He had my attention when he mentioned double bass. It has always been an instrument that I adore. It has that je ne sais quoi about it. He told me that his double bass was the best in the world. It was a Giovani Battista Rogeri of outstanding quality and workmanship, made out of two-hundred-year-old wood that gave it a thicker, deeper and richer tone. The deep tones of his voice and the way he described it, made it sound erotic and sexy. It was like he was an extension of his own instrument. But then, aren’t men always like that?
Michael was a renowned and excellent bass player and the fact that he was suave and sophisticated and downright handsome with it added to my interest, but what got my full attention was what he told me he could do with it and he did it with such panache, whispering in my ear whenever he wanted to imply his intentions and speaking normally otherwise.
I didn’t believe him for one minute, but he stood there in his black tuxedo, sipping champagne and nibbling at the hors d’oeuvres while telling me about the sexual ability of a double bass, not any double bass--his double bass. There were plenty of influential people within easy earshot and I couldn’t help but smile.
In the end, I started giggling to preserve a sense of decorum but I was totally mesmerised by his words. I so much wanted to try out what he was suggesting and within twenty minutes of our meeting, I left him in no doubt that I was interested.
We left the party at eight o’clock and took a cab back to The Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue; more champagne followed us to the room.
I saw the double bass stand tall in the corner of the room. The torn and battered leather of the case looked like it had been around the world a few times. In fact, it had, probably more times than I had masturbated.
He immediately opened the case and extracted the double bass from it. He positioned it in front of me and played a few jazz riffs before spinning it around and playing a few more, always smiling, feeling the music rather than just playing it. I watched in awe at the way he played.
Suddenly, he stopped. His hand came down on the strings and the sound drifted away like magic.
“Champagne,” he said.
Michael rested the bass against the furniture and proceeded to open the bottle that was placed on the table. We clinked glasses and he toasted to my orgasmic success. I bit my lip not really knowing whether it would be a success or not. He seemed to think it would be and I wasn’t about to burst his bubble. At that point in time, I had not even decided whether I was going to go ahead with it or not.
“Come,” said Michael, “sit here on the chaise lounge, right on the edge.”
I did as I was told and I looked demurely into his dark brown eyes.
He positioned the edge of the double bass between my legs and started to play. The dulcet tones, the richness, all resonated deep within me. I took a sip of champagne and closed my eyes, savouring every note that he played.
“Wrap your legs around it,” he told me.
I looked up at him and lifted one leg to do just that when his hand rested on my shoulder to stop me.
“You have to take your knickers off first. It won’t be the same otherwise.”
I let out a sigh and bit my lip at his lurid suggestion. I moved my legs to one side of his instrument and lifted them to the ceiling. I leaned back against the chaise lounge and slipped my fingers into my knickers, and pulled them down over my thighs, down over my legs and left them dangling on the end of my feet. I lifted my legs up to Michael and smiled. He took my knickers and before depositing them on the floor, raised them to his nose. I lifted my dress until it was wrapped around my waist and repositioned myself either side of his double bass.
He had me slither my faint blonde pubes up to the centre edge of the bass and told me to wrap my legs around it. I was to push myself as close to the frame as I could until my clit met with the edge of the back side of the bass. He then told me to open my lips and push forward a little further. The wood was surprisingly cold and it excited me as I nestled my lips upon it. I must have looked a sight with my suspenders pulled taught over my thighs, my dress hiked up around my waist, my breasts heaving with expectation. I leaned back once more and lifted my bum off the lounger, rubbing my pussy against the smooth wood of the bass’ C bout. I felt like my body was electrified, I felt horny and I looked up at him not knowing what to expect, yet expectant.
I announced my intentions to Michael when my tongue extended erotically from between my lips. I didn’t think for one minute that what he told me would actually work, but here I was, playing out a fantasy of mine and allowing him to feast his eyes on my exposed body and depraved mind.
He started to play the bass. He struck a low note which reverberated throughout the room and he held it there until he slid his finger up the fretless fingerboard. I could hear the lovely tone of the initial note and all the other tones in between before it rested a whole octave above where it started. He held his finger on the fingerboard in a vibrato movement, occasionally plucking the string to give it more life.