As the crescendo in the concerto rose, the violin bow came across my ass with a sharp and stinging thwack.
It was a Sunday night in late fall, and the fireplace was crackling nicely. The stones of the mantel were warm, bordering on hot, beneath my palms. Sven stood behind me, caressing the sharp arch of my back with the violin bow before tapping the tip of it against one pink, proffered cheek. His hand cupped the other, squeezing lightly.
The violins flickered their playful interlude as he paused for a breather, reaching down to the table to his glass of red wine.
“Thirsty?” His voice was higher than one would have guessed when looking at him, dark and bearded and dangerous-looking, but smooth and gentle enough to still command my attention. I turned lightly, unwilling to twist entirely away from the heat of the fireplace, and nodded.
He brought the glass towards me and tilted it towards my lips, the rim resting lightly on my pout before tipping the tiniest sip into my mouth. I continued to pout as he pulled the glass away.
“Ahh, she wants more?” I nodded meekly, and he grinned, resting a hand on my shoulder. A light push signaled me to kneel. “Open up then.”
I saw what he intended and brought my lips towards his erection, stiff and glistening lightly in the low orange firelight. I let my tongue flutter against the sensitive underside before tilting my head back, waiting.
He lowered the glass to his crotch, allowing the wine to trickle rivulets along the veins under the silky skin of his stiffness and into my endlessly thirsty mouth. As I swallowed my last mouthful, a grin spread across his face, and he gently caressed my hair before suddenly, forcefully shoving his cock to the back of my throat.
“I’m house-sitting, starting tomorrow,” I said noncommittally, munching on a Ritz cracker. A few crumbs fell from my lips and I hastily brushed them away. It was nearly 11 at night on a Saturday, and the small BDSM club was packed with adults of every age and orientation. “For the whole next week. Family I know is taking a trip back to Boston.”
Sven and his girlfriend Moni sat on the couch across from me, her wrapped in a fuzzy blanket as she leaned against him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her sleek brunette hair was sweetly tousled, and his dark and heavy browline wore beads of sweat. They had just finished up a scene in the dungeon, a lovely whipping that ended in him propping her up on the medical table and fingering her in front of everybody to make her squirt. I had leaned against the doorway and watched, amused at the way she had scrunched up her pretty little face and cried out as the stream shot from her towards the plastic floor-mats. Afterwards, as Sven cleaned up the mats, I had draped the blanket over her shoulders and led her to the couch where he had now come to join us with a plate of crackers and cheese. Moni had then asked about my week’s plans.
“Ooh, a house all to yourself?” Sven bit into a piece of cheese suggestively. “No roommates for an entire week! What trouble might you be getting up to?”
“Me?” I gasped, mock offended. “I would never! But honestly, I’m looking forward to it. It’s a huge northside house, hot tub and fireplace and a queen-size bed. I intend to play classical music and lounge around in a plush bathrobe and pretend I’m a queen for a week.”
Moni let out a sudden giggle that still held a tint of post-scene floatiness. She straightened a little, the blanket slipping down the curve of her slight and slender shoulder.
“Tess, listening to classical music?” She chuckled again and stole a cracker from the plate, laying a piece of gruyere across the top. “Somehow I hadn’t pegged you for the classical type.”
“You haven’t pegged me at all,” I teased, and made a lewd and suggestive motion with my left hand. She mimed throwing her cracker at me. “But really, I do enjoy classical music!”
“Such as?” Sven shot back, clearly as disbelieving as Moni.
“I’ve fucked to Dufay arrangements and benedictine hymns during a sacrilege play scene,” I said, slightly prickled and eager to prove my point. I smirked a little at the recounting, however, and felt a heat creep up upon me at the memory. “She was a nun trying to get me to repent. A lot of prayers to the Lord were said that night, but surely not for the right reasons.” It had been a fun night. It turns out that having Latin prayers literally beaten into you is a wonderful way to memorize them. “Amen” also made a lovely orgasm-cry.
“Dufay is about 800 years too late for the benedictines,” he remarked. “But that does sound like a fun use of music during play…” He turned thoughtful, glancing at Moni as she nibbled mouse-like at her snack.
“I always put on Chopin when I’m in the bath,” I continued, digging in my brain for names off of my Spotify playlists.
“Chopin is for bored housewives that wouldn’t know an etude if it fucked them sideways.”
“Sven!” Moni exclaimed, looking astonished.
“It’s true! Chopin is box-set, mainstream classical for hobbyists.”
“And since when were you the expert?” I would have been more annoyed with him if I were not suddenly amused by his vehemence. I hadn’t seen him be this passionate about anything but perversion.
“I played violin for nearly two decades.” He picked up a glass of water from the table and sipped pointedly, as if daring me to counter that experience.
“Oh.” I stopped for a moment, and then sighed. “I guess I kind of listen to the ‘greatest hits’ of classic…