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The Crimson Cello

It had been the sound that evoked his first memories. What he now knew to be a Bach cello suite had stirred the other sense into recognition. He remembered forcing his eyes open to scan the room to find the source of the lovely music. His eyes straining to focus through the haze of his intoxicated state, the source of the sounds sat naked with the cello delicately held between her knees. He watched her slender fingers dance sensuously up and down the fingerboard. The skill and articulate quality of her touch milking the instrument of its luscious tones that flowed like liquid form the ancient instrument. The beautiful petite young woman who played it with her eyes closed licked her lips as if she was overcome by the sensation she evoked. Lying on the floor in front of her were the tiny-silk panties she had worn-stained with her virgin blood. As his eyes focused, he could see that the cello shared the crimson colour of the blood soaked panties and that near the left f hole she had smeared her fresh sexual christening.

His next memory had been olfactory, the taste of her lips causing his to tingle as he kissed her for the first time. Everything about her was unexpected. As the owner of a chain of retail lingerie outlets, he had been invited to a party at Honeyton Lodge and eighteenth-century apartment building in the trendy up market end of the inner city. It was not uncommon for buyers to go to these evenings where beautiful models displayed the products and more often than not slept with ...

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