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The following story is intended for ADULTS ONLY.
If you are not an adult or are offended by graphic
sexual content, then please read no more.

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Story codes: MF

Composing
by A. Geerling

There was a party that night at their house and everyone
was coming over for dinner. Mostly it would be friends,
but there were some new people coming as well, and so
Samantha took extra care to prepare everything, the meal,
the settings and her clothes to both please and impress.
Her lover was going to play. He had not told her yet what
the selection was going to be, so she was certain it
would be something special. Something new.

The meal was ready and everything was set. Her hair and
make up were perfect and all that was left were the guests
themselves. They would be coming soon.

He came downstairs looking smart and his smile left her
with a quite satisfaction.

"What are you going to play tonight?" she asked. He did
not answer but mulled over a carrot stick and thought.
"Don't tell me you haven't decided yet. It's almost time."

He looked at her sharply, the light of inspiration in his
eyes. "We'll make something new," he said.

"You're kidding. There isn't time!" But he bore himself
calmly, intent on his internal orchestra, already gathering
the music inside.

"There's always time enough for music," he said. He pulled
her close, his hip brushing her crotch, crushing her
breast against his chest. "It's coming already. It's here
now!" He would not wait.

Samantha leaned forward over the dining room table as her
lover indicated and parted her legs at his touch. He lifted
the edge of her dress up over her hips and pulled the
crotch of her underwear out of the way, giving him access
to her deepest intimacy. She waited while she listened to
him open his pants and then adjust himself to take her. Her
eyes followed a crease in the tablecloth and skirted around
the negative spaces of her hands clasped in front of her.
The head of his member brushed against her posterior, warm
and demanding. Its obdurating bulk pressed into her, parting
the folds of her flesh, seeking the entrance to her
moistening vagina. The tip slipped in, past the lips and into
her, opening the way for the shaft to follow. He eased his
way into her, taking his time, letting her juices smooth the
way, letting her body adjust itself to his presence. She
arched into her lower back, letting her hips rock forward,
bringing him home deep into her. And after a few more moments
his body came up against her rear and he was in her to the
hilt. He stood there, soaking himself in her, his shaft
pulsing in her. Her clitoris stood tight and willing, nestled
against his shaft. She squeezed against him, her soft flesh
closing around him, encouraging him and welcoming him. Samantha
breathed deep and braced herself and then he started to pump
into her. She bit her lip and watched the books in the shelves
across the table from her. She did not read their titles, but
traced the shapes of the letters on their spines and followed
them up and down and wandered in their coils. He matched his
strokes to the music in his head, something only he could hear;
but through the pounding rhythm of his fucking he communicated
it to her, pushed it into her so that her whole body hummed
with it and it began to boil up from her womb, through her
guts and past her heart, beating its way to escape through
the confines of her throat and lips. She let out only the
faintest of sighs, her legs quivering against his assault, the
table shaking and sliding inch by inch across the floor. Urgency
appeared in the tune, a promise of exaltations to come. His
hands appeared on her body. First on her hips, then on her
back. He grabbed a fistful of her long curled hair and pulled
her head back with a twist. His piston thrusts grew manic,
the playing inside her reaching for a crescendo. Samantha
reeled, dancing inside with her own cresting furor, her neck
bent back by his cruel grip and saliva drooling from her red
lips. An impassioned grunt escaped her. He pulled back on her
hair all the harder, fucking her in tense, desperate strokes,
until, at last, in a pure, resounding triumph, the climax hit
like a vortex and rushed down inside her in a dazzling surge,
pooling inside her in a molten wave. His seed hit her cervix,
which rang with the heat and joy of it, and sounded her own
crowning response, a volley of trilling choruses that sang
with a heavenly beauty. He kept thrusting the dregs of his
semen into her sucking vagina, spiraling down from the heights
of bliss. She clenched herself against the perfection of it,
clutching the table cloth in her fists. She did not let herself
collapse, but kept her presence of mind as the ringing waves
receded around her and brought her back to the moment at hand.
He pulled out of her, and slipped her underwear back.
She adjusted her dress, the knelt and cleaned his member with
her lips and tongue. The hot juices filled her mouth. She
swallowed them and licked him clean. He replaced himself
in his pants. As she stood, she felt his seed running inside
her, filling her with a warm glow.

"There," he said. "It's ready. I know what I'll play." And it
would be fantastic. It always was after they composed together.

She fixed the tablecloth and pulled the table back into place.
In the mirror she tried to fix her hair. Soon the dinner guests
would arrive, and all must be ready. At once, the doorbell rang
and she went out to greet them. The music inside carried her
along. She opened the door, smiling, hugging and giving
greetings. The night�fs entertainments had begun. And the
best would be the music.

The End