Master of Desire

by Multiple

  Quickly her hand dashed away an escaped tear and she was thankful David was so focused on settling in with the stringed instrument, tightening the bow and tuning it, to notice. As she saw the bow placed against the tight wire strings, Avery felt something in her body. As he pulled the bow across, though she couldn’t hear the rich, melodic sound, her mind seemed to vibrate with memory.

  David was a visual feast. He had positioned himself in a cheap chair near the window. The sunlight poured through, illuminating him. It took her breath away. She had only seen him as a conductor, the slave driver to her music. Here, though, he was not just a musician; he was music incarnate. Ethereal, the light turned his long, eccentric dark curls golden. His hair was long, pulled into a low ponytail, but unruly strands broke free, framing his face. In a t-shirt and torn jeans, he still managed to seem so self-possessed, so in control of his long, gangly limbs. She realized as she watched his tempo increase, his wrist shaking to create a vibrato, that while lanky, he was all muscle, ropey and sinuous.

  Her mouth felt dry. While she couldn’t hear his tune, she felt everything while watching him. Her body remembered the vibration of the cello, and now her skin sang with that electricity, heightening her nerve’s reactions. Her breathing was quick and shallow, guided by the frantic pace of his fingers on the bridge of the cello, by the pace of her heart.

  She had allowed herself many pity parties since her accident, but this was the first time where her body craved, truly craved, these things of the past. And maybe a thing of the man in her living room, lost in a song on her cello. She knew instinctively those long, elegant fingers would play her body with the same perfection he was giving to her cello.

  As he finished his piece, he gently set the cello down. His eyes, wild and dark, met hers. They danced in a way that spoke to her, the way so many musicians felt when they came down from a passionate solo. It was primitive and beautiful. It felt like satiation, like an orgasm.

  They stared at each other a little too long, and Avery’s skin began to break into goosebumps under his scrutinous gaze. He wanted something from her, and god, the way she felt after watching him… she might promise him anything.

  Finally, he signed to her. I want you to come play again. You know our spring concert piece?

  She did. Avery hadn’t been able to help herself and did some stalking of her past orchestra. She knew all of their concerts and pieces.

  Slowly, she signed to him. Shostakovich. Cello Concerto, op107.

  It was a wild piece, the cello solo brutal and beautiful. She knew it well, because being a soloist had been her dream. But she was older than the prodigies in her group, and only second chair when she still played.

  Her fingers flew into motion, apprehension causing them to stumble and falter. Is this a joke?

  David sat back, his eyebrows pulled together, and she knew her hurt was showing on her face. But why shouldn’t it? Wasn’t it enough that she was here, standing and looking at the instrument she would never play again and the gorgeous man she couldn’t have had even before she was disabled? Did he have to keep pulling her wounds further open with impossibilities?

  No, I’m not joking. We’ve lost our soloist and I want you to take his place.

  She laughed then, hoping it sounded as wounded and cynical as it did in her mind. Things must be tough if you need a deaf girl to replace your soloist. She turned away from him, the equivalent, she supposed, of hanging up the phone in the middle of a fight. If she couldn’t see him, she didn’t have to ‘hear’ anymore of his hurtful words.

  A hand on her shoulder, fingers biting in with surprising strength, whipped her around.

  Avery, please consider my offer. You were set to move into first chair and soloist at the beginning of last year. You have the skills, you just need the training.

  Training? I need the ability to hear to be able to play, much more solo! Even if I tried to play now, I’d never know if it was correct! I’d have to relearn the instrument and still risk being terrible! No amount of training will give that back to me. Avery was barely holding herself together, infuriated that her signing wasn’t as cathartic as shouting. This is the most hurtful thing anyone has ever done to me.

  His body froze and she watched as a vein became pronounced on his forehead. He looked every inch the crazy conductor, rage and heat fueling him. It scared her. It turned her on.

