Date: Sun, 3 May 2020 08:37:52 -0400 (EDT) From: Five Hole Punch Subject: The Music Master Give some "stimulus money" to Nifty! The Music Master She had come to my room again, just before sunrise. She silently slipped in and, in her eagerness, hadn't fully closed the door. She crept towards my bed, not sure if I was awake. My low voice informed her. "Come, Agatha, my pet." She smiled and not the smile of innocence. She had been to my rooms every other morning except Sunday for nearly a fortnight this girl of thirteen. I had taken her first in the music room. It was my sixth maidenhead in the last twelve years. I have taken other assorted prizes over the years. "Divest yourself of your robe," I whispered with urgency. It dropped beside the bed. My hand ran up a long, knobby leg, pushing the nightclothes high as I twirled the coltish daughter of the banker Manning to sit astride my face. Agatha's hot and moist mons ran over my nose before settling down to be lashed lingually. Her just, and barely, bewhiskered cunt spread to receive my ministrations. "Ohh!" she moaned, riding my lips with taut inner thighs. This young mistress was quick to arrive at what will be her singular acme, her excitement having built through the previous day. It was Agatha's nature to conclude with abandon and, having been spent, was not ready for a second return. I wished to introduce my erected member sooner rather than later for this reason. I extricated myself "under the bridge" and had the girl on her back, nightgown up to her budding breasts, in a trice. I felt the small mounds grow firm under my roughly roving hands. Agatha writhed with sexual tension. I gave a gentle signal and Agatha spread her legs and raised her knees, ready for my "lance d'amour." The young maiden bit her lower lip, with one snaggly tooth most prominent (her facial beauty about as attractive as her Christian name), as I moved forward to place the reptilian head of my manhood to her pouting flesh. "Uhh!" was the exhalation of gratitude that greeted the dawn in that distant room of the expansive manse. I applied myself to the girl's pleasure, my sweet words leading her to her passions. "Yes, that's it my pet. Take me! Take me to the heart of your being; take me to the heart of your soul." I watched the flushed girl groan and moan, her wetness profuse upon my manly column, thighs gripping and squeezing. In the act I espied, in a tilted dresser mirror, a form behind us in the shadows of the hallway vestibule, peeking into the room. It was the young master Manning, Oswalt, Agatha's year younger brother. It was at this point Agatha began to rise to her zenith. I collapsed down upon her, kissing her neck, assuring her with a lover's affirmation of "Yes! Yes, my flower, my sweet." Agatha, arms and legs grasping, moaned deeply into my neck; her wet womanhood throbbing in waves along my turgid column as she climaxed. Teeth clenched, I held back as I did not wish to spill my seed in such a compromisingly procreative position. Her pinnacle past, I slid free, disengaged and rose, straddling the disheveled and spent girl. I fed her, as was our habit, my skinned serpent. Agatha sucked avidly. She had an obvious taste for my male nectar (and possibly her own). I could still see Oswalt peering in, shifting back and forth, foot to foot, in his voyeuristic excitement. His hands caressed his person, over his bedclothes, along his chest and, oddly, his fundament. This circumstance fired my lust. Not letting on my knowledge of being the subject of Oswalt's surveillance, I displayed my engine and my generative orbs to full advantage, feeding his sister my vein-entwined, downward-curved phallus in a slow and deliberate fashion. It was but a very short while before announcing my climax. Grimacing, I declared, "Here it comes, my darling. Here is my Love." I ejaculated pearly seed in great quantity. Agatha swallowed as much as she could but she had to unmouth my still spurting fountain of life. Several ropes bedewed her reddened cheeks. I rose. The boy vanished quickly from the mirror. I wiped my jissom from the young girl's face with my nightshirt. "Hurry, my pet. You must leave me before the household awakes." She arose, aglow with Love's exertions, sated. I helped her straighten her bedclothes and, fitting her robe, I sent her away with a kiss. ---------- Here is my position, Dear Reader. I have been a music master for these dozen years in private employ. I have an income and none-too-tasking labor, adequate accommodations and fine food. For this, I endure various mediocre levels of musical ability. Not a poor life when measured by what alternatives exist. I was, to be less than generous, a whoreson boy. My mother was of various households in varying capacities. I fell, for a short fortuitous period, under the benevolent eye of a progressive squire and, demonstrating a Euterpian gift, ended apprenticed to a church master musician. This is where I developed, as many have through the ages, my satyric appetites. Music became my profession; debauch, my sport. I have held positions in households where my services were of both natures. I partake sometimes high and sometimes low. I am equipped both mentally and physically for my services. In the Manning household, a banker of renown in this city, I educate the children musically, conducting practice five or six days a week, play when called upon, and serve as an occasional instructor and accompanist for the Lady Manning. I have been in the household for several months. My room is on the family floor, yet on the far side of one wing. I have had dalliances with a scullery maid but, for a few weeks now, my circumstances have changed. The family as it is: Mr. Manning; dutiful in work and marriage, I am rarely in his presence. Lady Manning; interested in flattering flirtation but nothing more, I can easily divert her from anything of a more taxing nature. Agatha, the oldest child? Tall and gangly, of no more than plain looks, she in her fleeting Youth. She does possess a pleasing personality, fortunately for her future; that and her father's money will stand her in good stead. She has an adventurous mindset, in that I recognize myself. This may be a misfortune for her. Finally, Oswalt, the true focus of my story: An odd soul. He could be seen as a gentle Arcadian spirit, pale skinned, of hazel eyes and hair. He has a delicate and emotional nature; often sheltered by his mother who, none the less, prefers her daughter's gregariousness to her boy's frailty. His father is merely indifferent, having seen the boy's nature, he has given up any wish for a continuance of the