The Maestro Ch. 02

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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.

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AnonymousAnonymousalmost 3 years ago

He’s very detached, passionate but clinical too. I suppose it should make her realise that there is no relationship at least not in the style she’s used to. Is he withholding aftercare to reinforce that point or does he just not care?

Very well written.

Tess (uk)

naturalsub_13naturalsub_13almost 8 years ago

Enjoying the scenes and the writing style. Still not sure if I like the master. There hasn't been much explanation of the lifestyle or any aftercare. But it's well written and appears to be intentional so to each their own kinks. I'll continue on this journey, it's thus far been enjoyable reading.

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