The concert hall was sold out for our annual Choral Society performance, the culmination of a long season of concerts. The excitement of the evening was palpable. This was an annual event that many people had waited for and bought tickets for months in advance. The palpability was intense for us too, especially after months and months of rehearsals and formal and informal practices.
Stage left was packed with about twenty singers: My men’s ensemble, of which there were seven of us; and a women’s ensemble; and another mixed group of singers. We all were trying to remain still and stay out of the audience’s view.
I watched the performers on stage while running through my group’s Mendelssohn choral music. Then the blond woman in front of me stepped backward. Her heel jammed into my right foot.
I grunted, and she quickly turned to give a silent apology. I smiled simply, although my foot pulsed. Her heel was really sharp. She looked back again with sad, dark eyes, offering additional apologies.
Her name was Nicole, a soprano. I knew her somewhat. She and I had had drinks with the other singers after a few practices.
The ongoing ensemble’s performance concluded to a rousing applause from the audience. As the singers left the stage, we, on stage left, created a narrow passage for the performers to pass from the bright light of center stage into the dark. The next ensemble proceeded into the light.
My group was next, so I moved to get easier access to the stage. Nicole and I bumped into each other—again.
She glanced at me. I mouthed my excuse-me this time, shifting aside, but she stopped me. Her arms stretched backward, and her fingers caught two belt loops on my pants. She tugged me against her.
Then she moved. Not forward or backward. Instead, she slowly swayed her hips side to side. I felt the contour of her ass. The rounded left side, the dip of her obvious crease, and then up her right cheek. And she continued that movement, going from her private stage right, across her center stage, over to stage left and back. Immediately, I grew hard, although my cock was caught to the left, trapped in my fitted slacks.
I studied the woman arousing me. She had her light blond hair caught up in a low bun with a few tresses dangling. She had the scent of wildflowers. She reminded me of a woodland fairy from TV shows and movies.
Her hairstyle showed her narrow neck, encircled by a simple strand of pearls. She had petit ears with studded earrings. Her scoop neckline on her Choral Society dress allowed me to glimpse a narrow tattoo. Hànzì characters began at the nape of her neck and disappeared in a column under the neckline between her shoulders.
Nicole and I had chatted with the group of singers a few times after practices. The wild drinkers in Choral Society are few, and their drinking limits are low. When she and I hung out with the other singers, the group of us laughed and talked loudly for a long time. She never made any advances before. She really got into the debate that men can’t sing well when they are hard. And we teased the ladies that altos gave better head than sopranos.
Now, with her sensuous undulation, my dick pressed, obviously, against the zipper of my pants. She certainly felt me. She glanced over her shoulders with alluring eyes.
But she jolted when I gripped her hips. She was not escaping.
She had her own intent too. Unexpected to me, she dipped slightly lower—noticeable only to us—and rose up. Her dip righted my dick to twelve o’clock. This woman knew what she was doing. She intended to rile me up. And she did it. My heart beat continually faster. My breathing sped up. My dick became further cramped in my slacks.
Seriously, I should have been prepping my mind for Mendelssohn. My ensemble was next. But I couldn’t. The euphoria of female attention disengaged me from music. Mendelssohn couldn’t pull me away. Only one thing could.
I was startled back to real life when I heard the audience’s loud applause. It was my ensemble’s time.
She whispered to me. “Backstage. Afterward, see me.”
I leaned close to her ear and cupped her butt. “Of course.”
She grinned wickedly.
I walked in line with the six other men onto center stage.
Under the blinding, bright lights and the darkness beyond them, hundreds of eyes watched us. I was a contorted mess, and my dick was still hard. I feared it would be noticeable, when compared to the other men whose pants didn’t have a bulge at the crotch.
After months of practice, Mendelssohn returned to me, thankfully, so the performance went fine.
When finished, I walked from the blinding lights into the darkness of Stage Left. I saw her again. She was in line for her performance.
She reached out, touching my arm.
“After,” she reminded me.
As if she needed to.
I nodded.
The rest of the evening’s entire performance could not finish fast enough. The conductor, in his musical ferocity, held the final grandiose amen too long. My voice could not hold the note, because my chest was pounding. The audience’s standing ovation and shouts of bravo disappointed me, since they only delayed the true event of the night.
Eventually, I was herded off stage in a huge flood of talking and chatting singers. They were coming down from their performance high.
At last, I got off stage, and had to become a running back, dodging the many people who intended to keep me from the end zone.
It took me a few minutes to make it to the backstage practice room. The room was filled with what looked like a meadow of black music stands and disassembled rows of chairs. It was a mess.
Psst!
I looked around for the call, ears perked like a scouting animal.
“Thomas!”
