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Let me fuck your saxophone, I said. I was kidding. Sort of. It was just something I said on the spur of the moment. Fuck it. That’s what I was feeling after a weekend of wanting him and not having him because he was off playing somewhere and always came home tired. So fuck it. I was laying half naked on the bed, aching to be fucked. He was pouring Glenmorangie. If I can’t fuck you, I said, I’ll fuck it. I’ll fuck your saxophone.

It was the middle of the night. He had gotten home and showered. I made him do that. He always came home smelling like a dirty ashtray from some smoky jazz club. He came and sat naked on the bed with the Scotch. I took it and drained the shot he had poured into his tumbler. It was strong and I coughed, but it went straight to my head, making me feel effervescent. He poured some more and sipped it slowly, watching me.

Fine, he said at last. I’ll pay to see that. In fact, I dare you. Fuck it, I thought. Go get it, I said. He looked at me with that look in his eyes like I had really stepped in it now and he was going to enjoy watching me squirm my way out of it. He smiled, more like a Cheshire grin. The cat that ate the canary. He walked buck naked over to his saxophone cases and looked back at me. Tenor or soprano?

How exactly do you have sex with a saxophone? Damned if I knew, but I wasn’t going to back down now. I also wasn’t going to take on a tenor saxophone, whatever that meant. Soprano, I said. I’m no fool. He held me with those soft hazel green eyes I love so much, the way they went with his brown caramel skin and made his whole face seem aglow. He came back and sat down on the bed again, laughing now. He was already enjoying it.

What do I get? He thought about that. What do you want? I thought about that. I stick my fingers up your ass, no lube. He squinted and grimaced at the same time. Seriously? I took his drink and drank it. Seriously, I said. Who was calling whose bluff now? He thought about that some more. You’re on, he said finally. He poured some more Scotch. I gulped it down and took the shiny horn from his hand.

It was beautiful. Long and golden, gleaming in the soft lamp light next to the bed. There wasn’t much I could do with the flared bell, but I could work with the other end. I pulled a condom down over the cork on the neck, leaned back, and opened my legs wide. I pulled my white cotton panties aside and put the tip of the horn to my clit, enjoying the cool sensation of the metal on my inner thighs as I closed my legs around it. I was getting off that he was watching me. He never watched me masturbate. He was always too embarrassed. Now he seemed enchanted by what I was doing.

I went all in. I pushed the neck into my pussy, which was good and wet now. Oh God! The octave valve! It was odd-shaped, smooth, and goosed up my clit like a French tickler. I moaned with delight as I opened myself up with my fingers. The neck was curved. I rotated the horn around. Now it was perfect. It hit my G-spot and I jammed it in and out my pussy like it was a golden, lacquered fucking machine.

I had been kidding around in the beginning but this felt good. I wasn’t fooling around anymore. He watched me, astonished as I took his soprano sax firmly in both my hands and started giving myself a royal fuck. The more of it I got inside me the more I felt the intricate little things on the outside of the instrument — keys, rods, valves — ripping my pussy, making the sensations better and better the deeper I pushed. The more sax I got up in me, the more savage the fucking got. I stroked myself into a frenzy, going for the upper register.

I pumped myself hard, whirling the saxophone around inside my aching pussy, pulling it and plunging it, making my own kind of music. It hurt a little but I liked it; the exquisite pain jacking up my pleasure. I forgot all about him. I was somewhere else. Gone. Crazy. I thrust my hips upwards, bucking, wilding out. I was doing myself with his golden horn, pounding my sweet spot again and again until after only a few minutes I was screaming and creaming. I started squirting, uncontrollably. Jizz jazz. I splashed him in the face. I pumped more. I screamed like a madwoman and let out a long, low, guttural moan that sounded like a Buddhist death chant. Then I collapsed, breathing hard, my panties ripped off me and soaking wet. The satin bed sheet was slick with sweet pussy nectar.

I lay there limp as a towel and let him gently pull the thing out of me, dripping and glistening with my juices. I was spent. Exhausted. Feeling devilish and satisfied. His mouth was still gaped open in shock and disbelief as he beheld his precious cum drenched saxophone. I caressed his cheek with the back of my finger and gave him a loving look of afterglow. Who was the cat’s pajamas now? I smiled ever so sweetly, still full of mischief. See? I fucked your saxophone, I said softly. Now show me your asshole.

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