Amour

 The sounds of the piano chords and the clinking of martini glasses crashing together echoed all around her.

Soft erotic whispers and vintage heels scattered the marble dance floor, closing inside her ears tightly.

Soft looms of smoke whirled around.

Men and women in silks and satins.

Jewels and pearls.

Blacks and pinks illuminating the room.

Her body felt alive, as her soft black dress clung to her tiny frame and her high heels rolled her hips seductively.

Her hands running up and down her sides.

She could see the jazz band playing.

Their instruments strumming from side to side.

People shaking and grinding on the dance floor.

Petite toes on the floor.

The soft smells of exotic cocktails filling her nose.

She was up next to perform with the pianist.

Her nerves entering her mouth as she was announced.

Eyes and eyes on her.

Breath and breath on hers.

She knew her lines.

She knew her words would not get lost.

Creating a path between the crowds.

Climbing onto the piano.

The soft shiny feel of the black piano against her dress created tiny goose bumps against her thighs.

Lights down.

Spotlight.

1.

2.

3.

Her hips slinking along the huge instrument.

Straddling and curving.

Sculpturing her body to fit this overly large one.

She could feel the audiences eyes on her every move.

Her every decision.

She could feel how uncontrollably wet she was getting.

The stickiness running down her inner thighs.

Her moans and sighs in between verses.

Turning towards her player.

Opening her legs.

Black fishnet stockings.

Silk black knickers.

His eyes widening as he Carried on playing.

Her head arching back.

Her pussy in front of his mouth.

The climax of the song coming to an end.

His mouth engulfing her.

Gasps.

Reliefs.

Hands desperate in his hair.

His fingers playing the chords.

High.

Low.

She knew she was close.

Grinding harder against his open face.

Her heels falling from her feet to the marble floor.

This was her show.

© Copyright of Charlotte Thorpe