Meryl Lee
The younger the better

CHAPTER ONE

He watched intently from his usual spot at her left shoulder, then shifted awkwardly to a position behind her head. Her body magic had him in total erection. Glancing down he shuddered at the poor concealment of striped trousers. This time he wondered if he really cared if she knew. It was their last time together. This was Celeste, once his child prodigy… now mature and maddening female, about to leave his tutelage. An unbearable emptiness filled the tired frame of the Dean of Music at Gordon Conservatory.

Celeste Ann Dantrelle, virtuoso of piano and organ, and heralded as an incomparably talented dramatic soprano. Now at twenty-two she was about to go from the halls of Gordon to what would surely be a brilliant career.

He, Ulrich Flambeau, had made her. He had taken her in childhood when she was only three and led her through years of preparation. His mind seized on one thought as his gaze wandered over the frame of the girl poised at the massive Moeller organ. He had taken her through so much. But that was precisely what he had never done – taken her!

A shudder rippled involuntarily, low in his gut, as Ulrich felt the grab of lust and the nearing of his last chance. Her dress for her lesson hour with him at the start of this, her final week at Gordon, convinced the organ maestro she was thinking the very same thoughts.

"I hope you won't think me immodest, Dean Flambeau. It isn't my dress," she apologized when he helped her from the cape. His startled glance had lingered a second too long on a decolletage that exposed her superlative breasts nearly to the nipples. "I'm playing with the chamber group at an afternoon lawn party and they asked me to wear this. The hostess sent it over." Her pretty blush told him she wasn't used to such exposure. Ulrich should know. He had been near her almost daily through sixteen years.

She sat confident and cock maddening, staring at the music on the rack of the four-manual organ. The console, mirrored across its top, was a monstrosity fronting her with row on row of ivory, flanking her with massive panels of stops and beneath her feet dozens of foot pedals. And there at the center of the complex organ she had mastered so completely sat the loveliest thing Ulrich Flambeau knew he ever would see in all his lifetime.

"You may play," he said quietly.

The music flowed gently… firmly… superbly from under her fingers, reaching into the heart of the instrument, soaring through its myriad pipes out into the great practice room. This day Ulrich heard none of her genius. Only the sound of his soaring want of this precious girl he had turned into a virtuoso.

From his vantage point behind her he looked down at the casual tumble of rich dark hair framing the beauty of an angel face. That had always been what deterred him before. Large dark innocent eyes, sweet chiseled delicacy of cheekbone and nose and soft satin rich lips. This disarming combination that topped the voluptuous body of a now ripened love-ready girl had awed the man more and more in these last years. And it was soon all to be lost to him.

He stared at nipples clearly urgent against the satin cocktail sheathe, then at the dramatic curve of firm and thrusting milk-white orbs cleaved deeply at their middle. His penis was rigid and painful and the back of her head not two inches from his trouser's front. As she tilted to look down at the pedals, Flambeau had his chance.

His hand darted quickly and the whisper of his zipper was lost in the notes of the organ. Just as his hand was about to release the frenzied excitement from the gaping of his fly, the music stopped.

"You said something, sir?" Her head turned as she glanced in the mirror and smiled quietly.

About to deny it, Ulrich decided it was time to make the bold move. "Celeste, my dear, you have a beautiful body."

"Thank you, sir." No one ever addressed the dean of the conservatory in less formal terms. "Shall I play for you now?"

"You have magnificent female attributes." He seemed not to hear her question and the first-time-ever praise from her idol continued. This was Dean Flambeau of the dancing fingers and the fabulous baritone voice.

"Thank you, sir." She colored prettily and stared down at her hands resting lightly on the ledge of the keyboard.

"There's one thing you must overcome. You are shy about your breasts. Your posture is atrocious. May I tell you what I would do, if I were a woman with your attributes?"

"Please, sir?"

"I would wear dresses like that, but with a decolletage even more daring. I would present my concerts, shoulders back, breasts brazenly displayed. I would show all the endowments the Lord gave me."

"Thank you, sir. I think I'd be self-conscious. But… thank you." She shivered inwardly. She had heard the word from the maestro himself. By the throaty sound, he was preparing another word.

Labored breathing caught her ear. Uncommon in Dean Flambeau. "You must always be in command, my dear. You are a great talent. You are the Goddess of great music. The people expect you to be different."

