Piano

This is the second instalment of my adventures with Sarah. The first was called "Towels", written a little while ago. Thank you to all those who gave me such positive feedback and encouragement. It seems I let out my sexual frustration in between relationships by writing. Thanks to Jim for help editing. I hope you all enjoy my story. It would turn me on some more to know if you got hard or wet while reading it. I have an idea for a finale.

*****

"You know," said Sarah munching muesli, "you make weird noises having sex."

I might have said we all do, but I was half asleep with my head to the pillow. An image flashed in my mind of her mouth, busy, sunk between my shiny, bald and aroused pussy lips. She wagged her spoon and then corrected herself.

"No! Not having sex, when you're fucking." Sarah was sitting with her knees hunched up at the top of my bed having her breakfast. Another image flashed of a fat hard cock inches from my eyes, a long strand of spunk, saliva and juice dangling toward me. I would have liked at least another thirty minutes sleep - and a little 'me time', maybe.

"What time is it?"

"When I go down on your pussy you make lovely smoochie moans and sighs. When you're getting fucked you sound like a...a grunty steam train." She paused to poke some muesli; "kinda," and here she grunted, apparently like I do, tapping the air with her spoon to the rhythm of each one of my peculiar grunts.

"Sarah," I began to plead.

She wrinkled up her cute little nose and paused her chewing, to once more waggle her spoon. "I love it when you come!" She smiled.

I sighed and remembered my promise. A large Mickey Mouse went across the chest of Sarah's pajamas. Any innocence was lost by the firm, erect nipples clearly visible either side of her chest. She was chatting merrily to herself like she had slept well and this was the morning after an innocent sleepover. I realized she had not even finished breakfast and a whole sexual encounter had already gone through her head in just my first few moments of semi-consciousness. Really she was as slutty and as sexy as they come. And she came a lot.

Sarah had short blonde hair, dreamy blue eyes and a lean pert figure with perfect round breasts. Her legs, hugged to her chest, propped her muesli on her knees, but when she unraveled them, they unraveled forever. It could take most of an hour for me to lick from toe to cunt.

"He is a slime ball." Sarah hopped to her next thought, and as ever it immediately came out of her mouth.

"Who?"

"Sam Crabb."

"Who?"

"The man with our money!"

"Oh... right." I turned away from her and gathered my own thoughts. Mr. Crab; he was the spymaster too pervy for the CIA; or maybe he just made more money his way. When I covered Sarah's shift as a hotel maid I did not expect bundling towels from room to room would end in a fancy suite, in a threesome with her and a hunk with a monster cock. Before I knew it, I was caught and fucked in Mr. Crabb's honey trap.

-

A while later, it was that same Mr. Crabb who looked me up and down, approvingly I thought, but then did a peculiar nod of his head as if bidding me to turn and show my ass, including I imagined, bending over. I ignored him. I realized this was his habit for women standing at his desk, the majority of whom, I imagined, most likely stood in their underwear or less. But I was not a piece of meat and he seemed only a little perturbed.

"You know if you wanted to make this a career you've all the right equipment." Mr. Crabb, or Sam, as he wanted me to call him, was a caricature of himself. He spoke as if he had kept the same half chewed cigar in his mouth since he was five years old. He shifted side to side on his seat, stretching his pants with a permanent, uncomfortable erection. From time to time he tried to rearrange his underwear as inconspicuously as he could, but his middle aged paunch prevented even that relief. His skin was greasy and pock marked and looked, I imagined, like many of his customers, a result of too few fresh vegetables and too much late night internet. He had bad breath and dandruff and touched me too much when shaking hands, showing me where to sign. He came too close, too long at any and every opportunity. He was, in short, exactly the kind of person you might imagine made a living from secretly filming strangers having sex.

Mr. Crabb obviously adored Sarah and was delighted with how she had snared me. For her part, Sarah thought she had Sam in the palm of her hand to do with what she will. I counted the cash he gave me and found it less than half I hoped.

"Mr. Crabb I -"

"I know. You get the rest when I do. Like I always say: 'You gotta make it to sell it and then sell it to make it'." He tapped the papers on his desk, which now included my own signature. "Like it says here."

"Sarah! Did you know this?"

"No I did not," she began. "Sam, what are you up to?" Then she looked at me. "Honest, Jane!" And then shrugged her shoulders with a little grimace on her face.

I stared at Mr. Crabb's wall of sleazy DVD covers, trying to find some words, counting down the sex scenes he had acquired by false pretences.

