Non-married Night


All characters in this short story are over 18 years of age.


It’s October. It’s been raining all day in that shitty, gloomy way that passes for a normal day in England, and while it’s not going to freeze or anything, it’s cold and miserable, and most importantly, it’s a ‘not married’ night. Lucy’d told me so right after her friend left, and we’d had a huge row over the mess left after the painting.

In my marriage, that means several things.

Firstly, it means she’s in a shit mood with me. She’s livid about something or other, probably the way I painted the kitchen ceiling, some snide remark I made while her friend was here, or something I did during dinner when I should have been washing up, putting a kid to bed or some other stupid job.

Secondly, it means I can fuck off I think I’m welcome back in the bedroom tonight. If I show my face up there, I’m likely to get it verbally ripped off. We have a sofa bed for just such eventualities.

But unknown to Lucy, when she tells me I’m not married tonight, I take her at her word, and the first thing I do is message someone she knows.

As the head of music at our Church, a 30-year old piano teacher joining our community was a fantastic event. It fell to me to give her an assessment / induction, and it’s a day I’ll never forget. It was clear the assessment would be a formality – There was never a possibility that Louise wouldn’t make the grade. Her skill and theory level vastly exceeded my own.

Now comfortably into my 40’s, and used to being treated like a sexless dinosaur by women of all ages, including my wife, I didn’t think to look deeper into the glances and kind words she and I swapped as we ran through the set list from the Sunday just gone.

We talked about musical tastes, about the different types of accompaniment that might be required, about the tablets that held the sheet music and chords sheets, and about the in-ear and floor-mounted monitors. Then we talked about foreign travel, about Star Wars, about video games, about my experiences as a secondary school teacher in comparison to hers as an instrument instructor, and then we talked about our relationships.

She heard about my kids, about how proud I was of their achievements and how challenging having gifted kids is, and she learned my wife’s name. As the afternoon dragged into evening, we started talking about things we’d written. She began to play some of her pieces for me, and as I heard them, at some unspoken level, I felt myself falling in love with her. The pieces were complete, balanced, engaging, challenging and above all exciting.

We jotted some chords structures down together, set the sound desk to record the output to USB, and as she sat at the keys, I picked up an acoustic and started playing. I played along and heard as if for the first time as the chord changes stepped from comfortable to contemporary right into jazz and then smoothly back to old school rock, until you realised the shape you were hearing had made sense all along.

As if her inner beauty wasn’t enough, I couldn’t take my eyes off her body. She wasn’t someone who’d stop traffic if she walked by, her short and curvaceous body giving her a soft, generous shape, but the moment she started to play, something magical came over her. Her tens of thousands of hours of practice took her to heights in performance that simply didn’t allow comparison. She wasn’t just playing. The chord structure had become her life support. She was on fire with the feel of the music. The lyrics weren’t what she was saying, they were who she was and how she felt. As she lifted her right arm into the treble, a tattoo under her wrist caught my eye. I longed to know what it was.

I bakırköy escort met her eye. She was listening to the sound we were making, and glowing as she watched me play. I was energised and empowered. My fingers started working faster on the fretboard and as I played I imagined I was touching her as I let the rhythm and melody whisper and yell from the guitar in turn. Our eye contact stayed locked, but our breathing and heart-rates changed. We held each others’ gaze, and fully clothed across the stage at the Church, it was simply the most erotic experience of my entire life.

We finished playing, but held eye contact. She slipped her cardigan off her shoulders, and her deep-necked top showed more tattoos on her right shoulder and under her arm. She raised her hand above her head, and unclipped a wide, tortoise-shell coloured device that held her long, dip-dyed hair back in a pony tail. The fiery red colour swept round her shoulders and over the deep curve of her generous cleavage.

I wanted to walk over to her, and take her in my arms, and thank her for coming into my life, even if it was only for that moment. Frozen in place by years of restraint and guilt, I watched in silence as Louise stood, switched off the power to the keyboard, and without looking at me again, pulled her top up and over her head.

