1. Devil's Thrill Sonata


    Date: 8/12/2019, Categories: Anal, Author: byNachthexe, Source: Literotica

    Author's note: this is based on an old Romani legend my grandmother use to tell me when my parents weren't around. * * * Che un sogno sono stati i miei musica. "What a dream my music was." I. The celebrated Armenian cellist, Tsovinar, was rambling adventitiously about the city, on a bright, chill afternoon in late October. She was to perform, once again that night, at one of the great concert hall which brought the city so much artistic acclaim. According to her usual fixed ways she was amusing herself with people watching, gazing into shop windows, thinking of anything but the approaching dull work that her job had turned her passion into. Not that she was nervous, but she found she came to her work all the fresher for an hour or two of blissful self-indulgence, turning off her mind the way a drunk finds release in the first highly anticipated drink of the morning, or the onanist her middle finger. Wandering away from the busiest street of the city, she found herself in a quiet thoroughfare, throwing away the lipstick-stained butt of one stubby cigarette and produced yet another. She has been bothered by a trouble with deep breathing all her life, now her doctor had recently recommended a curious new medicine, smoked, in the form of New World tobacco. "Cigares de Joy cure Asthma," the tin box the cigarettes resided in declared, "Joy's Cigarette's afford immediate relief in case of asthma, wheezing, winter cough, hay fever, and, with a little perseverance, effect a ...
    permanent cure. Universally recommended by the most eminent physicians and medical authors in France and Britain. Agreeable to use, certain in their effects, harmless in their actions, they may be safely smoked by ladies and children everywhere." Ladies and children certainly were and it did seem to not only help her lungs, but at times, steady her hand. Tsovinar marveled at the age she lived in, modern medicine could do anything. No, not everything. Of late she had been having what her doctor referred to as "female night hysteria;" waking from mystifying dreams full of nervousness, a curious wetness between the legs, muscle spasms, shortness of breath. No one could explain what it all meant, though they did agree she should refrain from too many mentally taxing tasks, avoid thinking of anything indecent and pray before bed. Perhaps it was the indecent part that troubled her so. Even while wearing eyelet, closed-crotch drawers under her skirt, having to open her legs so obscenely wide simply to rest the cello between them made her feel ... vulgar. But today she would not think about that. Today she was out for her afternoon constitutional, a dawdling walk. As it was part of her rule, she tried to avoid any music shops she might pass by. She had already ignored three or four without doing more than barely glancing at their plate-glass windows. One though, walking by a large music emporium, brought her to stop, retracing her steps and standing, her head cocked to one side, remaining ...
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