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Piano

By: CW69



I've always loved the sound of a piano – nimble fingers running over keys creating sounds to carry you away. Of course he had never mentioned that his wife plays, so I was pleasantly surprised when the sound of her playing in the next room reached me where I was tucked away in his office, hidden under the desk.  

It was just before sunset and a few minutes before we were suppose to "meet" online when I slipped through the window, wearing the clichéd trench coat. I could hear the sounds of the household as I removed the coat and made my way to his desk and slipped in under, quietly moving his chair back into place behind me. 

It was then, as I was playing the waiting game, that I heard the music floating through. I barely had chance to register what she was playing, when I heard the sound of the door open and close, footsteps nearing the desk. I pulled back further under the desk as he sat down, stretching out his legs (breathed a sigh of relief as there was enough space for me under there still). 

I listened to the sounds of him switching on his pc, picturing him in my mind typing his password, logging in and then the silence as he waits for me to appear online. I started wondering how long I should wait before I make a move but he made it easy for me as I heard him whispering "She should have been online by now, where the hell is she?" Not being one to need anymore encouragement, I placed my hand on his crotch and said "I'm right here, don't move."

I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his body going rigid at the sound of my voice, the touch of my hand.

"My wife is right next door!" he whispered through what I took to be clenched teeth. 

"I know, she's quite a gifted piano player it seems, now sit back and let's have some fun, after all, we already have the perfect background music."

I pushed him back in the chair, then slowly crawled out from under the desk on all fours towards him, my eyes fixed on his, watching the expression on his face as he took in what I was wearing. 

I had opted for a barely ass-covering tiny black skirt, a way too tight white button up shirt that was struggling to contain my breasts spilling out of a black corset and underwear, well there wasn't any as he was about to find out.

I got onto my haunches in front of him, moved my legs slowly outward. The look on his face was worth it as he realised that I had no underwear on. I leaned forward and slowly undid his zipper with my teeth – reached in with my hand, realizing then that apparently I was not the only one thinking ahead as my hand brought out his cock. 

I leant forward and just lightly licked the tip. His sudden intake of breath spurred me on as I took the head into my mouth, running my tongue around and around – my hand now grasping his cock at the base, at the same time gently squeezing while moving up and down. I felt his hands in my hair pushing my head forward, making his cock disappear into my mouth. I loved the hard feel of it sliding into my mouth, the veins pulsing as the blood ran through them. Within seconds he was fucking my mouth, his hips moving back and forth in rhythm with my fingers that had been stroking my slit but which were now buried deep inside me, thrusting in and out in time with his thrusts. He's moaning started to get louder, almost drowning out the sound of his wife's piano. I knew I had to stop him before he got too loud, after all, if she burst into the room now, we'd never be able to finish what we had started. So, going onto my knees, I took my fingers out my swollen pussy and shoved my soaking wet fingers into his mouth. He's moaning immediately stopped as he started sucking on my fingers,swirling his tongue around and between them slurping up my juices. 

He suddenly pulled his cock out of my mouth, lifted me up and pushed me back onto his desk. His hands took hold of my shirt and ripped it open sending the buttons clattering onto the floor. He's tongue was in mouth and I could taste myself still from when I silenced him with my fingers. He's tongue then left my mouth and left me wanting more as his hands moved down my body pushing my legs apart. As he slipped two fingers inside my slippery pussy I lifted my legs and placed them on either side of the desk, completely splayed open I stared into his eyes as his fingers plunged in and out of me, my hips thrusting up and down making sure that he could reach the deepest parts of me. I parted my lips until my clit was completely exposed, my own fingers found it before he had the chance and with my middle and index finger on either side of it I offered it to his tongue. I pulled his fingers out from deep inside me and thrust them into my mouth, sucking hard at my own juices as his mouth clamped down my clit. My body was starting to ache with wanting his cock inside me, I substituted by pushing his fingers back inside me using his hand to fuck myself as he lapped at my throbbing clit. 

I knew I was on the brink of cumming in his mouth when he suddenly stood up, shoved his cock down my throat with a few fast hard strokes (I was starting to think that he now had in mind to cum in my mouth) when he suddenly flipped me around, crushing my hard nipples into his desk. He forcefully shoved apart my legs from behind and plunged his cock into my pulsing pussy.  I'm sure I must have emitted a very loud moan as he buried his cock in side me, because the piano next door suddenly went quiet. He stopped moving and stood dead still, cock still inside me, anxiously waiting for any kind of sound from next door. 

I could not stand the feeling of his cock just resting inside me so, not caring about the deafening silence next door I started bucking my hips back and forth quietly and slowly fucking myself. I was lost in my own rhythm of riding his cock when the sounds from next door started to filter thru again. We were still safe it seems. My hand reached down to find my still throbbing clit as he started joining in my rhythm again. The thought crossed my mind then that we were a human metronome for his oblivious wife to keep time with.

I could feel the first hot waves starting to course through my body as he buried his cock inside me with harder and harder strokes, the sound of his breathing from behind just making me even hotter! His hands were now digging into my ass trying to push himself even deeper inside me than were possible. I could not take it any longer and knew that at any second the final wave would come crashing thru me. I bit down hard on my lip and felt from the intense throbbing of his cock inside me that he was at the same point. We were so lost in each other as the final thrust sent me over the edge, I heard myself and him both crying out thru clenched teeth, his juices finally mixing with mine as the clenching of my muscles squeezed the last drops from him into my pussy.

We never did hear the sound of his office door opening.

Piano in the Den



My appearance and weight seem to matter to a lot of people. I am tall and beautifully worn in by the den holding me captive. Sometimes I think I am old, perhaps because of the way I sound. A small difference in the way I move, and in the way I feel, forces me to consider the time I have kept. Perhaps that's why I now sleep for most days?

I am dressed to match the walls surrounding me; or perhaps the walls are dressed to match me. I see how my brown complexion is somewhat similar to the wooden planks that lie beneath my heavy legs. I am almost invisible in this den. I am almost safe.

Chair is next to me. I do not know why they have called him chair, I certainly would have picked a better name if someone had bothered to ask me first. Perhaps Lloy? Al? He is always next to me anyway, keeping me company when it gets darker. Even though he doesn't speak to me, I always know he is there. Sometimes I sing to him.

Familiar footsteps enter my room. I know who it is: Kelleher. His breath is so comforting to me now, his touch; there is no part of me he has not explored with his tender hands. I do love his hands, so firm yet so gentle. His visits were almost weekly now.

He moves chair from next to me, so that he can be the one closest to me instead. He uncovers my most private area, the part I keep covered until our music begins. I am eager and naive, too trusting, yet so safe in his hands. Surely my trust could never do me wrong.

In our first days together Kelleher's rhythm seemed off, like he did not understand how to play his part with me. I've noticed he runs his fingers over me more knowingly now, I've noticed how much he cares. He is perfect, my Kelleher. My dearest. My Master.

"Charlotte?" He turned his head away from me. He stood up and walked over to the door, which he opened. In came a beautifully held woman, so sweet that her scent suffocated me instantly.

I was vulnerable in this position, uncovered, worn in and somehow unable to move of my own accord. My most private place was opened for Charlotte's eyes to divulge. Her eyes sucked me in, as if they had hands of their own, reaching out and pulling me closer to her gaze. I felt aroused.

"Are you ready?" Her two lips formed this sentence. She was looking at me, as if expecting me to reply to her. Kelleher looked at me too, smiling his smile which I knew so well. Forever did it seem they stared at me, while I stood exposed and half played. 

Yet I am silent when untouched. I look inviting when no one is holding me. There is something about the way I stand which makes those around me want to press their fingers into me; like a lock that fits my many keys.

Kelleher and Charlotte begin to fondle with my most private parts. They make me sing with every probing touch. I enjoy singing, but I am confused by who is playing now. Who is the master to this song? Who am I submitting to? Which pair of hands belong to me?

I recalled how my timing and rhythm over the past few days, had been ugly and erratic, manipulated by the hands of juveniles. Smothered by the dusty cage of this den. Filling in the bitter cracks over my body where children had carved in their names, expecting worship for their destruction.

Kelleher had dusted these cracks many times. Yet my hopes that he might reach out and wipe down the bruises, the broken pieces of my body; today, had withered. Charlotte seemed to have a hold over this master, which made him weak to the music. Did I belong to Kelleher anymore? Did kelleher belong to Charlotte? I did not know.

Again, I say I am beautifully worn in by the den holding me captive, like in a cage. If a piano; then I'm standing helplessly in the den, and choice is a word forbidden to the repertoire. 

If not; then I choose my master. From right now I choose who presses down, unlocking the keys to my skin, beneath clothes I choose to apply.

If not; then I deserve to learn my own music- and kelleher, he will never play my piano again.



Piano Lesson



As always, thanks to everyone who listens to and enjoys my work.

-- Mirage

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Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (XX min/mp3)

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Piano Lessons



He wrapped his fingers around hers. The touch was firm but gentle, and it sent a jolt up her arm. Visions from the previous night flooded into her mind. She could almost feel his hands moving across her skin, and she shivered at the memory. Her breathing deepened as she got lost in the images in her mind.

"Rebecca? Are you okay?" He was looking at her, his eyebrows slightly raised in concern.

She shook herself back to the present, and blushed hard at the sudden realization that her memories had been nothing but a very vivid, very sexy dream. She shook it off as quickly as she could. "Sorry Dr. Clements, I just zoned there for a second. I guess I'm a little tired."

"It's okay; I know you've got a lot going on right now." He smiled at her.

Rebecca looked down at her hand on the piano keyboard where he still held her fingers. He gently pushed them into the proper position then let his hand drop. "Try the first few measures again."

She struggled to focus her mind back on the lesson. What was she thinking?! She'd been taking piano lessons practically her whole life, and never had a touch like that brought on such feelings. It was simply part of the lesson. When you play an instrument, it's only natural that your teacher will touch your hands.

She managed to hold off the images from her dream for the remainder of the lesson, though she was obviously having a little trouble focusing on her playing. When the hour was up she was relieved but also a little disappointed. When she got to the door to his studio, she turned to say goodbye. She stood there just a little too long, for the first time looking at him as something other than a professor.

Though he was probably old enough to be her father, she noticed that he was still in quite good shape. There was only a touch of gray in his dark hair, and his green eyes sparkled with energy and a hint of mischievousness. Her gaze stopped on his hands, the part of his body she had looked at the most. How had she never noticed before just how sexy they were?

"Bye, Rebecca. See you next week." She blushed again as she realized she'd been staring.

"Bye!"

*****

Rebecca walked back to her dorm room in a daze. She'd managed to force the dream out of her head for most of the lesson, but now that she no longer had to focus on something it came flooding back in shocking detail. She let herself into her room and sank into her bed, allowing herself to relive the dream.

She closed her eyes, remembering the sensation of his smooth fingers gently caressing her arms. He stood in front of her, slowly trailing those talented fingers over her skin, from her shoulder down to her hands. When he reached her fingertips, he lifted her hands and lightly brushed her fingers over his lips. When his slightly parted lips closed over the tips of her fingers, she felt her knees weaken, and he took the opportunity to push her gently back onto the bed.

The impact of their bodies on the bed awakened their pent-up lust, and they dove into each other's lips with their own. His wonderful fingers sent chills through her body when they found her breasts. He had unbuttoned her shirt and was teasing her hard nipples through her sheer bra when the sound of the door being unlocked rudely jolted Rebecca back to reality.

Rebecca looked down at herself and saw that she was lying on her bed, her shirt unbuttoned and her hand in her bra. She scrambled to straighten herself just as her roommate Ann walked through the door.

"Hey, what's up? How was your lesson this week?" Ann asked brightly as she entered and headed over to her desk to dump her huge load of books.

"Oh, fine, nothing special," Rebecca mumbled. When Ann looked at her quizzically she realized that she must not quite sound herself. "Sorry, I took a little nap and I'm still sorta asleep." Under her breath, she added "…and I had this weird dream…"

Ann continued to flit around the room in her usual cheerful way and kept up a chatter in which Rebecca did her best to participate. Inside, though, Rebecca was trying to sort out her feelings.

She thought about Dr. Clements, about how he'd been one of the reasons she had decided to attend this particular school. Not only was he a fabulous teacher, but he was also an amazing pianist; she could listen to him play endlessly. Since she'd been at this school, she'd never regretted the decision to come.

"Why did I even have to remember that dream, anyway?" she thought to herself. She hoped that she wouldn't be uncomfortable around Dr. Clements now; he was a great teacher and she had always enjoyed his lessons. She did not look forward to the idea of two and a half more years of lessons in which she couldn't relax. It certainly wasn't the right environment in which to really learn anything.

*****

Jeffery Clements watched Rebecca leaving his studio after their weekly piano lesson. He had liked her since the day they first met, almost two years ago, when she was a prospective student visiting the college. She had a lot of musical talent, which was reason enough for him to like her, but she also had a wonderful personality. She could be moody at times, an element he believed to be a part of most true artists, but she was also quite confident and full of energy. He had always enjoyed her lessons. She reminded him of the friends that he had had when he was an undergraduate.

There was something about the way she had looked at him today that was different, however, from the Rebecca he knew. He had felt like he was being sized up. That surprised him a little; he was used to students feeling a little intimidated by their professors, especially the younger students. Rebecca wasn't a typical student, though.

