The Neurologist and the Guitar

For her part, Indra was very pleased at what she saw. Ross would never be mistaken for a body-builder or gym-rat, but his physique was toned and smooth. Light brown wispy hair covered much of his chest and he had the sleek legs and full calves of a runner or, more likely she thought, a cyclist.

"Right back at you," she purred as she walked over to him. She tugged once at the bathsheet and let it fall to the ground, and then slowly raked her nails across his chest. Even in her heels she was a few inches shorter than Ross so she had to look up at him. She paused and let him get a look at her - her eyes, her lips, her hair. He'd never seen her so feminine and alluring and she wanted to make sure he got a good first look. This was the woman he'd be sharing this experience with. Not some supermodel or siren, but a very confident and sexy woman. She leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips - soft and lingering, letting the smell of her perfumed hair hover around him.

She broke the kiss, smiled, and took his hand. "Come, sit." She led him to the edge of the bed. Trying not to stare (much), Ross looked past Indra at the rack of guitars.

"That's quite a collection," he said. "I recognize the PRS you use with the band, a Telecaster, a Les Paul, and ... I have no idea what the acoustics are."

"You know your guitars," Indra said, genuinely impressed. "The two in the middle are nothing special, but the one on the end is a Paulino Bernabe Concert Classical - my baby."

"I didn't know you played classical," Ross said, his turn to be impressed.

"A little bit of everything," she smiled. "Let me demonstrate." Indra picked up the Paul Reed Smith electric at the end of the rack and plugged it in to a small practice amp. She turned the gain all the way up, adjusted the volume, and strummed a bone-crunching power chord with high distortion, but at a low enough volume that the neighbors wouldn't fuss. She then started strumming a rapid-fire rhythm line, as much percussive as musical, that sounded like the first 20 seconds of half the metal songs in history.

Ross was impressed with her speed and skill, and was getting very turned on watching this mostly naked woman shred her guitar.

She stopped, turned off the amp, and returned the guitar to the rack. "That was us," she started. "When we met ... when we fucked in the bathroom at the club, that was us. A blur of action, driving rhythm, with a precise cadence, and deeply satisfying backbone. We were heavy metal. And metal is fun. That's why I love to play in the band."

She walked over and picked up the classical guitar, delicately cradling it in her hands. "But this guitar is not for fun. This is art. Not just the instrument, but the music it bestows. It is precision and delicacy. The emotion of single haunting notes, and dizzying runs quicker than the eye can follow. Strength and muscle memory. Power with a gentle touch. The space between the notes, the pauses heavy with anticipation, followed by the warm and familiar resolution."

She began to play. The song was familiar - Ross was sure he'd heard it but could not place the name or composer. After a flourish she stopped, then began again, with the unmistakable lilt of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. She played for ten minutes and Ross was transfixed. The music filled the small room, and his senses were overwhelmed. Watching Indra's delicate fingers dancing over the guitar, coaxing such painfully sweet sounds from it, her eyes closed in rapturous reverie.

When at last she stopped and opened her eyes, Ross was staring at her. Admiringly and longingly. He could not imagine anyone ever being more attractive to him than she was at that moment. Which, of course, is what Indra was aiming for. She didn't want him to fall in love, she wanted his desire and in that she had succeeded.

Ross resisted the urge to clap - it seemed inappropriate at that moment. Indra stood up and replaced the guitar in its spot on the rack. She walked back to the bed, tipped Ross' head up slightly and kissed him again, gently. "That is what tonight is all about. You experienced heavy metal. Tonight, we share classical." With that she shed the robe from her shoulders and stood before him naked. She placed a pillow on the edge of the bed and motioned for him to sit on it. "Lay back, feet on the floor." She guided him to a position where his back was on the bed, holding his weight, and placed a pillow below his head. "For this to work, you need to trust me completely." She didn't wait for a reply - she knew he would let her do almost anything.

She positioned herself on the floor between his legs making sure not to touch any part of him.

"Here are the rules: say nothing. Do nothing. Watch everything. And, under no circumstances are you to move a single muscle." There was no explanation of what would happen if he broke the rules but he guessed he would regret it.

