The Maestro

Sebastien leant down, his lips barely brushing her ear. "Why, mon abeille, I believe you enjoy angering me," he said. She shook her head. "But, you are certainly enjoying your punishment." She shook her head even more vigorously. Then she felt something violating her, pushing up inside her. It withdrew, and Sebastien was holding his baton with his handle in front of her face. It was shiny, smeared thickly with her wetness. "Do not deny what it so obvious, Claire. How interesting," he mused, rolling the handle around in his mouth.

She felt the sharp, stinging swats again, realizing he must have been using his baton. This time, though, the stings were much more intense, radiating out over her tender skin. It tingled intensely, shooting sharp arrows of pleasure straight to her pussy now, and there was nothing she could do to deny, at least to herself, that as much as it hurt - and it did hurt! - it also felt amazingly good. She heard herself let out a soft moan, and froze. Sebastien increased his pace, and she wriggled her hips, seeking relief from both pain and pleasure. The sensations built, and she felt moisture sliding down her inner thighs. As the pleasure built, she rocked her hips slightly against the back of the chair, but it was the wrong angle to help her over the edge. She couldn't help whimpering in frustration.

Sebastien infuriating laughter rumbled out behind her, and she felt him slide two fingers up into her. She tightened at the invasion. "You are so wet, mon abeille. Do you want to come?"

She nodded miserably, and he ran his thumb firmly over her clit. "Then come for me, Claire." She did, tears running down her cheeks. "Very good, good girl," he murmured, barely audible. The smacking stopped, and he withdrew his fingers. She felt the bonds on her wrists being loosened, heard the door opening, and a draft across her sore skin. "Clean yourself up, and get out of my office." The door shut behind him. She was alone.

-----

Claire hadn't wanted to go back to rehearsal after that. She wanted to hide in her apartment and never come out. But she feared worse from Sebastien. When she showed up the following week, she was relieved to find that he was treating her exactly as normal. That is to say, he was mostly ignoring her. In the rehearsals that followed, this was at first wonderful. As time went on, she found herself growing strangely resentful that he wasn't paying her more attention. She supposed she was hardly the first person he had disciplined in such a manner, and it embarrassed her to no end to think that she was pining away for this attention. She didn't understand what she was feeling.

She was losing sleep over it. When she yawned all through one rehearsal, she got warning looks from Sebastien. As she packed up her things to go back home, she was surprised when he leant over and murmured that she ought to be going to bed earlier, and what a shame it would be to have her sleep in and come late to another rehearsal. She had blushed brightly, but that night she had wondered, was that a signal? Did he WANT her to come late so he could punish her again? Had he enjoyed it as she did? Well, she was sick of being ignored.

The following week, she deliberately set her alarm late. She didn't hurry down to the symphony hall, and when she sauntered in, over an hour late, she saw a few pairs of eyes slide her way. She went to her spot on the stage, and Sebastien flicked his eyes toward her. Such a small gesture held so much heat, such promise, or so it seemed. When he didn't stop the music or reprimand her, eyes widened, glances were exchanged, possibly even a mouth or two dropped open in the orchestra. Her heart hammered away in her chest throughout the rest of the rehearsal, and though her voice faltered once or twice, she was not criticized. Rehearsal ended, and she noticed some of the orchestra members seemed to be dawdling. She herself did not hurry in packing up her things. At first, Sebastien still said nothing.

Then, "Claire. A word." She looked at him, and he inclined his head slightly toward the direction of his office. As she left the hall, she heard him say pointedly to the stragglers that he would see them next week. She let herself into his office, and glanced around. She blushed at the sight of the chair upon which she had been disciplined, but perched on the edge of it gingerly. She had broken out into a cold sweat.

Sebastien entered. Claire stood, but her knees had turned to jelly, and she ungracefully dropped back into the chair. He looked down at her derisively, and she felt a little tingle run up her spine. She could not help shivering all over.