My back straightened and my attack senses stopped.
The choral director had called as he walked into the room.
“Your ensemble was wonderful. Mendelssohn would be proud.”
He and I shook hands.
“I trust he would. Very talented ensemble. Dedicated.” I tried to keep my eyes from wandering over and around him.
“Don’t count yourself short either,” I added to appease him. “Many more composers would be pleased by you.”
“Yes, I did work hard,” he said, taking in a deep breath. Knowing him, he was about to orate about himself. Meanwhile, I had a blonde waiting.
“This has been my passion, my endeavor, since I was a child. My grandfather took me to see the …”
I stopped listening then but tried to smile like he was interesting.
“… And tonight and then our coming performances throughout the year. Yes, the Choral Society is—”
“Mr. Shambaugh, sir.” William, an administrative assistant and a young tenor, appeared at the doorway of the practice room. “The choir is getting ready to take pictures. We need you. Thomas! You come too!”
“Come, Thomas. We can’t miss this.” Mr. Shambaugh patted my shoulder.
“Um, I am looking for my phone. It’s here somewhere. Just need to look. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“These pictures can’t wait.”
“I need my phone or I won’t get any,” I said.
“I will email them to you—have William send them to everyone. Come.” He tugged my arm.
“Let me scan the room once more. I feel naked without my phone. You know how we all are these days.”
“We need to change that. Be quick then, Thomas. I can’t hold the picture-taking for long.” He walked out of the practice room.
The clap of his shoes on the hard floor disappeared down the hallway.
Psst!
She had heard everything and knew just when Shambaugh finally left.
“Where are you?” I asked, trying to follow my ears.
A thin arm appeared between two black curtains. She was in a closet where additional music stands were stored and chairs stacked.
I rushed through the curtains. Nicole was sitting, grinning.
“He can’t shut up,” I said.
Nicole didn’t stand up. She opened her legs and put her hands on the edge of the seat. She leaned slightly forward. Her eyes slid down my body.
“You were good tonight,” she said slowly, letting each word slip off her tongue. “Very, very good.”
“You were too, but you want to give more than an on-stage performance, don’t you?”
She nodded.
I stepped further into the dark directly before her. I unbuckled my black belt, undid the button on my slacks, and lowered the zipper.
“Well, perform.”
She pulled down my pants to my knees and peeled back my jockeys. My hard, finally freed, dick quivered and straightened, like a flagpole in a storm.
She didn’t move fast enough. I am not one for slow performances. Despite Choral Society, I prefer rock concerts.
I grabbed the bun of her hair and dragged her mouth to my cock. She opened wide like a good girl. My cock got lost in her mouth, as her lips sealed around it. I felt her tongue move. I felt her suctioning. I felt her fuck me with her mouth.
Moments later, she pulled off to get a breath. She gave a few strokes and put it in her mouth again. She knew how to give a blowjob.
While feeling her mouth massage, her hands crawled up my legs. Her fingernails dug into my flesh. The intensity was somewhere between prickle and pain. Then she jammed her nails into my butt. I jolted forward this time.
Again, she leaned back, catching her breath and scanned my face while digging her nails deeper into my backside. Her cheeks were reddened, and her lips were fattened from the work.
I cupped her chin tightly. “Don’t stop now.”
I grabbed her hair bun harder and pulled her head to my aching cock.
She gagged and coughed. Froth appeared at each corner of her mouth as she worked hard.
“Thomas!”
William called into the practice room. “Thomas, you’re missing the pictures. We need you for the ensemble pictures. Are you here?”
I didn’t care about being in a picture with other guys. I was focused on one woman, Nicole, because she was focused on me.
“Come on, girl, suck my dick. Get me off. Show me a soprano has skills.”
I grabbed for the hair bun but it had disappeared. Her hair had fallen and was covering her face. I took her long hair into a ponytail, so I could watch.
I thrust my dick into her mouth, rocking my hips. Her eyes closed tightly. Her face winced. She gagged and pulled back. Her cheeks had gone from the sweet pink before her first performance of the night to red for her second. They were now crimson. Her eyebrows were crumbled up and a vein appeared down the center of her forehead. She was working really hard.
“Yes, yes,” I grunted. “Here it is. Get ready.”
She didn’t give up. She didn’t stop.
In a moment, I shot cords of cum into her frothy mouth. She opened her mouth to show me the cum puddled on her wide, pink tongue. Then she swallowed it. Her neck shifted as it went down, as if additional proof.
I found a chair and sat to let my body calm.
“Do you believe me now?” Nicole said subtly. “That we sopranos can handle cock as good as the deeper altos?”
“You just spoiled my theory. Destroyed it.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Good.”
Discover pleasure with:
