Maybe he was just trying to prove a point, ignoring her tepid pleas and continuing to swirl his tongue around her sloppy pussy.

“No more,” she whined, “It’s too much. I can’t….” She trailed off with a sigh, suggesting that maybe she could. He was pretty sure she would.

That hot, liquid flesh had been cool and dry when he started. She was skeptical of his intentions, but he was completely honest about them—he liked giving women orgasms with his mouth. Ironically, she gullibly made herself too available to guys who were only feeding her lines in order to feed her their semen, one way or another.

Fred might have lacked confidence in his magnetism and style, but he knew his skills and strengths. Cunnilingus, like playing the saxophone, was about embouchure and tongue work as well as the stamina to finish the piece.

And knowing when to breathe, he thought, sucking air as he gave her clit a post-orgasmic rest. His slow retreat promised a revisit after he did another tour of her surrounding environs. She must have had electrolysis since there was no trace of stubble on her folds.

Callie finally gave an exhausted sigh, floating in the aftermath of a half-dozen or so climaxes—neither bothered to count them. When he slid up her body, she pulled him tightly on top of her, her face looking over his shoulder. With an accurate squirm of her ass, she aligned her cunt and his dick slipped inside.

He tried not to think about who she really wished she was holding. His cock was somewhere soft and hot and slippery and willing, so it told his mind to shut up. Her moans at this point were just for his benefit, but they were no less effective.

“It’s so big, you’re gonna make me cum!” she lied. “Again,” she added, realizing it wasn’t her usual script.

He wanted to take longer, to reach his peak on his own schedule, but her porn-clip vocal track was going to trigger his explosion regardless. So he pushed himself up to get better leverage, trying to build more pressure before his release.

Her big fake tits—an occupational requirement—bounced rather than flowed as he jarred her torso with his impacts.

“Cum for me,” she groaned. “Shoot your load deep inside me.”

Part of him knew she was just giving him a short-cut to his destination; he wanted to take the scenic route, but the part of him who was driving took the off-ramp.

He wasn’t a verbal lover; his airy grunt told her what she wanted to hear. His burst of pleasure was only above average, but he pumped a long time; the many minutes he had spent with his face in her cooch had paid him some dividends. She hugged him as their organs pleasantly throbbed together. He wished but didn’t expect that she could tell the difference between him and her other encounters.

Fred played saxophone at the club where Callie danced. It was kind of a throw-back: live music as the women stripped. The owner wanted higher quality in the ambiance, performers, and, especially, the customers. So instead of a DJ, Thursday to Saturday, from nine to closing, they had a trio.

It resulted in better shows. He could keep the music in sync with the performer’s moves and punctuate her twerks and poses. If a dancer wasn’t getting enough interest—or too much—he could end it early. If the tips were flowing, he could keep going, following her lead.

The piano player, the bass player, and Fred split ten percent of the dancers’ tips. The owner takes a large share and, officially, theirs comes out of his part. The musicians were on good terms with the dancers since they could help them make more money. When they could play the obscure song a customer requested, the dancer got a bigger tip. If she wasn’t familiar with the music, he could tell her a similar song in her repertoire whose dance moves would work with it.

Callie’s full stage name was Calliope, and he could squeak his sax to make it sound like that circus instrument as a musical sting when she came on stage. She was a popular dancer, and that loud screech would capture the audience’s attention.

That night, after an extended performance, a late arrival didn’t want her to leave the stage. He grabbed her so Fred smoothly shifted to the up-tempo theme he used to alert the bouncers. Within seconds, the jerk was being manhandled out of the club, the music covering the sound of his drunken protests. The trio turned the tune into Callie’s comic encore and exit, which drew some bonus sympathy tips from her fans.

As she headed home at midnight, she found Fred alone—the other musicians were on a cigarette break—and handed him a five-dollar bill. None of the three did it for the money; they mostly liked having a regular place to play without annoying neighbors.

“Thanks, Callie,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.” She smiled and shook her head, unfolding the bill to show she had written her address.

“We play until closing,” he reminded her.

“That’s good, it will give me time to eat and unwind,” she replied. “But don’t come too late or I’ll be asleep.”

He almost didn’t recognize her when she opened the door at his quiet middle-of-the-night tapping. In comfortable sweats and without her makeup and hair extensions, she was the girl next door. She offered him some of the jug wine she was drinking from a tumbler. He joined her but was unsure what his next move—his first move, really—would be.

“You aren’t going to get creepy, are you?” she checked, taking him aback. “You’re good for me at the club, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

“No, Callie, I’m the nice guy you always read about,” he said.

“I mean, you aren’t going to make this bigger than it is. I’m horny and my friends are all busy, so I thought I’d throw you a bone,” she said. Her words were cold, but her sly smile warmed them.

Fred knew what she meant by “friends” and wondered how many sugar daddies she had. He hoped he understood what she meant by “bone”.

Although new to him, it was a familiar ritual for Callie, so she finished her glass and unzipped her top without inhibition. Her large breasts, supported by a lacy bra, parted the material, making it plain what else she was offering. He downed his drink and she rose and walked to her bedroom.

He had seen essentially all of her body at the club, but it felt different as she slipped off her top and stepped out of her loose pants. Watching her slowed his undressing as he fumbled with his clothes. She added her bra and panties to a pile on the floor in the corner and stretched out on her bed before he was naked.

His eyes, then hands, then mouth were drawn to the inviting spheres on her chest. They had been well worth the investment. Despite all the times he had seen them jiggling and swaying as she performed, he did not appreciate their size and softness until his face pressed against them. Her nipples firmed because of his sucking and tugging, not because of the club air conditioning. His attentions elicited anticipatory sighs from Callie.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said as he began to move lower. “It doesn’t do much for me.”

Challenge accepted, he thought, moving between her legs.

That’s what led to that first and only time he had hooked up with a performer. No matter how many times his mouth made her climax, his wallet was never going to satisfy her.

The band geek inside him celebrated the fact that he had done it with the hot chick and used his hidden talents to please her. Unlike the movie script, a one night stand was not going to turn into happily ever after.

He was enjoying his last few moments with his cock still inside her and his chest mashing those bountiful boobs when she casually pulled the rug out from under him.

“You know, I made a mistake inviting you here tonight,” her voice was quiet, almost like a thought had escaped her mouth.

“Why? Was it something I did or didn’t do?” Fred was concerned. He tried to recall any problems.

“Oh, no, honey,” she giggled. “You were fine. It’s just that I wasn’t looking to have anyone new. When I gave you my address, I assumed we had done it before, but the way you ate me, I would have remembered that!”

With that bad news and good news, he rolled off her before she felt the need to push him off. He dealt with the condom and got dressed as her eyelids lowered.

“See you Thursday,” he said, not too loudly as he started toward the door.

Rousing, she said sleepily, “You were good tonight.” He froze for a step, but she added, “At the club, I mean. It really helps.” He was happy to accept either compliment.

Resuming his exit, he heard her sigh, “This was nice, too.”

The club job limited his other opportunities to make money. One such was a Sunday wedding. Some friends had a band and would let him sit in for a share of the take. The saxophone made things classier and would get them bookings they couldn’t get without him.

Jason ran things and alerted him that the couple wanted a particular song for the newlyweds’ first dance. It had a romantic sax solo, and Fred would do a longer version if they wanted, which usually got them a bigger tip. He had videos of the two options and forwarded them to the groom to select what they wanted.

He replied saying that it was his fiancé’s favorite song and he wanted to surprise her with the long version. When the time came for the dance, the groom winked over the bride’s shoulder and Fred returned a thumb’s up.

They were good dancers and the music gave them a chance to show off. When he reached the point of departure from the standard version, the bride looked a little uncertain as the groom gave her an unplanned spin. The couple shared a laugh as he played on and the groom smoothly led her through a series of moves that seemed familiar to Fred.

Suddenly he realized the groom was copying the dancers on the video he had sent. That pair had gotten quite athletic as the tune crescendoed and he worried these two might not be up to that. He didn’t want to ruin their dance, so all he could do was keep playing and hope.

Sure enough, the groom attempted a move that the bride was not expecting. A successful dance lift requires a jump by the partner, but she didn’t know what he was up to. The new wife almost flattened her new husband as he struggled to lift her half-limp body, creating a comical moment.

Rather than try to hide it, Fred extended a trill and made it off-key until they recovered with a twirl and resumed with a romantic dip. The crowd laughed and applauded, assuming it was all planned as the rest of the band joined in to finish the song.

The groom gave him a discreet salute after he turned the bride over to her father for their dance. Fred figured he had earned his cut that night.

When the band took a break, he stayed to watch the instruments. A woman approached who had been eyeing him. Standing mostly alone in a dress that was more business than party, he guessed she might be someone’s aunt.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked.

“Thanks, but no,” he said, holding up one of the band’s generic water bottles. “The bar is for guests.” Jason was always clear about that on jobs.

“It’s okay, I work for the hotel,” she said, waving what looked like a key card on a bracelet. She glanced down to the small nametag above her right breast.

Up close, he revised his impression of her. Her wide smile brought dimples to her cherubic face. Discounting the attire that suggested a maiden aunt, she was likely the same age as the bride.

“I saw what you did during their first dance,” she spoke conspiratorially. “I’ve seen a lot of them in my line of work. You deserve a reward.”

“How about if you buy me a drink when this is over,” he suggested.

Her face lit up. “All right, but across the street,” she countered. “I can’t be seen drinking here.”

“Great idea! My name is Fred,” he agreed.

“Call me Danny,” she said, shortening what was on her name tag.

Jason had seen them talking, so he grinned when Fred asked if he could duck out without helping to pack up the equipment. “She does weddings for the hotel, so it might get us some work,” he argued.

Jason was in a good mood—the groom had been generous—so he relented with a wave of his hand.

Over drinks, the woman was eager to talk about music. Her green eyes lit up with her interest.

“I’m happy to play anything, but I most like jazz—any jazz, depending on the mood,” Fred confessed. “I like to improvise. The idea of playing something that has never been played before and maybe won’t ever be played again just makes me feel alive.” Danny’s intense but open face elicited thoughts he’d never before put into words.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I play jazz piano, but alone and not often these days.” Seeing her cheery face turn into a frown could have brought tears if it had lasted more than a moment.

“Yeah, it’s hard to find places to play,” he commiserated. “The people in my building complain even if I keep the windows closed and it’s in the afternoon.”

“That’s not my problem,” she explained. “My cottage is at the back of the property so I don’t disturb the landlord or the neighbors. I’m always working weekends, so it’s hard to find people that want to play when I have the time.”

Fred was well past the point where he wanted to get her phone number for dinner, but her comment made a cymbal crash that only he heard.

“What would you think about playing with me just for fun?” he suggested. “Weekends are busy for me, too, but how about Tuesday or Wednesday? You could come to my place, but I don’t have a piano and, as I said, the neighbors complain.”

She gave him a suspicious look that felt like a slap at his unsubtle attempt to invite himself over. Before he had a chance to say anything, Danny asked what key a particular jazz standard was in. Fred was surprised by the question, but he knew the answer since he played it frequently.

She peppered him with several more increasingly arcane questions about music and musicians. He quibbled on one, but she admitted she was thinking of a different arrangement.

“I guess you weren’t pretending just to get a date,” she concluded, her smile returning.

“I guess the same thing,” he chuckled, “since you knew enough to ask the questions.”

“I’ll warn you that I’m out of practice, especially with someone else, but it could be fun. How about Tuesday afternoon?” she offered.

“That would be great!” he probably sounded too enthusiastic.

“So where do you play? You’re obviously proficient,” she asked.

It was the question he didn’t want to answer yet, but he saw no way to avoid it. If he equivocated, he knew it would come back to bite him. So he decided to be honest.

“I play at a strip club,” he confessed. “They have live music on busy nights. There are three of us.”

Danny looked surprised and not in a good way.

“It doesn’t pay much. We get a small percentage of the dancers’ tips, so we try to help them with their performances. Since I can’t practice at my place, it lets me keep up my playing. I get to play a variety of music. My days are free.” The more points he tried to make, the less she seemed to like it.

