation of the raw ice. Finally he dropped to his knees and sobbed long and hard. Later, as he sat at his sofa nursing a glass of whiskey with his left hand and his right hand holding Nicky's crumpled name card, which he had retrieved from the waste paper basket. Dominique Whitley - it read. The name did not do her justice. Such a small woman but with such a big name. What could she do for him? Help him? She probably would need all the help she could get fending off his roaming hands if he was his former self of four years ago. Women used to confess on air that they were so mesmerized by his hands and fingers more than his good looks when they watched him perform. They would go into explicit details how they used to fantasize about his hands and fingers when listening to his music while in bed. But now, he doubted any women would ever give his hands a second glance let alone touched them, just like Katrina when she first saw his hands after they took off the bandages. She had cringed away from him when he had tried to touch her. Carelessly he tossed Nicky's card onto the low coffee table and closed his eyes trying to get some sleep. He needed to go to work tomorrow morning as he was running low on cash again. He would never ask for any financial help from Robert. It would make him feel even less worthy then he already was. Not that he really needed a lot of money apart from paying rent and to buy the most basic necessities like whiskey. The drink had become his best friend ever since he lost his ability to play. Robert once signed him up on an alcoholism programme before but he never attended. "I'm not an alcoholic! I'm just a social drinker!" Eric had tried defending himself. "Social drinker my ass! Most of the time your eyes were blood-shot! And look at your hands! They shook!" Robert had argued back fiercely. "Just shut-up and leave me alone!" Eric shouted and he would chase Robert off and sank deeper into depression. He did try to make an effort to move on with his life but it was so tough. Robert had also tried once more to persuade him to see a shrink again after the last unpleasant encounter but he refused. He didn't want anyone to probe into him. Especially those bloody shrinks. All they did was to sit in their expensive office on their stupid expensive chairs and made you lie on an equally bloody expensive couch and let you blabber away while they nod their stupid heads, and after the session was over they pocket your money. I don't need anyone's help. I don't need anyone! He screamed silently and finished the bottle of whiskey. Slowly he drifted off to sleep on the sofa filled with nightmares of his attack. * * * * * Nicky had made a file about Eric Jordan Dillon. When she got home that night she had sat on her computer trying to find out as much information as she could get her hands on Eric. She found out about Robert Duncan and their friendship and decided to pay a visit to Robert tomorrow instead of going after Eric without a lead about his problems. Then she had browsed through the news of Peter Selleck and his wife Katrina Benson. Peter Selleck even had a website especially dedicated to him. Although Nicky wasn't any music connoisseur or expert but she didn't really like Peter Selleck's style. She thought his playing too hollow, which devoid of passion unlike Eric's. Of course he had his steady stream of followers too. He was very good looking, in fact better looking than Eric but he was aloof whereas Eric was charming. And over the last four years he had earned himself a bad reputation too. He was rude and conceited and arrogant because of his success. He would snub at anyone and criticized his fellow peers. Once he even walked off the stage during one of his live performances when a member of the audience had sneezed. There was not much news about his wife though, Katrina Benson Selleck. After they got married, Katrina had stopped modeling completely. However there was a small write up from an unknown source claiming Katrina had tried committing suicide once by swallowing sleeping pills. Apart from that, there was no other interesting news about her. Feeling quite satisfied with her progress she decided to turn in for the night and she had put on Eric's third album, 'Affairs of the hearts' which comprised eighteen tracks of love melodies. Soon the sensuous music lulled her into a deep slumber. That night she had the most erotic dream she had ever dreamt off. A man with ocean deep blue-green eyes was making sensuous love to her. _______ Music To My Ears It started late one night at a bar. I was out with my girlfriend Chris and the rest of a local community orchestra she's part of. They'd just played their last concert of the season and were celebrating. We were all drinking beer and having fun, especially me since I'd just gotten back from a week in the city. But before I get too into the story maybe I should tell you a little bit about us. I've been openly gay since I was 15, and I'm what most people would consider sort of a butch dyke (until they find out what I'm like in bed, then they realize I'm not as tough as I look). I'm 5'10 and have the build of a soccer player. I like playing sports and try to keep fit. I have fair Scottish skin and short red hair that I like to do funky