The Maestro Ch. 02

Author's Note: I was originally planning to make this a series, but every time I went back to read the original piece, I just felt like it stood well enough on its own, and I didn't want to mess with it. Still, ideas kept popping into my head and before I knew it, I just had to get it out. So, this is part two, and there will definitely be a part three - but I haven't started it yet, so it might be a little while, because I like it to sound just right. This isn't perfect, but it's close enough for now. Thanks for your patience :)

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It was the second day of the new year, and in her apartment in the city, one young soprano was curled up under her thick covers, watching the clouds scudding by and thinking of a man. A certain tall, slender man with a commanding manner - and other talents - the symphony's conductor, Sebastien Boulet. She had not seen him for three weeks, and yet the feel of his hands on her hips, the sharp stinging of his baton against her bare bottom had plagued her every thought. Her womanly pride was a bit wounded that she could allow a man to treat her in such a way. Still, she had never felt so alive. Not with any other man, and certainly not with her boyfriend of three months, Todd. He was sweet in his way, but not sensual, not oozing with raw sexuality, and power, and... oh! She had to get a grip on herself.

Claire rolled over, pulling the covers together around herself. When Sebastien had last left her, he had thrown out the very tantalizing offer of private instruction. She had not had the courage to take him up on the offer yet, but her patience was wearing thin (and her vibrator was wearing out!). She glanced at the phone on her bedside table, the small, heavily creased slip of paper beside it. Without another thought, she grabbed the phone and dialed the number.

It rang twice, and then there was a short silence before a thickly accented voice came onto the line.

"Allo. Qui est à l'appareil?"

"Ahhh hmmm," Claire breathed out in barely a whisper. "C'est la soprano." When silence followed, she followed up with, "de la symphonie." More silence. "Je suis désolé de vous déranger à la maison, Maestro," tumbled out of her mouth, hoping her grammar wasn't too laughable. The silence this time was so long that she wondered whether she had gotten a wrong number or the line had disconnected. She was beginning to feel silly holding the receiver, when the voice spoke again, crisply.

"Mon abeille. C'est toi?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"I did not know that you spoke French."

"A little."

"Interesting. May I ask why you are calling?"

"The last time we saw each other, you mentioned private instruction."

"So I did."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble..." she trailed off.

"I will send a car for you. Tomorrow, at noon," he said, followed by the click of the receiver.

Claire twisted her fingers together, already feeling nervous. She did not stop to wonder how Sebastien knew where to send the car.

-----

She was up early the next day, fretting about her outfit, her hair, whether she would be able to tell which car was the one Sebastien had sent. Standing in front of her closet doors, she finally chose a long-sleeved dark green dress. She slipped it on over her naked skin - why bother with underwear, considering the circumstances? She let her thick, reddish-brown hair out of its braid and finger-combed it to let waves of it fall halfway down her back, and pronounced herself ready to go. Ten minutes early, she was standing on the sidewalk outside her apartment building. A shiny, black town car was already parked at the curb.

As she watched it, a man of medium height and complexion in a dark suit got out of the driver's seat and wordlessly held open the back door for her. In the backseat there was an envelope that contained a slip of black silk and a note. The note was written in a thin, slanted scrawl and said only "Blindfold yourself." Frowning slightly, Claire glanced up at the rearview mirror, where she could see the dispassionate face of her driver. It was embarrassing to be involving this man in something so private, but what else could she do? Sebastien would certainly know if she didn't obey, and he had been quite clear that she should do as he said.

She tied the black cloth around her eyes. Almost immediately, the car drove away from the curb. At first, she could determine where they were from the turns they took. Soon, however, she lost the position of the car, and then stopped thinking about it entirely. After what she assumed was about twenty minutes, she felt the car driving downward, and then stopping. A door opened. People were talking softly somewhere. Another door opened. Gentle hands guided her out of the car, and then jerked her arms firmly behind her back, tying them there.

She cried out softly, in surprise, and felt fingertips brush her cheek. A familiar cologne tantalized her, and her knees suddenly felt weak. Strong arms caught her, and pulled her upright. Was it Sebastien? Or had he sent his scent along with his emissary? It didn't feel safe to speak.