Now I was to be a pornstar or, more like, put on display as a willing porn victim. The fancy threesome suite had cameras that filmed us from every angle. Cameras that were high quality, small, Wi-Fi and, as I remembered seeing the look on my face, also high definition. Watching myself from the rear had been disconcerting. I fell secretly in love with my own nice, round ass and gorgeous pussy. I never before then imagined my lips so swollen and so edible. The video would be branded as an "amateur threesome" apparently, at which I took some mild offence because, actually, I thought I was quite unwittingly professional throughout; possibly because I did not need to act when I had one of the biggest orgasms of my life.

I was, of course, absolutely furious with Sarah. Bloody furious! How dare she?

I would have liked to say that it was the beautiful way she seduced me that brought me round; the way for a whole night she devoted every part of her body to my own sexual pleasure; and the way she allowed me to abuse her. No, despite the pleasure, it was not that. It was, of course, the money. I had been promised a surprisingly good amount and I hoped it would go a long way to relieving my alarmingly large debt.

My piano playing, the lessons I gave, and waiting on tables were not enough to get ahead. I was getting desperate.

-

Walking together down the street, I said glumly to Sarah: "You got me out of bed for that...?" I sulked.

She came close, took me by my arm and looked into my eyes endearingly.

"You can have my money. I'll make it right babe," she gripped my arm tighter. "... You know I can... And I'll get the recording from that shit don't your worry!"

How? I wondered.

-

Sometimes I just do not know why I stick with Sarah. But then I remember. I remember her getting up from our lovemaking, returning, lubing the strapon proud between her legs, kneeling and smoothly and effortlessly sliding it deep into my pussy; so smooth, so easy and so perfect. I remember our mutual, huge deep sighs as she rests her weight on me, breasts crushed together, joined completely, her lithe body relaxed before commencing its work.

She has though let me down so many times. So many times I forgive her because of this feeling and, really, I thought I always would.

Until two nights ago that is, when she broke my one rule; the one rule I have in our flat; just one, and she broke it.

I came home late that night with a good share from my tips. The restaurant had been very busy, even for a Friday, but the customers had been friendly and enjoyable to be with. They had also been generous with their money. The streets in the small hours shone with the night's rainfall and were clean and ready for the dawn. It was beautifully quiet after the hectic steam of the kitchen. I could begin to breathe and relax knowing no one was following my ass weaving past their table, or salivating down my cleavage as I placed their meals before them. Most nights I was flattered by the attention. Sometimes I even encouraged it, with a wiggle or a button undone, but now I was tired, enjoying the cool air working its way through my clothes and soothing my hard worked body.

Outside, there was distant laughter from a woman who had engaged in some late night reveling, and was stumbling home drunk before being shepherded to bed.

Sarah no doubt would still be out clubbing, shaking her stuff: more of her skin visible than clothed. Her top that night was essentially a band of clinging stretched white cotton wrapped around her breasts. She had no bra. She had no need. Sarah had ample bosom enough to make this one length alluring, but was not so buxom as to offer full view of her tits to every roaming pair of eyes. Besides it was also a top she liked very much. You could see her erect nipples across a room. She often casually brushed the little dark nuggets, with her fingers, her arm, the hand or even face of those she chose to tease. Sometimes, wrecked by the beat, dancing crazily in a heave of tight packed sweaty bodies, she would flip it up and expose one round globe. She might then tug a stunned partner on to her tit, before pushing him or her away, covering herself and continuing as if nothing had happened. I had been pulled this way often enough to expect it and bite her nipple. It sent a shot of sex juice straight to her cunt, or so she said.

For my part I was just looking forward to winding down in a hot, relaxing bath by myself. I had been on my feet too long for much else. I now craved a long soothing soak to de-stress.

As I opened the front door and switched on the light, I noticed something white on the floor. It was Sarah's curled cotton top. My first selfish thought was that she had made it to the bath before me. Then I noticed a man's pair of shoes. Also, the coats on the coat hooks were in strange disarray. Someone had been struggling amongst them, possibly pinned against the wall. I then looked for signs that Sarah may literally have been pinned against the wall, by a cock, fucked by her visitor within a yard of coming inside. The scene I sensed however was a man's hungry hands lifting her top from her head, flinging it on to the floor and grabbing both tits while pushing her backwards to maul her roughly amongst the coats. He had been taunted all night and now he was feasting like a starved wolf. He would run his tongue eagerly around each nipple, holding each breast in a firm, manly, desperate grip. She would be feeding her tits into his face and mouth. Her arms would then fling themselves above her head, her bare shoulders back, little suffering whimpers urging him on to try and devour her boobs completely.