"You sang poorly today. You were late." Claire said nothing. "I thought that you had learned from last time. Perhaps you had too much fun?" She stayed silent, but flushed. Sebastien sighed irritably, paced in front of her. "I will have to punish you again, but..." he trailed off, eyeing her. She must have perked up too much at the mention. She tried to look sober rather than anticipatory. She must have failed. He grabbed her firmly by the upper arms. A small noise escaped her throat, and he shook her slightly. "Listen to me. I will not tolerate tardiness from you. If you think that by coming late, you will be able to get what you want, you are wrong. I should send you home straightaway. It shows obscenely poor judgment on your part to think that you should handicap our performance as an orchestra just to get spanked. You were not supposed to enjoy yourself."

"Then why did you... why did you..." she started angrily.

"Make you come?" he finished smoothly. "Because I could. Perhaps because I wanted to." He resumed pacing, running his fingers restlessly through his hair. She sat very still, waiting. Suddenly, he dragged her off the chair, and sat in it himself, pulling her roughly over his lap. "You should not put me in this position!" he said, furious. "If you want this, you must be perfect from now on. Will you obey me in all things, without question?"

"Yes, Maestro." She was afraid. Afraid of getting what she thought she wanted, afraid of his anger, afraid of getting in too deep. But over all of that was her lust - her desire for Sebastien and everything he represented to her.

He twisted her arms painfully behind her back, and flipped up her skirt with his other hand. Without preliminaries, he began smacking her buttocks with his firm open palm. It hurt. She struggled on his lap.

"You have been bad, very bad," he said through gritted teeth. He spanked harder. It hurt, but now it felt so, so good. She writhed on his lap, moaning aloud. "I am going to release your wrists, but you are to keep them exactly where they are. If you move them, I'll stop this right now and send you home." He used his now free hand to slip between them, directly into her panties. He pressed his fingers against her, sliding on either side of her clit. "You are already soaking wet, mon abeille," he said blandly.

Claire moaned loudly. "Ah, but you are not to come until I give you permission. Do you understand?"

"Yessssss," she hissed out, clenching her fists behind her back. She was having trouble thinking with Sebastien vibrating his fingers beneath her and pounding her ass with his palm.

"If you want it," he said softly, "ask me for it."

"Maestro, please, can I come? I want to, let me come," she whimpered.

"I don't think so."

"Ahhhh... please? Pleeeeease?" She tried to shift her hips away from his hands, but he stopped spanking her, holding her hips down against him. He slid two fingers into her, and fucked her roughly. "Please, please," she shrieked, feeling desperately close to releasing.

"No. Don't you dare."

She couldn't wiggle away from his probing fingers, and tried taking deep, calming breaths. But with each inhale, the pleasure built and built, until she was wailing, pussy clamping down on him. He pulled his fingers out and resumed spanking her, vaulting her into an even more intense orgasm with each vibrating smack. When she had finally stopped shuddering, he reached around under her shirt to pinch her nipples with his sticky fingers.

"Ah, you bad girl. How dare you disobey me," he said, not sounding nearly displeased enough. He shoved her down to the floor, and yanked her up to a kneeling position. He stood, and undid his pants. Her heart was already pounding strongly, and she licked her lips nervously. He pulled his hard cock out, but she barely had time to look at it before he had gripped her hair firmly and shoved it into her mouth. She felt it slam into the back of her throat as her nose bumped against his abdomen. She felt him hiss out above her and then he continued fucking her throat. She gagged a little, and he pulled back for a moment. When she looked up at him, he glared down at her, and pushed her head down until she averted her eyes. Without warning, he thrust all the way into her mouth, grunting loudly as he spurted his seed down her throat.

As quickly as he had started, he tucked his cock back into his pants, and looked furiously down at her, swallowing and wiping her mouth. "Get out." She looked up at him, blinking. "Get out!" he yelled, and she scrambled for the door.

-----

Claire felt uneasy. It was the evening of the symphony's last concert of the year, and Sebastien had spent the past six weeks barely saying a word to her. She showed up on time for every rehearsal, studied in most of her hours at home, performed several other concerts to rousing applause, and was in all ways beyond reproach, so he had no reason to reprimand her. But neither had he paid her another compliment. She had about given up on getting any kind of attention from him at all, and had taken up with a young man in her building named Todd. He was cute, funny, and had a good job. He was also an excellent kisser, but they hadn't gone any further, because Claire simply didn't feel the burning passion she had with Sebastien.

