("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
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               K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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		             WARNING!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

She Will Sing for Him
by El Ciego (address withheld)

***

In this story a wealthy and eccentric musician/sound 
recordist captures the scintillating song of his bound 
chanteuse. Bondage, sadism, "forced" toy and oral sex. 
(MF, bd, nc, oral, toys)

***

He liked her best this way. She is on her back, her ass 
midway off the piano bench. Her black silk clad legs 
tied wide apart to the legs of the wooden altar,, her 
pretty feet en pointe in three inch stiletto come-fuck-
me pumps. The wide black leather strap encircles her 
just below her heaving breasts, holding her torso fast 
to the bench, her world upside-down. Her silk gloved 
wrists are likewise tied to the piano bench, her hair 
sweeps the floor, her mouth stoppered by a vivid blue 
rubber ball-gag.

She trembles, her shaven pussy kissed by the cool air 
in the music room. She begins to become humid with 
anticipation, yet she is unready, her vagina tightly 
closed against penetration.

He clicks the mouse to start recording. The microphones 
in this room are exquisitely sensitive. She is going to 
sing for him tonight.

He stands above her naked, his cock stiffening as he 
gazes at her rose-colored nipples, now rigid with 
arousal. A tiny droplet of DNA forms at t he tip, and 
he takes the leather riding crop from the nearby table.

Swish! The slapper of the crop smacks hard against her 
right nipple, and she screams into the gag. Swish! A 
sharp pop as the slapper contacts her pouting labia. 
She writhes against her piano bench bondage, yet she is 
careful not to tip herself over in her struggle. She 
knows that Master is very particular about the 
furnishings of his lovely home; an upturned piano bench 
would earn her far worse than she was taking. 

Swish! The slapper again strikes its leading edge 
across her swollen clitoris! "M-m-momff!" Her scream 
through the ball-gag still manages to echo through the 
music room. Marvelous acoustics. 

He tenderly smiles at his darling chanteuse, bending 
now to gently kiss her parted lips around the ball. He 
unfastens the locking strap and eases the ball from 
between her aching jaws raising her head on one strong 
hand and offering a drinking straw. The cold lemon 
water eases her thirst, and she begins to speak.

"Master, please. No more, I beg you. Please!. Plee-ai-
eee!" Her words turn into a scream of surprise as he 
again pops the business end of the leather whip against 
her captive cunt-flesh Swish! Crack! Swish! Slap! 
Swish! Smack!!. Another blow, this one to a tender 
inner thigh, is accompanied by a sharp pinch to her 
left nipple. 

"No-o-o-ooo!" She screams again. "No more whip, Master, 
no more nooo!" 

Smack! He expertly lands another sharp sting to her 
clitoris. The piano bench rocks, threatening to tip 
sideways, but she stopped struggling long enough to 
maintain balance. "Good girl," he smiles. 

The man reaches to the table removing a menacingly 
large sex toy called a Tuning Fork. Two dildos, one an 
immense two and three-quarter inches in diameter and 
not less than eight inches long is paired with a 
thinner dildo nearly its length. He knows that her 
pussy is nearly ready, but that tight little brown 
asshole would certainly not be. He lovingly lubricates 
both prongs before suddenly jamming both into the 
waiting holes of his captive songstress.

Fascinated, he watches the VU meter on the mixing 
console slap hard to mid red-zone as she howls , her 
lush round tits rising, suddenly suffused with a deep 
blush. He begins to rhythmically slam the twin threat 
into her, relishing her anguished howls, grunts and 
very soon moans and cries of rapture, orgasms crashing 
through her and into one another, all the world 
spinning.

He relishes the sweet symphony filling his headphones. 
The recording setup is marvelous; one sensitive 
microphone is placed near her sex, capturing every wet 
sound of penetration. Another microphone, an expensive 
German ribbon type captures every sweet vocalization. 
Yet a third catches room ambience. The mix is lush.

He continues to rhythmically pound the double invader 
into her, savoring each pained cry, then each low, 
gasping moan and then, her screaming exultations of 
orgasmic release. She cries a melody spanning nearly 
two octaves, her voice a thrilling counterpoint to the 
ostinato rhythm of the sex toy. 

She begins to tire, a few, final low moans of exhausted 
orgasm escape her trembling lips, and she pleads in a 
husky voice, "Please m-Master, no more. It hurts. Thank 
you Master, but ple-e-eie!" Another scream as he jerks 
both prongs from her, suddenly again slapping hard into 
her cunny with his leather riding crop.

II.

He has repositioned her on the top of the 1889 vintage 
Cable grand piano. Her legs are splayed wide apart, 
secured by two leather leashes to the front legs of the 
old instrument. Her wrists are cuffed to her quivering 
thighs, a soft pillow holding her ass and cunny just 
over the keyboard, at a perfect height for tasting.

He seats himself at the keyboard, stretching his 
fingers over the keys. The song is jazz, throbbing, a 
bit clubby, a bit quaint and old fashioned. He leans 
forward to capture her pouting pussy in his mouth, 
gently choreographing his caress to the intricate moves 
of the music. Her body relaxes, as the music and his 
soft love dance ease her away from her torments on the 
piano bench. He gradually brings the music to a harder 
throb, a faster pace, licking her tasty juices from 
both sides of his bound fruit. 

She begins to writhe, his tongue fucking her hot cunt, 
suckling at her clitoris like a starving infant on his 
mother’s breast. His tongue does hemidemisemiquavers 
against her clitoris in time with the pulse of his 
manual improvisations below. Soon she is crying her 
joy, lady and music both climbing through crescendo, at 
last reaching shattering climax. Coda. 

Fin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 30