0 comments/ 11002 views/ 1 favorites The Maestro Ch. 01 By: captivate Meredith stood in front of the theater, staring at the sign. The large letters proclaimed DR. MATTHEW SCOTT IN CONCERT, One Night Only. Below the words was a life-size picture of Dr. Scott, black and white, which made his handsome features look dramatic. His dark eyes seemed to look right into hers, and she was hesitant to look away. The time passed, she never even noticed how long she had been standing there. She had arrived in Boston just last week. Her scholarship at the Conservatory had been granted late and she had to rush to tie up loose ends and get everything moved in time. She had always wanted to do her graduate work here, pinning her hopes on a full scholarship to help her get through. Now, she was here and the money had been enough, if she scrimped a little, to live comfortably. She had spent the week getting settled, moving into her cute little apartment, finding her way around, checking out public transportation, and trying to meet people. Hanging around campus had been pretty useful. She had found other aspiring musicians in the coffee house and they had been friendly and helpful. One girl, Serena, was particularly nice. She lived near Meredith and knew the neighborhood. One sunny day, Serena had taken her all over the area, introducing her to the merchants and neighbors, who all greeted her warmly. She seemed to know everything about the school and the professors. Her favorite topic was Dr. Scott. Apparently, he was the romantic hero of the school. Married to his childhood sweetheart, he had been widowed a few years ago from a tragic car accident. Now, he was quiet, sad and withdrawn. He taught THE graduate classes, the ones everyone wanted to attend. Meredith considered herself very fortunate to have gotten two of his music composition classes, especially registering at the last minute. According to Serena, someone usually had to die to make a space in his class. Now Meredith looked at his picture in front of the theater and felt a link with him. Something about his eyes mesmerized her, drew her to him. The concert was tonight, and she had gotten an SRO ticket, willing to stand to see the Maestro at play. Tomorrow was the first day of classes and she was excited. Music was her life, and now she was actively pursuing the final step in making it her career. She looked at her watch and gasped. It was only hours from the concert and she had so much to do before she could enjoy it. She hurried off, checking off her errands as she completed them. The most important of these was to fill out the application for student employment. While she could get by without a job, she could afford the luxuries, such as eating three meals a day, with a paycheck. So, her last stop of the day was at the Music Department, filling out forms for Teacher's Assistant positions. Finally, she was ready to dress and walk to the theater. When she arrived, there was a mix up at the box office. The saleslady assured her that the ticket she handed her was really hers. Meredith looked at the ticket and entered the lobby, knowing someone would stop her and send her to the back of the theater. Instead, the usher took the stub and showed her to a wonderful seat. She was directly in front of the piano, only a few rows from the stage! Still, she felt someone would ask her to move, to return to her humble position, standing, far away. It never happened. Meredith was allowed her perfect seat throughout the concert. She was able to watch Dr. Scott perform, his elegant fingers flying over the keys, his face so intense and full of emotion. She felt her heart pounding as he made the music come to life, beating within her body. It was a night to cherish. This was what made music so important to her, the incredible ability to touch her and move her. When he played his last selection, she didn't even notice the tears running down her cheeks as she listened to the story his gifted hands were telling. She stood with everyone else to pay homage to his genius. He bowed repeatedly and tried to leave the stage, but calls of "Bravo" kept him there. Finally, he gave a final bow, seemingly directed right at Meredith, and strode gracefully into the wings. Meredith sat again, reliving the music and the night, as the patrons filed past her, in a hurry to get to the parking lot and home. When she focused again, the theater was nearly dark, only a few stage crew milling around. She stood, hating to leave. As she reluctantly walked to the exit, music filled her ears. She turned and saw that Dr. Scott had returned to the stage. He was dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt, looking more like a student than a virtuoso. He was seated at the piano, his fingers caressing the keys, a beautiful melody pouring from the instrument. Meredith stopped in the shadows, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes, breathing in the sound. When she looked at the professor, she saw that he was crying, his fingers moving effortlessly. The song was one she didn't recognize, but the notes were sad and touching. When he stopped, she wondered if she should applaud or just leave quietly. While she considered, Dr. Scott turned to the darkened area and spoke to her. "Did you like it? You are the first person to hear my composition. It is called 'Ariel', named for my late wife." Meredith wasn't sure what to say. It had been unbelievably beautiful, haunting and sad, yet with an underlying feeling of joy. She stepped into the light and faced him and told him what she thought. He smiled at her, his eyes lighting. "I am pleased that you understood. Are you a music student?" Meredith took another step closer and introduced herself. She explained that she had come to the Conservatory for graduate studies and would be in two of his composition classes. Then she stopped abruptly, sure he didn't care to know all this. He nodded, approvingly. "Then I will see you tomorrow, Miss Meredith Brooks. I look forward to it." He had dismissed her. She smiled and walked out of the theater, strolling home, holding the evening in her heart. She was up very early, finally giving up on sleep. The first day of school was always the same for her. From kindergarten to now, there was a special excitement synonomous with fall and school. She had her new satchel, filled with recently purchased supplies, fresh black pens, pristine notebooks, notecards, music paper and snacks. She dressed in her special "first day" new clothes and her new loafers. She left her apartment in the still dark morning, walking to the campus and the music building. She wandered around there, inhaling the special scent of instruments and rosin. She spent some time locating the practice rooms, the large orchestra rooms and various offices. When she came to Dr. Scott's office, she paused. Just looking at his door made her heart beat harder. She sat on the bench across from his entrance, and opened her bookbag. She pulled out a notebook and a pen and began a letter to her best friend, Annabelle, back home in Oregon. She wrote of her new apartment, the neighborhood, the school. She described the concert, knowing that Annabelle, a trial lawyer, would never understand the effect of the music. But that was what made them such good friends, the differences they shared, the new things they taught each other. She described Dr. Scott, adding the story she had heard about his wife. Suddenly, she looked up to find the hall full of students, rushing to class. She put away her notebook and anxiously walked to her first class of Music Theory. The day passed quickly. Her new friend, Serena, was in three of her classes and they sat together, chatting happily before class. She liked all her professors. The class with Dr. Scott seemed to fly by, he was so interesting and such a good teacher. During her last class, a note was delivered to her, informing her she had been selected to TA two labs during the week. So that took care of her money worries. Now she could afford to eat and to concentrate on her music and compositions. She would help with labs on Tuesday-Thursday, and take a second class from Dr. Scott in between. Her schedule was perfect. The day was good and Meredith walked home, happy to be involved in classes again, and ready for the new school year to begin. She was so busy reliving her day, she almost didn't notice the pain. But suddenly, she cried out and stopped. Her new school shoes had rubbed a blister on her left heel, making it very painful. She gratefully sat on the bench nearby and contemplated her options. She had just decided to remove the shoes and walk home in her socks, when a car pulled up and the window rolled down. Dr. Scott was smiling at her, calling her name. "Miss Meredith Brooks, are you all right?" "I have a 'first day of school blister' from my new shoes! So, I am hobbling home now, hoping I don't ruin my socks. It isn't much further. I'm sure I will be OK. Thanks for asking." "Don't be silly. I can give you a ride. Hop in!" he said. She heard the locks click and he leaned over, opening the door. She walked to the car, secretly happy not to have to walk any further. She slid into the car, enjoying the feel and smell of the smooth leather. She gave Dr. Scott directions and leaned her head back, closing her eyes for just a minute. When she opened them again, they were parked in front of her apartment building. She looked at Dr. Scott and found him busily working on a composition. She felt herself blushing, stammering an apology for falling asleep. "I know I am not stellar company for young people, but I didn't even get the chance to bore you! You were asleep before I opened my mouth!" he chuckled. Meredith tried to explain her lack of sleep the night before, the excitement of the first day of classes, but Matthew couldn't really concentrate on what she was saying. All he noticed was how lovely she looked, slightly flustered and blushing becomingly. Finally, she stopped chattering. He offered to walk her to her door, but she refused, protesting he had done too much for her already. She slipped from the car, carrying her bookbag and shoes, hoping she wouldn't trip or fall as she walked away. "Goodnight, Dr. Scott, thank you so much for the ride," she said as she started up the steps of her building. He waited until she was safely inside and then drove slowly away. Something about her made him smile, made him feel happy. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was pleased he would have the time to find out. To Be Continued... The Maestro Ch. 02 As Matthew watched Meredith walk carefully up the steps, he found himself smiling. Driving home, he wondered why. He had been a professor of music for several years, and the female students made no secret of their interest in him. They had always flirted with him, but since becoming a widower, he seemed to have magnetic appeal. He drove slowly, in no hurry to return to his empty house. Sometimes, he wondered why he had been in such a rush to start his career. He had gone to school constantly, never taking a summer off, never resting. His music degree, graduate school, concerts, he had to keep moving. He was the youngest professor on staff, being nearer in age to the graduate students he taught than the faculty. He had known Ariel most of his life, growing up in the same neighborhood and climbing trees together. When he rediscovered her in college, he knew he had found magic and pursued her avidly. She was an artist and understood the creative need burning in him. They could spend whole weekends in the same place, each working on the current project in their life, never speaking. They were at peace with the artistic mind and soul. They fell in love and married, both keeping a part of their soul for the wonders they needed to bring forth. Still, they were a happy couple. Neither was in any particular rush to settle into a home and family. They both had too much to do, to create. So, while they loved each other deeply, they never really committed to building a life together. Both always felt there was more time. Then Ariel was killed and Matthew didn't have any more time with her. He blamed himself for wasting their life together and moved into his own world of guilt and grief. The longing looks from the coeds, the hints and outright propositions, slipped right past him as he moved through his days, oblivious to everything. At his concert last night, he had been aware of the woman in the orchestra seat directly before him. Her eyes had burned brightly as she listened, and he saw the tears shining on her cheeks during one piece. He watched from off-stage as the audience filed out, the woman remaining in her seat, still in the grip of the haunting music he had presented. For some reason, he wanted her to hear his tribute to Ariel, wanted to see her reaction to the music from his heart. He knew she was still in the theater as he sat on the bench and the chords took wing, filling the air with the essence of his beloved wife. Amazingly, she understood what the music was meant to say. It touched him, hearing her young voice, speaking his thoughts and feelings. It was extraordinary, finding someone who could read his heart so clearly. Fate, suddenly, seemed to be working overtime in Matthew's life. After meeting Miss Meredith Brooks at the concert, he found she was registered for his classes. She had watched him raptly during the hour, taking notes on everything he said. He found her attention endearing. Then, driving home, thinking of her, he saw her sitting on the bench, looking distressed. It pleased him to be able to assist her, to rescue her. When she fell asleep in his car, he was delighted. Reaching her apartment building, he was able to just look at her while seemingly engrossed in a composition. Again, he puzzled over his reaction to her. Certainly she wasn't the most attractive woman he had ever met. She was short and compact, with a fresh-face appeal he couldn't understand. Ariel had been...no, he wasn't going to do this. He couldn't compare every female with her, it wasn't fair to anyone. Matthew reached his house, his dark house, and pulled into the garage. Entering it, he was assailed by the quiet, the loneliness that surrounding him. Suddenly, he wondered what it would be like to return home to Meredith preparing supper, the house alive with lights and the sounds of a family at the end of the day, full of news and important announcements. He could almost see the children racing to him, wanting a hug and a kiss, wanting to share their day with him. The ache in his heart was palpable. He prepared his singular dinner, sitting in the empty dining room, the silence his only companion. He worked on some music, a composition that seemed to be eluding him. Then he walked to his bedroom, stripped off his official clothing and climbed into his cold bed. The next morning, Matthew couldn't stop himself from retracing the drive to Meredith's building. He was sitting outside, watching her door, when she came out and walked slowly and carefully down the steps. He could see her wince with pain as she stepped down, trying to keep her weight off the left foot. He was so glad he had come. Once again, he rolled the window down and called her name. She looked absolutely delighted to see him, to find him there, waiting for her. "Come along, Miss Brooks, let me give you a lift to campus. I thought you might still need some assistance, and it is right on my way," he called. Meredith didn't need convincing. She approached the car happily, sliding into the front seat and turning to him. "Dr. Scott, I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate this. I planned to walk, but my heel is still very tender and my shoes hurt it so much. You are a life saver. I owe you so much!" Matthew dismissed her appreciation and began talking about music and composition and they happily fell into a discussion. It seemed like minutes later that they arrived at the school. Matthew dropped her at the music building entrance and drove into the faculty lot to park. Meredith walked into the building that was already seeming like home, looking for the lab she was to teach. Entering, she went to the desk, placing her satchel down and starting to prepare the room. She was ready for them as the students came in, taking seats and talking together. Her lesson plan was on the desk and she introduced herself and began working with the class. Her love of music was obvious and her students responded well to her. All too soon, the bell sounded and the class left, many thanking her for a great class. Meredith spent the next hour looking over her assignments from yesterday, preparing for today's lecture from Dr. Scott. When the next bell sounded, Merry's heart jumped. It seemed to be skipping a few beats, out of time with the music in her mind. She packed up her papers and moved along the crowded hallway, entering the lecture hall, and finding a good seat near the front. Dr. Scott entered and began his discussion, and the entire class listened with respectful silence. He sat at the piano to demonstrate a point, and beautiful music filled the air. Again the bell sounded, compartmentalizing her day, making her move along to her next lab. Meredith returned to her assigned lab, finding another room full of new underclassman, eager yet scared, unsure of just about everything. She started her lecture, finding again the rhythm of the class, enjoying the sharing of knowledge. As she spoke, she saw Dr. Scott enter the back of the classroom and take a seat. She stammered once, then regained the theme, catching the interest of all the students gathered there. When the bell rang, the students left, smiling at her, already looking forward to the next session. Dr. Scott walked to her desk, smiling. "You have a knack for teaching. You obviously love music and share that love easily. Teaching will be a wonderful profession for you." Meredith blushed from the praise. She lowered her eyes, wondering why this man affected her so much, so quickly. When she looked at him again, he was silently assessing her. "Would you like to have an early dinner with me, Miss Brooks? We both have to eat and it would be nicer if we could do it together. We can discuss the composition I assigned today and you can tell me your thoughts on it." Without hesitation, Meredith beamed at him and accepted. TO BE CONTINUED.... The Maestro Ch. 02 Author's Note: I was originally planning to make this a series, but every time I went back to read the original piece, I just felt like it stood well enough on its own, and I didn't want to mess with it. Still, ideas kept popping into my head and before I knew it, I just had to get it out. So, this is part two, and there will definitely be a part three - but I haven't started it yet, so it might be a little while, because I like it to sound just right. This isn't perfect, but it's close enough for now. Thanks for your patience :) ----- It was the second day of the new year, and in her apartment in the city, one young soprano was curled up under her thick covers, watching the clouds scudding by and thinking of a man. A certain tall, slender man with a commanding manner - and other talents - the symphony's conductor, Sebastien Boulet. She had not seen him for three weeks, and yet the feel of his hands on her hips, the sharp stinging of his baton against her bare bottom had plagued her every thought. Her womanly pride was a bit wounded that she could allow a man to treat her in such a way. Still, she had never felt so alive. Not with any other man, and certainly not with her boyfriend of three months, Todd. He was sweet in his way, but not sensual, not oozing with raw sexuality, and power, and... oh! She had to get a grip on herself. Claire rolled over, pulling the covers together around herself. When Sebastien had last left her, he had thrown out the very tantalizing offer of private instruction. She had not had the courage to take him up on the offer yet, but her patience was wearing thin (and her vibrator was wearing out!). She glanced at the phone on her bedside table, the small, heavily creased slip of paper beside it. Without another thought, she grabbed the phone and dialed the number. It rang twice, and then there was a short silence before a thickly accented voice came onto the line. "Allo. Qui est à l'appareil?" "Ahhh hmmm," Claire breathed out in barely a whisper. "C'est la soprano." When silence followed, she followed up with, "de la symphonie." More silence. "Je suis désolé de vous déranger à la maison, Maestro," tumbled out of her mouth, hoping her grammar wasn't too laughable. The silence this time was so long that she wondered whether she had gotten a wrong number or the line had disconnected. She was beginning to feel silly holding the receiver, when the voice spoke again, crisply. "Mon abeille. C'est toi?" "Yes," she whispered. "I did not know that you spoke French." "A little." "Interesting. May I ask why you are calling?" "The last time we saw each other, you mentioned private instruction." "So I did." "If it wouldn't be too much trouble..." she trailed off. "I will send a car for you. Tomorrow, at noon," he said, followed by the click of the receiver. Claire twisted her fingers together, already feeling nervous. She did not stop to wonder how Sebastien knew where to send the car. ----- She was up early the next day, fretting about her outfit, her hair, whether she would be able to tell which car was the one Sebastien had sent. Standing in front of her closet doors, she finally chose a long-sleeved dark green dress. She slipped it on over her naked skin - why bother with underwear, considering the circumstances? She let her thick, reddish-brown hair out of its braid and finger-combed it to let waves of it fall halfway down her back, and pronounced herself ready to go. Ten minutes early, she was standing on the sidewalk outside her apartment building. A shiny, black town car was already parked at the curb. As she watched it, a man of medium height and complexion in a dark suit got out of the driver's seat and wordlessly held open the back door for her. In the backseat there was an envelope that contained a slip of black silk and a note. The note was written in a thin, slanted scrawl and said only "Blindfold yourself." Frowning slightly, Claire glanced up at the rearview mirror, where she could see the dispassionate face of her driver. It was embarrassing to be involving this man in something so private, but what else could she do? Sebastien would certainly know if she didn't obey, and he had been quite clear that she should do as he said. She tied the black cloth around her eyes. Almost immediately, the car drove away from the curb. At first, she could determine where they were from the turns they took. Soon, however, she lost the position of the car, and then stopped thinking about it entirely. After what she assumed was about twenty minutes, she felt the car driving downward, and then stopping. A door opened. People were talking softly somewhere. Another door opened. Gentle hands guided her out of the car, and then jerked her arms firmly behind her back, tying them there. She cried out softly, in surprise, and felt fingertips brush her cheek. A familiar cologne tantalized her, and her knees suddenly felt weak. Strong arms caught her, and pulled her upright. Was it Sebastien? Or had he sent his scent along with his emissary? It didn't feel safe to speak. Whoever it was pushed Claire ahead until they had passed through a doorway. Her boots clicked on tile now instead of cement, and she supposed they had been in an underground parking garage, and were now in a building. They stopped. After a moment, Claire shuffled her feet slightly. What if someone saw them? What would they think about a girl blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back? She shuddered to think. Then she felt someone bend down, putting their lips very near her ear. "I will remove your bonds, as well as your clothing, for the remainder of this journey." Ahh, it was the Maestro. For a moment, she relaxed, but then her mind began to race. Were they alone ? Did he own this entire building, whatever it was? When he nudged the blindfold down with his finger, she saw that they were in a sort of hallway, furnished with cream tiles and warm, glowing lights. Straight ahead was an elevator - a fancy one, with carved doors - and she could hear the dull hum of street traffic somewhere to her left. Someone entered from that direction, pushed the button for the elevator, and was admitted immediately. They pushed a button, and the doors closed on them - they had not appeared to notice Claire and Sebastien at all, but Claire was not much appeased by this. Startling Sebastien, she jerked away from him, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "Maestro, no! There are other people in the building." "I assure you, you would not be the first naked girl in the elevator, nor would you be the last," he said nastily. "I could send you home instead." "Please don't. But I cannot do what you ask of me." Calculatingly, Sebastien studied her face with narrowed eyes. "You would pay for this upstairs." Biting her lip, she considered her response. "Whatever you would ask of me. But not this, please, I beg of you." "Very well. Have it your own way." He replaced the blindfold, and grasped her hands again, marching her toward the elevator. After a short pause, he pushed her inside. After a few floors, the doors opened, and someone got in. Claire was mortified, but glad that she at least had her clothes on. She wondered what they must think, but was suddenly glad of the blindfold. At least she couldn't see their face. After another few floors, the doors opened again, and she thought the person got out. An indeterminate number of floors later, the doors opened once more, and this time Sebastien was nudging her toward the exit. He took her to the right, turned one corner left, and walked down a long hallway. She heard the click of a lock, and the soft swish of a door opening. He led her into the room, and closed the door behind them. He unbound her wrists, and massaged her shoulders very briefly to remove the kinks. He moved his hands to the shoulders of her dress, and she tightened up nervously. Making a small impatient noise, he asked, "What is it now, mon abeille?" "Maestro, please... are we alone?" she asked in a small voice. "Yes." She relaxed then, allowing him to undress her with ease. He then led her over carpet, and cold tile, and hard wood, and carpet again. It had seemed lighter, and was now dark once more. He bound her, wrists and ankles, to something she could not identify, but which felt like wood. Her forehead was resting against something, and her back was to the room. Without more warning than a nearly inaudible swish, Claire felt what must have been a thousand tiny stinging slaps to her back. It felt a little like pricks from cactus needles. It came again, this time to her buttocks. She cried out softly in surprise. Sebastien covered the back of her body, from neck to ankles, in sweeping up-and-down motions, causing her to shudder and whimper. She felt very warm. The slapping stopped, and Sebastien was rubbing his palms gently over her skin. She could not decide whether it was soothing or inflaming, but eventually the stinging died down and went away. In this moment, Claire had time to wonder how she had gotten herself into this situation, wonder why it was her nipples hardened and her pussy dampened over such treatment. Then Sebastien had returned to the stinger, using it with greater force and speed, focusing this time on her buttocks and upper thighs. She cried out more forcefully this time, with every set of slaps, and tears came to her eyes, soaking into the blindfold. Goosebumps broke out on her skin and she twisted to get away from him, knowing it was fruitless. He stopped just as suddenly as he had started, running his palms back over her tortured flesh. Then he slipped two fingers between her folds, dragging a line of wetness down her inner thigh, as if to emphasize how turned on she was. He untied her wrists and ankles, only to retie her wrists, this time with her facing outward to the room. Would he now resume stinging her on the front, breasts and belly receiving the brunt of the punishment? God help her, but she hoped that he would. Instead, she felt the structure she was bound to being pushed forward. "I am going to make a phone call. So you just stay here and be a good girl, mon abeille, and I will be back shortly. Ah, it is a bit dark in here, is it not? Allow me to fix that." Claire heard fabric swishing near her, and gradually the light she could perceive through her blindfold grew greater. "No, Maestro, please..." she said feebly. He stopped her with a firm pinch on both nipples that had her twisting her body in agony. "You said you would do whatever I asked of you. Now, I think you have had enough of that blindfold. Let's give you something to look at." He whipped away the cloth that covered her eyes, and she found herself bound directly in front of a huge picture window, completely naked. There was an apartment building across the way, which was probably separated from them by an entire street, but seemed so close to her that she would have sworn there were mere inches between them. In her first panicked glances, she saw no one at home. She tried to turn her head away, but felt something preventing it. She had to look out the window. She opened her mouth to protest, but heard the door shut behind her. It was useless. The Maestro was gone. ----- She had closed her eyes. She heard nothing from the other rooms for a long time. Then, softly, strains of piano music reached her ears. She thought at first it was a recording, but then noticed the player was stopping every few moments and switching. It was Chopin, and then Schubert, then Beethoven. That bastard, he was sitting there playing the piano while she languished, embarrassed, in front of a wide window on display. At last Sebastien settled into his rhythm, playing what sounded like Mozart. Finally, the curiosity overwhelmed her. Where were they, anyway? She peeked at the other apartment building. Still no one watching. Then she cast her glance to either side, but couldn't see any landmark buildings to help her. There were other tall buildings around her, and in the distance she caught a glimpse of seawater, but this didn't narrow things down much. Well over a quarter of the city fit this loose description. The best she could do was that it seemed they might be on one side of downtown, facing away from the more recognizable skyline. Movement caught her attention, and in the apartment across from her window, she saw a man coming to the table by the window with some shopping bags. She prayed that he would not notice her, and for many minutes, he did not. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, in the fear that she would miss his looking, though. Eventually he did look out, evidently casting his eyes on the parts of the view he could see, then scanning his eyes over the building, not specifically looking at anything. But when he noticed her, she could tell. He took a half-step back in surprise, then focused his eyes directly on her window, with a strange expression on his face. She cast her eyes downward, but dragged them back up anyway. He was a handsome man, this stranger. Wavy, dirty blond hair came down around his ears, and he had a strong jawline and nice, sleek musculature. He was wearing slacks with a soft-looking, untucked button-down shirt. His feet were bare. He caught her eyes and raised his hand in a small wave. She smiled weakly back at him. Then, to her utter shock, he removed his slacks, standing in his living room in only a tiny pair of black undershorts. Didn't he know that anyone in their apartment building could see him? Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps he walked around in his apartment all the time in his underwear. But still, surely he knew that she could see him, at least, didn't he? Of course he did. He turned to look at her again, gave her a saucy grin and wink. He disappeared from view again, and after a few moments returned, pushing an armchair up near the window and dropping down into it. He had a book in hand, but was clearly looking at her, rather than at the page he had opened to. She wanted to disappear. Then, she noticed that he had pulled his cock out of his underpants and was lazily stroking it up and down. What was this guy doing? She felt a warm swelling in her pussy and realized how turned on she still was. The piano playing had stopped. She heard the door behind her open. Sebastien didn't move her or come around where she could see him. Rather, he stood behind where she was tied up, and slid his palms over the front of her body, dragging his short nails over her nipples and belly. Her toes curled in pain and pleasure, and she tried to keep it from showing. When Sebastien's fingers slipped into her, and his palm glided over her clit, she lost the battle, eyes rolling upward and hips jerking. "M-Maestro, please, someone might see." "He doesn't seem to mind," came the sarcastic reply behind her. She looked across the way. Sure enough, the blonde man had a hungry expression on his face. He was now standing, freely stroking himself and watching her. "And from the feel of it, neither do you." Fingering her with one hand, he reached down with his other hand to rapidly rub her clit. "Ahh, ahh, but I don't want... ahh," she gasped. "Do not lie, mon abeille, it's unbecoming," he said in his infuriatingly casual way. Her hips were bucking toward his hands, and the pleasure was mounting in a way that felt most unbearable. "Let us have truth between us. You like the way he is watching you." When Claire didn't answer, he took his fingers away from her clit, leaving her to huff out a breath in frustration. He continued pistoning his fingers in and out of her, bringing her pleasure, but somehow sensing she could never quite be sated that way. She felt that she teetered on the edge, and she knew he would keep her there as long as he pleased anyway, but certainly longer than if she didn't tell him what he apparently wanted to hear. She nudged her hips forward, trying to get contact between her clit and something, anything. He brought his fingers down onto it, but in a sharp slap that left her breathless. It hurt, but also sent sharp arrows of pleasure radiating through her. "Yes, yes!" she cried. The slap came again. She writhed. "Yes what?" Two more slaps. "Yes, I want him to watch," she finally moaned. "You want me to make you come, even here, where anyone could look?" he taunted in her ear, sliding his fingertip along her clit teasingly. "Yes, Maestro, yes!" "Very well, if you insist." He slapped her clit firmly, four, five, six times and finally she exploded, feeling her abdomen tighten almost painfully as she came. Instead of pulling away, he resumed rubbing her clit, sliding it easily over the moisture that collected there. It was an endless cacophony of moans and gasps, Claire trying helplessly to get away from his probing fingers. In the midst of it all, she noticed that the man in the other apartment was spurting out jets of come all over his window, his eyes burning into her. Sebastien forced another orgasm out of her before withdrawing his fingers. ----- Suddenly, she felt the painful tightness on her wrists that had probably been there for long minutes and was just now announcing itself to her. Breathing heavily, she glanced at the other apartment. The man was gone, as was the come on his window, his book and chair, and all signs that he had ever been there at all. Odd, she thought. Sebastien came around to the front of her, closing the curtains with a snap. "We do not need an audience for what comes next." "Mmm so you don't like to fuck in front of strangers?" she asked, a bit sarcastically. He merely gave her an enigmatic smile, and untied her wrists, deftly catching her when her knees refused to hold her up. He picked her up bodily, depositing her gently on her back on the bed that she hadn't known was in the room. She felt her pussy still twitching occasionally, thick trickles of wetness dripping down between her buttocks. She glanced at Sebastien, standing at the foot of the bed, really seeing him for the first time that day. Her heart turned over in her chest, and a soft sigh eased out of her. Studying him, she saw no sign that he had been turned on at all by what they had just done. Still, in dark slacks in a shadowed room, perhaps it was only difficult to see. "Rest, please, and do not move. I promise you this time I will only be gone a moment," he said. True to his word, he returned a few minutes later, carrying something with him that he placed beside her head. When he sat beside her, she noticed that he was not wearing shoes. He stroked his fingertips lightly up and down the front of her, causing goosebumps to break out everywhere. "Tell me, mon abeille, what you have done before," he said. He was being vague, and yet somehow she knew what he meant. Well, what else could he mean, she asked herself. "I've had three boyfriends, seven total partners, none of whom were terribly imaginative, I'll admit. It was mostly the where and not the how that could be interesting," she said with a smile, recalling the time she had sex in a tree, in the closet of an ex-boyfriend while the ex himself was lying in bed with a book, in the elevator of a high-class department store, in the backseat of a moving car driven by her boyfriend's parents. There had been dozens - probably hundreds - of blow jobs, a little roleplaying, a lot of sex, but absolutely no anal sex, or anything coming close to it. "So you have not tried it... that way?" he inquired. "No," Claire admitted. "Girlfriends always told me they hated it, so, I was just never interested." "Then I will be your first," he said, looking down at her seriously. He had said it with finality, but the look he gave her held a hint of question. She pursed her lips, uncertain. She met his eyes. "I did say I would do whatever you asked, Maestro." The Maestro Ch. 02 He helped her onto her knees, tying her wrists again, but more gently, to the notches in the headboard. She heard cloth rustling behind her, felt his cock bump up against her. He slid it into her gently, and she shivered from the sensation in her post-orgasmic sensitivity. He fucked her slowly while he was fiddling with what he had brought with him. He touched her back with a small, cold object, running it up and down her spine. With a flick of his wrist, it began to vibrate, and he ran it down to tickle her nipples. She writhed, and Sebastien brought the vibrator down to her clit. Her hips jumped, and she squealed. "No, no, I can't..." Obligingly, he withdrew from her and rested it instead on her anus. The sensations felt very strange to her, but not unpleasant. She felt gentle pressure, and then the vibrator had slipped inside. It didn't really feel like much, she had to admit, and she was almost disappointed at the lack of sensation. When Sebastien withdrew it from her and dropped it onto the bed beside her, she saw that it was a surprisingly slim vibrator, only about the width of a marker. No wonder it didn't feel like much. She felt pressure again, and realized that his cock must be against her. He pressed inward, very slowly, and now she felt some pain as she stretched to accommodate him. He stroked her lower back very softly to relax her, and she took deep breaths as he continued to push. When the pain became almost too much to bear, she must have made some noise, because he stopped, allowing her to get used to the feeling. After a few minutes, the pain finally subsided, and she felt her entire body relax again slightly. Sebastien continued the invasion, but this time as he slid forward, she felt starbursts of shivering pleasure and she gave a low moan. At last, she felt the warmth of his body pressed up against her buttocks, his hair tickling her skin. He felt impossibly large inside her, and she was grateful for the moment she got to breathe in and out. He began to move in and out of her then, slowly, never pulling completely out. It felt good, even when he started fucking her faster, but it never seemed like it was quite enough. She wiggled her hips to increase the sensation, but it didn't help. Several times, she tried pulling on her wrist before realizing it was tied. Sebastien's fingers bore into her hips, and he leaned into her. The first time he pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back into her, it felt like a small explosion of pleasure and she moaned aloud. He wound one hand in her hair and pulled her head back, creating an exquisite tension in her shoulders and upper chest. He was fucking her with abandon now, letting out harsh breaths and soft groans that Claire was delighted to hear. The pleasure was growing in her once more, but she needed... something. "Maestro, please..." she whimpered. "What?" he asked, not without difficulty. "Please touch me." She thought at first he would not comply, but then he tightened his grip on her hair, shifting his other hand from her hip to her belly. He stretched his palm out to cover her clit with his fingertips, and she cried out in pleasure. