funny_herman | [timed to some weeks before christmas]

[timed to some weeks before christmas]

It was that time of the day when the Kit Kat Klub was at its emptiest and quietest, like a cold mausoleum containing the remnants of the revelries from the previous night. The only source of warmth and light that remained in it, though, was Herman, steadfastly working on musical arrangements to occupy his long hours of (mostly) solitude until evening.

As he worked away, wayward thoughts inevitably seeped in, his concentration becoming misty at the edges until a dense fog forced him to put his pencil down and stop what he was doing. He blamed himself for this relapse into semi-hermitism. If he would only relax and not keep to himself so much, this sort of thing would probably be easier to handle.

Those dreams about Fritzie had been waking him up again lately. They weren't unpleasant -- far, far from it -- but he could never seem to finish them without waking up. He wondered why they always ended so abruptly before the climax, and so he would have to finish the job himself. It was beginning to annoy him, in a petty, amusing way.

This is what he was contemplating at the piano instead of writing music, replaying dreams in his head and creating happy endings.

Quite engrossing.

[OOC: Plotlocked for Fritzie.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She chuckles quietly, her ankle digging into the soft cheek of his ass. "My one regret is that I couldn't come to you on the half-shell," she teases, her teeth scraping at his lips. Every cell tenses in anticipation and...

Fritzie has been through this process countless times before, sometimes pleasurable, sometimes not, sometimes too dull to even bother recalling. This time, she decides, crying out with exultant surprise as Herman's cock finds her clit and then slides smoothly inside her, would definitely fall behind door #1. Some indeterminate part of the piano is wedged into her back, and a sheet of paper drifts down over her shin, the sensation oddly, wonderfully erotic. Her arms release his neck only to grasp at his back, her hands following the bend of his spine, the bulging and relaxing of every muscle. He's utterly magnificent and, for the moment, hers. She flexes tightly around him and purrs.

Her body -- so new to him, yet familiar. Being inside her -- different, yet comfortable. But the way she reacts, the way she uses her body around him -- unlike anything he's experienced before. The lower notes of his moan are nearly lost in her cry, but still in harmony with it, as their voices strike a chord together.

Both of his hands grasp her slender waist, his thumbs almost meeting at her navel, and holds her securely against the piano. With his upper body bent over hers, he pushes deeper inside her with firm, controlled thrusts of his hips, as regular and rhythmic as a conductor beating out a tempo, following the course of an unheard melody as it gradually swells and intensifies, or falls back into a rocking, soothing lull.

All the while, his lips touch hers. Not in kisses -- just touching, whenever the movement of their bodies bring their mouths close together, then apart, then close again. He breathes in her breaths, watching her face from under pale eyelashes, lost in the pure ecstasy of finally, finally, finally being able to fuck her like he'd always wanted to...

Rarely has Fritzie ever allowed herself to relax during sex, to remain almost completely passive, to truly be fucked. But Herman's large, elegant hands around her waist are so compelling, his grip simultaneously firm and yielding, that the thought of rejecting this in favor of roughly asserting herself over him never so much as hints at crossing her mind.

Far from sedentary though, his musical moan drives her to continue squeezing around him with every thrust. As he pushes further inside her, this results in his shaft sliding repeatedly against sensitive areas of her clutching, rippling flesh, until her thighs are shaking and she's gasping heavily into his mouth. Her leg moves higher up around his hip, her foot climbing up to the small of his back, to improve the angle, until it's so intense her fingers convulsively grab at the skin of his shoulders.

Needing to feel the rough sensation of her nipples dragging across his chest as he rocks rhythmically over her, she arches her back sharply with a throaty, "Ja!"

--To which he responds with a wordless groan that's just as deliriously enthusiastic, her flesh flexing around his cock as if her body wanted to devour him. So he reaches deeper inside, his hips moving in a slow, circular gyration, willingly giving as much of himself as he can to fill her.

He leans in further with each thrust, the tensed muscles in his chest pressing against her soft breasts, her pebbled nipples dragging sensuously over his skin. Dipping his head, he skims his lips and tongue down the side of her neck, the heat of his breath leaving a moist trail from the beneath her ear to the crook of her shoulder.

The old, battered piano whines under their combined weight, just one more voice for their amorous chorus. Fritzie throws her head back to give Herman the entire spanse of her throat to do with what he likes, her tendons stretching with her each hard swallow. Her tailbone balanced on the keyboard, she tightens her leg around his hip and starts to lift the other to do the same, her weight shifting center to his groin.

When her body shifts, more discordant notes sound beneath them as Herman moans shudderingly against the pit of her throat, his eyelids squeezing tight when the surges of pleasure prove too much to bear. His hands move up her sides, grasping and clutching, his hips reactively grinding into hers as her legs tighten around him.

"Herman," she struggles to gasp, her thighs shaking as she hooks her feet together in the small of his back, "not to alarm you, darling, but I believe I am about to come quite violently..."

