Author's Note: I don't routinely read stories in this category because I find the fantasies described in them often differ so greatly from mine (which, incidentally, means recommendations would be great!). So, I don't know much the psychological play out tends to be described by other authors. The two main characters in this story represent real people in my life, real fantasies, and real internal grappling with what it means to have a relationship outside of your relationship. So the story gets a bit cerebral, but also digs deep into the darkest fantasies Claire has - it could be a bit disturbing to some, and also introduces some guy-on-guy action, so be forewarned. Thanks for reading!
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Claire awoke with a start, her alarm clock screaming away on her bedside table. Evidently it had been going off for several minutes, and she rubbed her fingertips over her eyes. Why was it set so early? Sitting bolt upright, she remembered. The symphony's first rehearsal of the year was today, and no matter what else happened, she could not be late. Though her body trembled deliciously at the memory of the pain and pleasure that had followed her previous indiscretions, she had been told in no uncertain terms that her failure to maintain certain standards of conduct would result in the immediate termination of their... what was it, exactly? Not really a relationship. An agreement, perhaps.
She shuffled into the bathroom to take a shower, and was stopped in her tracks by the sight of herself in the mirror. She was paler than usual, and a ring of fingertip bruises cut into the soft line of her jaw. Looking down, she also saw bruises on her wrists and hip bones. Amazing, she thought, to be so lost in the moment that the idea of bruising never crossed her mind. The bathroom filled with billowy steam clouds as she ran the shower, and contemplated makeup to cover the bruises. She never wore makeup, and she wasn't going to start now. The bruises were a reminder she would wear with pride. Still, it could be awkward to show up in public this way.
And wouldn't Sebastien notice? What would he think? The possibility of catching his attention made the final decision for her. She would go barefaced, and see if Sebastien reacted.
She dressed modestly, in charcoal slacks and matching jacket with a blazing red silk blouse. Grabbing her stack of sheet music and heading out the door, she was dismayed to feel a dull aching in her shoulders and chest, no doubt from the struggling and binding of the day before. Luckily her jaw and knees had recovered from their ill treatment, otherwise she would not have been confident of her ability to stand and sing all day.
When she stepped onto the curb, she found that a black town car very like Sebastien's was parked outside her building. When she turned to go to the bus stop, a mild voice from behind her called, "Miss, over here!" She turned, and indeed, the same man who had driven her to Sebastien's apartment was standing on the sidewalk. "Monsieur Boulet tasked me with driving you to the symphony hall today. He wished to be sure you arrived on time."
Frowning at the man, Claire nevertheless got into the backseat of the car. "Did he instruct you on what to do if I wasn't downstairs on time?" she grumbled. "What if I hadn't been here?"
The man ignored her, and instead started the engine. Claire pouted the entire way there.
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At the symphony hall, Claire suddenly found herself the subject of attention, as soon as some of the orchestra players glimpsed the bruises on her jawline. The cornered her in the hallway outside the auditorium.
"Claire, what happened to you? Are you okay?" asked Sherry, a violinist.
"Those bruises look terrible!" exclaimed Patricia, a bassoonist.
"Who did this to you?" asked Michael, another violinist, looking like he wanted to strangle someone.
"Really, everyone, I'm fine," Claire said, a flush rising to her cheeks.
"You don't look fine!" insisted Sherry. "You look hurt!"
"Ah, no, it was nothing," said Claire. Soft footsteps announced the arrival of someone else. That someone proved to be Sebastien, who strolled down the hallway, flicking a look at her. It was a heated glance that could have been warning, or anticipation, or remembrance. She returned his gaze, a bit meekly, and the very possibilities of what he could be thinking made her knees week. She wobbled slightly, causing more cries of alarm from the musicians.
"Look, she's going to faint!" squealed Patricia. Michael attempted to catch her by grasping at her arm. Claire flinched as his fingers landed on her wrist, and she pulled away. Cradling her wrist, her sleeve fell down to expose the bruises on her wrist, and there were fresh gasps. She sent a beseeching look at Sebastien, who hesitated just long enough for Michael to turn to him.
