Melissa's Sweet Music
Melissa's Sweet Music
A music lesson quickly turns to lust... (NSFW; erotic themes and language)
I originally wrote this story for a charity compilation of erotica - way back in 2015. I was in my early 40s then but already beginning to explore writing about characters who don’t always have much representation in mainstream erotica. This story is about a middle-aged dyke…
Ray leaned further forward as he sensed me approaching the punchline of my story.
"I'd narrowed it down to either the Ferrari or the Fender Stratocaster."
He clapped the ends of his fingertips together in glee, "Please tell me you went for the wheels!"
"It was a tough decision," I strung it out a bit longer, "I mean, you only get one midlife crisis, right?"
"Right. And?"
"I went for the guitar."
"But darling," Ray said looking dejected, "you should have gone for the car; at least you'd get some use out of it. You're not at all musical. I know you want to reclaim your youth, sweetie, but you will never be Melissa Etheridge."
I laughed at his pout and waved the flyer under his nose, "I can become musical. I've signed up for guitar lessons with Melissa. Not the Melissa, obviously. This one is a twenty-something hippie who works in the music store, but she is cute."
"Well I will be first in line when you play Wembley," Ray said magnanimously. He picked up his car keys from the café table top and jangled them in front of me. "Then you can buy me the Ferrari."
I turned over Melissa's flyer and read the address she'd written on it. I'd best make a move; I didn't want to be late for my first lesson.
Melissa's house smelled like a tropical house in the botanical gardens. I picked out the scent of damp earth accompanied by something that could easily be rotting bananas or maybe some other sweet, sickly fruit. I half expected a brightly coloured butterfly to flit past me, or to suddenly feel the damp misting of a water spray.
She ushered me through to her lounge and cleared a pile of notebooks from one of the chairs. In my haste not to be late, I'd arrived five minutes early and she was dressed in a loose-fitting satin robe, haphazardly cinched in at her waist with a mismatched sash. "Take a seat; I'll be with you in two ticks," she said as she disappeared into the room next door.
When she re-emerged she was wearing a pair of worn, blue jeans with green paint streaks down one thigh, and a white, ribbed cotton tank top. She was barefoot and braless. I liked her thrown-together look and watched openly as she cleared the chair facing me and reached for her guitar.
"Okay," she smiled warmly at me. "Lesson one: this is the neck, these are the frets, and you've got your six strings here." She plucked each string as she spoke. "Let me see your nails." I held my hands out towards her, palms down. "Good, nice and short. Dykes make the best guitar players for that very reason." She winked at me and I was surprised to feel a blush singe the apples of my cheeks. "Cute," she laughed and thrust her battered guitar towards me.
"I've brought my Strat," I said, pointing to the case beside my feet.
"You can play with your new toy later. First, you've got to get a feel for the music." Melissa positioned my hands on the guitar. "Just hold it. Embrace it. The guitar is your new lover: you want to stroke her, caress her, find out what sounds she makes when you touch her in different ways."
I shifted a little more to the edge of my chair and pulled the guitar close to my body. As I ran my thumb over the strings I felt my chest vibrate a little from the contact with the well-worn wood.
"Good. Now I'm going to get you to play some chords. You don't need to know their names or the notes they are made up of. All you need to know for now is how they make you feel. That way you'll want to keep learning. When people get stuck into the theory straight off they always end up bored and give up too soon. Remember, the guitar is your lover: you want to learn how to touch her, how to make her sing."
Melissa reached for my left hand and placed two of my fingers onto the strings, one above the other. "Press firmly against the fretboard and strum the chord."
I felt the metal of the strings bite a little into the soft pads of my fingertips and pressed a little harder. My thumb grazed the strings one at a time.
"Again. Louder this time."
I strummed again and felt the chord reverberate low in my body.
"Again. Then describe the sound to me."
I hesitated. "What do you mean? How do I describe the sound?"
"Let me show you." Melissa took the guitar from me and settled it against her breasts. "Close your eyes and listen. Feel."
She played the two-fingered chord loudly a few times, then more gently as she spoke over it. "This is a minor chord. It's a chord full of yearning. And it has a hard edge to it. I always think of it as a fuck me chord."
I opened my eyes. "A fuck me chord?" Melissa's expression was serious and intense like the sound she created from the instrument.
"When I hear this chord I think of a lover straddling me. She knows I'm aching for her but she won't touch me – yet. She wants me to wait, to get to the point of begging. She teases me but it's painful rather than playful. When I play this chord quietly it whispers fuck me, please. When I play it loudly it becomes a command."
