Jessica, Clarinet (Blowjob)

John Wagner ended the rehearsal with a small round of applause, which the musicians joined in to thank and acknowledge each other.

"See you tomorrow then," he called out to the group and retired to his office to look through the scores for the next day. On the way there, he heard an "Ouch!" behind him and a sound as if someone had fallen. Alarmed, he turned around.

Twenty meters down the corridor, he spotted a young woman sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, clutching her ankle with both hands. She obviously needed help and he hurried to her.

She was wearing a turquoise shirt and white jeans, with high-heeled pumps on her feet, possibly the cause of her fall. She had leaned forward over her foot so that her short blonde hair with bangs partially obscured her features, but he recognized the clarinetist anyway.

"Jessica, did you hurt yourself? Do you need help?"

She raised her head and looked at him.

"Oh, John, it's you. No, no, I'm fine. I just twisted my ankle and tripped. It's fine."

He held out a hand to her anyway, which she gratefully grasped and pulled herself up. But as soon as she shifted her weight onto her foot, she grimaced painfully, sucked in a hiss of air between her teeth and slumped back down to the ground.

"Aah. Apparently, I sprained my foot."

"Well, come on. I'll help you up."

He bent down, grabbed her under the armpits and with his support she managed to get back on her feet. However, she then propped herself up against the wall and lifted her injured foot to take the weight off it.

"Let's go into the office, there's a couch."

She leaned heavily on him, but managed to limp her way to her destination, where she let herself fall backwards into the cushions with relief. She put her foot up and leaned back, exhausted. Tiny beads of sweat stood out on her forehead.

"You're as white as a sheet. I'd better call an ambulance."

"No, that's really not necessary. I just need to catch my breath."

He wasn’t convinced, but he didn't want to **** help on her that she didn't want.

"Then at least let me get you a glass of water. And maybe I can find some ice to cool your ankle. Can I leave you alone for a moment?"

"Yes, sure."

He ran to the kitchen, which was used by the caterer during events. Minutes later, he returned with a glass of water and a wet towel.

"Sorry, no ice. But that should cool your sprained ankle, too."

He knelt down in front of her, carefully undid the straps of the shoe and pulled it off her already visibly swollen foot. Jessica gritted her teeth and whimpered softly. Then he placed the cold compress around the injured ankle.

"Phew, that feels good," she breathed.

"Just lie there and rest."

She lied on the sofa and closed her eyes. With a short glance, John checked that she was reasonably well, then he sat down at the desk and did his work. Her calm, even breathing soon showed that she had fallen asleep.