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and rub her clit against his fingers. She felt his nose on the nape of her neck, his lips murmuring against her skin. "Mon abeille... my pretty little bee... come for me, girl. Come for your Master." As he spoke, he moved his fingers the more rapidly over her clit, and she felt his thrusts becoming erratic. She trembled beneath him and cried out loudly as she came. He released her hair and grabbed both of her hips very firmly, pounding harder than she had thought possible and causing her to writhe in renewed pleasure, now tinged again with pain. At last he drew a final breath and pushed as far into her as he could go, releasing his come with a ragged sigh. Sebastien rested his frame on Claire's, and she could feel the hard points of his nipples, the wiry softness of his chest hair, the softness returning to his cock and the way it slipped out of her, all things expected. What she felt, and did not expect, was an almost imperceptible nuzzling of his nose into the hair behind her ear, and the equally gentle kiss he pressed into the skin there. In a brisk, almost business-like manner, he untied her wrists, got up, collected his clothes, and then turned to her, though she was still facing away from him. "There is a bathroom just down the hall to the right of this room. I will bring your things in here." She heard the door shut. ----- Claire tried to sit up, but the muscles in her arms and legs didn't want to cooperate. Giving up, she lay on her side, finally looking at the room she was in. It was fairly small, perhaps only about ten by twelve, and had an enormous window taking up much of the wall she faced. A dresser took up the rest of that wall. Glancing down past her feet, she saw what she had been tied to, a sturdy-looking wooden frame, almost like a big easel. A large printed canvas took up the majority of that wall, and she recognized it as a Gustav Klimt print, but she wasn't sure which one. Turning over with some difficulty, she saw that there was a bedside table with a lamp, a clock, a pitcher and matching cup. Beyond that was a small bookshelf, a little writing desk with a chair, and a small door that probably was a closet. Beyond that was a recessed alcove that held the exit door. She tried sitting again, and found that her limbs were in good working order. Stifling the urge to peer around the corner to the left - Sebastien was obviously a very private person, having blindfolded her until she was in the room he chose - she turned right to the bathroom. She was amazed to find it was nearly as much window as wall, though there were gauzy curtains covering every window at the moment. The bamboo floor was not cold under her feet, and she found the honey-colored wood a good match with the ivory fixtures. When she returned to the room, she slipped into her dress and boots and sat gingerly on the bed. She heard running water somewhere nearby. After a moment, the running water stopped, and shortly afterward, Sebastien returned. He was barefoot still, in slacks and a button-down shirt, unbuttoned. Just looking at him made her heart twinge, and she couldn't stop a slow, lazy smile from spreading over her face. Sebastien pretended not to notice. "Would you like to accompany me to dinner?" "Very much," she said. "If you would please follow me into the parlor and wait for me there while I finish getting ready..." He left the room again, this time going left. She stepped after him, and found herself in a small dining room that held a square table and four chairs. The corner was comprised of two enormous windows, covered with the same gauzy curtains that were in the bathroom. Making a right turn out of that room, they were in a small hallway. On the left wall was a large bookshelf that held knickknacks as well as books. To the right was a kitchen done in dark blue tile with dark wooden cabinets. Directly ahead was a long dining room, with a table that looked big enough to seat twelve - or more! - and matching sideboards. Directly to the right of the dining room was a large, heavy-looking door, and farther to the right was a sunken parlor. She stepped into it, marveling at the thick cream carpet, and the comfortable-looking furniture, and especially at the grand piano. How had they gotten it in here? Turning around, she saw a spiral staircase in the corner farthest from the front door, and a small door directly across from the front door that probably held the coat closet. Sebastien disappeared up the stairs, and Claire sat on the piano bench. She had taken piano lessons from age four, though with no piano at home, she rarely played these days. Summoning up her memory, she touched her fingers to the keys and started to play Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat. She closed her eyes, letting her fingers find the correct notes. Tentatively at first, she felt her playing quite matched the piece, which gets markedly more passionate over time, falling back to slow softness, and swelling again. She hit her stride about midway through, and felt a surge of pride when she played perfectly through the trilling near the end. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw Sebastien, fully dressed in suit and tie, watching her with one hand splayed open on the piano top. "Oh," she said with surprise. "I didn't hear you come in." "I did not know you played the piano. You are full of surprises for me, mon abeille." He did not sound entirely pleased, and Claire wasn't sure why. "Hmm, well, I so rarely do, I hardly thought it worth mentioning, I'm sure." Turning away from her toward the front door, he said, "Shall we?" She got up and followed him out. She had not had the opportunity to see the hallway before, but was not surprised to find it attractively furnished, with a deep burgundy carpet and wood paneling giving away to a cream-and-gold-pinstripe wallpaper. They walked down the long hallway, turned right, and down another long hallway before they reached the elevator. A short moment's wait brought the elevator doors open, and Claire was interested to see the interior of the elevator matched the hallway, even to the benches - benches! - upholstered in ivory satin. Her eyes flicked briefly to the array of silvery buttons, which indicated that they were on the fiftieth floor. No wonder the elevator ride up had been so long. At last the elevator doors opened, and this time they were back in the cream-tiled hallway. Turning right, they went into what was apparently the underground parking garage, where a brisk breeze was blowing. She saw his black town car right away, and as they walked toward it, she noticed him pulling a slip of black fabric out of his pocket. "Oh, Maestro, are you going to blindfold me again?" she asked in dismay. "I'm afraid I must." "Don't you trust me?" she asked reproachfully. "Certainly I do, but it adds to the mystery, does it not?" When she did not answer, he took the opportunity to cover her eyes quickly, tying the fabric tightly around the back of her head. She shivered when his fingertips brushed her ears. "Your coat, mon abeille," he said quietly, slipping it over her shoulders. ----- Dinner was, Claire would think to herself later that night, definitely awkward. It was like a date, but definitely not a date. He had taken her somewhere upscale, though not too fancy, and she had felt a bit of a struggle looking for conversation topics. On a date, they would probably have discussed their families, their hometowns, their childhoods, their likes and dislikes, maybe their hopes and fears. Claire had tried to follow Sebastien's lead in conversing, but had found it rather one-sided. He would ask a question, she would answer, then ask him the same. He would answer very briefly, then ask her another question. As a result, she had chatted about her upbringing in the country, her mother's insistence that she practice piano (a lifelong love) and violin (an instant enemy), her father's love of singing along to the radio, her high school choir days, the cousins she played with instead of siblings, her desire to travel, to someday marry (if she found the right man), and potentially have children. She told him about her love of fine foods, her utter inability to cook, and even opened up to him about why she ran after rehearsals. She mentioned missing singing in a choir, and the south of France, where she had spent a few weeks one summer. In return, she learned that he had grown up around Paris, had studied in London, Berlin, and Rome before coming to New York, and finally to the West Coast. She learned that he had a comfortable childhood due to his parents' professions - both doctors, and that he had siblings. He confessed that he did miss life in Paris, but had grown terribly fond of this city. About his hobbies, his desire (or lack thereof) for wife and child, she had learned nothing at all. When at last they had left the restaurant, Claire bundled in her coat and sat silently in the car as Sebastien drove through the city. Now that they were not near his apartment building, he had no need to blindfold her. "Mon abeille, is anything the matter?" "No, Maestro." "Please, do you take me for an idiot?" "No, Maestro, of course not." She said nothing further, and the silence stretched out between them. Sebastien grunted in exasperation. "You have not said a word in over twenty minutes. Even you must admit that is unusual behavior." Actually, Claire was somewhat surprised that Sebastien had even noticed what was unusual for her. "I suppose I found tonight to be a little awkward." "In what way?" "Why do you care?" she asked, noticing it came out moodier than she had intended. Sebastien raised an eyebrow. They were near her apartment, and he pulled off the street into an alleyway, cutting the engine and turning to her, watching her wordlessly. She huffed at him, turning away, feeling ashamed for acting like a child. At last, she turned partway back to him. "Why did you take me out to dinner as if we were dating? Why did you ask me so much about myself and yet refuse to answer many of the same questions yourself? I feel confused, and I hate feeling confused." Sebastien continued to stare at her, and she was already regretting what she'd said. "I took you to dinner because we needed to eat." Claire hung her head, embarrassed by his answer. Without another word, Sebastien got out of the car, and then walked around to her door, opening it. "Get out." She obeyed, glancing around at the alley they were in. Bounded by brick facade on both sides, it was so dark without the headlights. There was little moon, and the streetlamp threw only a weak halo into the alley. The fog had come in, thickly, skirting between buildings and making the air hazy. The brisk wind ruffled her skirt and raised goosebumps on her thighs. She felt her nipples harden and wished she'd at least worn underwear. "What, are you going to make me walk the three blocks home from here?" she asked sarcastically. She felt her muscles tensing, heart beating faster, breathing shallowly. They were going to fight, and she wanted to be ready for it. She was that much more shocked when Sebastien grabbed her arms firmly and knocked her back against the brick alley wall. It wasn't hard enough to bang her head, but it took her breath away for a moment. Sebastien leaned in, his face inches from hers. He looked dark, and dangerous, and Claire was horrified to note that she was instantly wet, ready for him to take her. What was happening to her? "Listen to me, Claire. We are going to have a discussion that we should have had the first time I touched you. I thought I had been clear, but apparently it is not getting through to you." He squeezed her arms more tightly, and she made a small sound of pain. Ah, but it felt so good, too. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. Sebastien's eyes narrowed. "Even now, like this, you want me so badly, do you not? I want this understood, right now, I am your Master, and you will obey me. Whatever I ask of you, you will do it. And whatever else happens you will not question me," he said, with emphasis on each word. "Is that clear enough?" Her rational mind was screaming at her that this was crazy, that she couldn't let any man control her. She should go into her apartment building and demand they stop seeing each other except for work. Oh, but the rest of her mind was saying, please, God yes, as long as you touch me! She didn't trust herself to speak and turned her face away. Sebastien grabbed her jaw firmly in his hand, squeezing it and turning her back to face him. Even closer now, she felt his hot breath on her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered closed and open as she shuddered from the chill and the pleasure. "I said... is it clear?" "Yes. Yes, Maestro," she breathed out. "Good." He shoved her down to her knees, bruising them on the asphalt beneath her. "Open," he said, and she dropped her jaw open in time to have his cock stuffed all the way into her mouth, bumping the back of her throat. Her eyes watered and she gasped a little, trying to swallow past the sudden invasion. She could hardly breathe as he fucked her mouth roughly, heedless of her discomfort. For several long minutes, her entire world narrowed down to the man in front of her, trying to catch breaths of air in between thrusts. Then, as his thrusts became even deeper and more erratic, she was certain he was about to come. Instead, he abruptly pulled out of her mouth, and jerked her to her feet. He pushed her against the wall again, yanking her coat open and sliding her dress up to expose her. Dropping delicately to his own knees in his expensive suit, he steadied himself with his hands on her thighs, and then dove into her pussy, mouth first. He ate like a man who would never be satisfied, and Claire's whole body shuddered in pleasure. Her head fell to the side and she noted with disinterest that several young men were standing at the entry to the alley, staring agog at what was going on. She knew she looked a sight, with tears still running down her face, hair mussed, and a man between her legs, but at that moment, staring at the boys through a haze of pleasure, she just didn't care. She clutched at Sebastien, signaling the impending end, and instead of letting her come, he unceremoniously wiped his mouth on the underside of her skirt and stood. Though her dress was still hitched up to her waist and his cock was standing straight out, his overcoat protected them from view. Still the boys stood, now nudging each other and grinning. Sebastien turned and must have given them a very nasty look, because they glared back, but reluctantly left. He turned back to Claire and moved in close to her, sliding his cock home with a sigh. He cradled the back of her head with his hand and held her close as he pumped into her. Having been so close to orgasm already, she felt ripples of shivery pleasure radiate up her spine with every thrust. Her moaning was so soft, and next to Sebastien's ear it didn't need to be any louder for him to hear her quite clearly. The cold brick behind her chilled her, but Sebastien kept her warm. She let her head drop onto his shoulder as she finally came, digging her nails into his back, and he followed a moment later, stiffening as he thrust into her deeply. For a moment, they were blissfully still, and then Sebastien withdrew, zipped his pants back up, and dropped Claire's dress back into place for her. With a finger under her chin, he tipped her up to look at him again. She blinked at him twice, slowly. "Mon abeille, I will expect you the same time, day after tomorrow. I will send my car. Do not be late." He backed up into the street in his town car, and gestured for her to walk home; he would wait. Claire shook her head briefly to clear it, and ran her hand through her hair to tidy it. She dried her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat and walked toward her building, stumbling only once. Tossing a glance over her shoulder as she reached the door, she saw Sebastien driving away. It was warm in the lobby, and she had a moment to realize how really cold it had been outside. Now, she thought, all she had to do was make it up to her apartment before the come inside of her slid down below the hem of her skirt and hope no one noticed the tiny crumbs of gravel on her knees. No problem. The Maestro Ch. 03 Author's Note: I don't routinely read stories in this category because I find the fantasies described in them often differ so greatly from mine (which, incidentally, means recommendations would be great!). So, I don't know much the psychological play out tends to be described by other authors. The two main characters in this story represent real people in my life, real fantasies, and real internal grappling with what it means to have a relationship outside of your relationship. So the story gets a bit cerebral, but also digs deep into the darkest fantasies Claire has - it could be a bit disturbing to some, and also introduces some guy-on-guy action, so be forewarned. Thanks for reading! ----- Claire awoke with a start, her alarm clock screaming away on her bedside table. Evidently it had been going off for several minutes, and she rubbed her fingertips over her eyes. Why was it set so early? Sitting bolt upright, she remembered. The symphony's first rehearsal of the year was today, and no matter what else happened, she could not be late. Though her body trembled deliciously at the memory of the pain and pleasure that had followed her previous indiscretions, she had been told in no uncertain terms that her failure to maintain certain standards of conduct would result in the immediate termination of their... what was it, exactly? Not really a relationship. An agreement, perhaps. She shuffled into the bathroom to take a shower, and was stopped in her tracks by the sight of herself in the mirror. She was paler than usual, and a ring of fingertip bruises cut into the soft line of her jaw. Looking down, she also saw bruises on her wrists and hip bones. Amazing, she thought, to be so lost in the moment that the idea of bruising never crossed her mind. The bathroom filled with billowy steam clouds as she ran the shower, and contemplated makeup to cover the bruises. She never wore makeup, and she wasn't going to start now. The bruises were a reminder she would wear with pride. Still, it could be awkward to show up in public this way. And wouldn't Sebastien notice? What would he think? The possibility of catching his attention made the final decision for her. She would go barefaced, and see if Sebastien reacted. She dressed modestly, in charcoal slacks and matching jacket with a blazing red silk blouse. Grabbing her stack of sheet music and heading out the door, she was dismayed to feel a dull aching in her shoulders and chest, no doubt from the struggling and binding of the day before. Luckily her jaw and knees had recovered from their ill treatment, otherwise she would not have been confident of her ability to stand and sing all day. When she stepped onto the curb, she found that a black town car very like Sebastien's was parked outside her building. When she turned to go to the bus stop, a mild voice from behind her called, "Miss, over here!" She turned, and indeed, the same man who had driven her to Sebastien's apartment was standing on the sidewalk. "Monsieur Boulet tasked me with driving you to the symphony hall today. He wished to be sure you arrived on time." Frowning at the man, Claire nevertheless got into the backseat of the car. "Did he instruct you on what to do if I wasn't downstairs on time?" she grumbled. "What if I hadn't been here?" The man ignored her, and instead started the engine. Claire pouted the entire way there. ----- At the symphony hall, Claire suddenly found herself the subject of attention, as soon as some of the orchestra players glimpsed the bruises on her jawline. The cornered her in the hallway outside the auditorium. "Claire, what happened to you? Are you okay?" asked Sherry, a violinist. "Those bruises look terrible!" exclaimed Patricia, a bassoonist. "Who did this to you?" asked Michael, another violinist, looking like he wanted to strangle someone. "Really, everyone, I'm fine," Claire said, a flush rising to her cheeks. "You don't look fine!" insisted Sherry. "You look hurt!" "Ah, no, it was nothing," said Claire. Soft footsteps announced the arrival of someone else. That someone proved to be Sebastien, who strolled down the hallway, flicking a look at her. It was a heated glance that could have been warning, or anticipation, or remembrance. She returned his gaze, a bit meekly, and the very possibilities of what he could be thinking made her knees week. She wobbled slightly, causing more cries of alarm from the musicians. "Look, she's going to faint!" squealed Patricia. Michael attempted to catch her by grasping at her arm. Claire flinched as his fingers landed on her wrist, and she pulled away. Cradling her wrist, her sleeve fell down to expose the bruises on her wrist, and there were fresh gasps. She sent a beseeching look at Sebastien, who hesitated just long enough for Michael to turn to him. "Ah, Maestro, you'll know what to do. Claire's been injured, but she keeps telling us she's fine!" "If Claire says she is fine, then she is fine," he said impassively, and the musicians exchanged glances, baffled at his seeming lack of concern. "But Maestro, that's exactly what she would say if she was being hurt!" said Sherry. "Who do you think could be hurting her? Certainly not the young man she passes her time with. He couldn't hurt a fly," he said, somewhat derisively. Brushing aside the musicians, he grabbed Claire's wrist firmly and pulled her down the hall, ignoring her grimace of pain. "Come, mon abeille," he said in a low voice, as soon as they were out of earshot, "Your injuries are making rehearsal begin late." "My injuries?!" Claire hissed indignantly. "You gave them to me!" "And you showed up with them on display. What did you think would happen?" He let go of her wrist abruptly, and she nearly stumbled. He marched away from her into the auditorium, and she followed sullenly. Rehearsal went without distraction after that, though Claire was aware that there were some whispers and glances in her direction on account of the bruises. She also overheard Michael's still-baffled description of Sebastien's reaction to his fellow violinists. As for herself, she could not quite forget the tone of his voice when he mentioned her boyfriend. She felt guilty about Todd as it was, since he was obviously totally unaware of her sexual relationship with her conductor. She tried to convince herself it was none of his business, but that didn't seem quite right. Several missed cues later, Sebastien called a break in the rehearsal. He sauntered over to her, narrowing his eyes as he leaned down. "What is on my soprano's mind that takes her so far away from my rehearsal?" he asked, voice soft and dangerous. "Could it be that she is desirous of more punishment?" "No, Maestro, it's nothing." "So it is a whipping she wants, daring to lie so boldly." Scowling up at him, she replied, "I was thinking about Todd." When he said nothing, she clarified, "You know, my boyfriend." "I see." He vanished from her side and said not another word to her the entire afternoon. For her part, she marshaled her attention and kept her mind on rehearsal. She was not surprised that Sebastien's town car was not present when she left rehearsal. She worried that Sebastien would rescind his offer to see her the following day. She wanted to call Todd and arrange a date, but with the bruises on her face and wrists, she just didn't feel like explaining. She went to bed in a bad mood. ----- Claire opened her eyes to find herself chained - literally - to the wall somewhere dark. It felt damp, and a low flickering light off to one side barely illuminated the room. She tried to move, and found that she could step away from the wall several feet, but no further. The rough ground scraped the bottoms of her bare feet. Bare feet. Why, she was totally naked! In fact, where was she? Footsteps above paralyzed her in fear. Who was there? The footsteps drew nearer, and she tried vainly to cover her tenderest parts. When it was Sebastien who stepped into the room, she was momentarily relieved. Yet, he towered over her in a way that seemed quite sinister, and the fear crept back into her heart. When he raised his hand and casually slapped her face, she fell to her knees, shocked, but not hurt. He slapped her again, and she fell back, cracking her head against the hard ground. Starbursts exploded behind her eyes and she was dizzy, disoriented, but not in pain. She saw Sebastien's belt, suddenly in his hand, and moaned in anticipation. Instead of rolling her over, he attacked her front side, savagely slapping his belt over her breasts and belly without pause. Her body was on fire, tingling all over. She felt so alive. The belt skipped over her groin, pounding the flesh on her inner thighs. It went on for so long that she was finally beginning to feel more pain than pleasure, and she brought her hands up to ward off the blows. Taking the hint, Sebastian aimed the next slap directly between her legs, and her back arched and twisted with the impact. The orgasm took her by surprise, leaving her fingers scrabbling on the ground beneath her. Sebastien ignored this, continuing the assault on her most tender areas. When after a few moments, Claire felt that she must be swollen and red, Sebastien dropped the belt and knelt over her, biting her neck, dragging nails and teeth down over her breasts. She cried out over and over, clinging to him desperately. Sebastien pried her arms off of him, jerking her off the floor and onto her hands and knees. Without warning, he penetrated her, feeling enormous inside her, stretching her open as if it were her first time. Snatching the belt up off the floor, fresh blows rained down upon her unprotected back and buttocks. Her body shook in pleasure and she stretched down toward the floor, pushing her ass up toward Sebastien. He swatted her a few more times, and her back and buttocks felt like they were on fire. Sebastien threw the belt down this time and began fucking her, hard, his cock bumping up against her cervix with a twinge of pain at the end of each thrust. She rested her forehead on the ground, focusing on the sensations she felt. Sebastien's cock in her pussy, the way nearly every inch of her skin was tingling ferociously, the cool stone beneath her forehead and knees, her lungs pulsing with each shallow breath, the rapid tattoo of her heartbeat. Her body was rapidly climbing to a massive climax, and Sebastien, as always, knew just how to push her over the edge. One of his hands slid up to grip her throat firmly. It didn't impair her ability to breathe, but the firmness of his hold, and the knowledge that he could control her breathing at any time, excited her. She felt her knees shaking beneath her, and a massive wave of pleasure slammed into her. Every muscle in her body tensed and she screamed in abandon, safe in the belief that no one could hear her, wherever she was. Dimly, she felt Sebastien still moving inside her, then his come pumping into her, fast and warm. ----- She woke, violently aroused. Scrambling for the vibrator she kept stashed in the drawer next to her bed, she turned it on and pressed it against her clit. Immediately her hips bucked and she cried aloud in the empty room, startling herself. Rolling onto her back, she felt the sweat cooling on her skin, making her shiver. What was happening to her? It was the most explicitly sexual dream she'd ever had, not to mention by far the most violent fantasy. She had never thought such dark desires lay within her. So it was with serious misgivings that Claire found herself dressing in a set of her prettiest lingerie - a sheer, plum-colored bra and panty set - under jeans and a t-shirt in preparation for her ride to Sebastien's - supposing he was still interested. Her nerves began to act up on the elevator ride down to the lobby, and she wasn't sure whether she was hoping to see the black town car or not. It was there. The day was unseasonably warm and sunny, with only a light breeze tickling the hairs on her arm. She held up a hand to stop the driver before he even got out of the car this time. Yanking the door open, she flopped down on the seat and said irritably, "I can open my own doors, but thanks." There was an envelope on the seat, but no note. The blindfold was enough. She knew what to do with it. Vision thusly darkened, the car began to move. The warmth had done its work on the leather seats; they were giving up a subtle, rich aroma of leather and cologne. Claire felt the drive was shorter this time, but she didn't even bother to try and figure out where they were going. She wasn't sure she even cared. As soon as the car stopped, she popped out of the car and slipped the blindfold off, looking around for Sebastien. He was standing on the other side of the car, having a whispered word with the driver. When Sebastien began to walk her way, she made eye contact and held her arms behind herself in a deliberate motion. He cocked an eyebrow at her and ran a finger softly along her still-bruised jawline. "Enough of this," he said, pushing her arms away from her back. Then, placing his palm on the small of her back, he guided her ahead of him through the doorway, and straight to the elevator. What was this? No blindfolding, no binding, no asking her to strip? She was almost disappointed. Once they were in the elevator, he asked, "Are your shoulders still sore? I noticed you stretching them yesterday in rehearsal." She shook her head, even though they were. Ignoring her, he placed his fingers on her shoulders and rubbed them thoughtfully, running his hands along nerve lines in her neck and upper back as well. It felt good, and she allowed her eyes to fall shut, though she otherwise ignored him. "Is there some reason you are not speaking to me? Angry, perhaps?" The strange thing was, angry was exactly how she felt. She blamed him for the dream she'd had. No matter how much she enjoyed it, how much it turned her on, it would never have happened if he had kept his hands off her from day one. She wouldn't be in this elevator, wouldn't be thinking of him - and the things he could do to her - night and day. But these were things she could never tell him. He might smile in that infuriating way of his and say something pithy. So she said nothing at all. They walked in silence to his apartment, and again, she preceded him through the doorway. "Are you sure you do not want to tell me what is the matter?" he asked again. "Yes. Let's just do what you brought me here for," she replied, matter-of-factly. "As you wish. Are you too sore to be tied again?" "No." He stripped her outer clothing without ceremony, folding them and setting them on an ottoman. They went again to the small bedroom she'd seen before, and he tied her wrists to the bed frame, settling her comfortably on the damask coverlet. He stroked her breasts through the gauzy material of her bra, enjoying the way she squirmed with ticklishness beneath his touch. "I will leave your ankles untied... but you had better not kick," he warned. Her nerves, which had faded with her anger, came back with a vengeance, and she trembled. "Oh, it will not be as bad as all that," he said, running a fingertip down her stomach and over her panties. He turned back to the door and called out something in French. Claire's eyes widened, and she could not keep her jaw from dropping open when she saw who walked in the door. It was the handsome blonde man from the apartment across the street! After a moment of sheer shock, she turned furious eyes to Sebastien, who was clearly enjoying the moment. "Mon abeille, please meet René Giroux." "Enchantée, mademoiselle," said the blond, with a voice deeper than Claire expected. When Claire remained silent, Sebastien spoke again. "René will be fucking you today, mon abeille." Claire opened her mouth to reply angrily, but knew any argument she made would be fruitless. Sebastien nodded in acknowledgement. "I am very pleased to see you are learning all your lessons." She stuck her tongue out at him. Not mature, but it fit how she felt inside. He gave a small smile, and settled down beside her. René stripped off his shirt and pants, climbing onto the bed in a pair of the tiny undershorts he had been wearing the other day. He stared down at her as if he was hungry. Claire turned her head to the side, glancing at Sebastien. "Does he understand English?" "The basics. Anything you will have need of saying to him, certainly." "What's his deal?" "He does not have many women, mon abeille." "Why not? He's very... pretty." "Bien sûr, but he has a little... problem. I suppose you would call it a fetish." "What is it?" "You shall see." With those less-than-comforting words, Sebastien nudged her head back toward René, who captured her mouth with a tender kiss. His tongue probed every corner of her mouth, and she felt her body arching up to meet his above her. His hands covered her breasts, squeezing them gently. Already she felt his hardness nudging her leg as he knelt over her. He leaned down to lick her nipples through the bra and she moaned encouragingly. He had a soft tongue, and he clearly knew how to use it. Use it he did, on her neck, her earlobes, her mouth, until she was wet and pushing her hips toward him. Obligingly, he trailed his fingertips over the front of her panties and she gasped in frustration. He slid his underpants off and her panties aside, touching her wetness and smiling down at her. Looking between them, she saw his cock, uncircumcised like Sebastien's, but longer and thinner. She watched him push it into her, inch by inch, saw him squeezing his eyes shut and savoring the feeling. "Seems perfectly normal to me," she said, finally turning her head to Sebastien again, but finding that he had moved from beside her. He had taken his pants off, revealing similar undershorts, from which he had extracted his cock, stroking it to hardness. He smiled cryptically at her, and then removed a small package from the bedside table drawer. It was a condom, which he unwrapped and then rolled down the length of his cock. Claire, who had been momentarily distracted by the sensations of René moving inside of her, watched with interest as Sebastien squeezed some gel from a little tube into his palm. He ran his hand over his cock, slicking it up, and then got onto the bed, positioning himself behind René. As Claire watched with some disbelief, it seemed that Sebastien was pushing himself, so slowly, into René. "You're, um, bisexual?" she asked in surprise. He gave her a funny look, replying, "Clairement." Clearly. As in, Claire, you idiot, why would you even need to ask that, given that I'm fucking another guy in the ass? Well, she wanted to be sure. René moaned in bliss, his cock buried in her pussy, and a cock buried in his ass. Claire could do nothing but hold on for the ride as Sebastien slowly fucked René, which in turn caused René's cock to move in her pussy. Sebastien looked over René's shoulder, and it was almost like he was fucking her with someone else's cock. Which, in point of fact, he kind of was. His eyes burned into herm and she had to break eye contact before she blushed. Instead, she took in the sight in front of her. One man was naked, tanned, muscular, blond, eyes the color of seawater, smiling softly and looking very content. The other was taller, paler, thinner, hair and eyes darker, so much darker, wearing a button-down shirt with just the top two buttons unbuttoned. René leaned forward to pepper her neck and face with kisses, and Sebastien quickened his pace. René moaned helplessly, pinned between the others, and Claire writhed beneath him, pushing her hips up to meet Sebastien's thrusts. Sebastien leaned his head back slightly, closing his eyes partway, and Claire wondered if he was close to coming. Then he leaned far forward, dropping his face down near René's, whispering something softly in his ear. With his right hand, he slid his hand over Claire's hip, running the back of his fingers over her clit, teasing her. She arched her back and whimpered, feeling herself suddenly close to coming. But it was René whose eyes squeezed shut, whose hips jerked as he came, letting out a long moan, and then a sigh. The Maestro Ch. 03 With a lazy smile, he kissed Claire's cheek, and pulled out of her, cock coated in his come and hers. He shuddered as Sebastien withdrew from him. Sebastien peeled off the condom, tossing it into a waste bin, and then came over to the head of the bed again. "I think we can untie you now. You are not going to run, are you, mon abeille?" "No, Maestro." "Good girl." He untied her wrists and helped her to sit up. "Shall we try something a little different?" He slid around behind her, and grasped her hips gently, settling her down on his still-hard cock. Enjoying the opportunity to control the action for a change, Claire rose to the occasion, swiveling her hips on him and gliding up and down very slowly, to tease him. René watched them for a moment, and then his face brightened. He crawled between Claire's open legs and began licking her pussy as it rose and fell on Sebastien's cock. The reaction was immediate. She exploded in orgasm, feeling her pussy clamp down on Sebastien's cock and hearing his sharp intake of breath behind her. She ground her hips down on him, and when she became too sensitive and pushed René's head away, Sebastien patted her behind to encourage her to turn around. She did, and saw that Sebastien had removed his shirt, and was resting with his back against the headboard. He made some kind of gesture to René, which Claire ignored, as he began fucking her from below. Gentle pressure on her upper back pushed her forward against Sebastien's chest, and she felt René's cock pressing into her ass, slowly, so slowly. Claire shivered between the two men as René steadily pushed his cock all the way into her, then stopped, letting her adjust to the feel of being fucked by two men at once. Sebastien slid his arm around her, cradling her firmly against his chest. