Obsession Ch. 03

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.

"No you weren't." He left it at that. I cringed at the thought of Jacques seeing Ethan like this. I knew they were still friends and I wondered what the conversation must have been like between them.

"Anyway, I think this is the last of it." He bent to pick up the large cardboard box. I caught a glimpse of a sweater I had been trying to find for weeks that I had declared lost forever and it appeared he had cleaned his shower and medicine cabinet of my things as well. "So I guess that's it." He forced a smile.

I took the box from him and learned it was much heavier than it looked. He helped me lift it onto my kitchen table. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you had thrown this junk away."

I caught a glimpse of Julian's look of surprise in the open door. Heart racing, I tried not to visibly react. He stuttered in his stride slightly, before swiftly turning down the hallway. I walked to the door, standing with it open. "Is that everything?" I willed him to let it go at that.

"I love you, Cadence." Ethan leaned in, hovering dangerously close expectantly. I put my hands up between us with an air of finality.

"I love you, too, but I'm sorry."

"So let's take a breather! We don't have to end things. It doesn't have to be so black and white." He insisted.

I wanted to tell him, and he deserved to know. In short, I was a coward. I did love him, but it made more sense like this. I didn't want him trapped in a relationship with someone who couldn't be honest with him, especially when he didn't know he was trapped to begin with.

"I'm expecting someone." I couldn't look him in the eye.

"Oh." A tinge of pain colored his voice. "Well, that's it then." He repeated and left.

As I glanced through the contents of the box at the shampoos and thin orange bottles, I felt a surge of regret. My phone buzzed to life with a message from Julian: All Clear? Not long after, I heard a familiar quick staccato knock at the door. Julian.

"Hi." He hung back, cautious.

"I'm okay." I turned to let him in.

"Good." He moved quickly, his grip wrapped in my hair. A gasp escaped me. "Did you like visiting me today?" He kept a conversational tone as he moved me with him to the kitchen table, bending me over the side of it. My focus singularly centered on him.

"Yes." I sighed.

"But now it seems you need to be reminded of who you belong to again." He leaned over me, talking low in my ear and sending a thrill up my spine. I arched back to him, nearly purring.

"Yes." I agreed. I felt him lean on the silence after. "Sir."

"Good girl."

The hush of leather pulled against fabric and felt the sting of his belt against my ass. Gasping, I instinctively tried to straighten up, but his hand held me firmly in place.

"Now, this isn't a punishment." He clarified, folding the belt over itself. "This is for release. Hold this." He pushed the doubled over belt between my teeth and lifted my skirt up to the small of my back. "Where are your panties?" He feigned shock and gently spread my pussy with his fingers. I gasped softly, and he hummed in approval. "I like how sensitive you are." He cupped his hand over my mound and rubbed my clit gently. "And so wet!" He pulled his hand back and slapped my ass gently.

Julian pushed his fingers inside of me and dragged the wetness over my clit before bringing his hand down to spank me again. I jumped, whining through the belt at the sudden sting.

"You get into your own head too much." He rubbed the sensitive skin gently with his fingertips. "Pain, for example, is layered." He slapped my ass. "You know it has given you pleasure." He continued, rubbing my back with his palm. Letting me process his words and the pain, and the immediate craving for more. "Yet you still try to avoid it, thinking that it's supposed to be bad so you won't allow yourself to embrace it." He found a rhythm as he spoke, spanking me hard with his palm. Leaving me gasping. I felt my pussy respond. "That's when you begin to feel shame and deny yourself what you want." I felt a kind of clarity in the pleasure-pain, a sense of focus that cleared my mind from everything but him.

"Don't think. Do you want more?"

"Fuck me." I begged through my teeth.

"That is the answer to a different question. I can see it all over you, you want 'more.' Right?"

I moaned my affirmative and he pulled the belt from my mouth, and ran the cool leather over the sensitive skin of my ass.

"Did you invite him over?" He asked in an even tone, letting the belt swing back before I could answer. The sudden sting made me gasp.

"Oh! No."

"How long was he here?" Three more stinging strikes in succession.

"Ohhh, God. Please Julian. . ." I twisted in place, my back arching, feeling the spark of pain and desire.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Then trust me." He spread my legs further, tapping my pussy with the belt.

