The Soprano

Note: This is another plot-heavy, sex-light chapter - though not no sex, of course :) Next chapter will see more of the good stuff (and more of the subplot!) Thanks once more for all the support and kind comments I've received on the story. I'm glad people are still interested in seeing what happens to these two! Sometimes I even surprise myself - the last scene in this chapter didn't at all go the way I'd originally planned.

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November came to the city and the weather had never been more beautiful. The sky was a clear, beautiful blue after the morning fog had burned off (and before the evening fog crept in). It hardly rained, and the air had the crisp, spicy scent of decaying leaves so elusive on the West Coast. One such beautiful day, Claire was practically skipping on her way to the symphony hall.

They were rehearsing for another monumentally exciting concert. Evidently, Sebastien had liked her suggestion for deathly music so much that he had constructed this season’s concerts roughly around this idea. More specifically, the fall portion of the season would revolved around death, and the winter/spring half would primarily be music of rebirth and celebration. Perhaps it wasn’t a wholly original idea, but it provided a counterpoint to the previous season’s focus on love and operatic themes.

Thus the orchestra had performed Hans Werner Henze’s instrumental Requiem, Camille Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre, Franz Schubert’s String Quartet No. 14, and Franz Liszt’s Totentanz, among other pieces. Sebastien was making an effort to survey music written for and about death at as many points in musical history as he could. The concerts had been striking, and very well received.

In contrast to the previous concert featuring Duruflé’s gorgeous symphonic arrangement of the Requiem Mass, this concert would be markedly sharper, darker. They would lead with Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 14, a group of poetic settings on the theme of death. Unusual for a musical treatment of this theme is the lack of hope or promise of an afterlife. Shostakovich’s intention was to impress upon his listeners the beauty of life, the emptiness of death, and the tragedy of human violence. The instrumentation is sparse, unsettling.

Sebastien chose to follow that work with Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 4. Its first three movements are a bit pensive and atonal compared to many earlier works, but unfolds into a sweeter, more hopeful fourth movement – a child’s vision of Heaven. Sebastien knew that including the Mahler lessened the impact somewhat of the Shostakovich, but he also knew his audience. Although largely less religious than any previous generation, Americans still love a happy ending. Thinking of death as a dispassionate end as a corpse rotting in the ground or ashes scattered in the wind would no doubt leave his concertgoers uneasy. Something better left for intermission, he reasoned.

Besides, he knew his soprano. Claire was, as he correctly guessed, overjoyed to have the soft, sweet final movement of the concert to leave the last impression on their audience. He was, of course, not the only one with an ego, and he liked to occasionally throw her a bone. And the fact that her excitement from rehearsals bled over into energetic, amazing sex was just a bonus.

They were rehearsing the Mahler today, more or less in order, so Claire seated herself in the auditorium. She chose a seat with a good view of Sebastien and had her sketchbook balanced on her knee, scratchy-nibbed pen in hand. Now that Sebastien knew she drew him, she didn’t bother to hide it from him…though she kept the sketches themselves hidden.

The orchestra was playing through the second movement – skeletal Death playing the fiddle – when the unthinkable happened. Claire’s phone beeped with the high-pitched urgency of her text message alert. Sebastien turned to give her a fierce glare, and she snatched up her phone. The message was from her mother.

In rehearsal. Call you at break, she typed in and sent. Before she could find the volume control, however, her phone began to ring. She stood, making even more noise than her phone in her haste to leave the auditorium. Once in the hallway, she answered.

“Mom, I said I would call you!”

“Sorry, baby, I didn’t get your message. I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving.” Sigh. Why now? It would be Claire’s first family-type holiday since she’d begun dating Sebastien, and there had been a little awkwardness about it. He had suggested it might be a good time to meet her parents, but she wasn’t so sure.

Usually, Thanksgiving – like Christmas – was a time when her entire family got together. She just wasn’t ready for him to meet the whole crew. She wanted it to be more low-key. But then her father said maybe they should come to the city to meet Claire and with everyone else on board, why could she say?

“Baby, are you still there?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m sorry, what did you want to talk about?”

