Group Post: "The Worst Time"

He hung his coat up in the closet and then turned to her. "So, what did you think?" he inquired.

"Honestly? I'm sorry, but I had just the worst time, hon," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "So? That's a shame. Marriner's eighty-six years old now and he's retired from conducting except for special occasions. I thought you'd appreciate seeing him on this little mini-tour."

She shook her head. "Not what I meant."

He looked puzzled. "What, then?"

She stepped close and put her arms round his neck. "It wasn't the performance that made me so miserable," she breathed, nuzzling his neck. "Indeed, I've rarely heard the 'Jupiter' Symphony so well-handled." She nipped lightly at his earlobe. "It wasn't the opening piece, either." Her fingers began working busily at the fastening on his cummerbund. "I might have questioned a pairing like that" -- she planted a trail of kisses along the hollow of his throat, and he sighed softly -- "but Perlman is a master, and he made the Caprices catch fire. Paganini would've approved." She slid one hand lower and cupped his ass. "No, my dear, you chose well for our evening's entertainment." She slid her other hand around his front and traced the outline of his swelling cock through his trousers. "It was a truly lovely performance."

He gulped as her fingers stroked and caressed him. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. "Then why did you say you had the worst time?"

"Because," she breathed, caressing his chest and working at the buttons on his shirt, "you look so damnably hot in a tuxedo that I can never keep my mind on the performance." She took his hand in hers and slid it up her thigh, her cocktail dress bunching and rippling as it slid higher. "I've been sitting in a goddamned puddle all night. Every time I tried concentrating on the music, I'd look at you sitting there next to me and just go drifting off again. You fucker, all I wanted after five minutes was to climb on you right then and there. And you kept me there, in prison, right on the edge, for another hour and a half!"

"Hm. Then I'd better not keep you waiting any longer," he said. His hand found the proof under her dress: sodden panties, dripping with her need. He was glad she favored flimsy undergarments; it made it much easier for him to tear them with a sharp grasping rip. She gasped in shock and then her lips curved into a delicious grin. "Oh my," she said teasingly. "Did I share too much?"

"Woman," he grunted, already feeling himself devolve to Neanderthal level, "even hinting that you're getting horny is sharing too much. Don't you know by now how you affect me?" His fingers tore at the zipper on the back of her dress; his unsteadiness betrayed him and the zipper jammed. He snarled in frustration and his hands went to the front of her dress instead. "Shame to ruin this," he muttered, and flexed. The fabric parted with a low purring sound, echoing the noise she was making; her breasts spilled out, already flushed with her excitement, rosy nipples upswept with delight. Her own hands were busy unsnapping his trousers and pulling the zipper down. His cock sprang out as his trousers fell down around his ankles. She had time for three brief hand strokes before he bore her back against the wall. Raising a leg, she hooked it round his ass, adjusting and flexing as he drove upward, forward, into her. He bottomed out in her almost immediately, and both of them gasped in delight.

"We always -- unh! -- do make -- oh god yes, right there -- beautiful music together," she moaned. He was long past speech, but signified his own agreement by growling low in his throat as he started pounding into her.



(The Group Post is organized by Kimberly, the Errant Wife. Thanks as always to her for hosting; go see Kimberly to see who else is playing this month.)

-- PB