3 comments/ 32447 views/ 26 favorites The Maestro By: barabajagal001 In the inky dark, with a soft breeze whirring from the HVAC system in the distance, she could almost have been outside. Then came the soft fluttering and rustling of people shifting around, waiting, restless. She was the one they were waiting for. Shutting her eyes, she steeled herself and took a deep breath. Then, her high ethereal voice was filling the theatre. The growing warmth of a weak spotlight made her skin glow. Finally, as she reached a crescendo, the throbbing violins flared to life behind her. The spotlight grew brighter, hotter, and she was dimly aware of the rest of the stage being lit to show the orchestra playing away serenely. The concert went smoothly, almost too quickly. Before she knew it, Claire was being applauded and introduced as the symphony's new professional soprano. She bowed slightly in her silky lavender gown, and headed offstage. As she approached her dressing room, the conductor overtook her. Pressing his hand warmly to her shoulder, he smiled slightly and said, "You were lovely tonight, Claire," in a low tone, his thick French accent nearly obscuring his words. Claire smiled and ducked into her dressing room. Heaving a sigh, she dropped into the oversized armchair she'd had brought in for her, taking a moment for herself before going out to join the party. Opening night always took it out of her, and opening night with a new symphony was something else again. She had been drawn to the city with the promise of mild weather, an excellent salary, and the freedom to take on additional work whenever it didn't conflict with the symphony's schedule. She hadn't been adequately warned about the conductor, however. His name was Sebastien ("say-bas-TYAWN, NOT se-BAS-chen, PLEASE") Boulet, but he insisted that they all call him Maestro, and was somewhat gruff in that stereotypically French manner. He always wore suit pants, but would frequently be seen in a charcoal gray or white turtleneck shirt. All he needed was the beret, she thought to herself. Sebastien was unlike most conductors she had seen, who keep their backs ramrod straight and their movements harsh and precise. He swayed, almost danced, his lithe frame graceful on the podium and his baton floating and bouncing along to the music. She could tell that he really "felt" the music, and she guessed that he would be an amiable enough person to work with. It soon became clear that this was not the case. He was never cruel, nor even too impatient, and yet he commanded such respect and attention that it was considered almost rude to come before him and make such elementary mistakes as playing a wrong note. Players were expected to practice their new pieces extensively in the month-long hiatus between season's end and summer rehearsals. He was very exacting, and difficult to please. This caused most in the orchestra to strive even harder to earn one of his rare full smiles and compliments. Claire was no different, but it wasn't just the dearth of platitudes that drove her. From the moment she first saw him conducting, she had been very taken with him. When she came in to audition for him, she remembered, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but some part of him exuded such sensuality that it surprised her. Sebastien's facial features were strong and somewhat pointed. He had a thick shock of black hair, with similarly thick eyebrows shading brown eyes. His nose was a little large for his face, but not unpleasantly so. Her instant attraction should have been a reason to turn down the position. After all, stories of conductors' dalliances with their young, pretty sopranos are commonplace, and Claire didn't want that to be what she was known for. Still, the city was vibrant and attractive, and once she'd visited, she couldn't imagine living anywhere else. In the three months since she had begun rehearsing with the symphony orchestra, she had learned to obey Sebastien's every command. When he wanted her to start, she started; to stop, she stopped. She made herself endless notes, practiced everywhere from her shower to her car. When, at the end of her third week with the symphony, he smiled adoringly at her after a particularly stirring solo, her heart fluttered. She redoubled her efforts. She had sensed a change in him after she had made her first real error, in his eyes, being late to rehearsal. She had been running late, and was rushing to get to the symphony hall before rehearsal started. She had dashed in as the orchestra was tuning their instruments, and she saw Sebastien's shoulders tighten when the door snicked shut behind her. "You're late," he had said tartly. "Yes, Maestro, I'm very sorry," she had gasped out, breathlessly. He had turned to look at her, as she tried to catch her breath, a light sheen of sweat glossing over her skin. Her hair must have been a mess. The expression on his face had been inscrutable, but the look of dark knowledge in his eyes had shaken her. After that day, their few private rehearsals had become the source of anticipation and near-terror for Claire, as she was both excited and frightened