“Thanksgiving. Are we coming up to your apartment, or did you want to go out?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess it would be the most comfortable to do it at my apartment, except there’s not much room there.” She heard a soft snort.

“Do you even have table service for four?” asked a derisive voice softly behind her. She whirled around, to see Sebastien leaning against the wall behind her. He looked annoyed, and also…kind of amused. How did he do that?

“What are you doing out here?” she hissed, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

“Helping you plan our holiday, evidently,” he said, his frown deepening. “Which we are not having at your apartment, where there are no dishes to cook with.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“We shall have them come to my apartment,” he said smoothly, ignoring her question. “I have a dining room and hardly use it. It will do fine. It is meant for family. Now, break is almost over and you should put your phone away.” Having dropped that bombshell, he sauntered back down the hallway. Family. Did he consider her family?

“Mom, I’ll get you the address,” she said into the phone absently, and then hung up. She wandered back into the auditorium, giving Sebastien a strange look and feeling disconcerted when he merely smiled back at her. Shaking her head, she noticed one of the musicians looking curiously into her sketchbook, which she had left open on the seat as she’d hurried to answer the phone.

She strode over and closed the book with a snap, relieved to notice as she did so that her sketch had been only bare bones. Oh, she recognized it immediately as one of Sebastien’s conducting positions – slightly hunched, leaning forward as if to draw the very notes from each instrument – but she doubted anyone else would guess at what the sketch would eventually be. Even nosy musicians who looked at sketchbooks that didn’t belong to them.

“Everyone in your places, please. I trust we can continue our rehearsal without any further interruptions,” Sebastien said, throwing a pointed glance in Claire’s direction. She shrank back under it, but couldn’t keep from wondering if there was some way to continue annoying him without being too much of a distraction. Well. There was one way.

On impulse, she grabbed up her phone and tapped away for a moment before turning it off completely. She smiled sweetly up at Sebastien, who narrowed his eyes before turning back to the orchestra and cuing them for the third movement.

They had gotten into the swing of things before a muffled melody interrupted them. Eyes swiveled toward the sound, and the amusement in the orchestra was evident when it was Sebastien pulling his own phone out of his pocket and silencing it. Claire watched him, saw his shoulders tense with the effort it took to refrain from turning around. She did so love to push his buttons.

He probably hadn’t turned his phone off, though, and how annoying was it going to be for him to continue receiving vibrations from text message alerts on delay throughout the afternoon? She hid her smile by dropping her head down and focusing on her sketching.

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The final notes of the orchestra were just dying away when Claire packed her things up, hoping to be gone before Sebastien was ready to talk to her. The last hour had been entertaining, what with the periodic irritation crossing his face each time his phone vibrated in his pocket. He had apparently been unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing him actually turn it off, so he had endured the frequent buzzing with only an occasional glare in her direction.

She had just escaped onto the sidewalk, thinking she was free for the evening, when she realized her own phone was still off. Turning it on, she found that she had just received a message: I did not dismiss you. We need to discuss this afternoon’s rehearsal.

Biting her lower lip, she considered her options. She could go back in now, but…it would be much more fun to string him along. She answered: Sorry, already gone. Rehearsal went great, didn’t you think?

The bus drove up and she hopped onto it, feeling her phone buzz again. The new message read: That is not the word I would use. We have your punishment to discuss.

By this time, she was already blocks away. Was it a good excuse? Maybe not. But she waited for the bus to get across the city, and then she typed out: Gonna have to catch me first. ;)

Where would she go? His place, her place, what did it matter? He’d take her where he pleased. So it was to the ocean she went, after entirely too long a time away. Today it was uniformly grey at the coast, with thin clouds overhead that broke occasionally to let spears of sunlight dance on the grey-green waves.

No fog to speak of – yet – and there was a cool, salty breeze blowing. For all that, though, the water was surprisingly warm after the initial shock of cold, and she eagerly shed her shoes to wade ankle-deep in the surf. She walked a long distance from where the bus had dropped her off, until she was all the way at the northern end of the beach. She climbed over the rocks to her private beach where she found a tender spot of sunlight to warm the sand.

