The house lights were out in the auditorium, affording me ample cover in the control booth. Julian had completed the composition and after much cajoling, promised to let me hear his workshop of the piece on the condition that I go undetected as they worked. I had settled on a rickety wooden stool, careful not to disturb the lighting controls before me. Before long, the orchestra seemed settled. I checked my phone and saw three missed calls from Ethan.
"Please." I begged, fingers wrapped around his cock, rendering him immobile beneath me in bed. I squeezed around him and loosened my grip.
His eyes screwed shut in an agony. "Don't stop."
I took all of him into my mouth, my swollen lips sliding down to the base of his dick. I looked up at him as he hummed in encouragement.
"Let me watch! Just one rehearsal."
He snarled at the sudden loss of sensation. "No."
"Okay." I sat back on my heels and gave a pointed look.
He looked at me, shaking his head through a curtain of lust. "It's not perfect."
"It doesn't have to be perfect." I leaned forward, swirling my tongue over the head of his cock. He drew a sharp breath.
"God. I'm so close." He spoke through gritted teeth.
"For me? Please?"
"That's the point. It's for you. Why do you want to spoil it?" He pushed his hips up toward my lips, barely out of reach.
"Julian." My tongue millimeters from the swollen head of is cock, beading with pre-cum. An invisible current ran between us, a live wire.
"Brat! Fine!"
***
"Serenade—Movement two, straight through, please!" He called out.
A buzz hummed through the orchestra as his students shuffled the sheet music on their stands. His light-hearted demeanor surprised me. I had always pictured him as an austere authoritarian at work, but the energy in the room proved otherwise. I could only decipher tone from where I sat, unable to hear specifics as he joked with his students. A bassist in the back of the room started tuning discreetly, and a girl sitting to his right made a sarcastic remark and laughter erupted from the lit stage. He rose a hand and the room fell into gradual stillness.
With a few flicks of his baton, Julian divined the beginnings of a hopeful melody. Entranced, I leaned into the idyllic air that captured the still auditorium. I was captivated by the fluid gesticulations of the handsome conductor before me. His movements flowed and amplified with the crescendo of sound. The sweet call and response of the violins and cellos elicited a strong sense of longing. I wondered what it meant.
"Cellos, that's you!" He called out. If they missed a cue, I hadn't noticed. He waved for the orchestra to stop and had individual sections repeat a specific run. He called out encouragement as the ensemble tightened to his satisfaction.He led the orchestra through a second movement with a saccharine violin solo before he stopped them again.
"Okay, I'll see you back here in five!" He called out.
Walking with a purpose, he kept his eyes on the dark glass of the control booth. I could see my reflection if I took my focus off of him. I felt almost certain he couldn't see me from where he stood.
"So?" He arrived before me moments later with a self-assured grin.
"It's incredible!"
"Except they haven't nailed that high C."
"Thank you." My heart swelled with affection. To be on the receiving end of all of his talent and passion was overwhelming. "I can't believe that's for me."
Julian quickly cleared the control room and tilted my chin up before kissing me deeply.
"It's what you do to me. I had major writer's block before I met you. I hadn't written anything original in . . . God, was it a year?" He pulled me out of my chair and lifted me onto the counter, I could feel the control board against my lower back. I didn't realize how cold I felt in the small dark room until his warmth was right up against me. "I feel like a different person around you." His words smeared with his lips on my neck. His hand moved up my thigh, dismissing the fabric of my skirt.
"Julian! Not here!" I glanced frantically back at the auditorium.
"I like you flustered."
"We don't have time for this!" I protested as he tugged the waistband of my sheer pink panties down my legs and slipped two fingers inside me, feeling far too large inside me.
"You think I can't make you cum in five minutes?" He pulled his fingers from me and pushed them into my mouth. I moaned around them in surprise as he moved to his knees before me. Wrapping his arms around my thighs, he pulled me to his lips.
"Wait!" I gasped, feeling a bout of self-consciousness. "Julian!"
His tongue ran circles around my clit, eliciting jolts of pleasure up my spine to mingle with the anxiety of being discovered. I tried to remember if he had locked the door behind him. Back in the auditorium, the general chaos ensued of different instruments practicing conflicting bits of music and the chatter that broke out in groups.