by the energy that crackled between them. He generally accompanied her on piano, or sat in the front row if their pianist was there, but it always felt like he was close. Touching her, inside her head. She had to fight to keep her concentration with Sebastien staring at her. In group rehearsals, he virtually ignored her. But whenever they passed in a hallway afterward, he looked at her with such intensity she didn't feel she could stand it. She was very relieved now that opening night had come. Rehearsals would still be numerous, but she would have the confidence of someone tested, instead of the constant nerves and fear that she might fail. She had been applauded, thunderously, had gotten a smile and a compliment - perhaps the season would be a breeze from here on out, but she wouldn't hold her breath. As she thought back over the previous few months, she recalled meeting him just outside her dressing room door tonight. Why had he touched her? This was something he never, ever did. And the smile? Strange. He was rarely so pleased. She shrugged out of her dress and into something a little shorter, a little darker, a little more scandalous. She pulled her chestnut curls up into a loose bun, tendrils floating over the back of her neck. It was going to be awkward to go out and socialize with the wealthy patrons of the symphony, none of whom she had previously met, and all of whom were no doubt going to make it a point to introduce themselves. As someone young and fairly attractive, this would no doubt mean plenty of propositions as well. As she swung the door open to go out, she nearly ran directly into Sebastien, who looked nearly as surprised to see her, as he had clearly been poised to knock on her door. There was a pause as both composed their thoughts. "Ah, Claire, there you are. I thought perhaps you would allow me to escort you downstairs," he said in the inflectionless way he often had. It was part of what kept the orchestra on guard, and it had the same effect on Claire. He held his elbow out to her, and she hoped the surprise didn't show on her face this time. Offering physical contact twice in one night? What was going on? She would probably never know. Still, she rested her hand delicately in the crook of his arm. "I'd be pleased to, Maestro." One corner of his mouth crooked upward, and he led her to the party. It wasn't so bad, really. Sebastien introduced her to everyone as the symphony's ingénue, and though Claire blushed prettily on cue, she wasn't sure really whether to feel complimented or insulted. After a few moments, she was drawn into conversation with a wealthy couple, and lost track of Sebastien entirely. She ended up chatting amiably with a few different people over the course of the evening, but noticed once or twice that Sebastien, while in conversation with others, would nevertheless have his eyes on her. She left the party early, and was relieved to be on her way back to her dressing room, alone. A pair of running shoes was calling to her. Singing was like the ultimate energizing activity for her. She felt so transcendent afterward that when she was much younger, she would do dangerous things like speeding on coastal roads or driving with her headlights off at night, to amplify the thrill. When she started dating regularly, she would go home after practice or a performance and fuck her boyfriends' brains out. Then she had taken up running, and never looked back. It didn't matter how late rehearsal ended, she always went for a run afterward. The symphony house in this city was downtown, near the vibrant city blocks she so loved, but there was also a large, well-lit park a few blocks away. If she really pushed herself, she could jog alongside the beach for a short time before turning back to the symphony. She took the shorter route tonight, already tired from the concert. Claire paused outside the symphony hall to stretch out all of her muscles, and then slipped in through the backdoor to the dressing rooms. The lights had been turned off, and the shadows in the corners were thick. It was so utterly quiet. The party seemed to have ended long ago. She slipped into her dressing room and changed into the light cotton dress she'd worn to the symphony hall that day. She kept her own light off, letting the pale glow from the hallway illuminate things just enough to see. She wandered out, and noticed there seemed to be a light coming from the stage. As she approached, she heard the first pensive notes of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata thrumming from the piano. "Almost a fantasy," he had written at the end of the title, and indeed it had always sounded to her like a dream. She tiptoed to it, wondering which of the orchestra players had stayed back to do a little playing. Few had pianos in their apartments, of course, and it was always a treat to play on the concert grand they had on stage. When she peered out from around the curtain, she was therefore shocked to see Sebastien, slightly hunched over in front of the piano. He played so tenderly, his fingers practically caressing the keys. His eyes were squeezed shut and it was clear to