Musical Beds

by Justine Elyot

  “The excuse is not necessary, Lydia, though I appreciate the apology.”

  “I’ll set off earlier tomorrow,” she said, but she couldn’t prevent an embarrassed little smile crossing her face. This was where the game began. She knew she ought to be getting into a penitent role, but she was too excited and a little scared. If seeing von Ritter was a bad idea, how much worse was letting von Ritter dominate her? Her body, treacherously, seemed to think it was a very good idea, signalling its desire to squirm and tremble while her knickers dampened.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “You will. And we will make sure of that with a little…motivational exercise.”

  “Motivational exercise?”

  “Yes.” He helped Lydia to her feet, holding her by her wrist before taking his place in her chair.

  She stood in front of him, head bowed, unable to meet his eyes for fear she might burst out into inappropriate laughter.

  “Now, before we start this,” said von Ritter, “we need to decide on a safeword.”

  “What’s a safeword?”

  “It’s what you say when you think things have gone too far and you want to stop. You can say it at any time. I won’t argue with you and there’s no shame in it, okay? You are new to this and we take it at your pace.”

  “That’s good to know,” she said, her heart beating a little slower again after a speeding up that had left her breathless.

  “So what will your word be?”

  “Paganini,” she said—the first thing that came into her head being the name of the person whose story had made her want to take up the violin.

  Von Ritter smiled. “I like it. Paganini it is.”

  Then he was straight back into stern mode, patting his thigh.

  “I want you to put yourself over my lap, please,” he said.

  “Oh, God, I’m not sure about this.”

  “If you don’t want to—”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll give it a go.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded and leaned towards him, wondering how people generally got themselves into position for a spanking. He helped her out, grabbing her around the waist and tipping her over his lap. He raised one leg, positioning her jeans-clad bottom more prominently. She kept her legs straight, feet on the floor, arms dangling over the other side. It felt remarkably comfortable, almost relaxing. Von Ritter rested one hand loosely on the small of her back while the other spread across her denimed bottom.

  “I’m going to make it clear, Lydia,” he said, patting her jeans, “that I don’t stand for lateness. In future, you will arrive on time or expect to be punished. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Oh, sorry. Yes, Sir.” Saying the word made her pussy clench. Von Ritter’s thighs were strong and the pressure of his hand on her back had increased, as if he was gearing up, getting ready to strike.

  “You will think of this next time you are getting ready for a rehearsal,” he said. “And it will help you with your timing.”

  The first smack fell on her tightly stretched jeans. The thickness of the material spared her some of its impact, but it still penetrated her flesh with a shock of pain.

  “Ow!” she exclaimed.

  “Did you think it wouldn’t hurt?”

  “I don’t know. My thinking isn’t working very well at the moment.”

  “Well, let’s see if this helps.”

  He continued the spanking, keeping the strokes slow and measured, covering all of her bottom methodically, down to the middle of her thighs. The pain was nothing she couldn’t handle, but soon she started to be uncomfortably aware of the warmth, trapped inside her tight jeans, circulating all around her lower regions, especially evident in her cunt, which tingled and throbbed alarmingly.

  The denim chafed her pussy lips and her clit, making her want to twist her hips and frig herself on the itchy fabric while von Ritter spanked away. It was one of the most powerfully erotic sensations she had ever experienced.

  He must have noticed that she was up to something, because he stayed his hand and nudged her off his lap.

  “Take off your jeans,” he ordered.

  “Oh…must I?”

  “Yes, you must. And if you forget the ‘Sir’ again, I’ll add to your punishment.”

  “Sorry, Sir.” She smirked, still finding the word hard to pronounce, and unbuttoned her jeans. The smirk left her face once she started to push them down over her hips and thighs. What a position to be in, undressing in front of the conductor who had just spanked her bottom. Her knickers, once revealed, clung to her and she hoped von Ritter wouldn’t detect the wet patch between her thighs.

  The jeans discarded, after some effort, she clasped her hands in front of her and waited meekly for further instruction.

  “Back over, please,” he said.

  Oh, dear. More to come. She had thought he might have finished with that—just a light introduction, indicative of greater pleasures in prospect.

  With a sigh, she draped herself over his lap again. His hand on her cotton knickers felt much more intimate, especially when he moved it down below the elastic, his fingers drifting over her heated skin where her buttocks met her thighs.

  The sting when his palm slapped down this time was much increased, and she cried out. What was that word? She said ‘Paganini’ over and over in her mind, fearful of forgetting it, though she wasn’t ready to speak it out loud yet.

  Von Ritter peppered her with his palm, increasing in speed so that she barely had time to register one before the next rained down. Soon enough she was jerking and kicking and grabbing at the upholstery, a stream of little cries pouring from her mouth.

  Von Ritter paused to place his foot across her ankles, stopping the wild thrashing of her legs so that all she could do was concentrate on his hand and the heat it brought.

  Again, he stopped and she drew breath. Did she dare hope that it might be over? Could she now lie still and enjoy the posterior warmth as it spread its glow across her bum and beyond?

