The blond guy with the deep blue eyes walked up to her and fired away: “Hi, you are Sally, aren't you? I am Mike, a friend of the groom. I loved the way you did that solo during the ceremony. You are in a band? I play the sax myself.”
Sally put away her violin and looked him over.
A cocky bastard, but not bad to look at.
She smiled. Let's give him a chance. “Thanks, I am the sister of the bride. But no. I am not in a band. I usually play in orchestra's or chamber groups.”
“Classical music? What a shame. You should play jazz, you have the talent and the looks.”
Sally knew her cheeks got almost as red as her hair. You are calling my six years of classical training 'a shame'? The nerve!
He grinned, waiting for her response. O, he was so cocky.
She leaned back. “Jazz? Having no discipline and just improvising away? No thanks, I can't stand jazz. You are a jazz musician, I guess?”
He countered her jab with a big grin. “By calling and profession. You want something to drink, Sally?”
Sally looked around. She wasn't needed anywhere right now and this guy wasn't too bad to look at. She could always dump him if he really was unbearable. Plenty of fish in the sea.
Mike turned out to be bearable. Actually he was damned good fun and – surprise! - he knew how to dance.
Nice, nice, nice.
At the end of the party, somewhere early in the morning when the bride and groom had long left and the bar had finally closed, he asked: “You want to go to this club with me, coming Friday?”
“It's a jazz club?”
“Uhu.” Like in: what else?
Sally grinned. He wants me. Let's see how bad he wants me.
“Oh jazz... no thanks. A sweaty dark basement with little tables and chaotic music. Not my idea of a good night out.”
“You don't know what you're missing, Sal. But what is your idea of a good night out?”
“A night at the opera. All dressed up, evening dress, tuxedo, the works. Coming Friday plays Die Zauberflöte and I can get two tickets. A friend of mine works at the opera house.”
Will he bite?
Mike raised both blond eyebrows. “Opera? Listening for three hours to... robust ladies and guys with painted faces singing things nobody understands?”
“The painted faces thing is more operetta, but you are basically right, yes.” Sally smiled like a sweet little angel. Okay, like a naughty little angel, whose smile promised all kind of unangelic things.
His eyebrows were still raised. “I have to wear a tux?”
“If you want to... enjoy everything, you will certainly have to, yes.” Hm, I bet he looks great in a tuxedo. And how about without a tuxedo? Sally twisted one of her red curls around her finger and pouted her lips.
Mike's resistance caved in. “Okay, yes. The opera it is.”
Classical music versus jazz, one zero.
Mike showed up in a very classic and classy black and white tux.
My, you do look good in a smoking. And you smell nice. Aqua di Gio?
Sally wore her little sparkling black dress, which really brought out her pretty nice figure. Black stockings, high heels. She had her hair done up with an antique Bakelite comb. Little diamonds in her ears and a very thin golden necklace with one black pearl in the shape of a tear.
Mike whistled. “You look like two million dollars.”
“Not three?” she teased him.
“I am just a poor jazz player, two million it is.”
“I guess I will have to slum it this evening, mister jazz player.”
“It would be an honor.” From behind his back he pulled a flower bouquet of red roses. “To compliment your hair and your lovely brown eyes.”
My, he is really pulling out all the stops. That is a good start.
Mike was a perfect gentlemen. He still was funny in a bad boy kind of way, but he sat through the whole two and half hours of Mozart without complaining.
Sally watched him from the corner of her eyes. Mike seemed to enjoy himself. His long fingers moved in the rhythm of the music. There was a probing touch on her knee – during the third scene when Papageno was liberated – but Sally casually redirected his hand back to his own knee without taking her eyes from the stage. Not yet, dear mister jazz player. Allentando!
“What do you think of opera now?” Sally asked afterwards when they were waiting for their coats.
“I will never become a fan, but it was not bad,” Mike replied. “I could do things with this music. I'll bet that if Mozart lived today he would be doing jazz.”
“Mozart doing jazz? Mike, you are incorrigible!”
He moved closer to her. “You don't know the half of it, Sally.” He gave her a quick surprise kiss on her cheek.
She let him. Hm, an overture. Wait and see Mike, just wait and see.
“You want to come along to my place?” Sally asked when they walked to his car.
He looked at her with those Delft china blue eyes. He knew what her invitation meant. For the first time he didn't seem to have so smart remark. Mike just nodded and said: “Yes.”
They were kissing at the front door.
Finally inside they continued for a while. His hands moved over her body and her hands were undoing his bow tie and the first buttons of his shirt.