her that he was somewhere else entirely. She wondered what he was thinking. She stood and watched him until the final notes of the first movement had died away, and then let out a little sigh. Sebastien's head jerked up and he searched the back of the stage with narrowed eyes. Claire stepped back hastily, and when she saw Sebastien rise from the piano and head her direction, she made to leave. "Who's there?" he called out, but she didn't answer. She had almost made it to the hallway, where she could duck into any number of dark doorways without being seen, when she felt a firm grasp on her upper arm. He yanked her around to face him, and the furious look on his face faded into something more like derision. "Ah, mon abeille, it is you," he said softly, pushing her firmly against the wall at the back of the stage. "You should be more careful where you go sneaking about." His voice was low and dangerous. "I wasn't sneaking," she retorted. "Your footsteps did not announce you." "You're not exactly in a private place, Sebastien, so you shouldn't expect to be alone," she said, not even totally believing it herself. His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to her, pressing his body up against hers in a firm line. "What did you call me?" Her eyes widened slightly, "Ah, Maestro." She looked up to meet his eyes, glaring down at her. A smile ghosted around his lips. "Are you frightened, Claire?" he asked, drawing out her name. She shivered slightly. "What do you think I'm going to do to you?" He tightened his grip on her arm, and she made a small noise. It didn't hurt, and she didn't particularly want to think about why it felt good. She was relieved when he let her go, admonishing her to be careful. ----- Spears of sunlight streaming through the window awoke Claire. She shifted under her warm down comforter, cuddling into the pillows, and then sat bolt upright. Fearing the worst, she glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 8:45. Rehearsal started at 9:00, and she knew she would never make it. Cursing her obviously faulty alarm clock profusely - she hadn't set it the night before, she would find out later - she dressed hurriedly and ran out the door. She checked her watch as she finally came up to the symphony hall - 9:15. Sebastien would be furious. She tiptoed into the auditorium, noting that the orchestra was already in full swing. Sebastien's conducting was a little shorter, a little fiercer today. Her chair stood glaringly empty right up front, and she sensed the irritation rising off him like waves of heat. When she got close enough to the stage for the musicians to see her, many of them looked her way. The expressions varied from warning to boredom to sympathy to eye-rolling. She knew the moment Sebastien was aware of her, because his back straightened and he cut off the orchestra at once. The silence stretched out thickly in the minutes that followed. She shifted nervously on her feet. Finally, he turned to face her, his expression carefully blank. He looked down at her from the stage, narrowed his eyes. "Thank you for at last gracing us with your presence. You could have at least dressed the part," he said sarcastically. Claire looked down, vaguely embarrassed to notice that she wasn't wearing anything professional. She had just grabbed what was closest to the bed, and hadn't noticed she was essentially in pajamas until that moment, a tank top and loose shorts. She couldn't find a bra, so she'd gone without, and she hoped it wasn't very noticeable. At that moment, she felt a prickle over her skin as he continued to stare down at her, and her nipples hardened. She was so mortified that she wanted to drop dead. Sebastien's eyes slid downward, and he opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. Abruptly, he turned back to the orchestra and signaled them to continue on from the place they had stopped. After an hour of this, Sebastien stopped them again a final time. "That's fine for today, I think." As everyone turned to gather up their materials, he caught Claire's eye. "Not you, mon abeille," he said under his breath. "Go to my office, and wait for me there." He turned away from her, dismissing her. She didn't like it, but she trudged up to his office, and flounced down in one of the chairs unhappily. She realized she had never been in his dressing room. No one really went in there. She was unsurprised to see prints of Paris, endless sheaves of sheet music, a photograph of who she assumed were his parents, a bouquet of lavender on the table. It was cold. She crossed her arms over her chest, then looked up as he entered. He leaned coolly against the opposite wall and mirrored her, crossing his limbs and looking down at her. "Maestro, I apologize. I promise it won't happen again." He waved this away. "This promise means nothing, Claire. You promised the same last time, and when you were hired, I believe I made it very clear that punctuality was more important than almost anything else at this symphony." "Yes, I know, and..." "You see," he interrupted her, "once you have begun coming late to rehearsals, it's only a matter of time before you are missing one here and there, and no longer listening to my direction. My word is law," he said firmly. "Do you understand, mon abeille?" "What are you calling me?" she asked in a small voice. "mon abeille, it means, ah, my little bee." "Pet name?