I still can't forget the first night I saw you on stage at that old local bar that I used to go to. I'd usually find myself sitting there, on my favorite bar stool, after every single shitty day at work to get trashed on each pint of Samuel Adams I could ever afford at the time. There have been countless moments where I'd get so drunk that if anybody dare laid an eye on me, I would gracefully bless them with a bloody nose given the chance, or either return their cold, glazed stare with a cruel sneer slowly creeping across my lips. What can I say? I was a wreck. Everything I've ever known was slowly and gradually slipping away from me with each sip of beer that I boldly took, and I never thought twice about it. So, as I was saying before, putting aside my sob story about why I visit that place…the moment I saw you timidly dragging yourself across the stage to the microphone, fumbling awkwardly with your guitar strap, I thought that you'd be too shy for the spotlight. Then, you opened your mouth, and I just knew from that moment on, that there was this beautiful voice matching your irresistible features.
My visits to the bar had turned more and more frequent because some of the barflies said that you're one of the regular musicians there now. I made sure that once I got off my shift at work, I'd drive on over there to see you perform. I drank less and less beer than I did before because I no longer needed a work day gone wrong as an excuse for getting drunk. I was there for the music, but mostly, I was there for you. I'd sit patiently through other musicians that played songs that even people with the soberest thoughts can't even remember the words to. Then, you'd finally come on stage with your guitar and start your set with a Joni Mitchell song or two. Now, I remember one of the songs being "Big Yellow Taxi", which you might've played about…eh, let's say, 3 or 4 times that I've visited here. I usually leave the bar and catch myself humming the tune as if nobody else was listening. Whenever you started to sing, I've had this nagging, aching feeling of emptiness that had consumed me from years of living alone. That smoky, honey-whiskey voice reminded me of all times I could've had you all to myself. I longed to hear a voice so sweet and so full that I actually fantasized about you coming up to me, and whispering the words of one of your favorite songs seductively in my ear. I really don't know why, but just hearing you sing made me want you…made me hungry for you. I wanted you to fuck me right then and there…all while you sang to me.
I know it sounds funny, but sometimes, after I come home from my nightly bar visit, I can't help but picture you leading me upstairs to a forbidden night of you gently serenading me as you go down on me. Just thinking about that erotic moment made me all the more eager to touch myself and cum hard for you. I imagined myself fucking you as you lie there, looking up at me with so much passion and hunger in your eyes as you kept singing to me without missing a beat; even if you did, you would sound nothing short of pure perfection. Hearing your heaving gasps and sexy moans interlacing with your melodic tones can make me weak at the knees, unable to focus on fucking you anymore. You'd be more than willing to melt me with one solitary sound of your gorgeous voice. All the while, I'd be begging you to never stop fucking me…and to never stop singing for me.
Of course, all I'm saying is…is that you have a voice that would bring me to my knees any time and every time. I would so love to fuck you so hard until the night is through…so hard, that you won't be able to sing for me; you will YELL for me to fuck harder and faster. That's even better than singing for me, right? If this makes you feel any better, I'm a bit partial to it myself. So…will you please sing to me anyway?
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/278rut/please_sing_to_me_fm_str8_vanilla_rom