The rehearsal room

I played the last page twice and then I put the violin down. Howard was in the chair by the window, fifty-eight, hands quiet, the way he sits when he is listening and not managing me. I am twenty-six. He does not teach me. He bought the hall rental for the afternoon because I asked him to, and I can hand the money back. I told him the run was good. He said it was better than good, that the slow part sounded like I trusted it. I liked the sentence so much I crossed the room and kissed him.

The red blouse was buttoned. Under it, silk. I told him he could open three buttons and no more until I said. His voice stayed low. He said he wanted to see the silk and then he wanted to hear me ask for his mouth on my cunt. I opened the rest myself. He kissed my chest through the silk and said my skin was hot from the playing. I sat on the piano bench, case not yet shut, and guided his head. Yes. There. Slower. His tongue found my clit and I kept one hand on his shoulder so I would not rush him. I came with the room still bright, a short cry I did not pretty up, cunt clenching while he licked me.

I stroked his cock after, red blouse open, and told him to cum on my thigh if he wanted, not on the instrument, and not to fuck me with the violin still out. He laughed, grateful, and did, shaking, cum on my skin, kissing my knee after like a thank-you. I wiped us with a cloth from the case pocket and shut the violin away. Then I kissed him properly. I said same time next week if the playing is mine and he still wants to fuck my cunt when I ask. He said both.