1. The Third Date 01: Clueless of Cotham


    Date: 7/29/2024, Categories: Lesbian Sex, Author: byTHBGato, Source: Literotica

    ... stairs, I carefully lifted my baby out of the case. I was tingling in anticipation, a warmth spreading through my core and my excitement building. This was the real reason I hated playing live: playing the cello was so sensual that it turned me on, a fact I felt deeply ashamed of. I tried not to think of it, but my very first orgasm had been aged 14 while playing the cello, during a private lesson. My teacher, an older woman named Ms Foxen, has given me such a look of disgust and revulsion that I'd fled. I'd quit the lessons (so had she) and I had refused to play the cello in front of anyone else since. It became my dirty secret, one I played behind locked doors whenever the need took me.
    
    (Luckily, I was a very good pianist and tinkling the ivories didn't quite have the same effect on me, as long as I avoided Listz, certain Brahms' pieces and any overtly sexual rock n 'roll pieces. It was my piano playing and singing that had got me onto my Music degree.)
    
    Playing the cello thrilled me in ways none of the men I'd been with ever had. Perhaps it was the posture: legs spread, body pitched forward, the back pressed against my breast, arm up as if caressing a lover's neck. Maybe it was the way the vibrations tore through me deliciously, in complete sync with my movements, pulling these beautiful sounds from my cello's curved, graceful body in a way that no man had ever been able to replicate with mine.
    
    I was breathing heavily. I was strangely excited. I wondered why: ...
    ... overcompensating for how crap my date with Tim had been, maybe? Weird, because he'd been awful, so these kinds of feelings should have been furthest from my mind. Whatever was causing it, I knew what I wanted. It was late too, so no point in spending ages warming up. Forget foreplay.
    
    I was wearing a high slit skirt, so it was easy to grasp my baby between my thighs. I could have held the cello further from me, but I spread my legs as much as possible to get the body as high up as I could. Tightening the bow strings, I quickly checked the tuning, tweaking the G string slightly, then, taking a breath, I plunged in, my bow pulling a deep, resonant thrum from the strings as my firm fingers pressed into the neck.
    
    Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor. The one made famous by Jacqueline du Pre. It was what had drawn me to the cello in the first place, seeing footage of her playing, loving her sensual, fluid style. I'd begged for lessons, which I'd fit around piano and dancing.
    
    The music flowed through me, my arm sawing back and forth, the muscles in my arms rippling, my breath coming in heaves. The middle movement drew me back from the edge, but as the theme built again, I felt a flush building on my upper chest, and my nipple pressed into the back of the cello so hard it hurt. The tone moved lower and my thighs ached as the vibrations ran through them into my core, which was buzzing. The final crescendo came as I let loose, my head shaking, my legs trembling. 8 minutes of heaven. ...
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