"I don't think I understand, sir."

"Your personal life, child. Your sexual life, if you will. That is totally yours to choose or reject. But if you choose it, use your admirers at will and never demean yourself to be grateful for what is yours to take."

"Do you mean that, sir?"

"Posture, child! Sit straight and proud!"

He caught her shoulders and drew them back. Demanding, delightful sensations flooded him at the satiny feel of her flesh. Tendrils of dark hair brushed his trouser front and he went weak to the sensation of light bedeviling tresses drifting through his opened fly.

"Now, for this exercise at the organ today, I am going to insist on that posture and bring it about!"

He bent unexpectedly and planted his hands at both sides of her rib cage. "As you play, my dear, I shall compel your best posture. Proceed!"

Her body stiffened as she felt the gentle hands at her midriff and knew the man looking over her shoulder was staring directly at her daring boob display. Just the knowledge sent tingling excitement to the already taut cones, and at that instant he cupped firmly upward to force the globes into even greater prominence.

"Posture, my dear. Show the world your magnificent body profile."

Now his palms were directly at the curve of her breasts and hefting lightly.

"That's what I mean," he said, breaking contact with one hand which in the mirror she saw disappear behind her head.

His phallus was a possessed animal surging for freedom against his pants and he blessed the position directly behind her that let him dare so great a risk. Those breasts! After all the years, he had at last touched her breasts and that touch blasted all controls.

"Play, Celeste," he urged, bending low over her shoulder and slipping a hand inside his fly to free the feverish hardness from captivity. It bounded huge and grotesque, its tip only inches from touching her shoulder! "I'll mind your posture," he croaked in a thin, brittle voice.

One of his hands cradled under a breast and Celeste let her fingers wander aimlessly through the simple harmonies of a popular tune. The inconspicuous mirror on the console, somehow forgotten by the dean, revealed the drama storming in rigid nakedness at the back of her head. Celeste, totally familiar with the music, was able to focus on the passion in the hand of this beautiful man who had been her coach and teacher of all the many instruments she had learned at Gordon.

It seemed incredible that after all these years, tightly controlled Ulrich Flambeau, who had so repeatedly stressed self-discipline, had at last lost his. And he had! She studied the bared and pulsing erection, gripped in his fist and fierce in the mirror's reflection. Not the first she had seen, but the most wanted. How was it possible that so observant a man could fail to observe the side angle mirror which periscope a perfect image of what he was doing?

Reacting to the urgency of his hand on her breast, a hand meant to appear paternal but now stroking seductively, Celeste straightened abruptly. Her animated cream-ivory breasts jutted explosively now and from his angle over her back shoulder, Ulrich could see rigid nipples taut against the translucent cup which served as a bra.

There was no way he could resist doing what he had long wanted to dare as she practiced before him. She could play her organ while he played with his.

Blessing the privacy he thought he had and the preoccupation he was sure she had with her soulful rendition of the music, he began to masturbate.

Not confidently. Not brazenly. An uncertain stroking, pumping erratically and stopping when he saw her hand reach suddenly for the master stop to lower the music to a whisper.

"Put it on my shoulder and do it," came the quiet command. She paused a heart-stopping instant, then added, "Tangle it in my hair while you play with it."

A strangled gagging sound broke from the lips of dumb-struck Ulrich Flambeau. How had she known? He clutched his bared erection and stared at the motionless figure seated on the console bench, pointing her index finger at the base of her neck where she wanted to feel his penis.

"Celeste… I…" He gawked down at the calm, yet passionate beauty of her face, head turned slightly to let him see the princess-like regality of every chiseled line. Dark, dramatic thin-line eyebrows, and underneath, long curved lashes. From his position behind her he couldn't see those sparkling, wonderful eyes. But she had seen his lust. Oh, God!

At that second he caught sight of the built-in, nearly hidden mirror. She was openly studying the display of his erection, brazenly exposed by the glass. Just as he quailed completely from his carefully worked out plan for private play, she slammed two angry fists on the organ manual, sending a brief crescendo ricocheting against the studio walls.

"Do as I asked you to!" She hissed the words, fingering the snap at the vee of her decolletage and spilling the bodice of her white cocktail dress still wider. Now clearly visible was the taut transparency of her nipples.

