HIS INSTRUMENT

Author: drop
Title: HIS INSTRUMENT
Date: 10 December 2018

He always practiced in the kitchen. Me or one of our house mates chopping vegetables, cooking, and his cello filling the kitchen with his presence. Vibrating waves of intense sound pumping through my body.
The cello clamped between his legs, his hand gently moving up and down the neck. His other hand gently moving back and forth, his whole upper body gently following. I could watch him for hours. Occasionally I’d forget I was cooking. I’d forget the music. Just looking at him and the massive cello between his legs.
We couldn’t touch it though. He was violently possessive of his instrument, and would safely put it away whenever he wasn’t playing it. Even locking his cello case.
Late one evening, when I was slightly drunk, coming home after an evening of parting with my friends of the conservatory, I heard the sounds of his cello from his room. I wasn’t planning on entering, but he had the door slightly ajar. Sitting on his desk chair, cello between his legs, his upper body and legs naked. Playing. He looked at me, as if he’d been expecting me, but didn’t stop playing.
I moved towards him, but he just shook his head. Instead, I sat down on his bed. It was massive, especially considering how small our rooms were. Solid bed posts, wide enough to fit two.
My eyes focused on his body. On the muscles in his shoulder shifting as his hand moved back and forth, back and forth. His head gently moving with the music, exposing his neck, stretching it. A strong arm moving up and down the neck, holding it firmly. He made me feel poetic, thinking back of him still does.
When he was done playing, he carefully put his cello away, lovingly locking the case. Behind his cello, he still wore bright blue briefs, his hard on clearly visible. He made no attempt to hide it, instead wearing it proudly. Making me feel silly that I had been carefully maneuvering my legs to try and hide mine - despite my drunken state.
When the cello was locked away, he approached on me. “Undress,” he commanded, and I blindly obeyed. Stripping all the way down to my underwear, struggling with my clothes.
The next morning I woke up in his bed, my cock safely locked away, our bodies entangled. Before I could complain, I was kissing him, still groggy, and moments later we were having early morning sex. He gently tied my arms out of reach before unlocking my cock, not giving me any opportunity to touch it. It was so natural to him, something that just happened. And I could only dance to his songs.
For as long as we were dating, he would not allow me to touch my own cock. Cuffing me, tying me to the bed; I was only unlocked if I was in no position to touch myself. That’s not to say that never happened… on the contrary, we were like young dogs. Or young rabbits.
Did I accept it because it pleased him? We pleased each other. By moving his body against mine, in mine, over mine. By letting me move my body against his, in his, over his. Playing with each other.