Please, Maestro

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Please, Maestro Page 2

by Penelope L'Amoreaux


  Time slowed, her breathing her only measure of it passing. Her mind, crazy with anxiety, began to fill in the silence. It played for her the ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of her heart. Of course, it had been so long since she had heard a heartbeat. Even longer since she had paid attention to the sound. It, like so many sounds, was one she had taken for granted. Weird, she realized, considering that it was the most important sound a person could know, the sound of life.

  She felt the floorboards creak as he moved around her. Her body wanted to tremble, to quake in fear, but she willed it to stillness. If only he would forgive her, and their lesson could continue. As much as they both fought irritation and rage, it was heady and surreal to be playing again, her heart filling in where her ears could not.

  He stopped moving and her breath caught in her throat.

  His fingers were in her hair and he made a fist, yanking tight. Using his grip on her hair he pulled her roughly to her knees, angling her face to his. He spoke slowly, for while she was competent in sign language, lip reading was difficult.

  “I’m not going to spank you. I think you like it too much. I want you to focus on me. On. Me.”

  His free hand went to the front of his pants. She noticed that he was aroused. Before, the spankings had turned her on, but he had never done anything after. She had been left aching and confused as to his feelings, or why he seemed to only want to touch her that way. Avery had hated thinking he did not feel at least some attraction to her.

  The hard evidence of his arousal straining at the front of his jeans made her suck in her breath. He was just as turned as she was. “Wait here. Do. Not. Move.”

  She froze, making her muscles tight and still, barely breathing. A three-word command, do not move, and her body sprang into obedience even as her mind still warred with this overly intimate and painful way of teaching.

  He went to his bag and pulled out his conductor’s baton. As he moved back to her, he ran a hand through his hair, mussing his ponytail. Heavy strands of curls hung in his face, his stark cheekbones pale, his mouth pulled tight and menacing. He was a God and his baton his weapon. If she had been afraid before, Avery now knew it had not been afraid enough.

  “Unsip me.” Unsip? Her brow furrowed as she tried to decipher what he meant. Impatient, he rapped on her head with the baton, scolding her for being slow.

  It was humiliating. The spankings were, at least, a pleasurable thing for her. She knew she should be embarrassed, but instead she was always aroused. The baton, though, was shameful, a schoolmaster with a child. Her skin crawled and she glowered.

  His free hand grabbed the hard bulge in his jeans. “Unzip me now.”

  Unzip. Oh. Oh. Avery’s hands shook as she went to unbutton his pants, her fingers slipping and fumbling. Before, while there was clearly something sexual going on, with her nakedness and his punishments, there had still been a line, unspoken. It was about the music, it was about building a connection between them. This, though, didn’t feel like the music training he had promised.

  No, this promised something dark and she was eager, despite her terror, to discover what that meant.

  She successfully slid the zipper down and his cock sprang free. Long, thick, uncut. Her fingers clawed at the waist of his jeans, grazing the taut skin and muscles of his abs and hips as she drug the pants down to give her better access. If he was surprised, David didn’t show it, though she thought he must have been for she had acted without orders.

  Avery wanted to reach out and grab him. She was young, only in her early twenties, but she wasn’t inexperienced. Music camps had not only enhanced her playing, it had taught her about boys.

  The problem was David was a man.

  She could smell him. He smelled like earth and salt, the thatch of hair above his erect penis as wild as the hair on his head. Desire swarming, making her dizzy, she waited and watched his mouth for his instructions.

  “Suck me.”

  Immediately she wrapped her hand around the silky, thick base and her tongue swirled around the head. She felt the tremor in his thighs. Avery let her tongue dip out and began to lick him up and down his shaft, tracing patterns into the velvet skin and map of veins. His cock jumped in response in her hand, and she moaned.

  Quickly she began to stroke him, her hand pulling back his foreskin so her tongue could taste his head and the salty drops of precum gathering there. Enthusiastic, she began to pump.

