I slam shut the lid on my gleaming black Kawai Shigeru piano. Freshly tuned from LA3 down to Sol5. Perfect for Frédéric tonight. Heart pounds. This isn’t just music. It’s my weapon. That bitch Ebba, his mom, the lyrique diva, doubts me. ‘No one’s ever won Excellence first try,’ she sneers. Fuck her. I’ll crush her world.
Fingers itch. Sweat beads on my neck. Frédéric’s eyes linger too long during coaching. Our apartment in the 17th hums with tension. Seiler grand piano dominates the salon. We alternate lessons, bodies brushing. Friendship cracks. Desire surges. I pick Prokofiev études, Debussy’s Clair de Lune, Liszt’s Campanella. Six months to master. Buy Yamaha CLP-735 for midnight practice, headphones blasting every nuance.
The Awakening Rush
He coaches me. ‘Perfect, princess.’ His hands on shoulders ignite fire. I spin, arms around him. Lips crash later. Bedroom. I strip slow. Skirt drops. Bra flies. Panties kick at his face. He laughs, hard cock tenting. I yank his shirt, jeans. Grip his thick shaft. ‘Long, hard, perfect for my tight pussy.’ Stroke, suck. Tongue swirls glans. Deep throat gags me, but I push. Balls heavy in palm.
He eats me out. Tongue circles clit. Finger fucks deep. I buck. ‘Fuck me now.’ He slides in, pops cherry. Pain flashes, then bliss. Hips grind. ‘Deeper!’ I clamp legs. He pounds. I cum hard, spasming. He floods me. Hearts race like locomotives.
Climax of Revenge
Contest nears. Ebba’s visits poison air. Locks myself away, seething. ‘I’ll show her.’ Frédéric soothes. Indian dinner, eyes devouring. Next day, fuchsia gown. Hands shake in green room. He whispers, ‘You’re ready.’ Stride to stage. Fingers fly. Prokofiev light, solemn. Clair de Lune velvety waves. Campanella fireworks. Crowd erupts. Jury stunned. President nods. Ovation roars.
Back home, frenzy hits. Rip his clothes. Kneel, swallow cock whole. Nose in pubes. Dress off, naked. Straddle him. Sink down. Muscles milk his dick. Bounce wild. Grind forward. ‘Cum in me!’ We explode together, screams echo.
Reality snaps back. Frédéric beams. ‘You won.’ Secret burns sweet. Fucked my lover raw, defied his mom, conquered the keys. No one knows my filthy thrill. The transgression pulses in my veins. Vengeance tastes like cum and victory. I’ll keep practicing. More to come.