things with, from unusual cuts to crazy colors. I have 5 tattoos, including one a few inches below my belly button that everyone loves. Chris is kind of the opposite; she looks real feminine but when the lights go out there's no question that she's in control. She's almost as tall as I am, with long sandy blond hair and a deliciously curvy figure. She's got enough holes in each ear to put a rainbow in, and a pierced nipple (only one, and yes, I kinda like it that way; I get a bit of both). We were hanging out with her friend Amy, who's a bit shorter, maybe 5'7, and pretty curvy (though she's more petite than Chris). She has an olive complexion and dark, curly hair that goes just past her shoulders. Amy is also the other lesbian in the band, and Chris's former French horn teacher. My girlfriend is one of those people who can pick up any instrument and play it (though some endeavors are more successful than others). Most of the people in the band are that way too, and for someone like me with no musical talent, they're fun to hang out with, even if their conversations go way over my head. My favorite moments are when Chris will just start playing something while we're hanging out. It's like our own personal soundtrack. Anyway, back to the story. Amy was getting especially drunk, probably because she tried to keep up with me, and I can easily drink her under a table. We could tell how drunk she was when she started trying to distract me while I was beating her at pool. First it was the lewd faces where I was aiming. When that didn't work, she started grabbing my ass or stroking my leg while I lined up my shot. At first, Chris was a little protective. But then she just started laughing at it, because it was clearly driving Amy crazy to watch us together. Amy told Chris she wanted to take me home, she would sign to Chris what I can only assume were lewd phrases (I don't know enough sign language to understand them). But that was it for that night. Chris and I went home and didn't say much about it until about a week later. "So Amy really likes you," Chris said over dinner. "I noticed," I said between bites of my chicken. I'm a cook, and I can make just about anything. But if you ask me, nothing beats good home cooked fried chicken. "What do you think of her?" "I like her, but you already knew that. I have met her before, remember?" "She's pretty hot isn't she?" "Ok," I said, pushing my plate aside, "Where is this going?" "I was just wondering....." Chris said, trying to sound innocent. "Sure, and I'm the pope," I said, rolling my eyes. Then suddenly it all became clear. "Oh I get it. You want in her pants, but you need an excuse, seeing as how she used to be your teacher." "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to sound innocent. I just glared at her. "Ok, fine, you win," she said. "I thought I sensed a little tension between you two," I laughed. "So what do you think?" "I think that we shouldn't worry about anything. If something happens, it happens. She's coming for dinner tomorrow, right?" "Yeah. You're not mad?" "Why on earth would I be mad? Do you know how many people would love to be in my position?" Chris laughed at that, and said "As long as you're not mad. I love you baby. But we need to get ready, I'm taking you out tonight, remember?" With that, she got up and kissed me. We went dancing that night at a nearby club. I dressed in my tight, low-rise jeans that I usually save for just such occasions when I want to look really hot. They don't leave much to the imagination. I also wore a wifebeater and a funky brown striped shirt with snaps (for easy removal). Chris wore an ankle length skirt that was really just a wrap that tied at her hip and a tight black t-shirt from The Clash (one of our favorite bands). We danced all night and got home so late that we just went to bed. The next morning we woke up after noon. I got in the shower and washed my hair. I was about to soap up when I was joined by Chris. "Let me help you with that," she said as she took the bath gel from my hands. Slowly she soaped my back, massaging the tension from my muscles as she did. I groaned softly as the tension flowed out of my body. Her touch is wonderful. She's so gentle and yet you can sense an untapped reserve of raw power in her hands. It's beyond sexy and it never fails to make me shiver with desire. I turned around and kissed her, my tongue gently slid into her mouth. Her tongue pressed against mine, and her hands slid from my shoulders to my breasts. She rubbed her palms over my nipples and then grasped them between her fingers, rolling them gently. I let out a low moan and pressed my body closer to her. I kissed her harder now and began to scratch my nails down her back. She broke the kiss and ran her tongue down my neck. When she reached my shoulder she bit down, just enough to make me gasp. Then she continued downwards. