Bass Desire

He looked twenty something and beautiful to her.

She was a little older and worked at St. Rita's School for the Deaf.

He attended an International Strings Solo Competition filling every venue including St. Rita's auditorium.

She signed, "Hello," but her body language said, "Do you want some candy?"

He sat on a stool in his own world.

She prowled through dry grass on the hottest day of the year.

He played on.

Her eyes drank the sight of his bare chest, muscled shoulders, cutoff jeans, and bulge.

He caught her.

She signed, "May I?"

He shrugged incomprehension but granted a "come this way" nod of his head.

She sat with her cheek near the upper bout of his string bass.

He played more vigorously lost in contemplation.

She arranged herself as close as she could be without actually touching wood.

He parted his legs giving her clearance to slip between musician and instrument.

She straddled the end pin between her legs and wrapped her arms around the bass not quite touching.

He leaned over her.

She absorbed a deep thrumming vibration making her whole body hum and her fingertips buzz.

He hunched with the bridge over his shoulder bringing wood in contact with her thighs.

She closed her eyes, rested her neck between his legs, and inhaled his scent.

His variation of the melody made her pelvis sing and her insides froth.

She wrapped her arms around his thighs where his muscles tensed above her shoulders.

His bow danced giving her stomach the sensation of falling.

Her eyes opened.

His penis twitched.

Her thighs trembled.

He felt her melt.

She lingered.

He smiled satisfaction with his performance.

She was satisfied, too.