Like an Instrument

Import/export is a very lucrative business. One can make huge profits from getting goods abroad and into the country. I am one such.

The goods I am talking about may be called "testacles." You see, I am a highly educated married woman, in the music industry; I coach young and old in various instruments and voice. Lately I have been involved in internet marketing too. One day, year before last, I contacted a man of my age back in the old country where I grew up. I was not all that hopeful that he would be interested, chiefly because internet access back there may not be up to standard. Indeed, he responded well but fell silent for a month afterwards. I said to myself, "You see, he does not have proper access to the Internet."

Then he seemed to wake up suddenly. He started following my lessons avidly and working at the tasks I set out for him, demolishing my theory about bad internet service. I kept sending him encouraging emails, cyber-gifts and motivation. In one such conversation via a chat agent, he also told me of his involvement in the choir I used to lead in his town. That year he was the chief soloist in their Christmas Carols Concert. I asked him to make sure he sent me a recording by WhatsApp, which he promptly did. I watched it over and over again, getting more sexually aroused each time.

I could not understand my body's reactions. I had never experienced anything like it. To play it down I said to him, "This is marvellous, Dave! Did you do voice training at some point?"

"I just wish I could! They run lessons at the Conservatoire, but they cost far too much! Very few can afford them," he replied. I could almost feel the despair in his voice.

"Have you ever thought of seeking such training elsewhere?" I gently prodded him.

"Oh, yes! I dream of coming to a country such as yours, for I am sure that voice training is not an odd skill for which trainers feel free to charge exorbitantly, as they do here."

I began exploring ways of bringing him over to this country so that I could coach him musically, as well as in the internet business. I could see we could both benefit greatly working together. Little did I realize it would almost bring my marriage to ruin.

That is how became an import agent, although some uncharitable types may term it 'people trafficking'. Alright, I sent him a series of emails detailing how he should apply for a passport. (Fortunately I still remembered the name of the building and office to which he should report.) He sent me a picture of the requirements, documentary and fiscal, which I fulfilled.

The next step was to obtain an entry visa into this country. (There was a time not too long ago when one did not need one; it was only a question of presenting oneself with one's passport at the airport). There were requirements here too, documents of which he sent me pictures. I had the capacity to fulfill those as well, thank God! Once he had obtained that, he sent me a pic of the visa on his passport.

"Why do you feel that you have to give me pictorial evidence? Do you think I do not trust you, Dave?" I asked him by WhatsApp.

"I repent," he replied cheekily. Both of us knew the only thing remaining now was obtaining the plane ticket, which I would do here. I presented the details to the airline, as well as to Dave, so that he could embark at the airport without hassle. So far my 'trafficking' was going along petty well.

For some strange reason I found myself trembling at the very thought of having Dave here in the same city as I was, so many years after I had left my country of origin. The idea had been that I would take my doctorate in music here and return home. But wonder of wonders, I met a mature man who was the pastor of a large church. We were immediately attracted to each other and before long were making wedding arrangements.

I had been married to Samuel, at that point, for fifteen years, which made it really strange that my body would behave in this unfamiliar fashion every time I thought of Dave's coming. Samuel only knew that Dave was coming to further his musical studies. That I would be his coach would only seem natural; he would merely be one of my many students. I hoped it would be nothing more than that, though my mind and body were indicating something else altogether!

Dave arrived on a cold, blustery February morning on board a British Airways flight. Guessing that he had no idea of winter cold, although I had told him to make sure he dressed warm, I still carried an overcoat just in case. Which turned out to be fortuitous, for Dave had indeed dressed warm, but for African cold, not British winter cold. He had a V-neck pullover under his suit jacket, which would have been fine. By the time he came through after customs and immigration checks, he was trembling visibly with cold.

Fifteen years had not changed him much. I picked him out among the crowd of arrivals with ease. Apparently he spotted me without difficulty, for he was smiling widely by the time he came through the doors. We fell upon each other in bear hugs, full of joy of seeing each other after so long.

"Dave! I can hardly believe its you!"

"Jess, you hardly change at all. Does time have no effect on you?" He pulled himself a little away from my face to stare at me. I saw a man who looked very much like I had last seen him in another time, another place. He had a few grey wisps in his hair and beard but nothing more seemed to have changed. He pulled me close again and I felt the strength of his body. When we released each other I could feel a tingling in my pussy. 'What? Have I never hugged anything male in my life? Why do I feel this way now?' I asked myself.

Hoping he had noticed nothing I told him, "This way please!" as I took one of his bags and headed to the parking and my car.

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"You get off the Tube at Piccadilly Circus, and walk up Regent Street. The address I wrote for you is just before you get to the junction with Conduit Street," I told Dave before ending the call. After barely a week and a half he had become used to the transport system of London, so I was fairly confident he would be able to conduct himself to my studio.

