When the director of our community orchestra said he wanted me to try the B Minor Cello Concerto, I jumped at the chance. I've always loved the Czech composer's music and, despite a few misgivings, felt I was up to tackling the solo part.

With the concert only a couple days away, I just needed to polish up a few spots. In particular were five or six measures in the last movement that simply didn't "feel" right yet.

I was in the den, playing the phrase over and over, engrossed in getting my fingers completely comfortable with the passage. Gwen is a flautist and knows what's involved in learning a solo part, but I guess the incessant repetition finally got to her.

Halfway through the nth repetition I heard a sudden shriek. She was standing in the doorway, glaring at me, seething.

"It. Sounds. Fine!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

But I hardly noticed what she said. Am I the only man whose woman runs around the house in just pantyhose and bra? Because that's all she had on. Sheer black hose and black bra, to be precise. It's not a look for everyone, but it gets my engine revving every time.

And it was almost enough to make me forget how bratty she was being.

"You know I have to practice," I said calmly.

"I know, Matt, but can't you play a different section for a while? If you play that phrase one more time, I'll scream."

Now, that was a challenge if ever I heard one. Without looking away from her, I began playing the phrase again.

"Arrgh!"

I stopped and smiled at her. "You were right."

"Matthew-"

"Gwendolyn-"

We stared at each other in silence. Well, to be honest, my gaze drifted considerably southward. Those legs and hips cocooned in silky, shiny, dark nylon were calling to me, especially the lacy pattern woven in the crotch area.

When I looked up, she barely had time to suppress a smile and put on her petulant face again. The teasing slut wanted my attention and she knew she had it now.

"You need a lesson in patience, bitch" I warned her. She knew I wasn't really angry, or there wouldn't have been any warning. I guess I was just ready for a break anyway.

"Oh, do I, sir?"

"Yes, you do."

"And who's going to give me this lesson?"

At that, I just smiled. A plan had formed in my mind by then. It might not teach anyone anything, but it sure would be fun.

"You wouldn't," she said in response to the look I was giving her. Of course she knew I would. She was counting on it in fact.

I set my instrument down and stood. "We can do this the easy way. Or we can do it the hard way."

She tossed her hair casually. "Oh, Matt," she said. "You know I like it hard." With that, she scurried out the door, and I bounded after her.

It's not difficult to catch and subdue a mischievous slut when she wants to be caught and subdued. I grabbed her before she was half way to the kitchen. She fought and kicked just enough to make it interesting, while I used just enough force to win the fight.

As we engaged in mock combat, she spewed a steady stream of endearments. "You fucking jerk asshole bastard shit sonuvabitch..."

I could really feel the love.

After a few minutes, I ended up with my arms locked around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides. We were both breathing hard when I half-dragged, half-carried her toward the coffee table. She squirmed in my grip, but I managed to kick off whatever was on the table, clearing the way for a makeshift classroom for Gwen's lesson.

I sat her down on the table. She held herself bolt upright, thrusting out her delicious breasts, hidden behind the black lace of her bra. Her nipples were erect and seemed to reflect the mischief in her eyes.

"Lie on the table," I said. "On your tummy."

She hesitated, lips parting as though she wanted to say something. Her expression went from confusion to curiosity to trepidation to resignation. Then, without a word, she flipped over and lay down as I'd told her, ending up with her knees on the floor at one end of the low table and her arms hanging over the other end.

We have coils of rope stashed throughout the house for emergencies like this, so I didn't have to go far to get what I needed next.

I stooped down and bound her wrists to the table legs. She grimaced and pouted as the white cord tightened against her skin.

"What are you going to do, Matt?" she asked.

I ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her face. "You're so cute when you pout like that."

"What are you going to do? ... Sir."

That tone was a bit better. "Music Appreciation 101, my dear. You need a refresher."

"Go to hell."

"Such a mouthy bitch today," I said. "No doubt I will go to hell. But right now, I intend to have some fun."

I stood and went to the other end of the table, where I bound her knees apart, one to each of the other two table legs. Before getting my cello, I gave her ass a single smart whap.

"Ow! You fucker!"

"Not yet, darling. Soon."

She snarled and growled as I retrieved my cello. When I returned, I had one of my old, cheap bows along with the good one I had been practicing with. I pulled up a chair and set up to play close to the "ass" end of the coffee table.

I cleared my throat. "Ahem. Class, we will first review some basic string playing terminology. I realize most of you are 'only' woodwind players, but you should know these terms anyway."

Gwen snorted at the woodwind player crack.

Col Legno
Copyright 2003 by Rod Harden
rodharden@yahoo.com
All rights reserved
Do not reproduce without written permission from the author

"Now, class," I continued. "The normal mode of playing with the bow is called what? Anyone? How about you, tied to the table?"

"Arco, asshole."

"Yes, very good, Gwendolyn. Normal playing with the bow is called 'arco asshole'. And how about when I pluck the strings with my finger?"

Gwen sighed heavily. "Pizzicato. Matt, what are you doing?"

"Excellent. Pizzicato is correct! You're doing very well. One last question before we go on to our musical examples. There's another method of playing with the bow called 'col legno'. Does anyone know what col legno means? Do I see Gwen's hand raised? No, I guess not, but why don't you answer anyway, dear?"

"God, Matt, you are so weird sometimes."

"Just answer the question."

"It means to play 'with the... with the wood'." She gasped. "Oh my God! Matthew! You wouldn't!"

