The Organ Is Delivered!

A four manual instrument coupled to a system that allows me to use the sounds of some of the finest instruments in the world. First of all, they just unloaded it into the room placing it where it’s going to go. Then, a gorgeous, but obviously very gay man set up microphones everywhere. No one, not even he was allowed in the room. “Doing an acoustic survey darling.” Whatever one of those is. Then he began to place speakers, and run cables. It took him a day to install the sound system. 

The next day, the organ manufacturer came to set up the instrument itself. It sounds magnificent. 

But here’s the surprise. When I sang in the church choir, I had a major crush on the organist, which is why, in part, I took lessons. Oh he was older…and married, but hey, what’s a girl to do when her hormones are raging? I even went so far as to hide some panties in his music bag. As there were several girls in the choir, I don’t think he ever knew which of us it was! 

Left alone in my music room, waves of memory crashed over me. I’m horny enough now, but back then it felt…hmm…sharper somehow. The number of services I would sit through a boring homily staring at him..imagining if he did his wife that morning, and imagining sucking her off his cock before he fucked me. We had a huge pipe organ in the church and sometimes, he would take me inside it for a guided tour. He had plans for me to take the Royal College of Organists exams, and they require you to know something about organ construction. I would always wear a short skirt, so that when I climbed the ladders in there, he got an eyeful. Sometimes, I even thought about going commando, but never quite got the courage up for that. 

Oh yes, the memories flooded back like water through a broken dam. And it wasn’t just memories that were flooding. Mum tells me excessive wetness is a ‘thing’ in the female line of the family. I seem to have turned it into an art form! 

So I stood in the room, eyes closed, remembering. The times he would reach over my shoulder to turn a page and his elbow might graze against my boob, or the times I was doing pedal exercises, and realised my skirt was dangling over the back of the organ bench, meaning my moist panties were in direct contact with the wood! I often wondered (hoped?) he might smell the bench after me. But most clearly of all was the time I just couldn’t stand it any more and had gone to the restroom and rubbed one out into my panties. This caused the usual cascade, and after I’d cum, my undies really were soaked. It was then my naughty little devil appeared on my shoulder and told me to put them in his bag. 

After I’d done it, I was scared there’d be either a 1:1 telling off, or worse, he’d speak to all the girls together. They’d know it wasn’t them, leaving a shortlist of one! But he hadn’t said a word! Nothing. I never saw the panties again, which only fueled Miss Brain into ever more kinky heights of imagination. What if he knew all along they were mine? What if he wanked himself crazy over them…smelling me…tasting me…what if he fantasised over me while screwing his wife? What if he made a move for me….would I have let him? (Yes! Oh, yes!) 

I suppose having a crush on an older man isn’t unusual, but boy, I really fell hard for him, and when he played…when he really let rip, all that power, all those deep notes that you feel more than hear…..well….it's enough to make a girl faint! 

Many was the night my hand played in my panties as I imagined him doing all sorts of things to me. The most sexy thing to my mind at the time wasn’t being fucked by him, nice though the thought was. It was the thought of him going down on me. I think it’s safe to say every girl worries about how she smells and tastes, especially since it changes as we go through our cycle, but there is something really sexy about the thought of spreading your legs, and someone licking your most intimate area. That thought made me cum every time! 

As it did as I stood there remembering. My hand drifted up my skirt and into my panties effortlessly, and with little, butterfly-soft touches, I imagined his tongue working on my clit and occasionally pushing up my hole. I imagined what it would have been like as I would have tried to defer the orgasm, but just before it inevitably burst from me, I would have had to tell him, “Oh…by the way, I squirt.” I imagined him stopping for a second, looking up into my eyes, and saying in his soft mellifluous voice, “Good!” 

And in real life, as in imagination, with the sun streaming in on my face, I came into my panties imagining my wetness being greedily swallowed by this gorgeous man. I also remembered wondering if he would kiss his wife when he got home. 

Well, my organ lessons start tomorrow…

….with the same man!