πŸ“š enslaved - love in the future Part 14 of 21
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SCIENCE FICTION FANTASY

Enslaved Love In The Future Pt 14

Enslaved Love In The Future Pt 14

by jqueen9
12 min read
4.65 (2600 views)
adultfiction

Please, call Me Duke

Meena often played for Nav. She was grateful that he said music should be her main priority, and she liked showing him her progress. Sometimes she sat down at the piano and played the latest song she was studying, but Meena preferred to show him recordings of practice sessions. They'd dim the lights in the music room and replay the session. To Nav, it looked and sounded exactly as if a second Meena playing a second piano was in the room with them.

Tonight's performance was especially important for Meena. It featured the hardest song she'd attempted so far. And it wasn't just a solo piece. A key element of jazz was the way magicians improvised and collaborated with other musicians to make each performance a living, breathing creation that was never the same twice.

Meena hadn't been able to do this on the plantation. She had an excellent keyboard and a very good VR teacher, but no one to play with. Still, she'd been able to develop the technique of a top pianist, and she played classical pieces with the same kind of skill of Rubinstein, Gould, or Beethoven. Obviously, those men were born with genetics that allowed their genius to flourish. Meena's genetics were even better. The skills required to play with dexterity. To hear the music's soul. To pour one's heart into the performance. Those were all skills Meena possessed to a greater degree than all the generations of maestros who came before. Lots of people thought it was impossible to bioengineer brilliance. Lots of people were wrong about lots of things.

But Meena couldn't jam on the plantation. The girls regularly performed classical pieces together, and Meena enjoyed those sessions, but no one on the island knew anything about jazz. They had no understanding of the concept of swing, or improvisation. Playing with the other girls made Meena feel she was chained to a metronome.

Like so many things, Meena's studies changed after Nav built her home. The music room had every possible feature, plus space to add ones that were yet to be invented. The VR instructor could add virtual musicians perfectly capable of jamming with Meena. And wow, could they ever swing! For the first time in her life, Meena could play jazz the way the founding giants performed. She'd had extraordinary technical skills before Nav bought her. Now, she was acquiring the living soul of the music she loved.

Tonight she was going to play a song with a lot of very ambitious piano elements, and it required a large jazz orchestra. She felt ecstatic by the time she mastered the song. She made a good recording that she could play if she got nervous, but she wanted to perform this one live for her Master.

Her nerves made it hard to concentrate as she got ready. She wanted to look like a professional jazz artist, so she had Feva style her hair in an updo. She chose a long black dress with tasteful cleavage in front and none in back. You couldn't even see her nipples because she wore a bra. And not a sports bra like she normally wore. This was a real old-fashioned bra, made of lace, and elastic, and an underwire that was completely unnecessary. Bare arms and shoulders. Black heels that were neither too high nor too low. The gown clung to her curves nicely, but not in a way that diverted too much attention from her music.

Nav was waiting when she entered the music room and stood before him. "Master, I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine," she said.

A drum set appeared on the display wall, and a grinning man sat down. "This is Gene Krupa. He used to play with Benny Goodman's orchestra." Krupa made a sharp salute toward Nav. "Hidee Ho, Daddyo," he said.

A big man walked up to a big bass violin. "This is Charlie Mingus," Meena said. "I particularly like his style."

"I particularly like playing with this young lady," said the Mingus avatar. "She makes me feel young again."

"I know just what you mean," Nav said.

A chubby man walked in with a saxophone. "This is Charlie Parker. Charlie might be the best instrumentalist in the history of music."

"Call me Bird. Everybody calls me Bird."

Two men with trumpets entered. "This is Miles Davis and Louis Armstrong. Mr. Davis is the most popular jazz musician of all time. Mr. Armstrong invented the style of jazz that became the most popular music in the world."

Davis just glowered, saying nothing. In a gravelly voice, Armstrong said, "There are two kinds of music. Good music and bad music. Your girl and I play the first kind." Armstrong had the warmest, kindest smile Nav had ever seen. There was a white handkerchief in the hand that held his horn.

There were others. Artie Shaw and Sidney Bechet had clarinets. Regina Carter and Hillary Hahn had violins. It went on, and on, and eventually the number of avatars in the room's virtual space was equal to five times as many actual people as the large, open space could hold. The last person to enter was a dignified man in a tuxedo, speaking with diction as clean and crisp as everything else about him. He held a baton.

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"My name is Edward Ellington, but please, call me Duke," he told Nav.

"We're going to play a song that used to be pretty popular. It's called

Take The A Train.

It was such a hit that it became my orchestra's signature song. It was the work of my dearest friend, a brilliant young man named Billy Strayhorn. It was one of the first things he played for me right after we met. When you hear it, I think you'll know why Billy was the best friend and collaborator I ever had."

Duke turned to the orchestra, raised his baton, then nodded toward Meena. She started playing notes so spritely and spirited that Nav began to wonder why he'd never heard this song before. It was a good question. How could music like this be forgotten?

The rest of the orchestra joined in, creating a gorgeous wall of sound. Meena would toss them the melody, and they'd toss it right back. Nav had learned enough to understand that jazz was supposed to be different because the musicians were listening to each other and responding to a constant state of reinvention.

