Chapter 5: Musical Appreciation

The smoke from the cigars filled the room as the wealthy, mainly portly, men, sat back in plush leather armchairs and watched the gyrating girl slowly strip down to her skin. The music was Neil Sedaka's "Song, Song Blue", just right for the tempo of the girl's movements. And the mood of the watchers.

She approached one of them and, sitting on the arm of his chair, took his head in her hands and pulled it towards her firm, round breasts. He held his cigar in his right hand as his left moved downwards and caressed her naked thigh. She smiled and fed her nipple between his lips until he was suckling on it like a baby. And like a baby he wanted more. With a groan he opened his mouth as wide as it could go and with a loud sucking sound drew in a third of the creamy white skin. The girl smiled like a painted doll and began massaging her flesh trying to get more into the gaping cavern. His cheeks bulged and his breath whistled through his nostrils as he struggled to breathe. With a sliding motion his hand, not losing contact with her body, slid across from her thigh to her wet, glistening cunt as it began to throb within her. Causing her to clench and unclench her stomach muscles as the sharp barbs of strung out nerves responded to the rubbing and insertion of his fingers.

The others watched transfixed, as they saw her eyelids droop slightly as her emotions slowly began to take over her body. Some of them had released their cocks from the confines of the expensive suits they wore and were lazily pulling and stroking their flaccid flesh into rigid hardness. They watched as the girl pulled her left breast from the man's mouth and they watched as one of the servants took his cigar from his right hand. She slid her body onto his lap with both legs, spread slightly apart, draped over one arm of the chair and her back supported by the other. As the music came to an end she began unbuttoning his blue striped shirt.

His fat, flabby torso exposed, she placed her face against the bulge of his belly and dragged her tongue upwards to his own, smaller, breasts. The breasts of age. With a quick movement she took his nipple in her own mouth and suckled on him, as he had on her. All five of his fingers and part of his hand had disappeared into her widening cunt.

The soft opening strains of Ravel's 'Bolero' became audible.

She nibbled gently on his perspiring skin and heard the laboured breathing as the man began to move his large buttocks against the leather of the chair. He cradled her shoulders with his right arm and stroked the back of her head, as her movements became more urgent. He cuddled her as he would a child. She pulled his shirt roughly from his trousers and with both hands unzipped him and grasped his hard cock whilst leaning forward again to nibble his bulging stomach. She went lower still until her mouth filled with his greying pubic hair and her position made her own breathing difficult. Sopping wet and with her cunt lips enlarged she slid off his lap to the floor. Her knees resting on the thick pile, deep yellow carpet.

Bolero's ra-tattatat-tat rhythm grew louder as she lowered her gaping mouth to his thick penis and engulfed it to the back of her throat. Her tongue twirled, her cheeks caved and her warm breath blew over his loins. He took her head in both his hands and pushed her down further onto his straining organ. Then as the music built towards its crescendo he forced her head down and up along his shaft until his sperm hit the back of her throat and gushed into her gullet. She struggled but he didn't release her. He forced her head down as far as it would go giving her no opportunity to spit the sperm out or to draw breath. She did what she could but small white bubbles still formed at the entrance to her nostrils, burst, and ran in two streams over her upper lip.

With one final long climax, the music and the man, came to an end.

He released her.

She stood up cleaning her chin with her fingers then inserting them into her mouth to get rid of the stickiness. She went up to another of the sitting men.

"And what is your pleasure sir?" asked Kristen in a soft, slightly hoarse voice. Her hair had been cropped short and her face heavily made up. She looked like a China Doll seen in gift shops. "Would you like to fuck me in my cunt or fuck me up my arse. I am here for your pleasure. Perhaps you would like me to drink your spunk?" Her words, along with the performance he had just witnessed increased the man's sexual urge.

"No, not me." He replied. "Them." And he pointed to three tall muscular black men standing along one of the walls. Kristen looked at them and said, "Of course sir and what music would you prefer?" "Tchaikovsky's 1812" came the reply. One of the servants went over to the CD player.

The three men stripped and came to the front of the room.