She Will Sing for Him

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.

*

He likes her best this way. She is on her back, her ass midway off the piano bench. Her black silk clad legs are tied wide apart to the legs of the wooden altar, her pretty feet are 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, and her mouth is stopped 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 the 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.

He grasps a nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger, isolating the small pink bump of flesh. The cruel clothespin grabs onto the nub, and she begins to whimper, fearing that a scream might convulse her into tipping the bench. Savagely her other nipple is gripped by the clothespin.

Then he pulls the wide wooden hairbrush from the table. It whistles through the air, landing hard several times on the tops, sides and undersides of her perfect tits. Oh how he loved those orbs, now bright pink from their punishments. She is crying and screaming even more loudly now. He begins to beat her tender thighs and pussy with the oak back of the brush, savoring her howls. Then suddenly, he returns once again to the punishment of her tits. Smack! Whap! Smack! Slap! Again and again he brings the cruel paddle down upon her, the tit-flesh soon brightening to crimson.

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 Mia's 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, 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.

Her breasts have been tightly bound at their base with a silk cord, the tits puffed out like twin purple balloons.

He has trapped her tortured nipples in gentle metal clamps, wire leads running to the electrical box, a switch routed to his sustain pedal. Each press on the pedal will send gentle pulses of electricity to her pleasure-points, the sensation not unlike being rapidly stroked by fingers in silk gloves.

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 Mia's

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 hemi demisemiquavers against her 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.