That First Night: When Music Broke My Innocence
The night was hot. Too damn hot. Fresh from the shower, towel knotted low around my waist, flip-flops slapping the floor. Nothing else on. My skin felt like velvet, smooth and soft. Muscled belly glistening under the laptop glow. Tits free, round and perky, no bra crushing them. I smiled at my reflection. Haloed skin looked good.
Soon I’d kill the screen, pad through the living room to the kitchen. Fridge blast on my nipples, making them harden. Gulp half a bottle of water. Back to shut off the radio, close shutters, slip under sheets. But first, roll a smoke. Light it. Spicy tobacco fills the air. Radio show’s done. “Dodge the Dodo” starts. I ache for you. Like last night.
The Approach
Are you home, doing the same? Legs spread slow on your bed, offering yourself to the piano’s divine notes? That anxious trio vibe, like a first fuck. Drums pounding rhythm, bass vibrating deep in your pussy. Remember?
Music invades you, like my hand did. Piece hits hard. Like me. Piano’s left hand heavy on bass chords. My hands rip your clothes off fast. Hate them hiding you. Fabric flies, hits the floor like the opening bars.
There you are. Pale skin shivering. Lean muscles tense. Hair loose over shoulders. No words. Music speaks. Your blue eyes lost, trying to hold it together. Naked in my room, filling space with your tiny frame. I step back. Admire. Love your chest, small tits, kissable belly, neat bush.
Predator eyes on you. Hold back kneeling, hands on hips, pulling to my mouth. Eyes only now. Heart racing. Yours too, I bet. No turning back.
Lunge. Scoop you up easy. Legs wrap my hips. Toss you on bed. Cymbals crash, piano climbs. Music blasts, neighbors be damned. Rhythm owns me.
The Instant
Body over yours. Robust against your fragility. Face in your neck. Breathe you in. Drunk on your scent. Hands grip sheets. Hurt so bad wanting you. Your nails rake my back.
Grind slow. Tongue tastes skin, teeth graze. Avoid your mouth. Save it. Build ache. Moans mix. Lose myself in you, music, sweat.
Music softens. I roll aside, arms around. Piano tender. Hands wander light. Yours on me make me beautiful. Catch your eyes—feverish, eager, not scared.
Fine hand on your face. Sweat-slick forehead to lips. Kiss stops fingers. Pull chin, lips meet long. No tongue yet. Tease fire.
Eyes lock. You know. I know. Melody romantic, notes falling like unshed tears.
Piano insists. Straddle again. Breath light on neck. Nipples brush yours. Trail down belly, thighs slick with want. Back up.
Lips tease yours. You crave tongue. Piano swells. Think I’ll dive? No.
The Instant
Torment. Music fades, elusive. Then explodes. Tongue invades mouth. Pussy grinds yours. Hump hard. Crush tits. Arch you by neck. Drums urge. You soak my thighs.
Pubis strokes clit. You pant. I groan. Eyes wild, blind. Climax nears. Bite shoulder soft. You grab for kiss. Lip nip only.
Defiant eyes. Dive neck. Right hand fingers pussy, drenched. Grip neck, bite, stroke. Fast flicks, slow presses. You growl.
Twenty-five seconds left. Scream over music: “Cum. Cum for the music. Sync with it.”
Left hand under ass. Middle finger plunges. Love it. Whisper you’re hot, I’m soaked, juices mingle. Squeeze. Ten seconds. Second finger in ass. Mouth on tit. Fingers fly. Sweat, breaths, cries, nails tear. You shatter.
Hold deep. Prolong. I cum too, from your quake.
Silence. Music echoes in flesh. You gasp, near tears. Know why fury: marked you. Piano will flood you forever. Given fully.
Sleep in arms. Innocent face. Whisper love unafraid.
The Trace
Morning. You leave in yesterday’s clothes, eyes pleasured. Doorframe lean. Tears rise. Music will bring your scent, taste, scratches.
Sob your love.
Knock. Hope surges. Smile through tears. Maybe?
Forgot car keys. Wink crushes heart. Last one.
Never close door on morning you again.