Indra reached out and placed the tips of her fingernails on Ross' stomach. Slowly, she dragged the nails down across his waist and over the top of his legs. She repeated this several times, each time letting her fingertips wander closer and closer to his groin. He moaned contentedly but softly, hoping that moaning didn't break Indra's "say nothing" rule. The path of her nails finally passed through the crease between his inner thigh and groin, the top of her finger just grazing his ball sac. She removed her hands and waited for an agonizing few seconds, then placed her fingertips below his balls, lifting gently, pressing each finger one by one against the sensitive skin, as if drumming her fingers. Tiny movements meant to focus his attention on a single location on his body. After a minute of the gentle finger taps, she cradled his balls in her hand and remained still. She watched, pleased but not surprised, that the lack of motion and the soothing comfort of a warm hand on his balls caused Ross' erection to begin.

From his angle, all Ross could see was Indra's face gazing down at his cock and balls, with a look of focus and wonder. For her, it never got old, watching the reactions, feeling the tiny tremors in a man's muscles as she deftly stimulated the many delicious hot buttons on his body. She licked her lips involuntarily, which elicited another moan from Ross. Indra smiled.

With one hand still cradling his sac, she touched his perineum with the tips of her cream-colored nails, scratching teasingly. Ross shivered. His hard-on continued to swell. After a couple of minutes of the light scratching, Indra pulled back her hand and proceeded to lick her fingertips. She used the wet fingers to start a gentle massage of his balls. She wet the fingertips of her other hand and placed the tip of her index finger at the very edge of Ross' hole. She felt him tense up momentarily.

"Do you know how many nerve endings there are in and around your anus, Ross, begging for attention? Tens of thousands. And for most men they remain starved of that attention." She began circling his hole with her fingertip. "But it is so easy to rectify that." A second finger joined the first. "A little trust." The index finger moved inside the outer edge. "And a willing partner."

Suddenly, the fingers were gone. Ross lay quietly, very aware that he was no longer being touched. And then he felt it. Indra had slid herself down, careful not to touch him, extended her tongue, and touched the rim of his hole. She held it there for a moment, letting Ross' brain try to process the sensation. She didn't know if he had ever been rimmed before - he hadn't - but she thought it was best to proceed slowly and cautiously. And if he had been rimmed before, well, it hadn't been by her.

She began to slowly swish her tongue around the perimeter of his hole, letting him feel the texture of her tongue, the slight pressure, and the luscious wetness. He moaned again and she took that as her cue to keep going. She made slow lazy circles, changing directions occasionally, saturating him with her saliva, and waking up nerves that had never felt such a tender and erotic touch.

Then the penetration began. First barely the tip crossed the imaginary line between rim and chute. In and out, a fraction of an inch, letting him acclimate. Then more of her tongue poked inside. She started a slow languorous rhythm, lapping lightly then retreating. She'd pause, reverting attention back to the rim, then back inside, slightly deeper. Back and forth, each time pushing her tongue deeper and deeper.

"I've made a man cum just from doing this," Indra whispered between licks. "Not today, though." The unspoken promise of more pleasures to come made Ross sigh. He was resisting the urge to squirm, to press against her tongue. He'd never imagined he'd enjoy this, but now he couldn't imagine life without it.

Indra's tongue worship continued for a good five minutes, and Ross' hole was soaking wet. She paused and whispered, "Take a deep breath." He did. And she slowly inserted her middle finger inside him. He twitched involuntarily, clenching around her finger, then took another longer deeper breath and willed himself to relax. "Good," she purred. Deeper she went, careful not to irritate the sensitive membranes with her fingernail. Again she paused, then began a very light tapping, three beats - tap, tap, tap - against the wall between his anus and his prostate.

Most men had only felt a finger on their prostate gland when a doctor was examining them, which was anything but pleasurable. This was tender and soothing. And oh-so hot. As with her rimming, Indra was taking great care that the only point of contact between her and Ross was the single finger positioned inside him, tapping. Once she was sure that he had adjusted to the direct stimulation, she smiled to herself and thought, the solo is ending - let the harmony begin.

Without changing the cadence of her fingertip, Indra began to lap at Ross's ball sac. Her tongue started just above her finger and slithered up to the base of his cock; first up the center, then up the left side, then the right, working her way all the way around. She paused between each stroke to make sure her tongue was good and wet - she was bathing his balls in warm slick wetness.