Still, she certainly didn't see that going anywhere. Todd had accompanied her to the symphony hall that evening, and pulled her into a passionate embrace in the hallway outside of her dressing room. He wasn't staying for the performance, but whispered to her that he would see her later. When he left, she watched after him, giving a rueful sigh. She really wished she wanted to jump his bones. When she turned around, she saw Sebastien standing at the other end of the hallway, an inscrutable expression on his face. He stared so long that the blood rushed to her face and bloomed in a full blush. She gave him an enigmatic smile and disappeared into her dressing room.

The concert that night would be described in the papers afterward as "electrifying," and no one felt it more than she, herself had, Claire felt. From the moment the music started, she felt that Sebastien had driven them all inexorably forward. The tempo, the dynamics, all were dramatically more pronounced than usual. During her solo at the end of the evening, she was the sole subject of his attention. His eyes bored into her, his hands directing her voice, and she felt them almost connected by shimmering threads of energy. She felt herself shivering at the abyss, and feared he would not hesitate to drive her over. Her body grew hot. Just as she felt she could no longer go on, the aria ended. The lights went up, and she gulped down air, chest heaving. Sebastien's eyes lingered on her rather longer than usual, and a sly little smile crept over his features before he turned to bow and accept his applause.

When Claire stepped up to bow, she nearly stumbled and Sebastien caught her hand in his. She was not surprised to find that his palm was very warm and slightly damp. When she tried to pull away, his grip only tightened. They left the stage together, and in the moment the hallway was empty, he whisked her into her dressing room. He looked down at her with something like tenderness.

"Why, mon abeille, you are trembling." He brought her close to him, held her, stroked her hair with one hand. For the first time, she realized that he wore cologne. Something like violets and freshly-cut wood. "You did beautifully tonight, Claire. Please take as long as you like to leave tonight." He gently pushed her back and breezed out of the room.

This left her truly baffled, and she dropped into her chair and burst into tears.

She must have dropped off to sleep, because the slam of a nearby door jolted her awake. She glanced at the clock. 1 AM. The show had ended two hours ago, and she was probably the only one left in the building. She hurriedly changed into her street clothes and left her dressing room. Walking toward the exit, she thought she heard the sounds of a piano. She remembered a faraway night, and a piano sonata, and she smiled wistfully. Perhaps those days were over. Then the song changed, and she realized someone was truly playing. Was it Sebastien? Probably. The symphony was now on its winter recess, and she felt it would be more polite to say goodbye, but...

As she debated, she was approaching the stage. The song sounded familiar. What was it? It tickled the back of her brain, and she stopped still, closing her eyes, willing the answer to come to her. Ah. Of course. Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee." She had to laugh softly to herself. Now she knew it was Sebastien. And, she supposed, he knew she was there. She went to the stage, and saw Sebastien. He had changed out of his tux into soft-looking slacks and a sweater. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes lifted to lock onto hers. She leaned on the grand piano, feeling the faint vibrations of the playing, and listened.

When he stopped, he gave her a considering look. "Now do you understand why I call you mon abeille? As the bee does with his dance, so do you with your voice." When she said nothing, he went on, "You must be wondering why I did not ask to see you again, after it had seemed I had all but promised?" She lowered her eyes to the floor. "Claire, it's clear to me there is something between us. Something dark and dangerous. I want to take you places you have never been. But I must do it carefully. You are first, my soprano." She felt an odd twinge of pleasure at that.

"Sebastien, what do you want from me?"

"Ah, the first time you say my name without anger. Such a sweet sound. Though perhaps not as sweet as hearing you cry out Master as you writhe beneath me. What do I want from you, mon abeille? Your complete obedience, your trust, your body."

"You have them," she said after a moment.

"Then strip," he said, his voice taking on the air of command, as usual. She was soon nude, shivering in the dim light of the auditorium. He picked her up and set her on the piano, her legs dangling past the keys. He raked his heated gaze over her body, and then brought his lips to hers for the first time. He kissed her as thought he would devour her, and she unconsciously spread her legs for him, already getting wet. He grasped her breasts firmly, causing her puckered nipples to jut out further so he could suck each of them in turn. When he pulled back and pinched each of them firmly, she arched her back, gasping in pleasure. He spread her legs as far wide as possible, exposing her neatly trimmed sex. He slid two of his fingers inside of her, and for the first time, she could enjoy unselfconsciously the way his long, slender digits caressed as much of her as they could reach. He pulled them out, coated in wetness, and slid them over her clit. She jerked and moaned.