“Oh,” was all she said, finishing her drink, her glances seemed to be reappraising him.

Fred was visualizing the text message that would say she had to reschedule and her subsequently ghosting him. He needed to do something.

Gulping the last of his drink, he suggested, “It’s not far, why don’t we stop in and you can see it for yourself?” It was risky, but Sunday night was usually pretty calm.

They drove separately. The bouncer at the door called him by name and Fred led Danny to a table. A DJ was playing the music for the dancer on stage.

The skimpily-clad waitress, who would probably be performing later, also recognized him. Seeing his musician’s tux and Danny’s semi-formal outfit, she alertly didn’t wisecrack but politely took their order and earned the excessive tip he left. Danny decided she didn’t need another drink so ordered tea and he did the same.

He pointed to the covered baby grand piano and double bass near the DJ. “The owner remembers the old days of live music so we play Thursday to Saturday nights.”

Danny tried not to stare at the performer, but also couldn’t resist looking. Fred noticed her glancing down at her modest endowment after seeing the inflated chest unveiled on stage.

The act and music changed. Whether she was a rookie or just tired, the new dancer was struggling to keep in time with the recording.

“If we were playing, we would adjust and she would look better,” he commented.

“Like you did at the wedding,” she grinned. “I wouldn’t have guessed this is where you learned to do that.”

Just glad she wasn’t disgusted by the whole idea, Fred smiled back, “We can go whenever you like. I just wanted you to see it isn’t as sleazy as you might have thought.”

Surveying the pulchritude of the female employees, she pondered, “With all these hot women, I suppose there are other benefits.”

The last word felt like rope tightening around his neck.

“No, it’s not like that. Some of the women are married. The rest have better options than a low-rent musician,” he protested, not doing himself any favors.

“Why couldn’t I have met you last month!” he mumbled too loudly. That got her attention. Her puzzled look made him think he was losing her again just after he had addressed her misgivings.

“If I had met you then, I could have said ‘it never happens’ but it did—for the first time a couple of weeks ago—and even she said it was a mistake!” To arrest his babbling, he gulped his tea, wishing it was a double scotch.

Danny’s scowl made him cower. Desperate, he quietly told her about that night, recounting the minimal details, ending with Callie remarking that it had been a mistake.

“I’m not that kind of guy,” he pleaded. “If I were, I would have made something up when you asked where I play and avoided this whole situation.”

She considered his words in silence until a small commotion on the stage interrupted. A tall muscular man wheeled a decorated chair into the spotlight, then helped one of a group of guys to the stage. Fastening his seatbelt and strapping his wrists to the arms of the chair, the bouncer stepped back but stayed close.

To the cheers of his friends and the rest of the crowd, the DJ announced that the guy was soon to be married. Cued by the music, two women, including their waitress, danced and stripped around him. The rules allowed no touching, and the restraints were to ensure that, despite giving him an up-close view.

The ritual of a bachelor party was something Danny knew well, and it seemed to normalize things. When the act finished to the cheers of the crowd, she was ready to leave.

“So I’ll see you Tuesday?” he said as he walked her to her car.

“Yeah, right,” she said noncommittally, perhaps regretting the invitation he had extracted.

Fred spent Monday waiting for his phone to beep with a cancellation message. He was in suspense until she sent her address midmorning Tuesday, suggesting two to four o’clock. He’d get two hours to show her that this invitation wasn’t a mistake.

Opening the door, she looked smaller, frailer in sneakers with her auburn hair loose almost to her shoulders. Wearing jeans and a modest tank top, she was slim and not as imposing as she was in her wedding coordinator outfit.

He hardly had to move as she gave him a quick tour. Besides the main room, there was a small bedroom, a small bathroom, and a small kitchen. He suspected that she had moved the couch to make room for him by the piano.

The upright looked old, but when she played a few notes to let him tune up, it sounded fine. With long thin fingers, she started a familiar song, plinking the keys agilely. When he joined in, she crashed the discordant chords that punctuated the melody, showing she had enough power when needed.