The simple, practical tourquoise bra she had on underneath strained to encapsulate her phenomenal, voluptuous breasts. She started to step towards me, and began loosening a tie at her waist, and looking for the first time, I could see that the fabric trousers she was wearing became loose and as she reached me, were now hanging away from her cinctured waist.

The sound of my guitar falling to the ground as I tried and failed to put it back on its stand would normally not just break my concentration but ruin my entire evening. In this case, I didn’t even stop to pick it up, and my hands fell to her soft, colourful hair, and tender, now exposed hip, and our lips met in an undiscussed, unchallenged kiss. I lost my entire being into that moment. Her whole body crushed against me, her bra-clad tits sitting above my undefined and unshapely gut, but the lack of magazine-readiness in our bodies meant nothing, as we came together, and wrapped each other into our embraces.

Louise held nothing back. As she kissed me, she pulled my shirt from my trousers, and gripped the curve of my ass through the fabric. She leaned back and allowed me to stroke and kiss the curve of her breasts through her bra, and when I found the clip on the back, they were freed, and fell forwards against my chest. The tattoos went on I saw, and a vibrant, gold and black tiger swept around her torso, from her left shoulder and armpit down, across her back and round her hip, disappearing under her trousers.

“I’ve got to see this tattoo” I said, my voice almost sounding alien in the echoey Church building. “It’s amazing!”

I’d never known a woman with more than one or two tiny tattoos before, let alone a whole body artwork like this. I lowered myself down to begin to slide her trousers over her hips, but before I could she used the opportunity to help me out of my t-shirt, and undo my belt.

It wasn’t my intention to take her knickers down with her trousers, but as I did, and the tail of the tiger disappeared round her right hip to her backside and onto her right leg, I instinctively kissed this intricate, beautiful artwork. A moment’s jealousy caught in my mind that some lucky guy had had this phenomenal, angelic being in their power long enough to burn this into her skin, and the pain she’d have experienced in doing this was as great as any I will ever know.

I beşiktaş escort kissed the curve of the tail as it flicked through her hip, and fell to my knees as I saw that the tail went almost all the way to the cleft of her clean-shaven lips. As her fingers fell into the receding hairline of my prematurely greying hair, my tongue reached out and stroked calmly yet determinedly across the front of her labia, teasingly not hesitating until I reached her opposite hip. I could smell her aroma and knew as she took a hold on my head that I was having the desired effect.

Reaching my left arm round behind her and leaning my head back, I began to stroke and caress her pussy with my tongue. I began to caress her outer lips, and move my whole head further and further in towards her centre of pleasure. Carefully avoiding her rapidly swelling and prominent clit, I found myself laying back onto the hard, hollow wooden floor of the stage, and pulling her above me.

I registered her moans for the first time, and as she straddled my chest, her knees beside my head, her right hand still firmly gripping my hair, I felt her tip her torso back and grind her pussy into my mouth as my tongue explored beyond her lips into her depth. Even the unconscious sounds she made were music to my ears, and I wanted to play her like a Stradivarius.

Every touch and stroke of my tongue was decisive, accurate, deliberate and rhythmic, and when she drew her right foot up to the floor next to my head, I felt the change in her moisture, and could sense her flavours becoming more abundant.-

When she froze, then began to shake, shuddering in delight and moaning in soft, enthralling songs of delight, I felt like I was in heaven. When her left hand then reached back, and began to deftly unzip my trousers, and take her place in history as the first woman other than Lucy to touch my cock in 16 years, I was absolutely and utterly ecstatic.

When she lifted herself off me, I didn’t want to open my eyes for fear that the moment would end, but the deft change of feet happening around my prone body completed in moments, and the warm, aromatic centre of pleasure that was her now burning pussy lowered itself back to my mouth just seconds later, but with her clit now below my jaw.

I felt her changing her angle, tipping her clit upwards and past my mouth to my upper lip and nose, then, as her breasts fell against my legs, I felt the forgotten delight that was a mouth encapsulating the pulsing, frantic head of my now stone-engorged cock, as she lowered herself into my first 69 since God knows when.

