Finally the day had come: the worst evening of the semester. Might as well face it with dignity. I put on my green dress, two inch heels and some serious eyeliner. As an instructor I always dressed professionally, but giving auditions required an extra level of formality.
I drove to the high school apprehensively. It wasn’t the task itself, I loved music and being with a different set of students. The problem was the drama. A long night of unprepared kids getting all worked up over what chair they would sit in.
I sat down cross-legged. The first clarinet player came in and the monotony began. They Warm-up, then start recording. State the date and have the student say their name. Then scales. Then the required prepared piece. Then the optional piece. Then sight reading. Then the next student to do it all again..
I was bored before I started, and after two hours not much had changed. What made it even more tedius is that I could have used last semester’s auditions, the same kids didn’t practice.
The bass clarinets were last, and the worst. When Francis started warming up I almost left the room; his assault on my ears was outlawed in some countries. He must have saw the look on my face because he stopped playing and looked at me with horror.
“Look, a few changes and you’ll play so much better. First, you’re not taking enough reed in your mouth. And you have to suck the spit out, otherwise it sounds like a transistor radio.” I saw a wry smile form as his mind immediately went where teenagers’ minds go.
I could have some fun with this.
“Here, let me show you.” I motioned and he passed over the bass clarinet. I straddled it, moving my legs apart further than they needed to. The instrument blocked a straight line view of my white thong, but the inside of my thighs were on full display. He struggled to keep his eyes up.
“Your reed is too far down, that’s part of the problem.” I adjusted it. Making a show of wrapping my lips around the mouthpiece, I made the best noise that clarinet had made in months. “See? And your fingers, if you are more deliberate with your hand placement you’ll cover the holes better.” I twisted the clarinet to show the proper hand placement, moving the instrument to one side in the process. Francis’s eyes didn’t move with it.
“Watch my fingers as I run up a scale, see how firm they are with each placement.” I slid forward to the edge of my chair, in a show of putting on the best posture. Doing so caused my dress to ride up. My thong did as well; I could feel it bunch up inbetween my lips.
His eyes were glued. I played the scale. As I rocked the bass clarinet against me, pressing the lower thumb rest into my favorite spot. Mmm. The effect on Francis was ever apparent, he was ready to go camping. I ran through a few more scales, and started to make small circular motions. I abruptly stopped.
“It’s become apparent that you’re more interested in the wrong thing between my legs.” Francis gulped. “You have a growing problem, you should get a handle of it.” I set the clarinet down, but didn’t bother closing my legs. He froze.
“I’m going to show you the proper fingerings, but only if you display the full length of your motivation.” Now he understood, and the head I wanted took control of his motions. He unzipped his jeans and took his pole out and started beating it.
There was no art to it, and that was what I enjoyed most. He went straight at himself, his rhythm fast with no build up. A true, honest wack. I pulled my thong down to my ankles and did the same. A nice, delicate massage to my flower was great, but I was in the mood for some hard jilling in my slit. Two fingers inside, pumping as furiously as Francis.
He came quickly, his load arched and then fell on the carpet. It was a beautiful white sticky mess. I could feel my own orgasm building, but I wasn’t there yet. He stood awkwardly, his cock going limp. I loved it, loved that he had no idea what to do next. Fuck me this was good! I clenched my teeth as my insides felt the intense waves crash through me.
Finished, I leaned back against the chair man spreading. “Now, on with your audition.”
Francis blinked, then realized I was serious when I started the recording. He picked up his bass clarinet. His playing was awful before, now even the devil would deem it too cruel to listen. He couldn’t focus on anything except my thoroughly worked vagina.
When he finished I nodded, then stopped the tape. I took my thong from around my feet and used it to dry off my thighs and the places inbetween.
“You need to practice,” I said as I tossed my damp thong in my purse. “And to put your dick back in your pants.”
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/i3ti09/franciss_audition