Chapter 9
I tossed and turned all night, my jangled nerves refusing to let me store up energy for the barrage of intense rehearsals staring' me in a petrified face. Even the thought of singing before a packed house nauseated my stomach. I hugged the toilet more than once during the long night. I was not all sure I would survive the next four days. And opening night, once an event eagerly anticipated loomed before me more awesomely terrifying than my most hideous nightmare.
I tested my vocal abilities in the shower. That only convinced me that Dennis was going to have to work-a miracle to get more than a squeak past these lips. But it wasn't a total disaster. I did, at least, know all the lyrics and that was one less worry.
Dennis greeted me warmly, unaware of the monumental task laid at his feet. We immediately set to work. As he warmed up my voice, his smile vanished. By the time we had finished, he almost fainted.
"You were right, my dear, you're not a singer."
"I tried to tell you. Is there any hope?
"There's always hope," he said, opening the score. "Let's start at the top and work our way through."
"Little Lamb" was the first song, a solo, a gentle lullaby. It did not go well. Gypsy only has four songs but it seemed like a hundred. Only "Let Me Entertain You" was even mildly passable, and then simply because I could talk my way through it.
I looked at Dennis for an encouraging sign.
"Not as bad as I expected, not as good as I had hoped," he stated flatly. "It isn't so much your singing. Your breathing is way off!"
"My breathing? I breathe like everyone else."
"Quite true, and that's your problem. You have no support. Signers train their lungs and especially their diaphragm to exhale in precisely measured doses. That's why your notes are weak. Your diaphragm must be made out of jelly!"
"I tried to tell you guys this wasn't going to work. But, no! Sandy can do it. Sandy's our girl. Bullshit!" I was on the verge of tears.
"Don't sweat it. You've got three songs---"
"Four."
"Three. Josh said he'd work "Let Me Entertain You" as a talk song. It'll work. You just have to sound sexy and bump and grind a lot. Remember, Gypsy was a stripper, not a songbird.
"Yeah, but what about the rest?"
"Leave that to me!"
He got up from the piano, stood next to me, and placed his fingers just below my sternum, his arm brushing against my breast. "Take a deep breath. Now let it out in little jerks. That's right. Feel how your diaphragm presses against my fingers?"
I felt it all right, and a lot more. My jerking breath wobbled my tit over his arm. It felt mildly stimulating. He removed his hand and replaced it with my own.
"Again," he instructed.
I pumped my air, my own arm feeling the brush of my tit. He stood me in front of a mirror and I repeated the exercise several times more.
"Good. Take off your sweater."
"What!"
"I want you to watch your diaphragm as we begin to train it. Jerking is a start. Now we refine."
I reluctantly slid the sweater over my head. Dennis stepped behind me, his hands arcing around my sides to place warm fingertips below my breasts. He gently ran along my rib cage, felt the full extent of the muscles which controlled my breathing.
His touch was seductive and my nipples began to stiffen. I watched them rise in the mirror, not fully erect, but growing, pressing firmly into my bra. I took a good look at Dennis, an older gentleman, graying at the temples, his face beginning to fill with character lines. He was attractive in an older sort of way, his eyes soft and kind, his skin smooth, his body fighting valiantly against middle age.
He was still explaining the proper use of the muscles beneath my awakening skin when his hands slipped beneath my bra and curled around my breasts. A slight raising of his wrists slid my bra along his hands, allowed him easy access to my still rising nipples.
"Dennis! What are you doing?"
"Trying to get you to relax."
"That's definitely not the way to go about it." 1languished beneath his gentle massage and immediately thought I should remove his hands. Pleasure stopped me, forced me to stare into the mirror. He kissed my neck as he fondled my breasts, my nipples occasionally peeking through kneading forgers.
"That's it," he said," control your breathing. Inhale as I twist your erect little nipples. Exhale when I squeeze your supple melons. Twist and in. Squeeze and out."
Dennis increased his speed, my breathing matching his pace. He twisted until my lungs would hold no more, then squeezed in tiny jerks to force my diaphragm to work harder and harder, to learn control, to expel the air in measured quantity.
"Stop!" I finally said, cool air sought in desperate gasps," or I'm going to hyperventilate."
"Sorry. I got carried away." His hands returned to a slow massaging of my excited tits, his fingers exploring their contours in circling sweeps.
Something hard pressed into my ass and Dennis rocked his crotch across my backside. His hands slid down my stomach, entered the top of my jeans. My tits stared back at me in the mirror, red, swollen, joyously happy. My hips swayed in opposition, rubbed a burgeoning cock into a raging erection. His fingers tugged on my lower abdomen, pulled my pussy up the seam of my jeans.
