Her Greatest Oral Performance – An Audio Erotic Story

This story is the woman’s perspective to “A Hard Performance – An Erotic Story”.

–

Thomas set his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

His eyes pierced me. I at once began to melt even though I tried to harden.

“Nicole,” he said, “you couldn’t even handle me.”

That was the moment things changed for me. He had thrown me into a torrent. No one tells me that I can’t.

Burning inside at his statement, my eyes coldly pierced back. I kept the staredown across the small table. Yet, his green eyes already had had me hooked now for weeks.

Holding steady, I wondered if I could actually handle him. Whether he knew it or not, his eyes saw so deep inside of me. He could easily expose everything—if he hadn’t already. Behind the staredown across the table, I was caught by the way his lips had coolly formed my name. The first time he had said it melted my mind. It was arousing on a level only I could go. I wished simply to hear “Nicole” move through his lips over and over.

Now he had challenged me and tossed a new element into our game.

XXX

I first saw Thomas at the start of the year’s Choral Society season.

Men like him are rare in a choir, especially in the Choral Society. The men are senior citizens—to be polite. Ear hair, age spots like Dalmatians, bifocal eyeglasses set at the tip of large noses.

In the past, in the choral auditorium, the only thing worth my attention was the large organ with its symmetrical silver pipes.

Unexpectedly, though, there was Thomas. He was the lone man among the baritone singers who had great hair. He was also a head taller than the rest.

Immediately, at that first practice, I was enamored by his cool demeanor, emanating from his gray button-up shirt under a warm, white cardigan. I got a better glimpse when the director brought the new singers to his podium for a quick introduction. Thomas’s slacks fit closely, showing off his form. I only dragged my eyes off him when Carrie nudged me.

“Cute, isn’t he?” she whispered. “More like ‘come over and see me.’” She exhaled. “I bet he’s got a girl. And maybe two on the side.” Carrie shrugged. She had already given up.

I laughed daintily, but only to acknowledge her. She was thinking the same thing as me—about his good-looks at least.

She and I had spotted the same man from across the broad auditorium stage crowded with mingling singers. However, my mind had not yet considered him with other women. I was still consumed with his vibe and warm charm. Carrie’s mind must have thought much faster than mine—more negatively too.

“I hear his audition blew the director away,” Carrie said.

She must have known about him. No wonder she had already pondered the possibility of other women.

“If it was me,” she said, “I would have accepted him even if he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Hell, I would have blown him … away.”

Carrie and I snickered at first, but the humor of him and her comment grew into a controlled laugh.

The alto singer next to me, Elda, nudged me from this goofiness. “Quiet, please. I can’t hear.”

Elda was a grandmother several times over, if not a great-grandmother. With her next nudge to my arm, she said, “Here’s the first music sheet. Take one and pass them down.”

The title Missa Solemnis, a great choral work by Beethoven.

Carrie leaned to me.

“A great-looking guy like that will boost the number of auditions by women and, these days, men too.” She giggled.

She took the sheet music from me and passed them to her left without looking at the singer beside her.

Honestly, I had to agree with her about the auditioning. Handsome attracts handsome.

“He should be on the cover of the Choral Society’s adverts and pamphlets,” I said.

“We sure don’t need more pictures of bald men and blue-haired grandmas,” Carrie said.

“Have you talked to him?”

Before she answered, the director, Mr. Shambaugh, clicked his thin baton on the music stand to get everyone’s attention. He thanked the returning singers and congratulated those who were new to Choral Society.

That was as much as I saw him for the next few months. Often the men practiced at different times and days and when the whole choir was together, he was across the stage. Obviously, I had a crush, and that crush gave me the same giddy feelings that I have had since my preteens.

A few months into the practice season, when the choir was singing as one, Thomas was still far across the stage, but another guy had started to flirt—Terry, a tenor. He was a plain, young guy with a large nose—on pace to be one of the old men in choir. He already had the eyeglasses.

He stood directly behind Carrie and me, one step higher on the platform.