She saw his violent tremble and her voice was as low as the music when she spoke: "You needn't be embarrassed. I've wanted to see it for a long time. Please, place it on my shoulder and masturbate it over me."

There was no way he could avoid those wonderful, dancing eyes turned suddenly upward to meet his. Pupils dark with excitement, even as she continued to play. His heart raced madly as awareness dawned. She had taken his advice precisely. He had said she should ask of the world what she wanted sexually. He was her first want. Now as he moved close to her and placed his horny cock on the silken sleekness of her shoulder, he was hers.

"Nice." She squirmed on the console bench and turned back to face the keyboards, her flesh moving maddeningly under his phallus. "You smell very nice. Do it at me!"

His fist tightened and the thin foreskin slithered back to expose a broad, vermilion cap. With slow deliberateness he straightened, drawing his hand from her breast and seizing the long shaft fiercely in both hands.

"Jerk off over my pretty body," she said softly. There wasn't a hint of egotism to her words. It was a statement of fact accepted. "Push your penis very close to my throat, then aim it straight down my decolletage." Dark brunette lengths bounced lightly as she tossed her head impudently, making some of the hair cascade across his bonewhite prick and partially obscure the now nearly purple cap. "Wrap it with my hair, if you're afraid to have me see it all. That'll feel good to both of us. Nice!" she murmured when he obeyed impetuously, sheathing part of the barrel with long tresses.

Her nipples, wild points of desire against the soft bra, were the only giveaway of her personal frenzy for his exhibitionism. As his stroking rhythm intensified, Flambeau had the odd, almost detached certainty he was about to soak those nipples with flying semen. But he never would… never could.

"Aaaahhh… eeehhh…!" His orgasm cry burst helplessly at the sight of sparkling come spraying furiously. It dashed into the wide cleavage of her cocktail gown and, splattering against that unblemished breast flesh, dripped and drooled to the most intimate reaches of her body under the dress.

The storm of his desire was hardly gone. To see his ejaculation splatter across her front whipped Flambeau with a reality that had long tortured him. He had to have his organ inside this sweet body! He must blast sperm deep into her vagina. But how? First fire her with frenzy for it. She had reached to tilt the mirror just before he came and her face was fully visible to him when his cock discharged. Her mouth had opened in startled excitement as he ejaculated over her shoulder. No sign of joy. Rather the look of one cheated.

Celeste accepted his hanky and touched her throat and bodice where there was a glisten of semen, then handed the damp cloth back to him. "Put it out of sight," she said softly, staring calmly at the collapsing penis. "Don't close the zipper."

Flambeau pressed the limp flesh inside his fly, determined to be as cool as his pupil. "More definition as you play," he said, nodding toward the book of music.

Her fingers were delicate on the keys and her voice lovely as she sang her accompaniment. No break in her tone as she saw the grotesque crown of a reawakening penis crawl from the dark cave of the trouser fly. His hand caught the creeping, stretching cock and guided it to its cradle at the hollow of her throat. There they both watched the erection swell.

She sang with unfaltering ease, even as she watched the blood-swollen barrel fill and stiffen, then quiver directly along the delicate femininity of her jaw line. The mushroom-shaped cap had a formidable threatening quality. She seemed unimpressed. The last words of the song whispered from her lips and her fingers lay quiet on the keyboard.

"I want to kiss it," she said, tilting her face upward and looking over her shoulder at the inflamed erection. No hint of mirth or mischief. A kind of bright-eyed fierceness that dared him to obey.

"Wuh… would you… Celeste, would… you?" His whole frame trembled with sheer yearning for what he so often had dreamed. Celeste, gorgeous Celeste of the sweetly innocent heart-shaped mouth, wanted to close those sensuous lips on his need-filled prick! She was inviting him to meet her thirst with his come.

It was at that instant Dean Ulrich Flambeau saw the passion clear and transparent in the expression of cock-driven Celeste. The mask she wore so well, pretending to be detached from desire, was only false front. Her lips puckered silently at the very tip of the phallus, then only briefly nibbled a tiny, electrifying message.

She was totally professional at the organ keyboard, but now as he gaped at her femaleness, he saw a different organ was more interesting by far to her – his sex organ. She never would give away her cock passion. Always be the Goddess who would take the male as she willed. She could use and spend and perhaps even destroy those whose lust she allowed to bring tribute to her. But never – ever – would Celeste Ann Dantrelle let her personal phallic frenzy show.