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. He flushed slightly, looking angry. "Very well, Claire then, if you please." "It was okay," she said, even quieter. "I think you do not really know what discipline is. I think you come on time to be courteous and you practice your singing because you like it, but you do not know what it means to be disciplined. Even what you are wearing shows that you have no discipline." "It was an accident! Besides, there is nothing wrong with what I am wearing!" she said, cringing inwardly, as it wasn't really true. Astonished, he pushed her arms away from her chest and gestured at it with a hand. "One does not wear a shirt such as this without undergarments in a public place unless attention is desired. Is that what you wanted? To divide my attention between the orchestra and your, ah, breasts?" Flushing, she shook her head. "Of course not!" "Ah, come now. You were going to be late anyway. You could have chosen to dress, at least put on underwear. You are wearing underwear, aren't you?" Claire didn't answer, and started to cross her arms again. "No, leave them down. You wore it, you can live with it." She glared up at him, and was chagrined to feel her nipples hardening again under his gaze. Amused, he prodded one of her nipples with the tip of his baton. "Honestly, how could you show up like this, and not think every man in the room would wonder what else you weren't wearing?" His question hung between them. She flushed dully and stood up, vibrating with anger. "Fine, I'm not wearing any! Does it make you happy to embarrass me, Sebastien?" "I think you did well enough yourself." He stood very close to her and leaned down to her ear. "You forget your place, mon abeille," he said softly, harshly. She pushed away from him, but found her arms twisted painfully behind her back. She struggled, and he pulled her tighter in against him. Her breath quickened. When she felt him press his hips into her, grinding what must have been his erection into her ass slightly, she felt a little sick and incredibly turned on at the same time. Her heart felt like a runaway freight train. She felt her wrists being bound together with something, and she cried out. "Scream if you like," he said carelessly. "Everyone has gone." She did scream, and promptly felt a thick wad of cloth stuffed into her mouth. "I just don't particularly care to hear it." He slid his hands up over her ribcage, cupping her breasts. She felt a little jolt of pleasure, her nipples throbbing. She tried to kick out behind her, and he dumped her to the ground. "Would you like me to tie your legs to something?" She shook her head vigorously, as much to answer as in the hopes that the cloth would fall out of her mouth. No such luck. He picked her up and placed her in a kneeling position on the chair, her upper chest resting against the back of the chair. She couldn't see any way out, and didn't know what to expect next. She felt her shorts being pulled down over her ass, and whimpered out in protest. He did not caress her, as she thought he would, however. After what felt like a lengthy pause, there came a soft tapping on her ass cheeks. "You need to learn discipline, Claire, and if I must be the one to teach it to you, so be it." The tapping increased in speed and intensity, and after a while, she felt a soft warmth spreading over her skin. It stopped, and then she felt a more sharp stinging sensation. She wiggled her bottom away from it, but it came again and again. Tears came to her eyes, and she tried to twist her head and look. "I'm just warming you up, mon abeille," came the disinterested voice behind her. When her ass was tingling all over, the swatting stopped. A soft rustle of cloth. Then, thwack! She heard a loud smacking sound and felt an incredible pain as Sebastien's leather belt was cracked across her ass cheeks. Heat washed over her lower body, and she yelped loudly, muffled by the cloth in her mouth. "Ah, yes..." he murmured, and belted her again, five times, ten times. Soon, Claire noticed that the heat was not only spreading over her buttocks, but also between her legs. With each smack rode a growing wave of pleasure. She shivered all over, distressed and embarrassed that she might be enjoying it. At fifteen, she felt wetness on her inner thighs, and prayed Sebastien wouldn't see. The belting stopped, bringing her considerable relief. The Maestro Sebastien leant down, his lips barely brushing her ear. "Why, mon abeille, I believe you enjoy angering me," he said. She shook her head. "But, you are certainly enjoying your punishment." She shook her head even more vigorously. Then she felt something violating her, pushing up inside her. It withdrew, and Sebastien was holding his baton with his handle in front of her face. It was shiny, smeared thickly with her wetness. "Do not deny what it so obvious, Claire. How interesting," he