The abandoned trousers further down the hallway denoted that this was where Sarah blew his cock. I could imagine him leaning back and gripping onto the flimsy hall table as her mouth enveloped him. His cock had sprung free, hard and ready; she had it wet it in a slobbery instant and would have sucked him deep into her mouth. He would have gripped and rattled the table top to stop himself from cumming in her mouth. Their passion was taking them fast. Actually, it had taken hold of them completely.

I then heard two mutual, loud and gratified moans coming from our main room. Cock was in cunt. I smiled knowingly and was about to chart my own route politely to the bathroom when there was a tremendously loud discordant crash from the piano as if someone had leant hard on the keys. It was a shock. Then the noise happened again. I stood motionless in the hallway. And then it happened again. I could tell the noise was a dreadful mix of abused upper and lower register. I also knew it was my precious, expensive and antique baby grand. It happened again, then again and again! The noise became a rhythm, speeding up and approaching a loud continuous cacophony. As I burst into the room, it all but drowned out Sarah's squeals beneath a man's heavy pounding.

Sarah lay flat on her back on the top of my Bluthner. All I could see in the dim light were her long, pale legs spread wide, with each foot on either end of the keyboard. The force of her lover, thrusting deep into her cunt raised, jerked and dropped her legs. Her high heels smashed on the keys over and over. Body arched above her, both feet planted on the piano stool, a man's lean twin butt muscles rose and fell above her cunt. White and huge, they clenched, released, as he kept on desperately thrusting.

I approached them, picking out Sarah's puny arms struggling to hug his broad back as it heaved up and down on her, her nails leaving desperate little bites in the flesh of his shoulders. He was making rhythmic grunts now, lost in his own mission to pump and fuck. Sarah's wide eyes looked up at me from behind his shoulder, the abundant pleasure in them dissolving as she recognised my fury!

She scrambled to push him off, and soon they stood back beside my piano; their faces hung down like two naughty children though their adult naked bodies were still flush, aglow, strung for sex and aching to carry on. I glared. He was panting and confused. I noticed the blood vessel bulging on his cock. His manhood stayed fuck hard and seemed to wave slightly as if sniffing for the pussy from which it had been torn so suddenly. He turned to look at Sarah and there was a prolonged, embarrassed, silence.

"Err... Jane, this is Jim," Sarah began and for some reason she tapped his hard cock to identify him; as you might perhaps gently tap on the arm of a buddy or someone's shoulder.

It was enough; enough to make him cum. He let out an alarmed gasp and his hips thrust out in an instinctual stroke into nothing. A looping strand of bright white spunk flew into the dim lit air, almost in slow motion, and landed with its own little splat on the piano casing. He jerked and it was followed by another more direct shot. Then dribbles on the floor left a path to the site of the main assault. The first thick string of spunk had already begun to slide its way down, slowly wetting intricately inlaid woodwork.

There was another long pause.

"It's John," he said very quietly by way of apology, and we both looked at him bewildered. "Not Jim," he explained, "John".

Sarah raised an eyebrow and looked at John's rapidly wilting cock and then his spunk on the piano.

"I'm sure it will wipe off," she suggested timidly. "In fact, look" and she grabbed John's shirt to do the job before I snatched it from her.

"What's my rule? What's my one fucking rule? Is that too much to ask? What's my one fucking rule, Sarah?" I hissed.

She should not have needed time to answer, but she did. She had not seen me truly angry before.

"Not to put drinks on the piano?" She half- whispered.

I sighed.

The bass notes had escaped unscathed, but the high treble notes had not. While John scrabbled around retrieving his clothes, I showed Sarah how two keys were chipped and three others stuck. Sarah looked deeply sad and contrite. And then suddenly transformed by a thought, her face brightened hopefully.

"But you don't use those notes very often ... do you? ...Right?"

--

Two mornings later we were beginning to talk again; that is I was, as ever, beginning to melt. I waited for her to finish in the bathroom. A conversation with a stuffy man about the cost of restoring the piano had prolonged my coldness. The promises from Sarah to pay were constant and sincere but I doubted her capacity, sadly, to ever deliver. Worst of all, my mother was coming to visit. I had two weeks to repair the damage. Her opinion of Sarah would not be improved by the truth. I fretted and I struggled to construct an imaginary alternative story that could convincingly explain the evidence of John's spattered spunk. Needless to say it did not 'just wipe off'.

