2. Citrell #2
I had never wanted a woman as much as I wanted the woman who made love to the microphone with her voice.
The inflections, the tones, the subtle moans that she allowed to slip through her mouth.
I watched her hand stroke the microphone and felt ashamed that I wished it was my dick. I wanted her to hum this song on it.
“Yesss! Yessss! Yessss! All I can say is . . .” Her words crooned into my fucking soul. I was taught from an early age that music could trigger a gamut of different emotions in individuals just like it could in the arrangement of notes in a song.
My mother was the person that taught me everything I knew about music.
She was a music teacher all of my life until she retired ten years ago.
When I was seven, she told me to pick one instrument that I wanted to learn, and she would teach me.
When I picked the guitar, she smiled before she told me I would be trouble.
She taught me on an acoustic, then put me in lessons with a buddy that toured with famous rock bands and worked with a lot of Motown artists.
Doc taught me how to be smooth with this shit.
When the song was over, there was a moment of silence before the room erupted in cheers and a call for an encore.
I sat my guitar down to clap. This woman was amazing.
Where did she come from? The crowd really wanted her to do an encore.
Her sister stepped up and said something in her ear.
They looked at each other and Sundae nodded.
Wynsdae walked over to speak to the band. Her song request made me chuckle. It was about to be a straight baby making, falling in love vibe in here tonight.
“Yeah, we can play that.” I looked into the audience at our musician booth where our musicians sat when they weren’t on stage.
The next song would require a different set of strings.
I took pride that we had a full band that included violin, saxophone, trumpet, and any other thing that we needed down to a damn organ.
Marco and I ensured that we could suffice any song on our list with every instrument needed.
We also had a musical producer for the things that needed that extra pizzazz.
Wynsdae got on the mic. “Alright, my sis is going to lead one more, then she’s going to back me up.” She walked over to Dora so she could put the song on the screen.
There was a microphone at Dora’s booth. After she was given the song, she picked it up. “Oh, these ladies are not about to play with y’all. Somebody is going home to fuck tonight. Make sure y’all strap up because, ladies, they’re trying to get our asses pregnant with these song choices.”
The song selection displayed on the screen and the crowd oohed. This one was a completely different tone and quality of voice. I wasn’t needed for this one, but Marco was. I grabbed a seat dead center in front of the stage. I wanted her voice to fall over me like a weighted blanket.
The organ started, then the strings.
“You love me, especial . . . ly different . . .”
There it was. She was able to fuck you with her voice like I did with my strings. The two artists that she selected were on completely opposite ends of the musical spectrum. At least in my opinion.
When her eyes fell on me, I locked mine with hers.
The want in her voice got my dick hard. My hand went to it shamelessly and grabbed it like I wasn’t in a room full of people, but I didn’t give a fuck because I wanted her.
I had to have her before the sun kissed the morning sky.
For the next few minutes, she sang the song with me in her gaze.
I followed my desire and mouthed slowly to her while her eyes were on me. “I’m fucking you tonight.”
A Few Hours Before The Sun Kissed The Sky . . .
“Fuck, Sundae!” My head threw back at the feeling of her riding my dick in my bed. I had to have her, and I meant it.
When I mouthed to her while she sang earlier that we were fucking tonight, she winked. After she finished her selection, her sister led a couple songs that were just as titillating. Marco let our house drummer handle her songs to take the seat that I was in when Sundae sang.
Wicked Strings closed at midnight on weekdays and two in the morning on the weekend. On Sundays, we were only open for brunch which was extremely popular. Sundae and I were out of the bar by two fifteen. My house was normally twenty to twenty-five minutes from my bar. I made it there in fifteen.
Sundae and I didn’t make it to my bedroom before we were all over each other.
Her kisses were just as seductive and satisfying as her singing and talking voice.
Our clothes were taken off in my living room where our tongues danced over each other’s bodies.
I got that song hummed on my dick, and she got my tongue to pick at her clit like a guitar pick on the finest guitar.