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she melted a little inside, being held so close to him. Both men began sliding their cocks in and out of her, slowly, but with increasing speed. The friction was driving Claire crazy, so many sensations running through her. She felt almost feverish and was moaning into Sebastien's chest constantly. René squeezed his hand in the small space between she and Sebastien, fondling her clit, and she was undone. With a cry of pleasure, she felt her abdomen clenching painfully as a powerful orgasm racked her body. Tears sprang to her eyes at the exquisite intensity of feeling, and from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Sebastien and René sharing a kiss, even as each spurted his come inside of her. A sharp stab of pain to her chest made her avert her eyes, but the damage had been done. The tears trickled from her eyes, dripping into Sebastien's chest hair. He loosened his hold on her, pulling her back to look at her face. "Mon abeille, are you hurt?" he asked, studying her. She shook her head. She wasn't hurt. At least, not the way he meant. Sebastien spoke in rapid French, too fast for Claire to follow. René pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and left the two alone. She heard running water for a moment, then footsteps, and finally a door closing. It seemed they were truly alone. Suddenly she felt tired, so tired. She dropped her head back on Sebastien's shoulder, relearning how to breathe. He swung his legs to the edge of the bed and stood, lifting her with him. He carried her into the bathroom, and deposited her into the bathtub, already filled with warm water. He got in, too, and had her lean back against him. ----- It had been, in some ways, seriously weird to have Sebastien bathing her. He had washed her hair, and she had trembled, always having had a sensitive scalp. He had encouraged her to relax, but though she made a concerted effort to be calm and release her muscles of their tension, it was still just that: an effort. With him she was, and perhaps would be - given their proclivities - ever on edge. At last he seemed to realize that his exhortations would have no effect, and he bundled her into a couple of towels and wrapped her in a blanket, setting her down gently on a sofa in his parlor while he went to dress. When at last he had returned, dry and dressed casually - as casually as he got, anyway - she had unbound her hair and was finger-combing its damp waves. Sebastien sat in the corner of the sofa, and Claire leaned into him, noticing that he didn't flinch when her chilled hair touched his exposed skin. "Mon abeille," he said, his chest vibrating with every word, "I feel I must apologize. Having René join us may have been a pleasant surprise, but it was still a surprise for you nonetheless, especially given the relationship between he and I. In truth, he and I are both thankful to you for not, as you might say, running and screaming, but I admit it was probably a nasty shock to realize that I knew the man you thought had discovered you quite by accident in my window." Claire's body tensed. She had thought of that, briefly. It almost seemed like a betrayal of her trust, this whole incident, but it was a relief that Sebastien seemed to recognize this, perhaps even more fully than she. Sebastien sighed softly. "If I am to be completely honest with you, Claire, I will say that I am still figuring out what I am doing here. I have never been in... this position with anyone before." This was a surprise! "I am only beginning to understand how I may divine your desires without giving up my control. It occurs to me that today could have gone very poorly. Yet no matter how much I listen to you, I feel that I do not really know you at all." He fell silent, and Claire did not fill the silence with her words. She wasn't really sure what to say. After a few minutes, Sebastien spoke again. "Still, I wonder if there is something else bothering you, mon abeille. You have been most subdued today." Her mind flashed hotly on her dream. She didn't want to mention it. "Could it have been a certain... kiss... that has occupied your mind?" he prompted. Ah, yes. That. She didn't answer, but knew her sudden stillness gave him an answer. "Could it be you are feeling jealous?" he asked. She wasn't sure if he was teasing her. It was ridiculous, because she didn't have any reason to be. She and Sebastien certainly had nothing more than a sexual relationship... right? Somehow it seemed wrapped up in the fact that Sebastien and René certainly did have a relationship and had planned on... using her. That was it, she sort of felt used. Awkward. "I imagine you are feeling a little bit like an anonymous plaything, and that is what I was apologizing for initially. It was not my intention for you to feel like the center of a plot that does not concern you. It was rude. But you have nothing to fear from the two of us together. Though René appreciates men for the, ah, physical ability to help with his little problem, he is a great lover of women. Even if he was gay, it would not matter. We love each other as brothers, no, both more and less than brothers. Anyway, he is a childhood friend I cherish dearly, but nothing more." "Do you have a pet name for René?" she asked quietly. "Mais oui. I call him mon frère, my brother." ----- Claire spent a lot of time wrestling with her innermost thoughts in the days that followed. The dark dream had not come again, but she carried the shadow of it within her like a ball of lead in her heart. She still felt it so deeply disturbing, and despaired that she couldn't share it with anyone. She even considered therapy. But, who could tell a therapist something like that at the first appointment? Really, how did one even work up to a revelation like that? Equally distressing was how painfully aroused she was whenever Sebastien was in the room, despite the fact that he treated her with the same cool indifference as he always had in rehearsals. On top of that, she was confused by his constant shifting from someone who could abuse her body to a man who was tender, almost gentle with her. It was almost as if she could simply not reconcile these different traits within the same person: cruelty, kindness, disregard. They did not go together, but she was finding the combination increasingly irresistible each day. Sebastien must have been able to tell, she thought, since he had not summoned her presence to his apartment, nor really spoken more than a few words to her at a time in the week that had passed. She was beginning to miss him, even to be lonely. So she called Todd. Sure, he would love to take her to dinner, and then bring her to rehearsal afterward. They hadn't seen each other in a few weeks, and her bruises had finally faded away. Claire felt terrible for thinking it, but honestly she was bored to death at dinner. She and Todd had little in common, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to admit that there was another man in her life, one whose presence was beginning to preclude any other romantic entanglements. It was disconcerting. Still, she let him walk her to the symphony hall. She would have to find a way to let him down easy, but she'd never done that before. Breakups had always been sort of stormy and dramatic. At the symphony hall, Todd drew her close to him, nuzzling her cheek and the often sensitive spot at the nape of her neck. She felt nothing but an ominous chill down her spine, and her heart sank when she saw Sebastien step around the corner at the end of the hall. At first he did not notice them, half-hidden in a shadowy corner. Then Claire saw his entire spine stiffen as he turned his head minutely to give her a cold look. "Your heart is beating so fast, baby," murmured Todd. Clare hoped fervently that Sebastien had not heard the comment, but the tension around his eyes told her he had. She locked her wrists awkwardly behind Todd's neck and rested her cheek on the top of his head. She let her eyelids flutter shut in a parody of contentment, and when she opened them again, she was treated to Sebastien's furious visage before he stalked off down the hall. Had the crisis been averted, or had she made things worse? She suspected - even secretly hoped - that the latter was true. She extricated herself from Todd's uncomfortable embrace, promising to call him, and immediately felt a weight on her chest lift. She was back in her element, in the symphony, without this strange person clinging to her. She stepped down the hall on light feet and was opening the door to her dressing room when a hand shot out, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her into the room. Immediately, a hand clapped over her mouth even as she was thrust roughly against the wall. "Fermez la bouche," he commanded, then removed his hand from her mouth. "Maestro, I..." she began. He smacked her across the mouth, gently, hissing "Ta gueule!" at her. It stung, but it was the ferocity of his command that really shut her up. She didn't know what it meant, but she could guess well enough. He pulled her shirt open, leaving her bare breasted before him and one or two of her shirt buttons scattered on the floor. He turned her to the wall, pushing her up against it and jerking her pants down. He hadn't unbuttoned them, so what should have taken a few seconds took more like a minute - longer, because she struggled a little bit against him. "Maestro, rehearsal starts in fifteen minutes; the orchestra will be arriving soon!" A sharp slap to her bare buttock silenced her again. "Then you had better shut your fucking mouth like I told you to," came the reply behind her. Sebastien had finally succeeded in getting her pants down about to her knees, and pulled her ass to him, spreading her thighs as much as her restrictive pants would allow. All at once, she felt his cock enter her, long before she was ready for it. For the first time it truly did hurt, though even this was not without its pleasure. Both body and mind confused, she could not heed Sebastien's order. "Ah! It hurts, Maestro!" she cried, tears slipping down her cheeks. At once, his hand was gripping her throat. "I will silence you, one way or another, mon abeille," he said acidly. Very like her dream, he did not harm her, but the threat was there. Like her dream, she was both terrified and powerfully aroused by this, and her pussy flooded with wetness. Sebastien pounded into her as if it would save his life. Somewhere, a door slammed, and he hissed into her ear, "They come." She heard them then. Trickles of musicians carrying instrument cases and chattering merrily with one another. She tensed up, fearful that they would be heard. At once, Sebastien set off on a torrent of murmurings in her ear, mostly in French. It was not soft, or tender. It was, as far as she could understand, a series of demands that she obey him, that she would not whore around with other men. She heard him call her at least one very nasty name. Perhaps he was trying to provoke her into speaking? Almost as frightening as being caught were the deep waves of pleasure rising up within her, one on top of the other. A fine trembling started in her limbs from the tension she held in them trying to resist the pleasure. She would not give him the satisfaction, could not. But the feeling of his cock slamming into her pussy over and over made her body betray her. Her pussy contracted once... then once more, but she did not topple over the edge. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to take deep breaths. Then a fluttering sensation between her legs filled her with the dark knowledge that she would not win this game. Sebastien had starting teasing her clit with his fingertips and it ratcheted everything up. "Oh God, no," she gasped out in a whisper, and his fingers trembled threateningly on her throat. "You will come for me, little bitch. You belong to me, and you will do as I say," he said in her ear. Then, he dug his short nails into the tender flesh around her clit, vibrating the pads of his fingers rapidly against her. Her breaths came out in pants, and when the first hint of sound escaped from her lips, his hand clamped firmly over it. She struggled to breathe, and streamers of light burst behind her closed eyelids as her world exploded. She was very sure that she had never felt such exquisite pain, nor such a massive burst of pleasure all at once. It was a very good thing that Sebastien was holding her quiet, because the sound she would have made probably would have brought the orchestra running in fright. She was very aware that some of the later comers were strolling obliviously down the hallway outside, and she shuddered all over. Sebastien pulled out of her only to turn her around. Once sure she would not make a peep, he replaced his hand on her throat and forced his cock back into her, drawing another orgasm from her ravaged body. He seemed to be very close to his own finish. "Mine. You are mine," he growled, inches from her face. "I don't belong to anyone," she spat out under her breath. "Bullshit," he managed as he began to come. He pulled his cock out of her and she looked down, watching openmouthed as he stroked it toward her, spraying his hot come up her body, landing on breasts and belly even as the first spurt was already trickling out of her pussy. He let go of her abruptly and she slid to the ground, glaring up at him. "I won't break up with Todd, even for you, Sebastien." Sebastien had zipped up his pants and already composed his face into an irritatingly nonchalant expression. "Casse-toi, mon abeille, or as you say, fuck you," and left the room. The Maestro Ch. 04 Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for the encouragement and patience of those of you still reading. I had in mind this chapter from the very beginning, but really struggled with the right words to say to bring it to life. I haven't decided whether I'll write more chapters, but as I've come to really love what Claire and Sebastien have together, I'm sure I'll have a hard time getting them out of my head. Anyway, this is the end, for now... ----- Darkness. Anticipation. It was a night very like the one five months prior, when everything had changed forever. A young lady trembles as she takes her place before an audience of hundreds, saying a silent prayer that everything goes well. The lights flare and the music starts abruptly, catching her off-guard. Faltering only slightly, it is enough to rouse his notice. The heat of his glare, the warning it brings, makes her head spin. She nearly misses her next entrance, and finds that something else is missing; that indelible connection they once had, the deep thread of connection between them that had always been there, even before they first touched. It was gone. She was just an accessory now on his stage, a puppet who could not even follow her Master's cues. After the show, the usual applause, and a panicked breakdown in her dressing room. What was happening? A knock on the door. He has come. She tries to provoke him into an argument, but it is useless. The invectives he had hurled at her before still stick in her mind, but he no longer utters them. She means so little to him now that he does not even raise his voice in anger. He will not compromise his symphony for a silly little girl, he sneers derisively, and if she cannot pull herself together, she will be dismissed. He exits, stage left. She cries over him, for the first time. ----- It had been a trying few months and, despite having nearly everything a woman could possibly want - loving family, fulfilling job, excellent salary, her own little apartment, freedom - Claire felt that her world was slowly ending. Even the joy had nearly gone out of performing, what with the object of her current malaise ever-present on stage with her, supposedly guiding her, leading her through each performance with grace and moderation. She had taken up an unlikely dalliance with Sebastien Boulet, the conductor of the symphony for whom she sang the solo soprano role. He had been more than just her Maestro on stage, but her Master in bed as well for a short time. In January, she had refused to break up with her boyfriend to be his alone, and found that she had in effect refused his bed entirely. He had not called her to him one single time, and at first she thought he was letting her stew, still playing their game. Soon, however, she noticed that the tenor of their communications during rehearsals had changed. His eyes no longer held the same heat as before. He neither threatened nor praised her, and it was very like it had been when she first joined the symphony. Impersonal. She felt awkward inside. Watching him chat casually with other musicians before or after rehearsal made her hot with envy. It was supposed to be she who had something special with him. Yet, he would now hardly look her in the eyes, much less say any word he didn't need to. Claire had taken to waiting around after rehearsals to speak with him privately, but he was never alone, and when at last everyone else had gone, so had he. He was assiduously avoiding her, she noticed, and it bothered her. She had tried to call him, and Sebastien would not pick up. The one time he did, it was with the curt admonition to stop calling him. She hardly heard this, struck instead by the tinkling laughter of a woman in the background. So he was seeing someone else. She finally had to admit to herself, it wasn't just the lack of attention. She missed him. Missed the connection they had, the burning lust she felt in both of them, simmering just under the surface whenever they were together. She missed the caress of his hands on her skin, missed his scent - cedar and violets - missed the murmurings of French in her ears. Though she hated to think of it, she missed his occasional tender handling of her as much as she missed his harsh punishments. Could it be, she felt... something more? She dismissed those thoughts. They were useless now. ----- Winter dragged on, and Claire was feeling lonely. She saw Todd twice a week, and wondered if she should finally take him to bed. He was so patient with her, and as much as she appreciated not having to make excuses to him, she was frustrated with his lack of initiative. He would not so much as attempt a lascivious glance or a deep kiss. Instead, she broke up with him. His polite confusion disgusted her, and she knew she had done the right thing. She could pursue anyone she wanted now... except, perhaps, the one she wanted. She realized she was more disgusted with herself than with Todd. She should have broken things off ages ago. She should have given Sebastien what he wanted. Now it was too late. She had already lost the game. ----- As January drew to a close, thick storm clouds were knitting together off the coast, and Claire's performances were lackluster. She was still lovely, her voice floating ethereally over the heads of concert-goers, but she no longer felt like the shining jewel on stage. She was growing more timid, eating less, sleeping poorly. When she arrived for the last rehearsal of the month, she felt as if everyone was murmuring about her, how drawn and pale she was. She waved away those who approached her concerned. Sebastien was deep in conversation with a knot of musicians, and she saw him draw his brows together in consternation. He glanced over his shoulder at her, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, then turned back to the musicians. He seemed to be assuring them of something. Her heart gave a funny little leap when he moved in her direction. "Claire, the others are worried you are not quite well," he said, sounding quite unconcerned himself. "I'm fine," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "You certainly look it," he replied, with a trace of irony. "If you cannot perform your duties, perhaps you should take a leave of absence." After a short pause, he added, "You see, it is precisely for this reason that I kept my address from you; if you cannot obey, there can never be anything between us." A sharp bolt of pain arrowed through her. She felt mortified. Pining over a man - even this man - was so ridiculous. It wasn't like her. She lifted her chin at him defiantly. "I can do my job. Thanks for your concern," she said. "See that you do," he said, as he walked away. ----- Another performance, another party with symphony season ticket holders, the type of event intended to encourage subscribers to purchase next year's season tickets early. Orchestra musicians were all encouraged to bring their significant others, really make the gathering personal. Claire, with no date and no prospects, was hoping to skip the party and go straight home to mope. The note she found slipped underneath her dressing room door dashed any hopes of doing this. It was written in Sebastien's thin, slanted hand, and it simply said, "Everyone is expected to attend the party. You are no exception. Be there." Claire frowned down at the note. A few weeks ago, she might have thought he was giving her an excuse not to attend the party, and setting up another opportunity to punish her at the same time. Now, she thought he might just mean it. Pulling a dress from the closet, she shimmied into it, taking a moment to appreciate the way it fit her slim frame. Of course, being depressed was never fun, but she had wanted to lose those five pounds anyway. She'd had to go without a bra, but the dress lifted up her modest breasts, giving her an extra inch or so of cleavage. It left her shoulders, neck, and wrists bare - all of Sebastien's favorite places to see her twisted up. She wasn't looking forward to this, and her spirits fell even lower when she overheard a group of musicians near the front talking about Sebastien's "date," evidently someone he'd described as a "friend," but these particular ladies were sure it was code for his boyfriend. "I always wondered if he was gay," one woman was gushing. "You say that about everyone," retorted another. Oh no, thought Claire. Though she was immediately caught up in conversation by some of the musicians, she cast her eyes quickly around the room, and sure enough, Sebastien was aiming directly for her, handsome René in tow. "Ahh, there is our lovely soprano now," he said as he reached her, lifting his voice to attract the attention of whoever was in earshot. She opened her mouth to reply, but he hastened on. "I'd like to introduce you to my very good friend, René." Claire blinked in confusion, but of course he wouldn't want her to speak familiarly to him. When were they supposed to have met? She held her hand out to René, as one does in an introduction, and he took it, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it. He winked at her, almost too briefly to see, and she felt something being pressed into her palm. She cupped her palm slightly around it. "Enchanté, mademoiselle," he said in a low voice. Looking into his eyes, she couldn't suppress a memory of being pressed between the two men. Sebastien holding her so close to him, the powerful pleasure that had shot through her. She shivered. "You are alone tonight, Claire?" Sebastien asked. "Obviously," she said, with a little smile. Not to be deterred, he persisted, "But, where is your boyfriend?" Her mouth contracted in a slight scowl before she could control it. "How behind the times you are, Sebastien," she said, drawing out his name, enjoying the sound of it. His eyebrows drew together. "I haven't seen him in ages," she continued airily. She couldn't be sure, but she thought this revelation piqued his interest. "What of you, Maestro? Haven't you been seeing a lady yourself?" she asked, trying to be casual. "Hm? Oh, Sarah?" The easy way he answered her felt like a barb to her heart. He chuckled softly as he added, "My sister has been visiting me." Claire hoped the relief didn't show on her face, but it explained the laughter over the phone. "I'm sorry to hear about your boyfriend," he was saying. She couldn't help the little laugh that burst from her lips. "I very much doubt that," she said, with a hint of bitterness, and walked away. ----- Claire was confused. She wanted to be angry. The way Sebastien had paraded René around, sending her the occasional significant look, as if to say, see, this is what you could have had, if only you had obeyed me. This wasn't confusing. This was exactly what she would have expected... if he had not been totally ignoring her up to that point. So, he did still care, at least enough to get some perverse pleasure out of tormenting her. Then she remembered the thing René had given her. She had dropped it into her purse casually, and now that she was alone, at home, she could retrieve it. It was a small piece of paper, folded over, and all that was written on it was an address. She looked up, saw in the mirror that she was smiling. ----- So, the game was still on. Claire didn't know why René had secretly passed her what must have been Sebastien's address, but she could at least assume that Sebastien had mentioned something about their break. If they were as close as he said they were, he had probably said even more than that. She hadn't decided what she would do with her newfound information, but she carried the slip of paper on her at all times, like a talisman. Even after she had memorized what it said, she kept it as a reminder that she knew something Sebastien didn't know that she knew, and it made her feel powerful. When she passed him in the hall, she greeted him by his first name, and enjoyed the way it pissed him off. In rehearsals, she took liberties with her performances, forcing him to pay more attention to her, trying to reign her in and do what he wanted. When he snapped at her for ignoring his directions, she would smile sweetly at him and promise to do better next time. The odd thing was that he didn't ask to speak to her privately, didn't tell her off for her behavior. It was almost like he didn't want to let her see that her needling was getting to him. Oh, but she did see. In the meantime, she was gratified to notice that some little spark had returned between them. She caught Sebastien looking at her, like she had done something interesting. Instead of mindlessly following his directions, there was a tug of war that was so delicious. Perhaps she was deluded, but she thought the music was even better than usual. ----- During one rehearsal, she admitted even to herself, she'd been a real pain in the ass. At one point, she was sure that he had been on the verge of expelling her from the auditorium for the night, and she realized she had gone too far. Truth is, she didn't want the rest of the orchestra figuring out that there was something up between them. If they did sense it, there would be too many questions, and Sebastien would certainly tell her in no uncertain terms that there would be nothing between them ever again. In fact, he very nearly had told her so, but had stopped short of uttering such a final phrase. Still, she got the sense she had been baiting him too much this evening, and resolved to be better behaved in the second half of rehearsal. It passed without any trouble, and Claire was pleased to get back to her dressing room and go on a run. She had skipped too many night runs lately, being too busy moping - if it wasn't raining, that is. She just ran and ran, sixteen blocks one way, then taking the long loop back. She rested her back against the outside wall of the symphony hall when she returned, letting the chill breeze dry the sweat on her skin. She washed up in the ladies room, and was walking toward the exit when she heard it. The piano. Something tense, atonal. She didn't recognize it, but she was pretty sure whose mood that fit tonight. Ignoring her inner voice telling her to go straight home, she headed toward the auditorium. The music changed as she approached, becoming more somber, dark, brooding. She didn't recognize this either. He had his back to her, slowly playing the thrumming chords. She came closer until she was right behind him, and still he made no sign that he had noticed her. Sheet music was scattered across the stand above the keys - Schoenberg, Mozart, Grieg. Leaning over until her lips were near his ear, she said quietly, "You can't ignore me forever, Sebastien." He frowned, but whether at the music or the moniker, she did not know. "Eventually we will have our little tête-à-tête, even if I have to chase you down." She straightened and went to walk away, when she felt his hand catch her wrist. He turned halfway to face her, his expression a mask of indifference. "I will not agree that we have anything further to discuss, but if you are so eager to talk to me, why not now? We are alone." "I'm tired," she said with a smile, drawing her wrist free of Sebastien's grasp and walking offstage, well aware he was letting her go. She heard him grunt behind her, then return to his playing. ----- It came to a head one night, the final performance in a set of three. She had been so sweetly obedient in rehearsal that she knew he expected absolute perfection during the evening's performance. It had been almost tempting to give it to him, but the arrogant way he flicked his hand absently at her to cue her in made her decision for her. The fact was that she had disagreed with his arrangement of this piece from the very beginning. As the performer, her interpretation of the piece should have been taken into account, but Sebastien had not allowed her to weigh in. So tonight, she ignored him. She sang it her way, and no matter how many furious glances he gave her, she refused to be pulled back in. She didn't have to follow him, and he knew it. The applause she got at the end of the night was invigorating, and she shot a triumphant look back at Sebastien. The look in eyes made her heart stutter. He looked like he wanted to kill her. That night, she wanted to make a quick getaway to avoid him, but people kept coming up to her, offering their congratulations. "I've never heard such an inspired performance of that aria!" they would say, and she would dutifully pink her cheeks and thank them demurely. She finally escaped back to her dressing room, and when she flicked on the lights, she was astonished to see Sebastien sitting in her armchair, facing the door, fingertips steepled in front of his chest. "Maestro, you startled me!" she exclaimed. "Oh, now I am Maestro?" he countered bitterly, rising from the chair and pacing in front of it. Furious energy swirled around him, and she was distressed to notice that her knees weakened. He was so alluring when he was angry. Finally he whirled to face her. "Were you trying to humiliate me?" he demanded. Her jaw dropped; it was far from the question she had expected. "No, Maestro, of course not!" "Then what was your purpose, clearly defying my direction in front of an audience, not to mention the orchestra?" She could not remember the last time he had actually raised his voice at her, and she continued to stare at him in consternation, her mouth opening and closing when nothing she wanted to say seemed right. Finally, she firmed her jaw along with her resolve, and said, "I needed to show you, I don't obey you because you threaten me, or force me. I obey you because I want to." "Is that what this is about?" He looked like he couldn't believe what she'd just said. "I told you before, that's done with now. All that we have is here, on the stage, and as I am the conductor, you should heed me. I shouldn't even need to say this to you." "That's all bullshit!" she spat, and Sebastien looked taken aback. "You won't fire me, because I'm good. Your patrons like me. And, you still want to fuck me," she said, coming closer and glaring into his face. "I would not come closer if I were you," he warned. She made a frustrated hmmphing noise, snatched up her purse, and stormed out. She would finish this tonight. But not here. She wanted to catch him off guard, and the way to do that was on a little slip of paper in her purse. Fishing it out, she hailed a cab and gave him the address. She knew Sebastien would have to come home sometime tonight, and she intended to wait him out. In the cab, she tried to come up with a strategy, but everything sounded stupid. She'd just have to wing it. Dashing into his building, she first checked the garage. His car was gone. It was probably waiting for him at the symphony hall. Good. She got into the elevator, and then realized she couldn't remember - or perhaps never knew - what floor his apartment was on. She sat in the corner of one of the benches, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her stockinged feet on the soft satin. It took much longer than she expected for Sebastien to return; perhaps he was moodily banging away on the piano again, she thought. She checked her watch: eleven o'clock. The elevator didn't get much action this late at night, but roamed the shaft anyway, as if with a mind of its own. The steady up and down lulled her into a doze, and when the soft dinging sound indicated someone had come aboard, it was a struggle to open her eyes. Indeed, it was Sebastien standing there, facing the doors, apparently having taken no notice of her at all. "Sebastien." He turned, and she thought she had never seen him more genuinely shocked than in that moment. "Why are you here?" he hissed. "Sebastien, we need to talk." The Maestro Ch. 04 "I have told you not to use my name." "If you are not my Master, I can call you anything I like," she snipped. "I have asked everyone in the orchestra to do the same, not just you, and if I am not your Master, why are you here, accosting me in my elevator?" he asked, irritated. "Because I miss you, damn it, and I shouldn't, because you're such a... such an asshole!" she said furiously. Sebastien blinked. He looked puzzled, and said nothing. His silence stung, but Claire went on. "Honestly, I don't see any reason for you to be angry with me, because you had no right to tell me to break up with my boyfriend. I should be the one who's angry with you!" "Seems very much like you are the one who's angry," he said mildly. She opened her mouth to retort, and then closed it again. If he wasn't angry, then all this show of disinterest... was it not a show after all? "I'm angry because you take it for granted that I will obey you in all things. That was part of our agreement, I know, but I should never have agreed to it. I needed you to see that I'm perfectly capable of disobeying and still making beautiful music," she said, with considerably less passion. "You don't think I already knew that?" She shrugged, looked down at her feet. Sebastien threw his hands up in frustration. "Come, what is bothering you now?" "It's just that, I'd almost rather you were angry than think you didn't care. I...I..." I love you, she thought. But she didn't, couldn't. She wasn't sure what she felt for him, didn't know what to say anymore. She hated the way her lips trembled. A touch on her shoulder had her looking up, and then Sebastien's lips met hers, fiercely, his hands gripping her shoulders and bringing her close to him. He broke the kiss, but held her tightly to him, and he was murmuring in her ear. "Mon abeille, mon abeille... je t'adore." ----- It was a long moment, during which Claire could neither move, nor really even think. She was pinned against Sebastien's slim frame, his heart beating strongly just near her temple. She breathed in his scent, and she felt some of the tension leaving her body in a rush. Was it really her Maestro, holding her close? It felt like an impossible dream, but when he pulled back, he was there, studying her face with implacable seriousness. "Mon abeille, come, it is getting very late. The elevator door will not stand open forever." She followed Sebastien down the hall, and couldn't help wondering what would happen once they were beyond the privacy of his door. Every other time she had been here, kinky sex had been in the offing, and truthfully she was getting somewhat aroused just thinking about it. But she had not been invited this time. He unlocked the door, ushering her into his living room. She assumed that he would set her up in the bedroom they'd been in previously, and was therefore very surprised when he tossed his overcoat onto the back of a sofa and headed up the spiral staircase in the far end of the room. She followed upstairs, to a hallway with several doors. The first door on the left was wide open, and was obviously his study. The quick glimpse she got showed her a fireplace, an ornately carved desk scattered with papers and a stack of books, two enormous bookcases stuffed nearly full, and a leather armchair. At the end of the hall, a door was cracked; weak, warm light spilled into the hallway. Sebastien entered, but Claire paused, hesitating on the threshold. He turned, giving her a questioning look. "Is this, um, your bedroom?" she asked in a low voice. The corners of his lips curled in a little smile. He held his hand out to her. "Come, mon abeille, it is too late to be shy now." It was strange. After all they had done together, there was really no reason to feel uncomfortable going into his bedroom. Wasn't that where normal people had sex, and slept, and did normal-people stuff together? Still, their relationship up to this point had been almost oddly impersonal. A person's bedroom, on the other hand, was completely personal. She had the distinct impression that not many people had seen Sebastien's inner sanctum. What was so special about her? She put her hand in his, allowed him to draw her gently inside. The room wasn't very large, and most of its floor space was dominated by the bed, which was high and covered in soft-looking charcoal grey linens. On either side of the bed were small square tables in a dark wood to match. The antique lamp on one of them was on, casting its golden glow over the room. To the right was an overstuffed armchair and ottoman, with more bookshelves and a lamp, and farther along the wall, a doorway. To the left was a rather conspicuously open space, with a doorway on the same wall as the door to the hallway. She guessed one of the doors led to a closet, and the other to a bathroom. Sebastien shut the door behind her, and the look he gave her made her shiver down to her toes. "Mon abeille, I believe we do have one or two little matters to discuss before turning in, do we not?" "I don't know what you mean," she said. "Tell me how you got here." "Um, well, in a cab," she said in a small voice. His eyes narrowed. "You know that is not what I mean. How did you find me?" Claire bit her lip. She didn't want to get René in trouble. She must have made some kind of unconscious motion toward his building, or perhaps Sebastien just guessed the truth, because his eyebrows lifted a little in surprise. "Mon frere?" he asked softly, almost to himself. "But when?" "Ahh, at the, um, the party." Sebastien looked puzzled. Claire heaved a sigh. "When he took my hand." She produced the tiny slip of paper, very heavily creased now, and offered it to him. "I see," he said, very quietly now. "I shall have to speak to him." Claire grasped the sleeve of his jacket. "Oh, please, I hope you're not angry with him!" Sebastien narrowed his eyes, looking at her until she removed her hand, sheepishly. "Do you presume to tell me how to feel? Especially when it is my privacy that has been invaded?" "I... um... no, of course not." "For that matter, Claire, what are you even doing here, when I had expressly forbidden it?" Her eyes widened, and she swallowed. "Well, you see, you never actually told me not to come. You told me not to call you, but, um, well..." "I believe my meaning should have been clear to you." She thought quickly. "Well, are you sorry I came? Because if you are, I can go right now." She meant to sound firm, but her words came out breathy and anxious. "Do I look sorry?" he asked, in a low tone. He took a step toward her, and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. "I... don't know... no?" "How do I look?" "Um... scary?" Sebastien let out a surprised laugh. "Oh really, mon abeille, do I scare you?" Claire stuck out her lower lip, glaring at him, and refused to answer. He trailed a fingertip down her cheek, her neck, her chest, then slid his hand behind her