The Cat and the Fiddle

'My Fiddle is about to become a First Violin at last, a Stradivarius,' he grinned down at her, licking his tongue across her breasts, along her neck. 'I will make you sing. I will play a symphony on your soul, make a rhapsody of your body.'

'Oh yes! Please do, Maestro!' Karen begged.

'But will it be allegro or andante?' he asked. 'Would you like it quick or slow?'

'Allegro, Maestro! Allegro con brio!' she pleaded, and he laughed, a deep belly laugh.

'Then slow it shall be!' he said, to deny her and tease her a little while longer, and he rested a hand to either side of her, supporting himself on his powerful arms as he lifted his hips and slowly pulled out of her. 'Slowly, but with feeling.'

He pulled back until there was just the tip of his cock inside her, held it there, his body as still as a statue, his biceps bulging but not betraying so much as a tremor as they bore his weight.

'We play as a concert violinist rather than a gypsy fiddler,' he told her, as he began to enter her again, moving with an agonising slowness. 'We play with feeling rather than frenzy, verve rather than vigour, love rather than lust.'

Love? Could he have meant that? Karen hoped so, for love was what she felt for the Maestro, despite the pain he had caused her, and if she lifted her hips slightly to meet him it was to offer herself to him now, rather than to demand him.

Intuitively he seemed to understand this, for his slow thrust forced himself deep inside her and there he held his cock, touching the roof of her cunt, touching her heart and stirring her spirit. And when he lowered his face to hers to kiss her it seemed that he was sucking out her soul.

'A touch more? Now?' he asked, taking his lips from hers, slipping his tongue from her mouth.

'Slowly we will build to our crescendo, if it pleases Maestro,' said Karen, and felt him begin to move rhythmically inside her.

'The Entrance of the Kalendar Prince!' laughed the Maestro.