  No. He had stopped only to lower her knickers. She gasped at the unceremonious baring of her bottom, trying to picture what von Ritter saw—two reddened orbs, leading to her most intimate parts.

  The thought was both shaming and delicious—she couldn’t decide which response predominated. Perhaps they were equal.

  His palm on her bare skin made her sigh deeply, hoping upon hope for a little diversion down between her thighs. But he began to spank again, more lightly this time, as if in consideration of her nudity, little sparks of sensation that kept the light alive but didn’t add much pain to it. It felt astonishingly stimulating and erotic. Lydia would be happy for him to do this all night, she thought. But then he put more weight behind the smacks and she struggled again, trying hard to roll her hips so he would miss the target. He held her much too firmly for that, though.

  Finally, as his speed picked up once more, she had had enough.

  “Paganini,” she wailed.

  He stopped then and there, and stroked her bottom.

  “Very good for a beginner,” he said soothingly. “You can be proud of yourself. I couldn’t have gone on for much longer. This palm is stinging!”

  Just imagine how my bum feels then, mister!

  “Ouch,” she said sarcastically. “Poor palm.”

  He laughed and dealt one final smack to her thighs.

  “Cheeky,” he warned. “How was that?”

  “It was, uh, I don’t know. I think I liked it.”

  “You aren’t sure?”

  “Well, it did hurt, you know. But now I feel so relaxed—really sort of glowy and spinny, as if I’ve just worked out or something.”

  “Endorphins,” he said.

  “That would account for it.”

  “So you think you would do it again?”

  “Yeah. Maybe not every day. But definitely, y’know
, when the mood struck.”

  “Good. You should see your bottom. Come on.”

  He led her over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door and turned her around. She looked over her shoulder and bit her lip at the sight. Her rounded cheeks wore a deep crimson blush. Here and there, patches of speckles stood out, the beginnings of light bruising.

  “It’s funny,” said Lydia. “It didn’t feel that bad. It almost looks more painful than it really was.”

  “You took it very well.” Von Ritter put his hand on her bottom and Lydia’s clit bloomed on seeing her reflection in the mirror. She looked so possessed by him, standing against his tall, upright frame with her bare, spanked bottom in his hand.

  She cast a longing look at the bed. Could that be next?

  “I’m curious to know,” he said into her ear, his hand stroking her bottom provocatively, “just how much you really enjoyed it. Open your legs a little wider for me, Lydia. Watch yourself in the mirror.”

  Still looking over her shoulder, she saw von Ritter’s hand move lower, feeling it at the same time. When his fingers glided in between her pussy lips, she saw his knuckles working in the gap of her legs. He found her clit with easy assurance and began to rub at it.

  “Oh, you really did enjoy it,” he said. She saw the satisfied smile curve his lips, then, his free hand still holding her across her bottom, he continued to finger her pussy with devilish deftness. “Can you see what I’m doing to you?”

  She nodded. He looked so suave and unruffled, while she was a sweating, heaving, red-bottomed mess, squirming on his fingers. She felt very small and submissive—very owned. His hand on her bottom delved in between her cheeks and pressed a thumb against her anus, pushing with gentle pressure, increasing the sensation around her clit.

  “Oh, God,” she breathed.

  He moved so that they stood sideways on, their images in profile.

  “Watch what I’m doing to you. Don’t look away.”

  He impaled her cunt on two fingers, still rubbing busily at her clit. She bucked on them, welcoming them, moving out of consciousness and into mindless physical need.

  “You need this, don’t you? My God, you’ve wanted this.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she babbled, pushing herself down, her eyes still hypnotically fixed on her reflection, watching him control her with both hands.

  He pushed his thumb hard against her anus and she came, as if he’d invoked her orgasm by pressing that particular button. She had to look away from the mirror and whimper into his chest while the flood of humiliating ecstasy took her into its current.

  “Yes, yes,” he whispered. “You are so right for this. Right for me.”

  She couldn’t reply, and her legs were too weak to support her. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, then sat down beside her, stroking her hair.

  “That seemed quite strong,” he said, once she’d opened her eyes.

  She was too embarrassed to answer. She felt as if he had trained a floodlight on her secrets and read them all. She had nowhere to hide.

  “It’s absolutely my favourite thing in the world to bring a submissive girl to orgasm,” he said. “And you did it so beautifully. Thank you.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised by this. “Is that what the appeal is to you?”

  “To have control of a lovely woman’s pleasure? Yes. There is nothing more satisfying.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the lovely woman bit—”

  “Hush. Don’t put yourself down, or I’ll have to punish you again.”

  “Eek. I don’t think I could take any more.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Lydia bit her lip, still throbbing below from the aftermath of her orgasm.

  “So…” she said, not wanting to ask what was going to happen next, but wanting rather badly to know. She looked down pointedly at the bulge in von Ritter’s smart trousers.

  “If you don’t mind,” he said softly, “would you turn over onto your front?”

  She obeyed, but her mind was a jumble of questions.

  “Are we going to…?”

  “Make love? Not today. I want to take this slowly.”

  Lydia laughed out loud.

  “Slowly? We met a few days ago and you just spanked my bottom and fingered me. That’s not my definition of a long courtship.”

