The Maestro Ch. 03bybarabajagal001©
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."
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?"
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.