He thought a little about what he knew of Rebecca. She was always extremely busy; in fact, he thought that she sometimes tried to do too much. Of course, he'd prefer that she drop everything but piano so she could devote all of her time to practicing. She was an above average piano player, but she had the potential to be fabulous. He knew, though, that she wouldn't give up her other activities. Though her technique could use more practice, her playing had deep musical feeling, a gift he greatly appreciated, as that was the aspect that made his own playing so excellent.

Though he usually didn't allow himself to think about such things, he found himself considering Rebecca's appearance. Still 19, she had managed to keep off the proverbial freshman 15, and her membership on the school swim team had given her the strong, lithe body of a swimmer. Unlike most swimmers, however, she wore her straight chestnut hair long, almost to her ass. 

Dr. Clements shook himself when he realized he was thinking about running his fingers through that long brown hair. He knew that he couldn't allow himself to start thinking about any of his students that way.

*****

Rebecca slowly entered the music building. It had been a week since her last piano lesson, and she had managed to put the dream out of her mind most of the week. Now that she was about to have her lesson, however, she was a little nervous.

"Okay, Rebecca," she told herself, "if you think about it and act funny then it will be awkward. Just let it go…"

With a deep breath, she turned down the hall to Dr. Clements' studio. 

"Hello, Rebecca, come on in." Dr. Clements looked up from his desk. She sat at the piano and watched as he stood and walked over to her. "Have a good week?"

She smiled and told him about her week, inwardly telling herself that it wasn't so bad. She should just forget the dream ever happened.

The lesson settle into a comfortable routine, with Dr. Clements happy at the progress she had made on her Rachmaninoff. When they got to the Chopin, however, she began to get frustrated. 

"I just can't get this one measure," she sighed as she misplayed it for the third time. "My fingers aren't cooperating."

"You're holding your wrist tight." He took her wrist in his hand and adjusted its position. "Play it again."

When he touched her hand they both felt her entire body tense. She had done so well the whole lesson until now, but she couldn't help the reaction.

He looked up at her. "Your whole arm is tense. Relax." She smiled wanly at him, knowing it wasn't just her arm. She willed herself to relax, and attempted the measure again. "Better…again."

As she continued to play the offending measure over and over, she was very aware of his firm grip on her wrist, his arm lightly resting against hers. Her fingers were on auto-pilot; she was only subconsciously aware of the music she was producing. She realized that not only was she playing the notes correctly but she was also making them sound quite musical.

"Okay, this time keep going," his voice came from behind her head. She started again, but didn't stop at the end of the difficult passage, continuing through the end of the piece. She knew that she was playing beautifully, though she was only vaguely aware of her fingers moving on the keyboard. When the music was over she closed her eyes and reveled in the final chord still hanging ghostlike in the air.

"That was beautiful, Rebecca!" he said quietly, bring her out of her reverie. She sat up straight when she realized that she was leaning against him. She had gotten so into the music that she had been totally unaware of the increasing contact between their bodies.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry!" she said quickly, embarrassed at the realization. "I guess I just lost touch with reality there…"

"It's okay. That really was beautiful. Wherever you were while you were playing, it was a good place for you." His face was kind and proud.

She studied him, unable to tell if his mention of "a good place" was just referring to her zoning out, or if he had enjoyed her closeness. Before any real awkwardness could descend upon them, he announced that the hour was up, and she left the studio with even more thoughts flying around her head than she had come with.

She had amazed herself with the ease and beauty of her performance in the lesson. She had been struggling with that piece, but somehow it had just flown out from her fingers. She had lost herself in the music, and she sincerely hoped that she would be able to recreate the experience.

*****

The next week Rebecca arrived at her lesson in a slightly grumpy mood. All week she had tried to play the Chopin like she knew she could but she had been unsuccessful. She had gotten to the point where she was so frustrated that she could barely even play through it, much less make it sound good.

After their initial greeting, Rebecca asked what they should work on first. 

"I can't wait to hear you play the Chopin again. That was really amazing last week."

She grimaced. "I was afraid you'd say that. I've been really struggling with it all week. I think that was just a weird fluke." She reluctantly turned to the correct page in her music.

"Stop. I can tell you're not going to play it well just from looking at you," he said, looking at her tense muscles. "Take a deep breath, relax a little." He waited patiently as she took a few deep breaths. "Okay, now try it."

She stumbled trough the first few measures, then stopped and put her head down on the piano, completely frustrated with herself. She knew what ingredient was missing from the formula, but she didn't want to admit it to herself. Besides, she couldn't exactly ask her professor to hold her while she played. 

She felt his presence as he slid onto the piano bench next to her. He placed his left hand gently on her shoulder and pulled her back up. "Try it again. I know it's in there somewhere, you've already proven that." His hand stayed on her shoulder as she placed her fingers back on the keys. When she hesitated he reached out and took her wrist in his right hand like the previous week, only this time the touch was tender. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then opened them and began to play.

As she played she was aware only of his touch on her arm and on the bare skin of her shoulder. As they sank deeper into the music his left hand began to trail across her back to her left shoulder and down her arm. His arms now encircled her completely, and his gentle caresses quickly grew stronger. Electric current seemed to travel through her body, originating at his touch and infusing the notes pouring from her fingertips. 

Rebecca felt her long hair being brushed off of her neck, and then his warm breath close to her skin. She ended the piece with a passionate burst of sound and melted back into his body, all inhibitions abandoned.

When the music stopped, they both sat stunned for a few seconds. When Dr. Clements realized he was embracing his student it was his turn to be embarrassed.

"Oh my God, Rebecca, I'm so sorry!" He quickly dropped his arms and tried to pull away from her. When he began to move she turned toward him and placed her hand on his face. More than the touch, however, it was the intense look in her deep green eyes that stopped him.

"I…it's okay…" She paused, able to communicate more through their shared gaze than with words. Finally, she leaned forward and kissed him gently. 

When their lips made contact, she was suddenly and completely aware of her body, as though someone had flipped a switch. Every inch of her skin was tingling with the desire to be touched, and she could smell the musk of her soaked panties. Dr. Clements responded to the kiss by wrapping his graceful fingers through the hair on the back of her head and returning the kiss passionately. 

Suddenly, however, he stood, and Rebecca was afraid she'd gone too far. Ashamed, she didn't look up at him. Seconds that seemed like hours passed before he reached down and pulled her up beside him. He pressed her roughly to his chest and whispered huskily, "Rebecca, oh Rebecca."

She looked up at his face, at his eyebrows raised in unspoken question and his lips parted in anticipation. She nodded slightly, and a tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth.

"Not here. Come with me." He led her to the door.

She followed him out of his studio, down the hall and outside. She knew where he was leading her, and she'd never been so glad that he lived just off campus, less than a block from the music building. They tried not to walk too fast or attract any undue suspicion, but Rebecca was sure that had anyone been paying any attention they would have known something was up.

They practically fell through his front door, and the second it was closed they were on each other, kissing frantically. As they kissed, he pushed her backwards into his living room and up against the baby grand piano that stood proudly at one end. He lifted her onto the bench and laid her across it, legs reaching the floor at one end, head practically hanging off the other end. He stood over her and looked down, for the first time allowing himself to look at her as a woman and not as a student.

"God, Rebecca, you're beautiful." With that, reached down and began to unbutton her thin summer shirt. When it lay open he stopped to admire her again. Rebecca's stomach was flat and muscular from her swimming. Her breasts were small enough to stand up from her chest instead of hanging to the side, but were large enough to fill his hands. He could make out the outline of her long nipples straining through her silky bra. He longed to trace his tongue around the delicious curves of the bottom of her breasts, and decided that he couldn't wait any longer.

His skillful fingers undid the clasp between Rebecca's breasts and let the skimpy material fall to the sides. He gently palmed both of her breasts and enjoyed the sensation of the supple flesh underneath his fingers. Rebecca had been holding her breath, but at the first contact she let out a moan and gasped for breath. Their initial urgency had ebbed some, but when his fingers touched her warm skin all of the lust came rushing back to them.

He played with her soft breasts for some time, both because he enjoyed it and because he wanted to tease her. He could tell from the way that she was squirming that she wanted him to pay some attention to her hard nipples, and after a few minutes her finally gave in to his own desire to play with them. He began by gently pinching both of her nipples, but before long he was pulling on them and rolling them between his fingers.

This treatment had brought out a side of Rebecca he had never seen before, though he wasn't at all surprised that she had such a wild side. Her lithe body was writhing beneath his hands on the piano bench, and she was making all manner of sounds, from tiny mews and whimpers to deep throaty gasps and moans. He swore to himself that he would have her screaming by the time they were finished.

Dr. Clements began kissing and nibbling at Rebecca's neck. He worked his tongue down her neck to her chest, loving the clean smell and taste of her skin. He decided that his tongue should not have to wait any longer to share in the softness of her breasts; it joined his fingers in their exploration, licking all around, under and in between her mounds. 

With his mouth on her breasts, his fingers were free to travel down her tight stomach and under the waistband of her shorts. Her hips rose to meet his touch, and quickly he was unzipping her shorts and sliding them down her long legs to join her sandals on the floor. He cupped her mound gently through her skimpy panties, and as his fingers brushed across her clit for the first time, he sucked one of her nipples into his hot mouth, licking and biting at it at the same time. 

"Oh! God! Ahhhh!" Rebecca cried out as she was pushed over the edge into an explosive orgasm. She bucked and shook so much that Dr. Clements had difficulty keeping his hands and mouth on her body. She ground her pussy up into his hand as she rode out her orgasm. He could feel her already damp panties becoming wetter as her juices ran out of her.

When her orgasm had subsided, Rebecca lifted Dr. Clements' head from her breast and looked him in the eyes. "I want to suck your fat cock, Professor." The initial shock at her language wore off very quickly, and within seconds Rebecca was staring at what was, indeed, a very large cock. She licked her lips as she studied it.

Though it didn't appear to be all that thick, it was long; Rebecca knew that it was much bigger than any cock she'd ever seen in real life. She could tell that she was going to have trouble taking the entire thing in any of her holes. Damned if she wasn't going to try her best, however.

Rebecca's orgasm had done nothing to sate her lust and she was eager to have this stiff cock down her throat. As eager as she was, however, she remembered how he had teased her and she fully intended to return the favor.

He was on his knees to her side, his cock thrusting out across her just below her chin. She looked up at him, smiled what she knew was a flirty, sexy smile, and moistened her lips with her tongue. Finally, she gave in to the lust in his eyes and leaned forward to lick his shaft.

She began with long slow licks from the base of his cock up to just below the smooth head. She continued this for some time, eventually adding her lips, driving him wild. After a few minutes, she could tell that he was struggling to not force himself into her mouth. She pulled away, flattened her tongue, and slowly ran it across the tip of his throbbing prick. 

He nearly came all over her face. He looked down at the clear trail of his precum that connected her outstretched tongue to his cock, and what little restraint he had maintained left him. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her mouth onto his dick, pumping into her face roughly.

After a few seconds of this Rebecca pushed her professor away from her. He was disappointed and a little mad that she was making him stop. Then she smiled at him, said, "Bad angle. I think you'll like this one better," and laid back on the bench and hung her head completely off the end. He quickly took the hint and moved to the end of the bench and pressed his cock against her lips.




Piano Lessons



When she parted her lips, his dick slowly slid into her mouth. He kept expecting to hit the back of her mouth, but she took him in until his balls were pressed against her face. Rebecca was a little surprised at herself; even at this angle she hadn't thought she could fit his entire cock in her throat. Dr. Clements was certainly surprised. No one had ever swallowed his whole length before, and he would never have expected it out of this small young woman.

In this position Rebecca could hardly move, so it was up to Dr. Clements to provide the motion. At first he was worried that he might hurt her or that she couldn't breathe, but as they began to get into a rhythm he realized that she was enjoying the sensations as much as he was. He was enjoying the feeling of being in control, and he had a feeling that she was liking it as well. Since he had been discovering new things about Rebecca's personality all day, he thought he'd try something and see how she reacted.

He had been pumping her mouth fairly quickly, but now Dr. Clements' grabbed his Rebecca's hair and began slamming his cock in between her lips. Her eyes got wide, then she squeezed them tightly shut. She began to buck and squirm, but he knew it was out of pleasure and not an attempt to get away.

"You like that, don't you, you dirty little girl?" Her response was a moan that sent vibrations from his cock throughout his body. He knew he had to get her to keep doing that.

"You like it when I fuck your pretty face." It was more of a statement than a question. Her moan was louder and longer.

"You like my cock in your throat? Next I'm going to fuck your hot little pussy." Rebecca let out a scream muffled by the cock in her mouth. The sensations put him over the edge, and he slammed himself as deep into her throat as he could and came harder than he could remember ever cumming before. She closed her lips around his shaft and swallowed, stimulating his throbbing dick.

When he was finished, he slipped from between her lips and collapsed back onto his heels. They both lay silent for a moment, still enjoying the last waves of pleasure shooting through their bodies. After a while, he spoke.

"Rebecca, I…" She sat up and turned around. "I don't know what to say. Somehow 'Thank you' doesn't seem quite right."