My hands flew to his hips, slid behind me and fumbled for his belt buckle. Each of us loosened the other's pants. Our hands returned home to strip away unwanted clothing, to lay our crotches bare. I stood before the mirror, my bra above my tits, my pants around my ankles, my knees parting to open my pussy to his fingers, his hands, his cock, whatever he chose to use.
He pulled my hips against his, his hand pushing his tool between my legs, his cockhead poking beneath my pubes. His head gazed into the mirror, and I clamped my thighs around him. He immediately pumped between my gripping legs, his cock brushing along my quivering lips. His dickslit opened and closed as his head appeared and disappeared within my bush.
His hands slipped over my hips, dove into my crotch to pull back on my hair, to expose my pink beginnings. We both stared into the mirror, four eyes locked onto the natural loveliness between my legs. I had no idea what this had to do with teaching me how to sing, but I wasn't about to question it, had no intention of stopping what he now begun. I was already hot and getting hotter, his peeking prick a turn-on almost as good as any I had recently had. I couldn't see very much of Dennis, just his cockhead. But just witnessing my own body tremble and grasp at his stiff organ was exciting in itself.
His fingers curled into my slit, pulled and separated, shot my clit into view. He pulled and tugged, his hands forcibly displaying more and more of my pink interior, stretching my skin to open me wide, to let him gaze upon my closed but begging hole. I watched beauty unfold in intimate detail, petals opening to offer nature's treasure in needed display.
My nipples were fully erect, pounding, my tits rising and falling above a tantalizing twat. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I fought the urge to touch myself, to cover any part of the wonderful view dazzling my eyes. I thought of touching Dennis, to feel his warm flesh, to grab onto his dick and squeeze his hard flesh into my palm. But my hand would only get in the way, keep his moistening head from reaching beyond the confines of my consuming thighs. I let them dangle at my sides, allowing Dennis full control over the pleasant proceedings.
His hand sidled up my stomach, released my snatch. One hand rested upon my navel, pressed me tighter to him. His other hand reached to his cock. He bent over, forcing me forward. I doubled over, my hands reaching to the mirror to keep me from falling. My ass spread against his hairy belly as he guided his cockhead between my lips. I worked one leg out of my jeans and parted for him, took his flaming tool into my hole and sucked it in. His lubricated head slipped up my cunt quickly and easily.
My face was practically smashed into the mirror, my elbows bent with sublime penetration. I pushed out, locked my elbows, ground my pussy along his incoming organ. I gazed beyond my hanging breasts to watch him enter me, to get a look at the man who claimed my box. His balls were clinched up next to his body, brown and gray hairs swirling over the surface.
I tried my best but couldn't quite get his entire staff buried inside me. He shoved and pushed, wriggled and twisted, but it just wasn't going to happen. I had most of it, and what I had was good, but I needed to have it all.
"Grab that chair and hang on," Dennis instructed. "I'll make this work."
I pulled the chair in front of me, clamped both hands onto the seat, and wondered what he had in mind. My legs lifted into the air, one on each side of his hips. In he came, all of him, every inch of succulent meat gliding into my snatch.
"I'm going to fill your wheelbarrow," Dennis announced. My tits flopped madly as he pumped his hips in deeply penetrating thrusts, drove himself full up and backed out until just the very tip of his dick rested securely within my gripping hole.
Gravity made this a more stimulating position than I had thought possible. My box wasn't the slightest bit stretched, and yet his cock felt gigantically huge and totally filling, as filling as Brian and Joe combined, one cock with the glorious feeling of two.
I was disappointed when I looked back in the mirror. Dennis' shirt covered his chest, kept me from knowing the full nudity of the man possessing my pussy. I didn't know why this seemed so important, but it did. Maybe it had something to do with equal rights. I was for the most part naked, and I expected him to be as well. But as his steady thumping of my juicing twat returned my gaze to his bouncing balls, thoughts of anything but enjoyment was cast aside. His nuts had lowered a little, wobbled between his thighs as his dick advanced and retreated.
"Sing!" he commanded.
"Now?"
"Sing, damn you, sing!"
"Little lamb, little Iamb," I began tenuously.
"Not a lullaby!" he shouted, slamming into me with greater force.
I thought this was a little kinky, but sang out loud and strong. "If Momma was married--"
"That's it! Sing it with soul!" Dennis pumped harder the more I sang. His cock became a metronome, licked off a steady beat which I followed precisely. Each spot in the song where I was to punch a note, his cock accentuated the power of my delivery with a driving stab from his steel-hard rod. He knew every innuendo of the music and I was quickly learning.