He first sang softly during breaks, showing off his skill to sing blues. Elda shushed him, after glaring over her shoulder. He quieted. I looked back and hoped to convey a message that Elda was an unfriendly old witch. He shrugged. “I like to sing.”

My smile must have been too unintentionally flirty. 

Terry, Carrie, and I often chatted during breaks. He was friendly and had learned to make Elda lighten up on her grandma attitude. Soon I learned he was a conversationalist. He let me talk when we had drinks, and he seemed interested in listening. That is a rarity. It could be that the possibility of sex was non-existent. He had noticed me noticing Thomas and had heard Carrie constantly bringing up the wonder-man as a topic of conversation.

“He is quite a guy,” Terry said one time. “But I bet he’s not as good as he thinks he is.”

Carrie and I turned to him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Good men are like—” 

He didn’t finish before Elda scolded.

“Quiet your mouths unless you’re singing,” she hissed. “I can’t hear the director, and I’m losing my pitch.” She pressed her palm to her ear and hummed a note.

The three of us quieted for her sake. We laughed silently though like three teenagers who were scolded by someone else’s mother.

So, unexpectedly, during a break at practice that evening, Terry brought over my crush.

“Thomas, this is Carrie and this is Nicole. They sing soprano.”

Thomas smiled and his face brightened. My face, I feared, flushed red.

“Carrie.” They shook hands. Then he took my hand. “Nicole, I’m Thomas.”

His hand was warm and large, consuming mine. I felt like a miniature doll. And how he spoke my name. It weakened me.

“Nice to meet you,” I said as calmly as possible.

However, there was no time to really talk before we were singing again.

A few weeks later, though, it happened. Terry, Carrie and I were going to drink at a nearby bar after practice. And Terry invited Thomas.

While we drank around the booth, Terry got goofier, and suddenly, he twisted the conversation and blew up the situation.

“I hear altos are better than altos in bed,” Terry said.

The table went silent at the forward statement as well as the misstatement. I know I went quiet, awkward for one reason rather than the other.

“You mean, altos are better than sopranos,” Thomas corrected, patting Terry’s back.

“That’s what I said, right?” Terry asked.

“Sure, Terry, sure.” Thomas winked at Carrie and me across the table, acknowledging Terry’s state of goofiness.

“Thomas told me about altos,” Terry said. “Told it when we went out with Dorothy and Kathy—altos. Yep, he did.”

“Oh really?” Carrie’s harsh reaction. She sounded aghast. She too had passed her typical two drink limit, and she began to show that she was sipping on number three. “I don’t think he’s right. He’s never did anything with either of us.” She plunked her heavy arm across my shoulders. “You neither, Terry,” she added sharply.

My face had warmed because of the odd conversation in front of this lovely man, so I didn’t respond as forcefully as Carrie had.

What would Thomas think of us? What was he already thinking of me?

“Altos have bigger boobs and have to sing deeper and open their mouths wider,” Terry asserted. “Sopranos sing with an oval mouth-shape.”

“You are crazy,” Carrie countered. “Nicole and I can do just as much as any alto—even better. And don’t even compare us with Dorothy and Kathy, please.” Carrie then kissed my cheek.

I noticed Terry and I were the only ones not dipping into the quicksand of this conversation.

“You going to prove it, Carrie?” Terry said, pushing the discussion to a new level.

She raised her nose and pointed her chin. “You don’t deserve it. I am so far above you.” She tugged me closer, pulling me off kilter on the booth bench.

To avoid a direct answer, I grabbed my drink and swallowed it.

“She’s tough,” Carrie said. “She can handle herself at the bar and in bed—bass, baritone, tenor, or punk asses like you, Terry.”

I hoisted Carrie’s heavy arm from my neck and straightened my back. I put a slight distance between she and me.

Terry looked my way. And Thomas too.

“Is she right?” Terry asked.

The gaze of the two men—Terry with the look of a ravenous dude, and Thomas as handsome who was definitely intrigued—was awkward.

What was I going to say? My next words would change the image I had worked to present, that I wanted to show Thomas—strong, confident, tame, yet mysterious.