Whoever it was pushed Claire ahead until they had passed through a doorway. Her boots clicked on tile now instead of cement, and she supposed they had been in an underground parking garage, and were now in a building. They stopped. After a moment, Claire shuffled her feet slightly. What if someone saw them? What would they think about a girl blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back? She shuddered to think. Then she felt someone bend down, putting their lips very near her ear.

"I will remove your bonds, as well as your clothing, for the remainder of this journey." Ahh, it was the Maestro. For a moment, she relaxed, but then her mind began to race. Were they alone ? Did he own this entire building, whatever it was? When he nudged the blindfold down with his finger, she saw that they were in a sort of hallway, furnished with cream tiles and warm, glowing lights. Straight ahead was an elevator - a fancy one, with carved doors - and she could hear the dull hum of street traffic somewhere to her left. Someone entered from that direction, pushed the button for the elevator, and was admitted immediately. They pushed a button, and the doors closed on them - they had not appeared to notice Claire and Sebastien at all, but Claire was not much appeased by this.

Startling Sebastien, she jerked away from him, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

"Maestro, no! There are other people in the building."

"I assure you, you would not be the first naked girl in the elevator, nor would you be the last," he said nastily. "I could send you home instead."

"Please don't. But I cannot do what you ask of me."

Calculatingly, Sebastien studied her face with narrowed eyes. "You would pay for this upstairs."

Biting her lip, she considered her response. "Whatever you would ask of me. But not this, please, I beg of you."

"Very well. Have it your own way." He replaced the blindfold, and grasped her hands again, marching her toward the elevator. After a short pause, he pushed her inside. After a few floors, the doors opened, and someone got in. Claire was mortified, but glad that she at least had her clothes on. She wondered what they must think, but was suddenly glad of the blindfold. At least she couldn't see their face. After another few floors, the doors opened again, and she thought the person got out. An indeterminate number of floors later, the doors opened once more, and this time Sebastien was nudging her toward the exit.

He took her to the right, turned one corner left, and walked down a long hallway. She heard the click of a lock, and the soft swish of a door opening. He led her into the room, and closed the door behind them. He unbound her wrists, and massaged her shoulders very briefly to remove the kinks. He moved his hands to the shoulders of her dress, and she tightened up nervously.

Making a small impatient noise, he asked, "What is it now, mon abeille?"

"Maestro, please... are we alone?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes." She relaxed then, allowing him to undress her with ease. He then led her over carpet, and cold tile, and hard wood, and carpet again. It had seemed lighter, and was now dark once more. He bound her, wrists and ankles, to something she could not identify, but which felt like wood. Her forehead was resting against something, and her back was to the room.

Without more warning than a nearly inaudible swish, Claire felt what must have been a thousand tiny stinging slaps to her back. It felt a little like pricks from cactus needles. It came again, this time to her buttocks. She cried out softly in surprise. Sebastien covered the back of her body, from neck to ankles, in sweeping up-and-down motions, causing her to shudder and whimper. She felt very warm. The slapping stopped, and Sebastien was rubbing his palms gently over her skin. She could not decide whether it was soothing or inflaming, but eventually the stinging died down and went away. In this moment, Claire had time to wonder how she had gotten herself into this situation, wonder why it was her nipples hardened and her pussy dampened over such treatment.

Then Sebastien had returned to the stinger, using it with greater force and speed, focusing this time on her buttocks and upper thighs. She cried out more forcefully this time, with every set of slaps, and tears came to her eyes, soaking into the blindfold. Goosebumps broke out on her skin and she twisted to get away from him, knowing it was fruitless.

He stopped just as suddenly as he had started, running his palms back over her tortured flesh. Then he slipped two fingers between her folds, dragging a line of wetness down her inner thigh, as if to emphasize how turned on she was. He untied her wrists and ankles, only to retie her wrists, this time with her facing outward to the room. Would he now resume stinging her on the front, breasts and belly receiving the brunt of the punishment? God help her, but she hoped that he would. Instead, she felt the structure she was bound to being pushed forward.

