Maria went from a nobody to a famous somebody, and she had done it at an explosive pace. It was all due to the instrument she found only a month ago—the elegant gilded cello. The white wood with intricate gold inlay still took her breath away. The beauty of it was only matched by its mystery: How was such a wonderful instrument just thrown away? She had found it lying on the ground near a garbage bag outside a dumpster behind a shop downtown. Her first thought was that it must be part of someone's private collection, but upon closer inspection she realized that wasn't so. It even had a name, etched in silver letters on the side: "Violoncello del Diavolo."
And more than just being a beautiful object, the Violoncello del Diavolo was anomalous. Maria had no idea how to play any kind of music, but whenever she brought the bow across the strings, something strange happened. A deep-down sense that only existed when she touched the instrument seemed to bloom inside her head like a flower. And as she played, it felt like the music itself flowed into her body, filling her up with a special energy. And as the buzzing filled her entire existence, she could feel herself falling into the best possible future for herself, where everything would be okay, and she would get the praise she knew would flow freely as long as she kept playing her instrument.
***
It was the night of her greatest performance. The opera house was historical, and somewhere so posh Maria never once imagined herself performing there. She watched from the stage as the world's upper crust slowly shuffled into their seats and placed their wine glasses on the table in front of them. They were all dressed in fancy clothes, and some wore extravagant hats, too. The men carried bouquets of flowers, while the women held their handbags close to their chests. Their conversations of political machinations echoed through the hall, and each person seemed to have a purpose—all of which made Maria feel out of place. She would have been a nervous wreck standing there on the stage if not for the comforting presence of the Violoncello. It was funny, really: She had no idea how to play, and was supposed to deliver an amazing performance. But somehow, she knew that the instrument would guide her.
Finally, everyone was seated. The lights dimmed, and the orchestra began playing. There was a single chair onstage, where Maria sat down and assumed position. There was nothing else to do now but wait for her cue. She could hear every single person in the audience waiting with bated breath, excited to hear the wonder girl perform. She counted down from three, then quickly lifted the bow onto the strings.
The first note rang out loudly, followed by another, and another...and then the music swelled up until the whole room was bathed in sound. Wondrous sound. Impossibly wondrous, as if to stand valiantly in protest against the saying, 'too good to be true.' But in the midst of the magnificent music, unaware to everyone, even Maria herself, the Devil's Cello had activated.
Not but thirty seconds into the first movement, one could notice qualities of the audience out of place in the dimmed golden opera house. Aristocratic faces had not changed, still holding impressed expressions. But in the men, their fancy tailored pants had bulges of various sizes forming, more or less discretely, on their bodies. The women had similar changes, except for their breasts. They wore glittery colored dresses that looked far too revealing for an evening of theater. And on their dresses, with a careful eye, you would spot bumps where their erect nipples had formed. Nobody took notice. They were too enraptured by the music.
After a minute of extravagant music, the audience further descended into the effects of the Violoncello del Diavolo's tunes. Everyone was shifting uncomfortably in their seats, and their drinks had spilled onto the floor. Some men rested a hand on their hardened member, while others fidgeted in their seats, unable to sit still. In the women, their hands wandered to places they should not be: grazing over their stomachs, squeezing themselves tighter, sliding down their thighs. Meanwhile, their faces, though more sweaty than before, wore a joyous expression. After all, the music was so splendid that it made them feel better than ever before. Ladies would whisper to their influential husbands about the prodigy's performance. Men would comment to each other about the beauties in the audience. And the more the music played, the more people became lost in the euphoric state.
Maria had not noticed the effects on herself. She continued to play, basking in the glory, but her clothes had disappeared. Was it a minute ago? Two? Who could say, for the whole enchantment of the theatre kept all minds focused on melody over the current escalating situation. Her nude form lit in the spotlight looked like a Baroque sculpture, and she played unconscious of her pale skin on display. One could see the ribs on the side of her torso, even her belly button peeping out like a little gem above the supple flesh of her waist. Her legs and arms were slim, yet her hips and butt were plump.
An unknown amount of time had passed, deep into the first movement. What could have been described as untoward ministrations from the audience had dipped into degeneracy. The men were stroking their cocks, and the women were fondling their breasts, or positioning their legs open, their expensive lace lingerie visible from a wide angle as they poked and prodded at their underwear absent-mindedly. Maria's eyes remained closed, lost in the music, but her fingers never faltered as she continued to play, guided by the Violoncello del Diavolo. On her wooden chair, a small puddle was forming of her own juices.
This night of demonic passion pressed on by the piece had its end far in the distance, for there was more degeneracy for the devil to inflict. But the first checkpoint had been reached in the race toward the final destination: the full beast-like depravity. The first movement was complete. The silence filled the theatre but was not whole in its quietness, for as Maria gave herself short pause before her next movement, anyone could hear the occasional groan from the audience, along with the faint whimpers and moans. The feverish groping stopped, and the audience attempted to quietly whisper about the first movement, their mouths hanging agape drooling and panting for air in their dazed state. But as soon as this odd interlude had arrived, it ended with the first note from the second movement, signaling the start of the slowest part of the piece.
It seemed that despite the resuming of the malapropos masturbation of the crowd, it was not enough for these gentlemen and ladies under the devil's control. Still fully enraptured by the music, they shuffled out of their clothes. Glistening, red-tinged slits of the wellborn women were revealed as they squirmed out of their tainted lace. The men pulled off their top-class suits, revealing their muscled chests and hairy backs to the world. The women fumbled with their overwear, undoing buttons and pulling zippers as they tugged their whole garments down to reveal their heavy bosoms and long pink nipples. Many had already climaxed from the first movement, but had no intention of stopping, continuing to rub and squeeze their sweat-drenched flesh as they groaned in pleasure. Some even crept over to their neighbors, rubbing thighs and asses as foreshadowing.
But Maria didn't seem to mind, for she continued to play, oblivious to the madness around her statuesque form. She hadn't noticed, but her orgasm count had risen to five, and she was soaked in her own secretions. Her fingers danced across the strings as if in a trance, her eyes glazed over. She occasionally closed her eyes and bit her lip when her overly sensitive pussy spasmed. As her body shook and quivered in ecstasy, she played on, unbothered.
It was about halfway through the second movement now.