After a few moments’ hesitation, she stripped all the way to her skin and swam into the foaming waves. Surely no one would see her here, though they could if they climbed over the same rocks she had. It’s just that no one ever did, really. She swam out and around one of the rocks nearby, flipping and turning in the water like a seal.

The water was refreshing, and staying immersed was warmer than exposing her skin to the sea air, so she swam for a long time. Eventually she grew tired, and when she popped her head above water to look toward the shore, she was dismayed to see that all of her belongings had gone missing! She hadn’t noticed anyone on the beach while she was swimming, but she admitted that she hadn’t paid much attention.

Claire looked around anxiously as she swam back toward the beach, and eventually her feet found the sand beneath them. The closer she got, the more she could see into the dry, sandy hollow behind one of the boulders on shore, and at one point she thought she could see a shadow behind one. Except that this was no shadow – it was Sebastien.

She strode onto the sand, feeling vaguely uncomfortable to be so exposed. Sebastien kept his eyes on her, roving over her dripping limbs, her wet hair, her hard nipples.

“Well, mon abeille,” he began as soon as she was in earshot, “have I caught you?” She looked over at him, still seeing no trace of her clothes.

“I guess you have. What are you going to do with me now that you have?”

“What an amusing question. I am going to punish you, of course. Although I suppose I should find a way to shackle you first. What kind of catcher would I be if I allowed my prey to simply run away as soon as she was caught?”

“Very funny. I’m not going to run off.”

“You say that now. But for insurance, I should find a way to keep you near me. Refuse to return your clothes, for instance. Or I could physically bind you to me.”

“Couldn’t we just hold hands?” she asked in a pained voice. She wasn’t ashamed to be seen with him or anything, it’s just that she didn’t see why she needed to announce their sexual games to everyone else, and she told him so. He was silent for a long moment, thinking, and then he tossed her clothes to her in a heap.

“Such a charmingly innocent idea. But if it makes you that uncomfortable, we shall wait for the privacy of my apartment before we get down to business.”

Claire looked at him suspiciously. He wasn’t usually this inclined to give in to her desire to be spared embarrassment, so what was the deal?

“Does it really not bother you to walk around with me naked, or tied up, or on a leash?” He didn’t answer, merely gestured to her clothes with a bit of impatience. She dressed, glad that the wind had done its job to dry off her skin. Then, in the spirit of gratitude, she offered him her hand. He gripped it firmly in his, offered her a small smile, and they clambered over the rocks and up the sandy beach together.

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The sky was rapidly growing dark outside, and Claire’s chest tightened with anticipation as she followed Sebastien up the stairs into his bedroom.

“Sit,” he commanded, yanking the curtains over the windows. She lowered herself timidly onto his bed, folding her hands primly in her lap. He turned to look at her, frowned slightly, and shook his head. “Strip. Then sit.”

Claire stood, pulled off her clothes and tossed them aside, then sat back down. Again, Sebastien frowned at her.

“I did not ask you to make a mess. Fold your clothing and then sit.” Huffing a little in frustration, Claire followed his directions and sat once more on the edge of his bed. He turned to the little closet with all their…toys…and pulled out several lengths of soft-looking rope. Then he returned to the bed, looking very dangerous all of a sudden. Claire shivered, wondering what he was about to do.

“Do not be afraid, mon abeille,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him, as he ran his fingertip down her body. “I will not hurt you…very much. Feet up.”

Claire pulled her feet up onto the edge of the bed, letting her wrists dangle down between her legs. She watched him curiously as he ran the rope around and around her ankle, knotting it securely in a wide cuff. He then pulled one of her wrists down to the ankle and repeated it, the rope circling around both wrist and ankle until they were tied together. Shifting aside, he did the same with her other wrist and ankle, until both wrists were immobilized. Lifting them lifted her ankles, and she inadvertently unbalanced herself, falling backward onto the bed and exposing herself to him.

He laughed softly at her predicament before saying, “That made my job a bit easier. Now then,” he said, pushing her body toward the center of the large bed, “can you get out of those bindings?” He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. “Go ahead. Try.”