"You shouldn't thank me. At least not yet, anyway," she finished with a smile. She got up from the bench and joined him on the floor. "What makes you think I'm done with you?" 

"I'm not sure I…" She cut him off with a soft kiss.

"You're not sure you can what?" She kissed him again, this time more firmly. "I'll wait." This time her kiss was more of a bite; she gently nibbled and licked at his bottom lip. "I don't think I'll have to wait too long. Besides, you promised. I seem to recall that you wanted to fuck my hot little pussy." She smiled at the soft groan that escaped his lips. "But before you can fuck it, you're going to have to lick it."

She stood and her wet panties were inches from his face. She grabbed the back of his head and pushed it into her soaking crotch. After a few kisses and licks, he grabbed the sides of her panties and ripped them down her legs, burying his face in her mound. Her swollen lips were shaved smooth, and he delighted in running his tongue over them and sucking them into his mouth. He teased her slit for a while before driving his tongue into her hot folds. By this time she was bucking down on him, trying desperately to get him to lick her clit. They were both lost in a symphony of gasps and moans. Finally he gave in to her and, starting at her asshole he trailed his tongue up her slit and flicked it over her pink bud. She grabbed his head, not about to let him get away, and rode his face wildly. As he sucked her clit into his mouth he felt her begin to shake.

Suddenly, she forced him backwards onto the floor. "Now you're gonna fuck my hot little pussy!" With that she grabbed his once-again stiff prick and slid it into herself.

Immediately Rebecca's body began to convulse as her orgasm hit her with full force. Her pussy clamped down on Dr. Clements' dick as waves of pleasure rushed through her body. He knew that he was very close as well, and he grabbed her hips and began slamming them up and down into himself. He took in her firm breasts bouncing in front of him and her long hair flying around her head. Her throbbing pussy was still sending spasms of pleasure into his cock, and the sensory overload was too much for him.

"Oh God! Oh, Rebecca!" His screams of pleasure were added to hers as he filled her with his seed. She ground her pussy onto him, squeezing out every drop, then finally collapsed onto his heaving chest. 

The pair rested on the floor until Rebecca realized that she was late for a class. She jumped up and began pulling on her clothes. "I'm so sorry, I'm supposed to be in my English class in five minutes." She continued pulling on her clothes, then stopped and looked at him. He was now standing in front of her, watching her as she got dressed. She could tell that he was feeling a little awkward now that the passion had passed. She wondered briefly what future piano lessons would be like, and she was sure that he was having similar thoughts.

"I'll see you next week, Dr. Clements," she said softly into his mouth. With a short but sweet kiss she turned and left his house. She knew that next week could not come quickly enough.



Piano Man



[There is no explicit sex in this story. My intention is to elicit an emotional response from the reader. Please let me know with votes and comments how well I succeeded.] 

*

When Josh's Mom decided her boy needed to learn to play the piano he was seven. She found and bought a used upright, installing it in the family living room. Over three months she stripped the old finish off the wood, sanded and used steel wool to get the surface prepared and then used a marine grade polyurethane to make the older piano look new. She had studied piano for three years when she was young and as she worked on the piano she relived the good memories of spending time with her mother at their piano. Somehow the memories of the tedious hours each week practicing weren't a part of her reminiscing.

Josh had watched Mom working on the piano as he went about the very important jobs that were a part of being seven and a boy. Mom took time away from her project to do all the mom stuff; cooking, cleaning, reminding, bandaging Josh when he needed it and tucking him in each night. 

Josh and his Mom and Dad lived in a small town in Nebraska. There were kids on every block, three city parks, two elementary schools, a middle school that still had the sign on the front that said, "Abraham Lincoln Junior High School," and a high school named for the town. All the boys Josh knew were interested in sports, all sports and in going fast.

At dinner one night about a month before his eighth birthday Josh volunteered that what he wanted for his birthday was a bike. He was very specific about what he wanted. He handed his Dad a hand written list of specifications including model numbers, color and where this wonderful bike could be bought. His Dad smiled until he got to the price. He couldn't believe he was asking for a bike that cost nearly five hundred dollars!

Internally he wanted to tell Josh, "No, damn way I'm shelling out five hundred for a bike for an eight year old!" However, he didn't want to crush the boy. So, what came out of his mouth was, "Wow! I'll have to do some checking into this. That's pretty expensive."

Josh smiled and finished his dinner. He believed his Dad would see what a great bike it was and on his birthday he'd ride all over town showing off his new bright yellow TREK trail bike.

After Josh was in bed asleep Barbara, Josh's Mom, asked his Dad, "What does the bike cost?"

"Five hundred. It's too much for a bike for an eight year old!"

Barbara was quiet as she did her nightly ritual. She was thinking. As she and Brad got into bed she said, "Can I have the page he gave you? I want to see if I can find one used or one like it."

"Sure. I think two hundred would be Ok, but not five hundred." They kissed, pulled the covers up and Barbara shut off the light.

The next day Barbara called the biggest TREK store within five hundred miles and asked to speak to the manager. She described the bike her son wanted and asked if they carried that bike. He said, "Yes, I've got three in stock. A dark blue, a white and a yellow."

"Do you have any posters of that bike?"

"As a matter of fact I do. It's even a yellow one in the picture."

"He wants that bike. I want him to earn it. Can I buy the poster? I want to hang it in his room as the incentive for him to earn it."

"You want an eight year old to earn five hundred dollars?"

"No. Better grades, chores without fights, and maybe one or two other things."

"Ok, Give me your address. I'll send you the poster, but you have to promise that when you buy the bike you buy from me."

"I promise." She gave him their address and smiled the rest of the day. She went to the town library that afternoon and used their computer. She ordered a CD of piano music, making sure the one she bought had the tune she was looking for on it. She also ordered a subscription to a magazine called, "Bicycling."

She got home and went to work. The house got cleaned, the laundry done, a roast went into the oven and she set a timer to go off when school let out. The dryer made soft background noise as Barbara sat at the piano for the first time, to play. She remembered back to when she was seven and her mom had started teaching her. Her fingers remembered. She made mistakes, but after half an hour she could feel she was improving.

That night she didn't say anything about Josh's birthday or the piano while Josh was awake. After he was asleep she sat beside Brad and said, "I have an idea. Hear me out?"

"Sure." He faced her, making sure she knew he was paying attention.

She outlined what she had learned about the bike. She said, "I want Josh to learn to play the piano. I know boys aren't interested in the piano at his age but I want to give him an incentive. We'll give him a subscription to Bicycling magazine and a poster of the bike he wants. I'll give him a CD with a certain piece of piano music on it. When he can play that piece of music he gets the bike. I think it will take him two years to earn the bike."

"He'll be ten when he gets it?"

"Yes! He'll be bigger, stronger and he'll have learned to play the piano too."

"Who teaches piano here in town?"

"I'll teach him." Barb smiled.

Brad sat and thought. The longer he thought the smarter he realized his wife was. "Ok! I agree! But, he has to get something for his birthday. Something he'll like."

They agreed on a skateboard. Barbara ordered one the next day. Three days before Josh's birthday the poster came in the mail along with the CD Barbara had ordered. The day before his birthday the first issue of Bicycling arrived in the mail. The UPS truck delivered the skateboard later that day. Barb got them all wrapped and hidden before Josh got home from school.

During dinner she asked Josh what he wanted for his birthday dinner. He picked pizza and a lemon cake with vanilla ice cream. Josh had trouble going to sleep that night. When the alarm woke him the next morning he bounded out of bed and ran into his parent's room and said, "I'm eight!" They acted surprised and asked if he was sure. He wanted to know when he got his presents.

Brad said, "Presents are given after dinner." He said it so sternly that Josh didn't even attempt to convince him otherwise.

Rather than make a pizza at home Barb had one delivered, with everything. Josh ate bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, pepperoni and sausage that night, without a fuss. He had two big pieces. Barb brought out the cake and they sang "Happy Birthday".

Barb explained to Josh that she wanted to make a deal with him. He wanted to know what kind of deal.

"The bike you want is expensive. We want you to earn it. You still get a good present right now but as soon as you earn the bike, we'll buy it. What do you think?"

"I don't have a job!"

"We're about to give you a job. You'll work for me and earn the bike."

"How long will it take?" He worried they would make it take forever.

"That depends on how hard you work."

With visions of spending the entire summer on his knees in the garden pulling weeds he asked, "What do I have to do?"

"You have to play my favorite song on the piano." Barb smiled at him.

"What? I don't know how to play the piano!"

"So, you learn. When you've learned enough to play my favorite song, you've earned the bike." Barb got the package with the poster in it and said, "Here's the first of your three presents for today."

He looked at the package. It was almost three feet long and three inches in diameter, a tube almost like it could hold a baseball bat. But when he held it it was too light to have a bat in it. He moved it around like maybe it was a light saber and he heard something jingle and move around inside. Josh carefully unwrapped the package and found the poster. Brad helped him unroll it and they looked it over.

"That's the one!" Josh screamed. "That's the exact bike I want!"

"We cam put this up on your wall tonight if you want." His Dad offered. Josh nodded, his eyes still taking in every detail.

When he thanked them Barb handed him the second present. She had put the first issue of Bicycling in a shirt box and wrapped it in paper with drawings of bicycles on it. He quickly tore the package open and saw the first issue. He noticed that the subscription on the cover had his name on it. Dad said, "You get an issue every month."

Five minutes passed while Josh looked through the issue, checking every picture. After he thanked them both Barb asked him to get her what was under his bed. He ran to his bedroom and found the skateboard, wrapped and hidden right under his bed.

He carried it back to the dinner table and asked, "How long has it been hiding under there?"

Dad said, "We knew you never clean under your bed so we knew it would be safe."

Mom asked, "So what is it?"

Josh tore the package open and said, "A skateboard! A great skateboard!" He got it completely unwrapped and discovered in the center of the deck was a sticker from TREK, the makers of the bike he wanted.

Josh agreed it was a great birthday. Mom and Dad watched him ride the skateboard for twenty minutes and then they went back in the house. The next day Josh rode his new board to school. In his back pack he carried his books, school supplies and his Bicycling magazine.

After school that day and after he had done his homework, he had lesson number one. Mom showed him how to find middle "C". She had him run outside and come back in and show her which key was middle "C" . She gave him a sheet of paper that showed the names of the lines and spaces between the lines on sheet music. She told him, "As soon as you have learned that you can have lesson number two."

The next day when his homework was done he showed her he knew where middle "C" was and identified all the lines and spaces on the blank music sheet. She gave him lesson number two. 

Day after day she gave him tiny pieces to learn. She made sure she praised him along every little step of the way. By the end of the second week he could easily hit Middle "C" and could hit and name all eighty-eight keys.

Between the end of homework and bedtime he had free access to the piano. At the start of the second month he was playing chop-sticks. By the end of the second month he was playing five different two-finger songs. Barb was beginning to remember the practice sessions she had done as a child and why she hated "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

The weather got warmer, the days got longer and the boys of the world wanted to play baseball. Josh let the lessons slide for two weeks. Mom didn't demand he practice. She didn't remind him.

When two weeks had passed without the keyboard cover being lifted Mom got a blessing. It rained one day. When Barb saw her boy coming home from school she sat at the piano and played a song as he came through the door. He stopped and watched. When she was done she said, "Remember what you played last time you sat here?"

"Yeah. "Twinkle, Twinkle."

"If you can sit here right now and play it, I'll get us pizza for dinner."

"Easy!" He sat next to her and put his hands on the keys. He made it through "Twinkle, Twinkle little star" and died at "How I wonder..." Mom said, "When you don't repeat it often enough it goes away. Your fingers forget how to do it." She sent him off to do his homework and she made chicken for dinner.

After dinner they had a lesson. Josh still played baseball with his friends. When school let out for the summer he played more baseball, soccer, went swimming and played the piano. Barb never asked him if he practiced. She remembered how she hated that word. She asked him once in a while if he had played piano today. Kids like being asked if they played, as if the yes was a good thing.

While Josh was out doing boy stuff, Barb played. She was relearning so she could teach Josh. He hadn't asked once what song he needed to play. He knew it was a tough one. It was worth five hundred dollars.

One Saturday during that summer Brad was working in the flower bed outside the front of the house and heard the piano playing. He was glad that it wasn't "Twinkle, Twinkle..." He recognized the new song, it was "Ode to Joy" by Beethoven. He went back to work thinking it was Barb playing.

The fourth time it was played he was shocked when he heard Barb's voice say, "Isn't he getting good?"

He turned and saw her standing near him as the music kept playing. He kissed her and said, "I need to tell him." Dad went inside and said, "Son, I'm impressed. I heard you playing and I thought it was your Mom. Play it again, please I love that one."

Josh played it fifteen more times that day.

When Josh started fourth grade the new teacher asked if any of her students played an instrument. Josh raised his hand as did three girls. Two of the girls said they were learning the piano, the other girl said she was learning the violin.

When he came home he told Barb that the other boys wanted to know why he was learning the piano. He said they said the piano was for girls.

Barb took him to the computer and they did a search. They discovered that baseball players make more, football players make more too. So Barb helped him search and see how many men play professional baseball and how many play pro-football. She helped him with the math and they discovered that out of a million boys less than three thousand would ever make any money playing pro sports. Further they discovered there were millions of people making a good living from playing piano, composing music and teaching. She just let him digest the information and the implications about the future of doing both.