mused, rolling the handle around in his mouth. She felt the sharp, stinging swats again, realizing he must have been using his baton. This time, though, the stings were much more intense, radiating out over her tender skin. It tingled intensely, shooting sharp arrows of pleasure straight to her pussy now, and there was nothing she could do to deny, at least to herself, that as much as it hurt - and it did hurt! - it also felt amazingly good. She heard herself let out a soft moan, and froze. Sebastien increased his pace, and she wriggled her hips, seeking relief from both pain and pleasure. The sensations built, and she felt moisture sliding down her inner thighs. As the pleasure built, she rocked her hips slightly against the back of the chair, but it was the wrong angle to help her over the edge. She couldn't help whimpering in frustration. Sebastien infuriating laughter rumbled out behind her, and she felt him slide two fingers up into her. She tightened at the invasion. "You are so wet, mon abeille. Do you want to come?" She nodded miserably, and he ran his thumb firmly over her clit. "Then come for me, Claire." She did, tears running down her cheeks. "Very good, good girl," he murmured, barely audible. The smacking stopped, and he withdrew his fingers. She felt the bonds on her wrists being loosened, heard the door opening, and a draft across her sore skin. "Clean yourself up, and get out of my office." The door shut behind him. She was alone. ----- Claire hadn't wanted to go back to rehearsal after that. She wanted to hide in her apartment and never come out. But she feared worse from Sebastien. When she showed up the following week, she was relieved to find that he was treating her exactly as normal. That is to say, he was mostly ignoring her. In the rehearsals that followed, this was at first wonderful. As time went on, she found herself growing strangely resentful that he wasn't paying her more attention. She supposed she was hardly the first person he had disciplined in such a manner, and it embarrassed her to no end to think that she was pining away for this attention. She didn't understand what she was feeling. She was losing sleep over it. When she yawned all through one rehearsal, she got warning looks from Sebastien. As she packed up her things to go back home, she was surprised when he leant over and murmured that she ought to be going to bed earlier, and what a shame it would be to have her sleep in and come late to another rehearsal. She had blushed brightly, but that night she had wondered, was that a signal? Did he WANT her to come late so he could punish her again? Had he enjoyed it as she did? Well, she was sick of being ignored. The following week, she deliberately set her alarm late. She didn't hurry down to the symphony hall, and when she sauntered in, over an hour late, she saw a few pairs of eyes slide her way. She went to her spot on the stage, and Sebastien flicked his eyes toward her. Such a small gesture held so much heat, such promise, or so it seemed. When he didn't stop the music or reprimand her, eyes widened, glances were exchanged, possibly even a mouth or two dropped open in the orchestra. Her heart hammered away in her chest throughout the rest of the rehearsal, and though her voice faltered once or twice, she was not criticized. Rehearsal ended, and she noticed some of the orchestra members seemed to be dawdling. She herself did not hurry in packing up her things. At first, Sebastien still said nothing. Then, "Claire. A word." She looked at him, and he inclined his head slightly toward the direction of his office. As she left the hall, she heard him say pointedly to the stragglers that he would see them next week. She let herself into his office, and glanced around. She blushed at the sight of the chair upon which she had been disciplined, but perched on the edge of it gingerly. She had broken out into a cold sweat. Sebastien entered. Claire stood, but her knees had turned to jelly, and she ungracefully dropped back into the chair. He looked down at her derisively, and she felt a little tingle run up her spine. She could not help shivering all over. "You sang poorly today. You were late." Claire said nothing. "I thought that you had learned from last time. Perhaps you had too much fun?" She stayed silent, but flushed. Sebastien sighed irritably, paced in front of her. "I will have to punish you again, but..." he trailed off, eyeing her. She must have perked up too much at the mention. She tried to look sober rather than anticipatory. She must have failed. He grabbed her firmly by the upper arms. A small noise escaped her throat, and he shook her slightly. "Listen to me. I will not tolerate tardiness from you. If you think that by coming late, you will be able to get what you want, you are wrong. I should send you home straightaway. It shows obscenely poor judgment on your part to think that you should handicap our performance as an orchestra just to get spanked. You were not supposed to enjoy yourself." "Then why did you... why did you..." she started angrily. "Make you come?" he finished smoothly. "Because I could. Perhaps because I wanted