Ross was in heaven. Never had something felt so relaxing and arousing at the same time. Never had his cock felt so engorged, and it hadn't been touched at all. Yet.

Once Ross' balls were sopping wet, Indra's tongue made its way up the underside of his cock, once again agonizingly slowly. She stopped before reaching the head, then reversed her path to the base. She had to press against the shaft to ensure contact - his cock was swaying with each pulse of his heartbeat. After a few more licks up and down, she let her tongue come to rest on the trigger spot below his frenulum, and with just the tip she initiated a soft swishing massage in that single spot. At the same moment, she shifted the angle of her hand slightly so that with her finger still rubbing his prostate gland, the heel of her hand was cradling his balls, ever so softly pushing against them.

Ross was breathing heavily, slow and deep, his eyes riveted on Indra's face and tongue. How could so little contact be driving him so crazy. He recalled Indra's words from just a few minutes earlier (although it felt like a lifetime): precision and delicacy, the space between the notes, pauses heavy with anticipation. This is what she meant.

Indra could feel Ross' balls contracting, a sure sign that he was getting close to exploding. Indra began the final verse of her opus. With her free hand, she reached beneath the bed and grabbed the tube of gloss. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly slathered layer after layer onto her lipsticked lips. When she was done, they glistened invitingly. She extended her tongue again and resumed lapping at his hot spot below the crown. Then she paused and, forming her lips into a shiny wet irresistible "o", blew on the spot she'd been licking. The visual of her sexy mouth combined with the warmth of her breath on the tiny damp spot sent shivers through Ross' body. She repeated it several times, never breaking eye contact.

He was close. She knew it. His balls were tightening and his sphincter was beginning to pulse and clench involuntarily. She lived for this - the look of rapture, the responses of his body from her well-understood and well-practiced treatment. He was teetering on the edge.

With her lips still in the "o" pose, she leaned up then lowered her lips, letting the head of his cock gently push them apart, letting him feel their slick stickiness while enjoying the visual of his cockhead vanishing into her beautiful glossy mouth. She took only the tip, pressing firmly, lips clamped tight. And then she started the suction. Her cheeks caved in and she felt him swell slightly in her mouth. She briefly stopped sucking, swished her tongue around his head until she felt it stop expanding, then resumed. She wondered how long Ross could stay relaxed and endure this dizzying cycle of pleasure and denial. She gave him a lot of credit for staying motionless thus far. Other men with whom she had shared this experience had tried to thrust into her mouth, to hurry the release they craved. For those men, she pulled her mouth off and with a couple of quick strokes let them cum all over their chest. They didn't mind - for them it was the greatest experience they'd ever had. But Indra knew there could have been more.

For Ross, there was more. Indra sucked and she felt a shift beneath her hand, his balls rapidly contracting. She pressed with the heel of her hand while pushing her fingertip against his gland, maintaining the suction. She slowly winked at Ross, her sexy lashes waving like a tiny feather duster.

He exploded. Indra was careful to hold him with just her lips, still pressing firmly - an accidental encounter with her teeth would have spoiled the mood quickly. His cock twitched convulsively and, with the added assistance of Indra's finger and hand, a torrent of cum erupted through his cock and into Indra's suckling mouth. She gulped as quickly as she could, not wanting to break the seal of her lips, and not wanting to spill a drop. Feeling his seed pour into her mouth was a sensory treat for her - the smell, the taste, the sexy sensation of each spurt landing against the roof of her mouth or the back of her throat, the sound of him groaning blissfully. She was pleasantly surprised by the sheer volume with which he was flooding her mouth. This poor man hasn't cum in a while, she thought. Once he knew we were going to "hook-up" as he called it, he probably made sure he didn't touch himself. Smart man. Kudos.

Indra's lips and hand prolonged Ross' orgasm, while she took her free hand and, with a single fingertip softly stroked the base of his cock, all combining to drain him as much as she could. She knew that "sucking a man dry" was a myth but milking his prostate and balls as part of climax was uniquely satisfying. She also knew that the time between bliss and hyper-sensitivity of a cock was lightning fast, so when she felt his convulsions start to subside, she reduced the suction and eased off the pressure between his legs. She held him between her lips as he began to soften, trickles spilling out as he deflated - not as tasty as the sperm-laden fluid, but all part of the experience for Indra, and she knew that Ross was in no hurry to leave the warmth and comfort of her mouth.

