Bach & Elgar's Happy Ending Ch. 03

Welcome to Part 3 of Jack and Lena’s story. Bach gets a mention, but Pachelbel figures more! I didn’t know he was a family friend of the Bachs until I researched this story. A vote, or a comment is welcome, as always.


George was meeting a friend, so she had dressed and left us.

She had stayed to comfort me after my little meltdown. Our silly banter, the wonderful night, then the wonderful morning and I was completely overwhelmed, lost in hysterical tears. George and Jack had rushed up to me as I sat and wept, not realising they were tears of joy. They helped to calm me down; it was comforting to have my two favourite people with me. Sitting down, The height difference had meant her generous breasts were at the level of my face as she hugged me. It was very comforting to feel her soft form against me, warming the tear stains I left on her nightie. Jack’s long arms were skinny, but only added to my comfort. I felt George’s nipple brush my cheek and in my mad state I had a vision. Jack fucking me from behind (that word again) while I was kneading and sucking George’s luscious tits. I was excited and startled at the same time.

After the breakfast and a lot of innuendo, there was just me and Jack, at the table in the late morning sun. I looked across at him and felt a twinge in my pussy. It was strange, a mixture of pleasure, pain and demand. The strange fantasy with him and George popped up again. He looked at me. A little laugh escaped me.

He whispered, “incredible boobs” and I laughed again.

“George’s are more incredible,” I said. “They roll around like she can’t control them!”

Jack pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure how to answer that without getting myself in trouble! They are… nearly as nice as yours.”

That made me laugh harder. “That was very diplomatic of you to say that! Part of me wants a body like hers, but since, well… a long time ago, I’ve somehow known how sexy I could be, so I was happy with how I was. Which was lucky, because nothing much more developed after primary school! I like my tiny titties. I know they can make me feel good when I touch them, or when you touch them… I like what you do.”

Jack looked away and stared out the window. “It’s funny, I’ve always loved breasts. All breasts. Round, pointy, small, large. They’re part of the curves of a woman. My mates would say, hey look at that set, or, gee not much action over there.” He cupped his hands far out to show a Beyoncé, then close in for a Keira Knightley. “But I like them all. I don’t know any boy who would actually turn down a girl’s offer just because she had a small pair. How are you making me say and do these things? Lena, I’m losing my mind with you!”

I was loving it; I wanted to play with him. “Show me the big pair and the small pair again!”

“NO! It’s not how you should think of a girl! They’ve got feelings, they’re people who deserve respect. They’re not sex objects for you to leer at and…” It dawned on him that he was in fact talking to a girl. He blushed and closed his mouth. I needed to touch him and reassure him.

“I think you have the highest regard for women. The world would be better for having more men like you.” I tried soothe him.

He settled a little. I smiled at him.

“But now you have to admit, you planned the whole thing last night! Took advantage of me, seducer! From practice room to bedroom!” That shattered the calm.

He blushed furiously. “What? No! It was nothing like that! I was a mess! I couldn’t plan a thing – if anything it’s her fault!” He pointed at my Jacqueline du Pré poster, in the hall facing whoever came in the door.

“I remember now, yesterday evening. I was thinking about a last-minute practice before going to rehearsal, when the Elgar came on the radio. His cello concerto has always moved me so much, and du Pré’s version just knocks me sideways. I even wondered about skipping rehearsal, but then it got, complicated. As du Pré played away, I remembered seeing her on an old TV show, but suddenly i noticed it was you playing in my mind, in the 60s clothes and everything. It was very weird, I can tell you. You get the same faraway look she had.

“I’ll have to admit, I can’t get you out of my mind. From the first time, when I sat beside you in the cellos. You smiled so warmly, then you turned to the music and played so beautifully. I don’t think I played one good note that evening. It’s funny, no one’s been able to make me practise as much as I should – except you! I needed to have the parts right. I needed your approval of my playing! I was schoolboy-crazy for you!”

That phrase struck me as I listened. Were we thinking the same thing again?

Jack went on. “So last night. I had to go to rehearsal, to please you and hopefully clear my head. The slow movement was on by now, so I felt I wouldn’t lose it as I drove to the rehearsal rooms. But of course the third movement got going, and I couldn’t leave it.” His voice had become quite low.