“I have an idea,” Sally said when they were taking a pause from the kissing to get some much needed breath. By now they were on her couch in the living room. “Something special.” She put on her innocent face.
“What do you have in mind?” Mike asked, excited. His blue eyes were big and he was licking his lips. O yeah, he really wanted her.
“A surprise. You just sit here and wait.”
Mike swallowed, a thousand thoughts running through his head. What could she mean with 'a surprise'?
Hi hi, men are so easy!
“Okay,” he said.
Sally left his embrace. “Just be patient, mister jazz player. I will be back in a few moments.”
In her bedroom Sally stepped out of her black dress. Now she was only wearing her panties, bra, heels, stockings and suspenders. She got rid of her jewelry. Jewelry always got in the way or ended up somewhere between the cushions of the couch or on the floor.
She took up her violin. It was time for some Brahms.
Playing the violin sonata No. 3, she entered the living room, still only dressed in her heels and lingerie.
Mike sat on the sofa, watching her.
Ha, I bet this is not the surprise you counted on. But let's see how you handle this. Allergo.
She walked up to him and stopped a couple of feet away from the couch, continuing playing Brahms' piece.
You want me, don't you? asked her eyes. She moved her body slowly with the music.
Mike nodded, oh yes, he wanted her. He started to rise from the couch.
Non troppo, dear.
Sally raised her feet and with her heel on his half unbuttoned shirt she pushed him back down on the couch.
Ha those years of ballet lessons really pay off now.
Mike moaned softly, his eyes twinkled. He wanted her soooo badly.
She continued playing. She didn't have to worry about any neighbors, her apartment was above a warehouse right between two office buildings. The ideal place to live for a musician.
Come and get me, her whole body asked. By now she was playing the second movement, adagio
This time Mike tried a different approach. Instead of rising from the couch, he dropped down on his knees right in front of her.
Smart. Sally could not push him back. Of course she could step away, but that would break the secret rules.
Both his hands lightly touched her ankles, just above the straps of her heels. He kept looking at her, while his fingers smoothly danced upwards over her calves and knees and thighs. The sensation of his fingers running over the thin fabric of her stockings felt electric.
Wow! For a moment Sally's concentration faltered, she missed a note or two, but she regained her posture and resumed playing.
Now Mike's fingers were making his way down again, this time on the backside of her legs, slowly making circles, kneading, pinching over so slightly.
Sax player's fingers, ran through Sally's head. He really knew what he was doing.
The violin was just reaching a crescendo when his fingertips caressed the back of her knees.
Ah! That...! He is doing what?
It was a very sensitive spot.
Still on his knees Mike started to kiss her, the inside of her legs – stockings, skin – and between her legs – skin and the lace of her panties. His fingers kept playing her legs, like they were some kind of musical instrument.
Ow... bastard. She had wanted to control him, tease him, drive him mad while she played her violin.
She was still playing her violin, but instead he was driving her mad. He was an evil bastard who didn't play by the rules. A jazz man, or course.
Ignore him, focus on the music. By now she was at the third movement, un poco presto e con sentimento, where the violin was more subdued. Too bad she had chosen such a sexy piece to tease him with. She was now paying the price for that.
Somehow his fingers had pulled down her panties.
He kept on kissing and playing her, his lips touching hers, putting all kind of sweet, hot little kisses between her legs. His tongue tickled her flesh, lazily went round and round.
Now it was Sally's turn to moan. She had closed her eyes and was slowly swinging with her body. Somehow she was still playing the violin.
She was in two worlds, the high, ethereal world of her violin and the low, almost bestial world of heat and lust.
It went on and on and on.
He was driving her crazy. His fingers had pulled her open, his tongue had entered her and was moving in and out, in the exact same rhythem of her music.
Torture, torture. Sweet torture.
I want to fuck, her body shouted. She was wet, so wet.
No, not yet, she told herself. Not yet, not ye... Owwwww.
Sax player's fingers, sax player's lips. She lead him, her music, but he played her like a delicate instrument.
A cry from the violin, it was harder and harder to concentrate. She wanted to moan and let her violin drop, to push his head against her pussy, grinding with her hips, her whole body. Harder! Deeper! More!
Somehow, almost an impossible feat, she did not. Sally kept on playing. How far was she?
She didn't know, she didn't even understand the question anymore. Her music, her lust, everything was one somehow. All she knew was that she had to go on.
Mike kept on playing too. His fingers stroking her, pushing her on an and. His tongue and lips moving in the rhythm of her music, pulling, pulling her further into the hot abyss.