  “Too smart-mouthed for your own good, Lydia,” he said. “Take care you don’t talk your way into trouble.”

  Behind her, she could hear the sound of him removing clothes.

  “So what are you going to do to me?”

  “Nothing. I just need a visual aid, and you are providing me with a very nice one. Put a pillow under your stomach. I want your ass higher.”

  Lydia did as he asked, her thoughts running wild. This was something with which she had no experience. Was it normal? Did lots of people do it? She had the feeling she had just jumped off a very high diving board.

  Behind her, kneeling on the bed, von Ritter’s breath came heavily, deeper and quicker, then ragged before a final series of surprised-sounding groans.

  Lydia squealed with surprise as rapidly cooling droplets landed on her buttocks and dripped into the crack. She had expected he might finish into a tissue, but no—it seemed he wanted to christen her bum well and truly. She squirmed a little, turned on again at the thought of him marking her as his territory.

  “Do you mind?” he panted, lying down beside her.

  She turned her face to his rumpled brow and smiled at how his immaculate shirt front had succumbed to a million creases. His tanned skin shone and his eyes lay half-closed. He seemed drunk with satisfaction.

  “No. You could have warned me, though.”

  “Ach, I’m sorry.” He stroked her brow. “Now we understand each other, we can set out the terms more clearly.”

  “Terms?”

  “In the bedroom, I will dominate and you will submit. This is the basic structure of the relationship. But there is a lot of negotiable detail. What you will and won’t do, what I will and won’t do. How far we can take things. How we communicate.”

  “It sounds very complicated. Is sex always complicated? Is it inevitable?”

  “Over time, it gets simpler, I think. Once you really know your lover.”

  She thought about this. Perhaps, then, she had never really known Milan. It was a plausible enough theory. Could he even be known?

  “Why do you want me?” she asked, remembering again that odd scene after the concert with von Ritter’s friend. Was there some unknown-of rivalry between Milan and von Ritter, into which she had fallen as an unwitting pawn? A stab of unease pierced her heart.

  “Why wouldn’t I want you, Lydia? No, look at me. Answer the question.”

  “It just seems to have happened very quickly. I don’t really see myself as a femme fatale, so I guess I’m curious to know. What is it about me?”

  “You’re very open and very sweet. You’re pretty. You aren’t a fucked-up diva, like so many of us creative types. You’re actually quite hard to find, you know? Someone like you.”

  “So, are you a fucked-up diva, then?”

  He laid a hand on her thigh in playful warning, but she still thrilled at the sense of being chided by him.

  “I hate to say, but I probably am. You see this very self-controlled man, but there is another side to me. I have a temper, which I sometimes lose. And the results can be spectacular.”

  “I’ve heard.” She thought back to Vanessa’s nickname. Herr Trigger.

  “Oh, you have?”

  “My friend has a mate in Nürnberg.”

  “Ah, I see. I try to work on it. It’s the best I can do. But if something makes me angry, it makes me angry. No amount of counting to ten will calm me down.”

  “But you don’t get violent, do you?” Lydia must have looked nervous, because he shook his head and stroked her brow gently.

  “Ah, Lydia, I would never lose my temper with you. I’ve never hit a woman. I never would
.”

  “Okay. You’re sure about that?”

  “One hundred per cent.”

  “But you’ve hit a man?”

  “I regret to say…yes, I have.”

  “What happened?”

  “Can we talk about something else? These are bad memories. I hope to keep them in the past.”

  He was such a closed book, she thought, opening up a tiny fraction then slamming shut again. How long would it take to understand this man?

  “If I want to get to know you, though…”

  “You are getting to know me. I’ve told you my fatal flaw. What’s yours?”

  “Oh, that’s a good question. Fatal flaw. Hmm. I think I’m probably stupidly naïve. Does that count?”

  “It can do.” Von Ritter sighed. “Especially when your naïvety gets you mixed up with people who are wrong for you.”

  “You’re thinking about Milan again. What is it with you and him?”

  Von Ritter pulled her into an embrace, kissing her long and sensually.

  “Let’s not talk about that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Let’s row under those weeping willows. I’m a bit worried about sunburn.”

  Vanessa lay full-length in the boat, staring through film-star sunglasses at the clearest of blue skies. Beside her were a basket of strawberries and a half-drunk bottle of champagne. In front of her was Ben, wielding the oars in a manner that showed off his taut upper arms and chest to perfect effect.

  “I could do with letting it drift for a while,” he said. His forehead was streaked with perspiration, patches of it under his arms.

  “Take off your shirt,” suggested Vanessa. “You look boiling hot.”

  He curled his lip playfully. “So do you, ma’am,” he said. “Any hotter and you’d catch fire.”

  Vanessa smiled lazily and prodded his crotch with the toe of her sandal.

  “Hmm, somebody’s enjoying the view.”

  “Ness!”

  “What? Nobody can see us. The shore’s deserted.”

  “Are you trying to give me ideas?”

  “Would I?”

  He put down the oars, having reached the shade of the overhanging branches. They glided through dapples of light, slender green leaves dropping onto them from above.