“Are tenors and baritones the simps when there are bass singers?” I asked.

The question-y retort must have come across somewhat harsher than I intended.

Terry leaned back dramatically and howled like he had just been shot. Thomas’s eyes caught me though. His deep eyes locked me and paralyzed me. I was a prisoner. His prisoner. 

He was strong, confident, tame, yet mysterious. I had no idea he could lock me down in a moment.

And he said, “Nicole, you couldn’t even handle me.”

XXX

It was purely an accident. I didn’t mean to do it—at first.

I was so excited by the evening’s performance. The Choral Society had practiced for months for this performance. While watching the ensembles and getting ready for my group going on stage, my fingers and toes were tingling, and I had trouble standing still. I shifted from one foot to the other. That’s when I stepped back—completely unintentionally—and bumped into Thomas. I stepped on his large foot.

His hands clutched my waist in his surprise and pain, and, when he lifted his foot in reaction, he kneed me gently in the butt.

“I am so sorry.” I mouthed the words and scrunched my shoulders in an awkward apology.

Despite a gritted mouth, he winked. A silent apology accepted.

I turned from him—an additional swirl to the night’s whirlwind of emotions. The long-awaited concert, the ensemble performance, on stage under the lights, hundreds of people watching, this handsome man in a black-tie tuxedo, his strong hands. Everything was overwhelming me in a good way.

The ongoing ensemble’s performance concluded to a rousing applause from the audience. As the singers left the stage, we singers, on stage left, created a narrow passage for the performers to leave the bright light of center stage. The next ensemble proceeded into the light.

His group ensemble was singing after this one. I felt him shift behind me to get easier access to the stage. But I bumped into him—again.

He tried shifting aside, but I stopped him. Reaching to his waist, my fingers caught two belt loops on his slacks. I tugged him against me.

Then I moved. Not forward. Not backward. Instead, I slowly swayed my hips side to side. I dragged my ass across him, making sure he felt all its contours.

I glanced back, giving him the same piercing eyes that he had struck me with that night at the bar.

It worked. My alluring eyes widened when he gripped my hips. He tugged me closer for more arousal.

I dipped slightly lower—noticeable only to us—and rose up.

In no time, his dick was hardening. It at first was at an odd angle against me, but, with my shifting and bumping, I moved it upright. He obviously was pleased.

He gave a controlled moan to my own pleasure.

Applause pulled us from our secret frolicking.

As he passed by me toward the stage, I whispered, “Backstage. Afterward, see me.”

He cupped my butt. “Of course.”

I grinned. There was wickedness, lust and a determination boiling in me.

I watched him sing in front of a thousand people.

Did I feel bad for putting him in that position? No, because he liked it. I liked it. I was intimately turned on, my body was nearly at its own peak.

Thomas was hard, erect, stiff. I knew it. I felt it thicken moments ago. The bulge was obvious. Could the rest of the audience or even the other singers see it? Likely not, but I knew and he knew. And that’s what really mattered.

I could not help but grin at what I had done.

As his ensemble left the lights, I reached out to his arm.

“After,” I reminded. Honestly, I doubted there was no reason to say it again.

The rest of the evening’s entire performance could not finish fast enough. The conductor, in his musical ferocity, held the final grandiose amen too long—for me at least. My voice could not hold the note, because my chest was pounding. The audience’s standing ovation and shouts of bravo disappointed me, since they only delayed the true event of the night.

Finally, I quickly slipped away, before disappearing, I noticed he was caught up in the herd of singers.

The rehearsal room was empty, except for the many music stands and a couple of purses and jackets left by a few of the singers.

I escaped behind a black curtain into a storage room. There, I sat in a cold chair, waiting.

Forever later, he came into the room. He glanced this way and that.

Psst!

He looked around for the call, ears perked like a scouting animal.

“Thomas!” came an interruption.

I got worried.

The choral director had called my man as he walked into the room.

“Your ensemble was wonderful. Mendelssohn would be proud,” Mr. Shambaugh said.