back and pulled her close to him. "Well. I think you know very well what I meant, and I don't think I should let this go without teaching you a little lesson. Do you?" She looked up at him, her cheeks pinking a little. "No, Maestro." ----- "Well, since you agree, I think it would be appropriate if you decided upon the method of punishment, don't you?" Claire's eyes widened. "I... um..." "Come, come, surely you can think of something." She had, of course, and it brought the heat rising to her cheeks. Sebastien watched her with an amused expression on his face. When she remained silent for several moments, he finally spoke again. "Mon abeille, we must get you past this inability to speak, mustn't we? Very well, we shall have you sit and be silent until you can tell me how you think I ought to punish you." So saying, he reached around behind her and undid the zipper on her dress and sliding it down her shoulders. It slipped off and pooled around her stockinged feet, revealing her matching pink bra and panties. The fabric was filmy, translucent, a pale color close to her skin tone. Black stockings pinned to a black garter belt framed her inner thighs nicely. Sebastien directed her to kneel on his bed, and she climbed gingerly upon it, noting that her knees wanted to slide on the fabric. "Knees apart, please," he said, then turned away from her, walking back toward the door, but sliding open the wall to its right instead. Apparently a closet was hidden in the wall, but then what was behind the door in the corner? Curious. Piece by piece, he removed his tuxedo, meticulously hanging each element in an empty garment bag, until he had stripped down to a black undershirt and shorts. Over these he slipped a pair of black slacks and a button-down shirt, left open. Without giving her more than a cursory glance, Sebastien settled comfortably in the armchair and picked up a book from the nearby shelf. He paged through it until about the middle, and then began to read. Was he just going to ignore her until she did as he asked? She frowned, tried to adjust her position, but Sebastien stopped her with a finger pointed in her direction. "Stay just as you are." Claire's mind was racing with all the different possibilities. She didn't know how she was going to force herself to verbalize it. She'd never been very vocal about asking for what she wanted. She continued to kneel. It was starting to get a little uncomfortable, the way that her body had to work to keep her in just the right position. Her inner thighs started to tremble with the effort. "M-Maestro?" "Mmmm?" he asked absently. "I don't think I can..." "You'll stay just as you are until you give me an answer," he interrupted. She grew warm with embarrassment at his cavalier way of handling her, and was even more embarrassed to note the way her nipples grew hard, the increasing dampness in her lower region. The crotch of her panties was easily visible to him; she definitely didn't want to give him the ammunition of seeing how turned on she was getting. Finally, the aching in her thighs and hips grew too sharp to bear. "Maestro? I'm ready." He looked up, setting his book aside. Lifting himself out of the chair effortlessly, he came to stand near her. "Well?" "I... think you should, um, well," she trailed off, mumbling something under her breath. "I'm sorry, I can't hear a word you're saying," he said. "You'll have to speak up." Claire tried again, but couldn't get the words out. Sebastien leaned down closer. "I'd like the belt, Maestro," she whispered. "Yes, I imagine you would. And there is the problem itself, mon abeille. How much of a punishment could it be?" "Then, don't let me enjoy it," she said softly. "Oh, and how do you propose I do that?" "Don't let me, um, hmm." "Let you what?" he asked. She flushed and, evidently enjoying himself, Sebastien prompted her, "Yes?" drawing the question out. She looked down, dying a little inside. "Don't let me come," she finally said. "I hardly think I could prevent you," he said dryly, remembering the first time he'd used a belt on her. "After all, you're already enjoying yourself far too much," he went on, running his fingertips over the already soaked fabric of her panties. She sucked in a breath. "I'd try really hard." "You had better, because if you don't, then I shall think of a punishment, and I guarantee you, it will be much less pleasant. Now, on your stomach, please." Claire complied quickly, grateful for the chance to escape the position she was in, which had become rather painful. Sebastien ran his fingertips firmly over her inner thighs, massaging the strained muscles there. She sighed in appreciation, and was rewarded with a series of quick stinging slaps to the same region. She yelped, and his fingers returned to running from knee to crotch and back again. She felt his palms come up to cup her buttocks, kneading them gently. It felt nice, but her body was still tense, anticipating the next sweet pain. It came, in a firm open-palm spank. She gasped, the feeling radiating out sharply. His hand was caressing her again, then another swat. Though he paused between each one, the pain and warmth intensified with each smack. Claire had silently counted twelve, when Sebastien gave one last, lingering caress, and then she felt him move away from her. He returned with some kind of soft rope that he tied deftly around her wrists. The other end, she saw, was already tied to the headboard. He pulled her hips up until she knelt again on her knees, with her arms stretched out in front of her. He mounded pillows underneath her for support, and tested it with a mild slap to her left buttock. Claire moaned as he slid her panties down her reddened skin, leaving the waistband poised just between buttocks and upper thighs. A barely imperceptible displacement of air and infinitesimal swishing sound were her only clues to the belt that came out of nowhere, cracking over her skin. Tears sprung to her eyes as her hips jumped, crying out in surprise. God, how it burned! He repeated the swing, and sizzling bolts of pleasure shot straight to her pussy. This time he paused after every other smack, giving her a chance to catch her breath and rubbing his palms briefly over her buttocks. This time, a total of twenty belts. The ceaseless dripping of moisture onto her inner thighs was driving her crazy, like an itch she couldn't scratch. Her nipples were hard enough to cut glass. Tears ran down onto the coverlet below, and her arms were getting sore from the struggling movements she couldn't help. Sebastien trailed his fingertips over the burning flesh, and Claire let out a choked sobbing moan. He leaned over. "Do you need more, mon abeille, or have you learned your lesson?" She sniffed and nodded in reply. "What did you learn?" "I-I-I won't come over with-without permission," she said in a pained voice. Sebastien's fingertips snaked underneath her and he pinched her nipples firmly, making her writhe, despite her being quite stuck. "I think you are lying. I think you'll come over whenever it suits you." "No, no!" she insisted. "I think you are lying to avoid further punishment," he said darkly in her ear. Her body stiffened. She wasn't lying, and he knew it, that bastard! "No, Maestro, I promise," she whined. He was back behind her, pushing her thighs apart as widely as they would go, throwing her body off balance. Grasping her hips and tilting them upward obscenely, he thrust his knee between her legs. She felt the smooth cloth against her pussy, and the firm pressure of one hand on her lower back ground her down on his leg. As her clit made contact, she moaned softly and before she had braced herself, Sebastien had begun slapping at her again. In this position, he had far less leverage, but he had evidently doubled the belt over, because the pummeling smacks were still very effective. This time, though, the direct contact between her legs sent waves of pleasure through her with every blow. She tried to move her hips away from his knee, but it was useless. A light sweat broke out as her body tensed with the effort of repressing the feelings coursing through her. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen smacks, and she felt as if she were teetering on the edge. A short pause wasn't enough, and the pleasure was building in her center at eighteen, nineteen... Twenty nearly sent her toppling over. She shuddered all over in relief as Sebastien finally pulled back. He softly petted her tortured flesh, and she wasn't sure whether it made it better or worse. He went to the head of the bed and untied her hands, moved the pillows out from underneath her, and gently flipped her over. The coverlet felt cool and soothing on her skin and she looked up with glazed eyes at the man kneeling on the bed beside her. He removed her bra and, after some fiddling with garter straps, her panties as well, leaving her stockings in place. While he was working, Claire noticed the firmness of his groin pressing against his pants. She lifted a hand and traced the length of his cock with her palm. Sebastien went still beside her, then looked at her with an inscrutable expression. She tried to speak, and had to clear her throat twice before her voice came. "Maestro, can I - can I touch it?" He smiled then, a bare twitching of his lips. "Certainement. How could I say no?" he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek to wipe away the remaining moisture of her tears. He unsnapped his pants, pushing them down over his hips and revealing his cock. She took a moment to really look at it, pale, and firm, and... pretty was the wrong word, but it was certainly the best looking one she'd ever seen. Like many women, she'd never thought they were anything special to look at. She'd seen her share before, though never one uncircumcised like his. "What are you staring at?" came a voice from above her. Sebastien was looking at her with narrowed eyes. His smile was gone. "Oh! I was just looking at it. It's, um, it's pretty," she said. His eyebrows lifted, and his smile returned, with a little head shake. She'd managed to surprise him twice in one night. She stuck her tongue out, running it around the very tip of his cock, just under the edge of his foreskin. He blew out a soft breath, shivering a little as she sucked his length into her mouth. She moved her lips up and down, enjoying the feel of his skin sliding back and forth against her tongue. She felt him flinch a little as she rested her hand against his bare hip to brace herself. Hesitantly, she flicked her eyes upward, saw him looking at her very intently. He brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes with his fingertip. She blushed, averting her eyes as she took him in entirely, feeling his coarse hair tickling the tip of her nose. She breathed in and the scent of him, his woodsy violet cologne, but underneath that something that was just... him. She let him slide out, gripping him with her hand and stroking him slickly. Her tongue ran down underneath to his balls, flickering over them and kissing them. His breath hitched out unevenly and he put his hand over hers to stop her. She looked up at him, saw the controlled look on his face, and for just a second, considered moving her hand under his to send him over the edge. He must have seen the thought pass through her eyes, because he shook his head again. "I think we would both rather you did not," he said thickly. She waited a moment more, then released his cock from her grasp, letting her arm fall back lightly above her head. Sebastien pulled his shorts and pants up with a little difficulty, leaving the latter unzipped. He deftly retied her hands to the headboard and slid off the bed, walking to the foot slowly. Her bottom was still sore, but it no longer felt like it was on fire. Claire watched as Sebastien unhurriedly removed the slacks and button-down shirt he wore, carefully folding them and setting them aside. He knelt on the bed in only his black undershirt and shorts, parting her legs and looking at her until she flushed and closed her eyes. He ran his tongue up her inner thighs, over and over, collecting the moisture there, but always stopping a breath away from her pussy. She whimpered a little, feeling him slide his tongue in the crease of her thigh. "I think we will try inflicting a different kind of pain," he said. "Mmmm well this doesn't exactly hurt," she replied with a shiver. "It will." The very tip of his tongue was running up the edge of her pussy - one side, then the other. It almost tickled. He brought his head up, and she thought, finally, she would get some relief. Instead, he pressed soft kisses all over her neatly trimmed mound. "Maestro, please," she began. "Hush," was the unsympathetic answer. The Maestro Ch. 04 He slipped his tongue into her, lapping at her everywhere but where she wanted it most. She squirmed a little, stopping only when Sebastien's fingers tightened on her hips to the point of pain. She huffed out a breath of frustration, then sharply drew it in again as he applied a flattened tongue directly against her clit. She was climbing rapidly to her peak, when the sudden absence of friction from below halted her progress. Her eyes popped open, and she saw Sebastien produce a slim vibrator - from where, she had no idea - and turn it on, placing it where his tongue had been a moment ago. The vibrations were gentle, but powerful, and it drove her up nearly to orgasm again. The sudden invasion of her pussy by his fingers nearly sent her over, but his stern look warned her against letting go and giving into the feelings. She curled her toes under and for several long moments was the perfect study of frustrated effort, her legs and abdomen belying the intensity of her tension. She thought of anything and everything to help her keep control, and wondered vaguely if this was how teenaged boys felt. Sebastien moved the vibrator and she sighed, her muscles twitching as they relaxed. "Don't get too comfortable," he said, lazily driving his fingers in and out of her, but avoiding her most sensitive spots. If she wondered what he meant, she didn't have too long to find out. Over and over, he held the vibrator against her, driving her up to that shining edge of pleasure, and then removing it, sometimes at the very last minute, refusing to let her come. Perhaps he felt the telltale irregular clutching of her pussy walls against his fingers, or perhaps her breathing or the look on her face gave her away. She didn't know, and eventually she was simply too far gone to wonder any further. She lost track of the hour, the number of times he had given her pleasure and taken it away again. Her body was on fire again, trembling all over, hips twitching reflexively whenever the vibrator made contact. Dimly, she heard someone pleading, and she realized it was her, murmuring over and over, "please... please..." Beads of sweat had popped up all over her, her legs long since having fallen to the side listlessly. "Please, what?" Sebastien finally asked her. "Please... let me come, Maestro." "Be patient, mon abeille," came the infuriating reply. He was driving her relentlessly forward, and her heart was hammering in her chest. Her pleas had dissolved into incoherent moaning, her hips pushing incessantly up toward his fingers. Even the bottoms of her feet were aching with the tension of holding back. When Sebastien slid his fingers out of her, it gave her a momentary respite that was shattered with the feeling of his hard cock thrusting into her, filling her. He was so hard, she felt his heartbeat inside her and she knew, she wouldn't be able to hold out any longer. "Maestro!" she cried urgently as he began pounding into her. He remained ruthlessly silent as he grasped her hips, angling her downward so that he slammed against her clit with every thrust. She shivered, and felt it building from deep inside. She looked up, into his eyes, pleading silently with him to release her. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands. "Yes, yes... come for me... now!" he said, watching her intently as stars exploded across her vision. She felt her bonds abrading her wrists as she thrashed and tugged against them. Every muscle tightened, then released with the sweet pain of a long-awaited release. Pleasure washed over her in waves. Just as she thought she might finally be coming down from her high, she felt firm pressure on her clit, and intense vibrations sent her into further spasms. She screamed - truly, embarrassing as it was, it was the only word that could describe the sound that escaped her - as her insides turned molten. Sebastien had dropped her hips back to the bed, was stroking her sides up and down as he continued fucking her, firmly but at an unhurried pace. He curled over to take her nipples, one at a time, into his mouth. She arched up against him, crying out. Her nerves felt alive and tingling. She felt the pressure on her wrists release, and Sebastien was kissing her breasts, watching her seriously. He slid his cheek up against hers, nuzzling her soft skin. "Serre moi; je meurs," he murmured softly. Claire felt her lashes thick and damp against her cheek. Tentatively, she tucked her arms around him. He drew his head up, stealing her breath with a tender kiss. Sebastien's hips pumped against hers, sending tingles through her each time he touched her sensitive flesh. She heard a soft sound low in his throat, and then felt torrents of come spilling into her. She tightened again at the sensation. At last they were both still again. Sebastien rolled onto his side, keeping contact with Claire along the length of their bodies. He brushed the hair out of her face, stroking through its length. Claire felt a shuddering sensation welling up inside of her, like something unfurling that would burst right out of her skin. To her considerable mortification, she burst into tears. It wasn't the first time she'd cried after a particularly powerful orgasm, but this was in front of Sebastien. She curled on her side, pressing her forehead into his chest and dampening it with her tears. She was surprised that he didn't ask what the matter was, but instead pulled her in close to him, murmuring soothing words into her ear. French. Nothing that she understood. At length, the warmth of his arms lulled her to sleep. ----- Everything hurt. Still, Claire felt remarkably at peace as she awoke, swaddled in blankets in an unfamiliar - and yet, all-too-familiar - bed. Diffused sunlight lit the room warmly, giving her enough light to notice that she was no longer naked. She was dressed and, apparently clean - had her hair been washed? - in what appeared to be a pair of Sebastien's black shorts and an undershirt. Rolling over gingerly, she saw the man himself. Face still slack with sleep, he rested on his back, arm flung carelessly outward. She trailed her hand over his flat stomach, feeling his soft hairs against her palm as she worked her fingertips into his shorts. She felt the almost imperceptible tension of alertness fill his body, and with a swift move, he had taken her into his arms, pressing his rapidly hardening cock against her hip. He blinked his eyes languidly at her, curling his lips into a half-smile. "Good morning, mon abeille." The Maestro Ch. 05 Hands. There were hands everywhere. Hands and tongues. Someone's hands on her breasts, and another pair of hands holding her legs open, where one tongue was licking her ardently. Her hands twined in golden curled hair and her tongue twisting with the man who owned it. Then he was gone, replaced my the man with the so-handsome face, capturing her mouth so that she could taste herself on his lips. The other man's mouth now working between her legs, she felt herself falling, falling, and then she was coming, and laughter was bubbling up out of her. Then he entered her, stealing her laughter away on a long moan. Then they were both inside her, and she was kissing him, and they were kissing each other, and they were both kissing her, and she felt like crying and laughing at the same time as she tumbled over the edge into oblivion once more. ----- Claire looked around vaguely, wondering for a moment whose limbs were whose. Then she turned her head and found herself nose-to-nose with Sebastien. "Hi," she said, then dissolved into soft giggles. He raised an eyebrow, amused, then kissed the tip of her nose. "Don't I get a hello, too?" asked René from behind her. She turned, and shivered at the feeling of skin sliding against her sensitive skin. "Hi," she said, making herself laugh again. She lay on her back, noticing both men watching the movement of her breasts. Sebastien propped himself up on his elbow, glancing at René. "Mon frère," he said, sliding a hand over her right breast, "shall we see if we can make her hysterical?" ----- This was more or less the way it had been for the past three months. It was now May, nearing the end of her first season with the symphony, and she and Sebastien showed no signs of slowing down. Every now and again, like today, Sebastien invited René into the bedroom with them, and Claire was finding it to be quite a pleasure. Adhering to her promise, she never went to his apartment without first being invited. Before rehearsal, he would slide a note underneath her dressing room door if he wanted to see her that night, and she would usually accompany him home. Other days, he would call - or have his driver call - to set up a time to pick her up. To amuse both of them, she would occasionally blow him off... and pay for it the next time she saw him. Still, she couldn't quite shake the uneasiness she still felt, the tension in her body that just wouldn't go away when Sebastien tied her up, tied her down, spanked her. She enjoyed it, of course, immensely, but she couldn't relax. It was like she couldn't admit to herself that she wanted it, craved it, no, needed it. Sometimes she even berated herself, telling herself it was unnatural and sexist and ridiculous, but it didn't stop the desire. Then she would argue the other side, that it was normal to feel this way, it was okay, but she couldn't make herself relax. So she had settled into an awkward pattern, comforting herself that Sebastien didn't seem to notice. Spring also brought other realizations with it. Claire had never paid much attention before, but it occurred to her at some point that Sebastien had gone back to France somewhat regularly, about once every other month. Since they had reconnected, he hadn't been back once, and they had enjoyed a somewhat idyllic, regular affair. So it came as somewhat of a surprise when Sebastien broached the topic one afternoon as they lay lazily in his bed. Stripes of sunshine slanted across the bed, slowly drifting off to one side. "Hmmm, what did you say?" Claire murmured, pushing strands of hair out of her eyes and willing herself to focus on Sebastien, who let out a short sigh. "I am going to be in Paris all next week," he replied. A thought occurred to her, but before she could even open her mouth, Sebastien was responding to her unspoken words. "No, I am not taking you. It is a family visit, and would you not think it strange for me to take you along, my plaything?" Claire wanted to be offended, but she could see his point. "Fair enough. As long as you don't avail yourself of any other playthings while you're away," she said lightly, but pointedly. "Moi?" He placed his fingertips on his chest with a look of surprise. "Do you think I am the type to hire a prostitute?" "Well, you're certainly not a man who would need to, but yes, I think you would if you wanted to." Turning serious, he placed a hand on her waist. "My demand for exclusivity was not limited to you; I hope you are aware of that." Truthfully, she had guessed he wasn't seeing anyone else, but she hadn't been absolutely sure. "I am now," she mumbled. "I am sorry if it was not clear before." He was looking into her eyes, so steadily, as if looking for something there. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, dropped her gaze away from his. "Come, what's the matter?" Claire felt her lips move into a pout, even as she struggled not to. "I'm not going to see you for a week." He smiled broadly. "You will miss me, is that it?" "I didn't say that..." Sighing softly, Sebastien rolled over onto her, kissing her cheeks and neck. She turned her head to the side. "Will you... call me?" "I promise." ----- Claire was poised on the edge of her bed, ready to pounce on the phone if it should ring, which she anxiously hoped for. That evening, she had stalked nervously around her apartment, taken her hair out of its bindings and brushed it, repinned her hair, mindlessly eaten an entire package of baby spinach - leaf by leaf - and a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter, attempted to practice the arias for an upcoming show, flicked through a half dozen channels on TV, showered, meticulously attended to her nails, braided her hair, and finally flounced down on her bed, exhausted from near-paroxysms of anxiety. When the phone did finally ring, Claire had to ball her hands tightly to restrain herself from picking up on the first ring. No reason to appear too much like she was waiting on the call. She was, though! She had missed Sebastien's first call, and he had said he would call today, and so far, nothing. She took a deep breath as the second ring faded into silence, and then snatched up the receiver in the middle of the third ring. "Hello?" she asked, as casually as possible. "I hope I have not kept you waiting too long," drawled a deeply accented voice on the other end. "No, of course not," she replied. Sebastien's soft chuckle warmed her right down to her toes. "Mon abeille, when will you ever learn that I can tell when you are lying to me?" Claire shrugged uncomfortably, then realized he couldn't see her. She opted to change the subject. "How is Paris, Maestro?" It sounded sulky even to her. "Lovely, as always." "When are you coming home?" "Do you miss me, mon abeille?" "Maybe..." She heard the smile in his voice as he said, "Soon. Very soon." ----- Finally, the day came. After two weeks, Sebastien was finally coming home from Paris, and Claire was beside herself. Her skin was aching for his touch, and though she dared not admit it - even to herself - it wasn't the only part of her that had missed him. He had mentioned offhandedly that he was coming home on the late eleven o'clock flight, but hadn't said a word about when he planned to see her. She supposed it wasn't fair to think that his first desire would be to see her when he returned home. Still, she wondered, why would he have told her the time of his flight if he hadn't been thinking of that? At last, she opted for the calculated risk of surprising him at the airport. She dressed carefully in a sexy black dress she knew he particularly admired on her, and took a cab to his apartment building, hoping that, at ten o'clock, his driver would not yet have left. Indeed, the car was still in its usual spot, and the driver - whose name she had finally learned was Alan - was not there. She lounged against it, and he soon appeared. Where did he live, anyway, and how did he get here, she wondered. Alan looked startled to see her. "Did Monsieur Boulet ask you to come?" Uh-oh. Claire stood up straight, looked coolly at Alan. "If he hadn't, would I be here?" He looked at her dubiously, but unlocked the car doors and allowed her to get in. As always, neither one spoke during the drive, and the quiet whooshing sounds of the other cars on the road seemed almost to amplify the silence in the vehicle. Claire always got the impression that Alan didn't like her, or was at least vaguely disapproving of something - her, the relationship between herself and Sebastien, she could never be sure. She was almost surprised he had let her get into the car at all. As Alan turned into the airport, her heart started jittering and skipping in her chest. She felt a sudden sense of foreboding. She tried to convince herself that she was just being ridiculous as he pulled up to the curb, but then she saw Sebastien, and he was not alone. He was still a good distance away, but she could see the woman who was walking along at his side, clutching his arm familiarly. Her first thought was, who is that woman? She was about his own age, with glossy dark curls and heels that brought her height up to his. Her second thought was, whoever she is, Sebastien is going to be very unpleased to have to explain my presence to her. Alan was behind the car now, opening the trunk in preparation for Sebastien's luggage, and Claire hurriedly got out of the car. She dashed across the busy street, and down the sidewalk on the other side, where they would be sure not to see her. She hailed a cab, and prayed that Alan wouldn't betray her. He had no motivation to tell, she reasoned, but he also had no loyalty to her. She hailed a cab, berating herself over what was going to be a hefty fare. When one pulled up to the curb, she settled down in the backseat and tried to stifle a yawn. It was going to be another long night, a lonely night without the reunion she had been anticipating. Suddenly, she felt stupid in her cute party dress, alone in a cab. Maybe she would go out to a club. It had been a long time since she had, and although she wasn't interested in hooking up with anyone, maybe the thumping music and a cocktail or two would do her good. ----- Two o'clock that morning, Claire finally drifted out of the club, eyes slightly glazed from the three raspberry lemon drops she'd consumed, head full of flattery from the young men finally clearing in the crisp, cold air outside the building. She tried to pull her jacket tighter around her before she realized that she had gone out without one. She suddenly felt very sober, though she was aware the full effects of the alcohol wouldn't burn off for another few hours, at least. Good thing for her she was only a few blocks from her house. Dismissing the idea of trying to catch another cab at this hour, she hiked the moderate incline to her apartment building in her pin-thin heels. Perhaps she wasn't paying enough attention, or perhaps the alcohol was still fogging her brain, because she was startled to suddenly see Sebastien in front of her as she approached the door to her building. He was leaning against the building, looking tall and dark in his charcoal grey suit and black overcoat. He pushed off the building and came to stand before her where she was standing, stock-still, in the middle of the sidewalk. He trailed a fingertip down her cheek, and said mildly, "I hope you are not catching a cold." "No, I won't," she said, turning her face away slightly, uncomfortable. "Where have you been tonight, mon abeille?" he asked ominously. "None of your business," she replied, turning her chin up mutinously. "Who have you been with?" he asked, in an even darker tone. "No one," she said, though it was farther from the truth than she wished at that moment. "How many times must you push me away from you, Claire?" he asked quietly. She was so surprised at the question that she simply stared at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "We have not been together in two weeks, and on the night I return, you have gone gallivanting out, who knows where?" She opened her mouth to retort testily, and he cut in before she could speak, "Yes, yes, I know! I don't own you. You have made it quite clear. Very well then, good night." He shook his head - whether in despair or disgust, Claire could not tell - and turned to walk away. "Well, it's not my fault you brought another woman home with you." As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Sebastien turned, his eyebrows raised. She'd outed herself. Scowling in a little pout, she said, "You already knew I was there. Alan must have told you." "Perhaps. What if I told you that as soon as I dispatched my visitor that I planned to come see you, that I have been waiting outside your apartment building for two hours?" The guilt that had been gnawing in her gut flared to life with renewed vigor. "Would saying sorry be enough?" Sebastien strode over to her and leaned down. She felt her heart stutter at the look he gave her. "Not nearly," he said. ----- It was odd going into her own apartment building with Sebastien in tow. Even as her nerve endings tingled with the excitement of getting her recently frustrated wishes fulfilled, she couldn't help but feel as if bringing him to her apartment - uninvited - was like some sort of violation. She supposed she owed him this, since he had broken his unspoken ban on casual visitors by letting her in to his place, and especially his bedroom. Still, she hadn't asked him over. She didn't even know the state of her apartment. Since no one ever saw it, she didn't hold much to the same standards of cleanliness she would have if she'd had regular visitors. Suddenly, the excitement she had been feeling at seeing him turned to dread in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want Sebastien seeing her apartment unprepared, judging her on what was inside. She cared about his opinion much more than she wanted to admit. Casting her eyes about the elevator aimlessly, she noticed that Sebastien was studying her very intensely. She flushed and shrank back under his gaze, wondering what he was thinking. She dropped her eyes, and then jumped when he laid two fingers gently on her shoulder. Suddenly, she noticed how incredibly tense she was. "I am beginning to think it was no more a good idea to come here unannounced than it was for you to go to the airport tonight," he said very softly. "Perhaps a change of plan is in order." "Well, it's already so late," Claire protested. He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. "I would rather be with you anywhere we choose to go than alone in my own bed. If you do not feel the same, I will leave you at your door with no complaint." He seemed to be sincere. She felt the pressure lift off of her, and gave him a small smile. "Where do you suggest we go, Maestro?" ----- Claire looked around in disbelief at the parking lot that Sebastien pulled into. The building was low, the parking lot nearly deserted, the blinking sign over the place flashing in a gaudy orange, "-OTEL." He parked, then turned to her with a few bills. "Go rent us a room," he said. She looked doubtfully at the money he had given her. "I don't think this will be enough, even for a place like this." Sebastien only stared at her. It took a moment for his implication to sink in, and when it did, her jaw dropped. "No, surely you don't mean for me to..." "Well, you do not actually expect me to sleep in a place like this, do you?" "How do you even know they rent by the hour? Do you know what they'll think of me in a place like this? Why can't you do it?" Each of her questions was met with stony silence. Finally, she crossed her arms over her chest. "What if I refuse?" "Then I take you home, alone, and I spend my every waking moment until we meet again devising your punishment for next time." So it was that Claire found herself, at three o'clock in the morning, paying for a hotel room in a seedy part of town - by the hour. Her cheeks flamed red as she informed the hotel clerk that she would be needing the room for three hours, no longer. Even before she saw the look in the clerk's eyes, she knew what he would think. She marched out of the office, thrust the change and a room key into Sebastien's waiting hand, and glared up at him. "There, is that punishment enough?" she snapped. "Such a fiery temper you have, mon abeille," he said mildly, leaving her question unanswered. Claire scowled in frustration and stomped after him to the room. She looked around in disgust. "Charming place." "Well, we are not sleeping here, so it should not matter." His voice was toneless, but the look he gave her from hooded eyes made her stomach clench in anticipation. "Very well then, strip and go stand against the wall. No, leave your heels on," he added, as she moved to undo the straps at her ankles. Still seeing red, she followed his directions, glaring at him the entire time. Eventually his battle with himself, which had evidently been going on for several minutes, ended, and he laughed aloud at her consternation. She scowled even deeper, and his laughter, his smile, disappeared from his face. He towered over her, cupped her breasts gently, making her shiver. Without warning, he pinched her nipples hard between his fingertips, and she cried out in surprise and pain. He leaned in, maintaining the pressure on her nipples, until he was face to face with her. "I am going to whip that bad attitude out of you, do you understand?" Heat flooded her body. "Y-yes, Maestro." She twisted her upper body, trying to get away from his fingers. He released her, and she thudded back against the wall. He grabbed her, turning her around roughly. "Spread your legs," he commanded. She complied, moving her feet apart about two feet. "Wider!" He slapped at her inner thighs until she moved again. "Now bend over." She backed up from the wall and bent at the waist, letting her head and hands hang down. She reached for the floor to steady herself, and felt her hips tipping back, exposing all of her to Sebastien. She felt tremendously vulnerable in that moment. Looking between her legs, she could see only the bottoms of Sebastien's legs, his polished black shoes as he walked toward the table on one side of the room. Cloth rustling and swishing sounded like he was removing his overcoat. Then she heard little clicks and other noises. What was he doing? "Did you do as I asked, and request a room between others that were unoccupied?" "Yes, Maestro." Soft strains of music reached her ears. Had he brought music and a music player? She hadn't noticed him carrying anything from the car, but she had to admit, she hadn't been paying attention because she was so embarrassed and angry. The music sounded familiar, but she couldn't yet place it. She was too distracted to focus on it. "Very good. Still, just in case, do try to contain yourself." As he said this, she felt something thick and solid thwack up against her buttocks with a sting and a deeper, aching pain that she sensed would be with her for days. She kept her lips firmly closed, but she heard the muffled noise of exclamation anyway. A second melody joined the first, and it came to her as suddenly as the second strike of Sebastien's paddle. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata - ah, so he remembered - beautiful, otherworldly, brooding, rhythmic. Interesting. Another three slow smacks, and her ass was already feeling sore, bruised, burning. Then Sebastien was kneeling between her legs briefly, tying her wrists to her ankles. She felt herself tense up in that first panic of being stuck in a strange position. In the minutes that followed, Claire felt dizzy, confused. Knowing the Sonata as she did - and as she assumed Sebastien did as well - she expected the paddle's thuds to come on the beats of the relentless rhythms. But Sebastien was cleverer than she gave him credit for, and he took a different rhythm entirely, or no rhythm at all. Not being able to predict his moves drove her torment to ever-higher levels, and she soon felt that time was passing very slowly. Her entire world narrowed down to the sensations of the paddle, the way her buttocks shook with each swat, the world of color and darkness that exploded behind her squeezed-shut eyelids. The Maestro Ch. 05 She'd lost the control of keeping her mouth shut, and a soft pained groan escaped her lips each time the paddle made contact. Still, in the midst of the cloud of burning pain that surrounded her, she suddenly felt a growing core of a different kind of heat entirely. Thwack, thwack! went the paddle. "Oooh," she sighed, more pleasured moan than pained groaning this time. Thwack, thwack! "Ahhhh, yesssss." The outburst surprised both of them. Claire's every muscle tensed with embarrassment, and Sebastien, who had been in mid-swing as best Claire could tell from the whoosh of air on her tormented skin, stopped stock still. The music stopped, too. The paddle dropped from his hand, forgotten on the floor, as he knelt again between her legs. This time he braced himself with cool hands directly on her buttocks, making her groan. The music had changed - it was lighter, livelier. He pressed his face between her legs, and she felt his tongue sliding out onto her, all over, with feathery light licks on her clit and her inner thighs. Her back tried to arch, but was constricted by the angle she was tied into. Heat and chills coursed over her body as Sebastien's tongue zeroed in on her most sensitive areas. She gasped and rolled her hips, trying to get more contact. The pleasure was mounting, so close, so close. Then the music stopped again, and just as abruptly, Sebastien disappeared from between her thighs. Claire let out a short scream of frustration, and the music began again. The third movement of the Sonata is tempestuous and frighteningly fast. For a moment, she wondered what Sebastien's next move would be. Surely he would not be going for the paddle again - ouch - and indeed, he made no movement to pick it up. Instead she felt a slight, insistent tickling and prickling along her buttocks and upper thighs. On her hot and tender skin, it began stinging almost right away. Faster and harder, he whipped at her with the instrument she had felt once before and named, almost affectionately, The Stinger. She cried out, expelling breath almost faster than she could draw them in. Still, she was not surprised this time to feel the pleasure growing in her, pushing her up, up to where she would be flung off the towering cliffs. A momentary lull in the building tempo let her catch her breath. She felt moisture seeping out from the corners of her eyes, and from between her legs, down the insides of her thighs. The music suddenly sped up, and the Stinger with it, until she was half-delirious with pain and pleasure. Another short pause, and she knew they were in the final stretch of the song, and part of her never wanted this feeling to end, this burning, buzzing haze of sensation. But it had to. Sebastien loosened the bonds that held her wrists against her ankles, and suddenly she dreaded moving. She'd been bent over almost double for a quarter of an hour, and no amount of arousal would be able to dull the pain of too much inaction. But the hands guiding her limbs were gentle, and they massaged the painful, kinked spots. "Walk around a moment," he murmured, going over to the table to fiddle with a small laptop, which had evidently been playing the music. She stretched her arms above her head gratefully, feeling her joints pop and crack in all the most delightful places. She rubbed her palms softly over her buttocks, wincing a little. "You like the Moonlight Sonata?" he asked. "It's one of my favorites. Always has been." "How do you feel about... Bolero?" ----- Claire faced the wall, arms stretched above her head, nose barely touching the surprisingly clean wallpaper in the hotel room. The opening strains of Bolero barely kissed the air, and already her chest was heaving with nervous anticipation. Ravel's Bolero was another masterful piece, about as long as Moonlight Sonata, but with a much longer buildup. Accordingly, Sebastien began with a series of feather-light caresses to her entire backside. The stretches of skin he had whipped were still fairly tender, but the immediacy of the pain had faded somewhat. Without warning, he slicked on a cold substance of some kind, rubbing it gently into her skin. It cooled off her skin in a very welcome way, but then began to tingle. The tingling quickly turned to prickling, and it was as if she was being gently pricked with ten thousand needles. She writhed, whimpering softly into the wall. Peppermint. She lost track of time, the seemingly endless swells of the music filling her brain along with the stings, the swats, the spanks Sebastien inflicted upon her. When he finally brought her to orgasm, she was digging her fingernails painfully into the wall, her body wracked with wonderful, terrible spasms. It was the first time she had ever come from physical punishment alone... but it would not be the last. Her knees buckled, but she knew Sebastien would catch her. He lifted her bodily, and set her on the bed, where he had spread his overcoat. He curled himself around her, gently rubbing her arms, her legs, trying to relax her muscles. She must have dozed off, because at some point she startled awake. The little clock on the table said 4:49. A dusty grey line was just visible at the base of the door. She felt Sebastien's body, a line of heat behind her own, and shifted back to press against him. Sighing contentedly, she felt his hard cock against her. Trying not to disturb his arm still draped over her hip, she reached back with one hand to undo his pants. She reached in to stroke his cock, angling her hips up to rub the tip of him against her wetness. She felt his fingertips dig into her hip slightly, and with a single thrust, buried himself into her. The throbbing pain in her buttocks flared to life again as his hips made contact with them, over and over again. Reaching out, she drew aside the outer curtain slightly, leaving the gauzy second curtain in place. She watched the sun rise light up the sky as Sebastien drove into her, forcing a soft cry from her lips as she felt him thrust a final time, coming with a shudder. ----- Their final performance of the season took place the night after Claire had received a particularly painful punishment from Sebastien. She was actually having a bit of difficulty just sitting at the front of the stage, waiting for her part of the concert. The orchestra was playing a rousing overture, and she was getting pissed off at the smug looks Sebastien sent in her direction whenever he could as he watched her fidget, ever so slightly. It was one of the only times that their extracurricular activities had impacted their work together. They had known it was a bad idea, but a particularly rigorous rehearsal schedule had kept them apart, and apparently Sebastien hadn't been able to wait another night. Of course, he wasn't the one sitting up there with a really sore backside, so it was very convenient for him that way. When it was finally time for her to sing, she nearly leaped from her chair, smoothing down the back of her dress with relief. Sebastien's lips twitched with amusement, and she barely resisted the urge to glare at him. At intermission, she went directly to her dressing room to apply a cold pack to her backside - yes, really. She had just hitched up her dress when the door opened, and Sebastien came in. A blush rose to her cheeks as she looked wide-eyed at him. "What are you doing in here?" she snapped. He didn't respond, only locked the door behind him and approached her, slowly. She backed up until she knocked into the wall, whimpering in pain as her sensitive skin smacked into it. He hurriedly undid his tuxedo pants, pulling his shirt up to expose his rapidly hardening cock. Claire let out a sound of frustration as even the sight of him aroused her so completely. He kissed her, sliding his hand into her panties, stroking and petting her until she was wet and ready for him. She turned her face to break free of his mouth. "No, stop, we'll have to go back onstage any minute," she pleaded. He ignored her, pushing her legs apart and sliding his cock into her. The motion made her buttocks rub roughly against the wall, inflaming them and making her moan softly. Sebastien was leaning into her, breathing heavily with the effort of trying to hurry. The friction of their fucking and her ass banging repeatedly into the wall made the heat grow fast between her legs. "Owww," she whined. He gave her a quick, amused grin. She loved seeing the easy way he could smile at her these days. She slid her hand between them and toyed with her clit, letting out a soft moan at the spike of pleasure she felt. Sebastien fucked her faster, evidently hoping to hurry things along. She felt him tensing against her, and as he shot his come into her, she came too, biting her lip to keep from crying out. He leaned in to give her a soft kiss. "You are doing a magnificent job tonight, mon abeille, in all things, as always." He pulled away so they could both get their clothes rearranged again. He gestured toward the door with his head. "Ladies first." ----- "Mon abeille, could I please have a word with you?" Sebastien asked, distractedly, as their first rehearsal of the summer drew to a close. Claire's first clue that something was wrong - he used his pet name for her when straggling musicians were still in the room. Surely they wouldn't understand what he'd said, but it was a big mistake for someone so careful. "Yes, Maestro, of course." "I know that you were expecting Alan tomorrow, but I am afraid there has been a change of plans. I am flying to Paris tonight." "But why?" "It is my grandmother. She's very ill, and my mother asked me to come home for a few days. I hope it will only be a few days." His face was carefully empty, but Claire could sense the tension in him, like a cup of water filled to the very brim that you carry, so gently, to avoid spilling a drop. She laid her hand on his forearm in the barest touch. "Have a safe trip, Maestro. I'll be thinking of you." ----- Six days, and she had not yet heard from him. It was unlike him to go longer than three days without calling, and she worried incessantly. Suppose he had gotten hurt on the way to Paris. Suppose he had gotten hurt in Paris. Suppose he had, in the depths of his grief, met someone else... but no, that was a selfish thought. Still, the strain was too much to bear. Finally, she made up her mind to track him down. She flicked through the caller ID memory on her phone until she found the foreign number that Sebastien had called from the last time he was in Paris. She thought he had stayed with family, perhaps he would be there again. She dialed, and sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly. One ring, two, three, four, then a moment of silence. "Allo?" spoke a slightly husky, though refined, woman's voice. Claire opened her mouth, and the jumble of words that tumbled out was indeed French, but so confused as to be unintelligible. She shouldn't be so nervous, it was only a phone call. She tried again, and it was little better - at least she was able to somewhat intelligently inquire if she had reached the Boulet household. "Oui," said the voice uncertainly. "Pardon me," it went on, in a heavily accented English, "but do you perhaps speak English?" "Yes," Claire breathed out in relief. "I'm so very sorry, my French is terrible." "Think nothing of it. May I ask why you are calling?" "Please, could you tell me, is Sebastien there?" "Oui," said the woman on the other line, a bit suspiciously. "Who are you, and why do you wish to speak with him?" "Oh! I'm sorry. My name is Claire. I, um, work with the orchestra and, um, well, it's just that-" "Are you the woman he's been seeing?" Claire was silent for a long moment. "Is that what he told you?" she finally ventured. It was the other woman's turn to be silent. "Well, no," she admitted. "He refuses to admit what I know to be true. So?" "I would tell you nothing different from what he says," Claire said carefully. Another pause. "I see. I will go fetch him." There was a long pause, then muffled voices, sounding very faraway. "Claire, is this truly you?" asked Sebastien. Her heart broke just a little to hear his voice, so soft, so unlike his usual demeanor. "Yes, Maestro. I... I was worried about you, since we haven't spoken in a week." A gusty sigh. "I am sorry about that, Claire. I was thinking of you, but I did not know what to say. My grandmother's funeral was today." "I'm sorry." It was inadequate, but it was all she could say. "We spent every summer at her farmhouse in the south, until I went away to school. She was a wonderful woman. I wish..." He trailed away, and when he seemed to have no intention of finishing, Claire prodded, "Wish what?" "Ahh, it does not matter. I will be home very soon, mon abeille." ----- Claire paced the length of her apartment as she struggled with what to do. Sebastien had always insisted that she leave him with privacy unless he asked for her. But... he had sounded so sad on the phone. She couldn't imagine leaving him to come home to an empty apartment. Still, after what happened the time before, she was more than a little reticent - not to mention the fact that Alan would no doubt prevent her from coming along. Besides, Sebastien hadn't told her the time of his flight; he would only say that it would be too late to meet with her, and that he would no doubt see her the following day. Well, he would just have to deal with it, she thought firmly. She took a cab over to his apartment building that evening, and used her key to let herself in. It was the first time she'd been alone in his apartment, and it was a little strange. She noticed that everything was very tidy, nothing out of place. Who cleaned his apartment, anyway? It was kind of hard to imagine Sebastien with a vacuum or a dustcloth and can of Pledge. She should get it ready for his arrival, she thought. She found the thermostat on the back wall, and turned off the "vacation" setting. Immediately, the heater kicked on, and a soft gust of warmish air blew over the top of her head. In the kitchen, she put on a kettle of water to boil for tea, and as it heated, she watched the city through the picture window. Somewhere out there was a man she had evidently grown to care for. How much, she refused to consider. The whistling kettle drew her attention, and she poured the hot water into a teapot. She added the tea leaves, and turned away again as it steeped. She checked her watch. Eleven-thirty. How much later could he possibly arrive? She supposed flights arrived all night. She could go downstairs to check if Alan had left in the car, but what if she ran into him on her way down? No, better to stay where she was. After a few minutes, she removed the tea leaves from the teapot. Casting around for two cups, she carried the lot upstairs, flicking off the downstairs light on her way up. She set everything down in the sole clear spot on his desk in the office, then lit a fire in the fireplace. The lamp in the corner gave off a light yellow glow, and she turned it on, scanning the bookshelves. She picked out a novel, and settled back on the creaky leather sofa to read, and wait. ----- She must have drifted off, because the sound of a door shutting jolted her awake, the novel having slipped to the floor. She picked it up and set it aside, checking the teapot. Still warm. She wasn't sure whether she should go downstairs, but her indecision made the decision for her, as she soon heard soft footsteps on the stairs. She saw Sebastien whisk by the room, even as she opened her mouth to speak. Then, he walked back, slowly, looking into the room with a very strange expression on his face. She swallowed, waited for him to speak. He only stood and stared at her, looking as though he was having trouble believing what he was seeing. Claire couldn't stand the silence, and took a step toward him. "I know I shouldn't be here, but I just couldn't let you come home alone. I'm sorry to invade your privacy like this, but..." She was interrupted by Sebastien's sudden stride across the floor to her. She tried to step back again, but he grabbed her upper arms tightly, pulling her in against his chest and stealing her breath in a searing kiss. He shrugged out of his clothes, tossing them carelessly onto the sofa, and then began to undress her, touching his lips to each patch of newly exposed skin. Kneeling before her, he kissed her stomach, her hips, her trimmed mound. It was an odd sensation, looking down at him. He drew her down on top of him, kissing her deeply. She could feel him, already so hard, pressing against her. It made her wet, thinking of him aroused by her, wanting her. She ground down against him and then rose up to take him inside her. Sebastien propped himself up on his elbows, watching her breasts bounce as she rode him. Her hair had tumbled down around her shoulders. "You're very beautiful," he said to her. Blushing, she clapped her hands over her face. He sat up, catching her wrists in his hands and wrenching her arms around behind her back, putting her face so close to his. "No, no, I want to see you," he said. In that moment, as he held her wrists so firmly in one of his hands, she felt a great peace come over her as she finally gave in to what she needed so desperately. It was like all the inner dialogue went away and a great soft silence filled her head. She blinked twice, very slowly, and felt her heart turn over when she saw the intense look in Sebastien's eyes. He held her tightly to him, hips pumping his cock into her from below. She whimpered, and made a move to touch herself before she quite remembered that her hands were incapacitated. Sensing what she needed, Sebastien slipped his free hand between them, sliding his fingers over her clit. She came almost immediately, abdomen clenching, crying out. She dropped her forehead onto Sebastien's shoulder, but his fingers kept up their ceaseless circuit on her so sensitive skin. Whispering in her ear, he urged her on. "Mon abeille, come again for me." She shook her head, but he only moved his fingers faster on. "I know you can. Come for me. Do it now," he commanded softly, and she could do nothing else but obey, falling hard. Bare moments later, she was watching his pale, slender form rising above her, firelight flickering unevenly over his skin. He folded her arms just above her head, pinning them by the wrists into the ground. He entered her again, dark eyes focused on hers. She gazed up at him, and suddenly felt this strange sense of subservience - well, that wasn't quite the right word, but it was just like she belonged underneath him. She shivered. Perhaps he had seen something in her face, for he gave her the barest of smiles. It was funny, realizing that she was living out one of the most cliche romantic fantasies, making love fireside, with this man. It was, in fact, the first time she could think of that they had been so gentle with each other. Perhaps they both needed it. He never increased his pace, just kept steadily moving inside her, pressing tender kisses to her skin. "Maestro," she said softly, catching his attention. "I'm glad you're home." She bit her lip, feeling like somehow it would cost her something to admit what she was about to. "I really missed you." Whatever it had cost, the slow smile that crossed his face was worth it. He released her hands, threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her deeply as he drove more deeply into her. She moaned softly into his mouth as the movement ignited her still sensitive skin, pushing her toward her third orgasm of the night. With one final thrust, he released into her, the rhythmic pulsations pushing her over the edge so that she cried out. So she would have more bruises to hide. And her emotional life was getting more complicated. But tonight, she felt so calm, so much at peace that it just didn't seem to matter. The Maestro Ch. 05 ----- As she nestled against him, his name slipped out before she could catch herself. "Sebastien," she softly. "I think we can let it go... just this once," he said, stroking her back lazily with his fingertips. She tipped her head up to look at him. "I know I shouldn't have come here when-" He interrupted her with a tsking sound. "Even when you disobey me, you always seem to do just what I need. Why is that, do you think?" He looked at her soberly. "I..." She hesitated. Again, she thought 'I love you.' But could it be true? He was watching her expectantly, perhaps even willing her to say those words. "I don't know," she finished in a whisper. "Well, no matter. I don't think I will punish you tonight... unless you would prefer I did," he said, with a hint of humor. "No, you probably spent all day torturing yourself far better than I could do." That was the truth, she thought ruefully. "You know me too well, Maestro," she mumbled. "Non, mon abeille," he chided gently. "Never too well." The Maestro Ch. 06 The orchestra was a tuneless jumble of noise, each practicing a different part, some just improvising little melodies on the spot. It was Saturday afternoon, and no performance was scheduled for that evening, so everyone was relaxed. Claire was packing away her things at the far end of the stage when Sebastien approached her. "Claire, how would you like to come to dinner with me tonight?" "Why, Maestro, are you asking me on a date?" He frowned down at her. "Not in so many words," he said stiffly. She pursed her lips, unsuccessfully trying to hide her amusement. "I'd love to." "I shall come for you at six." As he walked away, Claire felt her heart speed up. Whatever he had said, this was a date. Where were they going to go? Oh. My. God. What was she going to wear?! Okay, this was ridiculous. They saw each other almost every day. He had seen her in almost everything in her closet, and he had seen her in nothing at all. She tore apart her closet anyway. She really wanted to knock his socks off. Better start from the ground up, she thought, picking up a lacy black garter belt and slipping it on over her bare skin. She glanced down at her neatly trimmed mound peeking out from underneath the lace, and decided to forego the panties. She felt sexy already. She clipped on black silk stockings with a dramatic seam up the back, and picked out a black push-up bra. Over everything, she smoothed a body-skimming siren red dress. She bent over to slip on stiletto heels, taller than she normally wore, and admired her cleavage in the bedroom mirror. Sebastien, so much taller than she, would have a nice view. Claire did her hair, makeup, circled her throat with cream-colored pearls. At 5:50, she was pacing her living room nervously, getting used to her heels. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she almost didn't recognize herself. For the first time, she could see herself as the kind of woman she had always pictured on Sebastien's arm. Perhaps it was a little over-the-top, but she felt so different, so sexy. The buzzer rang, interrupting her thoughts. Her heart stopped. She hit the speaker button. "Hello?" Her voice sounded calm, but breathy. "Mon abeille, it is I." "I'll be right down." She grabbed her jacket and bag, walking out into the hallway. She took a deep breath, willing herself to walk steadily. The last thing she needed tonight would be to break her ankle. The elevator was torturously slow, and she used the time to take slow, even breaths to calm her speeding heart. When the doors opened, she saw him, standing just outside the glass lobby doors. He was looking up off the street, and as she walked toward him, he turned. His eyes roamed her body, and as soon as she came out, he caught up her hand to kiss it. "Mon abeille," he murmured against her skin, "you take my breath away." They drove deeper downtown to a tall hotel, and found themselves alone in the elevator going to the top floor. Claire reached out, timidly took Sebastien's hand. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. The room they stepped out into was unlike anything Claire had ever seen. The elevator they were in stood back-to-back with the service elevator, and two semi-circular bars surrounded them. Two rings of two- and four-seater tables ran around the edge of the room. The walls - what could be seen of them between the enormous windows - were painted a warm peach color. The lights were low, and the rose color of the dying sunset warmed the room. They were led to a table with an ocean view, and ordered drinks. They chatted over cocktails - a Manhattan for Sebastien, a raspberry lemon drop for Claire - and lobster. Talked about the season they had just finished, the one that was to come, their summer session, music, the books they had each been reading - Fleming's Casino Royale for Sebastien, and Claire a book on medieval art. After dinner, Sebastien ordered port, and sat swirling it idly in its glass. He laid his other hand affectionately on Claire's thigh. Surreptitiously, she slid her dress upward underneath his fingers, until they were lying directly on the lacy top of her stocking and the naked skin of her thigh. Sebastien raised his eyebrows at her over his glass, running his fingers along the stocking top. Claire's demure smile encouraged him, and he slid his fingers slowly up, up, until they brushed her bare pussy lips. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she took in the surprised look in Sebastien's face. He asked for the check. Moments later, Claire was slammed into the back of the service elevator by Sebastien, his mouth coming down onto hers in a crushing kiss. His hand was under her dress, rubbing her soft skin and making her so wet already. "Mmm aren't you a naughty girl?" he said, kissing a line down her neck. "Ahh, ah, Maestro, a lady doesn't kiss on the first date." "Good thing that isn't what this is," he replied, capturing her mouth again, his tongue tangling with hers. He drew back to bite her lip gently. She had her fingers on the button of his pants, when his hand stilled her. "Not here, mon abeille." She whimpered in frustration, sliding her hands over the front of him, thrilling at the feel of his hardness. She cupped her hands further down, squeezing softly. The elevator doors slid open, startling Claire. She looked past Sebastien, and was relieved to see that no one was there. He led her into the little hallway, and turned the corner at the end of it. "Where are we?" she whispered. He didn't answer, opening the door they found instead. The chill breeze swept in and raised goosebumps on her skin. "How did you know where the roof access was?" she asked, baffled. He smiled secretively at her, pulling her onto the roof with him. She had been on the roof of relatively few city buildings - actually, none. It had strange protrusions, vents, wires. She didn't know what any of it really did. They walked around until there were a few protrusions between them and the door. Around one more vent pillar, there was an astonishing panoramic view of the ocean and much of the city. The sun had gone down, and the light was fading quickly, but an enormous moon was rising, casting pale light over the water. "I was going to bring you up here anyway," Sebastien said, turning to her, "but now I have two reasons to do it rather than one." He touched her cheek to get her attention, and bent to kiss her. As he pulled away, he watched with pleasure as her head tipped up and back, amazed to see the array of stars overhead. He gently pushed her back into the pillar behind her, smiling as she shivered to feel the cold metal through her dress. "This is one of the tallest buildings in the city, mon abeille, and I am going to fuck you on top of it." A shudder ran through her body. Then she yelped, feeling her now-naked ass bumping against the pillar as Sebastien slid her dress up to expose her to the cold night air. His hands were on her, caressing, pinching her hardened nipples. Then she felt his cock rubbing up against her wet pussy, pressing into her. She let out a long, low moan, and then felt Sebastien's hand clap over her mouth. She struggled against him, but he shook his head firmly. Then she heard it. Voices. "Where did you say we were supposed to put this thing?" "I don't know, somewhere up over there I think. I'll know the spot when I see it." Claire felt Sebastien's cock get even harder inside of her and he started pumping it in and out of her, slowly at first. The voices were getting closer. Her eyes widened, and she made to pull her skirt down over her garter belt. Sebastien hissed softly, "leave it alone!" He removed his hand from her mouth, warning her to be quiet. She tried not to make any noise, but when he started rubbing her clit softly, it was pretty hard. She sucked in soft breaths and blew them out softly. He held one thigh up as he started fucking her harder. All she could hear was the soft rustle of cloth as her pussy was pounded, her racing heartbeat, those steps getting closer every second. She chanced a glance to the side, but saw nothing. Sebastien's fingers were pushing her closer to the edge, but was too keyed up, too anxious they would be caught. "Ah, here it is. Set 'er down right over here." "Geez, finally," the other one grunted. "This shit is heavy." Sebastien leaned down, his lips next to her ear. "Come," he commanded firmly, "now." He bit down on her ear, and, surprising herself, Claire felt ripples of pleasure pouring over her body. She couldn't stop the tiny squeak she let out. "Did you hear something, dude?" "Nah, let's get back inside. It's cold as fuck out here." The steps were getting farther away now, to Claire's considerable relief. Her pussy was still clamping down, but Sebastien showed no signs of wanting to slow his fingers down. "Stop, stop," Claire whined. "I can't be quiet much longer." His eyes flashed in excitement. "I don't care. I want to make you scream," he said breathlessly. He did. She was shivering all over, Sebastien's cock sending little shockwaves through her with every thrust. "Please," she moaned softly. "Please what?" he asked, with some difficulty. "Please don't come inside me." "Why not?" She rolled her eyes in embarrassment. "I'm not wearing panties," she said, like it would be self-explanatory. Sebastien laughed in delight, but withdrew from her. She dropped to her knees right away, flicking her eyes up to meet his as she sucked his cock into her waiting mouth. His hand gently rested on the back of her head as he watched her. She felt his cock growing thicker in her mouth suddenly, and then streams of his come were splashing onto her tongue. He was sighing contentedly above her, and she swallowed, running her tongue over her teeth. He helped her stand, pulling the bottom of her dress over her ass again and brushing the gravel from the roof off of her knees. He kissed her deeply, apparently not caring that she still tasted of him. When he pulled away, Claire rested her head against his chest, looking out at the bright lights of the city again. "I know there is no music, mon abeille, but would you care to dance with me?" She looked up in surprise. "Well," he said, with perhaps a touch of embarrassment, "that was what I intended from the beginning, but I could not help myself." She smiled. God, he could be cute sometimes. She let him wind his arms around her, as she slipped her hands under his jacket to rest on his back. He twirled her around, humming melodies just above her head. ----- It was a day, just another one in what was becoming sort of a routine around Sebastien's house. After a Saturday night of debauchery, Claire and Sebastien spent a sunny Sunday morning together. He would make them breakfast, something simple, and bring it to her before she even had to get out of bed. Then they would brush the crumbs from the sheets, and he would go downstairs to play on the piano. Claire would detour into his bathroom, where he had the most exquisite shower, and meticulously wash her hair and scrub every inch of her body. She would towel-dry her hair, leaving it damp and curling around her shoulders, and come downstairs to listen to Sebastien for awhile. Sometimes they would make love or, if Claire was too sore, they might rub cooling lotion into her skin, and then curl up on the sofa with books. They usually parted by lunchtime, sometimes going to the symphony hall together if they had a matinee performance. Today, Claire had come downstairs wrapped in a towel, and Sebastien had risen from the piano to come meet her. Cheekily, she smiled as she dropped the towel, and Sebastien was leaning down to kiss her when they heard a sound from the direction of the front door. Turning in surprise, they saw the front door wide open, and a tall, slender lady in the doorway with a shocked look on her face. Claire turned crimson, snatched up the towel and dashed upstairs. She struggled into the clothes she had left in Sebastien's bedroom, and listened to the increasingly loud voices in French drifting up from downstairs. She was too upset to try and understand what they were saying, but she guessed that Sebastien was telling his sister - for that's who the lady was - that she shouldn't have come over unannounced. Probably his sister was expressing her triumph at having been right about him seeing someone, and berating him for denying it and lying to her. After a few minutes, the door slammed again, and all she could hear was angry French muttering by Sebastien. So, this was an opportunity to introduce them at last, but Sebastien obviously didn't want that. She didn't want to be the cause of family strife. She wanted to leave. She ran down the stairs again. Sebastien tried to take her arm, and she yanked it back away from him. "I'm going," she said, and strode toward the door. "Mon abeille, wait, Claire!" he called, but she was gone. She half-expected him to follow after her, and her heart broke a little when he didn't arrive, even though she had to wait for the elevator. Tears welled up in her eyes. So perhaps he didn't care about her after all, if he wouldn't even introduce her. What was it he had said before? She was his plaything, and she was to be kept separate from his family. She'd thought she understood. She crossed the lobby. The worst part was, there was no one she could talk to about it. No one who knew the situation... except the man she inexplicably ran directly into at the front door - René. "Hello, cherie," he said breezily, frowning as he saw her expression. "I was just going up to see mon ami. What is the matter? Come, shall we go to my flat, and you can tell me what is troubling you?" She sniffed and nodded, feeling so grateful to see someone who she could pour the story out to. She kept quiet while they walked, not wanting to be overheard by random passersby. But as soon as they were in his apartment, she turned to him and told him what had just happened. René sat her down in his living room, crossing to the window and looking out for a long moment as she finished, and he thought. He sat next to her, resting his hand familiarly on her thigh. "You must listen to me, cherie. Sebastien cares for you; surely you know this." Claire only shrugged restlessly. "Has he not told you?" René asked with raised eyebrows. "That's not exactly what he said." "What did he say, exactly?" She felt her face grow warm as she remembered that night in the elevator, his crushing embrace, his soft, heartfelt words. "Je t'adore." René touched her cheek gently. "You are crazy if you think that he does not care. And you care for him, too, do you not?" Claire turned away, her eyes welling up with tears again. He turned her face back, leaned in closer to her, lips a hair's breadth from hers. "What are you doing?" she breathed. "Just a kiss, to comfort you." "I don't think-" "Sebastien would not mind," he said, moving to close the gap between them. "That's where you are wrong, mon frère," came a voice behind them, darkly. René turned with a half-smile. "Ah, mon ami, I should have known you would be along shortly. How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough." Claire looked up at him in trepidation, her heart hammering away. "Come here," he ordered. She moved to get up, but René's hand on her leg grew firmer, keeping her on the sofa. He shot off something in French to Sebastien, who glared at him, retorting angrily. The two argued for a few moments, and again Claire was left out. Was René saying something about love? No, ridiculous. Finally, Sebastien huffed out a breath in frustration. "Mon abeille, René evidently thinks I am mistreating you. Is that what you think, too?" She thought for a long moment. Over the past few months, they had developed an amazing, fulfilling relationship. The sex was incredible, and kept getting better. He was tender with her even when he was punishing her, and she finally felt that she was getting to know him a little bit. Sure, they had some arguments, but what relationship was without those? Their biggest problem was the secrecy they had imposed on everything. That and, perhaps, a reluctance to articulate their feelings, whatever they were. Looking back on it, she could see it so clearly. She did care for him. And, when she was honest with herself, she could see he cared for her, too. She looked from René to Sebastien, both waiting for her answer. "No, Maestro. You do everything but mistreat me." She wondered if the soft, warm feelings in her heart at that moment were showing on her face. Neither man gave any sign that it was. "Then, come." His voice was softer, but still firm. Smiling at René, she touched her fingertips to his cheek and rose from the sofa, walking over to Sebastien. She looked up at him, eyelids fluttering as she shivered all over. He took her wrist, pressing his fingers firmly around it, but not hard enough to bruise, just enough to feel that he meant business. "Mon frère, I will see you tonight." René gave a half-shrug, running his fingers through his hair. He seemed a little confused, but Claire was sure Sebastien would explain it to him later. Maybe. Sebastien guided her into the hallway. As soon as the door had closed, he twisted her arm behind her back, a bit painfully. He jerked her against him and kissed her deeply. She felt so hot suddenly, as if her bones would melt. When he pulled her back, just as roughly, she saw no hint of smile on his face. He walked her all the way back to his own apartment without saying a word, keeping her wrist pressed into the small of her back. As soon as they reached his apartment, he spun on his heel and snapped at her, "So, is this how it is going to be? Running to another man at the first sign of trouble? And mon frère, at that. I am not sure if that is more or less upsetting than if it had been someone else." "What? No! I-I ran into him downstairs, and he asked what I was so upset about. I didn't want to discuss it in public, and he invited me up to his apartment. It's just that he, well, he knows about you and I..." He looked dubiously at her, but she suspected it was really for effect. If he'd actually believed what he was accusing her of, he would have been way more pissed. "I would have asked, but you ran out on me before I had a chance. What were you so upset about?" Claire looked down at her feet uncomfortably. The tears were threatening to return and spill down her cheeks again. She forced herself to look up at him. "Are you ashamed of me?" Clearly, this was not what Sebastien had been expecting to hear. "Of course not, mon abeille," he said with a frown. "Then why haven't you told your family about me?" He sighed, rubbed his hands over his face. "Well, I do not know about you, but I have not chosen to discuss with my family every person I have ever had casual sex with. That is what we were having, perhaps, but no longer. To tell the truth, I have not had the words, even for myself, to say what we have together. What would I tell my family? Have you told your parents?" "I, well, not really. I may have said I was seeing someone casually, so my mom would get off my case about worrying I was lonely." "So you see neither of us have been completely honest. Not with our families, perhaps not even with each other." "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run off, but I was so embarrassed, I guess I wasn't thinking straight. Forgive me?" "If you'll forgive me for forgetting to lock my front door," he said with a small smile, which Claire returned. "Ahhh, mon abeille, what am I to do with you?" She bit her lip, looking at him from under her lashes, still damp with unshed tears. "You could... punish me." ----- The Maestro Ch. 06 Claire was shivering slightly in the weak sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains into Sebastien's bedroom. She stood in front of his bed in only a pair of pale blue satin panties. Sebastien removed his jacket, tossing it over the arm of the chair in the corner. Then he leaned down, brushing his lips against Claire's ear. She inclined her head away from him, her breathing coming quicker as he gently nibbled on her earlobe and down the side of her neck. He slid his hands over her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Show me," he said in a low voice. She sat on the edge of his bed, looking up into his eyes, and drew her knees up to her chest, planting the soles of her feet on the bed. Then, ever so slowly, she spread her knees, exposing the silky fabric of the panties stretched tightly over her mound. He grasped her arms, pulling them firmly behind her back and tying them together with one of his ties. She relaxed into him, which helped her legs fall open a little wider. "I know what you want, mon abeille," he said, withdrawing an implement from the closet behind him. It had a thick handle, wrapped with what looked like soft leather. Sprouting from the handle were what looked like two or three dozen tendrils in suede and leather. Sebastien's eyes darkened as he slid it up her inner thigh and over the crotch of her panties, then up between her breasts. Claire realized that she was looking at her beloved Stinger for the first time. It looked... official, or something. A seed of doubt crept into her mind - how long had he had this thing? Sebastien was searching her face, and it must have shown, because he touched his fingertips to her cheek. Even that simple touch and the understanding look on his face were reassuring. "I bought it because I didn't want to have to replace my baton every three weeks." She nodded at that, hot all over at the memory of his baton on her buttocks, awakening her to these feelings. He still used that baton in performances, and sometimes she thought of it, watching it bounce along to the beat. He trailed the Stinger over both of her breasts, tickling her nipples with the tendrils. "Are you sure? It's going to hurt." "Oh, I know," she replied in a low voice, her skin prickling in goose bumps. He drew back and gave her a couple of quick, soft thwacks. She flinched in surprise, feeling her heart start to race. When he saw that she was not to be dissuaded, Sebastien continued on, brushing and smacking every inch of her skin gently. Her nipples hardened as the prickling warmth spread over her body. Aiming a harder series of thwacks along her inner thighs made her yelp. Sebastien found a rhythm at last, and Claire felt a new sensation. Warm wetness was seeping out between her legs, soaking through her panties. She savored the sweet brush of cooling air that touched her skin each time the Stinger swung back, and the hot, stinging pain was all the more keenly felt each time it landed - on breasts, belly, thighs. When Sebastien stopped for a moment, Claire tipped her head backward, reveling in the aliveness of her nerve endings. She felt Sebastien's hands on her, closing her legs, pulling her panties down and tossing them away. He placed his hands on her reddened inner thighs, spreading them wide, and she looked down at him again. He stood again, and Claire watched him lean back, aiming a strike squarely between her legs for the first time. It stung, oh, it did hurt, but it brought with it a bolt of pleasure that shot right through her. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn't look away. Sebastien's eyes glittered with unspoken things, and Claire realized what a strangely intimate experience it was actually watching him punish her this time. Almost always before, he worked her backside, and on those rare times he was in front, her eyes were closed, the sensations too much to bear, or the intimacy of looking into his eyes too frightening. This time it was different. She wondered idly if he was self-conscious with her watching him, but if so, he didn't show it. The Stinger was wet now, and the slaps were ever sharper. Her back and buttocks were starting to ache, not out of pain, but out of longing for the same treatment. Another smack to her pussy made her shudder in pleasure, and she let out a tortured whimper. "More?" he asked very softly. "Yes, Maestro, yes, please more," she begged. Again and again the slaps came, fast enough that she no longer had enough time to breathe between impacts. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her breath was growing ragged. The pleasure was building between her legs, and she unconsciously shifted her hips up and toward the Stinger. She was getting so close, close to coming, yes, so close. At once, Sebastien dropped to his knees and thrust the handle of the Stinger up into her, slapping at her clit firmly with three fingers. She gasped at the sudden penetration, and felt him wiggling the thick instrument inside her. He was angling it, touching her places she had never felt before. Her whole body was on fire and she felt it slam into her, losing the battle to keep her eyes open. She shook all over, crying out as her thighs, the sheets underneath her, suddenly felt so much wetter. She was still twitching inside from her orgasm when Sebastien pulled on the Stinger lightly to remove it from her. It slid out about half an inch and then stopped, where she had tightened around it. The knob at the end apparently was slightly too large to come out easily now. They looked at each other, confounded, and Claire started to giggle. The corners of Sebastien's mouth were twitching. Claire stopped laughing and looked down at herself where the instrument was now protruding from her. She shook her head. "Relax, mon abeille," said Sebastien. She tried, to no avail. He rocked up on his knees and kissed her sweetly, his hand cradling the back of her neck. She melted into him, and was rewarded with the feeling of the Stinger finally sliding out of her. "Would you like your hands free?" "Please." He untied her hands, and she rolled her shoulders a little to free them. "Better?" "Mmm." She flopped onto her back, stretching out her legs and sighing in relief. She looked up at Sebastien, who was watching her with a ghost of a smile on his face. "Are you gonna, you know...?" "If it is all the same to you, mon abeille, I would rather just lie here beside you awhile." ----- It was June, hot and steamy in much of the country, but still mild and balmy in the city. Normally, the symphony would have been on break, but they had decided to hold a mini-series of concerts in July to promote the upcoming season. So they were furiously in rehearsal during the preceding month to prepare for it. Claire, uncharacteristically, was in a foul mood, and she couldn't keep herself from showing it. She and Sebastien had argued briefly before rehearsal, and she was having a hard time distracting herself. He had come into her dressing room, given her a distracted kiss on the cheek. "Tell me where you would like to go tonight, mon abeille. It will be the last night we can be together for a short while." "Why's that?" "Paris calls, I'm afraid." She hated that her lip pouted out automatically. "Again? Why, what are you always doing over there?" As usual, her creative imagination was dreaming up hordes of buxom French girls cavorting about in their fancy French lingerie, but she knew better now. She trusted Sebastien. He looked at her blankly, clearly indicating that he was not going to give her the answer. She supposed it was none of her business anyway. He could go anywhere he liked. Maybe she would go away in the next week or two. It was her birthday, after all. Thinking of this made her frown even more deeply. She hadn't thought about it yet, but it would have been nice to spend her birthday with Sebastien. Oh well, better to let that thought go before dwelling on it too deeply. "I wish you didn't go so often," she said, blinking up at him demurely. He was clearly taken aback by this change in demeanor. "There is nothing I can do about it." "Yes, there is!" she said, spinning away from him suddenly and stamping her foot. "You can do anything you want to, you always do." "When will you stop acting like a petulant child?" he snapped. "When you stop pulling me over your lap and giving me spankings," she replied, wincing internally at the ridiculousness of her statement. "Crazy. You are being crazy, and I'm not going to discuss this further. I will see you in ten minutes, on stage, when you have calmed down." So saying, he spun on his heel and left. Okay, so now she felt like an idiot. Enough of an idiot that she didn't really want to be around Sebastien, at least not until she had an opportunity to apologize. Unfortunately, that wasn't a possibility at this point, so she decided to be pissed off instead. It probably wouldn't do her any favors in the long run, but it felt better right now. Sebastien glanced up at her when she came onstage, probably trying to assess whether she had actually calmed down. She narrowed her eyes in his general direction, firming her lips slightly in irritation. He frowned back at her. Great. Combative already. They were rehearsing for Orff's Carmina Burana, not just the "O Fortuna," - which is one of "those" classical pieces that almost everyone knows, but doesn't realize they know - but the entire 25-movement piece for their summer production. The soprano part is featured prominently only in the section on love songs, which was what they were rehearsing this night. In the middle of one of these pieces, Sebastien called the orchestra, and Claire, to a halt. "Claire, this is a love song. Dulcissime, sweetest, you should be looking your most ethereal, most lovely. Try to relax your features and smile a little as you sing. Discord does not flatter you, and it will give the notes the right tone as well." In response, she glared furiously at Sebastien. She opened her mouth to retort, and caught the flicker in his expression. "Don't," it was saying to her. "Do not presume to tell me how to look when I sing, Maestro. With respect, the singer's demeanor reflects so much personal interpretation of the piece. Besides, the only one who is watching me today is you, and if you don't find me angelic, I'm afraid it's no concern of mine," she said bitingly. In other words, she added in her head, I'm not thinking very much of love at the moment, so fuck you. The orchestra murmured gently behind her. It was very unlike their soprano to talk back to the Maestro, especially as of late, when things had been such smooth sailing. They had not failed to notice her appearance at rehearsals of performances that were orchestral only, and some of them had genuinely come to enjoy her presence there. They looked to Sebastien - what would he say? A little color had risen to his face, and he looked as though he was holding himself back from saying what was on his mind. "Very well," he said in a clipped voice, and signaled for them to start again. At the break in rehearsal, Claire disappeared backstage, hoping vainly that Sebastien would make an appearance. Instead, it was a horn player named Holly that came up to her. "Lovers' quarrel?" she teased. Claire blushed and stammered "What do you mean?" "Oh, gosh, I was just teasing about Maestro Boulet. You've been such a regular around the symphony hall that when you have a disagreement, it's sort of like Mommy and Daddy are fighting," she giggled. "What did you think I meant?" "I thought perhaps you were under the impression that the Maestro and I, well..." she said uncomfortably. Holly cut her off with a burst of laughter. "Oh, no! I couldn't even imagine that. I mean, after the parade of girls he's had through here over the years, I don't think you'd really fit in with them. And besides, after the violinist he dated in the orchestra last year, I don't think he'd ever date anyone involved with the symphony again. Not after what happened." "What happened?" Claire asked hollowly. "Well, I guess he'd asked her to keep it quiet, of course, but she told some of us plenty. What his apartment looked like, and what kinds of places he took her to. The Maestro fired her!" There was a strained pause. "Oh look, I think we're going to start up again." She dashed off back to her seat, and Claire was left with an empty feeling in her gut. It was one thing to theoretically know that Sebastien had probably been involved with other women. But to find out that it was many - how many, Holly hadn't said, but enough for an entire "parade"? And then this person, whoever she was. Apparently Sebastien had trusted her enough to take her to his apartment, even though he had told Claire that he never revealed that information to anyone if he could help it. And he'd told her - or at least implied - that he hadn't been with anyone in some time. She felt sick. The other members of the orchestra were scurrying into place, and she drifted onstage after them, looking up at Sebastien with hazy eyes. Her head was swimming and her heart ached. Tears blurred her vision and, as she walked over to her seat, she stumbled over a stray cord she hadn't seen. She righted herself, wiping hastily at her eyes, and saw Sebastien watching her now with a strange expression on his face. She wasn't sure if she was going to burst into tears, or throw up, but at that moment, as she faced him at the edge of the stage, she felt herself falling backward, and the last thing she saw was the panicked look on his face as he reached for her. ----- In the dark, it was warm. The air smelled sweet, woodsy, floral. Sebastien was here. In the dark, with her. Her head ached. Actually, a lot of her ached. She opened her eyes. The dark was just the shadow of the stage that she was lying in, and the person leaning over her was Sebastien, pale and concerned. He closed his eyes in apparent relief when she opened hers, but she didn't know what to make of it now. "I am taking you to a doctor," he murmured. "No, I'm fine. I can move everything." She demonstrated by pushing herself up to a sitting position. It made the ache in her head a little worse, but it was subsiding gradually. "You fainted. You need to see a doctor." "Just stress," she muttered. Sebastien narrowed his eyes at her, but said nothing. She realized all at once that most of the orchestra was gathered around, on stage and off. "I'm fine, fine!" she called out. "Everyone, I'm calling rehearsal to a close early tonight. Please get some rest and do not be late tomorrow night," said Sebastien, helping Claire to stand on her feet. She went to walk away, but he held her hand tightly. "Not you." "I don't want to go to the hospital," she protested. "Too bad," he said, picking her up swiftly. "Oh, do you have to carry me? Haven't I been embarrassed enough tonight?" "Hush." He drove her to the hospital, and she secretly admitted it was a good idea. If she had a concussion, it would be good to know. Not that she'd ever tell Sebastien that. The nurse who took her information soon ushered her into a back room to get checked out. When Sebastien made to follow them, she turned to Claire. "Who is he? Relative? Boyfriend?" Claire looked up at Sebastien, who returned her gaze steadily with no hint of his thoughts. Well, fine. If he could be a jerk, she could play the game, too. "Just my boss." "Oh. Then he'll have to wait out here." Sebastien set his jaw. Oh, wasn't he pleased? As she turned away from him to follow the nurse, she could only think of what Holly had told her. And oh God, oh God, oh God, it hurt. ----- "Where are you taking me?" Claire asked, as she sat huddled in the passenger seat of Sebastien's car. "Home." That didn't really answer her question. She let it go, and wasn't surprised when he pulled into the garage at his apartment building. He came around to open her door, and helped her out of the car, his hand gently supporting her elbow. "Don't carry me again," she said. "As you wish." She was surprised that he gave in, but not that he remained silent until they were safely behind the closed - and locked - door of his apartment. He followed her to the sofa, where they both sat, both feeling a little awkward. She wondered what he was thinking. "Are you going to tell me what is the matter with you tonight?" he asked softly. "I feel that you are not being yourself." She looked at him. She didn't even want to have this conversation. He looked so sincerely concerned, though. And she did care for him, so much. Maybe she should give him a chance to explain, at least. She told him everything that Holly had said to her, watched as his face showed frustration, discomfort. "So that is what is bothering you?" he asked in an even quieter voice. Claire looked down into her lap, then back up, nodded. "I see. So. You believe that I have lied to you, repeatedly. Is that what I am hearing?" She winced. "It sounds bad when you say it like that. I...I don't know if I believe it, but...what am I supposed to think?" He blew out a breath, clearly annoyed. "Well then, I will tell you that this woman, this violinist, she was fired not because she exposed our secret liaison, but because she was a hateful, lying person. I suppose you were too polite to ask for details. You would no doubt have found out quickly enough that it was all a lie, since her claims about my apartment and where I lived were invented." Her heart leaped in her chest. Perhaps it was foolish to just believe his words, but, she could always ask Holly for those details and see what she thought for herself. He wouldn't have said that if it wasn't true. "As for the 'parade' of women-" "You, um, don't really have to explain that," she said, uncomfortable again. "No, I don't. But I am going to, because truly it is not as bad as it sounds. As you know, I have been with the symphony for a number of years. Obviously you would expect that I have not been celibate these many years, and you would be correct. There was a period that I was more seriously seeking a mate, and many of those women did come to performances. But I never, and I want to emphasize this, never paraded them about. I did not bring them to rehearsals, nor cast parties if I could avoid it. I never brought any of these women to my apartment, and frankly I can hardly recall some of them, as briefly as they passed through my life. Despite the implications, I certainly did not sleep with all of them. I'm no playboy, mon abeille," he said with a wry grin. "Do you wish you were?" "Ah, don't all men?" he replied, teasingly. "While you're in the mood for sharing, will you tell me what you're doing in France so often?" "No." Then he smiled, quickly, easily, something she valued so much of late. "But I will ravish you, anywhere and any way you like. Will you stay tonight?" "I'd love to." ----- The bathroom filled with billowy steam. A pile of clothes by the door was topped off by a pair of panties, carelessly thrown by Claire as she climbed into the warm embrace of the shower - and Sebastien. The kiss he pressed to her lips was no less hot than the water that tumbled around their shoulders. His mouth devoured her, her nipples, her tummy, all the way down to her mound, which he nuzzled briefly before licking and sucking on her like a starving man. She moaned softly into the echoing room. Her toes curled against the tile beneath her feet, hands grasping uselessly at nothing. His fingers invaded her, slipping slickly into her hot wetness. His fingers curled, stroking against her most pleasurable spots. "Yes, yes, Maestro," she gasped. His tongue fluttered against her clit inexorably, and she was coming, squeezing in against his fingers. Then they were replaced by his cock, and he was trailing her sticky wetness over her breasts. In the heat, her scent blossomed and the whole room soon smelled of sex. The Maestro Ch. 06 Ahh, and he was kissing her again, bumping his hips up against hers gently. She ran her hands around to his back, stroking it, then running them down to cup his tight buttocks as they pistoned into her. He grabbed her wrists, holding them up above her head firmly. For an instant, she pulled against him, and then the inevitable calm settled over her. The light buzzing in her head amplified everything else she was feeling, and he was soon nudging her over the edge again. She came breathlessly, whimpering into his mouth. Then she felt his come, hotter than she expected, pumping into her. She opened her eyes again, and found herself staring right into another pair of eyes, crinkled around the corners in an obviously affectionate smile. Her heart turned over. "We should clean you up, mon abeille," he was saying, so softly, as he knelt again, running his tongue up her inner thigh. ----- "So... your birthday is around the corner, is it not?" Claire was sitting up, cross-legged in Sebastien's bed, brushing her hair. She was completely naked but for the sheet that she had drawn up over her breasts. Sebastien lounged next to her in his silk pajama pants, watching her. "It is. I didn't think you knew when it was." "You are always underestimating me," he said, with a hint of amusement. "Well, I don't know when yours is," she replied. "It's in September, and I am not looking forward to the day you find out how much older I am than you are." "I'm pretty sure I already know," she said with a little laugh. "Besides, I bet I'm older than you think I am. Why do you bring it up?" She set the brush down and began twisting her hair into a thick braid. "Well. As you know, I am going to be taking a brief holiday to France, and I wanted to give you a little something before I left." Sebastien took a leather case from his bedside table, and offered it to her. Opening it, she saw two leather cuffs in a pretty ruby-red color, about an inch wide, each with a small D-ring on either side. "Oh!" she said in surprise, blushing a little. "I hope that when we are apart, they will remind you of me. And when we are together, well, I think there will be a more... practical application or two." "Thank you, Maestro. The color is beautiful," she said, already buckling one on and admiring the way it looked against her slender wrist. "I do have one other little gift to give you. Would you like it now?" "Maestro, you shouldn't have gotten me anything," she murmured. He only smiled, sliding open his table drawer and withdrawing a slip of paper. He tossed it onto her lap carelessly. She picked it up, and read the words printed on it. At first, it seemed her brain couldn't quite make sense of what it was, and suddenly it clicked. It was a plane ticket. To Paris. Her mouth fell open, and she looked at Sebastien, who was watching her carefully. Before she could formulate the right words to say, he was laying a hand on her bare shoulder. "I know it probably comes as quite a surprise to you, but I had hoped it would not be too forward." Claire glanced at him; was he actually feeling nervous about this? She still didn't know what to say. She leaned over, brushed her lips against his. She sat back, saw he was still looking at her expectantly. She looked down at the ticket in her hand again, read it. Then she threw her arms around his neck, feeling it really sink it. "Ohhhh my gosh, I'm going to Paris!" ----- July was a positive whirlwind for Claire. The month started off with the symphony's performances of Carmina Burana, which were absolutely amazing. It was a beautiful and humbling experience to be singing a solo soprano role with a choir of over one hundred singers of all ages behind her. She hadn't been overly thrilled with the way that some of the younger girls fawned over Sebastien when they had the chance, but mostly because she sometimes wished that she could be the one touching his arm, smiling up at him so charmingly. Almost as soon as the mini-series had ended, Claire and Sebastien had left for Paris. It was actually Claire's first time in Europe at all, and it was perhaps the most glorious three weeks of her entire life. They took long strolls through the busy city streets, ate pastries from patisseries almost daily, took the most delicious cheap bottles of wine and loaves of bread to parks for lunch. They spent a weekend in London, and another in Amsterdam. They dined everywhere from casual bistros to Michelin-starred restaurants. He took her to see the normal tourist sites, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, kissing her in its shadow, but also his favorite nooks and neighborhoods. Maybe the best part was finally finding out why Sebastien had been returning to Paris so often over the last six months. It's true that he had been back regularly during his entire time in the United States, but he had been away more often, and more secretively. When they had landed in Paris, he had driven her to an unassuming building with sweet wrought-iron balconies on a pretty street. They'd gone up to the fifth floor, the top floor of the building, and Claire had become more curious with each passing moment. Surely this was no hotel. "Where are we, Maestro?" He smiled as they turned the corner at the end of the hall, walked all the way down to the door at the end - so like his apartment building, she thought. "You wanted to know why I was spending so much time in Paris, did you not?" "I did, but-" "This is why," he said, pulling out a key with a little flourish, and unlocking the door. The room he ushered her into was small, and opened up into a little kitchen done in a sunny yellow tone. Beyond that was a sunken living room, where an upright piano rested against the wall. Venturing further into the apartment, she saw that there were two additional rooms around a little corner, and a bathroom between them. The front bedroom had its own balcony, with a short spiral staircase that led, where? To the roof, it looked like. The whole apartment was furnished in dark woods and muted earth tones, similar to Sebastien's apartment back home, but softer. When their luggage was safely stowed away in the bedroom, Claire wandered to the windows that faced the street and looked out, amazed at how different this city was from home. Sebastien stood beside her. "Well, what do you think?" "It's lovely, Maestro, but I still don't understand." "For years, when I returned to Paris for a visit, I took a room in a hotel, or stayed with my relatives. Once I realized that I would want to take you with me someday, I decided that I should get a more permanent place. Not," he said, going on before she could respond, "to keep you away from my family, as you are no doubt already suspecting, but because, well, you may already have noticed quarters are a bit tighter here. I thought we could use the privacy." The low tone of his voice sent a shiver up her spine. "Do you understand now, mon abeille?" "You were here looking for an apartment... for me?" "For us. It took me a while to find one that needed as many renovations as this one did, so I could soundproof it." He looked at her, and that was all it took. She felt herself grow wet. It was crazy, she told herself, how much she wanted him. All the time, her body craved his touch. It seemed more and more, her heart was as touched as the rest of her. A thought occurred to her. "Am I going to meet your family?" He hesitated. "I thought I would leave it up to you. I know that my sister is anxious to meet you, now that she has proof that you exist." "Oh, did you tell her we were, um, seeing each other?" "I could hardly avoid it, wouldn't you agree?" he said with a wry smile. Claire managed a small smile, but her voice was serious. "So... what did you tell her about us? I suppose you couldn't introduce me as your plaything?" she asked, attempting to make a joke. Sebastien nodded slowly. "I actually told her nothing more, preferring that I discuss it with you first. She does not not know who you are, or even your name." "I see. Well, I would like to meet her, but I think we should figure out what you're going to say first." "I agree. Girlfriend seems juvenile, but lover, though true, makes it sound like what it is, which is perhaps not the image we want to give." It was Claire's turn to nod, thinking it over. "I don't think we should say just, friend, that would make it too obvious we were sleeping together and not dating, wouldn't it?" "We are not dating?" "I... I don't know. We've been to dinner together, but it's not really like you're, you know, courting me." "Hmmm," he said, "perhaps I am not trying hard enough, in that case." Claire blushed, and looked away. ----- Claire smoothed down her sundress for the fiftieth time, then ran her fingers over her hair nervously. Sebastien glanced at her, then ran his fingers down her shoulders to her wrists. He slowly pulled them behind her back, holding them firmly in place. Her head whipped around, wide-eyed. "Stop," she whispered. "He'll see!" She tipped her head toward the driver of their car. "Then be quiet," he said mildly. Claire flushed, and Sebastien jerked back a little, making her shoulders ache a bit. Almost immediately, she felt calmer. Sometimes, she hated that he knew how much it calmed her to be restrained. Still, it did work. "Let me go!" she hissed. "Will you be calm? You were beginning to make me nervous." "You, nervous? I'll believe it when I see it," she muttered. He tsked at her, but let her go. They were traveling across the city, to a row of townhouses, one of which belonged to Sebastien's sister, Sarah, and her family. It turned out that she was his older sister by three years, that she had been married for eight years (and after him to marry for almost as long) and had two children, one an infant. They were going for an afternoon visit. Claire thought she could handle anything for a few hours, and a visit with Sebastien's family should be a snap. When they got out of the car, Claire smoothed her sundress once more. It was a soft yellow, and she was wearing matching sandals and a flower in her curling hair. Sebastien was in his usual casual chic, a light grey suit with pale pink shirt, open at the neck. Before they had even passed through the front gate, Sarah had breezed out of the front door, shutting it conscientiously behind her. Addressing Sebastien with a sigh, she said - in English, Claire was pleased to note, probably for her benefit - "Mon chou, ah, Maman is here." "Is that so?" He looked calm, but Claire could see an almost indefinable sense of tension rise in him. "Ye-es, but not just Maman." She looked apologetically at him. "Also Papa, Raoul, Gerard, Justine..." She trailed off, as Sebastien raised his eyebrows at her. "And their families. Oh I'm so sorry, mon chou, I didn't expect them all." Sebastien definitely looked irritated. "How did they even find out I was coming here today?" "Welllll, I mentioned it to Justine, but I thought that she would be discreet. Evidently, no. Please forgive me." He sighed heavily, turned to Claire. "Well, adorée, what do you think?" Hmm, adorée, a new pet name? She assumed it meant just what it sounded like, but wondered why he was using it. Perhaps he wanted to keep his usual term of endearment private? How sweet. "I don't know," she ventured, hands going nervously to her hair again. "You look lovely," he said reassuringly. "I will make it up to you, I promise." She bit her lip. "Well, we're already here. Aren't you going to introduce me?" she asked with a little smile. Sebastien relaxed minutely. "Ah, of course. Claire, this is my sister, Sarah. Sarah, my companion, Claire," he said, using the term they had finally agreed upon. Sarah extended her arms, and the two women came in for a brief hug. "I am very pleased to meet you at last. Sebastien has kept your existence a secret for far too long, I think." Claire murmured her agreement, and the three headed inside. She was positively bombarded by people as she was led into the parlor by Sarah. She felt Sebastien take her hand and squeeze it firmly. A parade of people were introduced to her, and she knew she could never remember their names. All she knew for sure was that Annette and Théodore were Sebastien's parents, Raoul and Gerard his older brothers, and Justine his younger sister. Justine was not yet married, but the brothers were, and both, like Sarah, had two young children apiece. Altogether, this meant that there were seventeen people - and two dogs - crammed into the parlor, overflowing into the kitchen. Justine made room for both of them on a sofa, rising and handing "baby Zoé" to a very surprised Claire. She glanced sidewise at Sebastien, wondering if she could possibly communicate her disbelief in a look subtle enough for the others to miss. He gave her a carefully expressionless look in return. The shock wasn't just that there were so many of them, but that they were so... different from what she had imagined. Sebastien was so elegant and restrained, and Sarah had also seemed very sophisticated on the occasions Claire had seen her. Yet, in this small house, there was so much warmth, such closeness. She had expected his family to be quieter, reserved, maybe even cold. She had seen Sebastien relax somewhat and be sweet and affectionate when it was just the two of them, but what kind of person would he be around his family, and could he be that same person with her there? Sarah came over, holding her little one, Valérie, who looked to be about a year old. "Here, say hello to your nièce, mon chou," and dropped her into Sebastien's lap. He blinked at the child, who immediately babbled at him unintelligibly. He smiled broadly, striking up a conversation with her, even tickling her, much to Claire's amazement. It was completely surreal. At last, Sarah had settled herself down on a chair opposite them, and directed her question to Claire. "So, tell us about yourself. What do you do?" Claire glanced at Sebastien, suddenly nervous again. He answered for her. "Ahh, Claire is the soprano soloist at the symphony," he said. The room grew much quieter suddenly. Sarah looked surprised. "Really, is this true? But mon chou, I thought you always said you would never date anyone with the symphony." "I have said so, but-" He cut off, glancing at Claire, who was doing her best not to look uncomfortable. "Mon adorée is someone very special. But, I do not need to tell you. You have come to our performances this last year. Would you not agree?" "Ah! I did not, ah, recognize you, I am afraid. I apologize." Claire smiled demurely, not knowing what to say. "I agree, you have a magnificent talent." "Thank you very much." The afternoon passed much more quickly than Claire had expected, with small talk aplenty, and Sebastien's skillful maneuvering around such questions as whether they were getting serious enough to be talking about marriage and children. She had kept her own thoughts assiduously away from such topics since she and Sebastien had begun their relationship, and she was not about to compromise what they did have. They weren't even in love! ----- The night before they were scheduled to leave Paris, Claire was lounging in Sebastien's antique claw foot tub, covered in mounds of lavender-scented bubbles. "Mon abeille," he said, peering in from around the doorjamb, "it is almost suppertime. I thought we might stay in tonight. Could you come upstairs when you are dressed?" Claire combed her hair back, pulling it back tightly against her head. She dressed in a sexy little slip of a dress that Sebastien had bought her in Paris - against her protestations, and along with a passel of really gorgeous lingerie - green, filmy, clinging. She went out onto the balcony off the bedroom, admiring the balmy atmosphere, the lights coming on as the sun went down. She had not yet been up on the roof in the entire three weeks they had been there, Sebastien always gently discouraging it. When she got to the roof, she was astonished to see that there was a garden on the rooftop, with all sorts of flowering plants and vegetables, plus a bushy herb garden in one corner. Thousands of tiny lights had been strung up everywhere, casting a golden glow over the roof. To one side, a table had been set up with a bottle of wine and their dinner. Sebastien was lounging up against the railing on the edge of the roof, watching the city lights. She walked over to him, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "It is just beautiful up here," she sighed. "Not as lovely as you," he said seriously, brushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead. "But you see why I chose this apartment. When I saw this, I knew it was perfect. Come, shall we eat?" That night, conversation revolved mostly around Sebastien's family, and everything they had done on their trip. Recalling running into other tourists, getting lost in Amsterdam, missing a train. At length, there was a lull in the conversation, and Claire sighed contentedly. A chill was beginning to creep into the air. "Are you happy, mon abeille?" "How could I not be? Here, in Paris, with you. I don't think I have ever been happier." "It is hard for me to believe that I almost did not hire you," he mused, half to himself. "I - wait, what?" she asked, her reverie broken. Sebastien chuckled softly. "Well, you certainly had the most lovely voice out of all those who auditioned, but most had much more experience than you did. I did take a bit of a chance on you, that you could handle the material I would choose, and the performance schedule, the audience." She wanted to be offended, but she did see his point. "I'm glad you hired me, too. There weren't any other positions I wanted. I had already fallen in love with the city, and-" And you, she had been about to say. But it was more like lust at first sight, no, fascination. That was it. "And?" he prompted. "Mmm, nothing." "Shall we go to bed, mon abeille?" She followed him downstairs, sighing as he undressed her. He laid her down on the bed, running his fingertips all over her, waking up her nerve endings and making her shiver. He nibbled on her nipples as they hardened. His fingers worked their way between her legs, where he found that she was already wet for him. He slid two fingers into her, alternating between penetrating her unhurriedly, and swirling them around her most sensitive spots. Claire arched her back, moaning softly as his fingers and tongue worked her up to insanity. She felt the pleasure mounting, loved the way he knew how to make her come so fast. His mouth was on her neck now, biting the skin gently and nipping at her earlobe. She cried out as she came, feeling his fingers inside her. He withdrew his fingers, running them in featherlight circles around her clit, making her writhe. "I could make you come all night long," he said in a low voice. Now she felt his fingers invading her again, but the touches on her clit were firmer, more insistent. She had been coming down from her high, and was vaulted up again, until her hips were jerking against him and she was moaning out again. The fingers sliding over her clit were now pressing in so firmly that she rode the line between pain and pleasure. The sensations stopped, and she opened her eyes to see Sebastien undressing. He knelt on the bed again, taking his cock in his own hand, smearing her juices all over himself. Her eyelids fluttered lazily as she watched him. She was aching to feel him inside her. "Maestro," she murmured. "Yes, adorée?" "Please, would you?" "Would I what?" She blushed a little. She still hated to say it. "Fuck me, Maestro." "Ah, you want to be fucked, mon abeille?" he asked, moving closer to her and dragging the tip of his cock up her inner thigh. The Maestro Ch. 06 She writhed, whimpering. "Yes, Maestro, please." He stroked himself still, and she thrilled to see him doing it. With his other hand, he went back to playing with her so sensitive clit. "Perhaps I wish to see how many times I can make you come before I can no longer stand it." Claire moaned at the image, picturing herself slick with sweat, Sebastien jerking off onto her. "Ahhh yesss," she