Ostinato

The sound of surf washes in the windows with the spring sunlight. A soft breeze is moving the cotton curtains, and gentle notes fill the air. It's humid and warm, and the aroma of honeysuckle drifts everywhere.

We're on island, with some neighbors of mine. I've invited you along to watch my boy, but he is off playing near the waves with his friend and the neighbors. I can hear them playing and talking just outside, but we're inside.

You're taking some time to practice piano. You have a crisp white blouse on, and a tartan plaid skirt that looks like one of those school uniforms. Your dark curls shine with softness, and your milky skin reflects the fact that you haven't yet spent time on the beach or sailing.

I walk over to the piano to hear you better, watching you sit un-selfconsciously on the old piano bench, your legs slightly askew. I catch just a glimpse of white cotton between your legs as you shift position to play. The warm sunlight plays on your lap. You're playing "Moonlight Sonata." Somehow, the soothing, slow rhythm is just right - melodic triplets seem to ebb and flow with the rhythm of the waves pounding the beach.

"Hi," I say. You're new, and young - but I have seen see you blush and react when I've passed close by you. "Nice playing. You know, I used to teach keyboard a bit long ago. Would you like some pointers?" "Okay," you say.

"Great. Well. First, you need to have correct posture." I move closer, and very gently touch the small of your back. "Now sit up straight, and arch your back a bit. Good. Yes, just like that. Just relax now - keep playing, and breathe deeply." And you do.

I can fully enjoy watching you breathe now. Your lovely, firm breasts rise and fall, gently parting the neck of your shirt as you play. I lean a little closer, watching over your shoulder, bringing my mouth closer to your ear. "Do you like this?" I ask. You nod, and smile. I touch the small of your back again, very subtly stroking it - and lean to whisper in your ear - "You're very sweet." And you blush. "Go on, keep playing like that," I say, louder so they will hear it outside. Then I lean in again to brush your soft hair back, and very gently kiss your earlobe, then neck.

You suddenly flub up, and stop playing, flustered... you turn towards me. I plant a gentle kiss on your lips, and we hear the voices outside again. You kiss me back, and start to reach for me. "Shh!" I say. "Be careful, or they will get curious!" Then I say more loudly, "Why don't you practice some scales now. Just try the ostinato part, the slow triplets. That's it. And sit up straight." The notes create a new pattern that is almost hypnotic, like a Philip Glass composition. We listen for a moment, simply enjoying being close.

I slowly move a finger to your lips. You take it into your mouth, but you keep playing. I run my other hand gently down your back, up your side."Why don't you close your eyes," I say. "It will help you focus on technique." You do. You keep playing, gently sucking my finger. Your tounge swirling around my fingertip feels warm and good. This feeling of deep connection to you is suddenly coursing through me, and I loosen my tie. I could close my eyes, but I want to see what is before me.

I let my hands and lips play leisurely across your body - your neck, your hair; cupping your breasts. Several times, you falter in playing the pattern, and each time, I stop my affections. This is a little game we're playing, and you seem realize that you need to keep playing to receive pleasure!You must continue for me to continue. So, you resume playing.

I move a bit more to the front, so I can reach between you and the piano but you can play. Putting one hand on each of your knees, I gently push your legs apart...

Dum da da, dum da da, dum da da - the notes are mesmerising, suspending time, enthralling the here and now and repeating it endlessly.

Slowly, I hike up your skirt. Running my warm hands up your thighs now, I can see your white panties. What they cover looks completely smooth. And which, if I'm not mistaken, is quite wet. I am aching to pull them aside, slide you to the floor, then slide into you and thrust for all I'm worth. That would draw attention to us for sure, though.

You are breathing faster now, cheeks flushed, but your eyes are still closed, and you've managed to keep playing. "Why don't you try another pattern now?" I say. You switch to something slightly faster and a bit more urgent. The neighbors and children are still just outside. They must think you are quite the diligent student as the tempo continues.

Very deliberately, I run my middle finger up your inner thigh, and slip it under your panties. It's very wet under there, smooth, and very slick. How deliciously warm and wet you are. I can almost smell and taste how much you want more attention. My longest finger slips easily into your sex, while I massage your clit in circles with my thumb.

You start to slide your hips rhythmically towards me, pumping, but again you've stopped playing! So I pull out, grinning snidely at you. No tempo, no reward, young lady! You look at me with wide pleading eyes, biting your lip, and then you start playing again - eyes closed.

I push back into you with two fingers now, and go back to work. I'm leaning against the keyboard for support, and finger-fucking you rather firmly,keeping time with your playing. Sometimes I lean in to pinch your nipples through your shirt with my other hand, or to kiss you. This is an intensely pleasant way to spend a humid afternoon by the sea, and I would love to prolong this moment, but you are building towards a climax.

You are quite good at this - now and then you toss in a few trills, chords, or notes that vary the pattern for variety. We're creating quite a composition this way - it sounds good, interesting, dynamic! "Very good!" I say. "Good girl."

I can see you perspiring. You are near climax, but I know you are finding it difficult to completely let go, because you have to keep playing! I focus on your clit, circling it, rubbing it insistently with my thumb. "Ah, Ah, Ah," you say, and it sounds almost as if you are singing.

My fingers thrust still more deeply into you. You take in a sharp breath and stop playing - so I start to pull my fingers out for one aching moment. You arch your back, pushing, reaching - but then - you spread your hands wide and plant them firmly onto the ivories again to make one deep, crashing chord. You pound this chord again and again, and it does make for a dramatic musical ending. Your pussy is tightening around my fingers, convulsing, milking them. I know you are coming hard.

The chord dies away, reverberating. You sigh. A breeze freshens in the window again, and on it rides the sound of applause! Our audience has appreciated your performance - but not as much as I have.

It's going to be a long, sweet summer.