She noticed he slacked off from piano for a couple weeks. He didn't stop but he didn't play every day either.

As it got closer to Christmas the school decided they wanted a Winter Holiday celebration where the classes would perform skits and sing or dance for the whole school and the parents.

The teacher asked the two girls who said they were learning piano to play some Christmas carols while the class sang. Neither girl could do it. They both said, "I can't. I've only been practicing for two years."

Josh sat down at the piano and played "Ode to Joy." The whole class sat stunned as he played. Then the teacher asked if he could play "Frosty the Snowman" and maybe one other song at the Winter Holiday celebration. Josh said he'd ask his Mom.

After school he got lots of compliments on how well he played. He knocked out his homework quickly that afternoon and was at the piano playing "Frosty" when Mrs. Brown, his teacher called. She spoke with Barb and told her what was happening as well as asking if Josh could play. Barb answered that she'd talk it over with the family and get back to Mrs. Brown the next day.

At dinner she asked Josh if he wanted to play for the program at school. Josh said he thought it would be fun. Dad asked what they were talking about. Josh explained it to him. He looked at Barb and said, "He's only been learning for nine months. Can he do it?"

Barb said, "Josh, can you play "Frosty"? He left the table and sat at the piano. He had spent an hour learning it after school. He played it without looking at the page once. When he finished Dad and Mom clapped. He jumped off the bench and bowed. He ran back to the table and said, "Can I play for the whole school?"

He played. All his peers sang. His Mom got calls and started teaching other kids piano.

Josh still played baseball, basketball, and soccer. He ran, climbed, swam and rode his skateboard around too. And, he played piano almost every day.

At dinner exactly one month before he was turning nine his Dad asked, "You ready for the bike for your birthday?"

He looked up at his Mom and said, "What's the song I have to play?"

She smiled and got the CD off the shelf. She put it in the stereo and hit play. She had found a recording of a piano soloist playing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic". After the first ten notes Josh said, "Turn it up, please." He closed his eyes and listened.

When it was over he asked, "Again, please?" Mom hit the buttons and they listened again.

When the music stopped Josh said, "I can do this! Invite Grandma and Grandpa over for Sunday dinner and I'll play it for all of you."

"Are you sure?" Dad asked. "That's a long piece of music. It sounds complicated, too."

Josh smiled and said, "Order the bike Dad. It's in the bag."

Dad worked every day. Barb was at home, listening. Josh played the CD four or five times a day and spent hours playing different sections of the piece. He came home from school with CD's he'd checked out of the library and he listened to those renditions of the "Battle Hymn" as well. By Thursday Barb ordered the bike. She called the store in Colorado and asked to speak to Frank. 

"Frank, this is Barbara. I spoke to you a year ago about getting a TREK poster for my boy."

"Right! I remember. Shall I order the bike?"

"Yes! He did more that any of us believed he could do."

"What exactly did he need to do to earn the bike, if I can be nosey and ask?"

"He needed to play the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" on the piano."

"How long has he been playing?"

"He started the day after his birthday last year."

"I took piano when I was a kid. No way he learned piano in a year! I studied for three years and I wasn't good enough to play that."

"He's playing it for his grandparents, his Dad and I this Sunday. Bring his bike and have dinner with us."

"I just might do that!" They finished the business part of the call and an hour later he called back. "Can I bring my wife?"

They were coming to hear Josh play. Barb told Brad, but not Josh. She invited the grandparents to drive two hours for Sunday dinner. When she said why, they agreed to come. Barb's Dad asked, "Why the "Battle Hymn"?

"Cause he's a boy. I'd rather he played "clare de lune", but that's because I'm a girl."

Sunday came. At noon the phone rang. Josh answered. "Peterson residence, Josh speaking."

A voice he didn't recognize said, "This is Frank Willows. May I speak to Barbra Peterson please?"

He covered the mouthpiece and loudly called out, "Mom, it's for you." Then he spoke into the phone, "Mom's making a big dinner right now. She'll be to the phone in just a minute."

"Thank you." 

A minute later Barb picked up the phone and said, "Yes?"

Frank asked for street by street directions from the train station. Barb called Josh back to the phone and handed it to him. She said, "This man and his wife are coming for dinner. They are at the train station and need directions. Help them get here, OK?"

Ten minutes later a gray four door truck parked in front. On the side doors was a logo of a bicycle and the words, "Biggest Bike Shop in Colorado!" In the bed of the truck was something covered with a tarp. Frank and his wife were dressed for church as they got out of the truck. If Josh had seen the truck he would have exploded. The man, Frank and his wife covered the whole truck with a nylon cover and walked to the front door. Josh ran to answer the door when the bell rang. Barb and Dad were setting food on the table. They stopped and met their guests.

Before the introductions were over a twenty year old pick up painted John Deere green parked in the driveway and Josh's grandparents got out. They didn't knock. They walked in and greeted each person with a hug. Everyone except Frank and his wife also got a kiss from Grandma.

Barb assigned seats and everyone sat down for dinner. Food was passed and conversations held. Grandpa wanted to know why someone would drive all the way from Colorado for dinner. Barb answered. "Dad, Frank plays piano too. He heard Josh was gonna play today and he asked if he could come listen. I said yes."

Grandpa said, "Damn long drive to listen to a kid!" Then he took another big fork full of mashed potatoes with peas in them and shoveled it into his mouth. His wife of forty-two years thought, "Choke, you old goat", but she didn't say anything. Grandpa was actually Brad's dad not hers and when he mouthed off like that she was glad he wasn't her Dad.




Piano Man



The women talked about the food and the weather. The men talked about the roads between Colorado and where they lived and they talked about the weather. Josh ate and thought about playing the "Battle Hymn." He loved it! It was powerful and soft. It was fast and pounding and gentle in places.

Barb noticed he closed his eyes and his fingers were twitching as he played an imaginary piano. Her eyes filled with tears she was so very happy. She only wished her mom had lived long enough to be with them and enjoy Josh.

When dinner was over, Josh and the women cleaned up. The women carried the leftovers and Josh took the dirty plates, silverware and glasses to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later everyone was finding a seat in the living room.

Josh sat on the piano bench. Frank remarked, "That's a great looking piano."

Josh said, "Mom sanded it down and painted it. It was ugly when she bought it."

Frank complimented her on doing such a great job. His wife asked what she used to get that satin finish.

Grandpa interrupted by saying, "We didn't drive for hours to talk about furniture refinishing. I want to hear the boy play!"

Brad, Josh's Dad, waited five more seconds and said, "Ok, Josh. Go for it!"

Josh played. He looked at the keys and he looked inside at whatever images helped him know where his fingers needed to go. He included pieces from ten different arrangements of the "Battle Hymn." He didn't look at the faces of the adults around him. To use a Zen term, Josh became the music.

When he stopped playing the room stayed still. The music had stopped but it still reverberated through the people listening and watching.

The first person to speak was Grandpa, "I've never been so touched by music in my life!"

Josh looked at his Grandpa, expecting to see the same stone faced old man he always saw. His faced had softened and a tear slowly ran down his cheek. Barb noticed he was holding Grandma's hand.

Frank stood up and said, "I heard you were good! They didn't tell the whole story. Josh, you're great. You should be giving a concert!"

When Barb was able she served cake and ice cream. The cake had the candles for Josh's birthday on it. Everyone sang and Josh blew out the candles.

Dad said, "We have a surprise for you. It's out in front in the back of Frank's truck."

By the time any adult got out the front door Josh had made it to the truck and unwrapped his bike. He hugged his Mom, his Dad and then everyone else. Frank helped him get it out of the truck and Frank adjusted the fit so the bike fit the boy and not the other way round.

With permission Josh rode off to show off. The last words he heard as he left were, "Be home before dark!" He was.

One of the nice things about a small town was that everyone knew when anyone did something great. About a week after Josh got his bike his class was in the auditorium for something and Josh saw the piano. He asked his teacher if he could play it. Being a pretty smart lady she said yes. He played "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." All the kids gathered around the piano and watched as Josh played. From that day on Josh was no longer the first baseman, or a wide receiver. Josh was a pianist.

He loved being the pianist. It made him special. It made him popular and as time went on it made him some money. He still played sports, still went swimming and climbed trees, too. He spent many hours sitting on the piano bench playing popular songs, rag-time, classical music and anything he or his Momma wanted to hear. Josh knew his Momma loved hearing him play while she cooked, cleaned and did her chores around the house.

After he finished high school he was able to get a scholarship to study music, so he left their little town and went to college. Three years later he graduated and got a job with a symphony orchestra. During his college years and his first three years as a professional Josh met and dated many delightful young women. As a second year musician with the symphony he and a violinist shared an apartment and a bed. It was easy and comfortable for both of them but emotionally unsatisfying for her because he didn't develop the feelings for her that she hoped for. After the year was over, she moved on and Josh found a new roommate, a cellist. She stayed almost a year.

Josh made time each year to go home and spend time with his parents and some of his friends from when he lived in the small town. While he was home he spent lots of time playing the piano for his Momma. 

At the age of twenty-eight Josh and another musician got in a heated argument after a concert and they were unfortunate enough to do so in front of the main financial benefactor of the symphony. Before the next rehearsal both men were released and looking for work.

For Josh's next year he easily found work but had problems keeping the jobs he got. The stature of the jobs decreased from working in a symphony orchestra to a dance band to piano back up in a nightclub. He kept feeling like something was missing from his life. He couldn't quite identify what was missing, but whatever it was made it difficult for him to accept his life as it was. He moved from a very nice two bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of a very nice building to a studio apartment under a brownstone.

In the symphony, he wore a tux to every performance. On his thirtieth birthday he wore black Levis and a black turtleneck sweater to the nightclub. He seldom spoke to anyone at the nightclub, instead he just played and became like a part of the furniture. No one paid attention to what kind of piano the nightclub had and no one paid any attention to the man playing the piano.

He hadn't invited a woman home since he'd moved into the brownstone basement studio. 

Josh had a cell phone but no landline. The month of his birthday it had rung three times. It rang when his Dad called to see if he could come home for a visit, maybe for his birthday. Josh said he was really busy but maybe he could get there before summer. A week later the phone rang again, Josh answered and it was his Mom. She said she called because she missed him, then she let him know that his Dad was very sick. 

He had cancer.

The night of his thirty-first birthday Josh felt the phone vibrate while he was playing on stage. When he was on break he hit the button and the phone called his Mom. She sounded like she had been crying.

"Josh, your Dad is in the hospital. They have him on a lot of pain killers and the doctor says that if you want to say Good-bye you should come home now." 

It was midnight. He was standing backstage in a nightclub. Three of the women who danced in the club were backstage with him, ignoring him. They changed clothes in front of him as if he wasn't even there. It was Ok. He wasn't there. He thought about the money he had and how much it would cost to get home. 

Twenty minutes later he was in his apartment tossing everything he had of any value into his car. By one-thirty in the morning he was on the road with his car pointed at Nebraska.

When he was a few hours drive from home he called and told Mom where he was. She told him to drive safely and hurry. He did both. He didn't go home, he went to the hospital. As he walked in he saw Judy Burns, a girl he knew from school. She was the nurse for his Dad. She saw Josh and pointed down the hall, "Room 28" she said as he passed.

Dad was propped up in bed, tubes and wires all over the place and a ventilator mask covering his mouth. Mom was beside the bed looking scared and old. Josh said, "Mom."

She turned and Dad's eyes opened. She rushed into his arms and sobbed. She felt frail and he felt her chest rack with a sob as he held her. He held her as he moved to Dad and touched his hand. Mom sat back down and Dad pulled the mask away so he could speak.

"Son, take care of your mom. She needs you. I need you. I'm proud of you." He put the mask on and took three breaths. He pulled it away and said, "I love you both." Mom helped get the mask back on him and Josh said, "I promise." He had no idea how he could promise anything. His life was a shambles.

Judy brought him a chair when she came in to check Dad's vital signs. They were weak and fading. Before dawn he was gone.

All the arrangements had been made weeks before. Josh took Mom home. A list was near the phone of all the phone calls that needed to happen. Josh got his Mom onto her bed and covered her. She softly cried herself to sleep. Josh sat to make the calls and noticed the list was written in his Dad's hand. His tears fell and he quietly sobbed the tears of loss, helplessness and despair. 

At eight in the morning he made the first call. At eleven he had checked off every number. Mom came out of her bedroom still dressed from when they had been at the hospital.

She took him to the chair that had been his Dad's chair and sat him in it. She climbed into his lap and curled up. A minute late she was asleep again. So was Josh.

While they slept their friends started dropping by. The first was Alice McGreggor. She and her husband ran the feed store in town and Alice had been a life long friend of Barbara's. She opened the front door, saw her best friend curled up on Josh's lap and crept inside the house. She disconnected the phone and crept back out of the house. She sat on one of the two porch rockers and called the phone company office in town.

"Betty, Alice here. You know Brad died last night. I want you to transfer any calls that would be going to their house to me. Josh is home and he's talking care of his Momma right now."

"Done! Their phone won't ring."

"Thanks Betty." She sat on the porch for five hours. She fielded phone calls and guarded the front door. Inside, Josh and Momma slept.