  In less than a second he gripped her hand and dragged her to the couch. He sank into the cushions and jerked her down with him, laying her across his knees like a little child. Too stunned to resist, Avery found her eyes locked onto the wood of her flooring, her ass in the air as she was splayed over his lap. She was in a skirt that David now yanked up, exposing her lace-panty clad cheeks.

  It was still interesting to her how much sound her mind filled in from memory, in the absence of actual experience. When David’s hand descended onto her ass, hard, the shock and sting of it flared through her. But the most surprising part was the slap! she heard echoing in her mind. Outraged and stunned, she began to wriggle for control, but she was off balance and he had one hand pressed heavily onto her shoulder blades.

  Over and over he spanked her, the pain blooming across her bottom. The more she struggled, the harder he slapped until the jolts of pain became throbs that she could feel all over her body. It was then, as the sensation throbbed and spread, that she recognized his spanks weren’t random; they were the quick staccato beat he loved to use in practice. He was beating the rhythm into her, and her body immediately responded.

  Sobs she couldn’t hear but knew she was making turned into moans. Her throat felt raw from all of the use, but the vibration of her moans and the press of his jeans into her nipples were tied directly to her core, which began to heat and tighten.

  He must have seen the change in her countenance, because just as she found herself enjoying the punishment, he stopped. Easing her off of his lap, Avery slumped to the floor at his feet, her ass burning and raw. Her clit was swollen and she felt the wet stick of her panties. Gaze watery with tears and confusion, she looked to him with shock and questions in her eyes.

  David’s face was pulled tight, guilt and pride warring across his strong features. She realized, belatedly, how defined his cheekbones were and how beautiful he looked when incensed.

  I can only hope that was the most hurtful thing anyone has done to you. My offer was and is serious. How long have you known American sign language?

  She winced, the ebbing sensations of her spanking still garnering most of her focus. Eight months. It has been eight months since the accident.

  His features relaxed and leaning forward, he gently pulled her up and next to him. Avery, despite having just been abused by this man, found herself curling up near him, facing closely so she could take in every word he had to say. If he had wanted her attention, her raw bottom was proof he had it.

  So it’s true then? The firecrackers? His eyes softened and he brushed more stray strands out of his face. She realized he was a little older than she had thought, the tiny telltale lines around his eyes relaxing as he gazed at her.

  Avery nodded. The fourth of July. My father always tried to make a big show for us. But he wasn’t feeling well, and I offered to help. We had a dud and I didn’t know it. It exploded on the ground. No one was burned, but I was close enough it ruined my hearing. The doctor said that years of listening to music too loud had already damaged it. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  She waited, expecting the rush of sympathy that usually came from people she told her story to. It didn’t bother her. Hell, she loved it. More than she liked to admit, she felt guilty pleasure from that sympathy. After all, she had suffered. She had lost everything, her music, her dreams--gone. Their pity affirmed her pain.

  David didn’t change. Not his posture, not his face. No gushing and no sympathy.

  Avery was at a loss. Laying her head against a pillow, she cocked an eyebrow. Finally, David’s hands moved.

 
So in eight months you learned how to sign?

  Obviously. Instead of snarking off to him, though, she nodded.

  That’s impressive, Avery. If you can learn a whole new way of communicating and thinking in eight months, I can teach you to play without your hearing in a month and a half. Agree, and you’ll be soloing at the spring concert.

  Her eyes shut tight, trying to keep the rush of tears in. The soft brush of his fingers on her cheek kept her from shutting him out, though.

  Opening, she looked at his collar bone, peeking out from his v-neck t-shirt. It was crisp, sharp, like a bar on a sheet of music. She wanted to touch him, but her emotions were so ragged and jumbled. She still wasn’t sure what was happening between his appearance, the spanking, and this new offer.

  How… how would you teach me?

  His stance changed, tightened.

  Like I just did. Physically.

  You’ll hurt me?