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall of the shower. Her lips closed around my left nipple and her teeth scraped gently across the tip. I moaned louder at this contact. Then suddenly, Chris stopped. She knelt down and began soaping my legs, starting at my ankles and working up. When she reached my pussy she stopped. She stood again, and her fingers lazily traced my tattoo. She leaned in and whispered in my ear "not yet baby, not yet. Rinse off." I rinsed and Chris shut off the water. We stepped out and dried each other off, enjoying the gentle caress of the soft towels. I walked back out to my bed and once again I felt Chris come up behind me. She ran her hands down my stomach, and once again, she stopped just short of the place I so longed for her to touch. Wordlessly, she lay on the bed and motioned for me to join her. I climbed on top and began devouring her body. I kissed down her neck, pausing to dip my tongue into the dent near her collarbone the way she loves so much. I continued down and captured one nipple in my teeth and flicked my tongue over it. She arched her back slightly and ran her hands up my back. I switched sides, licking slowly across her chest, watching her face change as I hit the spots she liked. I took her other nipple in my mouth and played with the barbell she was wearing. I love the way she squirms when I flick it or tug lightly on it. I paused and sat up to look at her, and I let my hands play over her stomach and take in the softness of her skin. Then I positioned myself lower and kissed her abdomen down to her mound. I moved further down, and kissed my way up from her knee to her pussy. She was starting to writhe at that point, so I began with feather light touches with my tongue all over her pussy. She moved her hips, trying to get more contact, so I gave her more. I licked little circles around her clit, slowly savoring her delicate flavor. She moaned my name now, urging me to continue. She wrapped her legs around me, locking her ankles behind my back. I teased her opening with my fingers and then slowly worked two inside. I started pumping my fingers into her, rotating my wrist with each stroke. As I did that, I flicked my tongue rapidly over her clit. She started grinding her pussy into my face. "Oh baby, I'm so close!" she screamed. I took this as my cue and doubled my efforts. I eased a third finger inside her and continued licking her clit. Within minutes I felt her wetness drip down my wrist and her legs tightened around me. She grabbed what she could of my hair and pressed my face to her pussy. I kept licking and licking as she screamed her pleasure over and over again. Only when her hands released their grip and she stretched out her legs did I stop. I wiped my chin and moved up to kiss her. Her hands ran through my hair, gently this time. "Mmmmm....now I remember why I keep you around, you're really good at that," Chris said, breathlessly. I playfully smacked her on the shoulder. She closed her eyes for a second and breathed deeply. Then, in a flash, she flipped me over and straddled me. She bent down and sucked gently on my earlobe. From there she licked down to my breasts and looked at me. She rolled my nipples between her fingers but she could tell I didn't really want to wait, so she kissed her way down my stomach. She slipped her hands under my knees and put my legs over her shoulders. She spread my pussy with her fingers and blew gently on my clit, driving me crazy. She very slowly pushed a finger inside me, wiggling it around and making me squirm. Just when I was about to go crazy with desire, she attacked my clit with her tongue, flicking and swirling and driving me closer and closer to the edge. Then almost as quickly as she started, she stopped. She traced my pussy with her tongue until I was squirming and moaning with desire. She shoved her tongue inside my pussy and fucked me with it. When I started matching her rhythm with my hips involuntarily, she started licking my clit again and put her fingers back inside me. Soon I was screaming loud enough for the neighbors to complain as a huge orgasm rushed through my body. When I came down I kissed her gently and we lay in each others arms for a while. About an hour later there was a knock at my apartment door. "Shit!" I said, jumping out of bed. "Is it 5 already?" I grabbed my clothes from the night before, since they were right there on the floor where I left them. I pulled on the bra and the wifebeater, but couldn't find my underwear. So I just pulled on my jeans and went to the door to let Amy in. As I opened the door, Chris pulled open the curtain that separates my bed from the rest of my meager studio apartment and walked out. I heard the girl talk start behind me as I walked to the kitchen to start dinner. "Chris, honey, you'd better be careful or I might try to steal your woman. Look at that sexy thing," Amy said with a wink. "I heard that." Chris laughed and said, "Oh believe me, it only gets better. You'll find out once dinner's ready." I opened a bottle of nice wine and pulled out some cheese I had bought the day before. One thing you learn in culinary school is that nothing works up a good appetite like some alcohol and appetizers. As the girls were chatting I brought over some slices of cheese and the bottle of wine with two glasses. "If you don't want me to be able to hear every word you say about me, you have to go into the bedroom and pull the curtain," I said. Not that I minded, they were being very complimentary, but I got the sense that I wasn't supposed to hear what they were saying. They giggled and went to have their little private chat while I