"I do." I whined, dreading the sting but enjoying the bright swath of pleasure as he methodically spanked my pussy with the smooth, heavy leather. He pulled on my hair, yanking a little too hard before settling in his grip. I could barely move without consequence but it also forced my line of vision on the cardboard box Ethan brought. It began with a tightness in my chest.

"You can feel it. You can look at your hurt and feel incredible too. That's what you trade for it. You don't have to compartmentalize parts of yourself to enjoy this, to want this. You want it, don't you?"

Shutting my eyes against the flood of emotion, I could do little to stop the deluge of tears that seemed to come out of nowhere. I gasped back a sob and he hesitated until I put a hand up.

"Okay." He moved back from the table, letting me get my bearings. I straightened up, feeling a distinct soreness and turned to him, crumbling. "Okay, Okay." He pulled me into his arms and we walked like that to my bedroom where we collapsed on the cool sheets of my bed together.

"It was good," I rationalized. "It felt great."

"Good, it was supposed to." He answered, brushing my hair out of my face.

"I left him for this." I tried not to sound ungrateful.

"I wouldn't have asked you to." He quietly affirmed.

"I know."

Julian was wordless as I finally wept for my relationship with Ethan. While it was cathartic, the discomfort of vulnerability chased it soon after.

"Oh God, I'm so embarrassed." I covered my face with my hands.

"Don't be. I said it was meant to be a release, didn't I?" He planted a kiss on top of my head. "Did you think I'd come over just to make you cum?" He laughed.

"You said 'maybe.'"

"That's true." He sat up for a moment, unbuttoning his shirt and threw it onto my vanity before laying back down in bed.

"Can we pause?" I moved so that my cheek rested on his chest.

"Of course." He breathed in my hair and quietly remarked on its scent. He absently rubbed my back and let me think out loud.

"I have a problem." I decided in a soft voice.

"What's that?" His voice lacked any trace of judgment, and I wanted to crawl inside that moment and hide. I buried my face in his side for strength.

"I know you wouldn't have asked me to leave Ethan, and I would never ask you to leave Sara."

"So why did you?" He ran his fingers through my hair.

"Because I love you." I whispered, terrified. "And it didn't make sense to be with him. Even if it was easier that way."

He gathered his thoughts, his fingers running over my scalp. "Well, I love you too."

"Really?" I turned to face him.

"Really."

"Kiss me?"

He leaned over me, pressing his lips to my temple, and pulled back, "Why are you crying?" His voice was gentle.

"Because I know exactly what this is. Sorry. I swear I usually don't cry this much."

"You know I've seen you cry before. It's not a total turn off." He bent down to kiss my neck.

The rest of that evening we exchanged few words, and we became silent forms reduced to sensation. Turned on our sides, I moved to close the space between us, locking in place like puzzle pieces. I filled the negative space with curves, arching, needing to be up against him, and feeling the relief of his desire in response. Meeting my shivering undulations with firmness, taking me in his arms and pulling me to him, as though he were taking me in, taking his fill of me. I pressed my lips, inquisitive, to his and felt the gentle pressure of his lips in answer. Our bodies moved fluidly, finding a slow sensual rhythm. I pressed against his chest and gently moaned into his mouth at the singular satisfaction of closeness.

Our clothes were peeled from our bodies with a deliberation that felt like a distinct form of intimacy we hadn't allowed ourselves to yield to. When he made space for himself inside of me it felt different, somehow. It was as though we had been apart from one another for years and although we were famished for sensation, the moment demanded to be felt in millimeters and bated breath and the sweat beading on his temple as he looked down upon me, supine and taking him into me. Our eyes locked and we stayed still like that: all of him buried inside the pulsing warmth of me.

And it was yes, and it was yesyesyes low in his ear, and his gasping exertion, and mounting pressure throughout my body with his dragging forth, leaning into me, making a home of me. It was more than giving and being taken from. It wasn't the recklessness, the fierce wanting that normally made our dynamic so exciting. It was sharing something. And it was don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop. And it was fireworks too bright between us, eyelids protecting him from the blindness of euphoria. It was a sensation too slick and abundant to keep quiet behind his teeth. He cried out in an anguished way. Then, tangled there, pillows somehow on the floor in our maneuvering, I listened to his heartbeat find its footing in his chest, and fell into a thick, tar-like sleep.

The next morning, in the white haze of waking, I felt him stir behind me. His long legs tucked behind mine, our bodies still locked together and I pushed my ass up against him instinctively, sighing at the sensation.