He missed a cue, distracted by how her body swayed as her bare arms raced her fingers up and down the keys. Quickly catching up, he followed her lead as she changed the tempo.

“Your turn,” she said when they finished. “Take it easy on me.”

He picked a classic that he thought would let her show off a little and she did, surprising him with a solo he hadn’t heard before.

“Was that yours?” he asked when the music ended and she stretched her arms and fingers over her head. The shirt clung to the trim curves of her chest; it hid no bra, its dark color obscuring the small protrusions of her nipples.

“Yeah,” she admitted, “something I came up with a while ago. I haven’t done much improvising lately.”

“I’m game if you are,” he encouraged. “When you’re improvising, there are no wrong notes!”

They spent the afternoon being musically adventurous. Standing behind her as she worked out a sequence, he lightly traced his fingers over her shoulders and arms, marveling at her reach and dexterity. When she cued him to solo for a while, she walked around him, watching his fingers move. From behind, she slid her hands lightly around his waist, feeling the strength in his diaphragm as she brushed her body against his back, moving with the rhythm as if they were dancing.

Danny’s style liked to surprise, leaving the listener hanging on a suspended chord instead of resolving to the tonic, building tension and complexity, teasing with tight harmony before going in an unexpected direction. Although Fred could take off for intricate diversions, he usually found a way to bring them back home, sometimes disguising the motif with syncopated rhythms that eventually melted back to the familiar.

Four o’clock came and went; Fred chose not to remind her of the time. At one point it seemed as if they had been playing non-stop for an hour, mixing duets with solos, changing styles, keys, and rhythms. When they were both playing again, Fred caught her eyes, intentionally blatting a sour note as if his lips could no longer clench the mouthpiece. Laughing, she nodded and they worked together into a big finish.

She jumped up from the bench and gave him a big hug, awkwardly until he shed his instrument. Reaching up, she pulled his face down and gave him a hard, fast, noisy kiss on the lips.

“That was so much fun!” she sang. “Reacting to another person, me following you, and you letting me lead. I miss that, only playing alone when I get a chance.”

Fred felt energized by her enthusiasm and was about to say something when he stopped, struck by the glow from her face. Instead, slowly, deliberately, he cradled her head and bent to kiss her, meaningfully, almost reverently.

“You reminded me why I play in the first place,” he gushed, surprised at how her evident joy had infected him.

The tender moment was interrupted by a loud stomach growl. They laughed, unsure whose it was.

“Look at the time,” she fretted. “No wonder I’m hungry. It’s too late to go out—I’d have to change.”

“We could get something delivered unless you want to call it a day,” he suggested, happy that she chose the former.

They picked a nearby restaurant, and Fred placed the order while Danny tried to open some wine. Seeing her struggle, he took the bottle and extracted the cork.

“I haven’t been playing enough so my fingers are worn out,” she said, stretching her hand. “I guess you’ll have to wait until next time for that handjob!” she giggled.

Surprised but quick to adapt, he shot back, “Totally, my tired tongue is too tuckered to tingle your tasty twat!” The words were hardly out of his mouth when he worried it was too much; Danny’s snicker told him she took no offense.

They sipped wine and talked about music over dinner. When they finished, she made coffee and he synced his phone with her soundbar and started a playlist. He had mixed remastered classics with some young artists who were breaking new ground.

The couch wasn’t large. His younger self would have clung to one end, but Fred sat towards the middle, welcoming her to snuggle against him.

“Danny, the way we played today, I feel so close to you. Even more than women I’ve made love with but who don’t understand music.” His voice caught. How did she get him to admit such things?

With a graceful hand on his cheek, she turned his head to her and kissed him warmly and deeply. “I know,” she murmured when they finally parted. “I know.”

They cuddled and kissed as the music played. She chuckled when he broke a kiss to say “This guy is great, have you heard him?”

It was a jazz violinist, coaxing imaginative sounds from the classical instrument. They paused their caresses, letting the tones and rhythms wash over them. He did a long solo using looping to layer himself playing along with himself. After the whole group joined for an almost orchestral finale, it dissolved to the lone violin, atonally sliding from note to note as it faded to silence.

