“You didn’t fall apart when she died.” My voice is a mixture of accusation and awe. He had lost the career that meant everything to him, yet here he was, strong and whole. I was the wreck, weak and pitiful.
“She wasn’t my mother,” he points out reasonably. “And I was older than you, better equipped to deal with life’s vagaries.”
Life’s vagaries. English isn’t even his mother tongue. It’s hard not to be awed by Nikolai.
“Resume,” he says, pulling away and turning my body back towards the piano. The brief moment of comfort is over.
***
The second playing of the concerto does not go better. I’m tense and on edge. My body aches with Nikolai’s displeasure, and my eyes prickle with unshed tears. My emotions are a wild tangle, but I’ve built a strong barrier around them.
He comes behind me. “Keep playing.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see his strong, scarred hands rest on the piano stool, before he starts pulling the stool away from the piano. I stand, but I keep playing. It’s all I can do in this situation that is so outside anything I’ve ever experienced.
The piano stool is moved just far enough back that I can’t sit on it. I feel Nikolai’s hands at my right ankle next, as he raises my foot and places it on the stool. I have one leg on the floor, and the other folded back on the bench. My torso bends towards the piano – it’s the only way I can stay balanced.
My body throbs with need. This pose, with my ass thrust towards Nikolai, is clearly erotic. Will he touch me now? I really, really want him to touch me, to stroke my folds with those fingers, to play my body the same way he was playing the Mozart piece when I walked down the stairs.
“Keep playing,” he repeats.
How? I want to scream silently. How am I expected to keep playing when I can feel your hands cupping my butt, spreading my cheeks apart so my pussy and my asshole are revealed completely to you?
I play. My pacing is all messed up. My fingers strike the wrong notes far too many times. But, though I wait for the riding crop’s sting on my body, it doesn’t come.
Instead, Nikolai explores me.
One hand rests firmly on my butt cheek. The other caresses my wet folds, and I can feel my pussy swell and drip even further in response. I can’t stifle my soft moans as he touches me. His finger penetrates me, and his thumb circles my asshole, preparing me for that assault.
I whimper, but I keep playing.
Two fingers in my pussy now, thrusting in and out of me. A hard spank on my ass, the sound echoing around the room. “More passion, Allie,” he says evenly.
Blood pounds in my head. Lust swirls in me, radiating from the spot where his hands play with my body as if I were a piano, to be caressed with calm expertise. And, as if I were indeed an instrument that he’s coaxing music from, I hear the notes change. All the passion that is gathering in my body, I pour forth into the music.
I’m not even going to pretend that my playing has technical merit, because it doesn’t, and how can it? His fingers pump in and out of my pussy, making squelching noises as he invades my body. His hand spanks me with perfect rhythm, each one making a sharp sound as it comes in contact with my firm flesh. But somehow, in all of that, my walls are down enough for true emotion to pour through.
The notes get more garbled now, as I inch towards a climax. My head lowers towards the piano keys, my hair cascades down on the instrument. His fingers are hitting my g-spot with each push. I can feel my pussy quiver around him, and my entire body shudders.
As my fingers crash down on the keys in a thunderclap of discordant sound, I orgasm.
***
“Play the concerto again.”
I look at Nikolai, dazed. My skin is still damp with sweat. My cunt still trembles as a result of my climax. My entire body feels boneless and sated. I am in no condition to play.
But I obey him, and as I play, I realize I’ve never played Chopin better.
When I’m done, I look up and wait for him to speak. “Sex relaxes you, doesn’t it, Allie?” he says. “Once you come, you are like a sweet, pliable kitten.” He grins. “Who plays the piano like an angel.”
“If only I could wear a vibrator to the audition,” I quip, and he laughs easily. Sadly, that isn’t really a feasible idea. I’d show emotion and feeling, but I won’t hit any of the right notes.
I can see the outline of his erection through his pants, but now that I’ve climaxed and played the Chopin Concerto the way he wanted to hear it played, he shows no further sign of desire. I shiver. My body still aches from my cropping, and my heart aches as well.
“The passion you display,” he says to me. “Learn to channel that into your work.”