7 comments/ 8344 views/ 2 favorites The Beauty of Music By: Kyoketsu_Shoge Special thanks to my brother for the concept, because without his guitar knowledge, I would be at a complete loss for words This story is the first in what will hopefully be a long chain of good times. Comments and constructive criticism is always welcome.. "You're a true beauty, my dear," Mike cooed as he stroked the slender neck of his latest love. Mike had always worked at the music exchange for as long as he was able to hold down even a part-time job. He had a passion for music, in sort of the same way that some men have a passion for power tools (Only those men probably never dreamt about their compound miter saw in a sweaty sleep). The only misgiving that Mike had ever felt about his many loves were that they could never love him back. Sure, they could put out melodious or even tortured sounds when he worked them over, but they were inanimate. Yes. Mike Nimitz truly loved his guitars. Especially in his imagination. On one severely boring night in particular, Mike found himself alone, as usual, in the darkened shop, stocking the walls with new guitars. The slender neck that he had been preoccupied with belonged to the first of the new mainstream models. The shop had stocked only cheap-o knock off models for as long as he could remember, and Mike hoped that the new influx of guitars would bring in customers. As it was, the shop was always a ghost town, which left Mike free to fantasize about what might be lurking inside the fine mahoganies and basswood bodies. "Shit, this thing is an artifact! A Gibson Goldtop Les Paul Classic, with...a fifties neck!" Mike began to get a heady feeling in the air, realizing just how spectacular this piece of art was. This thing was made before he was born, but he felt such a connection with it, and was so enamored, that he failed to notice when the heady air zoned him out into his imagination... Mike awoke with a start and off his stool, relieved that he was still in the guitar shop. But, something was amiss. "Hammett's Left Hand! The Guitar," Mike screamed. He looked around the area, expecting (but dreading) to find it in splinters on the floor. "But how? It's vanished," Mike asked no one in particular. But, to his surprise, someone did answer. And, in one of the sweetest and sultriest voices he had ever heard: "Whaddaya mean, kid? I'm right here." Her voice was dark and rich, and seemed to reverberate forever inside Mike's head. It made him freeze in his tracks. After finding what shred of courage he hadn't just lost, he turned to find a stunning blonde woman of about 35 years standing solidly next to his abandoned stool, wearing a rather small, golden sun dress. "Oh, thank God," Mike sighed, "Did you catch the Goldtop? I was just sitting right..." letting his voice trail off uselessly as the woman advanced on him, swinging her full breasts and ass in a rhythmic dance. Mike was entranced as she came way inside his personal space (not that he minded terribly, this would be the first woman to show any interest in him since his college days). "Why are you so worried? I'm very much intact, check me out if you like," she teased, as she abruptly backed up and sat, no, posed on the stool, causing Mike to nearly fall over in his effort to follow her. "You expect me to believe that guitars can turn into women? I mean, I know guitars are beautiful, but this is ridiculous," rambled Mike, as he slumped down into another chair, and probably insanity. It was at this point that Mike's mind shifted from worry to his natural instincts. From his oblique angle, Mike could see her curves in full relief. Her ass was pushed up by the hard wood of the stool, and her arms closed the cavernous cleavage between her (at least) D cup breasts. "But, what the hell," Mike said, playing along with his sexy psychosis, "if this is insanity, I guess it's not so bad, eh? What's your name, gorgeous," he asked with a flick of an eyebrow. "Paula," she answered, returning his eyebrow flick with one of her own, "But, do you want to bullshit all night, or do you want to try out the merchandise," she quizzed, stretching out said merchandise. Mike could only stare, as any one of us would, at the most full and curvaceous body he had ever seen. The small dress left little to the imagination, allowing him to examine her with the scrutiny of a merchant. "This belongs in a museum," he remarked sarcastically, attempting his best Indiana Jones imitation. "But, what do you mean examine the merchandise? I thought you were fine," Mike continued