  Only to be rapped harshly on the head. Her teeth grazed him a little as she pulled back in surprise and her eyes, moving to his face, caught the flash of pain.

  “Too fast. Suck me, but watch.”

  Timid, she looked up at him as she took him back in her mouth. It was awkward, the angle changing in her throat, making it harder to feel in control. Which, she realized, was the point. She was not in control for this.

  The baton swept up, held in his hand like an extension of him, his grip gentle but sure. Slowly, he began to conduct. Beats in the air meant she should bob her head up and down.

  It didn’t feel natural. She couldn’t lave his dick with her tongue, or enjoy teasing him. All of her focus was on the baton and taking as much cock into her throat as she could. His hips began to pump, pushing himself into her mouth a little further. He was fucking her mouth, and she was rapt.

  The tempo increased and Avery found herself losing focus, becoming enamored with David, with the look of pleasure on his face. Her hand began to move again, pumping him, helping to push the beat faster. Awash in pleasure, she closed her eyes.

  His fist was in her hair. Her eyes flew open and she tried to pull back, but he held her firmly, continuing to pound into her mouth as his other hand brought the baton down firmly on her head.

  “Like-” thrust, “this,” thrust. He tapped the same spot, making it sore, while pushing further and further into her throat. Avery gagged, she felt saliva spilling out of her mouth and down her chin, and her eyes began to burn and water. She wanted to close them and flinch every time the baton came down, yet she forced them to remain open, focused on her teacher.

  He picked up the tempo, a fast clip. His eyes bore into hers, his sweat dripping down and splashing in small drops on her face and tits. Finally, when breathing was becoming difficult, she felt the twinge and twitch of his orgasm.

  David yanked his dick from her mouth and gripped it, his fist sending him hard into his climax. Avery started to move away but he dropped the baton and grabbed her hair, holding her there as the first spurts of come erupted from him. He held her in place as he sprayed her face, his heavy loads of thick semen coating her cheeks, her eyelashes, her tongue, as her mouth, open in surprise, hadn’t shut.

  No man had ever come on her before. Avery felt a swirl of emotions. She knew it was degrading. The fierce burn of her cheeks, the tears of shame that escaped her eyes showed her reaction. Yet her pussy was dripping, her arousal slicking her thighs, and her clit sang its song of yearning.

  She moved a hand up to wipe away his seed, but he stopped her. Stooping down so he could be face to face, David’s unapologetic eyes met hers. He shook his head and her hand dropped.

  No. You’ll leave it for the rest of this lesson. This way you’ll not forget to pay attention when I am showing you the proper beat. You play to please me, do you understand?

  Avery nodded and tried to still her trembling lip. No, she wouldn’t forget after this.

  It wasn’t enough for David. I want to hear you say that you understand.

  I understand. Her hands might be shaking, but she signed her commitment.

  I said I want to hear you, Avery.

  She hated using her voice and he knew it. It was one more thing she used to be familiar with, to control, that she couldn’t trust anymore.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  He, of course, had no problem signing to her. Yes, Maestro.

  “Yes, Maestro.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, the obvious pleasure relaxing the stark features on his face. Her bloo
d heated at knowing that her submission made him so sublime. His seed on her face was growing cold, still sliding down in places, leaving a chilled trail. It made her feel dirty, but it also didn’t stop her nipples from tightening in arousal.

  Avery waited, knowing her lesson was still happening.

  He signed to her his next command, a surprisingly tender touch. Ok, let’s try it again from the top. Stop relying so much on your sight. Look at me, but feel your instrument.

  She moved back into place, cello nestled between her legs. Before she could begin he moved behind her. Instinct made her straighten her back. David’s hands on her shoulders, countering it. She tried to let herself relax a bit under his touch.

