Fantasy Erotica
"Remembering the Piano Lessons" a sex story by Scarlett Knight
It took up some nerve for Maryanne to decide to do it.
She made her choice partly based on the empty house: her husband was in Chicago on business, and the girls were spending the night at a sleepover. She also decided to do it when the classical radio station she had playing started streaming a beautiful piano sonata through the speakers.
Standing in front of her antique bedroom dresser, she took in a deep breath, closing her eyes to remember the piano lessons her mother had made her do when she was thirteen years old. The instructor had not been, as she’d feared, an old grouchy woman. Instead it was a young college student: a gorgeous, olive-skinned man with long brown hair he kept tied back in a ponytail. His name was Stefan.
Maryanne remembered the first time his strong hands touched her smooth skin as he placed her fingers on the correct keys.
She opened her eyes, returning for a moment to the present, and opened the middle drawer. Inside lay her underwear, a soft pond of silk and cotton and lace. She reached beneath the garments to the very back of the drawer underneath it all and pulled out her old pink dildo.
Her husband had only used it on her once, fearing that she might like it more than she liked his cock. She never once ever had the thought of enjoying the firm yet bendable toy more than she liked him. But she had missed it.
As the radio continued to play the tender notes of the piano, she left the underwear drawer open and walked a few steps backwards until she sat on her four-poster bed.
Just holding the dildo, she felt her heartbeat start to race and her breath begin to go a bit shallow. Before she’d met her husband over ten years ago, her private time was her only release—the dildo, the tool that brought her there.
She brought her legs on the bed to sit cross-legged upon the floral down comforter and set the toy in front of her as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Breathing in a shaky breath, she tried to fight her nerves. There was no need to worry, though. The girls were gone, her husband was gone, and she was alone. Nobody would bother her.
Hands by Nicole Rodrigues
She closed her eyes again and let her memories return to years ago, when she’d sat next to Stefan’s warm frame, and tried her best to follow his instructions. His hands always looked so elegant on the keys, so agile, as if they had skill in more than just making music.
Tracing the rim of her left bra cup with the tip of her finger, she saw in her mind’s eye Stefan’s deep dimples when he smiled, remembered how when she performed a song correctly how his gentle, encouraging voice told her, “That’s good.”
Even at thirteen, she’d known what desire was. When Stefan left the house after their lessons, she’d often retreat to the bathroom and sit on the toilet seat and touch herself, slowly stroke and quickly rub her clit until the tingling sensation became so intense she’d have to stifle a cry so as not to alert her mother.
Maryanne reached within her bra and found her erect nipple. Rubbing it in between her fingers, she let the radio music relax her and felt that old tingle between her legs return. She moved her hand to her right breast and tweaked it, gripping the full areola between her thumb and pointer finger.
Sliding off the shirt, she reached behind her and opened her bra, letting the straps fall off her shoulders. She pulled her arms out, freeing her breasts, and began circling both nipples with her index fingers. Drawing little ovals of pleasure, she then added her pointer finger and then used three, until her entire hands cupped and massaged her whole breasts.
She let her head fall back and reached behind to pull the clip from her hair. Long rivulets of blonde fell like feathers on her skin. Lowering her chin, she lifted her left breast and reached the nipple with the tip of her tongue. he pink areola shiny from the moisture, she moved to her right and traced another slick line upon that nipple.
A rush of pleasure danced between her legs, and her clitoris started to swell.
“That’s good,” she heard Stephan tease in her memories.
Moving from her breasts, tracing her fingertips down her belly, she went for the button on her jeans and popped it open with a flick of her wrist. She reached inside to touch the barrier of silk that separated her vagina from her hand and gasped in surprise, smiling at how wet she already was.
Her eyes flickered open and up to the dildo, part of her wanting to grab it and slide it inside without fully taking her pants off, but she knew now, as a woman, that delaying the pleasure a little longer would make the orgasm that much sweeter.
She rose to her knees to pull her jeans and underwear down, revealing her naked skin. The cool air conditioner brought goose bumps to her flesh, taking her away from the moment. She froze, looking to the closed bedroom door, then to the window. The blinds were closed, the rose colored curtains draping over them. The lamp made the room so bright, plainly revealing everything she was doing. Should she turn it off just in case anyone came home?
She looked down at her body, which she’d done well to keep in good shape over the years. Her breasts swelled, the nipples still pert and red from the pinching. With her pants and panties pulled down to her knees, a clear view of her pubic mound lay exposed, the hair glistening in the lamplight, the lower part particularly glittery from her juices. Her husband usually liked to make love with the light off. Pity. Seeing herself like this brought on a whole new wave of excitement, heating and smoothing the goose-bumps back into her skin.
She liked watching herself.
She would leave the light on.
Stepping out of her jeans and underwear, she sat back against the pillows next to the headboard and slowly brought her legs up and apart, bending her knees and pressing her bare feet against the comforter.
She let out a long breath, the piano music dancing in her ears, and brushed the fingers of her right hand down through her wet pubic curls and into the folds of her vagina. The quick spasm of pleasure it caused made her take care to keep it slow, as she was hot and ready enough to quake. So she tickled the opening of her cunt while pressing her clit against the palm of her hand. She didn’t have to rub long before her hips were moving of their own volition, and she slipped two fingers inside of her.
The slippery sweetness of it opened her further, and she added another finger. With the three digits, she curled and uncurled them, slid them in and out, sensually at first. But as her hips began to buck, she brought her fingers out, rubbing her juices in circles on her clit.
Now it was time.
She sat up again on her knees, a thin trail of moisture streaming down her leg. With hungry hands, she took the dildo in hand and placed it erect in the center of the mattress.
“That’s good,” she whispered, echoing traces of Stefan, as the piano music picked up its pace.
She lowered herself onto the dildo’s tip, though she didn’t need any more arousal. She did it to tease herself, taunt her already pulsing vagina, raising up and then down on the top bulbous inch.
Then moaning a cry of ecstasy, she slid herself wholly onto the toy, engulfing it tightly in her hot cunt. She gasped, sliding up and down on it, faster and faster, until she was bobbing with ferocious intensity. With one hand she held the dildo steady, and with the other she pinched her right nipple.
As the radio piano swelled to intensity, the musician ferociously beating on the keys, Maryanne let out little moans with every drop onto the toy. Her moans grew louder, closer together, her buttocks clenching with every thrust. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she clenched her nipple until it was a dark, passionate crimson.
The tingling started at the base of her bottom then crept up to her back and around front, clutching her dripping vagina as tight as a fist and she let her body drop one last, fierce time upon the erect device, her orgasm rocketing through her limbs.
Riding the pleasure, she breathed hard, opening her eyes wide, and felt little tremors run down her legs.
When the feeling subsided, she leaned back, collapsing, with the toy still inside of her warm body. Smiling, panting but trying to catch her breath, Maryanne noticed the song on the radio had ended. Now there was only the sound of a loud, hearty applause.
Her husband may have always preferred to leave the lights off during sex, but next time, she was going to insist on adding a little classical music.
Originally published April 2011