"I am going to make a phone call. So you just stay here and be a good girl, mon abeille, and I will be back shortly. Ah, it is a bit dark in here, is it not? Allow me to fix that."

Claire heard fabric swishing near her, and gradually the light she could perceive through her blindfold grew greater.

"No, Maestro, please..." she said feebly. He stopped her with a firm pinch on both nipples that had her twisting her body in agony.

"You said you would do whatever I asked of you. Now, I think you have had enough of that blindfold. Let's give you something to look at." He whipped away the cloth that covered her eyes, and she found herself bound directly in front of a huge picture window, completely naked. There was an apartment building across the way, which was probably separated from them by an entire street, but seemed so close to her that she would have sworn there were mere inches between them. In her first panicked glances, she saw no one at home. She tried to turn her head away, but felt something preventing it. She had to look out the window.

She opened her mouth to protest, but heard the door shut behind her. It was useless. The Maestro was gone.

-----

She had closed her eyes. She heard nothing from the other rooms for a long time. Then, softly, strains of piano music reached her ears. She thought at first it was a recording, but then noticed the player was stopping every few moments and switching. It was Chopin, and then Schubert, then Beethoven. That bastard, he was sitting there playing the piano while she languished, embarrassed, in front of a wide window on display. At last Sebastien settled into his rhythm, playing what sounded like Mozart.

Finally, the curiosity overwhelmed her. Where were they, anyway? She peeked at the other apartment building. Still no one watching. Then she cast her glance to either side, but couldn't see any landmark buildings to help her. There were other tall buildings around her, and in the distance she caught a glimpse of seawater, but this didn't narrow things down much. Well over a quarter of the city fit this loose description. The best she could do was that it seemed they might be on one side of downtown, facing away from the more recognizable skyline.

Movement caught her attention, and in the apartment across from her window, she saw a man coming to the table by the window with some shopping bags. She prayed that he would not notice her, and for many minutes, he did not. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, in the fear that she would miss his looking, though. Eventually he did look out, evidently casting his eyes on the parts of the view he could see, then scanning his eyes over the building, not specifically looking at anything. But when he noticed her, she could tell. He took a half-step back in surprise, then focused his eyes directly on her window, with a strange expression on his face.

She cast her eyes downward, but dragged them back up anyway. He was a handsome man, this stranger. Wavy, dirty blond hair came down around his ears, and he had a strong jawline and nice, sleek musculature. He was wearing slacks with a soft-looking, untucked button-down shirt. His feet were bare. He caught her eyes and raised his hand in a small wave. She smiled weakly back at him. Then, to her utter shock, he removed his slacks, standing in his living room in only a tiny pair of black undershorts. Didn't he know that anyone in their apartment building could see him? Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps he walked around in his apartment all the time in his underwear. But still, surely he knew that she could see him, at least, didn't he?

Of course he did. He turned to look at her again, gave her a saucy grin and wink. He disappeared from view again, and after a few moments returned, pushing an armchair up near the window and dropping down into it. He had a book in hand, but was clearly looking at her, rather than at the page he had opened to.

She wanted to disappear. Then, she noticed that he had pulled his cock out of his underpants and was lazily stroking it up and down. What was this guy doing? She felt a warm swelling in her pussy and realized how turned on she still was. The piano playing had stopped. She heard the door behind her open. Sebastien didn't move her or come around where she could see him. Rather, he stood behind where she was tied up, and slid his palms over the front of her body, dragging his short nails over her nipples and belly. Her toes curled in pain and pleasure, and she tried to keep it from showing. When Sebastien's fingers slipped into her, and his palm glided over her clit, she lost the battle, eyes rolling upward and hips jerking.

"M-Maestro, please, someone might see."

"He doesn't seem to mind," came the sarcastic reply behind her. She looked across the way. Sure enough, the blonde man had a hungry expression on his face. He was now standing, freely stroking himself and watching her. "And from the feel of it, neither do you." Fingering her with one hand, he reached down with his other hand to rapidly rub her clit.