"Ah, Maestro, you'll know what to do. Claire's been injured, but she keeps telling us she's fine!"
"If Claire says she is fine, then she is fine," he said impassively, and the musicians exchanged glances, baffled at his seeming lack of concern.
"But Maestro, that's exactly what she would say if she was being hurt!" said Sherry.
"Who do you think could be hurting her? Certainly not the young man she passes her time with. He couldn't hurt a fly," he said, somewhat derisively. Brushing aside the musicians, he grabbed Claire's wrist firmly and pulled her down the hall, ignoring her grimace of pain. "Come, mon abeille," he said in a low voice, as soon as they were out of earshot, "Your injuries are making rehearsal begin late."
"My injuries?!" Claire hissed indignantly. "You gave them to me!"
"And you showed up with them on display. What did you think would happen?" He let go of her wrist abruptly, and she nearly stumbled. He marched away from her into the auditorium, and she followed sullenly.
Rehearsal went without distraction after that, though Claire was aware that there were some whispers and glances in her direction on account of the bruises. She also overheard Michael's still-baffled description of Sebastien's reaction to his fellow violinists. As for herself, she could not quite forget the tone of his voice when he mentioned her boyfriend. She felt guilty about Todd as it was, since he was obviously totally unaware of her sexual relationship with her conductor. She tried to convince herself it was none of his business, but that didn't seem quite right.
Several missed cues later, Sebastien called a break in the rehearsal. He sauntered over to her, narrowing his eyes as he leaned down.
"What is on my soprano's mind that takes her so far away from my rehearsal?" he asked, voice soft and dangerous. "Could it be that she is desirous of more punishment?"
"No, Maestro, it's nothing."
"So it is a whipping she wants, daring to lie so boldly."
Scowling up at him, she replied, "I was thinking about Todd." When he said nothing, she clarified, "You know, my boyfriend."
"I see."
He vanished from her side and said not another word to her the entire afternoon. For her part, she marshaled her attention and kept her mind on rehearsal.
She was not surprised that Sebastien's town car was not present when she left rehearsal. She worried that Sebastien would rescind his offer to see her the following day. She wanted to call Todd and arrange a date, but with the bruises on her face and wrists, she just didn't feel like explaining. She went to bed in a bad mood.
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Claire opened her eyes to find herself chained - literally - to the wall somewhere dark. It felt damp, and a low flickering light off to one side barely illuminated the room. She tried to move, and found that she could step away from the wall several feet, but no further. The rough ground scraped the bottoms of her bare feet. Bare feet. Why, she was totally naked! In fact, where was she? Footsteps above paralyzed her in fear. Who was there?
The footsteps drew nearer, and she tried vainly to cover her tenderest parts. When it was Sebastien who stepped into the room, she was momentarily relieved. Yet, he towered over her in a way that seemed quite sinister, and the fear crept back into her heart. When he raised his hand and casually slapped her face, she fell to her knees, shocked, but not hurt. He slapped her again, and she fell back, cracking her head against the hard ground. Starbursts exploded behind her eyes and she was dizzy, disoriented, but not in pain. She saw Sebastien's belt, suddenly in his hand, and moaned in anticipation.
Instead of rolling her over, he attacked her front side, savagely slapping his belt over her breasts and belly without pause. Her body was on fire, tingling all over. She felt so alive. The belt skipped over her groin, pounding the flesh on her inner thighs. It went on for so long that she was finally beginning to feel more pain than pleasure, and she brought her hands up to ward off the blows.
Taking the hint, Sebastian aimed the next slap directly between her legs, and her back arched and twisted with the impact. The orgasm took her by surprise, leaving her fingers scrabbling on the ground beneath her. Sebastien ignored this, continuing the assault on her most tender areas. When after a few moments, Claire felt that she must be swollen and red, Sebastien dropped the belt and knelt over her, biting her neck, dragging nails and teeth down over her breasts. She cried out over and over, clinging to him desperately.