When last I was with a woman for the first time, I was young and foolish. I would have come in moments with the kind of heights of stimulation I was currently experiencing, but now, with years of sex meandering from average to good, occasionally touching great, then slinking back to mediocre for months on end, I knew I had the time, and the technique, to enthrall and enjoy this magnificent woman.

I took the time to begin gradually building her towards a second climax, focussing on the curve of her labia, and allowing my hands to reach up to her enjoy the soft flesh and enticing nipples of her now naked breasts, her unclasped bra having been discarded in the mists of moments now forgotten.

My tongue continued its work, as she stroked and licked at me. She knew what she was doing, and before long I felt her mouth stretching deeper along my length than any woman had achieved before, and her lips drew her down further as my turgid length slipped further into her mouth, past her tongue, and stroked the warm, wet back of a new passage.

Finally turning my full attention beylikdüzü escort to her engorged clit, I felt rather than heard her moans as she pulled my full length out, dragging her lips along my uncircumcised length, and lifting herself back to a sitting position to bring her clit back onto my ready tongue. Her orgasm built slowly as I continued firm, circulating sweeps across her tight nub, with her cries deepening and increasing in resonance and passion with each second until, had there been anyone in the premises, they would have known vows were being broken in here. A burst of moisture and warmth and excitement bathed my tongue as she came, and as the heights of excitement passed, she slumped to her side, releasing pressure on my chest I’d hardly been aware of.

My hand found hers, and our fingers intertwined. I imagined the fantastic things these talented fingers could do as my throbbing, swollen cock pulsed silently in the air, desperate for the warmth of the oasis my mouth had been enjoying, and as if she could read my mind, this phenomenal, beautiful, gifted woman released my hand, relaxed herself forwards on her knees, leaning down onto her elbows, spreading her hips, and inviting me to join her.

She leaned back and put a hand against my chest. “Condom?” she asked.

“Vasectomy”, I answered. “Two years ago. All clear now.”

“Oh thank God”, she moaned, and reached back to guide my hips towards her.

As I felt her soft labia against my member for the first time, I knew this was I moment I would never forget. I stopped, and stroked the head gently against her pert, sweltering, ready lips, and her immediate moan of frustration was all I needed. I pushed slowly and firmly into her.

She was no virgin. There was no resistance. She gripped me neatly and enthusiastically, welcoming me fold by fold into her body, and her hot, tight canal pulsed, danced and enthralled around my hard rod. –

As I stroked right to the depth of her body, and felt my hips slip fully against her tattooed and voluptuous rear, I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of delight. I allowed my sigh to carry my out again until my head was just within her, and I firmly brought it back again, feeling the barrier of her cervix at its zenith.

I allowed my hips to turn a little, using my experience to focus the travel of my head along her front wall, knowing her g-spot should be able to feel the effort, and her moans and delights followed as I’d hoped.

I stroked again, firmer and more decisively, as her body and mine fell into harmony, and the concerto moved up in tempo. The slap of my hips against her became accompanied with the harmonic of my balls, tightening and swollen with cum, hitting her clit with each measured thrust.

I could feel my heart, my head and my brain and my balls working together as the Soprano, Alto, Tenor and Bass of my body in the greatest piece I had ever played. Louise’s song of climax came again, and I added my elated, uncontrolled, barbaric delight to the mix as I bathed her womb in bar after bar of my cum. 16, 32 beats later, and our crescendo relented, and I was absolutely and unconditionally spent. Our bodies slipped apart, sticky cum tying my to her as I moved away.

As she lay in my arms, I knew my life would never be the same again. She turned to me with a curious look in her eyes.

“Wow”, she said.

“Yeah, wow.” I answered. “I never knew it could feel like that.”

Her chuckle was about the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. “Well don’t get carried away. I’m not expecting you to move in or anything. Just, don’t disappear, okay? We’re gonna have to do that again some time.”

“Why don’t you come and have dinner with me, Lucy and the kids? The kids would love to meet you. Did I tell you my son plays piano? He’d love to play his Grade 5 pieces for you.”

“It’s a non-married night” my text message read, and as i sent it to Louise, as I had done at least eight times before, my imagination began to whirr with what may lie in the night ahead.

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