Sweat run down her face, her body shivered, her eyes were closed. The fourth and last movement, presto agitato.
She wanted it to end, she wanted to finish, she wanted a conclusion.
She wanted it so bad, it hurt.
If she... If she could postpone the hot hurricane inside her for just a few more... a few more seconds.
Somehow the devil jazz player in front of her – the beast, the bastard, her dark knight – sensed the end was close. He double, no tripled his efforts, working up to a climax.
Brahms' violin sonata No. 3 finished with a thundering conclusion in D minor.
With a loud cry Sally came and came and came.
He caught her when her knees gave way.
Mike put her on the couch, taking her violin and bow away.
They started to kiss again.
Mike called her next evening. He was fun and they talked for hours.
The whole week they exchanged messages and of course Mike asked Sally out again.
“Are you free coming Friday night? I know this great jazz club, and they play the kind of jazz you might like :o,” Mike sent.
Ow, jazz... Sally hesitated. She really wanted to see him again. Not only see! Ah, unison! But jazz... On the other hand, he was a jazz player and denying him that was the surest way to quickly loose him. And he just was too good a fuck and too much fun to let go. And he sat through an opera for me.
“I will give it a try, which club is it?” Sally messaged back. I hope I am not going to regret this.
The club was in a deep, dark basement, with a bar near the entrance and a little stage at the back. A band consisting of bass, drums, piano and – really? – accordion was playing some kind of smooth jazz.
As Mike had predicted, Sally made some head turns when she walked in with her silver fringed flapper dress she had once bought for a roaring twenties party and had been hanging in the back of her wardrobe ever since.
She didn't blush at all; a smile was on her lips. She knew she looked fabulous and it was great to be appreciated.
Mike didn't look bad either. He had traded his tuxedo – Guuuuh, that tuxedo... - for a striped light brown suit with a yellow and black tie with an abstract pattern of overlapping circles.
Right and left he greeted friends and the players in the band nodded in his direction.
With a “This is Sally” he introduced her. No “my girlfriend” or something else, which was fine by Sally. They hadn't discussed that and so far Mike was just a guy she had met on a wedding, had gone to the opera with, and had a night of sex with.
Fucking good sex.
Fucking hot, sweaty, good sex.
That is all.
Fucking hot, sweaty, good, ow-my-god-yes-go-on...
Stop it! Sally told herself. He is just a guy. There are plenty of guys in the world.
Finally they sat down and Mike ordered a beer and a white wine.
The evening was not as worse as she had feared. Actually, it was pretty good. Jazz was not her kind of music, but hey, she had to admit this kind of jazz was pretty enjoyable. The club was fine, and Mike was very fine. He was great company and it was fun to see him in his natural habitat.
At the end of the evening, when they walked to his car, he asked: “You want to come with me, to my place? You have been driving me crazy with that dress all evening.”
Sally grinned. Oh, is that so? Mission accomplished! “Let's do something about that, won't we? I would love to see your place.”
Mike lived in a little bungalow which was surprisingly neat. Not at all the cleaned up-but-dusty-in-the-corners man-cave with huge jazz posters and endless rows of vinyl records she had expected. Well yes, he had lots of records but they were stacked away on shelves and didn't dominate the room. Light colors everywhere, a handful of intriguing abstract stone sculptures - “A friend of mine did those” - African tribal art and several plants. It was fun to see this side of Mike.
Kissing. Sally loved kissing, and so did Mike. It was a kind of pre-foreplay: hot lips, touching tongues, secretly fighting for control, teasing the other, getting hot, surrender.
And damn, he had those evil lips – and lungs – of a sax player!
“Girl, you are real barn burner,” Mike said after a very nice and hot bout of kissing that left Sally breathless for a few seconds.
Her face betrayed her. A what?
“I mean you are a really, really hot lady. You are very special, Sally.”
Sally smiled. “You know how to sweet talk a girl.”
“You are not just a girl, Sally. You are the best thing since pepper and salt in a shaker. And because you are a special lady, I want to do something special for you.”
Sally kissed Mike before she replied: “I love nice surprises!”
“I think you will like this one. Well, probably. You just sit here for a moment.”
“I will wait.”
With a feeling of deja vu Sally watched Mike rise and disappear into the hallway. He wasn't....?
She waited on the comfy couch, happy and curious and feeling a shimmering excitement deep down inside her. What will he do?
The sound of the sax preceded Mike by one second before he entered the living room again. He wore a striped boxer short and – oh my god, that is so wicked! - black socks with suspenders. Around his neck he had a sling for the saxophone he now played.