family's name in business from his meek son. Needless to say, having been in the Church's purview, I have seen boys of an effeminate nature, and while Oswalt has that sort of inclination, it is of such an insubstantial sort as to make it the merest potential. But, unlike crassness, subtlety is a rare delight in the erotic pursuits and is not readily perceptible to most. Here is what is to be savored in what unfolds. ----------- Oswalt, when to be instructed, would arrive as quietly as a cat upon carpet. His outfit, not only finely tailored, but finely worn, consisted of a black velveteen coat and short pants. His small feet were in white silk hose and shod with black patent leather slippers, a bow on top. When he went out of the house he wore boots of the high buttoned type. His collar and shirt were fronted with the finest tatted lace that verged on the excessive. It was so exquisite that the fault could be forgiven. Having the timidity of a new fawn, Oswalt needed the most gentle coaxing to avoid emotional upset. He had a fearful nature. I was gentle in my instruction and manner and won his confidence. So much so that I was able to tease the boy with suggestions of danger which affrighted him and then I assuaged his uneasiness. An example: "It may storm this afternoon, Oswalt," I would comment. The boy would give an open-mouthed look of alarm and exhibit a fluttering nervousness. I would smile and offer reassurances. Oswalt dreaded and yet enjoyed this teasing, it excited him. Unlike his father, I would be both manly and kind, caressing the boy to ease his anxiety, during lessons as well as our "dangerous exchanges." Oswalt had an unconscious charm about him. He expressed pure delight at my interest in his presence. He would smile and bat his eyelashes ingenuously. I sought to pet him. This took time as the boy would be anxious at mere instructive proximity. With care, I first ventured to touch a shoulder, he shied. I did so again in that day's lesson and he allowed it with the merest flinch this time. I moved on to a touch of his hair, then, one day, a brush of his pale cheek. He was affrighted, but blushed most ashamedly. I felt Oswalt's shyness and knew his nebulous and confused thoughts. The boy was just awakening to his sensual self. I had, on occasion, sat near the boy on the piano bench to demonstrate a difficult fingering. He became self-conscious and anxious. It might be said that when I did the same with his sister, intending to instruct only, she took this as an opportunity to sit closer to me, her heat was such that I knew her desire. It was merely a week before my caresses began, an encircled waist, a brush of her breast, a hand higher and higher upon her thigh and then, the next week, a stolen kiss and complete seduction over the arm of a settee. After Oswalt's surreptitious morning observation, the music lessons with the boy became an emotional dance of pretense. He could not focus on the music as my nearness brought him to a state of near panic. His conflict, the true focus of his interest wasn't music, was readily apparent to me. Finally, one day, after repeated errors in pedaling a passage we had worked on all week, I took charge to chastise the boy. "No, no, no, Oswalt!" I exclaimed sitting myself on the bench and edging the boy aside, "Here is how you must pedal the passage." I went through the motions and instructed. "You see, here ... and here ..." The boy paid scant attention; he was too flustered by my nearness on the bench. "Come here," I commanded, taking the boy by the waist and sitting him upon my thigh. "You see, Oswalt, you must forcefully thrust your leg down upon the pedal." I repeated the motion with the boy in my lap. His velvet-encased buttocks rode my thigh. Oswalt became breathless at the intimacy and the muscular motion between his thighs and at his fundament. He swooned and fell back, limp, to my chest in a half faint. I lightly kissed and caressed the soft form in my embrace. I smelled his hair. There were no words exchanged. I knew his desire. When the boy had gained his wits somewhat, I lifted him and, placing him at the edge of the piano bench, stood before him. I loosed my trousers and pulled forth my engine. It was obscene in its semi-tumescence, the lips of my opening glistening with clear syrup, hood dark and deeply wrinkled, rolled slightly rearward. The boy was in a state of shock, mouth agape. I wished to feed my serpent's head to the boy, for him to give suck. He was not ready for such intimacies. He did not know his own body yet. I instructed. I helped Oswalt to his feet. He eyed my manhood. I stood him facing the piano, hands on the case. I lowered his velvet shorts and undergarments to his knees. The smoothest cream colored flesh was revealed in gentle curving arcs, the form of heaven incarnate. I reached around his upper thighs and took hold of a stiff twig. "Uhh! Uhhh!" the boy moaned. He would have fallen to the floor, but I held his rounded belly in my left hand. As best he could, Oswalt grasped the black lacquered monolith before him. I gave gentle strokes to the boy's penis. I tenderly brushed his soft purse with the tips of my fingers. The boy groaned inarticulate cries of pure pleasure. Oswalt danced from foot to foot, squeezing his exposed buttocks with carnal delight. I had to share in the feast. Spreading the smooth, perfect orbs of flesh, I unhooded my engine, and put the pointed tip of my glans to the boy's cleft. I felt Oswalt quickly inhale. Then, breath held at the sensation, he weakened. When my pouted tip smeared a clear drop upon the lavender rose therein, Oswalt's knees buckled. "Oh!" he warbled softly as my bulbous plum kissed his innocent anus. I held him upright. I moved not, reveling in the boy trembling ecstatically in my hands, his warmth suffusing my glans penis. This sublimity was enough. After savoring the realm of the gods for a timeless series of breaths, I pulled away. I turned Oswalt and looked to the small engine standing firm. It was just pink with the blood of desire, the immature purse white as snow. I kneeled and dressed the boy, giving him a kiss upon his cheek. I stood and hid my erection away as best I could. Oswalt observed closely. "That is enough for today. We will continue our lesson tomorrow. You are dismissed." The flushed boy made his way unsteadily towards the door. Upon his leaving, I went at once to the lavatory and masturbated an abundance of jissom into the sink. How was I going to manage this state of affairs? Agatha's heated desire? The boy's sublime innocence? It was going to take some thought. Copyright 2020. All Rights Reserved.