Musical Beds

by Justine Elyot

  “You were perfectly able to offer oral sex.”

  “I wasn’t nervous about what the answer might be.”

  “It’s all right, Lydia. I know what you’re asking. You want to know if we’ll ever have conventional, penetrative sex.” He smiled at her, a little sadly, as if he thought she was disappointed in him.

  “Well, yeah. I’m not saying I’m unhappy with what we—”

  “I know, I know.” He kissed her. “Although lots of women would be. Perhaps it’s not fair on you.”

  “Is there a reason why you don’t want to?”

  “Yes, there is, but it’s not to do with you. It’s not that I don’t want to. I suppose I’m just a very strange person.”

  “Oh, Karl-Heinz. If you’re strange, then so am I. What do you mean?”

  He stared at the ceiling, at the plaster cherubs on the cornicing.

  “It’s to do with control. I try to hold out to the very last, until I absolutely can’t resist. I suppose it’s a test I set myself. It’s become a little…shall we say…pathological. It’s so stupid of me, but I can’t seem to lose the habit.”

  “It sounds almost like an anxiety thing.” She held his hand, wondering what could have happened to this man to bring him to this.

  “Yes. I’m sure you’re right.”

  “And it’s about self-control rather than control of your lover?”

  “Yes, completely. I don’t kid myself that I really have any control over you. What we do is purely consensual. I couldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to. The only person I can really control is myself.”

  “Is that why you don’t want a blow job?”

  He chuckled. “I do want one. Very much. But yes, you’re right. I’m testing myself again.”

  “It is a bit strange, I must admit. A man turning down a blow job. Get the Guinness Book of Records on the phone.”

  “I want to look around a bit first. Maybe you can give it to me in the dungeon with your wrists cuffed. I like the idea of that.”

  He sat up, taking her by the arm.

  “Come on. There’s a lot we haven’t seen yet.”

  Lydia followed him through the curtains. She didn’t want to be irritated or frustrated with von Ritter, but she couldn’t help a tiny voice inside her mind asking, Why can’t I just meet someone normal?

  They stepped over people making out or getting it on and made their way out of the boudoir. On the stairs, two men in harnesses were engaging in vigorous anal sex, necessitating some care being taken with the descent.

  “I’m not sure about this dungeon,” said Lydia, as the lights dimmed and they entered the lowest section of the building. “It’s a bit creepy. How extreme does it get?”

  “Oh, there’s the dungeon and then there’s the private dungeon for people who want to do the edgy stuff. You won’t see any blood or guts, don’t worry.”

  Inside the dungeon, the air cracked with the sound of whips and paddles, the cries of submissives bouncing off the dark brick walls.

  “That’s nice,” said von Ritter, leading them over to a kind of bench on which a naked blonde woman was strapped, face down. A man, whom Lydia recognised as Julius Hackmeyer, was doing all kinds of interesting things to her spread pussy. He tickled it with the strands of a soft suede flogger, then he whipped it, then he ran a buzzing bullet vibrator around her clit, then he smacked it with his open palm.

  Lydia felt hot and bothered immediately, fascinated by Hackmeyer’s sure touch. The girl on the bench tried to kick, but she was too tightly bound. She spluttered into a red rubber ball gag. Lydia bent to take a closer look at it, then jumped back, gasping.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “Sarah.”

  Sarah Latimer turned her head to stare at Lydia. Of course, she could not say anything, but her eyes were fierce.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Julius smoothly, feeding a long, thick vibrator into Sarah’s cunt.

  “This is Sarah Latimer.”

  “Yes, I know that.” He patted the vibrator’s base, then began to thrust with it. “She’s with your orchestra, isn’t she? Used to be with mine.”

  “She’s Milan’s girlfriend!”

  Hackmeyer sneered.

  “He isn’t known for monogamy, my dear. I’m sure you know that.”

  “Does he know about this?”

  “Look, Lydia, if you don’t mind, I’m going to change the subject. This one isn’t doing much for me. Look at her cunt, all wet and open. What I’m going to do is fuck her with this dildo and spank her at the same time. When she comes, I’ll spank her right through it. I love that.”