cried, feeling herself just on the edge of another orgasm. "Then again..." he said, driving his cock into her, enjoying the feel of her pussy squeezing tightly around him, her body shuddering in release. He pulled out of her, gently helping her up onto her hands and knees. He slid into her again, fucking her slowly as he reached around to pull her hands behind her back. She relaxed in his grip, letting her head rest on the coverlet. He held her wrists tightly in one hand, then reached down again to rub her clit in rough circular motions. He fucked her harder now, and she could feel as he bumped into the deepest parts of her. Sparks of pleasure fired off each time he thrust all way into her, and she felt her body tensing up all over. "Come again," he said. "Noooo I can't," she whined softly. "You can. I can feel it. Come for me." He held her tightly as she bucked up against him. He vibrated his fingers against her as quickly as he could, and she cried out into the bed as she writhed, as if to get away from him. But there was no escape. He kept pleasuring her, fucking her as hard as he could, until she was weak from it. She had lost count of the number of times she had come, if indeed it was not just one long, drawn out orgasm. She was glad for the soundproofing, what with the sounds coming out of her mouth, and those of their skin slapping together with the vigor of Sebastien's thrusts. "Ah, mon abeille, where do you want me to come?" he asked, catching her off guard. as she was gasping for air, his fingers blissfully unbusy. Out of her mouth tumbled the truth before she'd had a chance to think about it. "On me, all over me. Please, I want to see you come," she begged. He pulled out of her, giving her a gentle push so that she was again on her back. His cock looked huge to her, reddened and swollen. His hand was giving it long, firm strokes, and his glittering eyes burned into hers. With a little smirk, he set his fingers back on her clit, shaking his hand back and forth. She winced, feeling so sensitive that it was like sparks were being set off between her legs. Sebastien slapped her then, firmly between the legs as she often liked. "Fuuuuck," she moaned, and he slapped her again, over and over. "Oh God, oh God, Maestro, I'm coming!" she cried, fighting to keep her eyes open and on his cock, which began spurting out thick globs of Sebastien's come. It landed hotly on her pussy, her belly, her breasts. The orgasm tore a cry from Sebastien, and Claire saw his thighs tightening to keep him upright. At last, he collapsed forward onto one of his hands, the other swirling his cooling come around one of her nipples. Claire's muscles were too jellied to move, so Sebastien gently cleaned them both up, even attempting to dress Claire in a nightie. He pulled on a pair of pajama pants and collapsed down onto the bed beside her, drawing her in tightly. The lights of the city outside played over his relaxed face, and he smiled contentedly down at her. She glanced up at him with tired eyes, and felt a sudden realization spear through her. She loved him. It was so blindingly clear that she wondered how she could have failed to notice it before. Her heart ached with the desire to tell him everything, but in that instant, she knew she couldn't do that. What they had was good, amazing. He was happy with their relationship, and she couldn't bring herself to complicate things any more than they already were. She could keep this secret. Her eyes blurred a little with tears, and she buried her face in his chest, feeling the hairs tickling her cheek and breathing in the scent that was just... Sebastien. So she loved him, maybe, probably. He didn't have to know. The Maestro Ch. 07 Note: This is the (really, truly) final chapter of the series. It's possible I might write a few stand-alone vignettes, but I have other works to focus on for now. Thanks once more for all the support and feedback I got during this process. It is all so appreciated! ----- Summer was finally making its presence known in the foggy coastal city where Claire was at that moment wading knee-deep in the restless ocean. She had gone out in a little black bikini, glad to have a warmish breeze brushing her bare skin. She hadn't thought about the fact that a variety of different bruises, yellowish-green older ones along with purplish new ones, would be showing - on her thighs, upper arms, wrists and ankles. A few strange stares had come her way before she'd figured out what was bothering people. She had mostly ignored them, wandering out into the water. The ocean had always been her "happy place." Maybe it was the calm, rhythmic way that the foamy waves rushed in and lingered on the sands before draining away. Maybe it was the way that the water could be a bright, sparkling blue and turn to a muted grey-green in a few moments. It had been her favorite vacation spot as a kid, the place she'd driven when she got her very first car to get away from it all, a place she turned to whenever she felt sad or confused. Her life had gotten very complicated as of late. It was August, almost halfway in between the upcoming start of her second season with the symphony and her trip to Paris with Sebastien, her Maestro, her lover, and inexplicably, her friend. She had known him just over a year now, and their relationship had changed so much in that time that it was dizzying to think of it. It was only in the past few weeks that she had realized how deeply she cared for him, in fact that she loved him. Suddenly she was looking at life, at everything, so much more seriously. So instead of just joy and anticipation, when she saw Sebastien, or thought of him, those feelings came along with the heavy burden of the secret she was keeping. And why, she asked herself, was she keeping such a secret, when she knew - or thought she knew - that Sebastien also cared for her? She had met his family, for goodness' sake. Always, she came to the same conclusion. He may have cared for her, but he had never given any indication that he thought of her as a partner, someone to be with long term. She had been pulling away, little by little, since they had returned from Paris. Of course the apartment he had fixed up there was amazing, and beautiful, and the part of her that secretly hoped for more wanted to believe that it was an indication that he meant there to be more between them. Hadn't he said he had bought it, essentially, to bring her to? Well, the more practical part of her would respond, he probably wanted it anyway, or he could always sell it, or use it with another woman in the future, when their sexual attraction had fizzled out and they separated. Still, it didn't seem very likely that it would ever fizzle. For her part, Claire felt that something big, something almost integral to her very person had been awakened by Sebastien. In daily life, she was strong, opinionated, ambitious, passionate about everything she pursued; the very epitome, she sometimes thought, of the modern woman. Yet with this man, as with no one before, she found such great joy - and arousal - in submitting to his every desire (well, almost every desire) and to be punished and pleasured by him. She sometimes tried to picture having a "normal" sexual relationship again, and it just didn't seem like it could ever be as fulfilling. Perhaps she would meet someone who would light the same fires in her as Sebastien could, but she doubted it. Then, too, there was this odd tug-of-war between them. She was not really the pursuer, as she had been in previous relationships with men. Rather, she was certainly the pursued. And yet, it wasn't so simple as that, either. She pulled away from Sebastien, pushed him away from her, resisted him at every turn, challenged and excited him. Even as she was pulling away from him this time, wasn't it just as much for the anticipation of the punishment she would receive as it was because she had felt the need for a little breathing room? Maybe more. She had thought many times about what would happen if they made their relationship really "official." If they seriously dated or even, she hesitated to think, got married, would they still have that same friction? If they did, would it constantly threaten to tear them apart? If they didn't, would they simply become bored or disillusioned, and drift away? It hurt too much to think about. So she sought the solitude of the coast, the companiable bubbling of the waves that didn't ask for anything in return. She trailed her fingertips through the surf, feeling the chill from the waters raising goosebumps on her skin. She wandered aimlessly, thinking of everything, thinking of nothing at all. She spent about an hour there, just walking back and forth. It was the first beach-worthy day in several weeks, summers in that little city typically being blanketed by the chill fog for what in the rest of the country were the three hottest months of the year. As she approached the rocks where she had left her bag and shoes, she involuntarily tensed with the sudden feeling that she was being observed. Claire took a moment to think of how she must look. She cut a petite, somewhat slim figure, her bathing suit covering just enough, her body curved in the right places. Her deep auburn hair was pinned loosely to her head, wispy tendrils giving her a charmingly windswept appearance. Though she had probably looked either pensive or simply relaxed walking in the shallow water, anyone perceptive would have noticed that she was moving more conscientiously. Mocking herself internally, she assumed a pose against the rock that she hoped radiated peaceful indifference, and then turned her head toward the beach. A young man was watching her. He was lounging on the sand, a book forgotten in his hand. She wondered what she would have done if she had been totally single, unattached. Would she have waited for him to come to her? Would she have wandered over to him and introduced herself? Would she have simply gone about her day? Impossible to know. The young man had shifted several times, seeming to be convincing himself to get up, and then think differently of it. His attention shifted to the side as someone passed him, and Claire followed his gaze up to a sight that pierced her heart. Sebastien. She wasn't nearly as surprised as she should have been, but somehow he always seemed to know things about her that she had naively thought were her own private secrets. He was tall, thin, his straight black hair, dark eyes, dark suit making him stand out among the other beachgoers, uniformly shorter, tanner, blonder, more casual. Still, the suit always fit him like a second skin - well-tailored, yes, but it was more than that. He was coming closer, and she noticed that he was actually barefoot. Of course that made sense for the beach, but she still caught her breath. Somehow a barefoot man in a suit was so sexy to her. Or was it just him? She met his eyes, willing her expression not to change to what she was feeling inside, any of the feelings: trepidation, desire, fear, or hot, sweet, passion. His face, too, gave away nothing. She turned her face away, watching the ocean and breathing in slowly to master her heartbeat. Even as she was still processing the sound of sand shifting aside slowly, she felt his hand brush her stomach, which quivered with the touch. She looked at him and before she could speak, his mouth was on hers, hot, wet. She let out a soft sound without meaning to and he crushed his body against hers, pressing her into the rough rocky surface behind her. As they kissed, she tried to think of something to say when their lips parted. Maybe something funny, something sexy, even something sweet and romantic. As he pulled away from her, she felt herself fighting against the urge to sigh. He was so handsome. She twisted her mouth into a sulk instead. "How do you always know where I am?" A smile ghosted around his lips, but his eyes were serious. "Why are you always running off someplace I need to find you, mon abeille?" ----- Rehearsals had started with a vengeance for the symphony, after Claire and Sebastien's vacation to Paris. They were leading the season off with a massive undertaking in the theme of love: sixteenth-century Italian madrigals sung by double choir, and a number of operatic arias with lush orchestration, sung by soloists, sometimes in duos or trios. Claire had eagerly participated in suggesting pieces for the concert, but had lately turned to her music in dread. Once she realized the depths of her feelings for Sebastien, it seemed the absolute height of ridiculousness to be on stage, singing in front of him about love. He was no idiot. Surely he would see through the pleasant facade she put on for singing to the warm depths of feeling underneath. Their eyes might meet, and he would realize the truth, and she would die of humiliation. Luckily, the sheer number of performers meant that she was not put on the spot in every rehearsal. She dutifully showed up to each one, even when her pieces were not even on the schedule. The music really was gorgeous, and she would have been a fool to pass up the opportunity to absorb as much as possible. Some of these songs had not ever been recorded, and to hear them being performed was such a treat. Still, being the soprano meant that she participated in more pieces than any soloist except the tenor, and she was frequently called upon to perform on cue. Some days, she was able to sublimate her discomfort into a convincing show of cheer. Other times, she was driven to distraction by Sebastien's sheer presence, the strange feeling of singing love songs near him, the memory of him inside her, bringing her to orgasm again and again. After one such reverie, she was reprimanded sharply by Sebastien. "Claire! Your attention, please!" "Sorry, Maestro," she murmured demurely, seeing his eyes glint in pleasure. So she was not the only one whose mind wandered to dark places, she thought with warm satisfaction. It was with some measure of relief that she escaped from rehearsal that day. She glanced ruefully at her running shoes, hanging neglected from a hook in her dressing room. It seemed that she had little need of running of excess energy these days. She should have been gaining weight, she supposed, but then the fine trembling in the tautness of her muscles as Sebastien tortured and teased her probably burned plenty of calories. She had just stepped onto the sidewalk outside the symphony hall, when a tall, handsome man encircled her waist with his arm and drew her into an embrace. "René, please, what if they see you?" she protested, referring to the other musicians. "What if they do? It's not as if they know about your affair with the illustrious conductor, do they?" he teased. "Shhh! They don't, but I don't want them asking me any questions either. What are you doing downtown?" "I come to you as the humble servant of the Maestro," he said with a little bow. "He requests your presence in his automobile." Claire followed him, not feeling nearly as reluctant as she thought she should. They walked a block, then around the corner toward the middle of the block, where she saw the town car parked. René held the door open for her, then walked off toward the driver's seat as she stepped inside. Acting swiftly while her back was turned to shut the door, Sebastien grasped her wrists, jerking them together behind her back. She gasped, squirming at the sudden lack of movement. Then, just as quickly, he pulled her around and over his lap. He released her wrists, but she found that they had been tied together. Helpless again. She felt him reaching beneath her lap to undo her pants. "Maestro, what are you doing?" she cried. In response, his hand came down firmly on her backside. "Quiet, Claire. If you cannot use your mouth for singing, or to explain your poor performance, do not use it at all." The harsh tone of his voice, more than his words, silenced her. He sounded disappointed in her. Yet, she thought wryly, he seemed determined to make the best of it. He had finally succeeded in sliding her pants down around her knees, and was running his finger along the lace edge of her thong panties. "At least you've dressed the part," he murmured. Claire flushed, feeling very exposed, even though his windows were tinted. "Please, Maestro, people can see me!" A sharp slap fell upon her left buttock, and she winced in pain. "Very well, René, you may take us home now." The car began to move, and Sebastien gave her another few spanks. "I wanted to administer your punishment while your offenses were still fresh in your mind. However, since I have left my usual implements at home, it seems the personal touch will have to suffice." As he spoke, he struck her slowly, methodically, alternating locations so as to bruise her tender flesh evenly. She whimpered and writhed in his lap, hoping each blow would be the last. Her skin was tingling, and she knew it must already be red. One particularly hard spank brought tears to her eyes. Soon, she was sniffling pathetically into the fabric of the seat as he spanked her. The growing warmth between her legs did nothing to lessen the embarrassment of her situation. She imagined scores of pedestrians gawking at her upturned ass as it received the punishment. Her face was as red as her buttocks when he finally let her up. She was hoping to be released and re-dressed, but soon discovered things would not go her way. Sebastien helped her sit up, but left her hands tied uncomfortably behind her back, now pinned against the seat. He left her pants around her knees. She wiggled her hips, even though she knew it would do no good. "Ah, how careless of me, mon abeille," he said. But instead of helping her with her pants, he slid his fingers between her legs, eliciting a choked moan as he grazed her damp panties. "I know how you get. It's so terribly impolite to leave a lady waiting, don't you think?" He moved her panties aside, sliding one finger up into her. Bolts of pleasure raced through her as his palm slid against her clit. But each time she felt herself coming close to an orgasm, his hand conveniently shifted somewhere less pleasurable until she pulled back from the edge. By the time they had reached the apartment building, Claire was nearly wild with desire and pent-up arousal. René helped her out of the car, sliding her pants abrasively over her still-tender buttocks. She followed them through the lobby, shivering slightly when her pants pressed too tightly into her inflamed center. Upstairs, she was antsy to get up to Sebastien's bedroom, eager for him to finish what he had started. Her breath sped up as the men removed her clothes, pulse quickened as they tied her to the bed. Then they, too, stripped off their clothes, climbing into bed, and she very nearly moaned aloud in anticipation. She was surprised when neither man turned to her, however, instead coming together and kissing deeply. Claire watched in fascination as they stroked each other to hardness, and then collapsed onto the bed to suck each other's cocks. She realized that she had never watched any man give another oral sex, much less two at the same time, and she found it arousing and interesting. When Sebastien's tongue began to explore further down between René's buttocks, Claire was neither surprised nor bothered. His finger slid into René slowly, wiggling back and forth. A muffled moan came from the other end of the bed. Claire watched the finger-fucking with a bit of jealousy, but it was nothing compared to how she felt when René got to his hands and knees, offering himself to Sebastien. Sebastien rolled a condom onto his cock, still slick from René's mouth, and pushed it into the other man, inch by slow inch. His hands caressed René's lower back and buttocks. He leaned forward to murmur something in the other man's ear. Claire felt utterly left out, no more interesting or useful than a piece of furniture. She'd seen them have sex before, of course, many times, but she had always been involved, wanted. For the first time, a hot wash of jealousy rushed over her. It should have been her underneath Sebastien. He had no right to cut her out completely, to make it so obvious that his mind was not on her, even as she sat so close to him. She was angry at him, and angry at herself as her irritation fought with arousal inside her body. Then she thought bitterly, she supposed she knew how he felt during rehearsals, when her mind wandered away from the task on hand, and him. She turned away from Sebastien pounding into René, but couldn't block out the moans. Still, she couldn't watch anymore. It was turning her on, and she loved it, and hated loving it. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, but then turned her head back and opened them. If he could do this to her, she could at least stare sullenly back at him. But it appeared that he had been watching her already. "I think," he said softly, "mon abeille has had more than enough punishment. Have you not?" Claire's pride wanted her to lift her chin, ignore him. But her hurt feelings won out, and she nodded once, slowly. Sebastien slid his sheathed cock out of René, making the other man shiver. He leaned over Claire, loosening her bonds. "I wonder if it is a blessing or a curse to have such a tender spot in my heart for you. I want nothing more than to see you happy." She shifted uncomfortably. She didn't know what to say. She only knew that she ached to be touched, by one of them, by both of them. Then Sebastien pulled her over his lap, tilting her hips back so that both men could enter her. She let out a stilted moan as they did. She felt so full, so complete. She kissed each in turn as they thrust gently inside her. Hands gripped her everywhere; now gripping her buttocks, now drawing slippery circles on her clit. She cried out as she came, tightening around them. Several more thrusts and René was groaning as he emptied himself into her, followed shortly by Sebastien. Claire, sighed, leaning back against René. Sebastien was already stepping off the bed. "After such a long day, I think a shower is in order. Would you care to join me, Claire?" She murmured a dissent, and he pursed his lips. "Still angry with me, mon abeille?" She shook her head, and he disappeared into the bathroom. Claire fell back against the pillows, looking up at René, who was grinning. "What?" "Now that we are alone, I suppose I can have my way with you." She raised an eyebrow, and he laughed. "Why don't you tell him what is bothering you?" he asked, serious now. "I, well, I don't think he would understand. Or maybe I don't think he would be happy to hear it." "I think you underestimate mon frère." "Maybe," she said, unconvinced. "In my experience, it is always better to get the unpleasant thing out of the way so that we can go on with our lives. Besides, you might be surprised." "If you knew what it was, you wouldn't think so," she said. He shrugged, rising to pull his clothes on. "Well, what I am sure of is that you will never know if you do not tell him. Please excuse me, I am sure he will not mind if I left myself out." Then he was gone. Claire pulled the warm blankets around herself, and soon drifted off to sleep. ----- Late Sunday morning, Claire awoke in a tangle of sheets and warm limbs. Extracting herself carefully, she took her hairbrush from the bedside table and ran it through her hair. The soft, shiny waves tumbled down around her naked shoulders as she watched Sebastien in repose, the muted sunlight washing over him through the gauze curtains. There was something so inexplicably sexy about him, the aura of power she sensed even as he slept. Just the knowledge that he could wake up at any moment and force her to fulfill the dark desires they both had was at once terrifying and powerfully arousing. The Maestro Ch. 07 As soon as she'd put the brush down, his hand lazily crept over to her, circling her ankle and pulling her back down into the nest of covers. He pulled her in against his body, still hot from sleep, kissing her deeply. His fingers splayed over her bare breasts, caressing them softly. As his tongue ran over her lips and slipped between them, the long fingers of one hand mirrored it, gently stroking and probing her already wet depths. He nibbled a path down her neck, and she let out a soft sigh. Her stomach clenched in anticipation as he disappeared under the blanket. He held her hips firmly in place with one hand as his tongue replaced his fingers, flicking at her most sensitive spots. She gasped aloud, as much in pleasure as in amazement that no matter how deeply he took her, how much sensation she sometimes bore, just the feeling of his mouth on her could still drive her to such heights. She felt two of his fingers sliding into her, rocking back and forth. It elicited soft, wet noise, simultaneously embarrassing and arousing her further. God, she was always so wet for him. She pushed the blanket back, and his eyes met hers for the first time that morning. "I had to see you," she murmured. The sight of him between her legs made her quiver. The thought of it being her Master there, licking her, finger fucking her, heightened the sensations she felt. Throwing her head back, she gave in to the pleasure, feeling her body tighten around his invading fingers. He nibbled at her gently as she came down, eyes rolled up, watching her, patient. She opened her eyes, half-dazed, and crawled down to him. She kissed him, wanting to taste herself on his lips. Her hand ran down the front of him to cup his cock, already half hard. He rolled onto his back, and she leaned over him, sliding her mouth down over him. She felt his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her head ever so gently. Such control. She loved watching him fight to keep it.Her hand wrapped around his cock in a firm grip as her head bobbed up and down. She swirled her tongue slickly around the tip, as she stroked him with steady, even motions. She felt the tension in his body as he struggled against his release, and abruptly let go of him. The breath left him in a gusty sigh and he sat up, reaching for her again. His eyes roamed her body as she crawled toward him. She swung one leg over him and sank down until he was buried in her pussy. Sebastien gathered her close to him, kissing her lips, her neck, sucking on her nipples even as her breasts bounced against him. His hands squeezed her buttocks firmly, and she let her eyes unfocus, thinking only of her pleasure, and the man whose arms she was in. He was so warm, his scent intoxicating. She felt the prickles of pleasure building again as she rode him. He captured her mouth with his, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her as close as possible as he made love to her mouth. Ah, love. It was like an emotion she'd never felt before that moment, like the newness of eating your favorite food after a long deprivation, rediscovering the deliciousness. Her heart swelled with tenderness for Sebastien, with a sorrow that her words must remain unspoken. She was shaking all over, feeling pleasure washing over her, and she knew she would burst. Sebastien was murmuring to her in French, so sweetly, but the buzzing in Claire's head drowned out everything but "mon abeille," over and over. "Maestro, I...I..." she whispered. The words formed on her lips, but at that moment the dam broke. When it did, it was not tender words that rushed out, but fat teardrops that dripped onto Sebastien's shoulder as she rode the edge of pleasure, startling him. She felt him grow harder inside her, and her knees grew weak. She buried her face in his neck, feeling his pulse, tasting the salt of his skin and her tears. "Mon abeille," he said with concern. "No, please, keep going," she interrupted, sliding off his lap and onto her hands and knees. She sniffed, burying her head in a pillow. Her heart was aching, but she still wanted him, so badly. "Claire, are you all right? Perhaps we should-" "No! Please finish. Please, please," she begged. "But you are crying," he protested. "I'm fine. I want you to," she insisted, her breath hitching unevenly. So he thrust back into her, drawing a moan from the back of her throat. He grasped her waist, fucking her as deeply as he could go. Slipping one hand beneath her, he rubbed her clit firmly with his fingertips. Claire struggled to master her tears, her breathing. She felt the orgasm approaching like a runaway freight train, but it was as if something intangible kept it from barreling into her. It drove her crazy. "Ahh, ahh, I can't, I can't," she moaned. Can't come again, can't say I love you, can't leave you. "Maestro, please..." "What, mon abeille?" "Fuck me," she cried, gasping as he complied with a pace faster than she expected. She could hear their skin slapping together, the sparks of pain and pleasure as he bumped into her as far as he could go. It would never be enough, she thought, she would always want more. Sebastien's thrusting grew erratic, and with a final push forward and a loud exhalation, she felt him shooting his come deeply into her. Then she, too, cried out, fingers grasping desperately at the bedsheets as she shivered violently. Claire realized at once that she had been holding her breath. She felt Sebastien's hands stroking her back as her body calmed. She didn't resist as he pulled her up to face him, but turned her face away. "Don't look at me," she mumbled. He took her chin firmly, turning her head back to look at her squarely. "Enough of that nonsense," he said shortly. "Now, what is wrong?" She looked at him, so serious now in the bright noon sunshine. Her lip trembled. "I can't tell you." "Can't tell me?" he echoed with consternation. "Why ever not?" "I just can't," she said miserably. "Please don't be angry with me." Sebastien sighed. "You know I am not," he said more softly. "But make no mistake," he added in an ominous tone. "You have been acting strangely, and I will find out why, one way or another." At that moment, she had no doubt. ----- It was late August, and now nearly every day was sunny and warm, though it was growing darker and stormier in Claire's heart. She caught Sebastien giving her strange looks. Lovely nights with him grew uncomfortable as the words she longed to say died on her lips, leaving inadequate phrases behind. René, too, shook his head in baffled disapproval, though strangely it seemed equally directed at Sebastien and herself. In the middle of a particularly grueling week of rehearsals, Claire arrived a bit earlier than usual, to find that the auditorium wasn't set up as it generally was. The music stands were clustered in one corner of the stage, and the chairs ranged in a wide semi-circle around the back of the room. In the center of the stage, she saw Sebastien conversing casually with two people she didn't know. What was going on? She leaned against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows, watching them. Sebastien was listening attentively with a charming smile as the woman was talking animatedly to him. Then the man must have made a joke, because all three of them laughed. Claire twirled her hair for a moment, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. The decision was made for her, though, as she suddenly sneezed. It was soft, but loud enough in the echoing room to get everyone's attenion. She shuffled her feet in embarrassment as they all glanced in her direction, but her heart twinged when she saw the warm smile on Sebastien's face. He excused himself to the others, and strode across the stage toward her, deliberately slow, so that she had ample time to watch him and anticipate his touch. All he did was run his finger lightly down her cheek, but the touch - and the look in his eyes - made her shiver. "Mon abeille, I am pleased to see you here today," he said, reminding her that she hadn't been on the day's rehearsal schedule. "We have a surprise today." "What's going on?" "You'll see," was all he would say. When the orchestra was gathered, Sebastien addressed them. "You have all been working very hard on the repertoire for our season opener, and I would like to commend you on it. But I feel as if a little essential something is missing from your performances, something I hope to remedy today. Most people lack a basic bodily awareness of this music, which was, after all, largely intended as music to dance to. So I have invited Scott and Mary, local dance instructors, to teach us all some of the traditional dances of the time period." A wave of sound rose as members of the orchestra murmured to each other. Claire heard one of the cellists exclaim to the bass player sitting beside her in surprise. "This is so cool! I'm pretty sure he's never done anything like this, at least no while I've been with the symphony." "I think you're right. But don't you think he's been acting really weird ever since rehearsals started up again?" "Yeah, I guess so. Almost like he's, I dunno, happier." "Maybe he's getting laid." "Oh, sure, like he ever had a problem with that before." "No, seriously! Maybe he's dating someone." "You don't think we'd know? There's never anyone around." "Hm. Maybe he's dating one of us," said the bass player thoughtfully. Claire stiffened a little, but both women just giggled dismissively after they'd thought about it. "Everyone, quiet please. I know it is a bit unusual, but I think it will help. It had better," he went on in a warning tone, "because I can't fire all of you." Nervous laughter from the musicians at this. Sebastien gestured to the instructors, moving off to the side to lean against the wall and watch. Scott and Mary started up the music recording they'd brought, and demonstrated the dance moves. "It may seem staid and conservative compared to the close-quarters dancing often seen today," Scott was saying, "but remember that for many young people, this might be the closest they'd get to their intended until their wedding night. In a way, even holding someone at arm's length could be considered a kind of foreplay." He wiggled his eyebrows, twirling Mary around the floor and eliciting laughter from the orchestra. Claire stole a look at Sebastien, but he wasn't looking at her. He was watching the dancers with a slightly amused expression on his face. As if he sensed her looking at him, he turned his head, finding her at the back of the group. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she blushed, quickly looking away. "Well, do you think you've seen enough of this one?" called Mary. "Why don't you all get up, find a partner, and we'll try it out!" Claire hung back, not feeling as eager as the others to grab a friendly fellow musician and twirl around with them. She figured that she would just wait to see if there was anyone left without a partner, and then she could pair up with them. But there was no one left. The couples were already ranging in a circle around the stage, just like the ballrooms in movies. She shifted in her chair, wondering if she should stay seated, or get up and move to a place even more out of the way. But Scott, who was walking around and adjusting the starting positions of a few musicians, saw her fidgeting. "Well, that's no good. You've got to have a partner, too!" he exclaimed. "No, really, I'd rather just watch." "Nonsense. Well, Maestro Boulet, how about you?" he asked teasingly. "Yes, Maestro, come on," some of the musicians urged, obviously in a good humor and hoping their conductor was as well. Sebastien pushed himself off the wall, and walked over to her. She swallowed. This would be one of the very few times he had ever voluntarily touched her in front of the orchestra. He bowed slightly before her, holding out his hand. "Mon abeille," he murmured out of earshot of the others, "would you dance with me?" She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as some of the musicians whistled or called out cute comments at them. "Remind me to kill you later, Maestro," she grumbled, placing her hand in his and allowing him to help her up. "Don't overstep, Claire," he said in a low voice. He led her into the center of the circle. "Shouldn't we be with the others?" Claire asked. "Certainly not. Haven't you ever seen dance scenes in films? The stars are always in the center," he said, and she wasn't sure if he was teasing her or not. She frowned up at him. "Besides," she added," I already know how to do this dance, and you can just follow my lead." "Mmm, well aren't you just multi-talented," she mused. "I am glad you see you've noticed," he said with a half-smile. He took her hand in his, setting his other lightly on her waist. Her heart leapt in her chest as he gazed down at her. The music started. Sebastien spun her around easily and the world melted away. Everything narrowed down to the throbbing violins, the feel of his hand on her, the intense gaze in his eyes as he twirled her about. The others were chatting merrily, laughing as they fumbled steps and bumped into each other. But Claire had no words to say. She had been in his arms so many times before, so many ways, and yet it was an entirely new experience. Every fiber of her being wanted to close the gap between them, sink into his body, breathe in his scent. Every step was like a drop filling her heart up until it washed over her, nearly bringing a tear to her eye. They moved so slowly, deliberately, round and round. It really did feel like a dance of seduction. Of promise. She had shifted her eyes downward until she was sure she would not cry. When she looked up again, that shining fullness of heart must have shown. Sebastien let the most tender look fill his face, and her eyelashes fluttered briefly, feeling for all the world as if any moment their lips, their hearts, would meet. Then the music stopped, and the moment was over. Claire reluctantly let her arms drop, and then she suddenly became aware that everyone else had stopped dancing, probably ages ago, and she had Sebastien had been the center of attention. There were a few exchanged glances, a few incredulous looks as Sebastien brought her hand up to his lips. "You have beautiful form, Maestro Boulet," Scott said. "And you two move so well together. That's rare to see the first time two people dance together. It is your first time, is it not? Claire was silent. Was the blush on her cheeks giving her away? She inclined her head slightly toward Sebastien, knowing he would save her from answering. "Claire and I have not danced together before, no," he said, apparently choosing his words carefully. They had danced together, once, but without music it was rather different. "But Maestro and soprano are used to moving together in other ways. Working together to make music is very similar. Claire is excellent at taking my every direction, when she wants to be." It was quite a compliment for Sebastien, Claire thought, and from the looks some of the musicians were giving each other, she was not the only one who did. Sebastien was either oblivious or, more likely, didn't care. "Well, everyone, you are all free to remain here and practice your parts, of course, but I suggest you all take the afternoon off to rest instead." He touched Claire's shoulder, which she took as a sign that she was not free to go, and moved away to speak to Scott and Mary further. Most of the musicians wasted no time in leaving. Sebastien walked the instructors to the stage door, and Claire dawdled, playing a jaunty little tune on the piano as she waited. She heard his soft footsteps and stilled her hands, letting the soft reverberations float into the air. "I had hoped, mon abeille, that you would consent to dance with me once more, this time in private." Her heart turned over as she looked up at him under lowered lashes. "Of course, Maestro, it would be my honor." She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her back to center stage. He tapped the stereo with his shoe, and soft music broke the silence. He took her into his arms again, guiding her smoothly across the floor. She felt more relaxed knowing they were alone, and gave herself over to the music. After many rotations around the stage, she again got the urge to close the arms-length space between them. This time, she did not stop herself. Surprising him, she stepped toward him at a time when she should have stepped away, bumping into him. She rested her head on his chest and gave out a little sigh. Taking his cue from this, he wrapped one arm securely around her back, holding her close. The smell of his cologne was thick around her. The warmth of the room and the spinning made her head fuzzy. So when next Sebastien spoke, at first she was sure she had misheard him. "Hmmm?" she asked vaguely. "I was saying that I believe it might be time to announce our, ah, involvement to the orchestra." Claire pushed back in surprise. "You what?" "Come, surely you can't mean to keep it a secret forever. As careful as we are, we are bound to let something slip now and again. Supposing a musician had forgotten something and surprised us, even as we are now, or worse. We are lucky it has not happened yet. And after this afternoon, surely they are growing suspicious." "What about this afternoon?" "I would have a hard time believing that anyone who saw the look on your face this afternoon could think we are only colleagues." Her face burned with embarrassment. "You should have said something!" she said indignantly. "Oh? You think I should have leaned down and told you to stop enjoying yourself so much? "Maybe," she said uncomfortably. "Plus, you didn't see the look on your own face, so-" "Very well, we are both to blame!" he said in exasperation. "But that does not change the face that it has happened." A bubble of panic began rising in her throat. She couldn't do this. It wasn't what she'd had in mind for this afternoon, or for her life. She was shaking her head slowly, over and over, and backing toward the stage door. Then in a flash, she was gone, footsteps clattering as she ran. Ran away from him, and the truth. He let her go. ----- Late afternoon found Claire perched on a rock at the beach, her knees drawn up to her chin, watching the surf. She didn't particularly want to think about the last words she and Sebastien had had with each other. She wanted to pretend the conversation had never even happened. She was more content to watch the tide roll in and out as the sun sank lower. The footsteps she'd been expecting for the past hour finally crunched up behind her, and she turned to see the young man she'd first noticed days ago. Was it only days ago? It felt like months away. "Hi," he said, a bit awkwardly. "I notice you here a lot, so I thought I would introduce myself. The name's Malcolm." She glanced down at him, brushing stray strands of hair from her forehead. "Pleased to meet you, Malcolm. My name's Claire." They chatted for a few moments about nothing in particular. She learned that Malcolm was a graduate student, and that he came to the beach for a quiet place to study. She listened to him, but her inner voice was marveling at how different their lives were, when they were probably barely different in age. His life seemed so easy, carefree, while hers had taken on a distinctly darker tone. She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, and looked up to see Sebastien leaning up against his car, watching them. Malcolm turned to see what she was looking at, and turned back to her. "Oh, it's that guy. Listen, has he been giving you any trouble? You never seem happy to see him." "Hmm, no, things are just... a little complicated." The Maestro Ch. 07 "Well, who is he? Should I stick around?" "He's...well, I guess you could say he's...my boyfriend." The word sounded foreign to her, so collegiate and casual compared to the truth. But what was right? Lover? Master? Surely not. "Oh!" Malcolm sounded surprised, and Claire supposed she couldn't blame him. "Well, I guess I'd better go. It was nice to meet you, Claire." She nodded vaguely as he picked his way back up to the sand. Claire slid off the other side of the boulder and wandered farther away, climbing over rocks until she'd reached a small, deserted spit of sand. It was a recent discovery for her, and she loved it because it was always empty. Even now, she saw her own track of footprints as the only ones there. Probably when the tide came in, it completely covered the sand, so people stayed away. She didn't care. Secluded and quiet, it was perfect for daydreaming, napping, and generally avoiding conversation with strangers. Of course, she reflected as Sebastien came into view several minutes later, this would be a conversation she could not ignore. Still, she pretended not to notice him, lounging on the warm sand as the gentle breeze played over her bare legs. "So, you thought you could escape me for another afternoon," he said, stepping up beside her. "That's not why I'm here." "Come, I thought we had gotten beyond silly lies," he said reproachfully. "Very well, why are you here, if not to avoid me?" She thought for a moment, still looking out over the ocean instead of at him. "I feel...safe here. I don't know why, but I always have, ever since I was a little girl." "I see," he replied quietly. He sounded pensive. Or was it sad? "Well, I am sorry that you feel the need to escape so often lately. I had thought that you were growing more comfortable with me/" "I am, but..." "But?" he prompted. "I'd say you're a lot more dangerous than safe. It can be very exciting," she admitted, "but it doesn't feel like... like..." She trailed off. "Like home," he murmured above her. She tensed. "Claire, we need to talk." She stood abruptly, intending to walk past him. "I don't have time for this argument," she said, starting to walk away. He grabbed her wrist firmly. "Are we going to argue?" he asked mildly. She pushed away from him in frustration, but found herself overbalanced as they topped to the firm, damp sand. It felt cool beneath her bare skin, and gave softly as she struggled beneath him. Despite her efforts, he pinned her easily, her wrists above her head. She felt the most delicious jolt of pleasure at the knowledge that she was trapped. "Maestro, what are you doing? People might see." "I don't care," he said, pushing aside the top of her bathing suit. "I want you. Right now." She was surprised at the change in his behavior, and melted into his embrace, her nipples hardening instantly in the open air. She felt the bubbling foam of waves as they tickled her toes. The sound of a zipper barely entered her consciousness as Sebastien kissed her neck, her breasts. Then he was pushing aside her bathing suit bottoms and pressing against her, inside her. He swallowed her moan in a kiss, and she watched emotions shift in his brown eyes as he moved inside her. The waves rushed in around them, now grazing her upper thighs. She broke the kiss, tipping her head up to glance at the water. "Maestro, I believe the tide is coming in," she murmured. "So I see," he replied, pulling her up and turning her onto her hands and knees in the damp sand. She stretched her arms back over her head, her dangling breasts just brushing the sand. "We should take care that it does not swallow us," he said, bracing his hands on her hips and plunging into her again, as the surf swelled up over her calves. Claire looked up as he pounded into her, stretching her back as she gazed up at the sheer rock cliff that bounded the beach. The road twisted just on top of the cliff, but they were too close to it for anyone in a car to see them. Still, it was thrilling to know that they could be discovered at any moment. She ducked her head down then, looking between their knees at the foaming waves, chillier now than they had been earlier. Over the water, the hot orange sun was sinking into the horizon, lighting the sky with pretty pinks and purples. A bigger wave swelled, chilling her breasts, belly, and legs in one second. She gasped at the sensation of the sand slipping away below her knees, Sebastien's inexorable thrusting pushing her higher and higher, even as she sunk into the sand. The surf was crashing into them oftener now, and she lifted her head away from the ground. "Mon abeille," he said into her ear, "I'm afraid we cannot stay here much longer." His breathing hitched out unevenly, and she tensed in anticipation. Cursing softly, Sebastien thrust into her deeply once more. The feeling of his come shooting into her sent her over the edge, and she stiffened, shivering all over as she, too, came. Another wave rushed in, this time soaking her hands. They scrambled to get out of the surf, collapsing onto the firmer sand farther up the beach. Claire adjusted her swimsuit, but Sebastien was watching the sunset moodily. Claire touched his shoulder gently, and he turned to her with a half-smile. "Romantic, no?" She looked out at the water swelling serenely, the setting sun painting the sky even more prettily than before. Sex on the beach. Every woman's dream, right? So why was a voice inside her head screaming at her to run, even as her heart trembled? The light touch of his fingertip on her lips made her turn. She had a moment to see the dark look in his eyes before his lips crashed down on hers possessively. Her nipples hardened almost painfully. It was the growing cold, she told herself. But she heard the soft moan that escaped her mouth as Sebastien bit down on her lower lip before pulling back. "You cannot hide from me forever," he said ominously. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Of course not," he replied, sounding a little bitter. "So, you win, we shall keep our little secret." He stood, turning to wrap her in his overcoat. Then he lifted her, carrying her in his arms as he carefully made his way over the rocks and back to his car. She felt warm, cuddled and cozy in his arms, and, surprisingly, safe. She had won. But, strangely, it no longer felt like such a victory. ----- Claire took her place on stage nervously. The entire company - full orchestra, double choir, three other soloists - were there for their first complete rehearsal. After the overture, the next sound anyone would hear would be Claire's voice, floating ethereally above the sparse instrumentation of her first aria. She took a deep breath, launching into it with the blind faith of a singer who must pluck her note from thin air. It was always a bit of a relief having hit the perfect pitch, and then she could relax into her piece. Or, she would have, if not for the subject matter of this particular aria, about a young woman's unrequited love. She sang stiffly, and Sebastien brought the orchestra to a screeching halt after a minute. "No, no, the sound is all wrong," he snapped, clearly frustrated at having to correct something that should have been perfect. "You are not giving yourself to the music. You must feel it. Commit to it!" he ordered. Claire swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Singing words that struck so deeply to her heart's core did not sound like a good time to her, but what choice did she have? She steeled herself, watched Sebastien cue the orchestra, and began again. Each note brought a tiny, piercing pain to her chest as she watched him marking the beat with his baton. Her voice faltered, and he cut them all off again. "Claire, please! Pay attention to what you are doing. Your intonation is a little better, but honestly it's still very weak." Her lip trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. Oh no, not here, not now, not in front of all these people. She took a breath, willing herself calm. "I can't do this," she stammered. Sebastien looked at her curiously, and flipped through a few pages in the stack of pages on his stand. "Very well," he said, sounding irritated, "we can skip it for now and go on to the next piece, but we shall have to come back to it later." He opened his mouth to announce the next piece, but Claire interrupted him to speak, the first of her tears spilling down her cheeks. "No, no, I can't do any of this!" she exclaimed. She was breathing fast now, very close to breaking down. She shook her head and went offstage at a fast clip, but not, she noticed with relief, running. Her stomach dropped. It wasn't like her to break down in public like this, and it could cost her everything. She ducked into her dressing room and grabbed her bag. She thought of him out there, going on as if nothing had happened - which, she reflected, is probably what he should do - and her breath hitched in a sob. She opened her dressing room door to leave, and saw Sebastien in her doorway. Before he could say anything, she slammed the door in his face, startled. He opened the door and strode in, looking very much like he was restraining himself from doing something that he would regret. He spoke in a low voice. "Where do you think you are going?" "I have to go. I can't do this, be here." "Why not?" "I can't tell you. I have to go." She attempted to push past him, already knowing it wouldn't work. He grabbed her upper arm firmly, and a little tremor ran through her. "No, you will come with me," he said, marching her down the hall. It was deserted. He brought her to his office, pushing her down firmly onto one of the chairs. "You will stay here until rehearsal has come to an end, and then you will talk to me." There was no arguing with his tone, and she set her jaw as he shut the door, locking it behind him. She wiped her tears away furiously and leapt up from the chair. He must have known she wouldn't stay put, she thought. She tried the doorknob, and found that he had locked it from the outside. She hadn't even known he could do that. She jiggled the door, but to no avail. She paced his office, pissed now. How dare he lock her in his office and tell her to wait, as if she was an errant child? She had to, had to... do something. She cast her eyes around, and saw the little window, near the ceiling. She bit her lip. It looked big enough. Was it worth whatever he would do to her? Yes. She dragged the chair over to the window and popped open the latch, tilting the glass out. She sucked in a breath and squeezed through the opening, looking to see how far she was from the ground. She was on the ground floor, and the drop wasn't too bad. Moments later, she was striding away from the symphony hall, pleased with herself. ----- She didn't go home. Why would she, when he knew where she lived? Of course, she couldn't avoid him forever, unless she wanted to leave town now, quit, hire someone to come pick up her things. The fact that it even tempted her was pretty sad. She opted to go to a little cafe, studying her music and picking at a salad until a few hours had passed. Seemed pretty safe. Of course, he could always be waiting for her at home, but she might as well find out sooner rather than later. Claire was actually surprised when she didn't see him outside of her apartment building. Still, she remained cautious inside until she stepped off the elevator at her floor and made her way around to her front door. Not there. She glanced suspiciously at her door. Could he get inside? Probably. Her heart sped up as she unlocked the door. She shut it behind her with a little click, and did a quick walkthrough. He wasn't there. She should have felt relieved, but instead she was filled with dread. She just knew he was somewhere, plotting his revenge. She was on edge all night, but Sebastien never made contact. The symphony had scheduled rehearsals for the following two days, but Claire just couldn't force herself to go and sing love songs to him. She expected furious calls at any minute, but there was silence. Sebastien didn't call, and neither did any of the musicians. Perhaps he was finding a last-minute replacement for her? The thought hurt, but what could she do about it? She couldn't expect him to cripple the entire performance because she was having a personal problem. Still, the anticipation of hearing from him ate away at her. Every minute, she envisioned worse punishments, more humiliation and pain. On the third day after she had walked out on him, she couldn't stand it anymore. She picked up the phone, and dialed. "Allo?" drawled a familiar voice. "Hello, it's me." "Ahhhh, cherie, I wondered if I would hear from you," René said, amusement evident in his voice. Claire signed softly. "Is he very angry?" "Angry is not quite the right word," he said thoughtfully. Her heart leapt hopefully before he added, "Livid would be more like it." "Shit," she said with feeling. "What should I do?" she asked, more to herself than to René. "Would you like my advice?" "Okay." "Beg his forgiveness, take your punishment, and then tell him how you feel." "How I feel about what?" "That could not have been a serious question!" he said scornfully. "Tell him you love him!" "How did you know?" she asked in a small voice. She heard an explosion of sound from his end of the phone, and he spoke incredulously. "That's a stupid question. I'm surprised your entire orchestra does not know! You two must be better actors than I thought." "I could never tell him." A long sigh. "Do not tell me that you think he does not know." "Well, he's never said-" Another loud sound interrupted her, and she could see René in her mind's eye, rolling his eyes at her. "Of course not! You're obviously uncomfortable with the subject. He pushes you in every other way. You have met his family, for goodness' sake, and when no declaration of love was forthcoming in Paris, well, what do you expect? Do you want the man to humiliate himself for you?" She swallowed, processing René's outburst. "Would it be so hard for him to say it first, then?" she asked derisively. The long silence that greeted her ears was eloquent. If it was so easy to say it, why hadn't she? "Fine, I get your point. But I just can't tell him. He's been pretty clear about this being just for fun. It seems unfair to spring feelings like this on him." Another sigh from René. "Has he told you that he loves me?" Another long silence. "Not exactly." "Did he say that he wants me to tell him that I love him?" "He... has indicated that he believes you are hiding something from him, but that is all." "See? Wouldn't he tell you if he loved me?" "Perhaps," he replied, very quietly. "He does not tell me everything, you know. Well, do as you wish, then. I know that he is at home. I can see him pacing over there." The phone clicked in her ear as René hung up on her. Great. Now neither of them were happy with her. Oh well, she couldn't please everyone. She could always call Sebastien, but frankly, she wasn't confident that he would pick up. She changed out of her pajamas and tousled her hair, making sure she was presentable. Might as well take the few extra minutes to look nice. After a moment's hesitation, she buckled her ruby red cuffs around her wrists. Just that simple feeling made her grow warmer, softer. Such a curse. ----- Claire hopped out of the cab in front of Sebastien's apartment building. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the tall figure leaning up against the wall. "What are you doing here?" she asked warily. "I thought you might want an escort," René replied cheerfully. "He's in a very nasty mood." "Fine," she said, turning her back on him as she went into the building. He inclined his head, following her. They didn't speak in the elevator, and he didn't rush her on the walk to Sebastien's door. She knocked timidly. "Well?" came a clipped voice on the other side of the door. "Maestro, it's me," she said, trembling a little. The door swung open immediately, and the force of his hot glare made her take a step back. She lifted her hand to run her fingers through her hair, and watched his eyes track the movement, probably noticing that she was wearing the cuffs he gave her. "Now I am your Maestro, after-" He broke off, narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing here?" Claire opened her mouth to answer, but heard René speak from behind her. She had almost forgotten he was there. "I thought she could use an escort," he said softly. "You called him?" Sebastien directed this toward Claire. She winced. "I didn't think you would pick up if I called." "But you did not try?" What was this? Was that hurt she saw shadowed in his eyes? He firmed his jaw, eyes flicking from one to the other. "Well, what do you want?" "I - can we do this inside? It's kind of private." Sebastien arched an eyebrow, staring pointedly at her. Ah, René, right. "Well, I didn't..." she mumbled, trailing off. Sebastien pursed his lips, then stepped out of the doorway slightly, to let her in. "Not you," he said as René moved to follow her. "Oh no, this is between Claire and I." He brought his arm up to block the doorway casually. René looked in at Claire. She lifted one shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. She wasn't calling the shots anymore. His eyes slid back to Sebastien, and he asked something softly in French. Sebastien responded dismissively, and René's eyebrows lifted. He replied lightly, and Sebastien nodded, lifting his arm and walking back into the room. René leaned in to Claire, brushing his lips against her cheek. He touched her shoulder lightly and smiled enigmatically. "Au revoir," he said, backing out and going down the hallway. She watched after him. His goodbye had sounded very final. Treipdation began prickling in her chest. Sebastien shut the door, locked it. He turned to look at her, studying her face. They were alone. Her mouth went dry, and she felt her knees quiver. She felt terrified suddenly, but of what, she did not know. "Please, make yourself at home," he said, gesturing to the sofa. She perched on it gingerly, and she almost didn't hear his next question over the beating of her heart. "Why did you come?" "I-I-I wanted to see you," she faltered, licking her lips nervously. He seemed to be thinking, trying to decide something. At last, he knelt down in front of her, putting them eye-to-eye. "Claire. Are you pregnant?" Her eyes popped open, the question coming as a complete surprise. She laughed reflexively, a move she automatically regretted. "Oh, my gosh, no! Is that what you thought?" His face closed down, and he stood up abruptly. His hands clutched into fists, and she flinched, though he had never struck her in any way not meant to please. "I-I'm sorry, that was a completely reasonable question," she said. "But no." He glowered down at her, waves of hot anger pouring off him. "Very well. Would you like to tell me what has been distracting you?" "I... I can't," she managed. "Then why did you come?" She cast her eyes down to the carpet. It was a good question. "To apologize for running out on rehearsal the other day. To... to beg your forgiveness, and ask if you will punish me for it," she said, carefully avoiding admitting that she wanted the punishment. Badly. The corners of his mouth softened slightly. "I see. Come with me." ----- She had done it again, Claire thought ruefully as she followed Sebastien, vibrating with barely repressed anger, up into his bedroom. He pointed to his bed, and she timidly sat on the foot of it, watching him with nervous eyes. He walked to the wall where his closet, and yanked open the mysterious door next to it. Hooks on the walls of the tiny room inside were hung with some interesting-looking implements - she spotted the Stinger looking innocuous among other similar devices - but her eyes were all for the thing that Sebastien was dragging out into the middle of the floor. The Maestro Ch. 07 It had four legs, a flat top, and a smaller platform about halfway to the floor, with sturdy-looking hooks and loops in various places. She didn't even have to wonder - she knew what this was: a whipping bench. She had supposed it would only be a matter of time before she was strapped down to one, so much better suited to the purpose than was the bed, and with better angles for whipping than the upright rack Sebastien had used before (which, she had since found out, was really a heavy-duty easel - yes, really - he had bought, not yet knowing where to procure the "real" thing). "Are you going to tell me what is the matter with you, Claire?" he asked acidly. She rolled her eyes up to look at him where he had come to stand, towering over her. She swallowed, but shook her head. "Then I am going to strap you down and beat it out of you. This is your one chance to tell me. If you leave, I will not stop you, but you will not come back. Otherwise, you are not getting up from there until I get the truth from you." She licked her lips nervously. Time to make a decision at last, she thought. Did she really believe that he would not let her up from the bench until she confessed all that was in her heart? No, perhaps not. But she would be willing to bet that her resolve would break long before she would be injured enough to stop, and even longer before his patience would run out. So. She could tell him now, or she could tell him later. Either way, she would probably have to tell him. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Perhaps courage would come from pain. She held out her wrists, the red leather cuffs softening from wear and the D-rings scuffed from use. Was that a glint in Sebastien's eyes? Was this what he had hoped for all along? He grasped her hands, pulling her up to her feet. He undressed her slowly, carefully, folding each article of clothing and setting it aside. With each fold, the anticipation in her chest grew stronger and her breaths shallower. When she was naked, save for the cuffs, he led her to the bench. She knew what to do. She knelt on the lower platform, bending at the waist to lie stomach-down along the top of the bench. Sebastien deftly tied her wrists and ankles in place, then stood, admiring her. "This is your last chance," he said firmly. "Will you tell me?" When she remained silent, he clucked his tongue in disapproval, and went to retrieve the Stinger, along with a paddle and what looked a lot like a bullwhip. He laid them neatly on the side table she was facing, a reminder. He then knelt next to her, running his hand softly up and down her back, and kissed her softly. "Tell me when you are ready to speak. Je t'adore, mon abeille." She nodded, and he disappeared from her sight. Almost immediately, she felt a sharp slap of pain on her buttocks. Apparently, there would be no warming up first. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pressed her lips together firmly, trying not to cry out. Soon, soon the pain would begin to fold into pleasure as the warmth spread over her back, her buttocks, between her legs. But at first, there was only pain. She whimpered mutely as her back sang with stinging pain. Her head felt like it was floating as the nerves on her backside ceased to tingle and instead began to feel numb. As soon as her head fell forward limply, Sebastien stopped, running his hands over her body. This simple touch felt magnified, and she writhed beneath him. Her skin was soothed when his palms touched her, but as soon as they had passed over one section, it burst into fiery pins and needles. All at once she realized how very exposed she was, how very helpless. She tried to move her limbs, and found each fastened tightly. Delicious. Sebastien appeared in front of her, looking down at her questioningly. She only stared back. He dropped the Stinger back onto the table, and picked up the paddle. He disappeared from view again, only to make his presence quite evident with the thudding strokes of the paddle on her ass. Each felt firm, hard, as if she was having a softball repeatedly thrown into her flesh. One particularly hard stroke jolted the entire bench forward a half-inch or so, and forced a cry out of Claire, as she wondered how big her bruise would be. He kept the paddle only to her buttocks and upper thighs, but it was enough. An ache began to form, creeping out from where he aimed his blows. It was at this point that she noticed another very different ache growing between her legs. Ahh, finally, respite from the pain in the pleasurable shivers that would accompany each swat. When she began to moan, so softly, Sebastien stopped again. He walked around to the front, cocking his head to the side questioningly. Again, she said nothing. He set the paddle down on the table, and picked up the whip, brandishing it menacingly and stroking its length. "I think you are enjoying yourself too much, mon abeille. I will never learn anything from you this way." So saying, he cracked the whip. She heard the whoosh of air, the loud snapping sound of the whip, and jolted, startled. The next crack brought with it a searing pain across her buttocks as the whip made contact. Sebastien whipped her slowly, giving at least ten or fifteen seconds between blows for her writhing to stop. She imagined that her burgeoning arousal would die down, but to her surprise, the bench between her legs felt soaked with her moisture. The whip roamed her entire backside, from shoulders to ankles. He had never covered so much of her body in one session, and she felt on fire everywhere with a tingling sensation of pain mixed with pleasure. She didn't know how much longer she could stand it. But she still felt her heart behind a wall of fear. Blissfully, this new torture, too, ended. Again, Sebastien's hands slid over her wounded flesh, caressing, drawing out new pleasures, but also new pain. He laid his cheek gently on her left buttock, and she felt how very cool it was compared to her skin. He pressed kisses into her wherever the whip had touched, and eventually her skin was alive with tingling and a dull ache that had spread everywhere. He set the whip aside and looked down at her once more, sighing softly. "Very well, you must still be too comfortable." He came around and untied her ankles, helping her to place her feet on the ground, rather than resting with her knees on the platform. The bench was just high enough that she would have to stand on her tiptoes in order to brace herself on the ground. He retied her ankles, and she reflected that it certainly was less comfortable. It was an awkward position, and she supposed that was the point. He snatched the Stinger up from the table and stalked around her, striking her with more force than before. Bolts of pleasure shot directly to her pussy, and she ground it gently into the bench. The blows made the tears in her eyes spill over down her cheeks. "Mon abeille, what are you hiding from me?" Thwack! "What is wrong?" Thwack! "Are you leaving the symphony?" Thwack! Then, softer, "Are you leaving me?" Thwack! "Is there someone else?" Claire was startled to hear the things Sebastien was asking her. So, had he been worried all this time that she was on the verge of leaving him for someone else? The words wanted to burst out of her, but she could only imagine the worst possible outcome of telling him. He would tell her that it was all just a game, and she was being a silly little girl. This was her greatest fear, she admitted to herself. The pressure, the pain, the pleasure, the fear of disappointing Sebastien, the despair that she had already caused him pain. The tears flowed freely from her now, as freely as Sebastien's arm continued to swing. "Why won't you tell me?" he asked, his voice sounding desolate. "Sebastien, please!" she cried. It was their signal, his name. He knew she was at her limit. The blows stopped immediately, and she heard the Stinger drop to the floor. He appeared in front of her again, and he looked so... so sad, tunneling his fingers through his hair. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but her arms were immobilized against the bench. "Mon abeille?" he asked, very softly. She struggled to control her breath in the sudden lack of sensation. After a moment of slow breathing, she felt the tears stopping. She looked up at him underneath drenched lashes. "I... I... I love you." Sebastien said nothing. He was standing very still. Claire sniffed. "Is that... is that what you wanted to hear?" She tried to make it sound scathing, but it sounded only beseeching. "I love you." He dropped to his knees suddenly, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "Ah, mon abeille, it is what I wanted to hear very much, have hoped to hear for a long time. I confess," he said, touching his heart, "I was afraid that you would never say it. Afraid you did not feel it." He brushed his lips against hers, the barest touch. "I love you, too. Did you not know?" She looked down at the floor. She had not even dared to hope it, but if she was honest with herself, she could admit that she had at least suspected as much."Stupid, I'm so stupid," she moaned softly. "No, no, never stupid," he said, peppering her damp face with kisses as he untied her. He helped her off the bench, as she stood, unsure she could keep her feet underneath her. When her knees trembled, he lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. His shirt was damp with sweat. She writhed when she felt the covers, cool against her reddened skin. "Ah, have I hurt you, mon abeille?" Claire looked up at him with an expression of utter bafflement that made him laugh softly. "But of course, I believe I've lost my mind," he said, shaking his head. "But what I meant to ask is if you could, that is, if you still wanted to..." Was Sebastien actually flustered? Claire blinked in amazement, pushing herself up to come face-to-face with him. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his with a smile. "Sebastien, are you giving up on being the master so easily?" she teased. He didn't seem to know how to respond. So she slid off the bed, arching an eyebrow at him. "Well, if you're not going to maintain control of the situation, I don't see any reason to stay." She made to walk away, anticipating that he would grab hold of her wrist. She was not disappointed. "I think not." She pulled her arm away from him, tossing a cheeky smile over her shoulder. "I would not walk out of the room, if I were you," he said darkly. Claire only gave a shrug with one shoulder and opened the door, walking out into the hallway. So, she thought, the games would start already. She made it to the living room, and was just beginning to wonder what she would do if he did not come back downstairs, when the bedroom door slammed. She leaned casually against the arm of the sofa and looked toward the balcony, where Sebastien presently appeared, wearing only his slacks, which had already been unbuttoned. She caught her breath, not just at his appearance, but at the glare he had on his face. He strode over to her, gripping her upper arms firmly. "Did you not get enough before, Claire?" "I never get enough of you, Maestro," she said with a little smile. The corner of his mouth quirked up before he could stop it, but he still pushed her down firmly to her knees, jarring her a little. He knelt down to tie her wrists together, and then looped the soft rope he was using around her ankles as well. The constant tension in her shoulders eased a bit as she waited patiently. He spread her knees wide, which left her balanced, but with an ache in her thighs. He opened his pants, pulling out his cock, already hard and waiting for her. Bracing his hands on the back of her head, he thrust his hips forward, pushing himself into her mouth. At that moment, she did feel as though she was rocking unsteadily on her knees, but she pushed the thought away to focus on the task at hand. She kept jerking her arms unconsciously, forgetting they would not come free to help her. So she moved her head back and forth with a little difficulty, running her tongue over the hard length of him in her mouth. Her thighs were increasingly damp with her wetness. She felt him get even harder as he bumped against the back of her throat before he pulled out of her mouth reluctantly. Sebastien pulled the ties from her ankles, pushing her back onto the soft carpet. She winced, still tender from the whipping, so he pulled her up to straddle him instead as he lay back, watching her. She held her breath as she sunk down onto him, blowing it out when her hips rested against his. She rode him steadily, her arms still clasped behind her back. Sebastien's hands went up to play lazily with her bouncing breasts. "You are so lovely, mon abeille, my Claire," he said. "Th-thank you, Maestro." She watched Sebastien beneath her, eyes darkening as his pleasure grew. When she sensed that he was close to coming, she slowed her pace, lifting as far off of him as she could and sliding, ever so slowly, back down. In frustration, he grasped her hips to try and force her back down. "Ow, ow!" she exclaimed, as his fingertips dug painfully into her buttocks. He withdrew his hands at once, and Claire resumed riding him as before. The next time she felt him tense below her, she did as before, raising up off him. Again he went to grab her, and again her noises of pain warned him off. Several more times she played this teasing game, until Sebastien's upper body shone with a thin sheen of sweat, and he was glaring openly at her. "Giving the Master a taste of his own medicine, I see," he murmured, frowning. Her eyes grew bright with merriment and she bit her lips so that she wouldn't laugh. "Well, I think we've had enough of this," he said, flipping her over and this time ignoring her grimace. He thrust into her, hard and a little painfully. She cried out as he filled her, bumping into her as far as he could go and feeling so big inside her. This time he was merciless, fucking her as fast as he was able. Before she even anticipated it, she was coming, hips rising to meet his thrusts as she tightened around him. Her whole body shivered as he continued pumping into her, nerves still tense and waiting for another release. "Yes, yes, mon abeille. Come for me again," he urged. She flicked her eyes up, watching him watch her, and felt herself tumbling over the edge once more, as he had commanded. He jerked his hips several more times, at last giving a final thrust as he emptied himself into her. She writhed below him, feeling the jets of his come filling her. Her shoulders ached, her back burned, and her pussy was already beginning to feel sore, but her heart was light. "Mon abeille, adoree, I love you so." ----- Rustling and a few stray coughs filled the auditorium as symphony-goers settled in their seats for the symphony's second opening season with Claire as their star soprano. As she smoothed down her dress and her hair for the thousandth time that night, she couldn't help but think of Sebastien. For it was opening night the previous year that she had stumbled upon him playing Moonlight Sonata, a piece that had become, essentially, their song. It was the night that had finally brought home to her the deep attraction she felt for her conductor, and the first bare hints that he might have thought of her, too. A knock on the door brought her away from those thoughts, and she opened it to find Sebastien in her doorway. He held a single yellow rose, probably drawn from the bouquet he'd given her that morning. She blushed, remembering the way he'd teased her with one of the blooms, drawing it over her hard nipples and other places. He smiled softly, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. She took the flower and, checking to see that the hallway was empty, rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Well, mon abeille, are you ready?" "I think so. Don't you ever get nervous?" "Not really. But then I am really only there waving a baton around, don't you think? I haven't got to hit any notes at all," he teased. She set the rose aside, and took his offered arm, letting him lead her to the stage. The room exploded in thunderous applause at their appearance, and she took her place at the front of the stage, between Maestro and orchestra. He looked up at her, smiling a secretive smile with those dark eyes that hinted of so much more. Things would never be the same as they had been before that first night they made music together. They could only get so much better.