August 2022 (continued)

A Trio For Rehearsal (continued)

We have another sexual memoir, this time from a orchestra conductor. She's retired and won't say where or when these incidents occurred, but oh, boy, you'll never listen to classical music the same way again after reading this! -- The Editors

Back then, being a woman in a man's world had its special perks. I never thought I would come to reap the rewards of the musical conducting profession the way I did when I was a guest orchestra conductor in an all-male military college. In all my years as a female orchestra conductor, I came up against every imaginable sort of criticism and sexism.

Though respectability comes with experience in the conducting profession, for a then-thirty-four year old woman, I had a bod that could straighten out any man's baton. My 36-inch bustline, kept firm and pert through years of excellent aerobic exercise while at the conductor's podium, invariably calls my orchestra members to rapt attention. From the rear, I'm not so bad either -- with my firm ass and waist-length hair, audiences have been known to applaud at inopportune moments based on the show -- rather than the music.

From the first day at the Military College, I knew I'd come up against a tough group of nuts to crack. When I first mounted the podium, a smart-ass flautist jeered, "Hey, Maestro-etta! Wanna learn some tricks on the skin flute?"

"I'll see you in my office after rehearsal, Mr. Tutti-Flutti, I've got a thing or two to show you about how to conduct yourself in rehearsal."

I had chosen an especially provocative music program for this group. Among the classical compositions I chose were Wagner's "Prelude and Love-Death" from Tristan and Isolde, "Don Juan," by Strauss, and of course…Ravel's "Bolero." A real "10" of a show!

After I had settled the score with the feisty flautist, we began rehearsing "Don Juan." When we got to the famous horn solo, the principal trombone took the liberty of standing up and rapping along: "Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn…Don Juan gets laid more than I do…'cause he's a stud…and I'm a dud…his cock is twelve in-ches…"

Tap-tap-tap.

"Mr. First Trombone! I would like you to apologize to your colleague Mr. First Horn for your rapping to his solo -- and later, I would like to see you alone to go over the trombone part, which you do not seem to be familiar with. I'm finding a deficiency in your triple tonguing -- so please be prepared to demonstrate this for me later. I'll expect you in my office at 5:00 sharp."

Not missing a beat, I added, "Oh and Mr. First Horn, why don't you come at 5:15 to go over the parts you and Mr. First Trombone play together?"

Later, with military punctuality, the willowy flautist with the billowing lips arrived. Wasting no time, I ordered, "Take out your flute."

"I didn't bring it," he said anxiously.

I got up and stood over his chair. Smirking, I leaned forward and in a flash, zipped open his fly and produced the instrument.

"Oh! See -- I was sure that you had brought it and it looks all nice, put together and ready to play!"

He rolled up his eyes and let out a slow, approving moan. I knelt between his legs and commenced with the practice session.

"I've had amateur lessons in the past, Mr. Flautist, but I've never experienced military precision. How about that promised skinflute lesson?"

"We-e-ell…" he stammered nervously, "Where should I start?"

"How about with what feels good?"

"Well, how about circling the head of my cock with your tongue -- slowly…"

"Like this?" I said with a mouthful.

"Take it all -- take it all in your mouth," he groaned.

I obliged him. After I felt him fully subside in my throat, I smiled at him as he zipped up and then suddenly grew serious.

"Thank you for the skin-flute lesson, Mr. Flautist, and from now on I would like to see a lot more respectful behavior in rehearsals -- an orchestra is not a democracy, you know."

"Yes, Ma'am," he saluted.

And I sent him on his way.

My next scheduled musician arrived with similar punctuality.

"Ah…Mr. Trombone. So glad to see you could come!

I took my seat behind my desk. "Come kneel down here." He knelt between my legs. He reached and unfastened my pants, drawing them down around my knees. Leaning forward, he sank his tongue deep inside the soft warm fur of my pussy. In a trained instant, he had located the magic spot and began triple tonguing with practiced and professional vigor.

His tongue was strong and the forceful gyrating motions quickly had me writhing with pleasure in my seat. He paused briefly and looking up, said, "Maestro, there's more to good technique than multiple tonguing!"

He picked me up and lay me back against the desk. From his pants, he produced the longest dick I'd ever seen. It was like a trombone's slide, and it grew yet still longer in his hand. He grabbed my cheeks and sank me deep with his slide. It seemed to take forever going in and once he was fully submerged, I felt as though his dick was up to my belly button. He stayed fully in and the head of his cock began to dance in my stomach. It was incredible. Like no other cock I've felt before. No in-and-out motions, just that dancing head. He leaned over and began to work his tongue's magic over my nipples. Every one of his motions was executed with a calculated precision, but the vibrations that were bringing me closer and closer to my amazing climax were really barely perceptible. Such control!

Deftly he flipped me over on the desk and began to pump from behind. The motions were long and smooth -- like his dick. What a soloist.

At last, the prolonged agony came to a head and I felt myself spilling over -- "I'm… I'm… I'm… I'm… Cooommm…"

Knock-knock.

"Cooommm--ing!"

In walked Mr. Horn Player.

Instantly recognizing the actual, more erotic nature of the office visit, he read the room and asked, "Maestro, where would you like me to start?"

Mr. Horn Player took his place behind the desk and gently spread my ass cheeks to reveal my sweet pink asshole. He moaned a delicious note of approval and gently sunk a forefinger inside my dripping pussy, drawing the warm juices up to lubricate my back door. The trombonist had positioned himself to slide smoothly in and out of my hungry mouth and on the inward thrusts, I could feel his massive entirety halfway down my throat. I felt the hornist fasten the head of his hard dick against my butt hole and in one deep push, my bottom opened with pleasure at his tremendous girth. In unison, the guys pumped me from in front and from behind until I could feel every cell in my body about to explode. In one gigantic moment, I was overcome by a shivering, erupting quake, the magnitude of which knocked me into delicious oblivion and left me blissfully expired over the top of my desk. There would be no encore today.

When I came to, I found myself Kindly rearranged and seated upright in my chair. The hornist and trombonist were smiling, seated politely across from me.

"Yes, men," I said, "there will be no more rough-housing or horseplay in rehearsals. I expect full professional behavior from you both. There will be plenty of time for fun," I smiled, "after the concert."

-- Sally R.