  He proceeded to lay his open palm on Sarah’s bottom, hard and fast, while he pumped the vibrator in and out of her. She was no longer looking at Lydia, her face pressed into the bench while uncontrollable moans made their way around the ball gag.

  Lydia shook her head, dazed.

  Von Ritter squeezed her arm, none too affectionately.

  “That was none of your business,” he whispered.

  “You know Milan hates Hackmeyer. I can’t believe he’d be okay with this.”

  “Why do you care?” Von Ritter looked affronted, his lips thinning.

  “Because I do.”

  “Then you shouldn’t. If it’s him you still want, Lydia…”

  “Oh, don’t! Just because I don’t want to see him hurt, it doesn’t mean I’m still mooning over him. I’m a human being. I feel compassion for other human beings.” She wrung her hands, desperate to convey her message without ruffling her lover’s feathers.

  “You are still in love with him,” he rasped.

  “No. I’m not.”

  But von Ritter’s words had hit a target deep inside her and she knew that he was right.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He stepped forward, releasing her arm, to speak to Hackmeyer.

  “This is all very pretty, Julius, but I’d like to replace that ball gag with something. Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest,” said Hackmeyer, still spanking energetically.

  Lydia’s jaw dropped as von Ritter removed Sarah’s gag, unzipped his fly and pushed his cock into her mouth. She watched Sarah’s scarlet lips take inch after inch of her lover’s erection, sighing with throaty satisfaction.

  It was more than Lydia could take.

  “I’m leaving,” she said, turning and running through the crowd. Von Ritter shouted something after her, but she didn’t hear what it was. He could hardly chase her, with his prick stuffed in that bitch’s mouth.

  She found her coat and ran out onto the street, cursing the stupid heels.

  She should tell Milan. Milan should know. But not before the Prom. She would tell him after the concert.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The air was tight with excited tension in the Green Room of the Royal Albert Hall.

  Lydia walked in with Vanessa and Ben, anxious about encountering von Ritter. She had turned her phone off after leaving the club, but, as soon as she’d switched it on that morning, a hailstorm of texts and missed calls had rained down on her. He wasn’t going to be happy with her, but sod him. She wasn’t happy with him, either.

  “So what’s the trouble between Milan and Hackmeyer about, then?” asked Vanessa, to whom Lydia had poured out her heart.

  “I don’t know. Obviously there’s something in their past. Oh, God. I’m dreading seeing von Ritter. And Sarah. And Milan.”

  “Look, you don’t have to tell him. It’s not your job. It should come from Sarah, really. Why don’t you talk to her?”

  “Shit, shit, shit, there she is. I can’t, Ness.”

  Lydia’s chest ached and her hands started to shake. She clutched her violin case tightly to her body, using it to still her jitters.

  Sarah, looking svelte and stunning in her black silk concert dress, was sitting on a sofa with a small group of admirers, laughing. Her smile disappeared when she saw Lydia, and she excused herself.

  “She’s coming over. Don’t go,
Ness. Stay with me.”

  But Sarah had arrived within earshot and Vanessa had to keep her counsel.

  “Lydia,” she said. “Could I have a quick word? In private?”

  Lydia felt her breath shorten.

  “It’ll have to be very quick,” she said unwillingly.

  “Fine.”

  Vanessa and Ben wandered away.

  Sarah beckoned Lydia over to a quiet corner away from the milling crowd.

  “You aren’t going to tell Milan, are you?” she opened abruptly. “About last night?”

  Lydia put down her violin case.

  “I think you should.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think you should, or I will.”

  She waited for Sarah to beg her not to, or threaten her or something. She did nothing of the kind but simply stood, looking at Lydia with a kind of detached amusement that made her skin prickle.

  “All right, then. I’ll tell him now.” She looked over at Milan, who had just walked in.

  Lydia grabbed Sarah’s forearm, aghast.

