Piper Sargasso’s XF Fanfic
Feedback: XSandPiper78[at]

By Piper Sargasso

Rating: NC-17

Category: MSR

Classification: V

Archive: Gossamer and Ephemeral – NO. I will submit directly. Anyone else
would be great, just let me know where.

Disclaimer: Characters within belong to CC and the gang. No infringement

Author’s Note: I’d like to dedicate this to all my listmates at IWTB. You’ve all
been incredibly supportive in all my endeavors, and for that, I’m forever
grateful. Special thanks to Sallie, for the great beta and to Gail, for all your
helpful suggestions.


How long since I’ve run my hands over the smooth, cool maple, admired the
glossy surface and the fine grain of the wood? I’d almost forgotten the delicate
arch of the bridge, the exquisite craftsmanship and the weight of it, resting
between my thighs.

I trace the swirl of the scroll and delicately finger the pegs in preparation of
tuning the fine instrument. I’ve so missed the graceful flare of its body, the
delicious curve of its ribs. If a cello were a woman, she’d have a beautiful
hourglass figure, waist small and hips gently curving out. Sensuous and full-
figured, melancholy and bright all at once.

My hands lower to lightly feel of the belly, taking their time stroking it and
absorbing the cool sensation as if exploring a lover’s body for the very first
time. Tracing a languid finger over the F-holes and the cut out hearts of the
bridge, I feel something strangely akin to a homecoming. I’ve stayed away far
too long.

I admire the elegant neck, wrapping my fingers around its solid grace before
laying it against my own. It feels cool and good against my heated skin.
Bending down, I lift it gently and adjust the tail spike to the appropriate length,
then return it to its former position. My bared inner thighs elicit a small shiver
as I reacquaint myself with an old friend. I pluck at the strings tenderly,
listening with great care to the sound each one emits and twist the ebony
tuning pegs accordingly.

Once satisfied, I lean over to retrieve the bow, tightening the screw to bring it
to a taut arch. The bar of rosin slides slowly to coat the hairs, and I savor the
familiar smell of it as it greets my nostrils. The slight weight of the bow settles
into my hand as if it remembers its old home.

Bringing my left hand to the fingerboard, I tentatively place my fingers atop
the strings and bring the bow to rest above the blonde bridge. The first, slow
pull of the bow across the strings draws the most beautiful sound. We share a
few moments of awkwardness. It has been years since I’ve uncovered this
treasure from the back of my closet, years since it has been removed from its
large, black case. No frets and over a decade of neglect make the journey
difficult, but I feel an urgency propelling me forward. Rosin flakes and settles
onto the richly colored wood as I play, slowly remembering the notes and
finger placement, recalling the exact method of wrenching a deep melody from
the extraordinary body.

I close my eyes and allow myself to become possessed by it. Bach’s Air,
adjusted to alto. I was never talented enough to play professionally, like Ellen,
but I played well in college. My fingers slide up and down the length of the
fingerboard as the bow flies across the tightly pulled strings. The rich, full-
bodied sounds pouring from the hollowed belly echoes inside my own body, a
tingling gathering low in me that can’t, won’t be denied.

I play on, perched at the edge of my chair, skirt hiked around my hips and just
let it flow from the depths of my soul. It has complete and utter control over
me now. I’m powerless to stop it and wouldn’t want to. The sweet, exquisite
sounds of Locke’s Suite No.2 in B-Flat Major wail from the strings and I feel a
warm, wet kiss on my sensitive neck. It feels right and perfect and I slow the
tempo. The music takes me to a tranquil, deeper place while the warmth nips
and tugs at my earlobe, dragging the tenderness of it down my neck once more.

A,C,D,G. Each string pours its heart out in an enchanting vibrato, depositing
them inside me as I register a large, splayed hand reaching inside my half-
unbuttoned blouse, tenderly rubbing an open palm across my peaked and
sensitized nipple. I hum in synchrony with the trembling, wooden body
captured between my legs, allowing the sensations to overwhelm and
overpower me.

The hand removes itself from inside my lacy bra and trails delicately over my
clavicles, tracing the line of my jaw. I soften under the touch. It makes its slow
journey down my neck and arms, caressing the flesh of my exposed thighs
wrapped around the instrument. I jump at the sensation. My nerve endings
dance throughout my fevered body, the music growing ever frantic in response.
We are one and the same.

I shift ever so slightly, allowing access to the exploring wanderer kneeling
behind me. Thumb tracing circles on my inner thigh, hand snaking into my
shirt once again, rolling my nipple with practiced dexterity. The sudden shock
of fingers tickling inside my panties makes me jump. My hands pause.

“Don’t stop, Scully. Play.”

His fingers move from my tight curls, sliding deftly into my warmth. I gasp
softly, pulling the bow fervently across the strings. Higher and higher I climb,
welcoming the possession of body and soul. A submission I’m succumbing to
with an eagerness I’ve never felt before. It excites me.

The notes became choppy, discordant as I clutch at the vibrating neck, the
effort to grasp it and the bow becoming ever difficult with my sweaty and
trembling hands. Lightheaded with dizzying intoxication as he plays me, the
music guides me to crescendo. My back arches and the bow drops from my lax
hands to clatter to the floor.

He withdraws his hand from my shirt and walks to the front of me, admiring
the sight of my legs, dropped carelessly open beneath the gathered fabric of the
skirt I wore to work today and the flush of skin above my unbuttoned blouse.
My breasts heave with the effort of my ragged breathing, my cheeks hot and
pink. Desire, boiling and dark, bubbles within my belly. I feel it radiate with an
insatiable need from every ounce of my being.

With a predatory stare, he jerks the instrument away from my body and shoves
it to the side, dropping on the floor to kneel before my spread legs like a pious
man before his deity. Impatiently, he pulls my panties over my hips and down
my legs, depositing them on the floor. I can’t move. He locks hungry hazel
eyes with mine and presses a kiss between my thighs, passionately proving the
intensity of his love for me. I wind my fingers into his dark hair, throwing my
head back in pure surrender as he takes me beyond any place I’d ever been
before. I’m flying, being torn asunder while the staccato of my beating heart
pumps furiously against my eardrums. My body has a melody all its own,
rising and falling as I pull him closer to me.

A perfect symphony.