Alice got one of the callers to make dinner and bring it over. She woke Josh and Momma in time for them to wash up before dinner arrived. Alice and Mrs. Wentworth ate with them. Mrs. Wentworth had made dinner. Comfort food she called it. Josh would have called it tuna and noodle casserole. He went through the motions when Alice reminded him to take a bite. He wasn't hungry. He was stunned.

After they ate Alice took Momma into the bedroom and got her changed into fresh clothes. Mrs. Wentworth got Josh to carry in his suitcase and told him to change clothes too. He went on automatic pilot and somehow got cleaned up and in fresh clothes.

After the funeral the principal sat with Josh on the front porch.

"It may be too soon, but I want to offer you a job. The school needs a music teacher. Think about it, Ok?"

Josh looked at him a long time and said, "I'll take it. When do you want me to start?"

"The new semester starts in a month. We can start you in two weeks, that way you'll have some set-up time."

They shook on it. Josh knew that the handshake in that town was better than six lawyers in New York City.

Having the job got Josh out of the funk and into action. His getting into action got his Mom into action and by the time the new semester started neither of them cried in the daytime. Mom still cried at bedtime. Josh heard her. On the one month anniversary of his Dad's death Josh took Momma to the cemetery and they left flowers

One afternoon a storm came out of the west and by the time school let out it was raining hard. Momma made soup and homemade bread for supper. She jumped every time the lightning flashed and jumped again when the thunder rumbled.

Josh played the old piano after dinner and when the grandfather clock chimed ten o'clock they both went down the hallway, got ready and went to their separate beds for the night.

At two-ten in the morning Momma was awakened by lightning flashing close to the house. A second later the thunder shook the house. Josh sat up in bed and then calmed himself and went back to sleep. Momma didn't go back to sleep. Storms had scared her since she was a young girl.

At two-twenty another flash of lightning lit up Momma's bedroom. In a flash of her own Momma was out of bed and into Josh's room. She lifted the covers and crawled into bed with him. She wrapped herself in his arms and felt safe. She trembled in his arms and Josh just held her, not thinking of any implications of having his Momma in bed with him.

The lightning stopped. It rained the rest of the night and most of the next day. Nothing was said by Josh or his Momma about Momma sleeping with Josh.

At ten o'clock they went down the hallway and Josh turned left, Momma turned right. Half an hour later Momma walked across the hall and climbed into bed with Josh. They both slept well. When Josh's alarm sounded Momma was already in the kitchen making breakfast.

They didn't talk about it. Momma made it her ritual of getting ready for bed and then joining Josh in bed. Part of the ritual was they didn't say anything about sleeping together.

Students and their families started asking Josh to tutor them after school. Josh started meeting students after school and so his work day extended until dinner time almost every school night of the week.

He saw and worked with students and was able to avoid getting very interested in them romantically or even sexually as he knew that in a small town he would be found out and lose his job.

As time passed he noticed his Momma was losing weight. He noticed, not because she looked thinner but because she felt thinner in bed with him. Thinner and bonier. He made an appointment for her at the doctor. He agreed she was losing weight. He did blood work and x-rays. A week later Josh got a call.

"Josh, I need to see you and your Mom in my office. When can you come in, together?"

"Tomorrow. It's serious, isn't it?"

"Yes."

The next day after school Josh took Barb to see the doctor. They sat in his office, not an exam room.

"I could get all technical and use words intended to impress you with how smart I am. I won't do that to you. The simple truth is you have cancer, very much like the cancer that your husband had. We can do the chemo and the radiation, like we did for Brad. It may prolong your life by a few weeks."

Momma asked, "Will I be as sick as Brad?"

"If you do the chemo and radiation, probably. I'm not going to lie to you. This is a tough way to go whichever path you choose."

Josh looked at her and it was obvious the doctor was right. She was smaller, thinner and her skin didn't look healthy. She grasped his hand and said, "I don't want anything except pain killers. Brad wanted to stay so he wouldn't leave me alone. Josh is young, good looking and the women stay away because he's taking care of me. I'll make the arrangements just like Brad did and I'll go." She stood, shook the doctor's hand and walked out. Josh shook his hand and said, "No point in arguing. She's thought it through and that's her plan."

Josh helped his Momma plan everything. Her biggest, strongest request was that Josh play at the funeral. He asked what she wanted him to play. "Clare de Lune." She answered.

She continued to do her nighttime ritual and slip into bed with Josh as long as she could. On the night she couldn't make it across the hall, Josh slid into her bed and held her gently all night. He cried, knowing and feeling her slipping away a little more each night.

He hired Judy to take care of her a couple hours every day. On the fifth day she arrived early and made breakfast. Then she went to check on Mrs. Peterson and found them sleeping together. She carefully backed out of the bedroom and dropped a pan in the kitchen. After Josh left for school she talked with Mrs. Peterson.

Momma said, "I know you saw us in bed."

"It's none of my business."

"When Josh let me into his bed the first time I was frightened by a lightning storm. He held me and I felt safe. I slept better than night than I had since before Brad got sick. I always wear pajamas and he always does too. When I couldn't walk to his room in the dark he came to me. He's an honorable man who gave up a lot to come home and take care of me." She ate her breakfast slowly and Judy got her back in bed.

Momma said, "I'm sure he'd rather have his arms wrapped around you than a sick old woman, but I'm so grateful for those hours of comfort." Judy knew she slept a lot because of the high levels of pain killers she was taking.

Judy watched how Josh was with his Momma. The kindness was constant. He would help her up into his lap as he sat in his Dad's chair and she curled into his lap and slept there as he watched TV. She would see him gently carry her to bed, help her eat and tell her about his day at school.

Judy was her nurse. Josh kept her alive. Judy knew she gave Mrs. Peterson good care and she knew Josh was loving her every day. She'd known Josh all her life. They were in the same class from first grade on through graduating high school. She'd never seen a man so kind and gentle as he was with his Momma.

One morning she let herself into the house and went into the kitchen and started coffee for herself and Josh and oatmeal for Mrs. Peterson. She had stopped dropping a pan to wake them up. She opened the bedroom door and said, "Good Morning" instead. That morning she opened the door and started to cry.

Josh was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking his mother in his arms. It was obvious she was gone. Judy backed out and called the hospital. The receptionist answered and Judy choked on the words, "Mrs. Peterson is gone." Half an hour passed before the quiet ambulance arrived. In that half hour Judy went into Josh's bedroom and got into his bed, rumpled the sheets and pillow and left the door open so it would look like Josh had slept in his own bed.

Josh carried his Momma out to the ambulance and tucked her onto the gurney. When the ambulance was gone Judy got him back in the house. He sat by the phone and cried for an hour as he had cried when his Dad died. Judy then saw him start on the list and make every call himself. When the box of tissues ran out she replaced it. Judy had heard all about how Alice McGreggor had stood watch when Brad died. 

When Josh finished his calls Judy helped him lie down on the couch and he fell asleep. She unplugged the phone and did just what she knew Alice had done. 

She called the phone company. "Betty, This is Judy. You know Mrs. Peterson died last night. I want you to transfer any calls that would be going to their house to me. Josh is home and he needs some quiet time right now."

"Done! Their phone won't ring."

"Thanks Betty." She sat on the porch for eight hours. She fielded phone calls and guarded the front door. Inside, Josh slept. Two other friends who had grown up with Josh and Judy brought Judy food and gave her a break. She crept into the house and used the bathroom.

Their friends went home to their families and Judy woke Josh to eat. He ate because Judy told him to. After he ate he had Judy sit on the couch and he sat at the piano his Momma had refinished for him and he played "Clare de Lune". He played it ten times or maybe more. Tears fell on the keys and into Judy's lap. 

When he stopped playing he stood up and slowly went to his room, undressed and went to bed. For the first time in months he got into bed naked. 

Judy sat on the couch crying. Mrs. Peterson had told her about "Clare de Lune" and how important it was to her. She felt the love when Josh played. When she could stand she walked to the front door and locked it. She stood in the hallway outside Josh's room and undressed. She walked into his room and slid into bed with him, holding him as he had held his Momma.

In the middle of that night Josh turned over and held Judy. When morning came and light woke them Josh was three inches from her face touching his. He gently kissed her awake. Her eyes opened and she smiled at him."

He said, "Thank you. Thank you for knowing what I needed and giving me that gift. Thank you for listening as I played for Momma last night. Thank you for letting me love her just as she needed to be loved."




Piano Man



Tears fell on the bed between them. Eventually Judy could speak. She whispered. "I was hired to help your mother transition out of this life. I'm a trained nurse. The very first evening I spent with you something changed. You quit being the All American boy who could play baseball and play the piano and you became a man who could sacrifice everything to be there for his mom. You became the man I've always wanted to give my life to. Josh, I love you."

He leaned to her and they kissed. Their first kiss was in his bed, naked, comfortable and loving. When the kiss ended he said, "I've wanted to kiss you since the seventh grade, but I didn't dare. I wasn't flash enough for you."

"I wasn't after flash, I wanted to be cared for, taken care of, protected and you do all that. That's who you are."

They stayed in bed until bladders and hunger forced them up. Before the funeral they were lovers. She rode with him to the funeral. Some people at the funeral talked, gossiped, about the two of them. They would have talked more if they'd stayed a little longer at the grave side. 

When they were the only two still there Josh took Judy in his arms and said, "Judy, I love you. I'm asking, will you marry me and let me love you for the rest of our lives?"

"Can you play my favorite song?"

"What is it?"

"Perhaps Love."

"I know that song. If you'll sing I'll play."

They played and sang at the wedding. John Denver would have been proud.



Piano of Pleasure



I remember when I took you off on a romantic get-away. At our one year anniversary I stole you away to a vacation cabin nestled away in a secluded valley of Hocking Hills. We spent time hiking through the trails hand in hand, observing the beautiful scenery, and listening to the sounds of nature. The sounds of birds singing in the trees, bee's buzzing, and the wind sifting through the leaves all added to the delicious adventure. 

At one point on our excursion we even kicked off our shoes and stepped into the rippling creek just to feel the cool water caressing our feet. Of course we often took advantage of the isolated trails to steal a kiss or erotically touch each other. I take pleasure in teasing your body and keeping you excited all day long.

After our excursion though the gorgeous natural environment we traveled back to our cabin where I prepared a delicious candlelight dinner for you. A juicy, grilled steak, loaded baked potato, California blend vegetables, and slices of lightly browned French bread (including cinnamon infused butter) rounded out this feast. Of course any gourmet meal would not be complete without dessert so I topped dinner off by slowly feeding you strawberrys one by one, dipped in warm chocolate. 

Later, after we cuddled on the couch watching "Sweet Home Alabama", I gave you a full body massage. I wanted to get you all hot and bothered, so as I slowly caressed your body I deliberately refused to touch your sensitive places. I would slide by real close and even lightly brush certain parts but I would not give you the satisfaction of full contact. I think my plan worked because several times you reached out to grab me but I immediately pulled away and stopped all contact until you put your hand back. You even suggested a really tempting offer (naughty girl!) trying to entice me to give in, but I wouldn't let you.

When I asked you if you wanted to move over to our bed, you practically flew across the cabin and jumped onto the mattress. I crawled in next to you and began by slowly kissing you on your cheek while strategically rubbing my hands over your body, sliding painfully close to certain places, but still avoiding direct contact. Continuing to kiss you on your neck, I slid my hips over yours and finally kissed you firmly and sensuously on your lips. I enjoy tasting your luscious lips and took my time showing you how much. As I began to gradually kiss you down your silky smooth neck I interlaced my fingers into yours and carefully moved your arms above your head. 

Before you realized it I had one of your arms tied to the corner of the bed and quickly secured the other. Your eyes popped open in surprise and you flashed me your beautiful smile. As I slipped the blindfold over your eyes I softly whispered in your ear, "you are my slut tonight and I own you. I control your pleasure and I will give it or deny it as I desire. Sometimes I will pleasure your body and sometimes I will just use it for my gratification. You are at my mercy and there is no one here to stop me."

Looking at your helpless, gorgeous body laying there waiting for me to continue, I was almost overcome with lust. I felt the sudden urge to plunge into you and just ravish you but I held myself back. You are such a beautiful woman I feel so lucky you are mine and tonight I will show you exactly how much I appreciate you. Tonight I will tease you and pleasure you until you beg for me to finish.

I then proceeded to lay down next to you and carefully let my hands drift down through the center of your chest and on to your stomach. I moved my hand around your first one breast and then the other, slowly tracing a large figure 8 across your chest. I could feel your tension building as I tightened my tracing pattern each time just a little closer to your nipple. Just to torment you further I let my hand lightly graze your nipple and move to run tight circles around it. 

After feeling your body strain with pleasure and hearing your breathing shorten in anticipation, I began to lightly trace a small circle around your nipple, every so often brushing directly across it. I continued to torment this nipple, each series of my actions bringing you ever higher and closer to the edge. Then without warning I grabbed your nipple and squeezed it firmly. You arched your back and moaned, reveling in the sensations. 

Not wanting your other nipple to feel left out, my hand wandered across and I started the same tormenting pattern on it, drawing tighter and tighter circles on it before again stopping with a firm squeeze. 