He and Thomas shook hands.

“I trust he would. Very talented ensemble. Dedicated,” said Shambaugh, who always talked to much.

“Don’t count yourself short either,” Thomas said. “Many more composers would be pleased by you.”

“Yes, I did work hard. This has been my passion, my endeavor, since I was a child. My grandfather took me to see the …”

I peeked through a slit between the curtains, as Shambaugh continued to talk. I cursed Shambaugh.

“… And tonight and then our coming performances throughout the year. Yes, the Choral Society is—”

“Mr. Shambaugh, sir.” Another interruption.

Now I heard William, an administrative assistant and a young tenor.

I got worried that this was going to fall apart. And if they found me sitting here, how would I explain myself?

“The choir is getting ready to take pictures. We need you,” William said. “Thomas! You come too!”

“Come, Thomas. We can’t miss this,” Shambaugh said.

“Um, I am looking for my phone. It’s here somewhere. Just need to look. I’ll be there in a moment,” Thomas said.

“These pictures can’t wait.”

“I need my phone or I won’t get any,” Thomas said.

“I will email them to you—have William send them to everyone. Come.”

“Let me scan the room once more. I feel naked without my phone. You know how we all are these days.”

“We need to change that. Be quick then, Thomas. I can’t hold the picture-taking for long.”

I heard his dress shoes clap on the floor as he walked away.

Psst!

“Where are you?” he asked.

I reached between the curtains.

Thomas burst through the curtains.

“He can’t shut up,” he said.

“You were good tonight,” I said. “Very, very good.”

“You were too, but you want to give more than an on-stage performance, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well, perform,” he said as he unbuttoned his pants.

I grabbed his cock. I was going to tease with a quick kiss and a lick, but he didn’t want to wait.

He yanked me forward by my hair and shoved his dick into my mouth.

His thrusts were harder than I expected. His cocked filled my mouth. It rubbed along the rough roof of my mouth. My tongue flapped in a flurry. A gagging reflex formed at the back of my throat.

I pulled off to get a breath. Once calmed, I took control of his dick. I gave him my best. Sucking and bobbing, fondling with my tongue. My face heated up with my intent on pleasing him, not to mention how much I like giving a good blowjob. 

I leaned back to stroke the sloppy cock, but he cupped my chin tightly.

“Don’t stop now.”

He grabbed my hair bun hard again.

He took over this time. He formed me to gag and wince.

“Thomas!”

We both paused.

William had called into the practice room.

“Thomas, you’re missing the pictures. We need you for the ensemble pictures. Are you here?”

William had given up.

Thomas grabbed my hair and twisted my neck until our eyes met.

“Come on, bitch, suck my dick. Get me off. Show me a soprano has skills.”

I pulled his dick deep into my mouth and bobbed hard. I had him rocking forward and back. 

“Yes, yes,” he grunted. “Here it is. Get ready.”

I did not stop. Instead he pulled out of my mouth. With his few strokes, his face winced.

I opened my mouth wide.

He unloaded into my mouth.

I opened wide to show him his cum on my tongue. Then I swallowed it.

At the end, he sat next to me.

“Do you believe me now?” I said subtly. “That we sopranos can handle cock as good as the deeper altos?”

“You just spoiled my theory. Destroyed it.”

I wiped my mouth and pulled back my hair. “Good.”

“Nicole?” Carrie hollered into the practice room.

I looked at Thomas, who was seated. I patted his knee and then slipped from between the curtains.

“What are you doing in there?” Carrie asked.

“Nothing. I was just taking a quick break from the evening. I’ve been letting this performance weigh on me and now it’s done.”

She was skeptical.

“You know, these things come and go so quickly.”

“Seen Thomas? He’s disappeared too. Shambaugh is asking about him.”

“I have not seen him. What, you think me and him were hiding or something?” I tried to laugh. Carrie and I left the rehearsal room and Thomas.

Eventually, I noticed Thomas had come out for the choir pictures. He was smiling big. He was definitely pleased.

 

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