Symphony of the Senses - Prelude

This is the beginning of a long story in several parts, about a young professional musician's sexual adventures as he travels across Europe.

Originally written in French, I am now translating it and adapting it to English, and will continue writing from there.

I hope some of you will follow him on this musical-erotic journey.

Symphony of the senses

Prelude

It was a warm day of June, the sun brightly shone, only barely covered at times by lazy and immaculately white little clouds steered by a very light breeze; a breeze just refreshing enough to ease the heaviness of the heat, and that also eased the heaviness of garments as it gently lifted the hems of the already short skirts and sundresses, revealing a little more of the Parisian passers-by, who feigned with a slight but satisfied smirk to ignore the indiscreet gaze of the men who crossed their path. In short: a perfect day to loiter on a terrasse while sipping an iced coffee.

A pair of never-ending legs appeared before my eyes, topped with a checkered skirt that was perhaps a bit too short, and assuredly too billowing: one easily distinguished the bottom curve of two perfectly round hills. Had I been paying attention, I could have guessed the colour of the charming lady's underwear, or more accurately the absence of colour, since she wasn't wearing any. But I was absent from this reality, lost in the meanders of my thoughts, feeling both a heavy nostalgia and a calm excitement for the weeks to come.

* * * * *

Completely knocked-out and still asleep, I could not localize the source of this comfort filling my being. A warmth was gently flowing through my motionless body; a sweetly enveloping sensation, like if I were plunged whole in a bath of lukewarm English cream. My senses very slowly awakening, I could now perceive that this warm wetness that surrounded me was, in fact, only surrounding a part of me. Out of my dreams emerged the fresh memories of my short but busy night, where Mary and I had become, for a few hours, orgasm after orgasm, a toy at the service of the other; she, lips, breasts, ass; I, tongue, hands, cock. I had been for that time a fuck-machine, a pile-driver, a live vibrator that she could use as she wanted in every position, every angle; she, an insatiable sucking mouth that milked me by shoving me deep in her throat until she gagged, a hot cave glistening with wetness that I could plow at will, a body to be possessed, shaken like a rag-doll, each of my deep and powerful thrusts causing a scream that tore the fabric of the night.

The ending had been particularly happy. For the very first time, she had asked me to enter her tight backdoor, ultimate offering and total abandon. By fear of hurting her, my assaults had become much softer. She did not agree, and had made it clear that she was very much in a bestial mood, and there was no need to take it easy on her. I had rapidly felt my excitement grow (not unlike this strange warmth now taking over me, growing slowly but surely), as I followed her desires, clawing at her back and biting her shoulders as I fucked her cute ass. Struck down by a devastating orgasm, I had long emptied myself in her, flooding her tight passage. We had immediately fallen asleep, at last satiated and fulfilled.

This dream and memory was decidedly exciting me to the highest degree, as I could now feel the strength and intensity of my erection, which yet seemed to still gain power. I suddenly identified the source of this warmth and well-being: my sex was being sucked into a hot and wet cavity. The dream was a symptom of my excitement and not its cause: something or someone caressed me, in a most enjoyable way. My pleasure was boiling over, and I was coming to my senses at high speed. Everything happened in a blink. I opened my eyes, and saw two things: first, Mary's intense gaze directly into mine, lit by a flash of satisfaction from seeing me waking up, and second, my cock tightly held deep in her lovely mouth. I came instantly, splashing her palate and her throat. She swallowed everything to the last drop with a mischievous smile.

With all this, I'm almost forgetting my good manners! I should introduce myself: Thomas. I will skip describing my physique, detail of little interest (and you can well imagine me how you wish!), and moreover of little importance to who I am. What is more important: I am above all a being of passions. First, as you might have noticed, I very much enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. But I also, as the title of this story suggests, have an inextinguishable fascination and passion for music. At 27 years old, I am a composer and percussionist. After graduating with a composition degree from an East Coast conservatory, I am now finishing studies in musicology; my passion is indeed not just for music, but also for history. It is often said that Europe is time, and North America is space. Maybe having grown up in this land of large open spaces and of little recorded history explains my fascination for the "Old World" and of things of the past, which there are ubiquitous.