coldly, stepping towards his new object of lust. "Well," said Paula, "I'm in one piece, but I believe my keys could use some tuning." At this, the top of her dress was flipped down, loosing a full compliment of tits into Mike's hungry eyes. At this point, Mike could no longer feign apathy. "And what tuning suits this perfect rack best?" chuckled Mike, as he took her round, heavy tits into his hands for the first time, making her flinch slightly. After a moment, Paula responded, "you're the player, boy. Depends on what song you're gonna play, right?" Mike thought for a second, "well, I guess I'll just play around till I find standard tuning." With that, he took her left nipple in his mouth, chewing ever so slightly whilst servicing it with his tongue. "give me an E," he said jokingly between sucks, and she moaned with overwhelming sensation. The longer he sucked, the closer her moans got to that base note he had tuned to so many times before. When she reached a perfect (enough) E, he moved onto the right mound, and found to be just as enjoyable as the last. Paula's nipples cried just the slightest hint of milk, and what there was tasted incredibly good. Mike wasn't sure if it was just the situation that made him taste it, but, real or not, it was rich and fulfilling. After working this nipple over just as much as the left, he decided to attempt both at once. He squeezed her tits together, and popped both tips into his mouth. To Mike's surprise, what escaped Paula's lips was a combination of the two moans he had been hearing. "Paula, I think you're moaning in power chords," he informed her. Quickly, she responded, "Fan-frikkin-tastic, kid, I guess I'm tuned up. Now, how bout I show that cock of yours what a solid-body can do, looks like it's about ready." "Why yes," said Mike, "I do seem to be experiencing some...Gain." Paula groaned at the corny joke, and, several bad guitar puns later, Mike had his proudly erect dick nestled gently between her soft pouting lips. She slid him in and out, letting her tongue slide up and down his length, as Mike involuntarily bucked his hips, fucking her mouth. Her flowing blonde hair flooded her face as she picked up her pace, the tension in his cock becoming evident. With Paula's mouth otherwise occupied, Mike felt he could get away with another pun with impunity. "I'm getting close here, Paula," he said, "good thing you were so eager, I was never any good at... Pickup lines." Just as Paula was about to roll her eyes, she felt the cum rising through his shaft. This was it. She could reprimand him later. As Mike shot his load, he came in bursts, each hitting the back of her tongue, before disappearing down her hungry throat. "Well, that was gratifying," said Paula between heavy breaths, "thanks, kid. I think I'm finally ready for the shelf. Had to make sure the plug fit in the jack," she joked, getting up off the stool. "Hold on there Paula, the set's not over just yet," said Mike, supporting his now weak legs on the stool. "Oh yes it is," said Paula, "You'll just have to wait until your next shift. Besides... There are plenty of other guitars in the shop. See you around," she said. With a warm smile and a wave, Paula made a jump for the wall, and clung to the pegs there inlaid. "Wait! Paula," yelled Mike, running to catch her. He ran to the wall, as Paula curled up on the pegs, and one cliché poof of smoke later, and Mike hit the wall hard. He looked up to see only the innocent shimmer of the Goldtop Les Paul, resting on the pegs of the wall where Paula had just clung. He looked into the body's gloss, and saw his own reflection soon replaced by Paula's which gave him a telling smile and wink, and promptly vanished. He heard her last message whispered through the air as the AC clicked off: "...Besides... There are plenty of other guitars in the shop..." "Well," said Mike, growing louder and more ecstatic with each word, his grin ripping his head in two, "Thank God I work nights!" Mike whirled around in dizzying circles, taking in all the possibilities, all the pristine bodies: Gibson, Fender, Ibanez, Rickenbacker... Each were beautiful, and each in their own charming and individual way. Mike had always loved these guitars, and now it seems that they can finally, finally return the favor. The Beauty of Music Ch. 02 This is the (I hope) much anticipated sequel to "The Beauty of Music", and there will be more to come. Lots of guitars out there to inspire me. Look forward to more Gibson, Fender, Rickenbacker, Ibanez, and more. As long as the rave reviews keep coming, you