I then let my hand wander down your stomach as if I was going for your honey pot, but at the last minute I veered off to stroke down the outside of your leg, around your knee and slowly slid up the inside of your thigh. Stopping at your slit I allowed my finger to rub the outside of your labia, just moving back and forth up one side and down the other. I love hearing you catch your breath each time I moved closer to your love button. 

I continued to lightly circle your clit, at times lightly brushing directly across it and other times not even touching it. I began to tease your clit, carefully reading your body's reaction making sure to increase your pleasure but still not allow you to reach the crest.

I let my hand wander down your crack and found you to be very wet. "It looks like my little slut is all wet and ready for me." You moaned and nodded your agreement, but I'm not ready to take you yet. My finger drifted inside your wet slit and continued to move back and forth. You started to rock your hips to enhance the feeling, so I slowly moved my finger deeper and deeper into your body. 

As I moved deeper, your moaning grew even louder telling me I was on the right track. I pushed in further and slowly rubbed against your G-spot. With my finger inside your body, I could feel the pressure in your body grow until I thought you were going to topple over, so I suddenly stopped moving and removed my finger. The emptiness inside your body evoked a moan of disappointment from you. 

Letting you rest momentarily, I started over, moving my finger in long strokes back and forth outside your cunt, each swipe moving closer to your clit. When I reached your clit I continued my back and forth movement first lightly, then gently increasing the pressure until once again you were moaning loudly and your breathing was very irregular. As I felt you reach your peak, I whispered in your ear, "I am going to continue to stroke you, but you are not allowed to cum unless I give you permission". As this realization sank in you first moaned in disappointment, and then moaned again in pleasure as my torturous finger continued to torment your clit. Sometimes I slowed my movements and sometimes I sped up, each time pushing you a little more, your body torn between obeying me and the urge to cum. One more time, I slowed my movements to almost imperceptible, leaving you carefully dangling on the edge and just when I thought you were about to fall over I graciously removed my finger.

Moving up your body I found your breast and began to tease it as before however, this time your body was warmed up and you responded even quicker to my movement. I started with small circles around your nipple and then just moved to a back and forth movement dragging your nipple down and letting it flick back into place. The way your back was arching and your breathing was labored I knew you were quickly coming to the edge. 

I warned you again, "Don't you dare cum unless I say". 

"I won't" you managed to whisper. 

I finally stopped by cruelly squeezing your nipple just hard enough to push you over the edge, again forcing you to fight the urge to cum.

Not to be forgotten, I began to torment your other nipple much like I did the first one, playing your body like a piano of pleasure. Sometimes touching lightly, sometimes pinching forcefully, and sometimes stroking slowly, just like a concert pianist I played each of your "keys" until you made the sounds I wanted to hear. Finishing this coda by again bringing you to the edge before I firmly pinched your nipple to hear you gasp from the pain/pleasure combination.

Once again, I slid my hand down your body aiming directly for your clit, but letting my hand drift over it further down to begin playing with your pussy lips. Pushing my finger in deeply and carefully stroking your G-spot, you groaned and moaned as I brought you to the brink before suddenly removing my finger and sliding up to your clit. I began to torment it by indirectly touching it and inconsistently brushing it. 

"Please!?" you whispered between shallow breaths. I pretended not to hear you. "Please!?" you whispered louder. 

"Please what?" I answered. 

"Please let me cum?"

"What are the magic words?" I asked as I continued to rub your clit.

"I want to suck your dick!" you said. 

"That's my good slut!" I exclaimed. 

I instantly began to rub your clit just the way you like and gave to permission to cum. "That's my good girl, cum for me!"

I had barely uttered the words when I heard you cry out loudly as you exploded into pleasure. 

"O yes, O yes, O yes! I'm going to suck you good", you said.

"That's my good slut!" I repeated as I continued to rub you through your pleasure, I only slowed my movement when your breathing began to return to normal.

While you reveled in your state of bewilderment, I took the opportunity to untie the straps from the bed post and I moved your body to the side of the bed, where I reattached the straps with your head hanging off the side of the mattress.

After repositioning your body on the bed, I slid my fingers into your wet slit and began to tease your G-spot. As you once again reached the brink, I pulled your hair down to open your mouth and slid my dick in. With my dick in your mouth I skillfully pushed your body over the edge. 

"Cum for me, you cock-sucking slut!" and I felt you explode once again. I feel you trying to suck me but you are suddenly overcome by your own pleasure and all you can do is feel the pleasure course through your body, your screams of ecstasy muffled by my dick filling your mouth. Just for the added bonus, I grabbed your nipple with my free hand and pinched it hard, your gagged voice changing tones just like I wanted. 

As you came down from your climax I began to side my dick in and out of your mouth. The good slut you are, you obediently started sucking my cock as hard as you could. I pushed my dick to the back of your throat and forced you to take it just a little further. You were sucking me so good I was momentarily lost to the pleasure of your mouth. 

"That's my good slut!" I said as I enjoyed the sensations of your mouth and continued to slide back and forth into your throat, my sack rubbing on your blindfold with each stroke. Just because I can, I even slid all the way in and stopped, forcing you to hold your breath until I pulled back out. 

The sight of your beautiful naked body restrained on the bed was truly a delightful vision. Watching you take all of me, the pleasure of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around me and the sensations of your sucking, suddenly proved to be too much and I exploded in pleasure, shooting my warm cum down your throat. The good slut you are, you obediently swallowed everything I gave you and you continued to love my cock until I pulled out.

"Sluts need to be rewarded for being good and punished for being bad. You have been a very good slut, so I will reward you again, cum for me", I said. I grabbed the vibrator, began teasing your clit, and at the same time I started to suck your tit. I feel your pleasure build while I am sucking your nipple so I wait until you are close to the edge and I lightly bite it to help push you over. Once again you cum violently and cry out your pleasure. 

Not letting you come down from your high, I continued to suck on your tit. I shoved the vibrator into your cunt and held it against your G-spot until you peaked again.

By this time I am aching and ready to go again so I moved my body between your legs. I pulled both your ankles up to my ears, but before I plunged into your wet deepness I fingered your clit one more time, waiting until you begged me to fuck you. When I plunged deeply in, just the sensation of my hard dick sliding into your wet cunt immediately pushed your body into climax yet again. Not letting you come down off your high, I began to passionately thrust back and forth. You groaned with satisfaction as your hips begin to rock to my tempo. 

As I pounded away at your pussy I told you, "You have been a very good slut. You have given me a lot of pleasure today and this is how I reward my slut."

I sense you are nearing the top once again so I firmly grabbed both of your nipples and pinched them hard, forcing your body into ecstasy one last time. As you exploded in pleasure, your cunt tightly squeezed my cock and pulled me over the edge with you. I shot my load deep inside your body and collapsed, exhausted, on top of you. 

As we lay together panting, I reached up and pulled the straps off your wrists and the blindfold from your eyes. You wrapped your arms around me and thanked with loving kisses on my face. We fell asleep with our arms and limbs entangled together and smiles on our faces. 

I remember my thoughts already started to drift off, thinking of how I was going to mistreat you the next night. After all, secluded here in the woods no one can hear you scream...



Piano Player



It had been a dreary day and it was a dreary, steamy, rainy night. What few people were out were bundled up in soggy rain gear and scurrying here and there trying to get home or somewhere else dry.

It was that time of year in the fall in a resort town when the summer tourists had gone home and before the snowbirds came back for the winter. In a few weeks daylight savings time would be over but right now, it was still bright daylight at 7:30 in the evening. Many merchants took advantage of the slack season to remodel store areas or revamp merchandise offerings. The locals that were involved in the tourist industry often used this time to send themselves on vacation.

At 10:30 PM the piano bar, which was a part of the Western Prime Beef Restaurant, was still open but the restaurant had served its last meal before 9 and was empty of patrons and closed by 10:20 with only the clean up crew still inside. 

During the season, the bar did a thriving business, catering to diners waiting to be seated in the restaurant and then as an after hours pick-up spot and a hang out for high-class prostitutes and singles on the prowl. Now, the door to the restaurant was closed but the door to the parking lot was still open, admitting late night customers.

Inside the dimly lit bar, the bored bartender, with the ever-present apron around his waist, polished drink glasses while he stood watch over the handful of patrons. A slave to custom, he wore a white, long sleeved shirt with a black vest and a black bow tie. The vest only went to accentuate his portly paunch. At the bar sat a casually dressed, 30 something, couple, most likely married from the looks of their body language and conversation. They were arguing over an after dinner glass of wine and paying no attention to the piano. Further down the bar was a drunk, a typical salesman away from home in a sloppy blue pinstriped suit, slouched over his drink and almost asleep. He probably had no other place to go except his hotel on an evening like this so, the barman let him sleep. 

In the back, in a secluded booth, a young couple were making out. Her blouse was unbuttoned and her mini skirt was twisted around. His hands were all over her breasts and under her skirt. She leaned her head back against the cushions, opened her legs a little and took pleasure in the feeling of his hands and fingers as he invaded her most intimate spots. He kissed her neck as his index finger slid inside deep in her body. Her hand was just as busy rubbing the bulge in his crotch through the fabric of his trousers. At the rate they were going, they wouldn't last long. The bartender wondered if they would try having sex in the booth.

At a table in the middle of the floor, an older couple, John and Vera, were seated at right angles to the main bar and listening to the soft sounds from the piano, humming along now and then when something they knew came up. The tie John originally wore with the tan blazer was carefully folded up in Vera's purse and her pants suit, although a couple of years old, was still in style. They had also come in from the restaurant, not to wait for the rain to let up, but to listen to the music as they did most Fridays. They liked the style and genre of Tim's music. They had a copy of Tim's only CD, which they played often at home.

The last person in the bar was the piano player, Tim. He loved playing but couldn't make a living at it. He worked selling real estate during the day and played in the bar three nights a week, Thursday, Friday and Saturday from 7 to last call at 11:30 PM. The $200 bucks came in handy but just liked to play and he was pretty good at it. Sometimes he made a few extra bucks in tips but he didn't count on it. He enjoyed it most when he had an audience that related to his music, like the couple at the table. 

He was clad, as usual, in black trousers and shoes; a long sleeved white shirt with arm clips and a paisley vest with a matching bow tie. He often wore a "boater" style straw hat but because of the rain tonight it was tucked safely in his closet at home.

The piano its self, a very expensive, "Imperial Mitsubishi" full sized grand, was against the front wall of the barroom, on a small stage and surrounded by another bar. The bar was designed to conform to the shape of the instrument and it was the same height as the piano and the tall barstools would put people on the same eye level as the piano player. Unfortunately tonight, there was no one sitting at this bar.

The outer door opened, admitting a blast of wind driven debris, rain, and an attractive, slender woman in a raincoat carrying an umbrella. Shaking the water from the umbrella she collapsed it and parked it by the door, hoping she would remember it later when she left. She pushed back the hood of the raincoat and took it off, draping it over one of the barstools by the piano. She was a brunette and was wearing a simple black cocktail dress with a minimum of jewelry and black, spiked heel shoes. With the shoes, she was about 5 ft 10 in tall.

She called to the bartender, "Hey, Sam. Fix me a vodka tonic with a touch of lime, please." 

Then to Tim as she slid into the seat beside her coat, "Bet you're surprised to see me."

Tim was diddling with a nameless tune. "Sure am, on a night like this." 

Sam brought her a drink and a fresh one for Tim. "Here you go Sue, it's good to see you, this one is on the house. You'll have to come to the bar and get the next one." He returned to his nameless duties behind the polished mahogany bar.

Sue turned her attention to Tim, "How's it going?"

"Pretty slow. It's this monotonous weather. There haven't been 15 people in all night long. If it wasn't for John and Vera I think I would have packed it in by now."

"Yeah, I know. I would have gone straight home if I wasn't so bored. Play me something nice, something John and Vera would like."

Tim started "Blue Moon" and Sue began to croon the lyrics in a very soft but pure alto register. Her voice was so low it was unlikely any one other than Tim could hear her. Vera had her head on John's shoulder and both of them were dreamy eyed as they hummed along with the song.

One tune followed another until about 11 pm, the young couple from the back booth lurched by the piano on the way to the parking lot. His shirttail was out of his slacks and her entire demeanor was disheveled. She was hanging around his neck and there was a large wet spot in the back on her mini skirt. He still had the lump in his trousers. He was very agitated and in a hurry to get her to his car.

Sue smiled and said to Tim, "Sam shouldn't allow that and should have put a stop to it in here."

Tim's fingers were drifting over the keys, just touching one now and then. "Not really much he can do unless they really get vulgar or there is a complaint. Anyway, they are gone now so no problem."

Sue was watching the departing couple over her shoulder. "I'll bet they are going to do it in his car, right there in the parking lot."

Tim let it die and started a soft country song, "The Tennessee Waltz" and Sue sang, just loud enough for Tim to hear. He progressed on through tune after tune until Sam proclaimed "Last Call." To Sam's relief, the drunk left without an argument and John and Vera drank up and began putting their rain gear on. They bid Tim and Sue goodbye and were gone in just a couple of minutes after depositing a five-dollar bill in Tim's tip brandy snifter.

Sue stood up and began putting her raincoat on. She looked at Tim and said "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you coming home with me or not."

