The green room

The concert was over. I had bowed, shaken the presenter’s hand in the hall, and left the page-turner with the score. Neither of them was coming into the green room for this. Colin was forty-five, a lobby man with clean hands and a program he had not asked me to sign. I asked if he worked the house. He said he had bought a ticket. Good. I locked the door. Medium brown skin still warm from the lights, long dark hair, thin gold chain, the black dress closed at the neck, long sleeves, no slit, heels on the hard floor. A piano bench sat behind me, empty. I stood there dressed and let him see the concert version before I told him to ruin the private one.

Rough, I said. Over the table. The word is encore. If I say it, your cock comes out and you step back. He repeated encore. I said I did not plan to use it, and that was not permission to ignore it. He nodded. I turned, planted my hands, and hiked the dress. Under it I was bare because I had planned the night. He groaned. I told him to get his cock out and fuck my cunt, and not to be precious about the dress. The neck stayed closed. The skirt went to my waist. That was the difference between the photograph and the fuck.

His cock pushed in, thick, and he fucked me hard the way I had ordered, hips snapping, the table inching. I took it. My cunt was slick and loud. I told him harder and he gave it without grabbing my throat, hands on my hips where I had put them. The gold chain ticked the wood. I came with my cheek on my own sleeve, cunt gripping his cock, a raw sound I would not make on a stage. Encore stayed unused. I did not want the stop. I wanted the drop after.

I said out, in your hand. He pulled his cock free and stroked it, cum landing in his palm, not on the dress. I watched over my shoulder, pleased, then stood and let the skirt fall. Closed neck, no slit showing, heels still on. I shook my hands out, fingers spread, the way I do when the last chord is done. He asked if he could walk me to the hotel. I said I walk alone after I play, and after I fuck. I unlocked the door, left him washing his hand at the small sink, and took the stairs with my cunt still pulsing and the program crushed in my pocket. The upright at home could wait until morning. My hands felt like mine again.