can expect more guitar-goodness. \m/ When we last left our beloved protagonist, Mike had finished a steamy first set with a stunningly well matured Gibson Goldtop Les Paul Classic. Monetary value was irrelevant once it got on its knees. Mike then left the shop, as the night shift had just ended. Without further ado, I give you Mike: Mike shook himself back to awareness as he was blatantly cut off by a semi going at least 90 mph. Truckers were always in a hurry to go wait in the backups on 695, but this one was an asshole in a hurry. Mike realized that he had been going forty-five. On route 70, survival driving was eighty at least. "Come on, Mike," he said to himself, "you just gotta make it home, and suppress that amazing hallucination with some alcohol. That'll fix everything." Half a bottle of Jaegermeister later, and Mike still couldn't erase Paula the Goldtop from his woozy mind. He looked at the clock. "6:30 already? Thanks, action movie marathon." There were only three more hours until his shift started, so Mike decided to quickly prepare for work. He ate the last of the "homemade" takeout meal which he had been nursing for days, but the golden corn only reminded him of Paula. Mike then suited up in his usual button-down shirt and vest, and headed into work. On the road to work, Mike's driving skills increased from the nervous wreck he had been before. He was beginning to come to 'what the hell' terms with this occurrence. "If Paula wants me to try the other guitars, then I guess I have no right to deny her," said Mike, locking the store doors behind him as the other employees drifted back to their respective cars. "Paula," he said with a corny reverence, "I vow to carry on your will to fuck these other guitars, despite the fact that you are now inanimate." Paula gave no comment from her pristine, playable prison. "That's all the incentive I need to actually do this," Mike said as he moseyed towards the other models. "Now the only tough decision is... Stratocaster, or Telecaster," Mike asked himself, considering all the possibilities and contrasts in his mind: The Stratocaster is mainly a lead guitar, so she would probably want to take charge. Probably on top. I'm guessing somewhat petite, maybe short haired since she's lacking sustain. Also, she'd most likely be less curvy than Paula, due to her shallower tone and single pickups. On the other hand, the Telecaster is more geared towards rhythm, so I'm gonna say she'd be more of an uke. This one is pretty worn, so in all probability she's a seasoned sexual veteran. Doesn't take much motion, but there's feeling behind every note. Does that mean she'll tease it out? The decision coursed through Mike's brain, until he despaired, "I can't decide! I guess I could do both, If that's alright with...you?" Mike ended his sentence dumbfounded, as he looked down at his noticeably empty hands. Where had the guitars gone? He instinctively turned behind him, seeing, basically, the two women he imagined. Mike decided to go the same course as the last beauty: chat them up. "So," Mike gulped, suddenly nervous at the sight of not one but two musical beauties within reach, "what are your names?" The two women stood silently, gave each other a telling glance, and proceeded to explain. First, the woman on the left, a petite brunette in jeans and a t shirt, wearing her hair short, her chin defiantly up and her arms crossed, stepped forward and said, "My name's Cassie S." "Hello there," Mike responded sheepishly. "Wait till I'm finished," spat Cassie, "and this piece of work is Cassie T," she said, motioning to the reserved woman behind her. Cassie T stood with her eyes averted, and her hands folded in front of her. Mike expected her to be somewhat of a catcher, but she seemed downright shy. "While she may seem shy," S continued, "when you take her, T that is, out to play, she may surprise you. So, you ready?" "Why so sudden," Mike asked. "That long stay on the wall made me pretty stiff. I need to stretch... Everywhere. You look like you've caught the stiffness too," S joked, motioning to Mike's pants, which she proceeded to unzip and discard over her shoulder. T caught and handled his pants, while S tended to something more important... S took out Mike's cock and began to stroke it vigorously from head to hilt. As she did so, she expertly slid up her shirt off her torso, only pausing the hand job for a split second to discard it. Next came her bra, which she also dealt with one handed. S slid it off onto her jerking arm, letting the strap guide it down onto her