I sang my little heart out as he fucked away at my quivering box, giving my voice a much needed vibrato. This song took on new meaning, had erotic images behind ordinary words. A hint of apprehension grew in my breast as I approached the end of the song, the end with note I had earlier had great difficulty handling. But my aroused body surrounded apprehension with rapture and completely smothered it. I belted the song out like Ethel Merman, full voiced, fearless, shaking the room with power.
Dennis picked up the tempo, raced towards the end of the song, his metronome clicking rapidly within my tremulous cunt. The note approached. I became aware of a mounting orgasm, momentarily, then lapsed into the luxury of a banging boner, my vibrating voice box erupting in perfectly formed notes.
"Sing out, Sandy. Hit it!"
His cum slammed into the back of my pussy at the exact moment I hit the final note. I nailed it, right on pitch, fully supported and sustained for the duration of his splattering ejaculation. His jerking body laid a heavy vibrato on my voice, but that had nothing to do with my excited achievement. A huge smile plastered itself to my face as I clipped off the note. I had sung the entire song without error!
Dennis lowered my legs, allowed his semi-soft cock to slip out of my cunt. My unrealized orgasm withered into obscurity. I turned around to gaze at a slim and slender dick. It had felt a lot bigger than it now looked. It was kind of cute, but nothing I would have actively pursued. Not like Blayne.
"Wonderful!" Dennis exclaimed. "Sing it just like that on stage and you've got it made."
"Are you going to be there to fuck me?"
"If that's what it takes!"
We both laughed at the thought of the two of us humping our brains out so I could hit the high note. We both knew all I needed was the confidence. Now that I had done it once, I could surely do it again.
I reached for my clothes and Dennis stopped me. "No you don't! I've discovered the secret of your success and we're going to use it."
He stripped himself and sat at the piano. My feminist notion of equal rights had been put in balance so I removed both bra and jeans the rest of the way. We tried "Little Lamb" again. It wasn't much better than the first attempt, more of my attention pouring onto his skinny dick propped up by his balls, than on the song.
"Just as I thought. You sing from your pussy. Very well." He circled around to face me, grabbed his baton, and pressed the rewind button on a portable tape recorder. As soon as the tape stopped, the baton went into his mouth. He twisted it around, and the bulbous head dripped with his saliva. "Spread your legs and we'll try this again."
I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but hoped it was as nice as the wheelbarrow, or so he had called it. I willingly parted my legs for him. He reached out and set the tape recorder in motion. The beginning strains of "Little Lamb" reached my ears as his hand reached my pussy. His finger entered me on my first vocalized note.
"Sweet," he said, feeding me more the baton. "Flowing. This is a lullaby."
His finger gently rocked my cunt, swayed me into a drifting trance as lilting notes issued from my throat, from me who couldn't sing. The smooth and gliding motion of that slick finger carried me easily through the entire song.
"Fabulous," he said, turning off the recorder, extracting the glistening baton. "that's it. You filled it with emotion, tender emotions direct from the heart."
"I don't think that's where they came from!"
We spent the entire morning naked and singing, my pussy producing the desired results. Each time we went over a song, Dennis used less and less stimulus, fed me his finger in smaller and smaller doses. By lunch, I was singing every number on key without prodding.
"I knew you could do it." Dennis sat at the piano, his chest pumping with pride.
My own chest swelled up at my miraculous accomplishment. "I never knew I could sing!"
"I had my doubts when you walked in here this morning. You should be proud. You worked very hard."
"You've worked a miracle. I don't know how to thank you."
"I do. Let me make love to you. Not to make you sing. Just a man and a woman in pleasure." He sat stark naked in front of me, and his face turned red.
My hesitation must have told him I was not too keen on the idea, because his hand pressed his cock down between his legs. "My goodness," he said," look at the time. You're supposed to meet Josh for lunch in fifteen minutes. Guess we'll have to postpone our pleasure."
I was relieved and didn't know why. Fucking him was not at all out of the realm of possibility and would probably be quite enjoyable, if it was anything like what we had experienced earlier. However, climaxing would have been nice.
"Some other time then," I said, retrieving my clothes. We dressed and I could tell he was disappointed, even though he had no reason to be. At least he had cum, which is more than I had done. But I had received a lot more than an orgasm from his expert working of my cunt.
I met Josh for lunch and he mapped out the heavy schedule which consumed the four days to opening. There was barely time worked in for me to eat and sleep. But I knew it was necessary. It was going to demand a lot of hard work on everyone's part to get me ready for my debut. My success at Dennis' hands soon wilted beneath the challenges still ahead of me.
This afternoon belonged to Randy. to refit the alterations done for Carla. Tonight, and the next three days belonged to Josh.
I said a silent prayer as I finished lunch and headed for the costume shop.