Well Played

by Stella Harris

  Well Played

  Story 1 of Strummed

  ♦♦♦♦

  by Stella Harris

  For music lovers, and for musical lovers.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Sweetmeats

  In some ways, there is no greater testament to the joy of the human condition than music and sex. Music can be as soothing as a gentle kiss, or as powerful as an orgasm. The most powerful music can make your heart beat faster and make the hairs on the back of your neck rise in excitement and expectation. Music can make you move, moan, dance and shout. Music is to the soul as orgasm is to the body.

  Music and sex are so visceral, so sensual that it seemed obvious to combine them. This book is that combination.

  If, as you read, you find your fingers beginning to drift, your body starting to move, and a rhythm rising within you, do not be alarmed. Let the story take its toll until you too sing out loud!

  -Kojo Black

  Also from Sweetmeats Press

  Paperbacks & eBooks

  The Candy Box by Kojo Black

  Sun Strokes by Kojo Black

  Immoral Views by Various Authors

  Named and Shamed by Janine Ashbless

  Naked Delirium by Various Authors

  Making Him Wait by Kay Jaybee

  Seven Deadly Sins by Various Authors

  Strummed by Various Authors

  Made for Hire by Various Authors

  In the Forests of the Night by Vanessa de Sade

  ♦♦♦♦

  A Sweetmeats Book

  First published by Sweetmeats Press 2013

  Copyright © Sweetmeats Press 2013

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing from Sweetmeats Press. Nor may it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN 978-1-909181-22-9

  Typeset by Sweetmeats Press

  Sweetmeats Press, 27 Old Gloucester Street, London, WC1N 3XX, England, U. K.

  www.sweetmeatspress.com

  Well Played

  ♦♦♦♦

  by Stella Harris

  Isabel tripped on her way into the audition hall. It was the exact opposite of the first impression she’d hoped to make, which is why it was probably inevitable. She’s good, she knows she is, but she still has issues with her confidence when it comes to proving herself.

  The people sitting in the front row turned to look at her, and when she found a certain set of piercing blue eyes assessing her she almost tripped again. Damn. She didn’t know he’d be here, too. Kurt Christou, the first chair of the cello section — and hopefully her future boss — was the most intimidating man she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Isabel had attended countless performances of the symphony trying to get a read on him. His style, his manner of playing…anything to get a hint as to what he was looking for. But the man was an enigma. His playing was as close to perfection as she’d ever heard but she couldn’t tell what pieces of himself he was putting into the music. From what she could tell, he was simply a conduit for the will of the composer — as impossible as that seemed — and she just couldn’t figure out what part of his music was really him.

  Pulling herself together, Isabel made her way to the front of the room and onto the stage, all eyes on her. She had to calm herself — she couldn’t let a little stumble, and a ridiculously gorgeous man, ruin her chances at the job of a lifetime.

  So Isabel sat, taking the lone chair on the stage, pulled her cello out of its case, and closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. As her breath settled and she found her inner calm, she began to play, eyes still closed, until she lost herself to the music and forgot her surroundings and her audience.

  She hadn’t even realised she’d reached the end of the piece until the sound of scattered applause broke her from her reverie and, startled, she opened her eyes. The first person she saw was Kurt. He wasn’t clapping but there was a faint trace of a smile, the only one she’d ever seen on his face. She decided to count that as a win, packed away her cello, and made a more graceful exit than her entrance. Then, all she could do was wait.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Luckily for Isabel’s sanity, she didn’t have to wait long. Just two days later she got a call from the music director of the symphony offering her a position in the training program. It wasn’t quite what she was expecting or hoping for, but it wasn’t a ‘No’ so she eagerly accepted. The details and contract arrived by email moments later. She was to join rehearsals for a thirty-day probationary period before they made a final decision. The rationale had something to do with ensuring that she meshed with the other cellists in the section and — most importantly — with Kurt, the first chair.

  She’d dreamt about meshing with Kurt more times than she cared to count, but she didn’t figure that was what they had in mind. Pulling her mind out of the gutter she updated her social media status — she’d been thinking about what to say all morning — and hurried to pack everything she’d need for the month. She felt like she was going to performing arts camp all over again — though hopefully with fewer pillow fights.

  ♦♦♦♦

  Isabel’s first day started well. Right away she was introduced to Ellie, one of the other girls in the cello section. Isabel knew from the many concerts she’d attended that the whole cello section was made up of female musicians, which seemed a little odd. But she supposed gender didn’t matter — everyone was equal in music.

  Next to Kurt, Isabel had spent more time watching Ellie than anyone else in the symphony. She was beautiful — obviously — but the way that she seemed transported by what she played is what made watching her so irresistible.