He brought his head between her legs now, and ran his tongue all over her. First fluttering along her inner thighs, he might then slide it inside of her, tongue-fucking her for a moment before swirling around her clit softly. He pressed his teeth gently in around her clit and flicked his tongue back and forth over it rapidly.

"Ow, ow, ahh, ahhhhh, feels so good," she moaned above him. He drove his fingers deeply into her again, pistoning them in and out in time to his tongue lashing. She felt her wetness dripping out beneath her onto the shiny black surface. Then Sebastien did two things at once that drove her over the edge. He slid one finger into her anus and bit down more firmly on the skin around her clit, sucking it into his mouth. She cried out in a high keening wail that echoed in the large empty room, feeling the pleasure wash over her. When it was over, she could only lie back, remembering to breathe.

Finally, she sat up and saw that Sebastien was nude before her, his lithe frame pale, almost seeming to glow. He had a moderate sprinkling of dark hair in the right places, and his muscles seemed to twitch and flex, whether from cold or anticipation, she did not know. She followed the trail of his hair from the triangular patch on his chest down his stomach, to the thatch where his hard cock stood out, firm and pulsating.

He grasped her hips and pulled her off the piano, turning her around and bending her over it. Her nipples hardened instantly on the cold surface. He propped one of her knees up on the piano and reached around to grab and pull her nipples. She cried out and he bumped his cock up against her ass.

"Tell me, mon abeille, how long have you wanted me?"

"A long time."

"That is no answer. How long?" He pinched her nipples tightly in his fingertips.

"Ahh, ahh, since I first saw you!" He smiled, biting lightly on her earlobe. With one hand, he teased her clit, slippery fingers sliding over her flesh, making her moan.

"When you came to audition for me, sweet Claire, I could not help picturing you just like this, helpless with pleasure in my hands, bent over my piano. When I heard you sing, the urge to grab you and fuck you right then was quite strong. I knew your cries of passion would be just as lovely as your singing. Now tell me how much you want to get fucked."

Sebastien's fingers were driving her ever closer to another orgasm. "Sebastien, I..." He cut her off with a sharp slap to her buttocks. She gasped in surprise.

"Let it always be Maestro between us, Claire."

"Yes, Maestro. I, mmm, please, if you don't fuck me, I'll... I'll just die."

"Now, let's not get too dramatic, mon abeille," he said with amusement.

"But I just... I want it so bad... please, Maestro, don't make me wait." He pushed her hips forward, grinding her clit against the piano as he thrust his cock into her. "Ah, yes, yesssss..." she hissed, feeling him so thick inside of her. Each thrust from him bumped her clit firmly into the piano, sending tingling waves of pleasure through her. She felt like it must be getting bruised, and she didn't care. She felt herself again climbing up to the peak, and as her moans turned to whimpers, a sure sign of impending orgasm, she felt him pull out.

He picked her up and sat her back on the piano, grasped her hips, and slid back into her. He pushed her onto her back, the soles of her feet pressing into the top of the piano. He held tightly to her thighs and pounded her pussy like he would never get another chance at it.

"Touch yourself," he said hoarsely. "I want to see you pleasure yourself while I fuck you."

Blushing a little, Claire tentatively touched her fingers to her clit. She had never pleasured herself in front of a man before, but the heated look in his eyes convinced her. Her touch with him inside of her was electrifying. It wouldn't take long. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations. She heard his heavy breathing and low moans alongside her own. Suddenly, Sebastien's voice interrupted her reverie.

"Look at me." She struggled to open her eyes and focus on him. He wound one of his hands through her hair and gripped it firmly. The jolt of pain ran through her and she moaned aloud. "I want to watch your face when you come," he said in a low voice. She met his eyes and it was over. Biting her lower lip in the effort to keep her eyes open, she shook all over as she came with his cock pressed inside her.