  Don’t think of it as hurting you. Think of it as showing you. You can’t hear. I want to teach you how to feel the music. How to connect to it through sensation. Through me. You’ll feel what you’re playing and you’ll respond to my direction.

  Respond to him? Hell, that much was already obvious. Her body was now strung tight as her bow, wanting release.

  More importantly, what he said was resonating with her. He had resonated with her. Watching him she had felt something like she used to. A connection. Identification. The spanking had also sparked something in her. The need for rhythm, for a pulse.

  She had to make a decision. There wasn’t much time. What he was proposing was almost insurmountable. She wasn’t sure she could trust him. She wasn’t sure she wanted the pain, humiliated by how her body was reacting to it. But she also didn’t want to be without him, because he was bringing something dangerous to her and presenting it on a platter. Something she hadn’t had in a long time. Hope.

  Ok.

  * * * * *

  She should have turned up the heat in the apartment before he came over.

  Avery shivered, naked, her cello nestled between her bare legs. The instrument was soothing, comfortable. It felt at home next to her.

  That was the only good thing about her current situation. David was storming, his pace fast and furious in front of her. Most likely thinking of a new and awful punishment for her disobedience. It had been like this for a week. He would come over. He stripped her naked, taking away anything she could hide behind. Just her, her cello, and him.

  Then he would set the stand of music in front of her. She would try to follow his drastic, sharp motions as he directed her in the beat he wished for. Her eyes, frantic, would dart between him and the music in front of her. Inevitably she focused too much on the music and lost connection with his movement. Or vice versa. This used to be second nature for her. But eight months of no practice and no ear to lend her comfort made her fingers slow, clumsy.

  It frustrated her as much as it did him. He had been right that she wouldn’t lose the instinct of how to play. As soon as she had wrapped her knees around the familiar sharp edges of the instrument, it had been “like riding a bicycle.” However, she hadn’t realized how much she had relied on hearing for playing. The movements had been instinctual with sound to guide them, to pull her along. Without sound, she had to be meticulous about finger placement, about shifting up and down the bridge. She found herself clinging desperately to the notes of music on paper and David’s over-the-top conducting.

  Self doubt and insecurity made her forgetful and clumsy. If she became frustrated, David became irate, his fingers flying as he scolded her.

  No. Avery, what the fuck are you doing? You need to focus on me.

  So she wasn’t paying enough attention to him as he tried to show her the beat. Irritated, she flashed him a sign he would know quickly: Her middle finger.

  Immediately she regretted it. It was one thing to be spanked by him. By this point he had toasted her bottom so many times she had become immune to the ache of deep bruises when she sat. More poignant was the deep seated feeling of letting him down, of seeing the disappointment mixed with anger when she failed him. Or spoke back.

  He quit pacing immediately, becoming like stone. His fists clenched and unclenched, his jaw squeezing so tight she worried for his teeth. She had crossed a line and now she would pay for it.

  Quickly she set down the cello, scurrying to kneel before him, arms forward and head down, an act of sublimation. Please, she thought, please don’t let him be too angry. Her body ached and shook with the need for his forgiveness, even if it came in the form of punishment.

  Time slowed, her breathing her only measure of it passing. Her mind, crazy with anxiety, began to fill in the silence. It played for her the ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump of her heart. Of course, it had been so long since she had heard a heartbeat. Even longer since she had paid attention to the sound. It, like so many sounds, was one she had taken for granted. Weird, she realized, considering that it was the most important sound a person could know, the sound of life.

  She felt the floorboards creak as he moved around her. Her body wanted to tremble, to quake in fear, but she willed it to stillness. If only he would forgive her, and their lesson could continue. As much as they both fought irritation and rage, it was heady and surreal to be playing again, her heart filling in where her ears could not.

  He stopped moving and her breath caught in her throat.

  His fingers were in her hair and he made a fist, yanking tight. Using his grip on her hair he pulled her roughly to her knees, angling her face to his. He spoke slowly, for while she was competent in sign language, lip reading was difficult.