to." He resumed pacing, running his fingers restlessly through his hair. She sat very still, waiting. Suddenly, he dragged her off the chair, and sat in it himself, pulling her roughly over his lap. "You should not put me in this position!" he said, furious. "If you want this, you must be perfect from now on. Will you obey me in all things, without question?" "Yes, Maestro." She was afraid. Afraid of getting what she thought she wanted, afraid of his anger, afraid of getting in too deep. But over all of that was her lust - her desire for Sebastien and everything he represented to her. He twisted her arms painfully behind her back, and flipped up her skirt with his other hand. Without preliminaries, he began smacking her buttocks with his firm open palm. It hurt. She struggled on his lap. "You have been bad, very bad," he said through gritted teeth. He spanked harder. It hurt, but now it felt so, so good. She writhed on his lap, moaning aloud. "I am going to release your wrists, but you are to keep them exactly where they are. If you move them, I'll stop this right now and send you home." He used his now free hand to slip between them, directly into her panties. He pressed his fingers against her, sliding on either side of her clit. "You are already soaking wet, mon abeille," he said blandly. Claire moaned loudly. "Ah, but you are not to come until I give you permission. Do you understand?" "Yessssss," she hissed out, clenching her fists behind her back. She was having trouble thinking with Sebastien vibrating his fingers beneath her and pounding her ass with his palm. "If you want it," he said softly, "ask me for it." "Maestro, please, can I come? I want to, let me come," she whimpered. "I don't think so." "Ahhhh... please? Pleeeeease?" She tried to shift her hips away from his hands, but he stopped spanking her, holding her hips down against him. He slid two fingers into her, and fucked her roughly. "Please, please," she shrieked, feeling desperately close to releasing. "No. Don't you dare." She couldn't wiggle away from his probing fingers, and tried taking deep, calming breaths. But with each inhale, the pleasure built and built, until she was wailing, pussy clamping down on him. He pulled his fingers out and resumed spanking her, vaulting her into an even more intense orgasm with each vibrating smack. When she had finally stopped shuddering, he reached around under her shirt to pinch her nipples with his sticky fingers. "Ah, you bad girl. How dare you disobey me," he said, not sounding nearly displeased enough. He shoved her down to the floor, and yanked her up to a kneeling position. He stood, and undid his pants. Her heart was already pounding strongly, and she licked her lips nervously. He pulled his hard cock out, but she barely had time to look at it before he had gripped her hair firmly and shoved it into her mouth. She felt it slam into the back of her throat as her nose bumped against his abdomen. She felt him hiss out above her and then he continued fucking her throat. She gagged a little, and he pulled back for a moment. When she looked up at him, he glared down at her, and pushed her head down until she averted her eyes. Without warning, he thrust all the way into her mouth, grunting loudly as he spurted his seed down her throat. As quickly as he had started, he tucked his cock back into his pants, and looked furiously down at her, swallowing and wiping her mouth. "Get out." She looked up at him, blinking. "Get out!" he yelled, and she scrambled for the door. ----- Claire felt uneasy. It was the evening of the symphony's last concert of the year, and Sebastien had spent the past six weeks barely saying a word to her. She showed up on time for every rehearsal, studied in most of her hours at home, performed several other concerts to rousing applause, and was in all ways beyond reproach, so he had no reason to reprimand her. But neither had he paid her another compliment. She had about given up on getting any kind of attention from him at all, and had taken up with a young man in her building named Todd. He was cute, funny, and had a good job. He was also an excellent kisser, but they hadn't gone any further, because Claire simply didn't feel the burning passion she had with Sebastien. Still, she certainly didn't see that going anywhere. Todd had accompanied her to the symphony hall that evening, and pulled her into a passionate embrace in the hallway outside of her dressing room. He wasn't staying for the performance, but whispered to her that he would see her later. When he left, she watched after him, giving a rueful sigh. She really wished she wanted to jump his bones. When she turned around, she saw Sebastien standing at the other end of the hallway, an inscrutable expression on his face. He stared so long that the blood rushed to her face and bloomed in a full blush. She gave him an enigmatic smile and disappeared into her dressing room. The concert that night would be described in the papers afterward as "electrifying," and no one felt it more than she, herself had, Claire felt. From the moment the music started, she felt that Sebastien had driven them all