Musical Cheers

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Music does things to me. It’s a part of me. It’s a constant. When I fell off the jungle-gym there was music coming from the room next to the sick-bay at school. It was bad, but it was music nevertheless. The first time I got drunk – there was music. Actually there was Madonna – Like a Virgin – how appropriate. The first time I had sex, and then the first time I was properly fucked – two different occasions as far as I’m concerned – there was music, always music.

No surprise then that I fall for those that play music. Not pop music – that’s way too easy, way too….everywhere. I’m more interested in the studious, dedicated classical musician who on the face of it is as stuffy as the halls they play in, but beneath that exterior can often lurk energy and passion most of us could only dream of.

The steps outside St. Paul’s Cathedral in London are just incredible in the summer sun, and I was walking towards the City when I passed them last week. I looked up, envious of those people with the time in their lives to sit and soak up the sun, seemingly ignorant of banks, taxes, and pressing appointments. Like the boy with the cello. The boy with the cello! I say ‘boy’, when in fact I guessed him to be about 19 – with the round spectacles, untidy mop of hair, out of control side-burns, he just looked like he needed taking care of. I stopped to look at him – from the safety of fifteen yards and the privacy of my sunglasses.

Because he was sitting, it was hard to guess his height, but I settled on a neat six feet. He was totally oblivious to the world as he read some well-thumbed book and ate a baguette almost absent-mindedly. It may have been because it had been so long since I last came courtesy of someone other than my own dexterous fingers, or because of a trace of mayonnaise on his upper lip that just wanted licking – whatever, my pulse was racing. As I watched and imagined, a girl rushed up and sat beside him, talking about something or other. I noticed her flushed cheeks, long dark hair and her clothes – at odds with everything – old-fashioned knee length denim skirt, a billowy white blouse, and flat slip on shoes she slipped out of as soon as she sat down. Somehow, though – it looked perfect on her.

By this time I had propped myself against a wall pretending to read. I just watched, listened and imagined what they were talking about, whether they were together, whether they were good together. She kept talking as she took bites from her Yorkie Bar, but he seemed to take little interest in what she had to say. At one point she reached past the book, took his face in her hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. He seemed to come out of his trance and the kiss became something more intimate, more suggestive. Her skirt had ridden up her thighs enough to reveal creamy flesh, and as she twisted to kiss him, her left leg splayed out to balance herself, affording me a sudden flash of white knickers. I fancied that I saw the indent of her womanhood, but I think that was probably my overactive imagination. All too quickly, the moment was gone, the skirt was smoothed down, and normal service resumed. And I was no less worked up.

I was about to go when she looked around her, pretending to be looking at something in the distance and ran her hand up his right thigh, and rested it on his crotch. He made no attempt to remove it, although he seemed to bow his head even further into the book. I decided that I’d had enough of the distance between the players and the audience. I walked in a wide arc that took me to the side of the stairs, up the back way, and I managed to sit three steps behind them. I could hear their conversation quite plainly now, and it seemed as if I wasn’t the only one suffering from a heat that wasn’t entirely due to the summer sun.

“We could use one of the rehearsal rooms, ataşehir escort bayan we could lock the door…we could, you know”

She was getting little response from the young cellist, but it didn’t seem to deter her.

“I’m so fucking wet, I have been all morning – all through lectures. I swear I could have come if I’d put my mind to it. Come on, let’s go back to the college.”

Her accent spoke of a fine upbringing, fine schools; although she dropped the odd t and h as many do in order to sound sufficiently London. Such a pretty voice saying such dirty things was almost too much for me to bear. I’d totally forgotten what I was doing with my day – this now seemed the most important thing in my life.

I was startled out of my reverie when a voice asked me what the time was. I blinked and looked at the girl who had twisted around, lying on her stomach looking up at me enquiringly.

“Um, I’m not sure, hold on and I’ll check my mobile.” As I delved into my bag, I had my own job keeping my balance and unwittingly returned the favour from a few minutes ago.

“One twenty four” I declared, before noticing that her gaze was fixed firmly between my legs. Did I close them in an embarrassed rush? No. Did I open them wider to afford her a better view? No. I just let her look. After just a few seconds, she looked up and thanked me. Not before I got a perfect view of her breasts nestled in their lacy bra. Not too big, not too small. Just right.