Her pussy was as beautiful as the rest of her.
Now we were in my bedroom. I loved that I didn’t have to give her any instructions.
She asked for condoms, laid me on the bed, covered my dick, and mounted me like a fucking show horse.
My hand gripped her hips as she bounced on my dick backward.
All that ass that was in those jeans was now on my dick.
When she leaned forward and grabbed my ankles for better leverage, I almost lost my entire mind.
Her eyes held innocence, but her smirk had devilish intentions.
How was that shit even possible? Her ass started to bounce harder and clap on my dick.
Every time she lifted, I could see the wetness that drenched my dick from her pussy.
“You like that, Citrell? Tell me how this pussy makes that dick feel.”
My hand went to her ass cheek. I tried to control her movement before she stripped me of my damn manhood. “Yo, chill out.” I smacked her ass when she giggled at my words. “This pussy is as smooth as your fucking voice.”
I loved a woman who loved music. I wasn’t talking about that trap rap shit either. After Sundae finished singing, she sat at the bar with me, and we actually talked. We spoke about different genres of music that we both loved. She spoke about artists that some people had never heard of.
Something that she said that was sexy although that feeling may have been inappropriate for the conversation was she loved strings because when played in the right worship song, it opened up her heart to God.
She was a fan of worship music because of the drawl and the way strings were played.
There probably shouldn’t have been anything sexy about that conversation, but it was.
I had to grab my manhood and take control of this damn sexual experience.
I smacked her ass and told her to get her ass up.
She knew I was serious by the low guttural growl that left me after my demand.
There was no way she would have me nutting like I just started getting pussy yesterday.
Her ass wasn’t playing fair when she did get up because she squeezed the fuck out of my shit with her bar clamp pussy muscles.
“Bend the hell over.” I climbed off the bed to move behind her.
“Fuck,” I mumbled. The top of her body dropped down on the bed and her arms were stretched straight out.
Her legs were spread at just the right degrees to make the clap of her ass seem effortless.
“I’m about to fuck all the voice out of your ass.
Fuck a seashell. Your voice is about to be in this dick. ”
I slid into her slowly for my benefit more than hers. If I pushed into this pussy too fast, I might end up in an alternate reality. She fit my dick like a perfectly measured glove. I knew that would be a problem, because sex this good was hard to get it just once.
“Mmm, you feel so good in me,” she said between low moans. Her ass rippled slowly against my pelvis. The clap sound provided a soundtrack all its own. We made beautiful music together.
For the next almost an hour and a half, we allowed our bodies to harmonize a sexual experience that belonged in the hall of fame.
She was hesitant when I told her I wanted her in my shower.
She must have thought I had a climb in the tub type of shower.
Her relief was apparent when I carried her thick ass into the bathroom.
I fucked her in every hole in the fucking shower thanks to her discovery of my KY gel in the drawer with the condoms. After the shower, we had one more round in my bed before we were laid out spent.
Sleep accosted us, and our bodies had no choice but to comply.
Later In The Morning . . .
The sun peeked through my blinds so disrespectfully. If I didn’t appreciate it, I knew Sundae wouldn’t. My arms stretched above my head before they swiveled to the side. All I could do was titter at the sight of the empty spot next to me. My songbird snuck out on me.
My gaze wandered to the bedside clock. Since it was less than ten minutes before ten in the morning, I wasn’t going to hold it against her that she left. She may have had something to do and wanted to be considerate, so she didn’t wake me. I climbed out of the bed to take another shower.
My mother should have already picked my daughter up from her mother’s house.
Over the years, it had been up and down with Iesha’s stupid ass.
It seemed like she became dumber after her mother died.
Beverly died nine months after I was awarded full custody of my daughter.
Her funeral was tragic because it was obvious Iesha cut corners to keep more money in her pockets instead of sending her mother off in a respectful manner.
There was a lot of resentment on her chest about her mother testifying against her.
Iesha never grasped the fact that she was not the victim—our daughter was.