Sally almost laughed from joy. Ow, payback time? Well, I guess I deserved that.
She didn't recognize the piece, it was jazz after all, but he played the saxophone very well.
Mike's eyes laughed and seemed to ask: “Well, do you like my revenge?”
Sally licked her lips. She was all hot and now she had to wait? Well, two could play that game. With a big grin she undid the straps of her dress and slipped out of the silver fringed garment.
She watched Mike looking at her almost nude body. His eyes grew big.
Yes sweetie, no bra and no panties, you didn't know that, didn't you? You like my stockings?
He dropped a few notes, but with some improvisation picked up the pace again.
I guess that is a 'yes'.
Sitting on the couch with her legs closed Sally held her arms for her breasts. She moved her body on the rhythm of the music, like some burlesque stripper.
Mike played. The sax asked, begged almost.
Teasingly Sally showed some skin.
The sax howled.
More begging, more skin, more howling.
Sally turned on the couch, sitting straight up on her knees and showed her lover her backside, shaking her ass.
Deep, low notes, like an animal growling.
This is fun!
She bend forward a bit, looking backwards, pushing her ass in the air. Some more shaking.
She got a big saxophone howl running all the way.
Sally sat down again, and with one finger she beckoned Mike. Come closer, you.
Mike obeyed until he was only a few feet away. The saxophone was now far more subdued, a bit unsure.
Lazily Sally stretched a leg and let her foot run up the inside of Mike's leg.
His play got a bit more chaotic.
To punish him she pinched him with her toes – she had very nimble toes – right between his legs, through the fabric of his shorts.
Surprised Mike's sax wailed.
Her other foot joined and with her toes Sally pulled down the striped boxer short.
Mike's half erect dick jumped out like a jack in the box.
Are you happy to see me, mister jazz player, or is that a saxophone in your pants? Sally giggled.
Snakelike she slid on the ground, on her knees, just in front of Mike.
Her long slender violin player fingers reached upwards. She took his dick in her mouth.
Hm! Warm and juicy. Mike had a very nice dick. You tortured me with your mouth, time to repay the favor.
Mike played and played, while Sally blew him.
She was a string player but she knew how to blow. Besides, her fingers had a pair of balls to play with. You could just as easily pluck the thin, sensitive skin like you plucked a violin snare. It was basically the same, wasn't it?
The tortured cries from the sax told Sally that this was a whole new experience for Mike.
Hi hi, you wuss! That is what you get when you trust evil little girls like me.
Was it her grinding tongue, her hot lips or maybe her sharp nails and cruel fingers? His dick was completely stiff.
Suck, lick, nibble, kiss, squeeze.
He played the sax and she played him.
Sally looked up. Mike was sweating, his eyes were a bit wild, just like his play. He was very excited by now. As he should be!
Well, she was pretty excited herself. She really wanted him.
Sally slipped back on the couch. She bent down, offering her ass. Her hands pulled her buttocks apart. Please fuck me.
Holding his sax high up, but still playing, his hot dick entered her pussy from behind. She felt it slide in, long and hard. Some animal instinct made a sound that could be interpreted as: Yessss!
He started to fuck her, pushing long, hard, deeply. His music underlined his every thrust.
Burying her face in the couch Sally let her self be fucked, enjoying every screwing hot second.
Clenched teeth, closed eyes, sweat everywhere on her body, his dick inside her pushing against all the right spots, his muscular body grinding her, sending shock waves through her ass and pelvis.
It felt good, so good.
And that damned sax kept on playing, wilder and wilder with every heartbeat.
There was no more couch, no more music, no more Mike and herself. The whole universe was one big throbbing movement, one primal rhythm, the base of all life, all music, all feelings.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her body contracted, her fingers dug into the couch.
Sally came. High pitched she yelped, more animal than human, her orgasms blowing away every conscious thought. She came and came.
Unison, together, one sound.
With a loud cry from his sax Mike also came.
Le nozze di Figaro, Sally thought. Another wedding.
“Love you, miss opera,” Mike whispered taking up his sax.
“Love you right back, mister jazz man,” Sally replied, placing the violin under her chin. She started to play, Méditation from the opera Thaïs by Jules Massenet. The sound of her violin reached to Heaven.
Mike's sax joined her, weaving his music around hers. Somehow his freestyle saxophone play worked wonderfully with the deep emotions evoked by Sally's instrument.
Sally grinned. She knew exactly what it was: foreplay.
Mike grinned back. They both knew.