wrist. S mashed the soft cups of her bra together with Mike's dick in between. The smooth satiny material felt so amazing with S's expert hand guiding it. "Ooh, you'd better stop that, S," Mike warned. "If you keep going, I'll finish too soon." "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" "Of course not. I've still gotta check the input." "Good thing Paula warned me about your puns, " S retorted with a sigh, spreading her now bare legs to display a well trimmed mound, split by a soft pink cunt. "So stick it in already!" Mike couldn't wait any longer. He could feel the heat of her box on him as he entered her abruptly, shoving himself in all the way to the hilt. S didn't seem at all shaken by the rude entry, who proceeded to push Mike onto his back and begin bobbing up and down on his hips. S used her thin but powerful legs to pump herself up and down, her tight box gripping every inch of Mike. Her ass, smaller than Mike would have liked, still felt amazingly soft every time it contacted him. Within minutes, her hands clawed at his chest, and they both made their peace. S kept Mike's rod inside of her until it flopped out, seemingly useless. "Well, I've had better," said S thanklessly, "but, on the other hand, you're pretty big for your age, and it's been a while since I've had to fight for the top. And, shit, an orgasm is an orgasm is an... well, you get where I'm going with this." "Yeah, I gotcha," wheezed Mike, still out of breath from the sheer strain of being on the bottom, and from her hands pushing down on his chest during, "I'm gonna need a break though before I move on to T over--" At that point, Mike was cut off to nothing more than an ecstatic, inscribable moan of pleasure, as T had silently come over, and taken Mike's dick into her warm, wet mouth. It was only now that Mike had taken notice of just how nice T was. She was about his age, despite his best guess, and had medium straight red hair. She was more on the small side, as was S, but her frame allowed for more noticeably curves. Mike just couldn't keep his eyes off them. T took notice, reading him with her hazy green eyes, and popped his cock out of her mouth. She had been quietly observing, taking note of exactly what Mike's favorite things to do were, and now knew what she could do best for him. "I've seen that you enjoy foreplay almost as actual sex. I can fulfill this need of yours," said T, sounding seductive and yet mechanical. "I believe that the thought of being so close to sex, and yet being denied it will serve to add to the stimulation." T turned over, and scooted up nearer to Mike, reclining on his torso. Mike took notice, and began rubbing his shaft against T's engorged outer lips. Obviously, sucking him off had given her pleasure too. T decided to start the teasing now. She snared Mike's manhood in between her thighs, and began to squeeze. Normally, Mike would have been in pain. Normally, however, Mike would not be making love to women spawned from guitars. T's juices had been flowing from watching S and Mike fucking, so her crotch and thighs were wet and slick. Mike started to thrust between her soft, wet, yielding flesh, relishing in the ecstasy. "T, it's so soft and nice," Mike said with ever-shortening breaths, "It's like your legs were made for this!" "Don't get too comfortable," said T, as she abruptly sealed her legs together even tighter, this time painfully tight against Mike. "Ah! T, that's too tight! It hurts! Please, lighten up a....Aah!" With that, Mike was driven over the edge, and shot his load in a high arching rope over T and himself, and hit S in a line across her nose. "Well, that's enough for today, boy, although your cock still needs some discipline," S remarked, wiping the cum from her nose and cheeks, then savoring it's salty flavor with an erotic vigor. "We can't have you getting too tired, there's still a lot more guitars to be played in this shop," she said, as Mike suddenly realized he was still in the guitar shop. As Mike finally recovered from his post-orgasm drowsiness, he looked up to see his guitar lovers returning into their original Fender forms, wobbling and eventually resting harmlessly on their wall pegs. "So, who's next," wondered Mike, poring over the throngs of guitars still unused on the wall, pausing to look on his next lover. Just which guitar will Mike's next lover be? I'll ask you, the readers to decide! So, please leave a comment with your picks for the next guitar. I always try my best to parallel the guitars into the women, so choose carefully! Also, please rate, too.