"Ahh, ahh, but I don't want... ahh," she gasped.

"Do not lie, mon abeille, it's unbecoming," he said in his infuriatingly casual way. Her hips were bucking toward his hands, and the pleasure was mounting in a way that felt most unbearable. "Let us have truth between us. You like the way he is watching you."

When Claire didn't answer, he took his fingers away from her clit, leaving her to huff out a breath in frustration. He continued pistoning his fingers in and out of her, bringing her pleasure, but somehow sensing she could never quite be sated that way. She felt that she teetered on the edge, and she knew he would keep her there as long as he pleased anyway, but certainly longer than if she didn't tell him what he apparently wanted to hear. She nudged her hips forward, trying to get contact between her clit and something, anything.

He brought his fingers down onto it, but in a sharp slap that left her breathless. It hurt, but also sent sharp arrows of pleasure radiating through her.

"Yes, yes!" she cried. The slap came again. She writhed.

"Yes what?" Two more slaps.

"Yes, I want him to watch," she finally moaned.

"You want me to make you come, even here, where anyone could look?" he taunted in her ear, sliding his fingertip along her clit teasingly.

"Yes, Maestro, yes!"

"Very well, if you insist." He slapped her clit firmly, four, five, six times and finally she exploded, feeling her abdomen tighten almost painfully as she came. Instead of pulling away, he resumed rubbing her clit, sliding it easily over the moisture that collected there. It was an endless cacophony of moans and gasps, Claire trying helplessly to get away from his probing fingers. In the midst of it all, she noticed that the man in the other apartment was spurting out jets of come all over his window, his eyes burning into her. Sebastien forced another orgasm out of her before withdrawing his fingers.

-----

Suddenly, she felt the painful tightness on her wrists that had probably been there for long minutes and was just now announcing itself to her. Breathing heavily, she glanced at the other apartment. The man was gone, as was the come on his window, his book and chair, and all signs that he had ever been there at all. Odd, she thought. Sebastien came around to the front of her, closing the curtains with a snap.

"We do not need an audience for what comes next."

"Mmm so you don't like to fuck in front of strangers?" she asked, a bit sarcastically. He merely gave her an enigmatic smile, and untied her wrists, deftly catching her when her knees refused to hold her up. He picked her up bodily, depositing her gently on her back on the bed that she hadn't known was in the room. She felt her pussy still twitching occasionally, thick trickles of wetness dripping down between her buttocks. She glanced at Sebastien, standing at the foot of the bed, really seeing him for the first time that day.

Her heart turned over in her chest, and a soft sigh eased out of her. Studying him, she saw no sign that he had been turned on at all by what they had just done. Still, in dark slacks in a shadowed room, perhaps it was only difficult to see.

"Rest, please, and do not move. I promise you this time I will only be gone a moment," he said. True to his word, he returned a few minutes later, carrying something with him that he placed beside her head. When he sat beside her, she noticed that he was not wearing shoes. He stroked his fingertips lightly up and down the front of her, causing goosebumps to break out everywhere.

"Tell me, mon abeille, what you have done before," he said. He was being vague, and yet somehow she knew what he meant. Well, what else could he mean, she asked herself.

"I've had three boyfriends, seven total partners, none of whom were terribly imaginative, I'll admit. It was mostly the where and not the how that could be interesting," she said with a smile, recalling the time she had sex in a tree, in the closet of an ex-boyfriend while the ex himself was lying in bed with a book, in the elevator of a high-class department store, in the backseat of a moving car driven by her boyfriend's parents. There had been dozens - probably hundreds - of blow jobs, a little roleplaying, a lot of sex, but absolutely no anal sex, or anything coming close to it.

"So you have not tried it... that way?" he inquired.

"No," Claire admitted. "Girlfriends always told me they hated it, so, I was just never interested."

"Then I will be your first," he said, looking down at her seriously. He had said it with finality, but the look he gave her held a hint of question.

She pursed her lips, uncertain. She met his eyes. "I did say I would do whatever you asked, Maestro."