In the moments before the next track started, Danny stood and pulled Fred to his feet, leading him to her bedroom. Neither wanted to risk words that might disrupt the intimacy they were feeling. She smoothly peeled her top over her head and stepped out of her jeans and panties. He took only seconds longer to undress but it was enough time for her to climb into the bed.

With a slow breath, he paused to take her in. Her body was lithe like a ballet dancer, making her seem taller than he knew her to be. On her back, her small, pale nipples were hard to discern atop the gentle swells of her breasts. As he slid next to her, those emerald eyes seemed to glow in the subdued light.

Brushing her hair aside, he lightly held her head as he kissed every freckle on her face. He briefly nibbled her upper and lower lips and teased her mouth with his tongue, but kept moving. Danny reached for him to match his attentions, but he tenderly moved her hand away.

“Let me go first,” he whispered, his warm breath on her neck winning the argument.

His hand moved to her chest. As he stroked her soft breasts, his fingers found the nubs more easily than his eyes had. Her deep breath as he teased them encouraged him to take his time. Applying his lips elicited a breathy “Yesssss” so he dared to suck harder. Her fingers stroked his head, then guided him to give equal time to her other nipple.

His hand scouted his path southward. Another day he would be more thorough, but he was eager to proceed. Perhaps because of his earlier joke, she anticipated his plan, parting her legs a bit. Kneeling between them, he took in the view, his desire plain to see on his face.

Whether she kept them trimmed or was growing them back, her pubes were not long enough to be curly. Instead, they decorated her vulva with a delicate web of cinnamon threads. Lips full and glistening emerged from the divide and he dove to kiss them without his usual self-control.

Her liquor was flowing; he took a long draft, wetting his cheeks with the excess as he absorbed her feminine essences. Hearing her soft moan, he remembered he was not there just for his own enjoyment. With lips and tongue, he began to map her topography. Surprised by the obvious level of her excitement, he deferred a more complete survey when she moaned as he located her sweet spot.

Danny’s thighs opened wider, surrendering to his osculations. Her mewls increased in pitch and frequency as he applied his tongue directly and firmly. Instincts telling him to forge ahead, he hoped that her early fruition would not cut short his merriment.

“Yes, oh, yes, make me cum!” her voice surprised him. Her hips gyrated and he strove to stay on target. “Oh! Yes! Gah! Please!” A staccato of monosyllables accompanied the tremors of her climax. Fred stayed active until a whimper suggested she could take no more. “Slow,” she sighed when he lifted his head, so he resumed, kissing and nibbling more widely.

He savored her flood, judging it like Pinot Noir, light and fruity with unexpected complexity, her personality perhaps biasing his perception. Grateful that, as her breathing returned to normal, she did not interrupt his enjoyment, he nibbled her lips with his.

Sighs and soft moans guided him as he gradually increased his intensity. Lifting and spreading her legs, he stretched her open. Nips on her inner thighs made her squirm but show no dissent. Cupping her firm ass in his hands, he hungrily began to zero in on her most sensitive spots.

Fred dared to tease her with light flicks of his tongue. She trusted he would not leave her unsatisfied so it built the tension in her upraised legs. His tongue circled her opening, then waggled its way upward, ranging between her widespread lips. Her gasp when his tongue reached the apex told him the time was ripe.

Gripping her thighs, he applied his mouth more vigorously. Correctly judging that her swollen tissue would accept and respond to more intensity, he gave her a workout. Her occasional whimpers of reticence were soon followed by moans of alacrity. As her legs flailed in the air, his mouth noisily suctioned her flesh, tugging it in all directions, reacquiring it when the slippery skin evaded him.

“Eat my pussy! I’m so close!” she cried. Seizing the place where those lips joined, he worried it back and forth as each rapid breath was a “Yes!”

Her spasm dislodged him as her legs tried to close, but he held tight with his hands and mashed his lips back to the spot. Whether words or moans, her loud, open-mouthed exhalations encouraged him until her fingers interceded to protect herself from further stimulation. Content to lick the back of her fingers, he eased her legs down to the mattress.

