You protest, mildly.

"Lisa," you stutter. "What are you doing?"

"Shush," she replies assuredly. "We Sirens don't play. We need to make sure you can perform even under duress. We are going to ask *a lot* of you."

"But people could see us in here," you respond fearfully, pointing to the small vertical slat window of the practice room.

"Hush. Don't you worry," she replies calmly as if she is discussing mere vocal techniques. "Nobody messes with the Sirens here on campus. And barely anyone's here. Just keep singing and no one will know. Now, sing for me that Verdi aria from last night. From the top. Go."

All this time her hand hasn't moved from your lap. You hesitate for a few seconds but then take a shaky breath and do as she bids.

For the first few measures, her hand stays put, but then it starts to caress your swollen member gently through your jeans. You try to stay focused and keep singing but inside your cock is **** to be freed from your confining boxer-briefs.

A few measures later, you hear her undoing your zipper slowly. And then she is deftly reaching through the zipper hole and taking all of you in her soft hands. At first she is just holding you firmly, your cock throbbing against her fingers. But then she starts gently moving her fingers up and down your shaft. She takes the palm of her hand and cups your all too sensitive tip.

Your voice cracks as you try to keep singing.

"Keep going," she purrs. "You are performing well so far. Let me see how well you can keep this up."

Next thing you know, while holding onto your throbbing cock, she gets down on her knees under the piano keys while you are still on the bench. Still gently moving her fingers up and down your cock, she takes her luscious lips and wraps them around your tip. She just locks her lips there and stares into your eyes while her hand continues to move on your member.