Melissa stopped the strings abruptly with the heel of her hand. "But this chord," she said as her fingers moved into a new position and a lighter, sweeter sound rang out, "this chord is my teeth nibbling my lover's earlobe. It's the sound she makes when my tongue first touches her clit. It's part giggle, part gasp. It's playful but if I keep playing it too long," she strummed up and down in a repetitive rhythm, "it becomes irritating." She stopped and handed the guitar back to me. "We need to vary the chords to make the music. You'd be a very dull lover if you only had one move."
I replaced my fingers on the strings to form the minor chord and then shifted them to make the other one she'd shown me. My fingers stuttered in between the transitions but I felt a sense of achievement: I was on my way to making music.
"Good!" Melissa squeezed both my knees while I kept on playing. "Let's add one more chord." She placed her hand over mine and positioned my fingers again, drawing my wrist further forward to help me reach the strings.
"Ow! That one hurts." My hand complained about the unfamiliar angles and I let go of the guitar.
Melissa laughed. "Don't give up on me now. This is the climax chord. You've taken me to the edge; are you going to stop before I come?" She took hold of my hand and put it back on the strings. "Play each chord four times. Make me want you. Tease me with your touch. Then really give it to me." She closed her eyes and placed her palms on the front of the guitar. "Let me feel it."
I ignored the burning sensation in my fingers and played the chords for her: four of each then back to the beginning. As my playing got smoother I saw Melissa begin to smile. "Yes," she whispered as I went around and around the tune.
I glanced at Melissa in between moving my fingers. She was swaying her body in time with my strumming and I could see her nipples hardening as they brushed up against the inside of her tank top. Her auburn curls had been twisted into a loose knot but most of them had escaped from the jaws of the hair clip she wore and now hung softly over her cheeks. Her lips were parted and, every so often, I saw the pink of her tongue wet them, making them glisten slightly. I wanted to kiss her.
A cramp shot through my forearm and I stopped playing. Melissa kept her eyes closed and her body continued to move in time with the silent music. Without the guitar to distract me, I suddenly became aware of my surroundings again: the tropical scent, the cluttered lounge, and the hard discomfort of the chair underneath me. I shifted slightly. Melissa slid her hands down off the body of the guitar and onto my thighs, her thumbs working a firm path towards my crotch. I quickly placed the guitar on the floor and stopped Melissa's hands with my own before they could go any further.
Melissa's descriptions of the chords had turned me on, and seeing her physically respond to the first-ever tune I'd played had stroked my ego. I'd pictured myself on that stage at the Wembley Arena: me and my Fender Stratocaster causing waves of lust from the appreciative audience; women wanting me to touch them with just as much passion as I poured into my playing. Then I thought of Ray's reaction to my new purchase and remembered this was me acting out my midlife crisis. "Melissa, I'm flattered, really, but I'm probably twice your age," I reluctantly told her.
"But that's the beautiful thing about music," she answered, opening her eyes and looking deep into mine, "it's timeless. A symphony written hundreds of years ago can be just as evocative as a song in the Top 10." She shifted towards me until she was sitting astride my lap.
"It starts with the yearning," she whispered and I felt her breath warm on my neck. She moved her hips over me and I felt my own rise to meet her. "Then with the teasing." Her teeth latched onto my earlobe and she sucked it into the warmth of her mouth. Her palms trailed over my breasts, seeking out my nipples and dancing lightly over them.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her tightly to me. God I wanted her. The vibrations from the guitar had seeped into me without me realising and had awoken my desire. My body was humming and I knew Melissa was feeling the same music deep in her core.
I ached for her fingers to press against me as they had against the guitar strings. For her to hold me close to her and play me with her expert strokes. But first I wanted to finish my tune.
I lifted her tank top from her torso and slipped it off over her head. She reached behind her to remove the hair clip, allowing the rest of her curls to drop onto her freckled shoulders. She began to hum the chords we'd played and I placed my hands flat on her ribs as she had done on the body of the guitar. I was feeling the sounds: not through my hands, but through my cunt.
My palms slid up over Melissa's ribs and made first contact with her breasts. She was small and my hands easily covered her, her nipples firm nubs pressing into my skin. I cupped my hands around her torso and stroked her nipples in slow circles with my thumbs. She made a new sound: soft moans that picked up the rhythm of my caresses in the same way her humming had kept pace with my strumming.
"We can go to my room," she offered, "it's comfier there."
