she sings a duet with her nightingale blues

she sings a duet with her nightingale blues
 
   “You have mastered the violin but as an operatic musician, you need to train your voice. For this lesson, you will be the violin but your vocal cords will be the strings. Fiddles don’t need skirts and neither will you for this exercise in which I will stroke your bare skin with the bow. You have nothing to fear. My arm swings will land the bow softly and with due care for your private zones. Now, slip out of your knickers and bend submissively over the couch.”
     Ro slips out of her skirt, and wiggles out of her panties. “Are you sure this is proper Ms. Agnes?”  
     “We’re both adults, my dear. Now I want you to arch your back and part your legs in a sacrificial pose.”
    “But I’m ticklish.”    
    “It may sound silly but your ticklish areas will give you reliable giggles for the comedic performances.”
     Ro opens herself like a gymnast doing a split in the nude with the wooden instrument shifting her moods into higher ranges and modalities of her music.
    In Agnes’ hands, the implement of Ro’s desire crawls across her seat. The bow could be bamboo in a Hawaiian massage whose spidery prisms web her. Ro’s rose-blushed hips rise to the wooden tap which tenderly caresses like raindrops on her twin moons.      
     She gently bows her into a velvet timbre of love. Ro sings whispered yearnings to the tune of Ms. Agnes’ fingers strumming Ro who is like a lover deep in mystic fervor. Ro’s jade inflection ignites into a fiery necklace of a song. Her voice is a fragrant, come hither. Galician lady of the night, she pours burgundy love lilt from her thirsty heart. When she begins squirming the bow becomes rosined as Ro slickens.
     Ms. Agnes crisscrosses Ro’s valentine. The violin sings through Ro who can no longer contain her pleasure and moans.
     “Was I gentle enough?”
     “It felt like the ache of lilies dying to flower blossoming in my buns.”
     “Oh, Ro your poetry melts my heart. But I won’t get mushy. My fingers are on fire and so are you judging by the sound you made. That has to be the most perfect sync of body and sensation I’ve heard in all my years as a musician. You may get dressed.”