  Kurt led rehearsal that first day and doled out complements sparingly enough that they were worth their weight in gold. The other girls in the section seemed nice enough, but Isabel didn’t spend much time getting to know them. She was there to improve her craft and make the cut, not to make friends.

  Each musician had an assigned practice space far enough from the dorms that they didn’t interrupt one other, or disturb someone who might be trying to sleep. Everyone kept to their own schedule, which suited Isabel just fine. She’d always liked to practice in the evenings, often far into the night, and she liked having the privacy to do so.

  The biggest practice space in their bungalow belonged to Kurt, of course. He seemed to get the nicest versions of everything, which she figured was one of the perks of being section chair. Unlike her room which was outfitted only with a desk and chair, his room had a couch, a bookcase, and even a closet, in addition to a desk and chair that matched her own.

  She knew all of this because her practice space was right next to his — and his room even had a little window. He once left the curtain open and she hadn’t been able to resist taking a peek. She quickly found that wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t resist.

  Kurt kept a practice schedule similar to her own and if she listened carefully, ear pressed to the wall, she could hear the music coming from the room. Not only could she hear it but she could feel it; the slight vibrations in the wall and the more intense vibrations in her own body. It wasn’t the same as being in the room with him, but it was enough to make her tingle and ache.

  During these eavesdropping sessions, Isabel’s cheeks would flu
sh and her nipples would pucker against the fabric of her blouse, her mouth falling open to accommodate her sudden need for more air. She’d allow her knees to give out, as they’d been longing to do, until she lay curled up on the floor, ear pressed to the wall as the music washed over her.

  On those nights, back in her room, Kurt’s playing was all Isabel could think about as she lay in bed. She longed to be able to pull those sounds from her own cello. But even more than that, she longed for Kurt to pull sounds from her. To play her body the way he played his instrument; finding the spots that made her sing, made her cry out. Then she’d drift off into a fitful sleep, full of desire that knew no release.

  ♦♦♦♦

  The combination of fitful sleep and the frivolous distractions she allowed to interrupt her practice began to take their toll. She knew she wasn’t at her best during rehearsal and it frustrated her. Glances from the other girls were bad enough, but when Kurt scolded her for the first time it rattled her to the core. She needed to get her head back in the game and get her playing up to the same level as the other girls if she was going to keep her spot in the symphony.

  She skipped dinner that night to go straight to her practice space, but once she was in the room, cello in hand, she couldn’t bring herself to play. The music just wasn’t in her. She needed to recapture the spark and there was only one way to do it. It was risky, she knew, but as she eyed the wall between her own space and Kurt’s, Isabel knew what she had to do.

  Nothing inspired her like hearing Kurt play — but watching him play was something different all together. She couldn’t think of a way to describe it that didn’t sound cliché, but when she watched him play she knew she was in the presence of greatness. She needed a dose of that now.

  Isabel listened at the wall for a moment and didn’t hear any signs of movement, so she slipped out of her own practice room and moved toward the next door. No one else was around, but she looked both ways just in case. The window to Kurt’s room had the curtains pulled tight, but Isabel didn’t see any light peeking through the cracks.

  Holding her breath and steeling herself, Isabel placed one hand on the doorknob and knocked on the door. She didn’t want to barge in, just in case Kurt was inside. There was no answer. Heart pounding, she turned the knob and the door clicked open. There was no reason to keep their practice spaces locked, as only their section had access to this bungalow.

  Isabel opened the door only far enough to slip inside and didn’t bother to turn on the light. She settled down behind the couch, her back to the wall, and waited for Kurt to arrive. Dinner would be over soon and she knew his patterns and habits as well as she knew her own.

  Isabel grew nervous as she waited in the dark. Maybe she should have just asked to sit in on his practice? But then she would have had to admit that her own playing was off — and after that day’s rehearsal she didn’t need to give him any more evidence that she was off her game. Telling herself that she was making the right decision, Isabel settled in to wait.

  She didn’t have to wait long. As soon as her heart rate had returned to normal she heard the door open and the room flooded with light. Her pulse began to speed again. What if he caught her? What would he say? What would he think?

  Isabel held as still as she could and tried to control her breathing. She hoped Kurt would start playing soon so that he’d be less likely to hear small noises in the room — right now he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

  Isabel heard the sound of the chair creaking, the cello case opening, and moments later the first beautiful notes filled the room. He was playing one of her favorite pieces, Bach’s Cello Suite no. 1 in G Major, and Isabel was transported immediately. The magic was returning and she felt it flowing into her body and spreading through her, as though she were being submerged in warm water.

  Isabel forgot everything but the music. Forgot that she was crouching in someone else’s practice space where she shouldn’t be. Forgot that day’s bad rehearsal. Forgot everything that was at stake for her that month.

  Her whole world narrowed to the notes being played mere feet away from her and the familiar tingle began to spread through her body. She recognised the feeling now and she craved it. Already kneeling on the ground, she didn’t have to worry about her knees going weak.