She turned back and began talking to the cellist in a voice so low I couldn’t make out what they were saying. He half turned as if he was trying to look at me out of the corner of his eye, before turning back and shaking his head in a kind of frustration. She elbowed him, and this time he nearly looked all the way around.

I couldn’t help myself. Knowing he was going to look properly soon, I reached down under my dress, and pulled my knickers aside, and as I did so it was like a torrent of wetness gushed down onto my fingers. I had just finished dipping a finger into the pool gathering at the opening of my vagina when he turned around fully, eyes wide, mouth open. She was looking, too – not with hunger, but definitely with curiosity.

I let my knickers go with a snap, and sucked gently on my fingers before bringing my knees together and smiling innocently down at this pair of young musical lovebirds.

“So, I said. Will you play for me?”

They exchanged a glance. It was an incredibly long moment, which seemed to ask a hundred questions, but there was no doubt as to the answer to them all.

“Yes” She whispered for them both.

It was a short walk up to the college, and once a rehearsal room had been booked, we crept up three flights of stairs – allowing me to admire them both from behind, He for his tight, muscular bottom, she for her magnificent legs and the white knickers that came into view every now and then. She turned to look at me at one stage, and seemed satisfied that I was taking it all in.

Inside the room it was cold, dark, and musty, and it was furnished with a grand piano, some music stands and three chairs. My new friends stood there not knowing what to do.

“What do you play?” I asked the girl.

“Piano.”

She said it like piahno – like I said – very well brought up.

“Would you play for us?” I asked. “Something that you feel rather than hear.” She moved towards the piano but I stopped her with a light touch on her shoulders. “You won’t be needing this,” I said as I undid the buttons of her skirt and slid it down. Her knickers were sensible and white, but there was no mistaking the dark shadow between her legs. I brushed the knuckle of my finger up the visible cleft, and only I could hear her catch her breath. With that she began to play – and escort kadıöy it was truly moving, played in the middle of the keyboard where there’s so much feeling.

I turned my attention to the cellist. He looked every inch the little boy lost, apart from the fact that there was an obviously erect penis straining at his corduroy trousers. I knelt before him, reached into his trousers and took out a long, slender, beautifully formed cock. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with every excited heartbeat. Without a second thought I had it deep in my mouth, using my tongue on him, milking him, my teeth bringing a different sensation every so often. And then I realised that the music had stopped. I turned to her with a questioning look on my face.

“Anton. He doesn’t like that. He told me.”

Ah – so that was his name. I looked up at him.

“Anton?”

Before he could reply I took him back in my mouth and sucked him for all I was worth – savouring his taste, revelling in the unconscious grinding of his hips. I knew he was close, so with one hand I pulled at the buttons of my own blouse, and just as he came I aimed him right at my own breasts, and I’ve never seen such a display before in all my life. I stood before him and asked him to rub his own come into my breasts. He obliged, haltingly at first, but then he warmed to the task and ran his hands under the bra cups, over my engorged nipples – squeezing them delightfully in the process.

When he was done, he looked over my shoulder and wore an apologetic look on his face.

“Rebekah, I…”

She shook her head and looked at him as if she’d just seen him for the first time.

“Anton, I said – your turn.”

He looked confused.

“Play, I said.

He sat at his stool, and after a momentary tune up, began playing something that was equal parts mournful and exciting.

I moved over to where Rebekah sat astride the piano stool, taking a position on the same stool, mirroring her. She looked scared.

“Did you like what you saw back there on the steps?” I whispered.

“I…I think so” she whispered back.

Wasting no more time on talking, I scooched further along the stool until our spread knees touched. Slowly but surely, I leant forward, taking her lightly by the back of her head, and kissed her. And guess what? She kissed me back.