“I’d got there. I sat in the car, music up, head down. If I closed my eyes I saw you again, swinging your hair as you played the finale. I was crying by now with the beautiful music, and just plain confused. I had a crush on the Elgar, a crush on you, probably a crush on Jacqueline, the rehearsal was about to start…

“And there you were! At the window, in the dusk. Your face looked soft in the light, like it does when you play. The music was playing. I couldn’t move. I remember you got in the car, you held my hand, not saying a word, letting me sit there. I won’t forget that.”

There was a pause. We both sat, reliving that moment.

“You took me inside, then into a side room. Did you carry both cellos? I can’t remember. But you went very still outside the practice room. I was a bit puzzled.”

Practice Room 4. My life was never be the same after it.

Jack wasn’t talking to me any more. He was more thinking aloud. “You sat me down. I appreciated you didnt take me into rehearsal like that. You smelt so good! Comforting. And gentle. I had to hug you, feel your strength, but I got your hips, since you were still standing. And not wearing any…” He smiled absently.

“What came over me? Your scent, your body, your kindness, my tears? You went very still again as my hands wandered over you. All over your legs. The curve of your hips is wonderful. I looked up at you. There was that faraway look, but fire in your eyes when you looked at me. I couldn’t stop. The fire in your eyes said, yes. Over your legs, under your skirt. I remember hearing your breathing change. Up your thighs, into your pussy…”

Had he realised he gave me the best orgasm of my life? His words had trailed off, but not before stirring up feelings in me. I felt that demand again, a tingling in my fingertips and in my pussy.

I was finding the morning more and more disconcerting. Too many feelings, too many thoughts, too many emotions were crashing and jostling inside me. I too had seen the old footage of Jacqueline du Pré, and the idea of getting mixed up with her was weird, then Jack describing our encounter in Room 4 was arousing me in a very strange way. I needed to settle myself. As a diversion I got up for some more fruit juice.

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It was the pineapple, from last night. I started to worry this was all too much again. I needed to get back to my bedroom.

But Jack was sitting in front of me. I needed him, needed to touch him. He had suddenly noticed me again and was looking at me, probably trying to work out what on earth I was thinking. I took his hand. That settled me a little, but also stirred me more. I suddenly stood up and led him to the bedroom.

In my room, I noticed my cello sitting in its case in the corner. With my ears still hearing Bach’s Cello Suite, I took the cello out, tightened the bow and started to tune up. The cello was very nearly in tune with itself already. Sitting on the bed, Jack watched with a bemused look on his face as I sat on my stool and prepared to play, wearing nothing but his shirt. I tucked the shirt-tail under me. Bach and my cello should be a remedy for me.

Jack smiled as he recognised the piece I started to play, with its strong low notes and light arpeggios on top. I quickly discovered the Cello Suite is very difficult to start cold, even at a slower tempo than written. I looked up with a guilty smile with each wrong note. Jack just grinned as I ploughed on.

At a pause, he said softly, “Take the shirt off.”

Staring at him, I shook his shirt off my shoulders and felt it slip away. The sensation of the delicate air on my skin contrasted with the weight of the cello and the heavy strings under my left fingers. I looked down at my body curved around my instrument. I looked at my flat chest and wide-spaced nipples – or as Jack and George had called them, my “incredible boobs”. It felt good to recall that.

My legs were spread to accommodate the cello and I could just see a fuzz of brown hair peeping between them. As I played a little more I basked in the joy of the music, my art, my sex, Jack’s beautiful ways. Even Sir Thomas Beecham gave me a wink.

“That’s a nice view,” commented Jack when I stopped again. I gave him a cheeky look and swung the cello away to reveal my furry vulva to him. His eyebrows went up. “That’s even better!” he said. “Can I join you?”

Pulling me up, he sat on the stool and then put me on his lap. He took the cello’s neck in his left hand, took my bowing hand in the other and made me put the bow to the strings. I played a note and giggled as he changed it by stopping the string

“You know the Canon in D?” he asked.

I twisted to look at him. “Pachelbel?? You’re not serious!”

“We’ll start simple for now. Elgar or Bach is for Lesson 2. If you’re a good girl and do exactly what I want!”

I surprised us both by trying to bite him, but not very hard.