Always on a pedestal above mortals.

Always the bewitching, voluptuous prick-tantalizing princess. Never revealing her sex passions until the instant of claiming the desired one. Like this moment!

Her eyes told him she was losing control. Dark turned to violet and predatory glitter showed the deep well of wanting. Her hair moved lightly as she shook her head, tumbling sexily across the sleek taut sloping of her shoulders. She straightened as if striving for self-control and the action forced the hard-nippled globes into dizzying prominence against the widened decolletage.

With only the slightest trembling, her exquisite fingers reached, touched the phallus of her desire, then clamped possessively around the gristle of his horny cock shaft. In that moment Flambeau saw yearning out of control in her expression. A want to be the conquering male drove him. Bracing on the balls of his feet, he rocked arrogantly, urging his pelvis to force the ramrodding prick through the funnel of her fingers against her lips.

"Kiss it again!" he hissed, not daring to command what he knew she really wanted. She was the Goddess. She chose.

Her fingers were a fierce vise as she felt the demanding wildness in the man and her squeeze forced the glans crown to balloon dark and huge.

"Be nice!" Urgent plea spilled breathlessly against his penis cap. She was female paralyzed with need. "Shove your cock in my mouth!" Murmured, maddening word he never imagined she knew. "I want to suck it… I want to eat it and stick my tongue in its eye… I want your love squirting down my throat! Jam it in me!" Her pupils dilated wildly as she propelled the hypersensitized erection to her mouth.

"Oh, my God, Celeste… yesss!" Flambeau rocked helplessly to the urgent siphoning, feeling the welling surge almost instantly.

His ejaculation stormed crazily into her lips and the first blast of it triggered a shudder that raced through her bod. The girl was in spasm, visibly coming herself, barely able to keep her seat! He could feel the orgasm tremors pass between them.

And abruptly it was done.

With incredible poise and pride, she let her fingers drift from his cock, straightened, tossed her head to shift the dark shining tresses across her shoulder. Oddly, her hair seemed hardly disturbed. And Flambeau had minutes before clutched a handful of it around his organ when he jerked off!

She smiled up at him. Pouting, tantalizing lips puckered and she lifted her chin proudly without the least hint of embarrassment. He gawked like a schoolboy as he saw the slight movement. Beautiful neck that he had studied in awe for years. Only a hint of throat muscle movement, but definitely it happened. She had swallowed his ejaculation!

Her eyes danced mischievously and he saw the tip of her tongue snake to her lower lip to check for any errant drops.

"I want to do Bach's Fugue in D for you." She was facing the keys again and he was her audience now, not her teacher. "I feel differently about it today."

The music moved in a way Flambeau never had heard. It had a new mood, a new pulse and a heartbeat. Her execution, always perfect, now was perfection with a soul. She was telling him what their sex play had done for her. His cock stuffed into her mouth had filled a deep need in her genius. Already he felt the stirrings of new lust for this angel of keyboard and song. Was this what made great talent greater?

Flambeau had told her she was the genius and her sexual wants were hers to claim. Now he knew he hadn't needed to give her the advice. She knew her rights innately.

He slipped quietly to the edge of the bench to watch. No effort to conceal the awakening penis as it climbed in reawakening urgency from the gaping of his fly.

Only a slight tilting of her head indicated her awareness. Little half smile as she shifted to contemporary Bacharach, lingering over the melody of "Raindrops Keep Falling".

"Let me hear you sing it." He was her worshipping audience of one and the years of her training were behind them. "He must have written it for you, my dear."

She sang in a sultry whispering mood and again seemed in her own world, far away from all around her. Till she turned directly toward him to stare deeply into his eyes.

"I've always felt frustrated at this organ." Her toes moved listlessly across the foot pedals. "My legs are too long but my arms not long enough. On this bench I'm right on top of the pedals. Look. My fingers can hardly reach the Swell Manual. Isn't there some way you can make a higher bench?"

Flambeau's head swam. He had been nearly overwhelmed at his first indiscretion with a student of the conservatory. No matter how special the student, he'd already gone too far. Now, undeniably, she was asking for the ultimate!