"Oh yes Mum, that's where Sarah's lover ejaculated so hard his spunk has lifted the varnish."

"Really dear?"

"And it was her heels damaged the keys." I might say to her to compound her shock and bafflement. "She was being furiously fucked on the lid. She just couldn't help herself. I was going to join in, Mum, push on his ass and lick his thwacking ball sack if it ever rested, but he was pumping away like fuck."

She would be petrified in straight-laced shock at this point.

"Best of all Mum, I was going to strip and climb on board myself and squat on Sarah's tongue. She'd lick and suck my clit, clitoris Mum, and I'd have a delicious orgasm watching his cock ploughing in and out of Sarah's cunt...Sorry? 'What's an orgasm?'" But then my imaginary conversation petered out. I thought of my mother sitting by me at the keys as a child, the precious piano, the grades, recitals and a hundred years of scales and arpeggios. Scales and arpeggios I'm still doing.

My mother would be horrified and absolutely unforgiving. Only my father, perfectly secret out of years of habit, might well have been softer. He was sixty-eight now but I am sure the twinkle in his eyes still meant he could raise an erection. Sarah would definitely give him day dreams. Some visits when my mother was holding forth, I noticed he had a different look with Sarah in the room. A fantasy or a memory was alive inside, calling him to readiness still, signaled by a gleam in his eyes and an avuncular dreamy smile. My mother was a completely different matter.

My irritation had been rekindled. Sarah had been in the bathroom an incredibly long time. Although I had no plans until work that evening, I still wanted to get ready too. I knocked on the door and pushed it. Unusually it was locked.

"Sarah?" I knocked again. "Sarah!" There was no sound and for a moment I began to fret. "Sarah!" I called loudly and rattled the doorknob.

Suddenly the door opened a few inches, enough for Sarah's flustered face to poke forward into mine.

"We need to get this," she said, frustration evident in her tone, "into my asshole!" And in the gap in the door she offered up a large black lozenge to within inches of my face. "Please," she pleaded, "I can't get it in."

--

"Why on earth," I asked her up turned naked bottom, "why on earth does it need to be so big?"

Sarah, on all fours on my bed, looked back at me over her shoulder. "I'll explain in a minute. Just get me butt plugged."

She was still a bit breathless. I did not know whether this was trepidation, excitement or a mixture of both. I had an urge to bite the gleaming pert roundness of each of her ass cheeks, but resisted. I could see she had just shaved around her pussy and I was also drawn towards her cute bald lips below her ass crack. Then she drew her ass cheeks apart, spreading them so I saw the bud of her cute little asshole waiting. I looked at the monster butt plug in my hand and felt at a loss to be so cruel. I had been angry with her sure, but not enough to force this rubber fucker through her tight little anus and wedge it in her bowels.

"I'm all clean inside and out," Sarah encouraged, mistaking my hesitation.

Suddenly, from somewhere, I knew what to do.

"Lie on your side," I instructed her, briskly.

"What?"

"On your side! Go on!" I chivvied and she did. We were on a bed together; her naked, pink, smooth and soft, smelling like a baby; me kneeling behind her, just outta bed hair, crumpled nightie, inspecting a well lubed butt plug. I looked down on the vision of the sensuous cat curling beneath me.

"Spoons. That's how we're going to do this."

I looked across to my bedroom mirror that framed us perfectly, dropped the plug and pulled my nightie over my head. Sarah pulled her eyes away from her own coiled curves and stirred.

"Jane, have we got time? I really..." But she stopped.

I looked at myself in the mirror and shamelessly liked what I saw. I pretended to stretch my arms above my head. My large brown eyes were determined and hungry. My brown hair wild and straying carelessly, tumbled to my bare vulnerable shoulders. My breasts were full, beautifully round but not pendulous. My nipples were beginning to harden with my own erotic thoughts and the sudden chill of stripping. I patted my flat tummy approvingly. My tiny trimmed triangle of pubic hair above my pussy lips poked above Sarah's back. My hips were wide enough to be all woman without being maternal mother earth. My legs, thighs apart, had deeply inviting feminine curves of smooth and sensitive skin. I felt dam sexy! I looked it too. Sarah stayed watching me in the mirror unconsciously cupping one of her own breasts as she did.