She led me into a room filled with potted plants: they covered every surface and spilled out of baskets that hung from the ceiling. "My little bit of paradise," she explained, as she wriggled out of her jeans. She lay back on the bed and beckoned me to follow. "Let me teach you the chorus."
Emboldened by her confidence, I shrugged off my clothes and climbed onto the bed beside her. She picked up my hand and sucked two of my fingers into her mouth, her tongue swirling around them, tasting the metallic tang of the guitar strings that had left small imprints on my fingertips. Once she'd wetted my fingers to her liking, she guided my hand between her thighs and pressed my palm against her. "Go inside me," she instructed.
My sensitized fingertips easily found her entrance and slid smoothly into her heat. I moved inside her slowly, feeling the different textures: the places that gripped tightly and those which yielded to my touch. She opened up more and more for me as I explored her inner landscape, her slickness coating my fingers, her hips following my dance. I studied her reactions to my movements, noting the points where she stilled, and those where her responses became more urgent. I was learning how to play her and discovering the unique combination of notes that made her cunt sing.
Melissa reached down and added another layer to the music between her thighs: she strummed her clit in time with my playing. Her dextrous fingers made her swell and stiffen, her breathing quickened, her cunt squeezed rhythmically around me.
"Faster. Please."
I shifted the angle of my wrist, as I had done to play the 'climax' guitar chord Melissa had taught me earlier. I could fuck her more firmly now: big movements originating from my shoulder, working the muscles in my biceps and forearms, ending in precise finger-strokes that drew higher and higher pitched cries from Melissa.
She was exquisite. Uninhibited. A rare, tropical, flower blooming in her own garden of paradise. I watched her expression shift from concentration to awe as her pleasure engulfed her. She came loudly, her fingers pressed firmly against her clit, her other hand clamping mine in place to make sure I didn't leave her.
Her body continued to rock and undulate after her sounds had stopped, mimicking the way she'd continued to move even after my guitar playing had ceased. I watched her drink in all the sensations her body offered, noting the smile on her face and the way her throat moved each time she swallowed down more of her ecstasy.
By the time she stilled and opened her eyes, her smile was a grin and her expression revealed her desire to play some more. "You're good," she praised. "Now it's your turn."
She propped herself up so that her hair trailed over my breasts and stomach. Her silky curls tickled a path to my mound, every inch of their progress sending beseeching requests from my cunt.
"Yes, please, touch me there." The words were formed and spoken without my awareness. I heard them leave my mouth in the same way I heard Melissa's muffled responses; her lips kissing me in leisurely lines that reached closer and closer to my aching clit. I wound her curls around my fingers as she parted my labia and slowly drew a line with her tongue.
Her touch felt like silk draping over every contour of my cunt. She licked me delicately at first, teasing new sounds from me and encouraging my hips to part wider and raise higher. Then, just like she'd described her 'fuck me' chord, she pressed her tongue more firmly against me and my quiet, begging cries became a clear order.
Melissa shaped her tongue to penetrate me, alternately pushing inside my entrance and then withdrawing to suck and lick. She rolled my clit between her lips and then her teeth, drawing my flesh into a firm peak and then flattening it with her tongue in firm sweeps. She fucked me with her mouth, covering every part of my cunt with her saliva, and letting my juices soak her nose and chin.
She kept a tight grip on my hips as she feasted on me. My fingers stayed wound in her hair. It was all I could do to hold on and let her take me.
Just when it was all getting too much, she released her hold on me and reached for my nipples. She plucked them between her thumb and forefinger, setting a new rhythm and leading me in a new dance. Her mouth suctioned onto my clit and she began to hum our tune again. The vibrations penetrated me deeply: my whole body reverberated and my orgasm grew impossibly large.
Melissa's fingers gripped and pinched my nipples harder and her tongue glanced over my clit in swift strokes. My whole body trembled and I called out her name as I came, my voice trailing off with a long, exhaled 'ahh'.
She climbed her way back up my body and thrust her tongue into my mouth; I tasted myself on her lips and her breath and felt delicious aftershocks pulse through my cunt. She giggled through her kisses, obviously delighted and excited with the way our lesson had turned to lust.
I wanted to roll her into my arms and fall into a deeply satisfied slumber, but Melissa's youthful energy had other plans. She gave me one more kiss and then clambered over me and off of the bed, reaching for her jeans as she went. "We have to finish your lesson," she explained, "now, while the music is still inside you."
I watched her dress and grinned: forsaking the car for the guitar had definitely been the right decision.
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Well damn. *searches for guitar lessons*