Page 11 of CurVy 13

TYLER

My hand is down the front of my jeans, my cock a slick, hard rod in my working fist. The perfectly placed keys of Widor on piano play in my mind like he is hitting the ivories beside me as I rub my cock.

But then her name carves into my mind, the name that haunts me, torments me—Martha Argerich.

Fuck!

Not that bitch.

I release my cock.

I’m leaning beside her front door in a pocket of darkness. The sounds of my brother fucking, slapping, and grunting, a building symphony, have just stopped, and so has Widor playing piano in A Minor.

Martha Argerich ruins everything.

I tug my hand out.

Like fuck he was getting all the playtime with her. Hell, I’ve seen her. Watched her Instagram and TikTok more times than I can count—jerked off in equal count.

The moment she giggled at her own filthy joke, I was a damn goner. Her giggle was in a mezzo-soprano, reminiscent of the tinkling sound of the piano’s upper register until it built to a full-blown cascade of arpeggios.

It blew my mind.

I blew my load on my phone.

The memory of my piano teacher’s snarl hits my forehead. “Tyler, your hand is always down your damn pants. Dirty boys can’t play piano.”

Yeah, bitch, I like to look at you.

I like to touch myself while I do.

Fuck, women.

I like them too much.

It’s just the way I’m tuned.

Fuck her!

My leg twitches to kick the door down, but that would be dumb, and I swore to my brothers that I wouldn’t be dumb today. Not today.

I inhale calming, melodic thoughts: big tits in my face, fat nipple between my teeth, engulfed in soft arms that rock me, a sweet hum that flows like Für Elise…

My cock stirs against my zipper.

I exhale the bitch who called me a pervert just because I mentioned wanting to be posed with her when they buried us together. I wanted my cock to be put inside her so we would be connected until we crumbled to pieces of earth.

That’s not perverted.

It’s romantic, dammit!

I exhale that bitch.

That’s better.

A grin plays on my lips when I test the front door. It turns with ease, the gate to heaven swinging slowly inward, revealing pitch black.

“Easy, Pup,” I hear my brother’s deep voice, a bass tone, cooing to her as she sobs, and it bothers me instantly.