Ah, but I would.

With the old bow in hand, I turned the wood side toward her and gave her a light crack across the ass, col legno.

"Hey! That smarts."

"Good. It's supposed to." I applied another stroke.

"Damn it!"

Then a third one rather harder than the previous two.

"Ow, ow, shit! You... Take everything I said before and double it!"

The fourth and fifth strokes were hard enough to make satisfyingly loud smacking sounds.

She was spewing again.

I set the bow down and leaned over to caress her abused bum. As I ran my hand gently over the soft mounds and down her valley, her harsh words gradually melted into throaty moans. When I slipped my hand between her thighs, she rocked back against the pressure. Her wetness had already saturated the lacy part of her pantyhose.

After a few minutes of teasing her, she was panting and sighing and praising the lord for the magic of fingers against nylon shrouded clit. She groaned when I sat up, leaving her hovering on the edge.

I picked up my good bow. "Let's continue the lesson," I said. "Class, what musical example shall we hear today?"

"Fuck me, Matt," she gasped.

"Such language! I'll pick the example then. How about this lovely phrase from the Dvorak Cell Concerto?" I played the measures that had started the whole episode. "Would the class like to hear it again?"

"No! Just fuck me, Mathew."

"Wrong answer." I picked up the old bow and played her ass col legno again.

"Ow! I meant, yes, sir. Play it again."

I did so. "Hear it again, class?"

"Yes, please."

"Again?"

"Yes, damn it!"

"Watch the language, Gwendolyn." I spanked her hard with the bow.

"Jesus Chr- I mean, please, sir, play it again."

I made her listen to the phrase about a dozen more times, with several vehement encounters of bow and ass along the way.

At last, I set my cello aside and got down to untie her. She started to get up, but I stopped her. "Just turn over onto your back," I said.

She gave me a look, but did so, letting her arms dangle to the floor at her sides. I again tied her wrists to two table legs. Lying on her back as she was, her legs extended beyond the other end, her feet flat on the floor. I pulled her ankles back and bound them to the other two table legs.

I stood and studied her helpless form. She looked up at me, biting her lip, as her hips gyrated invitingly. My cock had been hard since the first swat, but it swelled all the more at the sight. "Looks very enticing," I said. "But I have one more bowing lesson for you."

I picked up the old bow and sat next to her. That bow hadn't been rosined for a long time, so the hairs were relatively slippery. I placed it between her legs and began a slow up-bow with moderate pressure against her labia.

"Hoo, wow!" she cried. "That feels nice. Play me, Matt, play me!"

I reversed direction and increased pressure on the down-bow. She cooed and sighed and moaned. Laughing, I said, "It's like playing a musical saw."

After several "phrases" of normal bowing, I changed to an extremely rapid alternation of short up- and down-strokes. The alternations were so quick my hand was a blur.

"What is this technique called?" I asked.

Gwen gasped and whimpered. "Tr- trem-"

"That's right, darling. Tremolo. How about this one?"

I raised the bow and let it bounce lightly against her pussy.

"Oh God. I don't know, but it's a good one, whatever it is."

"That's called spicatto," I said.

"R- right," she stammered.

"And this is the one we just reviewed." I turned the bow over and tapped the wood directly against her engorged cunt.

"Sweet Jesus!" she cried. Trembling, she twisted and writhed on the table, straining against the ropes.

Finally, I set the bow down and cupped her drenched pussy with my hand.

"Fuck me now?" she pleaded.

"Yes," I laughed, "Fuck you now. Just as soon as I take care of this pesky bra, and these pantyhose."

"Hurry, please. I want to feel you in me."

That made two of us.

I pulled out my pocket knife and flipped the blade out. I slid the sharp, cold steel under her bra, between the cups, and lifted with a sawing motion. Her eyes grew wide as the knife sliced through the material. When the last strand came apart, the cups snapped back and to the sides, exposing her breasts. We gasped in unison.

I set the blade against one nipple then the other, teasing them to fullness. Gwen shivered and sighed. Slowly, I guided the knife down toward her belly button, continuing to her spread thighs.

"Matt..."

"Hush. Don't worry."

I pinched a bit of the stretchy material and lifted the pantyhose away from her skin. The tip of the blade poked through easily. Again I started sawing with the knife, this time creating a slit and... access.

Although Gwen was now open and spread beautifully, the height of the table was a bit awkward. I looked around and grabbed a couple of the throw pillows from the couch. By then I was beyond eager, and clumsily clawed my way out of my jeans.

It was a trickier than I thought, but with me kneeling on the pillows, and Gwen shifting and angling her hips, we managed to orchestrate the final movement of our impromptu for Gwen and cellist.

She urged me on, and I knew her look of desperation was not so much for her own satisfaction but for mine. And after a quick crescendo, as I grunted my climax, her smile was the perfect denouement.

After I untied her, we lay on the floor, kissing and touching. Gwen began to laugh softly.

"What is it?" I said.

"Now I know how your cello must feel."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I think I just might be jealous of it."

I laughed. "Don't be. It's lousy at oral sex."

She laughed, then sat up, looking suddenly concerned. "Poor Dvorak," she said. "You used his music to torture me! He must be turning in his grave."

I shrugged and pulled her to me again. "If he is, it's his own damn fault."

Col Legno
Copyright 2003 by Rod Harden
All rights reserved
Do not reproduce without written permission from the author