He would have happily stayed there, but Danny groaned, “I want to hold you.” She threw her arm and leg over Fred when he moved up next to her, unable to do more than cling tightly to him for minutes.

Rousing from her post-orgasmic haze, her eyes and dimples showed her resuscitation.

“I see your tongue has recovered,” she giggled. “Well, my hands have as well!” Although not particularly ticklish, Fred squirmed and yelped as Danny poked and raked her fingers over his chest and ribs. It served to wake them both, which was apparently her goal. Getting to her knees, she motioned for him to lie on his back.

Leaning over him, her lively tongue teased his mouth a bit before she knelt up between his legs and took hold of his growing pole. She watched it stretch and firm as she slowly pumped it.

“I may not have your oral skills,” she sang, “but I have these.” Holding out her hands, she flexed her fingers seductively, as if she were about to play “Misty”.

Bending forward, she took the cockhead between her lips, swirling her tongue to wet it. He gasped at the heat of her mouth. Her dangling hair curtained her face and tickled his belly as she took him deeper. One hand gripped the base of his cock while the other massaged his balls.

Her tongue coated the underside as she slowly bobbed up and down. By turns, she withdrew and licked his popsicle, up one side and down the other, then took him in again to test her mouth against his rigid extent. Danny’s expert technique and the delight exhibited on her face as she deployed it soon had Fred rushing to the peak.

Anxiously, he warned, “You’re gonna make me cum!”

“Not so fast!” she replied, lifting her head and watching his dick jerk. One hand gripped the base of his penis while the other applied her fingers to his perineum to keep him from going over the edge. She watched to be sure he didn’t spurt as he whimpered sweetly.

Satisfied that the danger had passed, Danny dragged her fingers over his belly and thighs, making him squirm with the almost ticklish sensation. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft, she mostly stroked him slowly, but periodically she would do a handful of fast ones. She watched his face as she gave him a longer sequence of rapid pumps, stopping just before he would have said something.

As with her music, she enjoyed misdirecting and changing the tempo. With two hands enfolding his full length, she kept her hands still but rippled up and down with her fingers tightening and loosening as if she were playing scales on the piano. Fred sighed under the novel caress; as her grip became firmer he couldn’t resist trying to fuck her hands, but she moved with him to deny that friction.

Fred had gotten his share of handjobs, but they were often half-hearted efforts just to make him cum after he had worked his magic with his mouth. From between his legs, a woman would grab his penis and yank, most of the stimulus coming from her thumb. Danny sometimes wrapped her hand farther around, giving him four fingers of contact. Sometimes she turned her wrist to use her soft palm against the more sensitive underside. She would get too intense, then be soothing; light teasing was followed by a reassuring embrace.

Fred never gave a thought to the veins and ridges on his anatomy, but she traced them, finding nerves that lit up under her probing. After smearing the precum he was dripping, she teased the tiny opening with her fingertip, making him jump and squeal from the unexpected attention.

Each time his words or moans warned of his imminent consummation, she found another spot to explore. She showed him ways to massage his testicles that he hadn’t discovered himself. Swollen with his excitement, they were ripe to be gently squeezed and tugged. Not just a distraction from the heat in the tip of his cock, the stimulation generated deeper warmth. When she stroked the seam between them, he felt like she had discovered a new erogenous zone.

He reached the point where he was torn between begging her to stop and begging her not to stop. She knelt up and leaned over him, her body inches from but not touching his genitals. Instead, she played his torso with her skilled fingers, stroking and poking his ribs, tweaking and rubbing his nipples. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away. This was her show.

Returning to his shaft, she grabbed it tightly with one hand then followed its length down past his balls to the root. She pressed her fingers into his taint, showing him the hidden length of his tumescence.

“Put your arms out,” she said, extending hers to illustrate, “and close your eyes.”

Danny knelt astride his chest, hooking her calves under his extended arms, addressing his crotch from above. When Fred realized her position, he opened his eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to tell and desperately wanting to see the pussy that was inches from his mouth. Open and glistening with her excitement, he so much wanted to raise his head to lick it. But he knew not to step on her solo, so he contented himself with the sight and aroma.