I counted us in and we played the famous, easy walking bass of Pachelbel’s Canon. It is famous, beautiful and very boring for the bass (the violins get the melody). But it was perfect for the two of us to play as one. My left hand rested on his as he stopped the strings, or went down his forearm to feel the muscles flex under the downy skin. His effort and his breathing against my cheek went beautifully with the music. My senses filled to overflowing as I smelled his scent and felt his body under mine, all the time the long, easy notes filled my ears. I felt myself settling down as the gentle music took over. I started to hear the three violin parts in my head, imitating the bass at first, then weaving and dancing like playful children. I closed my eyes and let my arms play and my body enjoy the feel of Jack underneath me.

Then his spare hand slid over my thigh and stroked the inside. I gasped at the new touch, but Jack whispered into my ear, “keep playing!”

I tried to concentrate on the notes as I played each one, but the hypnotic rhythm of the music made my mind wander. I felt every fingertip of his hand as it stroked my leg, brushing over my knee as it pressed against the cello, tracing my buttock against the stool. Occasionally he would lightly sweep up into my curly pubic hair. My breathing tried to speed up, but the pull of the music was strong.

He touched my vulva and I wriggled. “Keep playing!” Jack ordered as his fingers explored inside me. I felt open and available as I played the music and he brushed and spread my labia. I felt a warmth rising in me and my skin felt damp. My thighs stuck to his skin under me while my bow hand slipped on the bow. My hips wriggled with lust. I could smell my aroused juices. I had to bite my lip to keep going.

Jack’s left hand was still holding the strings, and somehow I kept bowing, so the music played on, but now his other hand was circling my clitoris. My breathing was a mess now and I couldn’t press the bow onto the strings properly, but Jack urged me on. Waves of pleasure swirled through me, from my ears, or my skin, or my pussy. My bowing arm ached, but in some strange way this added to the pleasure. He rubbed over my clit, faster and faster. I felt my thighs quivering against the cello.

Then it came. A great wave crashed over me and I dropped the bow. I saw flashes behind my screwed-up eyelids. Jack saved the cello as I ground my hips into him. My orgasm rolled through me as I pressed my back against him, then my hips, then dug my nails into whatever I was touching. I struggled to breathe. I got a vague sense of his cock moving underneath me. I think I moaned, or howled.

Then I felt completely soft and relaxed. I lay against Jack’s chest and felt his cool skin against my heat. His arms around me held me up and kept me safe. As my breathing slowed I became aware of his long, slow breaths. I nuzzled my head against his cheek as I rested on his shoulder, feeling his strength.

I stretched my arms up and over, running my fingers through his messy hair. He leant over and carefully put the cello down. I felt so loose, I just went with him, but he was careful with me as well. We sat together while he gently stroked his hands up my thighs and front. He circled my nipples, whispering, just mouthing really, “incredible boobs.” I turned and kissed his face. He kissed my ears and neck. The sun shone.

I twisted in his lap and kissed him deeply. I felt his soft stubble and softer lips. I brushed over his teeth and felt our tongues brushing each other, sticking together the same way as our damp skin. My hands went up and down his neck and back. His hand rested easily on my hip. A different warmth was spreading in me.

I could feel different surfaces on his body. Under his arms it was warm and sticky, with his man’s smell stronger. His forearms had downy hairs on them, but his torso had very little. His belly button was almost flat.

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I felt his cock stir under my thighs again and something in me took over. I kissed his lips and chin, then went down to his nipples. As I kissed down his front I slid off his lap. I turned to him as I went and there I was, kneeling in front of him, arms on his thighs. I looked up at him with a drowsy, sexy smile. He looked down, completely puzzled.

Without breaking eye contact I ran my hand down into his bush of hairs. I found his semi-hard cock and gripped it. He looked surprised.

It took only a few strokes to bring it up and proud. I stared at this pink spear that had pushed its way into me. Was it Jack, or the cock I wanted? I played with the foreskin.

It was fluid: I wanted both. Sometimes his touch and his smile, sometimes his weight on me. Sometimes my sexuality demanded the locking together, the thrust of his body. These ideas came to me as easily as that orgasm in high school, as easily as realising how much I already loved Jack.

I loved Jack. And I had watched the videos. The shiny head of his cock seemed to beckon me down. We both froze for what seemed an age.