Claire blinked, too surprised to say anything for the moment. She tugged tentatively on her bindings, and found that they held fast. Looking up at him wide-eyed, she shook her head briefly.

“Oh come now, you did not really try. Try harder.”

Odd. Was he planning on really putting her bonds to the test by punishing her hard enough to have her straining against them with all her strength? The very thought made her grow warm with arousal, and she knew she was blushing. She pulled harder at her bonds, and when his eyes grew darker she really threw herself into it, her muscles flexing, her hips shifting from side to side, her tummy rippling with the effort.

A slow, sly smile spread over Sebastien’s face as he watched her, and all at once Claire wondered if he was getting turned on by this. It was a little embarrassing, but it turned her on all the same. When she finally felt herself getting out of breath, she had a light sheen of sweat all over her body and she stopped struggling. As she did, she knew for sure that she was really, truly stuck and her breathing quickened. She was going to pass out.

Sebastien moved quickly to lie beside her, holding her arms and sliding his palms up and down them slowly.

“Shh, shh, breathe deeply, mon abeille. I am right here. Be calm.” He stroked her hair gently and she tried to take slower, deeper breaths. “Do you need me to untie you?” Claire licked her lips, breathing in slowly through her nose and letting it out. Finally, she shook her head. He gave her a long, searching look, and then nodded once.

He slid his hand from her arm down between her legs, teasing her gently until she was arching her hips toward him.

“Claire, you naughty girl, you are so wet,” he said softly in her ear. She blushed brightly; he never said such things to her. “Do you want my fingers inside you?”

“Y-yes, Maestro,” she stammered. He rewarded her immediately, pushing two fingers into her and rubbing his thumb over her teasingly. It felt amazing, and she couldn’t believe how much. She whimpered, pulling slightly against her bonds again. “Oh, G-G-God, yes,” she said, shuddering all over.

“Are you going to come already, Claire?”

“Mmhmm…mmhmm…can I?” she managed, legs beginning to tremble with the effort of holding back. She tried moving her hips side to side, but found that she was so tightly tied that she could hardly move at all.

“Yes, yes, come. Come now!” he commanded, and she let out a strangled cry as she tightened around his fingers. Spots floated across her vision as the pleasure slammed into her, and then she sighed. Sebastien’s free hand caressed her breasts and ran in tight circles over her belly. “Tell me, do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes, Maestro. I want you to fuck me, please, I want your cock in me right now,” she whimpered, watching him rise and strip off his clothes. He folded them neatly and set them aside, and with every slow movement he made she wanted him even more. When he turned to her, she saw his cock, hard and jutting out from his body. Sebastien knelt between her open legs, rubbing his cock around her entrance and sliding just the tip in and out of her teasingly.

“I love how wet you get for me,” he said, dragging his nails down the center of her body and making her writhe as the sparks of pain grew. “Your body drives me crazy, so tight even though I have had you so many times.” Claire rocked her hips up against him, trying to slide own onto him to, but it was useless. She moaned softly in frustration. “Beg for it,” Sebastien said softly.

“Please, may I have your cock, Maestro? I want it so badly, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything…” he mused.

“Yes, yes, anything, only please let me have it.”

He slid it into her then, feeling her hot and slick around him. Claire squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out everything but the feel of him deep inside her, touching her everywhere. He was fucking her, though slowly as if he were trying to draw it out. A soft buzzing sound got her attention and she opened her eyes to slits, watching Sebastien as he applied it to her.

The pleasure hit her like a ton of bricks and she felt it crashing over her. Tremors were running through her as another orgasm built, and she knew she couldn’t stop it even if she tried. She came, much harder than before, and lights went off behind her eyelids, but Sebastien didn’t let up. He held the vibrator against her as firmly as ever, knowing her bonds would keep her in place, unable to save herself.

She shook all over, feeling waves of pleasure building and cresting in her over and over. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes and she wondered briefly how Sebastien was managing to keep control over himself. But then she noticed a wild look was coming into his eyes and he was pumping into her faster and harder. His free hand held one of her thighs firmly, using it as leverage to slam into her ever more deeply.