Between his legs, Danny demanded his attention. Taking the head of his cock in her mouth, she began stroking him. Her fingers traveled from below his balls upward, encircling his shaft when they reached that point. As one hand reached her lips, the other started the same journey. Alternately repeating this maneuver made his penis feel as if it were a mile long.

Danny’s tongue danced over his burning head and her soft lips suckled his most sensitive spot. The temperature and pressure that built below where her fingers began could no longer be contained. The bubbling magma forced its way through his tingling tissue, following the path of her fingers, until it erupted into her mouth.

Even if he had been able to warn her, it wouldn’t have been necessary. At that point, she had more control of his glands than he did. She was ready to consume whatever she made him produce, her fingers and mouth helping to propel the superheated fluid from him.

The ecstasy overwhelmed him. Danny continued sucking and milking, sensitive to his twitches, as he sighed his gratification. She slowed to a stop, cradling his tender organs as they sent aftershocks through his body.

When his brain began to work again, the only thought Fred could express was, “Oh, Danny, Danny, Danny, Danny!”

Satisfied with her accomplishment, she released his softening cock and lowered it to his belly. She couldn’t resist one last kiss to his frenulum, making it jolt and sending a shiver through him.

Whether she simply relaxed or intended to signal her willingness, she lowered her hips slightly. Needing no more invitation, he pulled her to him. He loved the feel of her folds against his face. Still floating from the epic orgasm that her marathon titillation had unleashed, he took his time, relishing her generosity as much as offering his services.

Despite the intimacy, the odd separation of sixty-nine prevented their consulting. Danny’s appreciative wiggling was all Fred needed to continue. So consumed was he by her half-smothering crotch that he hadn’t noticed her fondling his dick.

It had been years since he had tried to climax again so soon, and he was skeptical of the prospects, but it seemed the only way to keep her from trying was to abandon the feast in front of him. He had no intention of doing that.

Nibbling and kissing her sweet flesh probably did as much to stiffen his organ as her soft hands around it. Seeing the distraction as a challenge, he brought his fingers into play, stroking her slit and teasing her opening.

He could imagine Danny’s determined face as she took his cock in her mouth. Sucking the head, she pumped his shaft slowly, feeling it throb. Whether she was just optimistic or knew her many edges had built greater reserves, she continued.

Fred escalated, slipping in first one then two fingers, stirring her entrance. He couldn’t do full insertion in this position without removing his mouth, and he had his priorities. He felt more than heard her deep moan as her hips responded. Suddenly, Danny sat harder on his face, grinding against him for several seconds.

Lifting up, she tittered, “I’ll make you a deal. If you let me make you cum again, I’ll cum on your face!”

“How can I refuse?” Fred chortled back.

With common purpose, they resumed their mutual caresses, both using hands and mouths, seeking to add to the delights already shared. Danny’s fingers explored farther below Fred’s testicles, past the solid foundation of his erection to the hidden, squishy tissues that were so crucial to his sexual response and emissions. Not used to explicit probes, they generated feelings that were strange but absorbing.

Fred shifted a little more under Danny’s undercarriage, yielding a better angle for his fingers to penetrate her. His two fingers would not fill her, but their action would still add to the experience. She handled getting what she needed between her legs while giving him what he needed between his. Pianists often had to manage their left hand separately from their right.

Two sets of hips could not hold still, signaling the impending lambada. With their mouths muffled, only the low notes could be conveyed, body to body. Lips to genitals, genitals to lips, giving and receiving, ecstasy flowed in a wondrous cycle. It was no sudden leap and precipitous fall, rather a dancing summer breeze, building and building until all the leaves were rustling, then coasting, then accelerating, lingering, departing slowly, reluctantly.

Luxuriating in those parallel paths of pleasure, Fred needed them to intersect. Lifting her leg to reach for her shoulder, he gently rotated Danny’s spare body on top of his, pushing no part away, but leading her face to his. He tried his best to mirror the ambrosia of her smile.

Each in the other found someone they hadn’t known they should be seeking, someone to hear and play and sing each other’s songs.