But Isabeau’s only sixteen. She’s asked me to be strict and scary so men with leave her alone and I’m more than happy to do that for her. More than happy.
I wake in the morning with a sense of completeness like I haven’t felt in three years. The orchestra is whole again and everything is just about in place for the tour. But it’s not that making me feel so full up with happiness. It’s Isabeau. I always wanted her in my orchestra and now I have her.
I let my mind wander over the memory of her the day before yesterday in her black skirt with her slender legs in tights, asking nervously but determinedly to be my protégé again. Last night she called me Mr. Valmary without any prompting, and soon I’ll tell her to call me sir in private. I imagine her saying it. Yes, sir. It will sound so good from her pretty pink mouth as she looks up at me with supplication in her eyes. I feel my cock twitch and realize I have a raging hard-on. I’m thinking about Isabeau and I’m hard.
This tour and various other commitments have kept me busy and I haven’t had sex in weeks. I reach for my phone to text a singer I know to set something up for later tonight, but my desire for her or any of the other women I enjoy taking to bed has evaporated, and I put my phone down. I just want to lay here in the dim morning light thinking about Isabeau with an expectant expression on her heart-shaped face. How I loved seeing her looking at me just that like while she was in the youth orchestra. She was always so well-behaved and attentive, not like the other unruly teenagers in the ensemble. Always my sweet Isabeau. In a few short hours she’ll be sitting just a few feet from me in the string section of my professional orchestra with just that look on her face. Playing exquisitely, her very best, for me. Watching my hands, watching my face, listening to my voice, the only things on her mind me and the music.
It’s sexual, Laszlo. Your voice, your words, the way you talk to me. Especially the way you are with me when you’re conducting or we’re playing together.
The way I am with her makes her happy. Probably makes her wet, too. Jesus Christ. Do I make her wet? I groan and roll over, trying to put such delicious thoughts out of my head. Being a conductor imparts a great deal of control. A hundred people look to me day after day, night after night for instruction and employment, people who have to do as I say or else. Unlike some conductors I’m careful not to abuse this power but I feel a thrum of dark satisfaction that Isabeau finds the way I am when I’m working and guiding her arousing. Yes, sir in private. Yes, Mr. Valmary in front of the rest of the ensemble. Yes, maestro during rehearsals and on stage.
Yes, daddy when I unbutton her blouse and pull down the lacy cups of her bra to stroke my thumb over her nipples.
I realize my hand has strayed to my cock and I stroke myself, imagining licking the dusky pink tips of her breasts. Making her kneel before me and pushing two fingers into her mouth. Feeling her suck them while she plays with her clit, her hand inside her underwear, white cotton briefs of the sort I used to pull out of the dryer and try not to look at. Or has she moved on to little lacy things and G-strings now? I hope not. I like the school-girlish white cotton, wedged tight into her ass for a spanking or pulled temptingly aside so I can lick her, and then ease her tight pussy down onto my cock. Powerful arousal surges through me. Fuck, I’m going to come in a minute.
I let go of myself with a groan. This isn’t very mentorly. In fact it’s exactly what I shouldn’t be doing. If I give myself free rein to think about Isabeau sexually it will be too tempting to act on those desires and she’s told me she doesn’t want that. Besides, I’ve never thought about Isabeau while jacking off and I’m not about to start now.
Almost never thought about her while jacking off.
I throw back the blankets and stalk to the shower. While I wait for the water to heat up I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep this up. The whole tour? While I’m close to her every day, being strict with her, seeing her be obedient and respectful to me and oh so sweet and good? Christ. I’ll go mad.
Whatever I have to deal with it’s my problem, not Isabeau’s. I’ll just have to be as disciplined with myself as I’ve promised to be for her. As she wants me to be with her, because she responds sexually to my control.