  “I’m not going to spank you. I think you like it too much. I want you to focus on me. On. Me.”

  His free hand went to the front of his pants. She noticed that he was aroused. Before, the spankings had turned her on, but he had never done anything after. She had been left aching and confused as to his feelings, or why he seemed to only want to touch her that way. Avery had hated thinking he did not feel at least some attraction to her.

  The hard evidence of his arousal straining at the front of his jeans made her suck in her breath. He was just as turned as she was. “Wait here. Do. Not. Move.”

  She froze, making her muscles tight and still, barely breathing. A three-word command, do not move, and her body sprang into obedience even as her mind still warred with this overly intimate and painful way of teaching.

  He went to his bag and pulled out his conductor’s baton. As he moved back to her, he ran a hand through his hair, mussing his ponytail. Heavy strands of curls hung in his face, his stark cheekbones pale, his mouth pulled tight and menacing. He was a God and his baton his weapon. If she had been afraid before, Avery now knew it had not been afraid enough.

  “Unsip me.” Unsip? Her brow furrowed as she tried to decipher what he meant. Impatient, he rapped on her head with the baton, scolding her for being slow.

  It was humiliating. The spankings were, at least, a pleasurable thing for her. She knew she should be embarrassed, but instead she was always aroused. The baton, though, was shameful, a schoolmaster with a child. Her skin crawled and she glowered.

  His free hand grabbed the hard bulge in his jeans. “Unzip me now.”

  Unzip. Oh. Oh. Avery’s hands shook as she went to unbutton his pants, her fingers slipping and fumbling. Before, while there was clearly something sexual going on, with her nakedness and his punishments, there had still been a line, unspoken. It was about the music, it was about building a connection between them. This, though, didn’t feel like the music training he had promised.

  No, this promised something dark and she was eager, despite her terror, to discover what that meant.

  She successfully slid the zipper down and his cock sprang free. Long, thick, uncut. Her fingers clawed at the waist of his jeans, grazing the taut skin and muscles of his abs and hips as she drug the pants down to give her better access. If he was surprised, David didn’t show
it, though she thought he must have been for she had acted without orders.

  Avery wanted to reach out and grab him. She was young, only in her early twenties, but she wasn’t inexperienced. Music camps had not only enhanced her playing, it had taught her about boys.

  The problem was David was a man.

  She could smell him. He smelled like earth and salt, the thatch of hair above his erect penis as wild as the hair on his head. Desire swarming, making her dizzy, she waited and watched his mouth for his instructions.

  “Suck me.”

  Immediately she wrapped her hand around the silky, thick base and her tongue swirled around the head. She felt the tremor in his thighs. Avery let her tongue dip out and began to lick him up and down his shaft, tracing patterns into the velvet skin and map of veins. His cock jumped in response in her hand, and she moaned.

  Quickly she began to stroke him, her hand pulling back his foreskin so her tongue could taste his head and the salty drops of precum gathering there. Enthusiastic, she began to pump.

  Only to be rapped harshly on the head. Her teeth grazed him a little as she pulled back in surprise and her eyes, moving to his face, caught the flash of pain.

  “Too fast. Suck me, but watch.”

  Timid, she looked up at him as she took him back in her mouth. It was awkward, the angle changing in her throat, making it harder to feel in control. Which, she realized, was the point. She was not in control for this.

  The baton swept up, held in his hand like an extension of him, his grip gentle but sure. Slowly, he began to conduct. Beats in the air meant she should bob her head up and down.

  It didn’t feel natural. She couldn’t lave his dick with her tongue, or enjoy teasing him. All of her focus was on the baton and taking as much cock into her throat as she could. His hips began to pump, pushing himself into her mouth a little further. He was fucking her mouth, and she was rapt.

  The tempo increased and Avery found herself losing focus, becoming enamored with David, with the look of pleasure on his face. Her hand began to move again, pumping him, helping to push the beat faster. Awash in pleasure, she closed her eyes.