Neither spoke. Ross had no words for what he'd just felt and Indra was privately reveling in her handiwork and the satisfaction it provided. She felt fulfilled and powerful, the master of primal forces. The look of awe and pleasure on Ross' face would stay with her as she pleasured herself after Ross left. She didn't want to hurry him, but she also felt her own need for release. And as cooperative and talented as Ross appeared to be, she didn't want to spoil this experience by allowing anyone but herself to get her off.

There was a pang of regret. It would be great to just let herself lie back and allow someone to do to her what she'd done to Ross. But that would require a level of familiarity and practice so that her partner could provide pleasure at the same level of proficiency as she could for herself. Quality over quantity.

But Indra's was a lifestyle driven by precision and practice. Relationships were messy. Maybe the way she approached sex was impersonal and self-serving, but she was providing such profound encounters for her partners that she didn't feel like anyone was suffering.

After a polite period of time, Indra got up, put her robe back on, and retired to the bathroom. When she emerged, her lipstick and eye makeup had been removed and she had brushed her teeth. Ross had been waiting for her, still laying back on the bed, imagining what might come next and summoning every ounce of stamina and imagination he could muster. There was no way, he thought, that he could come close to matching the performance he'd just experienced, but what he lacked in technique (and technical knowledge of anatomy) he planned to make up for in enthusiasm.

Indra was hoping he'd be sitting up when she returned but was not surprised to find him reclining. He's either still basking in the afterglow or waiting for the proverbial next round that was going to come. Indra sat on the side of the bed and said, "Thank you. I really enjoyed that and judging by your reactions, I believe you did too."

"Oh my god," Ross began, "you are amazing. I never imagined anything like that was possible. My body is still tingling."

"That's sweet of you to say. And I'm glad, really." There was an awkward pause, and then Ross reached up to touch Indra's shoulder. She immediately stood up, out of reach of Ross' hand.

Confused, Ross said, "So, what would you like me to ..."

"Nothing, Ross. Thank you, but that was more than satisfying for me."

"But, I ..."

"Really, there's no need to worry. It's not like we're keeping score of anything. What I shared with you just now nourishes me more than you can imagine. Don't feel like just because you came in my mouth you now have to get me off. If that's what I wanted, trust me, I would tell you. I'm not shy about what I want."

No, you're not, Ross thought to himself. He really had no idea what he was supposed to feel. He had just had the single greatest sexual experience of his life, in which he was a completely passive participant. And his offer to reciprocate was politely but unequivocally declined. Did he feel satisfied? Insulted? Fortunate? Hurt? Used? All and none of those things.

He decided he felt sad. Sad for himself because he didn't get the opportunity to provide her some physical gratification. At least at the Club, she seemed to enjoy riding his cock and the way he touched her. Sad for Indra because she was missing out on the best he could offer, regardless of whether it paled by comparison to her skills.

It dawned on him that, above all, she was honest. She said that this encounter was classical guitar. She played him as an instrument, with dizzying skill. This could have been just about anyone with a dick, he thought to himself.

"Thank you," he said softly, and headed to the guest bathroom to dress. When he came out, Indra had dressed herself in her t-shirt and sweats again. The fantasy was over - it only lasted as long as she performed.

"Thank you," she replied. Ross went to the door and opened it. He couldn't tell if Indra was making any move toward him for a kiss, a hug, a touch of her hand, and he didn't wait to find out, lest he be disappointed by its absence. He drove home, poured himself a large glass of bourbon and sat in the dark, trying to relive the ecstasy in his mind, always arriving at the abrupt and cold ending.

Indra, on the other hand, lit several candles, turned down the lights, and grabbed her vibrator. She teased herself mercilessly for 20 minutes before plunging it inside her dripping pussy and let out a feral moan as she climaxed a minute later. She repeated this twice more, and then for good measure, put the vibrator aside and plunged her pretty painted fingers inside while rubbing her clit furiously. She came and was utterly spent. She fell asleep on top of her sheets and awoke the next morning at 5:30AM, as she did every day since she was eighteen years old.