Her tensed thighs clamping around his waist drive more quick, breathy moans from his constricted throat, his own legs threatening to give way underneath him. The only way he can respond to her announcement is for his hips to continue to thrust and grind, his head bowed against her heaving breast, lips mouthing unintelligible oaths on her skin, as every muscle in his body strains to push the both of them over the edge...

Fritzie makes good on her declaration, even proves it to be something of an understatement with the practically biblical intensity of her orgasm. Her limbs go rigid around him, and the feel of his lusciously firm, thrusting body trapped in her hold lends a smugly triumphant note to her screaming, the volume of which ensuring that anyone within the Klub's walls will know of her ecstasy whether they like it or not.

As her body goes rigid around him -- around his still-thrusting hips, around his cock like a vise -- he comes hard, blindingly hard, and her wonderfully unfettered cries ring so loudly throughout the Klub that he can't tell whether his own screams are being drowned out or if his voice has left him altogether. Breathless, he clings to her in the wake of their orgasms, his cheek pressed against her chest, listening to the wild thumping of her heart under his ear as it beats out an endless, tireless rhythm.

She feels uncharacteristically tender toward him at the moment, and she runs her fingers soothingly through his soft hair.

When they've both sufficiently calmed down, she asks softly, smiling: "Did I live up to my dream self, or will I have to keep trying?"

After a few deep sighs, he lifts his head, giving a slightly dazed nod and a chuckle. "Oh, you certainly did...and beyond. Of course, I wouldn't mind it if you kept living up to yourself."

As he steadies himself, he slowly draws his hips back from hers, perhaps a bit reluctantly, and holds his arms out to her to help her to her feet. It's when their bodies have parted that he realizes how chilly it is on the empty stage.

Her damp thighs are what first alert her to the extent of the chill in the room, but nothing can induce her to make more than a lazy swipe for her robe. "You'd better get your clothes on quickly," she advises, though not at all dismissively, her eyes looking him over, taking in the glistening between his legs like an art surveying her finished work with evident satisfaction. "I'd hate for you to get sick on my account."

He bends down to grab his trousers pooled around his ankles, pulling them up as he rights himself, careful of his still-sensitive member as he buttons up. A shiver runs through him. "I could say the same to you, dear," he murmurs, also eyeing her thighs before she covers herself. He shuffles around the piano bench to pick up his shirt, and her panties, which happen to be under it.

"Here, darling, I'll relieve you of that." She light plucks her panties away, planting an impish little kiss on his delicious mouth in the process. "Almost as quickly as you relieved me of it." With a deft twist of her hands, she rolls the delicate, frilly garment up and slips it into the pocket of her robe, then helps him slide his arms into his shirtsleeves.

He smiles at the playful peck on his lips, and as he starts to button up his shirt, he chuckles when he sees where Fritzie's bra ended up when she'd tossed it away -- its strap had caught on the hi-hat stand of Frankie's drum kit.

"I almost feel as if you should leave that there until Frankie gets back."

"Mm, it's rather like a calling card, isn't it? 'Came by while you were away; will come again when I hear you're back!'" It's anyone's guess whether or not she meant for 'come' to sound so suggestive, or maybe it's in one's own imagination due to Fritzie's natural affinity for the word.

"Then I think you should leave it," he says, pulling her robe closed around her, loosely knotting the belt at her navel, his fingers unabashedly grazing against her belly through the thin fabric. "Or at least for tonight's show. Let people wonder what's been going on here while they've all been away."

"Not that they don't do enough wondering already, but a visual confirmation is always a treat. Alright then, I'll leave it." She takes one of Herman's wrists and buttons his cuff. "It'll probably get me bigger tips, going without a bra. Who knows, maybe I'll give up wearing one altogether?"

"Well, you wearing a bra and you not wearing a bra would get you big tips either way." He smirks a little. "Just don't ask me to choose."

"Of course not. I would never require you to make such a burdensome decision." She winks. "Though perhaps next time we play together I'll leave it on, just so you can say:-" She assumes a bored, blasé air and waves her hand indifferently. "'Oh, I've had her both ways, it's of no consequence to me.'"

"I look forward to the day when I can indeed say that," he chuckles. He then proceeds to gather up the sheet music scattered on the floor. "It looks like a very small tornado passed through here..."

Fritzie giggles girlishly. "A torrid tornado of turgid torment, as the Victorian smut writers would have said. They were very fond of alliteration, you know." She bends to retrieve a sheet of music that had flown further than the others.

"I believe they were also paid by the word, so I'd say that was a prime motivator behind the abundance of alliterative adjectives." He taps the edge of the stack of sheet music on top of the piano, straightening it out, and smiles at her over his shoulder, eyeing her shapely form as she bends down.

"Mmm, as unromantic as it is, money motivates above all else." Standing upright, she glances over the music thoughtfully before passing it along to him. "This is what you were working on, before you were so brazenly interrupted?"

[timed to some weeks before christmas]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)