  “But not now. This is his big night, for God’s sake. You can’t ruin it for him. At least wait until after the concert.”

  “No, I don’t want to. Conscience won’t let me.”

  She smiled, dazzlingly and cruelly. Lydia suddenly had a nasty feeling that things weren’t the way they seemed.

  “Stop this. Leave him be. Come outside for a minute.”

  “Thought you didn’t have a minute.”

  “I have now. Come on.”

  They went to the stage door and stood a little way apart from a knot of smokers on the patio.

  “I can’t stand here chatting for long. I’ve got bad news to break,” said Sarah.

  “Why can’t it wait?”

  “It just can’t.”

  “No, I’m not buying this sudden attack of conscience. How long have you been seeing Hackmeyer?”

  “Oh, donkey’s years, dear. We go back a long way, on and off.”

  “And right now it’s on?”

  “Well, you saw us last night. The thing is, I’m hung up on him. I leave him for the thousandth time, then he turns up and crooks his finger and…I’m toast.”

  I know someone like that.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt Milan, but…”

  “You know he and Hackmeyer hate each other’s guts?”

  “Of course.”

  Lydia took a deep breath. “Did you plan this?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You and Hackmeyer. Did you cook this up together? It seems a bit fishy that you’d leave one man and go straight to his arch enemy.”

  Sarah laughed. “Arch enemy. You make it sound like a comic book. Listen, I’m going. I have to talk to Milan.”

  “Stay away from him.” Lydia had raised her voice and a few of the smokers looked over.

  “You still love him, don’t you? Aww. Cute. Bye-bye, then. Duty calls.”

  She turned to the stage door. Lydia lunged at her.

  “You bitch!”

  Some of the smokers whistled and laughed. Lydia, mortified but fired up with anger, stood in front of Sarah so that she couldn’t pass.

  “If you want to ruin his life, you’ll have to do it over my dead body.”

  “Listen, sweetheart,” said Sarah. “Milan only wanted me because he knew I was Hackmeyer’s. That’s the kind of man he is. Why on earth would you want to defend him?”

  “He’s having a horrible year. He’s lost his mother and a lover and he’s fighting an illness that could destroy him. Leave him alone. Or, if you can’t, at least let him have his moment in the sun.”

  “Moment in the sun? How poetic. I hope you two get back together, I really do. I’ll miss him in a way. He’s a wonder in the sack. But he doesn’t get to have the stellar solo career, because he doesn’t bloody deserve it. Now get out of my way before I…”

  She tried to shove Lydia aside, but Lydia fought her, pushing her backwards.

  Sarah let out a little scream of frustration and grabbed at Lydia’s hair. Lydia retaliated with a volley of slaps. Dimly she could hear the smokers cheering, though a couple of them rushed forward in an attempt to intervene. She grappled with Sarah, desperate to hold on to her, until the pair of them fell to the ground. The paving slabs, so hard beneath her, made harsh contact with Lydia’s pelvis and she gasped, the pain hindering her ability to defend herself from Sarah’s vengeful fingernails.

  “I’m going to talk to him now,” gloated the harpist, her face right in Lydia’s.

  Lydia screamed, “No!” Then she was released from the mint-smelling hot breath and the fingers digging into her collarbone.

  “What on earth is happening here?” Von Ritter hauled Sarah to her feet, then held out his hand to Lydia. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

  “It was her,” they both started, but von Ritter silenced them with a furious shake of the head.

  “I don’t want to know. Both of you have behaved in an appallingly unprofessional manner and it will need to be addressed. But not now, because the call to go on stage has already gone out and you need to get your asses in there. Now!”

  He clapped his hands and pointed inside.

  Sarah shot Lydia one last dirty look and slunk through the stage door, trying to repair her hair as she went.

  “We need to talk,” said von Ritter quietly, taking Lydia’s elbow and walking with her. “Was that about me?”

  “No,” said Lydia, still angry with him. “It was about Milan.”

  He looked as if he’d been slapped.

  “Oh, well,” he said, nudging her away in the direction of the wings. “I probably deserved that. Come to me straight after the concert.”