We had started with breathing techniques, where I found that he had the greatest trouble. He told me that on some hymns he found it difficult to finish a line without needing to snatch a small breath. This had its numerous problems, to which we paid a lot of attention. I planned to start him on my "Piano Mastery in 60 days" course when I found he already knew his way about the keyboard, and also had quite a bit of history on the development of piano.

In fact he had a lot of music theory but it was a mishmash without any connecting thread between all the various parts. He told me he wanted "music to make sense" to him. "You already know enough to take a degree in music. You will have a firm grasp of the whole musical picture in a very short time. By the time I am finished with you, you will be a master."

Every time he sang his voice affected me powerfully. The reaction I had when I heard the recording he sent me some months before returned with renewed vigour. It made me so sexually aroused that some sessions ended with me trembling with lust. Samuel would ask me at night what had gotten into me because our lovemaking would take on a wholly different quality. I was wetter than normal and wanted him to keep going even after I had come. When the memory of Dave's voice, or anything about him came to my mind, I moved my hips with greater power than Samuel had ever felt. I came to orgasm faster and more powerfully. Of course I could not tell my pastor husband what was going through my mind at the time when he was fucking me.

This added enjoyment brought us closer together again and by all standards should have stopped my naughty thoughts. I wondered how I would survive the week when he would be in Uganda for mission work. If he suspected I had these strong feelings for another man, albeit unformed, he would have much trouble about going on this mission. But it had been planned for more than nine months and involved a large team at our church and that in distant Uganda.

I frequently would be on the verge of telling Dave how he was affecting lovemaking with my Reverend husband, but always drew back at the last moment, dragging myself back to the business at hand. I could feel, however that something was bound to give way at some point and I was powerless against that tide. It was like I was in the grip of some demon who would not let me go.

*****************

I had tried to be as normal as possible in the days before Samuel and his team left, and also the first two days after they did. This evening, Dave's session was the last one of the day. As we wound up, he played a scale so smoothly, making me so proud of the progress he had made that tears came to the corners of my eyes. He looked up as he finished and in a very concerned voice asked me, "What is the matter, Upline?" He stood up and came towards me.

"I am alright, don't worry!" wiping my eyes carefully so as not to smudge my makeup.

"Are you lonely already?" By this time he was holding me, resting my head on his chest. For some reason, my tears flowed more freely than before, causing him to be more concerned. He patted and rubbed me all over my back. Somewhere along the way, my tears of joy had become those of the enormous strain I had undergone trying to appear normal to both my husband and my 'imported' student and friend. Something seemed to snap in me and I held Dave almost with desperation. My bottled-up lust blew up in my and Dave's face. I brought my face to his and kissed him almost as if I wanted to consume him. He repaid me in the same coin, driving us both beyond reasonable limits.

Before I could bring sense and awareness of my position as the highly respected wife of the Reverend Samuel Upton to bear on our situation, I was pulling at his trousers. Soon my fingers located his upright cock, massaging it through his clothing. Impatience forced me to unzip him and pull trouser and underwear down his legs. On my haunches, I licked the head of his cock, bringing a moan from his throat. He placed a hand on my head steadying me. But now in the full grip of my fleshly desires I wanted the whole cock inside my mouth. Samuel had never had any appetite for fellatio, so if you had asked me at that moment where I had learnt that, I would have been hard pressed to supply you with any answer.

We struck a rhythm with him thrusting into my mouth and me sucking him. But I wanted more. I stood up, letting Dave pull my skirt and panty off me. He positioned me on an old sofa in the corner, holding my legs lewdly open.

"Spear me with that weapon, Darling!" My own words shocked me that I had called a man other than my husband those endearing words! Like any Masai warrior worth his salt he did exactly as bidden. I felt his cock opening me up inch by delicious inch. He began to move inside pulling his cock almost all the way out then driving insistently back in up to the hilt. This time I did not need to fantasise or imagine anything. I had the genuine article. I hit my first orgasm in short order with a 'shout like an archangel'. He slowed down for allow me to be consumed by my orgasm.

But he resumed as soon as I had spent myself, sending me up the ladder again. He bent and sucked my nipple into his warm mouth, sending me spiralling into a powerful climax again.

"Take that! Revenge is sweet!" he said. "If you thought you had got away with making my life so sweet, you were so wrong!" I sucked his cock into my mouth again, tasting myself on him. He too shot off with great speed all over my face. I only caught a little of his offering in my mouth.

We did not want to end this banquet but the cold would soon get to us so we had to bring it to a reluctant conclusion. I got home with my body in a sexual buzz. That night I did not miss Samuel as much as the previous two nights. Naturally!

As I changed into my nightclothes, I felt my pussy imbued with a strange warmth I had never experienced before. Also my clit was pulsing as if my heart had moved house there.