Yolanda How She Played

Her name was Yolanda.

Every night he sat in the little piano bar and listened to her play. Every night on his way out he dropped a twenty into the small basket on the piano.

Her shoulder length hair was as black as India ink. Her eyes were deep emerald green set in an oval face that looked like it had never seen the sun.

This night when he walked toward her she looked into his eyes and said without a smile, "would you join me for a drink?"

"Of course," he replied startled.

He allowed her to lead the way to the small table he had just left and held out her chair, "You play beautifully. Your music takes me back years." He circled the table and took the seat opposite her.

"Thank you." Her smile revealed a small dimple in her right cheek. "I love an appreciative audience," the smile disappeared. "It's so much nicer than the drunks I frequently play for."

"You are an incredibly gifted young lady, and you are as beautiful as the music you play."

She took her small silver rimmed glasses off and leaned forward. There were daggers in her eyes.

"I know you mean well, but I don't like comments about my looks. I enjoy compliments about how I play because I work very hard. I know I'm what some would call beautiful but I was born with these looks and had absolutely nothing to do with them."

"I'm sorry I mentioned it."

"So am I." She stood and walked away.

She was tall and slender, and walked with the grace of a runway model.

Another musician played the next three nights. He enjoyed the music but not as much as he had Yolanda's.

On the third night he walked through the door and immediately recognized her style. Her playing touched his soul and took him back to a previous life.

He remembered his time with Carmen. He recalled the horror he felt when she suddenly disappeared twenty-four, years ago. It had been while they travelled in Spain. His arrest and eventual release because of her disappearance were still vivid memories. He longed for her touch and loved her as much today as he had those many years ago. He frequently thought of her and wondered what happened to her.

Night after night he returned to listen and nurse his single malt. She never spoke to him but only nodded and gave him a slight smile when put his tip in the little basket.

A week later she came and sat with him.

"I appreciate your generosity."

"I appreciate your playing."

"Would you like to come to my flat? I'll give you a private concert."

"Thank you. I'd like that."

"I have one more set. Please meet me at the back door. You can walk me home. It isn't far."

"Your name is Chris and you taught classical piano," she said and linked her arm through his. She moved in close, projecting the warmth of slender femininity. She smelled fresh not perfumed.

"True." He'd frequented the piano bar for over a year so wasn't surprised she knew something about him.

She led him to the top of a five story walk-up. A small grand piano took up most of the floor space. There was a futon/couch made into a bed against the wall. A small kitchen with a two-burner stove took up a corner.

She opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. "I'll be back in a moment."

He watched her reflection in the mirror through the open bathroom door. He wondered if she knew he could see her as she dropped her clothes to the floor.

Pointed nipples and tan areolas accentuated her small breasts. A well-trimmed triangle of dark pubic hair was like an inverted crown above her slender thighs. She slipped into a tight yellow tank top and white baggy shorts.

She sashayed back into the room her hips swinging provocatively. She sat, looked at him then began to play Wagner's "Tanhauser."

"Years ago I had someone who could play Wagner like that, but I lost her."

She rose, took his hands and pulled him up. Her hard nipples caressed his chest and her pelvis pushed softly into him. She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "Please come with me."

She led him to the roof where they could overlook the city lights. She held his left hand in her right and brushed her thigh against him.

"I get so much inspiration here."

She ran her hands through his dark curly hair and pulled his lips to hers. Her tongue tickled his mouth. His breath caught in his throat.

"I wanted you to see me when I changed clothes." Her voice a breathy whisper in his ear, "and now I want you to make love to me." "I don't think I should. You're so young" he almost said "and beautiful."

"I want you inside me."

They went back downstairs and she undressed him.

She stood before him and slowly pulled her top over her head and then slipped out of her shorts. She turned a very slow circle in front of him all the while caressing first her breasts and sliding her hands down her waist to her hips and then to her dark, moist mound.

Then she knelt before him and took his hard, straight cock into her mouth. She rolled her tongue around the head and lapped at the shaft as she pumped him ever so teasingly.

"Hmmm," she purred and licked the lubricating juice from his slit. She laid him on the mattress and kissed, licked, and nibbled his nipples. She ran her warm, wet tongue down the hair to his belly-button and once more sucked his hard-on into her very warm mouth.

He wanted her more than any woman he could remember in a long time. His moans, and body heat, and her mouth, and the sensations of heaven were all he was aware of.

His moment came in torrents and he grabbed handfuls of hair and held her head down and pumped his cum into her mouth and down her throat. When finished, he let go of her hair as if stung.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's been a long time and you do it so well."

"You have a beautiful cock. Not too big and certainly not small. And, you taste very good." She sighed and licked his shiny cum from her lips.

Then she lay next to him and ran her finger tips over his body. Slowly she brought him back to erectness.

"Now, we shall make love," she cooed.

He kissed her breasts. He took each nipple in his mouth and with his tongue tickled their tips and bit lightly as he pulled away. He moved down her body with his mouth and lips. He put his face between her legs and tongue fucked her. Moving up, he nibbled on her clit and then sucked it. He felt her tighten.

She could take it no longer.

"Fuck me. I want you inside me. Please just fuck me."

He entered her slowly. She had her hands on his hips pulling him, urging him on. She raised her hips and put her legs on his shoulders. "Fuck me hard," she mewed. "Oh god!" She moaned as he leaned forward and sunk himself deep into her.

"Yesssss," she cried. She tightened and came. At the same time he shot sperm deep into her.

Both of them spent, she lay curled in his arms.

"Thank you. You've fulfilled a dream."

He wondered what she meant.

She held him close and whispered in his ear, "I love you."

They dozed naked on the futon and he awaked fully to the sound of someone at the door. He could feel Yolanda awake next to him.

"I hear someone," she whispered. "Please be still."

He lay stiffly and she didn't move. A key slipped into the lock and turned. He went cold. He saw the figure of a woman silhouetted against the light of the hall. She moved slowly into the room. The door closed behind her. His stomach cramped and cold sweat dotted his forehead.

He looked at the horror stricken face of the woman who just entered and everything stopped; everything but the laughing voice of Yolanda.

"Hello, Mama. Daddy, I'd like you to meet my mother, Carmen. But I know you've met before."