As we kissed, I reached down to her breasts and rubbed them gently through her blouse, bringing her nipples to attention. Coming up for air, I stopped and removed my own blouse, and taking her cue, she reciprocated. Her breasts were beautiful. My mouth watered, and my cunt ached. She took the initiative this time by unhooking her bra, and letting her perfect, youthful breasts free of their constraints. I looked her in the eye as I massaged her, pawed her, devoured her. Her eyes closed and her head fell to one side as she lost herself in sensation. My hand travelled even further south, and I slipped my fingers under the gusset of her knickers where I was rewarded with the most gloriously slick vagina. She leaned back to allow me more access, so with one hand I slid my fingers along her wet folds, and with the thumb of the other hand I worked her clit. Her breathing gave way to low, seductive moans, which blended magically with the eerie cello music accompanying us. Needing more of her than I was getting, I slid back off the stool, once again on my knees and pulled her down so her back was resting on the piano stool.

I took my time studying her. I took in the contours of her mound, I smelled the unmistakable and heady scent of a woman’s sex. I suddenly took hold of her knickers and in one rough motion pulled them up into her, pushing her lips apart, rubbing directly on her clit. She half screamed as she turned into the home straight towards an maltepe escort incredible, life changing orgasm. I had her knickers down so quickly she never knew what had happened, and then my mouth covered her, drinking from her, coaxing from her every drop of pleasure in her body.

I don’t know what it is, but when I reach that point during sex, I want hands to be everywhere, I want every hole to be filled by me, and this was no exception. I looked back at Anton, beckoning him over, and he took no time at all to be knelt behind me, bunching up my dress, pulling aside my knickers and fingering my cunt as he readied himself for me.

Running my little finger up and down Rebekah’s throbbing, pulsing vagina, coating it to the base in her wetness, I eased it into her anus just as Anton filled me to my very depths with one long stroke. Rebekah was riding a tidal wave of an orgasm that just intensified with the introduction of my finger, I was coming hard thanks to Anton, and by the noises he was making and the quickening of his pace I knew he was right there with us.

When we had all extricated ourselves from one and other, we sat propped up against the wall, saying nothing, but laughing out loud from time to time.

After a while, Rebekah got up and spread our clothes over the floor. She motioned Anton to lie down on his back and stood over him, her long hair obscuring her face, her legs spread offering him an intimate view of her wet, swollen flesh. I watched in fascination as his penis came slowly back to life again, until it was clearly ready for more. She straddled him, and with one hand ran the tip of his cock along her distended labia. I got the view of a lifetime as Rebekah – biting her lower lip, slowly sank down onto him, holding herself wide open, until he was buried deep within her, and then her hips began to move of their own accord.

I was completely fixated on these two beautiful people, so much so that at first I missed my invitation to join in. I had been absent-mindedly kneading my breasts, tugging lightly at my nipples. By the time I had got up to join them, Rebekah was arching her back, roughly holding her breast with one hand while giving an erotic master class as she slowly massaged her clitoris. I got down on my haunches, directly over Anton’s face, and he began to lick and suck me. I was approaching another orgasm as I felt Rebekah’s hands on my boobs. She had come already and moved up close behind me, her hands working magic on my breasts, and then I felt the undeniable feeling of a woman’s slender fingers slide into me, seeking out my clit. Oh my God how I came.

All of those clichés, the earth moving, sky exploding, and the time stopping – none come close to what happened that afternoon in the music room. I left my young friends asleep in each other’s arms, but before I went, I wrote on the back of a music score:

“You are truly beautiful, and the music you make is divine. Love always, Ali”

I went back down the stairs and was almost blinded by the sunlight that hit me when I walked through to reception. It was obviously during class time, because the hall was deserted. I must have reeked sex, or I must have been swaggering as only the recently fucked can, because the big, burly security man at the desk called out:

“Where you off to, darlin’?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I replied.

“I would as a matter of fact, I’m not sure that you’re a student here at all.” He was testing me, and it reminded me of an occasion at my boyfriend’s house in Brighton not long ago. I walked up to the desk, checking that no one was watching, and stood before him.

“You need to wear an identity pass if you’re not a student.” He said, pushing over the sticker towards me.

I bent down low offering him a great view of my cleavage, and then stopped. Straightening up, I lifted my dress, slipped my finger deep into myself, and extracted more than enough moisture for the job at hand. Then, without looking at him I signed my name on the sticker – in my own special way.

Like I said – music does things to me.

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