inexorably forward. The tempo, the dynamics, all were dramatically more pronounced than usual. During her solo at the end of the evening, she was the sole subject of his attention. His eyes bored into her, his hands directing her voice, and she felt them almost connected by shimmering threads of energy. She felt herself shivering at the abyss, and feared he would not hesitate to drive her over. Her body grew hot. Just as she felt she could no longer go on, the aria ended. The lights went up, and she gulped down air, chest heaving. Sebastien's eyes lingered on her rather longer than usual, and a sly little smile crept over his features before he turned to bow and accept his applause. When Claire stepped up to bow, she nearly stumbled and Sebastien caught her hand in his. She was not surprised to find that his palm was very warm and slightly damp. When she tried to pull away, his grip only tightened. They left the stage together, and in the moment the hallway was empty, he whisked her into her dressing room. He looked down at her with something like tenderness. "Why, mon abeille, you are trembling." He brought her close to him, held her, stroked her hair with one hand. For the first time, she realized that he wore cologne. Something like violets and freshly-cut wood. "You did beautifully tonight, Claire. Please take as long as you like to leave tonight." He gently pushed her back and breezed out of the room. This left her truly baffled, and she dropped into her chair and burst into tears. She must have dropped off to sleep, because the slam of a nearby door jolted her awake. She glanced at the clock. 1 AM. The show had ended two hours ago, and she was probably the only one left in the building. She hurriedly changed into her street clothes and left her dressing room. Walking toward the exit, she thought she heard the sounds of a piano. She remembered a faraway night, and a piano sonata, and she smiled wistfully. Perhaps those days were over. Then the song changed, and she realized someone was truly playing. Was it Sebastien? Probably. The symphony was now on its winter recess, and she felt it would be more polite to say goodbye, but... As she debated, she was approaching the stage. The song sounded familiar. What was it? It tickled the back of her brain, and she stopped still, closing her eyes, willing the answer to come to her. Ah. Of course. Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee." She had to laugh softly to herself. Now she knew it was Sebastien. And, she supposed, he knew she was there. She went to the stage, and saw Sebastien. He had changed out of his tux into soft-looking slacks and a sweater. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes lifted to lock onto hers. She leaned on the grand piano, feeling the faint vibrations of the playing, and listened. When he stopped, he gave her a considering look. "Now do you understand why I call you mon abeille? As the bee does with his dance, so do you with your voice." When she said nothing, he went on, "You must be wondering why I did not ask to see you again, after it had seemed I had all but promised?" She lowered her eyes to the floor. "Claire, it's clear to me there is something between us. Something dark and dangerous. I want to take you places you have never been. But I must do it carefully. You are first, my soprano." She felt an odd twinge of pleasure at that. "Sebastien, what do you want from me?" "Ah, the first time you say my name without anger. Such a sweet sound. Though perhaps not as sweet as hearing you cry out Master as you writhe beneath me. What do I want from you, mon abeille? Your complete obedience, your trust, your body." "You have them," she said after a moment. "Then strip," he said, his voice taking on the air of command, as usual. She was soon nude, shivering in the dim light of the auditorium. He picked her up and set her on the piano, her legs dangling past the keys. He raked his heated gaze over her body, and then brought his lips to hers for the first time. He kissed her as thought he would devour her, and she unconsciously spread her legs for him, already getting wet. He grasped her breasts firmly, causing her puckered nipples to jut out further so he could suck each of them in turn. When he pulled back and pinched each of them firmly, she arched her back, gasping in pleasure. He spread her legs as far wide as possible, exposing her neatly trimmed sex. He slid two of his fingers inside of her, and for the first time, she could enjoy unselfconsciously the way his long, slender digits caressed as much of her as they could reach. He pulled them out, coated in wetness, and slid them over her clit. She jerked and moaned. He brought his head between her legs now, and ran his tongue all over her. First fluttering along her inner thighs, he might then slide it inside of her, tongue-fucking her for a moment before swirling around her clit softly. He pressed his teeth gently in around her clit and flicked his tongue back and forth over it rapidly. "Ow, ow, ahh, ahhhhh, feels so good," she moaned above him. He drove his fingers deeply into her again, pistoning them in and out in time