I kissed it. It was amazingly smooth. I ran my lips over it, to the rim of the helmet. Jack let out a long sigh. “Leeenaaa, that’s, nnnice…”

I was sucking his cock. I was bobbing slowly, or sucking the head while I stroked the loose skin of his shaft. I thought of the girls in the videos, so much bad acting, my revulsion at some of the humiliations I had seen. And now I was sucking off my lover, wondering where this would go. I liked the feel of it in my mouth, but making sure I didn’t gag was a bit of a challenge. It tasted of Jack, like his smell down there. He had a tiny line of skin under the head which I liked to play with.

I glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open, lost in the pleasure I was giving him. It stirred a warm feeling in me to be giving him such delight. It was arousing me again as well. As I sucked I slid a hand to my pussy and was vaguely surprised to find it so wet. I slid my fingers easily through the folds of skin and around my vagina while my other hand fondled Jack’s balls and teased the skin of his shaft. He smiled and rolled his hips.

But I had worked myself up now. My fingers around his shaft, my lips on the rim of the head, my other fingers playing with me; a need was growing. My nipples and my fingers tingled. I needed that penis inside me.

Suddenly I got up and reached for the bedside drawer. Luckily I had stolen a few condoms. I smiled lewdly at Jack as I pulled him to the floor. His face had gone from surprise and dismay back to pleasure.

Lying on the floor between my cello and my bed, I rolled the condom on. (A part of me wanted to be raw and unprotected, taking everything of him inside me, his body possessing me as I possessed him. Thankfully another voice – George’s maybe? – said, we need to be more careful.) I crawled up his body, rocking so my nipples were stimulated by the brush of his skin. His knobby hip bones surprised my thighs. When I reached his face I kissed him hungrily.

Kneeling up over his slim frame, I watched as I guided his cock into me. My juices made it quite easy to slide his rod between my labia and up into my waiting channel. I felt a twinge that was not pleasant but not painful, but also a demand to feel him deep inside me. I wanted to be taken, his cock intruding but welcomed. It was a new sensation.

I bent over his face again and kissed him in time to my thrusts. This was new to me as well: taking my pleasure from him as I wished. It was fun to watch him as I sucked his cock, but this was what I really wanted.

I went onto my elbows so I could run my fingers through his hair. I whispered in his ear, “Jack. Fuck me. Fuck my cunt. Push it into me!”

His face showed his astonishment at my language. I was astonished at my language – I never normally used “bad words”. I was brought up not to, and never did. But now it seemed my body was making me talk. And it didn’t beat about the bush.

Jack had rested his hands on my hips as I’d ridden him, then kept them there as I tilted over. As I whispered obscenities to him I could feel his grip change. Now he was holding me, gripping and squeezing and pulling my buttocks. I felt a heat rising in me as he pushed up into me, giving me pleasure and pain in a crazy mix. I felt his hips work furiously against mine as he thrust deeply inside me.

I stared down into his pleasure-filled face. I lightly kissed his nose, or one eye, or his rough chin. I kissed his ear and whispered, “Fuck me. Drill me. Tear me!” Where did this come from?

I felt wonderful, giving such pleasure as I took it. Then Jack moved his hands. He slid around to my wide-spread cheeks and started to stroke my pussy lips. He ran his fingernail around my anus and suddenly I was mounting up. I started to roll my hips urgently. He sensed my new need and played with me more, pulling at my lips or wrapping them around his rod. My body took control of me.

My orgasm was coming to my whole body. My nipples tingled, my elbows on the carpet tingled, my fingers tangled themselves in Jack’s hair. My head could only hang down, brushing his scratchy cheek.

Then a wave broke from my cunt and roared up my body and down my legs. I felt hot and cold, an ache from his mad thrusts but wild pleasure. I lay quivering on Jack, legs on his legs, sticky body to body. My breathing gradually came down.

There was the soft warmth again. Although Jack seemed to have knobbly, bony bits everywhere, all I wanted was to lie on him and feel his hands gently stroke my back. I was at peace. I could just feel the body of my cello lying beside us.

Jack eased his penis and the condom out. I was vaguely surprised.

“You came? When?”

“I didn’t think you’d picked that up! It was somewhere in the middle of your orgasm, with you sobbing “Jack” and “Fuck” into my ear! Don’t worry I felt just fine, and the ringing will stop soon! Though I hope, not too soon.”

I could feel his eyes crinkling as my cheek lay beside his. I imagined his eyelashes and his stunning smile. Another wave of warmth gently came over me. I tried to speak, but only one word came out.
“Jack,” I whispered.

Updated: December 20, 2016 — 7:00 PM

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