You Can't Mix To Save Your Life - Sex Stories

You Can't Mix To Save Your Life

... the jog wheel. We both have a listen-in when the kicks are more or less aligned. I look at him with a questioning stare, reaching for the tempo knob.

"Yes, play with that a bit. But first, loop this in to give yourself more time," he points to a song fragment on the screen then helps me cue it in.

"You teaching me all this is better than sex," I chuckle.

"You are such a funny little bunny," he tells me in a dark and dreary tone, making his pet rabbit wanting nothing more than to be his dinner. ASAP.

We swap the highs and mids of the two songs, then smoothly X-fade in the pumping beats of my new favourite: 'Turn It Up' by Armin Van Buuren.

"And that's it." L. sits down on the chair behind him and pulls me in with him. "You always find the best songs ever, but you still can't mix to save your life," he laughs.

While I want to throw something at him, I have to admit, he said nothing I didn't already know.

"I just need more practice," I try to defend myself.

"Oh, I don't know... I could give you the code for the door, but you have to earn it. And I do think you are a bit reckless to be trusted with it. I mean, what was that about putting your dirty shoes up there? You are in trouble, Bunny. Biig, biiiig trouble." His fingers trace my stockinged inner thighs.

I'm a bit of a tomboy, and I prefer to dress like one, but lately, for his benefit, I started wearing skirts and stockings a lot more. The skirt I've chosen today is a pretty short black one with a ...

... wide lace trim.

His fingers venture further and further up, following the chequered pattern of my nude-coloured hold-ups. I moan into his ear loudly, overriding even the thumping background music.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he comments, pulling my soaked-through panties to the side and teasing my lips with the slightly rougher texture of the lace edge of my skirt.

"It's the studio environment, baby," I purr, fooling with him, "being surrounded by all this expensive, amazing gear. The deep sound drumming in my chest, all these buttons to play with." I'm eyeing his decks but lead his hand onto my nipples, eliciting a moan from him as he pinches them. "Oh, and this too," I tease, reaching for his cock through his jeans.

"You're such a dirty, mouthy little brat! You have no idea what's coming for you," he threatens, grabbing the older set of headphones and twisting the cable around my wrists.

I first think he is just fooling around. He surely doesn't want to ruin it, but when he pulls the cord really tight and secures it with a double knot, I know that I am indeed in a lot of trouble.

"I bet this makes you even more excited," he growls into my ear while tugging my underwear off. He throws them onto his decks, and there is something so fucking naughty about that image of my dirty knickers on his precious DJ equipment that, for a few seconds, I forget to breathe.

He looks around, trying to think of a place to tie me to, but not finding anything suitable, he bends ...