  He combed her hair, pulling it out of the sticky mess that was beginning to dry and itch on her face. Deftly he braided it, keeping it back. Avery hummed a little in pleasure at the intimate gesture. His fingers traced the sides of her neck, her shoulders, eliciting a shiver as she thrived under his touch.

  He was always so harsh with her. She craved the harshness, but now with this gentle side… her body ebbed and flowed below his touch, her skin becoming a map he was tracing. She yearned more for the protective feeling of his touch than she had for anything in that moment, more even than for hearing. Kindness she had overflowing from family, friends, strangers.

  Warmth and safety she realized were lacking.

  With the lightest touches, he began to manipulate her position. He squatted next to her and nudged her knees further apart, scooting her instrument closer. He raised it a little so that the back rested more comfortably on her bare chest. Standing again, he tipped her chin, bringing her cheek to rest close to the scroll, close as a lover to her instrument.

  It was awkward. She wasn’t used to being this close to the instrument. Her finger hand was now raised, the wrist bent at a new and uncomfortable angle. Still, he had chosen this for her. While her classical training revolted in her, a deep breath made her submission easier.

  Ok. On my count.

  He set a slower pace to begin. His hand, holding the baton again, swayed. One, two, one-two-three-four.

  The first few notes were off, a second delayed due to her new body positioning. Inside she cringed, afraid for another punishment. Instead he waited, his gaze locked onto her eyes. Her eyes, though, were locked onto the baton.

  After a quick dart to the paper, she decided to follow him entirely, her gaze consuming her. As her bow pulled across the strings and her fingers slowly became accustomed to the new angle, something began to happen.

  The rich hum of her instrument, that deep-rooted rumble of the cello, was being passed through her skin. Her cheek, her breasts, her inner thighs soaked up the vibrations. She felt the note as she followed his lead. And then, as her confidence grew, she was able to relax enough that her mind filled in the blanks.

  The music was there. With each tug and pull the notes she remembered came back, rumbling through her.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, washing his lesson away. It was the most beautiful feeling.

  * * * * *

  He was late. David was never late. A conductor’s life was timing, and his was impeccable.

  Where was her Maestro?

  Their lessons had become the highlight of her life. Two to three times a week her doorbell would buzz her and she would let him in, preparing to strip and ready to play.

  He hadn’t let her touch him since the day he forced his cock down her throat. At night, when she was alone, she’d replay that scene over and over while touching herself, always stroking her clit to the rhythm his baton had tapped onto her head. He would scold her, she imagined, until she broke down in tears and he ejaculated on her, spraying her down and then praising her for finally learning to follow his lead.

  Still, as much as she yearned for him, Avery tried not to forget his promise: to make her concert-ready. The sexual tension between them was natural, she supposed, given the extreme and intimate nature of the lessons. He had promised to give her music again. He had never promised her more than that.

  Therefore she knew it was not safe to feel such anxiety over his tardiness. She knew her fretful thoughts, Did I do something wrong? and Did he find a better soloist? were her personal insecurities, not valid worries. Yet they were there, looping in her mind.

  Popping her knuckle joints, Avery waited, trying not to stare at the clock. She was used to silence now, but silence pared with anxiety was maddening.

  An hour and a half later, he buzzed.

  Avery tried to look calm when opening the door, but she yanked a little too hard and her cheeks were flushed with the rush of knowing David was there.

  Where have you been? She wished she appeared nonchalant. She knew she didn’t.

  He didn’t look that way, either. Standing in her yellow porch light, she realized she hadn’t really looked at him in quite some time. Her focus had been on his hands, on his hair, on her fantasies of him. In this moment, though, she saw. He was thinner, if that was even possible. The cast of the light made him look gaunt, haunted. Dark circles under eyes that were no longer wild with passion, but instead restless, manic. David did not look pleased to see her.

  Is something wrong? Are you ok? She reached out to pull him in, but he pulled back, barely, just enough for her to jerk her arm back.

  He brushed past her. Stormed, really. He walked like he was possessed by a hurricane.

