After the recital

The hall had emptied and the harp was still warm under my hands. Matthew waited in the side room because I had asked him to, not because anyone assigned him. I am twenty-eight. He is thirty-three. My lover. I stayed in the long black dress and slipped one heel off under the bench. The other stayed on. I wanted him to see the mismatch and know the night was turning toward us.

He came in quiet. You were beautiful, he said. I know, I said, and I smiled so he would know I was glad. Come here. Kneel. Kiss the bare foot. I want romance, and I want it filthy, and I want you to ask before you change anything. He knelt in his good suit and kissed the arch. May I use my tongue, he said. Yes. He licked a slow line and I melted on the bench. The dress pooled. My cunt was already wet from the adrenaline and from him.

He held the bare heel like a glass. I kept a hand on his shoulder. The other heel I toed off myself and set beside the harp. Both feet bare now. Both, I said. Do not rush the second. He did not. Toe, arch, ankle. I was breathing like the slow movement. I told him I wanted his mouth on my cunt. He asked. I said yes, under the dress.

He ducked under the silk and licked my clit while his hands stayed on my feet, a strange lovely hold. I came with my head tipped toward the harp, saying Matthew, yes, I love your mouth on my cunt. Then I wanted his cock to fuck me. The bench was too narrow. We moved to the rug. He fucked me with the dress bunched at my waist, cock deep in my cunt, my bare feet on his back, his forehead on mine. Romantic, and deep enough that I forgot the recital.

Cum with me, I said. I want to feel it. He waited until my cunt clenched and then he came in my cunt, gasping my name like a bow landing. After, he kissed my feet and said he was proud of me. In the car I kept one shoe off and my foot in his lap. He stroked the arch.