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.