"I would like that. I'll follow you."

"No you won't. I came by cab, I'll ride with you."

"Pretty sure of yourself aren't you."

Sue laughed, "Not really, I just know you're a push over and can be had."

The bucket seats in the car kept them from sitting very close to each other but Sue kept her hand on Tim's leg most of he way. The ride was in silence as the car CD player issued the same soft, contemporary music that Tim played and they both loved. 

When they got to the house, Sue unlocked the door and turned to Tim. Without any thought, he scooped her slender body into his arms and kissed her. 

Sue looked around to see if any of the neighbors were watching before she whispered, "Come on, I want you to go to bed with me."

"You certainly are brazen"

"I don't care, I'm horny and I think you have just what I need".

"You think? I have always had it in the past, haven't I?"

She grabbed him by the bow tie and pulled him into the foyer. Her nose was against his when she growled, "Don't be a smart ass. Get in here and take your clothes off."

By the time they got to the bedroom, he had his vest and tie off and she had already shucked her shoes and the sleek cocktail dress. In the bedroom, his shoes, socks, shirt and trousers followed, leaving him in only his boxers.

With her back to him she shed everything except the gold pennant around her neck and turned to him. She put her arms around his neck and ground her body against his. Her breasts were soft as she rubbed them into his chest. She moved one hand down to caress his penis, still trapped in his boxers. Tim quickly dropped them to free his rapidly hardening member and take advantage of her soft hand massages.

With the lights still on, he backed her up to the bed and sat her on the edge. He sank to his knees and buried his face into her breasts, nuzzling the soft tissue and sucking the firm swelling between his lips. His tongue danced with the little acorn-sized nipples, bringing gasps of thrill and excitement from Sue.

He pushed her over backwards and put her legs on his shoulders, baring her vulva to him. Carefully, so that she could not misinterpret his intentions, he licked his lips and slowly lowered his head into the "Y" at the meeting of her legs. She let out a noticeable sigh when his tongue forced it's way between the lips of her pussy and invaded her vagina. Slowly and softly, he licked up and down, stopping at the very top of the stroke to use his lips to nibble on her protruding clitoris. Each movement from him caused her to writhe in pleasure and brought little gasps of enjoyment. 

He could tell she was getting close when her body began to arch up off the bed and she pushed herself hard against his mouth. Quickly, he disengaged his face from her pussy and replaced it with his swollen dick. He put the engorged head between the lubricated lips of her vagina and, with a massive shove and a grunt, drove it deep into her.

She cried out in ecstasy as the hard cock plunged into her soft sleeve of love, time and again. Her legs were wrapped around his middle and his testicles were slapping against her ass as he thrust his hard cock to the depths of her pussy. Now, her cries were one continuous wail as she was elated with the euphoria of a series of almost nonstop climaxes.

Finally, he held her body tight against his as he spewed pulse after pulse of his seed into her welcoming vagina. When, at long last, the final squirt of semen drizzled out of his already softening dick, he slowly lowered himself to lie alongside of her.

She nuzzled up close to him and said, "Thank you. You know I love that and you always come through for me, you never let me down. Now you just lay there and I will give you the kind of blowjob you like, one where you start off soft."

He lay there and she started by crouching over him, his soft penis in her mouth. She caressed it with her tongue and gently sucked on it, the rich flavor of his cum and her pussy juice a blend of enjoyable nectar. Her hands, fondling his testicles, were soft as clouds. 

As she worked her magic on him, he couldn't help but to think, "How lucky I am to have married her 39 years ago."

30

Copyright © 12-12-2007 by E. J. Sheeran. All rights reserved. This work, in part, or whole, is not to be distributed, reproduced, transmitted or posted, in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.

For comments on this story contact me. 



Piano Player



The dungeon is crowded, I sit on the edge of the pit, next to you; a naked stranger. Idly watching the scenes. My icy cold hands rest lightly on your thigh, long tapered fingers. Feeling the warmth seeping through. Piano playing fingers, play five finger drills on your smooth, soft thigh flesh. At first with a single hand, so very slow, reawakening muscle memories of long time's past. As the velocity increases, the flexibility in my fingers returns, muscles and tendons slackening. The movements increasing in strength, your smooth flesh yielding to the pressure.

Gazing up at you with smiling blue eyes, silent melodies playing in my head from daily piano practice in years gone by. My fingers working the tender, vulnerable flesh of your inner thigh now.

The scenes forgotten, my eyebrows knit into a deep frown, the furrows in my brow widening as I try hard to concentrate. Making each finger act independently, each touch even, with quickening ever increasing pressure.

You tremble. I am annoyed at the soft movements caused by your flesh. Increasingly irritated by the camber of the soft curves of your inner thighs. My voice a vicious hiss I command "Keep Still!" My fingers working fast and fluidly move over to your naked mound. Concentration etched into my forehead. The sweet muskiness of your moist cunt juices filling my nostrils, eyes sparkling, sniffing. Sniffing loud, exaggerated noises. 

"Seems you appreciate good Herbie Hancock tunes" I whisper with a toothy grin.

Cradling your foot in my arms, slides your legs wider apart, repositioning you for easy access. I close my eyes, hearing silent melodies, clear, sharp chords. Three chords over one bass note, then using chord tones to create Jazz licks, really swinging now. Both hands playing. The music singing, swinging, notes sharp and crystal. 

My hands motionless as fingers strike your cunt mound the only movements from the knuckle. Raising the next finger at the same instant the other strikes. Fingers resting lightly between notes on your rapidly heating mound. I grimace; uneven notes.

Annoyed by the weaker fourth and fifth fingers, attempting to strike with comparatively more force

I arch my arm back into a swing, a sharp slap resounds as my hand leaves raised red outlines, my hand print glowing on your mound in sheer frustrated anger.

I smile at you, whisper "I really should practice more, with skills use them or lose them"

With activity warmed palms, I rhythmically stroke the moistness slicking your inner thighs. Making my palm wide, firmly presses my small hand down hard onto your hot cunt. Applying hard, even pressure. Feeling your muscles twitch in your legs. Without easing the pressure, moves the other hand down, a long inquisitive finger touches your engorged, deep crimson clit. With firm movements gently rubs circles around your tight nub, teasingly, never quite touching. Waiting for your reaction, the changes in your skin tone, your breathing, your expression. 

Long piano playing fingers, all four dancing circles over your clit, with even, rhythmic pressure.

Turning my wrist carefully, a slender, intruding thumb searches out your hood, presses hard. Fingers gently parting your labia, running them up and down the glistening, wet slit. An index finger and middle finger opening like scissors, clamping your throbbing clit between. So very slowly wanking your girl-penis, gentle, steady patterns, building, building. The other hand returns to your mound, rocks on the heel of my palm sending shock waves of heat and electricity through your cunt.

An index finger poised at the entrance of your pussy, gently nudging the crimson elasticated hole. Sliding the finger in and out, feeling how wet, how hungry you are, increasing the pressure, the speed, curling my finger deep inside you feeling the warm wet secrets of your gash. Your cunt muscles clinging tightly to my finger, feeling them contract and relax, I reposition my thumb on your clit, my other thumb search out your puckered arsehole to stroke it. Then pulling my finger from your pussy squeezing and rolling your clit hard between finger and thumb. Wide fascinated blue eyes watching your body reacting.

One hand on top of your mound fingers like scissors spreading your twat wide open, peering deep inside your cunt. Hooks two fingers into both corners of your hole, stretching, gaping your tight channel wide, open, feeling the elasticated ring taut, the skin thinning. Proudly holding your cunt wide open, moving my fingers out of the way for the entire room to see. Slides three fingers into the deep red hole, smiles that they are so easily accommodated and begins to piston them in and out, edging the fourth finger in, watching you beg to come, ignoring your pleading but still fascinated.

My other hand, rubbing frantic circles on your clit, watching as it dances and shivers and throbs to my touch. Watching in curious amusement as you body betrays your first signs of orgasm. A long thumb, insistent, forces itself deep inside your arsehole. My face like a marble mask, showing no emotion. I instruct "Cum" My eyes lifeless, dead, watching as you convulse and convort, your limbs jerking, your body writhing it's way to an explosive climax, shooting hot squirts of cum over my fingers. I look down at them disdainfully as you pant your way through the aftershocks. 

I ignore your whimpering and gratitude. Sniff my fingers, look at my thumbnail, with a smile noticing the shit beneath it. Sniffs it again, with a loud exaggerated sniff.

"My nails need cleaning" 

I disregard your rapid panting, you trying hard to catch your breath. Your cheeks flushed with sweat I drag the nail along your front tooth, inspect it, noticing the dark brown stains, force it roughly between your lips. Turning my finger slowly in your mouth, ensuring the sordid stinky stains are removed. Satisfied, with dull glazed eyes and no show of emotion, I pull you close into me, wrap you up warm inside the blanket, coldly kisses your cheek. I lean into your ear, my breath hot on your neck, making the fine downy hairs stand. My voice, low, barely audible Whispers 

"Slide your finger down inside your cunt, draw a circle around your clit, down around inside your labia and dip your finger inside your dirty hole"

I watch the minute changing expressions on your face, the initial pain as you touch the over-sensitive bud, then the relaxation flooding through you as pleasure writes itself across your eyes. I disinterestedly watch the blanket moving rhythmically, I lean in whisper again " slide your finger down inside your pussy, draw a circle around your clit, down around inside your labia and dip your finger inside your cunt hole and keep doing it until you cum."

I watch you half heartedly for a few moments, then growing quickly bored by you ask "Are you sleepy?"

Not waiting for an answer I demand "slide your fingers deep inside your cunt, leave them there while you sleep to fill the hollowness and banish that empty feeling" I lean down, tenderly kisses your forehead and pull your thumb to your lips to suck. "You can stay there and relax all you need to" I confirm as I rise easily to a stand. I tuck the blanket around you, then wander over to a now free chair, striking up a conversation with a Dom. Another stranger. The sub totally forgotten, the scenes playing unnoticed in the background. My attention held by a new melody, 'Miles Davies: Blue in Green' as long tapered fingers; Piano playing fingers, play five finger drills on the firm, toned flesh of His thigh.

Eudaimonia Optera 21 May 2009



Pianoman



"First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore . . ."

Matt often started a set with something quiet and slow, like "Ebb Tide," when there was a convention or two in the hotel, like there was today—electricians and bankers. What a combination. Something quiet tended to settle and quiet them down to the point that he could stand it.

It wasn't a question of being a prima donna and needing the people in the bar to hang onto his piano playing and singing no matter how many years he'd gone to a first-class music school to learn these skills. He knew he was only there for background. But raucous noise put him off his game. It reminded him too much of Peter—the man he returned to during the day, the man who wasn't taking his recent forced retirement by a hostile buyout of his company well and who was taking much of his ire out on Matt. And Matt had the bruises to prove it.

The smooth, low, slow strains of "Ebb Tide" were working to some extent. The conventioneers close to the piano were speaking in lower tones than those out on the fringes of the room: bankers closer in, electricians packed in beyond and raring to go. Beyond a certain point his music couldn't be heard, so there was no consideration being given to the thought that someone was performing. He didn't resent them. They'd been penned up all day in meetings and this was their first chance to unwind. And the first opportunity to become frisky, for those who took advantage of out-of-town conventions to let loose in ways they wouldn't do at home. And this, after all, was Las Vegas, where the ads told you to let it all hang out.

This was OK with Matt too. He had put this to his advantage—increasingly so in recent weeks, having made the decision that the answer for this whole thing with Peter was for the two of them to split. The only problem was that virtually everything the two had belonged to Peter. It was the way he wanted it. If Matt was going to break away, he needed the means to do it—and to leave any backlash from it here when you went home.

The drinkers at one table nearer the piano were speaking louder than the others in his vicinity and Matt couldn't help but turn his ear in their direction and pick out the discussion. There were two women and two men, and one of the men was doing everything he could to put the moves on a younger, strikingly good-looking woman. From the dress of the men, Matt assumed they were executive level and from the youth and looks of the women, they were probably secretaries—or, as they called them these days, personal assistants. The man was concentrating on his moves on the young redhead so intensely that he probably didn't even know that Matt was playing the piano nearby and crooning softly into a microphone. The young woman, though, was listening to Matt—or at least pretending to, perhaps to try to tamp down the man's advances.

The man addressed the young woman as Laura, his voicing cutting right through the background murmuring. Almost unconsciously, Matt segued from "Ebb Tide," into "Laura."

"Laura is the face in the misty light . . . footsteps . . . that you hear down the hall . . ."

Matt had the young woman's complete attention. The man didn't notice, of course. He was on a mission and had his landing approach all mapped out and in gear. But the redhead—Laura—certainly paid attention. The dreamy-looking man with the curly blond hair and the smooth-as-silk voice at the piano was playing for her—directly for her. And he was looking at her and smiling at her, for her.

"Excuse me," Laura said, after having jotted something on a cocktail napkin and standing up from the table. "I need to powder my nose. Coming with me, Tiffany?" She was speaking to the other three at the bar table, but she had eyes only for Matt, who smiled back at her—as he smiled for anyone in the audience giving him their full attention.

It probably hadn't even occurred to him that he had transitioned into "Laura." So well trained were his fingers that they could manage a complete set on their own while Matt's thoughts were elsewhere all together.

