Keys and Kisses

The growing crowd watches fixedly as her fingers dance across the keys. Some, mostly the women, sit mesmerized by how simple she makes it look, her ability to instill emotion – angst, anger, joy, sorrow- inside each listener. Others, mostly the men, are more entranced by her beauty. The seduction of the music a mere ruse so they may trace her form with their gaze. I know the music well, having taught it to her, so instead of watching her, I take my time eyeing the crowd. She’ll want to know how pleased they were.

As the piano rings in a crescendo, I think back to those early days. How her fingers were unskilled with the ivories but could stroke the essence out of me in a matter of minutes. How she couldn’t carry a tune, even if she’d put it in a bucket, but could bring me to my knees with the erotic purr of her moans. She can still utter me breathless, speechless even with her considerable talents, but she’s mastered the art of playing piano, much to my surprise and sadness. What will become of her, of us, once she feels we’re done?

She’d come to me years before, a wisp of a woman, barely old enough to be more than a girl. Old enough, she was though, or at least her employer thought so. I had my doubts, but she has a charm and a feminine magic that even I can not resist, and so when she asked to learn to play, a provocative trade – as form of payment- was decided, and we began.

At first, she was clumsy and undisciplined. But with each lesson, her fingers moved faster, her body giving way to the music. By the tenth tutorial, she’d learned basic notes and could play the chorus of more than one song, but we still had a long way to go. That was when I changed my tactics.

I have her strip before telling her to walk to the sitting room, then saunter behind, enjoying the curve of her back, the plumpness of her bottom. Her hips sashay left and right, and my eyes follow, my cock delighted.

She waits for further direction once she reaches the bench. I smile inwardly and move to stand behind her.

“Sit,” I say as I caress the line of her spine, the slope of each shoulder and the dip of her waist.

She does so gracefully, like being nude and about to have a piano lesson is the most normal thing in the world. I suppose for her it is.

Her shoulders are pressed back, her regality only mimicked by queens. She holds her head high, her chin poised, and I wonder why anyone thought she was nothing but a whore. I see what she holds beneath the hardened exterior. I see something I want to call mine.

“Begin.”

Her fingers move before her mind catches pace. I notice the moment it does. Her eyes close, her shoulders relax, her breathing steadies. With each note, her body moves in time. She’s made it to the main verse when she strokes the wrong key. An easy mistake, but I catch it. Before she can move on, I reach around and grasp her right nipple between finger and thumb. She continues to play for a moment, then two, but as I pull harder, pinch tighter, she gasps, then falters.

“Start again. Watch your fingers this time. Eyes open.”

She does as I say and starts anew. Having caught the initial mistake, she breezes through it, a triumphant smile lighting her angelic face. I nuzzle the soft spot where neck meets shoulder, then leave a line of kisses, and when her movements stutter, fingers bouncing rather than holding the keys, I sink my teeth into her tender flesh.

She groans as my hands navigate between her legs, but continues to play, even as my digits slide effortlessly through her silken nether lips, dipping into her pink heat for a second before pulling back. Her fingers still then, her heads falls back to rest against me, and I know this lesson is over, and plant my lips on hers.

I come out of my reverie as the piece is ending. She seeks me out from the crowd and when our eyes meet, she smiles so vibrantly, it lights up the room. She begins the next song, not looking away. It’s one I know well. The corners of my mouth turn up as I remember her playing it in its entirety for the first time.

She doesn’t need to be told to strip anymore, doesn’t even bother dressing. She arrives in a long coat, buttons done tight from chin to shins. No words are spoken between us until she’s taken her seat on the bench.

I don’t touch her today, instead I make her wait. The delay makes her aware of my proximity, makes her question where I will touch first. Her fingers rest on the ivory keys and I inch closer, lean down and whisper in her ear, “begin.”

With perfect refinement she plays melodic verse and chorus, never faltering even as I run my tongue from the dimples at the small of her back, to the tips of her Elvin ears. She sways with each note, lithe and nimble, while my fingers pluck and prod, my head delving between her parted thighs. I press my lips to the downy hair I find there, inhaling her scent, and even as her legs spread for me, opening farther in invitation, she hits every key with perfect harmony.

At the end, she’d wrapped her legs around me, and made sweet music of her own.

The song finishes, and without hesitation, she moves onto the next. A mellow, lamenting tune about love lost and love found. She holds the audience rapt as her fingers move in time over the keys. With her eyes closed and a softened look marking her face, she looks completely at peace. This is the latest song she’s learned, and the teaching had been quite enjoyable. The tiny grin that highlights her face tells me she feels the same.

She takes her place on the bench, back straight. A loose curl has worked its way from its place atop her head. The tendril whispers down her back, curling at the bottom of her spine. I tuck it over her shoulder, letting my fingers trail over her porcelain skin, over her collar bone, to the swell of her breasts. Gooseflesh rises in their wake.

“Begin.”

As the music flows over her, I watch her eyes close, her mouth open. But I keep my fingers roaming, grazing her curves. Dipping into her hills and valleys, nuzzling her soft plains. Her breath quickens, a fluttering at the base of her neck revealing her internal response and I know no matter how stoic she seems, my fingers are at the top of her mind.

Pin by pin, I let her hair fall, until it surrounds her like a halo. I run my hands through her ringlets, then gather her locks in a fist and tilt her head back. And while her hands scale the black and white keys, she never misses a note. She looks at me, then licks her lips and I can’t help but to trace the line her tongue has taken.

Arms stretched before her, she takes my thumb in her mouth, mimicking an earlier act. My cock rises in response, and in one fell swoop I lift her into my arms and lay her bare on the baby grand. There’ll be time for piano later.

I’m adjusting my swelling manhood when she finishes her set and weaves her way through the applauding crowd towards me. Though all eyes are on her, and some observers try to stop her with congratulations and pleasantries, she has eyes only for me. With a gleeful smile that displays euphoric joy, she kisses me passionately, before asking, “Are there any more instruments you can teach me?”