"You needn't look astonished." Her eyes were steady and penetrating as they searched his. "I have wanted you to do it for as long as I can remember. You know what I want."

"Why, no… I… think you should… tell… me…" The words walked robot-like from the man's lips. He knew exactly what she wanted, but had to hear it.

Dark pupils turned deep violet again and there was that jungle fierceness in her expression he had seen just before she fellated him.

"I want you to take me in intercourse while I try to play. I've always wanted to sing with you inside me."

As though it was the most natural thing in the world, she scooped her skirt from under her thighs, then carefully avoiding the pedals of the foot manual, shifted across his lap. Flambeau couldn't believe it was really happening to them. Celeste was spreading her legs across his thighs, then pressing up and hovering there in almost-not-quite-contact of tender labial lips and rock-hard cock. No underpanties! He felt the warmth of her darling pussy flesh nudge his needy glans.

Very carefully she settled down on his erection and he felt the sweet yield of the most beautiful harmony in flesh he ever had known give before his impaling prick spear.

"Ohhh… you man, you!" Her frenzied spasm as he impaled her deep and fully almost brought him on and Ulrich steeled against the want to climax. "Ohhh, I… I want… want you to come!"

He fought it, felt the rapture-driven clutching of her vagina as she was claimed again and again in rippling non-stop orgasms. "Play!" he demanded, urging against the snug cunty tunnel that now clamped tightly in fierce effort to slow his penetration. He was fully into her and the warm firm cheeks of her ass were firm against his thighs. "Can you reach the upper manual now?"

"Fuh… fraid to try!"

"Try!" He rocked against the taut buttocks and his phallus drove still deeper into her vagina.

Somehow she played, the haunting notes of "Ebb Tide" coming jerkily at first, then smoothing. Seconds later she was singing softly to the sound her fingers created of waves moving and flowing in and out… in and out… Sweet angelic voice with a quality of sensuality Flambeau knew had never been heard – might never be heard again.

His hands moved around her waist, then up to the thrusting prominence of her breasts. The bra cups that were only a frail cover for the drama of her bust, gave way easily. He covered the rich swelling of her boobs with gentle, worshipping fingers. Turgid cones met his touch when he reached the centers of her breasts.

The girl seemed in another world as she continued to play and sing the melancholy words of the song. Her head drifted back and Ulrich pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. Then the phallus, which had softened slightly to the magic of her song, grew steel hard inside her and he heard her gasp. "It's thicker than before!" she whispered.

Neither moved, but inside her vagina Ulrich could feel clutching cunty muscles grabbing frantically at his brimming shaft. He answered with little cock convulsions of his own and felt her nipples burgeon under his fingertips as her crest drew near.

"I… I can't help myself!" she groaned. Her hips began to writhe in anticipation of the man's coming and their movement brought on his crisis. In a frenzied cresting chorus mingled of flesh and music, they orgasmed once… then once more.

Very gently, very tenderly, he eased her from his softening penis and she slipped back to the position she had before it all began.

Shortly she was playing again, singing as she played, lost in a world of her own creation. An angel Goddess with a heavenly voice and an incredible talent. She was woman with a special quality now. There was a sensual, indescribable something in the way she played and sang. Without her saying it, Ulrich understood. Celeste had a talent outside the reach of earthly beings, but it was a talent best displayed moments after she had been engaged in earthly sexual encounter.

"Always remember, my dear…" His fingers touched hers as they stood by the door an hour later, "…always, you are the Goddess. And a Goddess with such gifts for the world must take what she needs from the world."

Celeste smiled quietly, then stretched tiptoe to kiss him. Brief, fleeting kiss. How quickly passed their too short time together, thought Flambeau.

"Thank you," she whispered, hurrying out into the hall, suddenly the school girl again as she saw her friend waiting. "Hi, Jennifer!" The two locked arms and danced away to other girl things.

The last words a dazed Dean Ulrich Flambeau heard as the girls hurried down the hallway, were, "Jenn, can you believe it? One more week till we all go off in sixty separate directions."

"I can't stand it," wailed the other.

Flambeau, watching the rear view disappearing around a corridor corner, remembered that impudent tail grinding his rampant phallus deeply into her gorgeous body. "God help me," he muttered, wondering why this day couldn't have come a year earlier. "She really is a Goddess!"