"Please." I whined quietly, suppressing a moan. I tried and failed to squirm away from him.
My phone began to vibrate on the counter, buzzing loudly. I reached to turn it off, and found my wrist held tightly in place by his grip. His efforts seemed almost adamant after, the rhythmic pressure of his tongue flicking up to my clit over and over made my head swim.
"Oh God, Julian, can I?" I strained against his grip.
"No." he pulled his tongue away and began nibbling softly on my thigh as I squirmed in frustration. "Not yet."
"Please!" I whimpered pitifully.
"Tell me who it belongs to." He kissed my pussy gently, the hyper-sensitive skin magnifying the sensation.
"You." I tried to catch my breath.
"When do you cum?" He swirled his tongue over my clit, producing a gasp.
"When you say so." I mewled.
"Once I finish this class you're going to be in your apartment waiting for me." He instructed.
"Yes!"
"Yes what?"
"Yes sir." I acquiesced.
"Maybe then you'll cum for me." He released my wrists and kissed my clit before getting off of his knees.
"Maybe?" I pouted, but he ignored me. He pushed my pink panties into the pocket of his dress pants and glanced at his wrist watch.
"Just under five minutes." He smiled devilishly at me and gestured to my phone. "He's still calling you?"
I looked at the screen: Ethan again.
"Not as frequently." I admitted.
"Stay strong. He'll get over it." He pulled me into a dizzying kiss before checking his reflection over my shoulder.
"When is rehearsal over?" I slid off of the counter, straightening my skirt and feeling disheveled.
"When the cellos hit that high C."
I watched him saunter back to the podium at the front of the theatre. He had such an air of confidence about him, he was clearly in his element. I wondered what it must feel like to be a student of his. A short brunette called him over as the orchestra began filtering back to their seats and played an excerpt. He pantomimed what she was aiming for as he made a suggestion. She attempted the excerpt again and he clapped in approval. From where I stood it was obvious she was flushed from his undivided attention. I could empathize.
Once I told him I was leaving Ethan, Julian seemed to lighten up dramatically. He softened, pleased knowing my attention was no longer split. We began to see each other more regularly, but I didn't always wind up in cuffs. Some nights he read out loud from his favorite novel as I worked on a project. We would drive around the city or meander empty highways, allowing the oil-slick of colors blur past us in a comfortable silence. There were days I was certain he wasn't seeing his fiancée at all, for the time I clocked with him. For a time, what we had was easy.
The fact remained, however, that he was going to be married. It occurred to me that I didn't know how soon or far off their pending nuptials were. I wondered with a pang of guilt how it would change our dynamic. I mostly tried not to think of her. Some time had passed since she had been to my apartment and I wasn't eager to have her back.
Later that evening, I prepared for his impending visit to try and distract myself. I sat before my vanity, applying a coat of mascara and tried to decide on whether a pair of thigh-highs were too much for the evening he had planned. Try as I might, I became increasingly neurotic about the ephemeral nature to the whole affair. Once he was married, would he vanish from my life as quickly as he had crashed into it? I felt a flush of triviality. He could be gone soon and there I was, deliberating over what to wear. The train of thought had colored my mood ostensibly by the time I heard a knock at my door.
Standing with a box at his feet, Ethan looked miserable.
"Hi." I made no movement to let him in. It was difficult to look him in the eye knowing I'd see so much hurt. When I told Ethan I was leaving, he begged for a reason- some tangible evidence that he had let me down. I insisted that he was wonderful- which he was- and that it was my flagrant inability to function in a normal healthy relationship- which, apparently, I was.
"You're fighting this because you're scared, but it's okay. This will pass." He fought.
I decided to leave the details out of it. I didn't want to admit the thrill I felt at seeing bruises on my tits or the deep sense of satisfaction I felt being essentially used by someone who had no allegiances toward me. I couldn't bring myself to admit much of it to myself. I didn't want to watch his expression as he discovered what I was really like. The adverse effect of this was that he was convinced I was sabotaging our relationship due to some deep insecurity that he could forgive.
"I called. A few times, actually." He seemed unlike himself. Deflated and humorless. It hurt to look at him.
"I was at work." I lied.
