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.