to his tongue lashing. She felt her wetness dripping out beneath her onto the shiny black surface. Then Sebastien did two things at once that drove her over the edge. He slid one finger into her anus and bit down more firmly on the skin around her clit, sucking it into his mouth. She cried out in a high keening wail that echoed in the large empty room, feeling the pleasure wash over her. When it was over, she could only lie back, remembering to breathe. Finally, she sat up and saw that Sebastien was nude before her, his lithe frame pale, almost seeming to glow. He had a moderate sprinkling of dark hair in the right places, and his muscles seemed to twitch and flex, whether from cold or anticipation, she did not know. She followed the trail of his hair from the triangular patch on his chest down his stomach, to the thatch where his hard cock stood out, firm and pulsating. He grasped her hips and pulled her off the piano, turning her around and bending her over it. Her nipples hardened instantly on the cold surface. He propped one of her knees up on the piano and reached around to grab and pull her nipples. She cried out and he bumped his cock up against her ass. "Tell me, mon abeille, how long have you wanted me?" "A long time." "That is no answer. How long?" He pinched her nipples tightly in his fingertips. "Ahh, ahh, since I first saw you!" He smiled, biting lightly on her earlobe. With one hand, he teased her clit, slippery fingers sliding over her flesh, making her moan. "When you came to audition for me, sweet Claire, I could not help picturing you just like this, helpless with pleasure in my hands, bent over my piano. When I heard you sing, the urge to grab you and fuck you right then was quite strong. I knew your cries of passion would be just as lovely as your singing. Now tell me how much you want to get fucked." Sebastien's fingers were driving her ever closer to another orgasm. "Sebastien, I..." He cut her off with a sharp slap to her buttocks. She gasped in surprise. "Let it always be Maestro between us, Claire." "Yes, Maestro. I, mmm, please, if you don't fuck me, I'll... I'll just die." "Now, let's not get too dramatic, mon abeille," he said with amusement. "But I just... I want it so bad... please, Maestro, don't make me wait." He pushed her hips forward, grinding her clit against the piano as he thrust his cock into her. "Ah, yes, yesssss..." she hissed, feeling him so thick inside of her. Each thrust from him bumped her clit firmly into the piano, sending tingling waves of pleasure through her. She felt like it must be getting bruised, and she didn't care. She felt herself again climbing up to the peak, and as her moans turned to whimpers, a sure sign of impending orgasm, she felt him pull out. He picked her up and sat her back on the piano, grasped her hips, and slid back into her. He pushed her onto her back, the soles of her feet pressing into the top of the piano. He held tightly to her thighs and pounded her pussy like he would never get another chance at it. "Touch yourself," he said hoarsely. "I want to see you pleasure yourself while I fuck you." Blushing a little, Claire tentatively touched her fingers to her clit. She had never pleasured herself in front of a man before, but the heated look in his eyes convinced her. Her touch with him inside of her was electrifying. It wouldn't take long. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations. She heard his heavy breathing and low moans alongside her own. Suddenly, Sebastien's voice interrupted her reverie. "Look at me." She struggled to open her eyes and focus on him. He wound one of his hands through her hair and gripped it firmly. The jolt of pain ran through her and she moaned aloud. "I want to watch your face when you come," he said in a low voice. She met his eyes and it was over. Biting her lower lip in the effort to keep her eyes open, she shook all over as she came with his cock pressed inside her. The Maestro With a grunt almost like a roar, Sebastien pushed up onto the piano with her, and fucked her hard, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass echoing in the auditorium. He gripped her breasts, and although it hurt, it also felt so very good to her. A droplet of sweat from his forehead dropped down onto her upper stomach. He grabbed one thigh, pressing the palm of his other hand into her, grinding down on her clit. She yelped and felt her pussy clench from the sensation. Sebastien threw his head back and as she screamed, she felt his cock pumping his come into her - three, four, five, six spurts. He stayed that way for a long moment, breathing heavily. When he finally withdrew, he gazed down at Claire, no doubt as sweaty and disheveled as he, with his come dripping out of her onto the piano. He quirked his lips up in his odd half-smile, and turned to leave the room completely nude. Claire struggled to sit up on the piano, propping herself up on her elbows as she watched him go. At the doorway, he shot a look over his shoulder. "I guess I will see you in February when rehearsals resume. Unless, of course, you'd like some...private instruction." All she could do was smile.