We shall see little of her in these pages, but if you must know...Mary is a cute and short brunette, all in soft curves, with nicely shaped if not large breasts, and wide hips underlined by a well rounded bottom. She is my girlfriend. Well...ex-girlfriend. We had a nice story, albeit too short and with a somewhat abrupt end. On this note, I wish not to bore you, so enjoy the read!

I woke up once more, sweet Mary sleeping face down, my arm around her. We had dozed off in an embrace after she had offered me this amazing treat. I was suddenly taken over by grief when thinking of what must then happen, shaken by the inevitability of the looming end. I marvelled one last time at her beauty, watching her smile in her contented slumber. I kissed her softly, my fingers gently tracing the light but visible marks left on her back the previous night by my nails and teeth. My own back must too have been adorned with such stripes. I smiled thinking of our wild ride. I would not soon forget this night where nothing had interrupted our quest for pleasure. These thoughts stirred my desire once more, despite all the action of the last few hours. I left my lover's lips and covered her cute face with light kisses, exploring her little rounded nose, her closed eyelids, her rosy cheeks, starting a very slow journey, kissing her ears, then her neck, her shoulders, her arms. I lingered on the warm, soft palms of her hands before moving to her back, long resting my head in the pronounced arch.

Taking up the journey again, I accompanied my kisses with the lightest touch, and caresses more and more sensual moving inexorably closer to her sensitive areas. I was nibbling at her round bottom and brushing against her inner thighs, dangerously nearing her core, when I felt a slight tremor, sign that Mary had just left the world of dreams to join me in her bed. She did not let it show however, probably preferring to enjoy and let me take the lead. When my fingers reached her slit, I found out just how much effect my kisses and caresses had had. I dared slip the tip of a finger inside her. Trembling. My finger pushed further, while another neared her button, already out of its cap. Sigh. A second finger joined the first, and my attentions grew more precise, bolder. My other hand took over from my mouth to caress the two beautiful half spheres I had still been nibbling on. My tongue dipped instead slowly into the valley, until it grazed against the tight, wrinkled hole. Moan. On the front, my fingers were more and more active, now three probing Mary's boiling core, and my thumb rubbing the erect bud. On the back, I was now frankly eating the forbidden fruit, my tongue teasing her, sometimes leaving place to an adventurous finger that went in to the first, then to the second knuckle. My sweetheart was now breathing heavily, but remained still. It's strange how sometimes the little things make all the difference: thus stimulated from all sides, it's when my teeth bit into her right cheek that Mary flew off, shaking, silent in her climax.

We made love again. It had nothing to do with the previous night anymore. Never had I known such tenderness, such calm. Our embrace was slow, soft, and from beginning to end, our gazes stayed locked into one another. We knew it was the last time.

* * * * *

Still lost in thoughts, I looked without seeing them at the two long legs and the checkered-skirt-with-nothing-underneath move away. Already 24 hours had passed since I had left a teary-eyed Marie. One last kiss where our lips had joined firmly, longingly, as if to carve in us the memory of the texture, taste, shape of the other's mouth. We were yet prepared. We knew our story was to end abruptly: Mary had just graduated in forest management. Jobs in that domain being obviously rare in the city, as are those for a musician in the countryside. Neither of us thought a long-term long-distance relationship could work. I was leaving for Europe for the summer. When I should return, Mary would already have left for Alaska, where she had found the job of her dreams. We were thus splitting despite ourselves, but conscious that life had simply decided otherwise, and conscious as well that both of us were about to live incredible, life-defining moments.

I had therefore left and met the others at the airport. Oh! I forgot! The purpose of my travels was this: a tour of Europe with a young-professional training orchestra, of which I was the timpanist, followed by a composition workshop in Rome. Between those, I had two weeks to travel at my will, and I planned to take the opportunity to visit a few major libraries, archives and other monastery crypts to further my musicological research.