"Play for me." That was what he said, and all he said. It was all he ever said. He sat in the dark just out of sight and watched her and always the same, "Play for me."

She bowed her head slightly in answer, nodding slowly and respectfully to the shadows that held him. She placed her cello case on the floor and began to strip off her clothing.

She dressed conservatively; a light brown sweater, long wool skirt, tan leggings, even a scarf tonight to hold off the chill of the autumn air, her hair up in a conservative bun and her glasses, chosen to be ugly and keep people from noticing her. Most of the time, she hated being watched. She had been stared at too much in her life.

But for him, she wanted to be beautiful. She let her hair down, took off her glasses, stripped off all her clothing and stood nude for him to see, and she could feel his smile from the shadows. For him, she was beautiful, but only for him because he saw more; he saw her and not her looks.

She opened the case and took out the instrument, its deep polished wood so rich, almost like a shimmering chocolate. Its form, never changing, was like a perfect fertility figure; the curves of it were the same as her body. It was like she played herself for him.

From deep in the case, she took out the bow and placed that on her chair and returned to the case. From a small side pocket, she pulled out a small vibrating egg and a remote control. Turning her back on him she bent slightly and placed the egg against her wet pussy lips and pushed. Her pussy resisted at first and then sucked it in all at once, only the remote wires still out of her.

She straightened up and turned back to him, waiting. She heard his zipper lower, and she smiled. Taking the remote, she turned the egg inside her on at a low speed. Deep, low frequency vibrations slid through her like waves on a pond.

She took a deep breath and turned it up faster... the vibrations a higher frequency now... just the right frequency for her. It almost tickled; it felt so good inside her. She giggled and then caught herself and returned to her quiet demeanour.

Taking the bow in hand, she sat down on her straight back chair and cuddled the cello between her legs. She ran her fingertips on the curves and shuddered, imagining they were her own body she played with before him.

Taking another deep, centering breath, she let herself feel all the sensations within her, the arousal, the vibrations, the fear, the excitement. All those things surged into her mind until she allowed them to filter and fall into place.

Drawing the bow across the strings, she let out a deep moan through the instrument: A primal sound of arousal and need. Powerful and urgent, it hung in the air, almost palatable to the tongue.

As she allowed the bow to cross the strings again, the notes moaned out of her, and she began to feel the arousal build. The song was free form, totally unrehearsed; it was her sex.

The song flowed and ebbed from her as the egg worked it's magic inside her pussy. As she peaked and dropped in her stimulation, the song peaked and dropped. As she grew nearer a climax, it became more frantic. The notes were discordant and yet beautiful as the first orgasm went through her. She scratched the strings, and they cried out for her. Her hand guiding the bow quivered, and the notes came forth quivering and unsure.

Now the song was hunger... need... want. She wanted to cum harder and harder. She needed more. The strings strained and groaned as she ground them for more stimulation. Need, just plain need and want. It was not pretty... it was not beauty... it was real... it was passion. The song was hard and wet in the air... begging for release.

Faster and faster she played until her hair flew around as she rocked back and forth in her frenzy. Wild and abandoned to passion, she lost herself to this song of sex. She stroked the strings and tweaked them, pulled on them and rubbed them, over and over when she found just the right note. Sweat trickled down her body as she worked the song toward a great climax.

Faster and faster… harder and harder… She bit her lip till it bled... the blood feeding some dark hunger in her. Her breath came in short ragged notes; fast breaths that built the orgasm bigger and bigger.

She held back in the song... held back and let it all build in her. She wanted to hold back until it exploded from her cello. She wanted it hard and nasty. She wanted this song to leave a puddle on the floor for him. She groaned out urgent notes as she felt her ability to hold back slipping away.

She screamed out a series of sharp high-pitched strokes, and then the music was wild again. Notes and rhythms clashed and fought and screamed and moaned from her cello. Her orgasm was too intense... she would lose the song… too much... too much...

She managed to maintain the song somehow. A series of low moans from her as the cello shook with several aftershocks. Her body quivered and shook, and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. So intense... she couldn't remember why she was playing... where she was... why was it so dark?

Then it all came back with a deep breath and a little composure. She played the relaxed quivering that danced through her. Then she drew the bow once more, and moaned a deep sensual note for him. She was done.

Reaching down, she turned off the egg within herself and sat, silent. She heard him zipping up his pants and rising. He cleared his throat once and then his footfalls on the hardwood floor receded into the shadows of the room. A door opened and closed, and she was alone, placing the bow into the case and then her cello. Standing, she squatted and pulled the egg out of her still sensitive pussy.

Wiping it clean with a cloth, she placed it and the remote back into the case and then closed the lid. Totally nude, she leaned the case against her chair and bent over and began to gather her clothing.

Within minutes, her beauty was hidden again and she was once more safe from the rest of the world. Wrapping the scarf around her neck, she grabbed her case and turned to the front door and walked from the room. In the front hallway was a silver platter with a dozen roses on it. She smiled; She normally got a single rose. He had enjoyed tonight's performance.

- By David Williams