The two young women walked away from the bar table with the campaigning executive looking slightly surprised and trying to keep track of where he had left off in his pitch so that he could pick it up again when Laura returned.

Laura and Tiffany brushed past the piano on the way out of the bar, and Laura dropped her cocktail napkin in his tip hat. This Matt noticed. He kept close tabs on that tip hat of his. That was undeclared income. Undeclared to Peter. It was for the stash Matt was trying to build to get out from underneath Peter.

After Laura and Tiffany had safely passed and were exiting the bar, Matt checked the hat. No added money. Just a napkin with a room number written on it. Room 717.

Matt sighed. He got room number notes like this three or four times a night. And sometimes he welcomed them when they led to added income. But not when they came from a woman, even one as gorgeous as Laura was.

Thus interrupted in his playing, Matt's fingers picked up a new tune, one reflecting his mood. The check of the hat showed that he was behind the curve on tonight's take. This put him into a "Deep Purple" mood.

"When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls . . ."

He sensed someone at the side of the piano. It wasn't unusual for a bar patron to come to the piano and lean over it, savoring his playing, wanting to hear better amid the background noise of the drinkers, or waiting patiently to request a song. Matt welcomed such a presence. The patron usually dropped a few bills in the hat before drifting away. He turned his face up, bringing the brilliant smile to his face that always disarmed whatever patron it was bestowed on—male or female.

But it was only one of the bar hostesses.

"Hi," he said to Emily, keeping the smile, as it always was good to keep the other bar employees on your side. Emily had somewhat of a crush on him, so he was careful in traveling down the middle of that road with her—a tease of suggestive teasing and nothing more. She probably knew he didn't lean that way, but there was no reason to press that point. She looked good—dressed like the queen of tarts to celebrate Valentine's Day the next day, no doubt. She didn't look as good as the Laura who had slipped him her room number, though. So, he would be looking elsewhere if he was going to be tempted . . . which he wasn't. Not in that direction.

"Hi yourself, handsome," Emily said, giving him a sultry smile. "I come bearing a couple of fives and a twenty, the latter with a request for a song."

"Twenties are nice; fifties are finer," Matt said, as she dropped the bills in his hat. "Hope it's a song I know."

"You know all the songs. It's a good one."

"What's the song and who's the requestor?"

"He wants to hear 'Strangers in the Night.' That beautiful South American man over there."

Matt turned his face toward the crowd, directed by Emily's turned chin, and then he froze. The man by the elevator on the ninth floor.

Obediently, of their own, his fingers moved on the keys.

* * * *

It had been after his first set of the evening, another napkin dropped in his hat, with a fifty and a room number—932. One of the conventioneers. Middle-aged, maybe a bit of a paunch, but otherwise well-muscled. Ugly as sin in the face, but, in the dark, who cares? All he'd wanted to do—at least then—was to suck Matt off and stroke himself as Matt gave him sounds that made him feel Matt was having a really good time. He said he'd like more later, but couldn't wait for at least this.

He'd wanted a kiss at the door as Matt left, too, though, while murmuring that they could do more later that night, after the businessman had attended his last session at the convention. Matt was noncommittal. After his last set, he'd do whatever was the most advantageous at that time.

Farther down the hall, the elevator door opened, and there he was. The hunk. A well-dressed, extremely well-put-together South American. Walking out of the elevator, his progress arrested as he saw the other man and Matt, close together, kissing, at the door of a room down the hall.

It was only a brief moment, but it had embarrassed Matt. The man at the elevator was so much more than the man who had pulled him close and surprised him with a kiss at the door to his room. Matt was still in the process of tucking his tux shirt into his trousers, so there wasn't much for the man at the elevator to misconstrue.

Maybe if the man hadn't smiled before he turned and walked the other way down the hall. Maybe then his image wouldn't have emblazoned itself in Matt's mind. Maybe also if the man hadn't been such a hunk—so much more so than the guy who paid fifty dollars to blow Matt and was angling for more later—at his convenience. Not bothering to ask Matt what would be convenient for him.

* * * *

The Hispanic hunk across the bar, maybe pushing forty-five, but not pushing it hard, and a beautiful man, with sensuous lips, was smiling the same smile. He inclined his head slightly to establish a connection with Matt from the smoky distance. Matt automatically acknowledged the salute and, with trembling fingers, began the refrain of "Strangers in the Night."

"Strangers in the night . . . exchanging glances, wondering in the night . . . what were the chances we'd be sharing love . . . before the night was through?"

Matt sensed a presence at the side of the piano. He raised his eyes a bit, permitting his fingers, their strength increasing, to do what they did on the piano by habit. The gold cufflinks with the diamond insets were the first things that caught his attention. Then the manicured hands, meaty and strong, but very well taken care of, came into view.

The man was leaning his elbows on the top of the piano, comfortably, like he belonged there, in full command.

"Strangers in the night . . . two lonely people we were. Strangers in the night . . . up to the moment when we said our first hello . . . little did we know . . ."

"My name is Enrique," he murmured, as their eyes met. "After your last set tonight."

Matt watched as a business card, with a hundred-dollar bill wrapped around it materialized in one of the hands and was deposited in the hat. Then the man—Enrique—was gone.

Matt, shuddering slightly, his fingers, on their own, shifting into "The Shadow of Your Smile."

"The shadow of your smile when you are gone . . . will color all my dreams . . ."

He didn't bother to check the hat. He knew that the business card would have a room number on it. It did. Room 1425. One of the hotel's junior suites.

* * * *

He was all Matt ever wanted—or could want. More than Peter was; more than Peter ever could be. Expert, forceful, controlling, yet solicitous. And long and hard and thick. Virile. Fast to recover; unrelenting. The young, blond musician had no idea how Enrique sensed that he melted to slight bondage, something Peter never wanted. Matt's wrists were tied behind his back with the Brazilian's—Enrique having told Matt that was his nationality—silk necktie. Not enough to actually incapacitate Matt if he wanted to break away, but enough to give the illusion of control having been relinquished.

Matt didn't mind the act with a stranger as long as there was the illusion that he wasn't complicit.

Enrique, solid and strong, heavily muscled, dusky-skinned, slightly hirsute with black, curly hair, sat on the side the bed, an arm encircling the slighter, nearly alabaster-white blond's waist, as Matt sat in his lap, facing him, knees bent and calves flat on the bed, encasing Enrique's meaty thighs, and arched back over the bedroom carpet, bound arms dangling toward the floor. Enrique's other arm moved from a hand cupping the back of Matt's neck to fisting and pumping the young musician's respectable—but put to shame by Enrique's—cock, while Matt raised and lowered his hips, ever more rapidly on the cock buried in his channel with the strength of his knees.

Starting with Matt fucking himself on the cock, at the Brazilian's command, both of the men wanting to establish that Matt wanted it but that Enrique, his cock moving inside Matt's channel, caressing every undulating wall, controlled it. Then the finish of Enrique turning Matt, shoulder blades on the surface of the bed and bound arms over Matt's head, while the muscular Brazilian crouched between the young musician's thighs, spread wide and raised with Enrique's hands fisting Matt's slim ankles, and, pulling the young blond's pelvis off the bed to meet his, the forceful, experienced older man pounded, pounded, pounded Matt's slowly opening channel. First Matt, and then Enrique, ejaculated in noisy, animated explosion, punctuated with Matt's tenor-baritone and Enrique's bass flood of dirty fuck words off the street—some of Enrique's in Portuguese—that would seem out of character for each man in more controlled circumstances.

Enrique's laughed, "That was good. That was very good."

Still buried deep inside Matt's channel, Enrique stood at the foot of the bed, bringing the younger man up with him into his arms. Matt hooked his knees on the muscular Brazilian's hips and, initially, nuzzled his face into the hollow of the Brazilian's dusky and slightly hair-matted chest as Enrique held the younger man close and rocked back and forth, the lubricated slipperiness of the sheathed cock giving off a sucking, slap-slap sound as, healthy, needy, and virile, his cock regained girth and length. He pushed Matt's shoulder blades back onto the surface of the bed with his head, his lips finding the young blond's nipples, as Matt threw his bound arms over his head again and moaned to the sound of the forceful Brazilian's suckling at the younger man's nipples and the moist slap-slap of his cock inside Matt's channel, pulling Matt's hips toward him with each deep—deeper, thicker than the previous time—thrust, thrust, thrust of the insistent, digging cock.

Matt arched his back and emitted a little cry of passion as the two came simultaneously. Too exhausted now to say anything dirty, knowing now that the Brazilian needed no egging on.

Afterward they sat at the table by the window of Enrique's junior suite, he in a hotel robe, Matt naked, as they feasted on what was either a very late supper or a very early breakfast the Brazilian had ordered from room service.

The two explored each other in discussion in a way Matt had never done with any other man who had brought him to a hotel room from the bar for a far tamer tryst than the two had just enjoyed—in fact in deeper and more intimate detail than Matt had ever conversed with Peter.

In what was refreshing to Matt in these encounters, Enrique showed no reticence in talking about himself, and, seeming to understand that Matt was a bit skittish about it, he talked first.

"No, I'm not married. I've never made it secret that I'm a man's man. And, yes, my heritage is Brazilian, but I'm an American citizen. Ties back to Brazil, of course—mostly financial ties; I'm in international banking. But I've lived and worked in New York for over twenty years."

None of this seemed to be put on. Enrique had given him a business card with his room number on it. It identified him as a New York banker, manager of a branch of a Brazilian bank, and it gave a full name and contact numbers. Unless he'd stolen the card from someone and was playing with a false identity, he was being open with Matt. He certainly seemed to be Brazilian. Matt even got him to speak a bit of Portuguese—the words Enrique had spoken in Portuguese during sex, words that made Matt blush upon hearing the translation—which were offered without hesitation or embarrassment and were quite fluent—certainly graphic— as far as Matt was concerned. And there was a banking conference going on at the hotel.

"I don't usually do this when I'm on the road. But, you know, it's Vegas, and you are such a delicious treat. Achingly luscious. Compliant and resilient at the same time—and what you can do with your channel muscles. I don't often find a young man like you. And I have a weakness for young blonds."

His brilliant smile and openness disarmed Matt completely. In truth, he'd already laid Matt completely open with his lovemaking. Matt had thought of it as that—lovemaking. Not just fucking. It was something that Peter and he had, briefly, attained at the beginning of their relationship. Now, though, they just fucked. And argued.

"Me?" Matt, in turn, asked. "Why am I in Las Vegas? To play the piano and sing. Not much money in it in Tennessee, where I came from. Certainly not what can be made here."

Then, in embarrassment, Matt went silent, his mind on that hundred-dollar bill that Enrique had dropped in his hat, confident that it would buy him what it had, indeed, bought him. Matt's thoughts went to what he had been denying to himself. He was just a whore. And Enrique had paid him generously for the lay. By talking about money just now, he'd sounded so mercenary.

"I'm not really money hungry," he blurted out, wanting to move to higher ground. "I'm making a change and need more than the piano playing pays to move on. It's just temporary . . . what I'm doing here."

"Temporary? I got the impression you enjoyed me fucking you."

"Yes, of course. That's not what I mean. I mean . . . that . . ."

"I understand. You aren't really a prostitute, not really. That's fine. You are an outstanding musician, and drop-dead gorgeous. That should be—"

"Now you're mocking me," Matt said, a bit distressed.

"And you're an outstanding lay," Enrique said, with a laugh. "And men who enjoying it shouldn't deny any opportunity they have to do it. I know I don't."

Matt, completely disarmed by Enrique's openness—and compliment—laughed as well. He felt the tension draining from his body.

"A bad relationship? Is that why you need to move on?"

Matt felt completely naked before the Brazilian. He was physically naked, yes, but Enrique was completely stripping away all of his reservations, everything he'd been keeping to himself—and he found himself relieved and exhilarated by it.

And he opened the floodgates of his reserve and told Enrique of it all. Of Peter, who had swept him off his feet soon after he'd arrived, straight from Julliard, in Las Vegas and had begun working on the Strip. Of how forceful Peter had been, taking full control and taking care of Matt's every need. Just as Matt liked it.

So open was Matt that he told Enrique exactly what he wanted from a man, and Enrique murmured an "I've gathered as much."

Matt told Enrique of how Peter had founded a company that rented out party and restaurant supplies and that had done well in Vegas, even with Peter micromanaging everything—and despite his volatile temper. It had done so well, in fact, that it had attracted the attention of a larger company, which had worked to put Peter's company in a financial corner, had acquired the company in a hostile takeover, and had booted Peter out to an early retirement while he was still in his mid-fifties.

Although the takeover had made him comfortably rich, Peter was too young to retire and too old to start over again and was railing at everyone and everything, including Matt. His violent temper extended to the physical. He hadn't put Matt in the hospital—yet. But it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities.

It was only a matter of time before he threw Matt out—his eyes were already roaming elsewhere—and Matt needed to find other arrangements before he was out on the street with no idea where to go. He'd always been taken care of. He wasn't a virgin when he'd come to Las Vegas. He'd had a forceful man to take care of him ever since he'd entered college. He'd still be back at Julliard if his mentor hadn't died. Matt had a "thing" for older, controlling men.