  As soon as she shut the door, Avery began to remove her clothing, per his instructions in the past. However, when she stood after pulling off her panties, David was sitting on her couch, stiff, his legs crossed.

  She went over and kneeled at his feet, waiting. He glowered.

  Do you want me to bring you my instrument for tuning?

  He didn’t answer. His eyes pierced her, searching her face, the lines around his eyelids and forehead deeper than she could remember, scrunched in thought.

  When he didn’t reply, Avery struggled to remain calm. Her skin itched and her heart fluttered. Something was wrong and his silence was somehow becoming more heavy and potent than the silence of her everyday life.

  Not knowing what to do, she tried to rise to begin fetching her instrument, but he stopped her.

  Wait.

  She did.

  Why weren’t you naked when I arrived? Haven’t we been doing this enough for you to know what is expected of you?

  Yes, she knew she should be naked, but she never had been before he came through the door before. His rage was palpable.

  I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time. Her blood was pulsing in her ears. Every second she spent with him she worried more about saying or doing the wrong thing. All she wanted was to please him.

  Get up.

  Scrambling to obey, she almost tripped as she stood. The look of disgust on David’s face was almost more than she could bear. What was happening?

  This is what I’m talking about. His elegant hands gestured wildly at her, losing their usual grace and precision. You don’t take this seriously.

  Avery wasn’t sure how her stomach could feel like it was both plummeting to the ground and yet simultaneously in danger of spilling from her mouth.

  How can you say that to me? I’ve done everything to please you.

  Well you failed.

  David chewed his lip. It was such a young, vulnerable move. It sliced through her, cutting her to the core. For a moment she had hope. I should leave.

  Her stomach plunged. What are you saying? Is my playing that bad? I thought things were going well with it. With us.

  As soon as she signed “with us” she regretted it. His whole demeanor changed at that, stiffening and straightening, becoming the conductor, the controller. The only thing still missing was the fiery passion that usually accompanied it.

  Your playing is fine. In fact, you play beautifully. Maybe better than ever.

  Then what is the problem?

  You aren’t committed enough. You’re treating this like a game. Do you think I’m co
ming here just for fun? That what we’re doing makes us an ‘us’? I need a soloist, Avery, in two weeks. You want to prance around naked for me.

  Blindsided. Hit by a train. Sucker punched. Avery felt all of those things and more. Suddenly her nudity and kneeling position felt like a farce. You… you told me to do this! I’ve been doing it for you! She was enraged that she couldn’t sign and cover her breasts at the same time. Why was he saying this? I’ve done all of this for you, David.

  That, Avery, is the fucking problem.

  He stood, towering over her. Unable to control it, she had begun to tremble.

  I’m leaving now. If I plead with the next state over, they should have a soloist who can fill in at the last minute. He moved toward the door.

  Her face was soaking with tears and they fell readily on her breasts and at her feet. As he reached the door she stopped trying to understand what was happening. She only wanted to keep it from continuing.

  Avery flew across the room, crashing into his back. She pressed herself into the fabric of his t-shirt, inhaling the clean linen scent. Her arms wrapped around his narrow, muscular waist, gripping her to him tightly.

  “Please, Maestro.” He cringed at her words, her touch. “Please. I’ll do anything. You know that.”

  His hands covered hers for just a moment, but god, what a sweet moment it was. As close to returning her feelings as he had ever shown. He peeled her off and turned to face her.

  “Say it again.”

  She didn’t have difficulty reading his lips that time. “Please, Maestro. Teach me.”

  His hand reached out and he brushed her hair from her eyes, sweeping his fingertips lightly down until he cupped her chin. “I need you to take this seriously. I need you to take me seriously.”

  “I always have. How can I prove that to you?”

  His eyes shut for the briefest of moments. She had seen him do this before practice, ages ago, when he was creating a clever way to challenge his musicians.

 

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