Hyacinth was, above all, a talented organist.
She had played for some of the most influential people including clergy and other foreign dignitaries. They seldom saw her petite, trimmed and toned female body of intricate design with high perky breasts and heart-shaped buttocks of breath-taking taut temptation.
That was because she sat behind the monster sized pipes and the long low bench that allowed her to slide and move like a feline cat in charge of the melody and tempo of the music played with creative ingenuity unlike most of the typical middle-aged players and matrons of the arts. In point of fact, Hyacinth was a sensuously stacked nubile female of beautiful construction with a soul that burned with desire to be loved with abandon by as many males as possible before she moved on to her next plane of existence.
There could be no doubt whatsoever that Hyacinth was HOT!
Unfortunately for her, she was inordinately shy and found it difficult to talk to most humans of the male persuasion, because she considered them to be either total idiots or more interested in their own gender as sexual objects of desire. She regretted her attraction to such creatures in the latter category with overwhelming frustration because she instinctively understood that none of them would ever risk rejection from an alien gender that totally mystified them to an infinite level of distraction and filled them with total disinterest in a physical sense.
Hyacinth played the organ with infinite emotion.
She poured out her feelings through the tips of her delicate fingers like some reincarnated witch-girl from another time and another place searching for that cosmic tingle of release that would allow her to sweat through every pore and lull naked on the stained sheets with complete abandon.
Sometimes, when she was into an intricate selection that carried a degree of sadness or despair, she would start to feel that special tingle down there between her knees and knew with a woman’s sixth sense that her organ was inspiring yet another beautiful orgasm building like a brick wall of divine design.
Her hidden legs were frantically moving in different directions and she had the froth of possession spraying from her ruby red lips. It started to blossom in her suddenly squirting feminine folds and clenched her puckered rear entryway with the hard steel grip of a frightened sphincter. Her diminutive twin peaks of mothering passion stood erect in perky anticipation for the explosion that would certainly follow the last page of measured music.
It hit her hard enough to prostrate her along the top of the curved bench with padded cushions. Her legs gripped the convenient girth with feminine instincts that found the bulk familiar territory for her long deprived orgasm.
The organ was silent now.
The throes of Hyacinth’s passion shook her delectable frame with wave after wave of pleasurable joy. She yearned ceaselessly for the probing action of a long thick schlong in any one of her openings. It made no matter to her how badly she was humiliated or degraded by some perverted soul without a shred of decency. All that matter was that it would be of sufficient length to hit her special spot that would trigger her repeated need to shudder her restrained from the tip of her toes to the very roots of her finely spun hair on the top of her pretty refined head.
Hyacinth humped the bench with determined singleness of purpose. She was spurting now with regular obscene flows of female juices. Her sphincter was starting to open and close in complete confusion not knowing if she wanted to keep an intruder out or welcome him with her need for immediate penetration.
Walking in on this surprising scene of utter chaos and an almost naked tempting heart-shaped bottom pushed up high in the air waiting for greedy fingers or an impulsive shaft driven home by a sex-deprived man of the cloth was the substitute Deacon the right reverend Mister Hornblower, all spit and polish in his fine black robes.
Horace Hornblower was a long-time widower and he had been relegated to the distressingly submissive status of massage receiver from “hands-off” Oriental ladies with muscular hands or a furtive wet mouth on the other side of a graffiti laden wall that needed cleaning in the worst way imaginable. His youthful excesses of female student followers and neglected housewives had vanished as he aged not too gracefully in his religious-minded labors in the fields of the Lord.
The sight of Hyacinth’s prime grade buttocks waving about like a prize in a suspect lottery inspired him to lift his black robes and hit her anal bulls-eye with his best shot.
Hyacinth’s reaction was totally uncharacteristic of her normally subdued persona.
She wanted to shout out,
“Please ... Don’t ... Stop!” with all the gusto that she could manage in the midst of an absolutely beautiful orgasm and the shocking insertion of a long salami of impressive length and girth into her nether regions.
Unfortunately, her words became all twisted in transmission and they filled the organ compartment with her shameful pleas delivered in shrill dismay.
“Please don’t stop!”
She repeated it more than once and the ever obedient reverend humped her as hard as he could under the shocking circumstances. Soon, they were both so caught up in the sheer physicality of coupling that they both lost all sense of normal logic and just struggled and squirmed to gain modest improvements in leverage and depth of penetration. It was the reverend that finished first, but that was to be expected because it had been a long time since he had been inside the plump bum of a female person of such charming features.
Shamefully, his last anal exercise was with his deceased wife’s still attractive mother. His mother-in-law was a severely demanding woman quite unlike her simpering daughter. He had always felt a little insecure in her presence and he complied with her constant pestering to “do me in the bum, dearie” without any degree of reluctance because in all honesty, she had a gorgeous posterior construction that was even more impressive when her skirt was lifted and her knickers pulled down. He rutted in her crack in almost every position imaginable including standing and nastily prone-bone on the fluffy white carpet.
Now, with his happy hardness buried deep in Hyacinth’s core, he remembered those days of joyful humping whilst his wife was soaking in the tub upstairs. He even spanked the poor organist with heavy palms making her bottom nicely red and hot between his muscular legs. She wiggled to no avail other than to draw the reverend’s spunk closer to the point of no return.
Hyacinth was just finishing her solo orgasm and now was faced with a quick second shot at the ultimate “tingle” of taking a strange man’s business all the way up her seldom disturbed backside in her most private opening of all. She could feel the huge black bird’s thickness swell inside her and she knew she could not escape the flood soon to follow. A look over her shoulder confirmed that her “blackbird” was actually one of the new clergy sent to minister to the sinful folks of the parish with the enlightenment of the new church hierarchy. She was mollified to a degree because his personage was certainly appealing in a rough sort of way for one so blessed with a spirit of religious harmony.
Right at that moment, she saw the look of lust cross his face with unmistakable satisfaction and she knew her bottom would be stuffed with the cream of his long-deprived sexuality in righteous expression of compliance with her misconstrued pleadings.