Piano practices

She used to sit on this same bench, hands hovering above the keys, listening to her teacher murmur about light, quick fingers. Now the piano lid stays shut. She slides two fingers beneath her lace panties and circles her clit, slow at first, then urgent, the way he showed her to warm up her hands. A soft moan slips out. Across the room the redhead watches, knee-high stockings still on, nipples pushing against sheer fabric. She pulls the crotch of her own lingerie aside and presses in, matching the rhythm. Their breathing fills the quiet room. No melody now, just slick sounds and the faint creak of the bench as hips rock. Blonde strands cling to flushed cheeks; red curls fall over parted lips. Fingers move faster, deeper, chasing that tight, sweet ache until both girls gasp and shudder, legs trembling against polished wood.