made dinner. After dinner and dessert (and 2 1/2 bottles of wine) we were all satisfied and kinda tipsy. We sat on the couch sharing gossip. Chris was being real quiet, and I swear I saw wheels turning in her head. My suspicions were confirmed when she said, "So Amy, what do you say to a little hot seat?" Hot seat is a game we play at parties, where one person sits in the hot seat for a set time period and has to answer any questions that anyone in the group comes up with, as well as doing any dares the group agrees on. I know my girlfriend well enough to know that when she starts a game like this, she usually has a very specific goal in mind. I figured that night it was probably a little threesome action. "Ok" Amy said. "Good. You first. What is the hottest fantasy you've had lately?" That question surprised even me, because usually Chris is less direct in her probing. But that was only the beginning. "Well," Amy said, blushing, "I could tell you. Or I could show you." Chris grinned a mischievous grin and said "why don't you show us?" With that, Amy got out of her chair and straddled me on the couch. She bent and kissed me on the lips; her tongue prodded its way into my mouth and caressed mine. She ran her hands under my wifebeater and easily unclipped my bra. She played with my nipples for a minute before she pulled away and moved over to where Chris was on the couch. I could see a sly grin on Chris's face before Amy and Chris began making out. We quickly abandoned any pretense of a game of hot seat and moved into my bedroom. Amy and Chris dueled tongues and removed each other's clothing in a frenzy. I sat in my reading chair and watched, very much enjoying the scene playing out before me. Amy had Chris pinned on the bed and was sucking gently on her nipples, alternating between the two. Her hands were busy tracing wide circles around Chris's pussy, making my girlfriend move her hips in an effort to satisfy her growing lust. Amy kissed Chris again, and I watched one finger disappear between her lips and heard a muffled cry. Amy began moving her finger in quick circles around my girlfriend's clit, quickly building up her orgasm. I heard Amy whisper "I've wanted you for so long, it's too bad you had to be my student." Chris could only moan in response as Amy took two fingers from her other hand and pushed them inside her. Then Amy bent down again and started playing with Chris's nipple ring. I knew Chris wouldn't be able to resist the triple stimulation for long, and I soon saw her legs stiffen and her back arch as she screamed out in ecstasy. When she relaxed, Amy smiled, and kissed Chris gently. Then she looked over at me. I was wide-eyed from the event I had just witnessed, and Amy came over and knelt in front of me. "Did you like that?" she asked as she ran her finger up to my pussy. When she pushed two fingers inside I moaned loudly. "Oh, you liked that a lot, I see," she said. With that she leaned forward and began licking little circles and figure-8s around my clit. Her tongue was moving so fast I couldn't tell what she was doing. All I knew was it felt wonderful. I opened my eyes and saw Chris watching us, one hand absent-mindedly playing with her perfect breasts. Amy clearly knew what she wanted, and didn't want to wait, which wasn't a problem for me. She was driving me to the edge quickly. Every flick and swirl of her tongue drew moans out of me, and I knew I was going to come hard. When the orgasm rushed over me it was like a tidal wave. I don't know how many times I came, but by the time I was done I was shaking and couldn't stand up. Amy grinned and pulled me over to join her and Chris on the bed. Chris kissed me deeply and tickled the roof of my mouth with her tongue. Then she whispered in my ear "let's see if we can make this better than her fantasy." With that Chris pushed Amy back on the bed and began tonguing her nipples. Amy arched her back, clearly worked up from her previous activities. I moved down and started massaging and kissing my way up from her ankles. Chris was slowly circling Amy's clit, and when I got there she wrapped her fingers in my hair and pushed me into Amy's pussy. I figured Amy was probably very worked up already, so I wanted to make it last a little bit longer. I teased her clit with my tongue; first I licked circles, and when Amy started moaning audibly I eased off and flicked my tongue back and forth, barely making contact with her clit. Then I pushed 2 fingers inside her and moved them in circles. I found her g-spot and massaged it. Amy shut her eyes and clenched the sheet and Chris moved in. Chris started licking Amy's clit while I massaged her g-spot. She did those magical things with her tongue and before long Amy was squirming all over and screaming loudly. Soon, her whole body shook as she came hard. She grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand out and pushed Chris's head away. We both smiled at her and kissed each other. Then we moved up and kissed her. "Wow" was all Amy could say for a minute or two. When she was more alert, she said "that was better than I could've possibly imagined." "Mmmm...yes it was," Chris said. "Maybe we should do it again sometime." "Definitely" I said. And with that, we got under the blankets and fell asleep.