Thanks to bettigefecht (again!) for prompt: A turtle, a pole, two guys and a girl with a flute.

“Flutes are flat!”
Adjusting, grimacing and testing until he’s satisfied, they begin again.
“Good,” he says.
Oboe 1 watches flute 2 concentrate.

“Good practice! Jan, a word?”
She grips her flute, following Dr. B to his office.
Oboe 1 shoves score and case in bag. He runs to catch up.

“Dr. B, question.”
“Yes, Al?”
“We need a winds sectional.”
“Not a question, Al.”
“I know. Oboes struggle through the Presto.”
“Flutes, too,” Jan adds.

Finger in her face, he says, “She’s the fuck-up, Allen.”
“No, it’s me. I faked the obbligato, and threw off the flutes.”
“Then, learn to count!”

“Performance in one week. Fix it now, and meet me first thing in my office.”
Allen and Jan nod.
“Room 5?”
Music ready, Jan says, “Pickup to 152?”

“Dr. B wants to fuck you,” he says.
“No way.”
“He’ll ease up if you do him.”
She scoffs.
“How do you think I manage?”
“Yeah. He’s kinky, though.”

“Kinky. Like whips and chains or call him Daddy?”
He grins. “Instrument fetish.”
“Flute fucking?” she snorts.
“Want a horn up the ass?” he asks.

“Where do you want me?” she asks.
Dr. B licks his lips. “Did you fix the presto?”
“We did.” She bends to get her flute, flashing naked thighs.

He points to corner of desk.
Perching, skirt hiked, she plays perfectly.
Final trill, fingers caress between knees. “Good girl. Al? Condom.”

“May I?”
Metal released, sweaty with nerves, she nods.
He runs head joint up thigh, lip plate catching her skirt, revealing wet skin.
Allen moans.

Shiny, sliding, he watches it build. He pushes her back.
Allen frees Dr. B’s cock: a turtle stretching its neck.
He sheaths flute and cocks.

Trading places, Allen lubes fingers, pushing in the back, Jan’s legs twining round his.
He reclines.
Dr. B enters with hard metal and cock.

Clit plays keys, as Dr. B watches cock and flute pussy-fucking collaboration.
Jan grinds on Allen’s cock, moaning curses, naming flute manufacturers.

Sweat pouring, Dr. B thrusts hard against tuning slide.
Allen pulses, hanging on the flutist’s tits.
“Fucking! Zauberflöte!”
Dr. B pulls free.

“Sorry, I’m late, folks. Jan had a pole up her ass, and I had to show her how to play her fucking flute. Did I straighten you out?”
“Yes, sir.”


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