u/blissfullyquiet's fill to this request: https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildaudio/comments/5iyinw/request_f4m_something_with_a_pinup40s50s_style/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share

Paired with soft jazz, blues or something if the like might help. Maybe sing something of the time? Like, Lover Man by Billie Holiday. I have a southern accent in mind for it. Tried to include some 1940's slang.

Tags : [F4A][F4M] Lady Day [Script Fill][Narrative][Victory Curls][Ruby Red Lips][Pin-Up][Singer][1940's Slang][WWII][Soldiers][A Sultry Performance][A Passionate Dream][Hints Of Misogyny][Cheating][Southern Accent]

I've got the jitters. About to walk up on stage to sing to a flock of men. And not just any men. Ones who haven't felt a woman's touch in a long time. Plagued with Dear Johns and crushing responsibility for such young lives. My dark victory curls get caught in calloused fingers as my most precious instrument is used. On my knees and looking up at him, my bright ruby red lips are wrapped around his length. He's going to ruin this dress too, I know it. A stapless sparkling gold beauty, with a slit down the side for effect. He says what he gives is good for my throat. Stretches my vocal chords or something to that degree. Warming up my voice as he calls it, everytime I perform it is required.

I don't consider myself a share crop but, the things I do for do-re-mi.... fight to get me down. He loves to have my Get-Alongs within reach. Only a line of skin to tease the boys and his hands always seem to find purchase on. When his short arm stirs, suddenly I'm needed for extra practice in his office. I know why he drags me out to sing, don't think I would notice. The Sons of Mars are devilishly handsome, rough and handsy fellas. Soliders have such dirty tongues looking for something warm and sweet to taste. Those rookies are the best. Get a little serum in them and it's hard not to forget you're a new Shack man.

A beautiful dame is always a welcome distraction from the horrors you've been forced to get used to. I'll take a cool hand over a cracked egg anyday however, those cooled hands can get fairly creative. Mixing things from the war and the bedroom that ain't supposed to mix. That started happenin' a little too much. Hence, my tenuous alliance with the man currently inside my throat, my manager. A hard looking stout man with mysterious ways to keep the boys in line. In exchange, my body is his as he sees fit. Gets a kick outta flauntin' me around. Telling me to get dolled up just to tell me the gig is a dud and somehow, the sound of a low short zipper seems to chase those words. Everytime. A small , if frequent, price to pay.

Now I pay that price, knowing full well what I'm dreaming of instead. Dancing in the moonlight after a good meal. Knowing that to him I am the most beautiful woman he will ever see. His soft kisses trail up my arms, my neck and sends chills down my back aching for what comes next.

When my warm up is complete, I swallow my lesson and reapply a thick of coat my lips for the boys. A customary slap across my ample backside before I saunter out into a roar of cheers and jeers, curling my delicate fingers around the head of that familiar microphone. Time to put on a show.

In my dream, my lover is patient and kind. Never a harsh word to a lady. Can't wait to twirl me 'round town in full view to let everyone know I'm his woman. A different zipper is pulled down when we're alone, one that frees me. He can't help himself. He whispers how soft my skin is as my forgotten gown pools at my ankles. Goes on about how, nobody's voice is quite like mine. The way it moves him and draws him in every time and is just completely enraptured by it. Tells me, how he'd like to thank me for allowing him even a hint of the siren he so craves. Then, he shows me how thankful he is.

My signature is of a somber nature. A deep and painful longing that nobody can do like I can. I swear it must confuse them. How can so much emotion, come out of that little hourglass pin up? Almost perfect curls released about my exposed shoulders, settling to frame my poutin' lips as they start to envy the microphone stand pressed to my swaying body.

I'm singin' a very different tune to my dream lover. With my hands tightly clutching his hair by the roots. As I come down, I see that wicked grin after he licks his lips. Savoring that last little taste before sharing it with me in a still hungry kiss. Everything blurs around the edges as his clothes disappear and he deftly fills me with the heat my body craves. The kind I use to put that extra feeling behind the way I sing. This is what I picture.

An interlude allows me to close my lips and draw their eyes elsewhere. Flowing to the music, I gracefully turn and my rump shimmies luridly in beat against the stand that grants me their rapt attention. A slow turn and the stand is in front of me again, my voice expelling the melody to them. They watch as I hook my bare leg around my pillar. My thigh in full view as it mirrors the intention behind the sweet serenade.

My gams are firmly wrapped around his powerful, giving hips driving into me relentlessly. Building that sacred crescendo inside, that's so much better with him. My light sighs and whimpers abandoned for the sheer force of need welling within me. I can't hold on much longer. My hips counter his movements as my nails fail my feeble attempt not to dig into the skin of his back. With a hiss, he knows it's close and pounds into my tender flesh. Holding me close as he abruptly stops. In moments, I am full of his passion. Our bodies feel weightless and suspended for ages in the glow of our love making.