  A high note made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and she raised a hand to soothe the now over-sensitive skin. She let her hand linger there for a moment, enjoying her body’s heightened response to the touch. She let her hand trail down her neck, her chest, and across her breasts. Her nipples hardened almost painfully and Isabel had to suppress a gasp by biting her lower lip.

  Her hand kept moving, as if of its own volition, or perhaps guided by the music. Her fingers found the sensitive peeks of her breasts and brushed across them once, and then again. She fought to keep quiet, and her teeth bit down so hard on her lip she feared she’d draw blood. Isabel’s breath was coming faster now but this wasn’t enough. She didn’t just need to hear the music. She needed to see him play.

  Moving as slowly and quietly as she could, Isabel leant forward until she could just see around the end of the couch. From here she had a perfect view of Kurt as he played. His unruly blonde hair fell into his face as his head turned from side to side. His hands moved with his instrument as Isabel’s own hands explored her body. She felt as if he and she had both been taken over by the same invisible force.

  Right and wrong didn’t exist anymore — all that mattered was the music and she had no choice but to give in. She stopped fighting the impulse and let her hand slide beneath her skirt, beneath her panties, and into her wet cunt.

  It was too much; she released the moan that had been building in her throat since Kurt had started playing. The music stopped almost immediately. Isabel froze and her eyes shot up, but that’s all she had time to do before Kurt was standing over her, bow still in hand.

  The worst part was that he didn’t look surprised or disappointed or angry. He looked like finding her here was inevitable. Like this had been bound to happen from the beginning and she’d had no choice in the matter.

  She hadn’t even moved her hand. As he looked down at her, she was kneeling at his feet with one hand still shoved into her panties. The realization caused heat to flood across her face and chest. Isabel was sure she was bright red. She’d never even allowed a lover to watch her touch herself, and the idea that someone she idolized was seeing her like this was the most mortifying thing she could imagine.

  “Come here,” Kurt said. His voice wasn’t raised but the command was clear. Saying no was not an option. Isabel hurried to comply but did so awkwardly, there was no graceful way to get out of her current position and she knew if she withdrew her hand it would be incriminatingly wet. She couldn’t decide if that was worse than what he was seeing now. But most of all, she didn’t want to be told again. So she stood as quickly as she could, folded her hands behind her back, and closed the short distance between them.

  Isabel couldn’t bear to meet Kurt’s eyes, so she looked down and studied the distance between their feet. The silence was deafening, as if the room itself mourned the loss of the music and blamed her.

  Kurt didn’t direct her further; he just grabbed her by the back of the neck like a naughty puppy and guided her around to the front of the couch. He positioned her so that she stood in front of the sofa, her calves pressing into the soft cushions. Kurt resumed his seat and took his cello in hand once more, but he didn’t begin to play. Instead he had another command for Isabel.

  “Strip.”

  Isabel thought she’d heard wrong, or that he was joking, but his expression was deadly serious. “Don’t make me tell you again,” he said. That spurned her into motion.

  Her hands shook as she reached for the buttons on her blouse — Isabel couldn’t remember ever having been more nervous — not even during her audition. Kurt’s cool blue gaze stayed on her all
the while, assessing her the way he did when she played. Isabel blushed under the scrutiny.

  She gave up on elegance and settled for efficiency, removing the rest of her clothes as if she were alone at the end of the day, and not being watched by the object of her fantasies.

  “Sit on the couch, lean back, and keep your knees at least two feet apart.” Kurt’s instructions were spoken in a clear and precise tone, the same way he led rehearsals. Isabel tried to find the head-space that would allow her to follow his commands unquestioned, but her embarrassment kept getting in the way.

  She paused for too long and Kurt tapped the end of his bow against the floor — just as he did when he was displeased in rehearsal. The familiar gesture was just what Isabel needed to make her body obey. She assumed the position Kurt requested, with a last internal struggle to force herself to spread her legs. “Good,” Kurt said, and his praise was as intoxicating as ever. “Now finish what you started,” he said, and resumed playing.

  Isabel’s head was spinning. He couldn’t possibly mean that she should touch herself while he watched. She couldn’t do it…there was no way.

  After a few bars Kurt paused in his playing and turned the full force of his gaze on Isabel. He pursed his lips and Isabel knew she had only a brief moment before he would chastise her. That thought overrode the embarrassment she was feeling and she managed to trail her hand back up her inner thigh, all the way to her cunt.

  When it was clear that she was doing as asked, Kurt began playing again. Even through her mortification, the music had an effect on her. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But the shame only made her wetter — her body was betraying her. Isabel’s hand shook, but she didn’t dare stop. Kurt’s eyes flicked up, to check on her, several times a minute. The rest of the time, he too was lost in the music.