Most of the people who had heard the song - and there weren't many anymore - didn't know it had lyrics. Most recorded versions skipped the words. But Meena knew she was as good a singer as a pianist, and she wanted her Master to hear her sing for him.

You must take the "A" train

To go to Sugar Hill, way up in Harlem

If you miss the "A" train

You'll find you missed the quickest way to Harlem

Hurry, get on, no it's coming

Listen to those rails a-thrumming all aboard

Get on the "A" train

Soon you'll be on Sugar Hill in Harlem

It seemed to Nav that the song was intended to capture the electric excitement of New Your City in the 20th century, especially the Harlem Renaissance. What was important was Meena's transformation. The music poured from her lips and her hands. He'd never seen her so alive - and he'd seen her make love. Maybe she felt making music was like making love. She had a heart so big it was her superpower, and it was soaring through harmonies.

There were more lyrics. More instrumental sections that reinterpreted the song in endless ways. The avatars were magnificent. Some people argued that avatars weren't capable of musical brilliance. Some people believed that talent was some kind of unfathomable thing that couldn't be taken apart and programmed into a machine.

These people were wrong. They were always wrong. People didn't think machines could play chess as well as humans, couldn't fly airplanes as safely, couldn't drive cars as well, couldn't perform surgery, and on and on and on. A lot of these same people didn't think a person could be bioengineered to be a genius. And yet, there was Meena, playing with all the gifts of a Mozart, or a Bach, or even an Armstrong.

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It was too quick. Without being told, the Ellington avatar added a nice element that provided a perfect end. Applause. It was a reproduction of applause Ellington heard when he was leader of the house band at the fabulous Cotton Club. Nav couldn't help joining in, forgetting his hands were the only real hands clapping.

The orchestra faded slowly from sight, the musicians nodding and waving at Nav before they were gone. It was just him and Meena now.

"Did you like it?" she asked

"No, I did not like it," he said. "I loved it. I've never heard anything so beautiful.

"Meena, people need to hear this. They need to hear you. I don't know anything about the music business, but I swear I will do whatever it takes to make sure the world hears you sing and play. I can't be the only one who gets to listen to you."

Meena knew she was good. She didn't know if modern people could be persuaded to listen to music as old and out of fashion as jazz. But Meena knew she played and sang as well as the masters of old.

None of that was as important as the approval of her Master. She did this because she loved jazz, but she also did it because Nav told her to do her best. He repeated those words all the time, being sure to frame it as a direct order. Meena loved hearing those words, and they drove her to achieve greatness. Superhuman greatness. Meena was, literally, more than human.

They sat together, holding hands and talking for a long time. Meena thought that no woman could have a Master as wonderful as Nav. Nav thought he'd bought the most wonderful woman ever born. They both realized that they were feeling emotions that most people are unable to grasp. Their bonding was strong by now, and it gave them powerful feelings of commitment, adoration, devotion and desire. It was beyond the ability of people who weren't bonded, and they both felt fortunate to be in the most intimate kind of relationship possible.

"I want to look at you," Nav said.

They went to the bedroom and Meena stood before him. He removed her gown and stared. "This must be what goddesses look like," Nav said.

"You always say the nicest things, Master."

She turned around for him, just like she always did. Nav remained on the side of the bed, in no apparent hurry. Meena imagined she could feel his eyes upon her, gazing lovingly at every curve and cleft. "Come here," he finally said.

Meena walked to the bed and stretched out in the center. Nav laid down beside her, raised on one elbow so he could see down to her toes. Nav was still fully dressed, and he made no move to change that. He caressed her body with the gentlest touches. "I wish I could explain how wonderful it is to just look at you. There are no words to tell you how I feel."

"You're doing just fine, Master."

He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulders. He touched her belly, hips, and thighs. He made no move to touch any of her erogenous zones. Yet. The intensity of his gaze reminded her of the time he took her to a strip club where they both enjoyed watching the exotic dancers. Meena felt she was performing for Nav, presenting herself as a treat for his eyes. It made her warm inside. She wanted him to take all the time he needed.

Nav began touching her in the ways she'd come to love. Her breasts. Her inner thighs. Her mound. Nav finally reached down to touch her pussy. Neither of them were surprised that she was wet and warm. Meena felt that Nav wanted her to relax and enjoy his touch, but it was hard to lie still when he was touching her like this. She couldn't help squirming around on the bed, making soft erotic sounds, and taking Nav's hand so she could press it harder against her body.

He kept massaging her pussy. He was still fully clothed, still apparently content to feel her gently, and do no more. Meena touched the front of his trousers and felt his erection. She massaged it with her hand, making Nav moan, but it didn't seem to do anything to make him want to use it.

What Nav wanted to do was touch Meena with increasing intimacy. She felt him glide up and down her wetness, gently touch her clit, and slide his fingers deeper and deeper inside her. If he kept this up, he'd made her cum.

And that's what happened. Holding her in his arms, he hoped she knew how precious she was. How beautiful. What Meena understood was that Nav loved gazing at her. Increasingly, she loved that gaze. It made her feel like an erotic painting in a museum.

After her orgasm receded, Nav rose from the bed, removed his clothes, and began making love.

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