  “I might. Or I might not.” Lydia fired her parting shot and left him running a hand through his hair while she sought her violin case in a fluster.

  Everyone else was on stage—everyone except von Ritter and Milan, who were to come out together, the twin stars of the show.

  Retrieving her instrument from the Green Room, she ran straight into Milan, who was drinking a glass of water and trying to look composed.

  “Oh. Milan.” She picked up her violin case.

  He made a move towards her.

  “Lydia.” His voice was warm and yearning.

  At least Sarah hadn’t had the chance to get to him yet.

  “Good luck,” she said. “You’ll be magnificent. I know you will.”

  “Wait—”

  But she couldn’t wait. She ran out of the Green Room, clinging to her violin for dear life.

  Everyone looked up as she scurried to her chair. She was sure they must have noted her disarranged hair and her dusty concert dress, but nobody mentioned it. They probably thought she had been shagging von Ritter up against a wall, she realised, her cheeks heating. She took out her violin and tuned it up, grateful for the general noise on stage and off.

  There was a moment of expectant silence, then von Ritter and Milan walked out, to a barrage of applause and cheers.

  A television camera on wheels rolled past her.

  Great, she thought. I’m making my TV debut with a scratch on my face and cavewoman hair.

  But then, who would be looking at her? All eyes were going to be on Milan.

  Von Ritter conducted them into the opening bars of The Lark Ascending. Milan started to play the cadenza, the notes soaring sweetly upward, perfectly evocative.

  Lydia drew a grateful breath. This was going to be all right. Milan’s performance was going to blow everyone away and his life would be back on track.

  The first half was a triumph. Milan’s performance of the Vaughan Williams had many an audience member surreptitiously dabbing their eyes with a handkerchief, and the orchestral pieces by Delius and Holst that followed roused them into good humour for the interval, after which the Elgar Violin Concerto was scheduled.

  The interval. Lydia had forgotten about that. Immediately she made a beeline for Sarah, intent on preventing h
er from sabotaging Milan, but in the event she didn’t need to bother, for Milan was borne away to be interviewed for the television coverage.

  Lydia decided instead to head for the ladies’ toilets to make some essential repairs to her appearance.

  She found Vanessa in there, spraying her already rigid crown of hair before the harshly lit mirrors.

  “What the hell happened to you?” asked Vanessa.

  “Sarah,” said Lydia briefly, wincing at the sight of the open cut on her cheek, inflicted by one of Sarah’s rings.

  “You weren’t fighting over Milan, were you?” Vanessa’s jaw dropped in horror.

  “In a way. Not that way. Oh, God, it’s a long story.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t. I have to make sure she doesn’t get to Milan. He’s safe now, being interviewed by a TV presenter, but she still might find her moment.”

  “Her moment to what?”

  “Tell him that their relationship is a sham. She’s with him to get some kind of revenge—something to do with Julius Hackmeyer.”

  “The conductor?”

  “I don’t know any other Julius Hackmeyers, do you?”

  “Touchy! Okay, okay. Standard weird Milan stuff, if you ask me. I’d stay out of it.”

  “Ness, I can’t.”

  Lydia turned to her, her lips trembling, tears forming in her eyes.

  “Oh, love,” sighed Vanessa. “I know you can’t. You can’t let him go, can you?”

  She shook her head, blinking back the blur.

  “Where does von Ritter stand in all this?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know about him anymore.”

  As if the mention of his name had summoned his spirit, they were interrupted by an oboist called Liz, who popped her head around the door and said, “Ah, Lydia. I’ve been looking for you. Von Ritter wants you. He says to meet him by the stage door.”

  The scene of the crime.

  “I’d better go,” said Lydia nervously.

  “That’s another fine mess you’ve got yourself into,” quoted Vanessa, shaking her head.

  “I know. I wish I could have a simple relationship, like you and Ben.”

  “Oi. Nothing simple about seeing a man half your age.”

  “Sorry. But you know what I mean. All happy and loved up and…normal.”