The Audition (6 page)

His words comfort me far more than I could possibly believe. When I sleep in the cage that night, I sleep well, and nightmares don’t haunt me.

Monday, March 4

The day passes very much like the previous ones. I wake up, and make my way upstairs. I kneel on the floor by Nikolai’s feet, and he feeds me breakfast and offers me sips of coffee. At some point though, he relents slightly and allows me to sit on his lap. I shamelessly snuggle against him, rubbing my face against his neck like a kitten, and whimpering in pleasure as his fingers tweak my nipples.

“To the piano,” he finally says firmly. “We don’t have time to fool around.”

“What if I play really well?” I try and bargain.

He gives me a steady look, and I shut up, quelled, and head downstairs to play.

***

In the afternoon, I curl up on Nikolai’s couch and read a book. Nikolai isn’t at home; he had to leave to run an errand right after lunch. When he comes back in, I look up, but my mind is still on my book. That’s my excuse for what happens next.

“Some of my friends are coming over this evening,” he starts, and before he says another word, I erupt without thinking.

“Are you fucking insane?” I scream at him. “No. Fuck no. I’m not going to be shared between you and your friends like I’m some toy that you get to pass around. If you think I’m going to be good and well-behaved through this, you can go fuck yourself, Nikolai. Fuck you. And fuck Juilliard.”

I’ve risen to my feet, and my voice has been steadily rising through my diatribe. When I pause to draw breath, Nikolai holds up his hand. He looks like he can’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

“Allie. Shut up.”

I draw a breath, preparing to tell him that he can’t speak to me that way, then I notice the shopping bags in his other hand. He extends them towards me. “Once a week,” he says pointedly, “my friends come over, and we all play music and drink beer and eat pizza and blow off steam. Since you are here, I assumed you’d like to join us. In the bag are some clothes for you to wear.”

Oh, talk about jumping to the wrong conclusion. I feel about two inches tall.

“And Allie?” His voice is silky. “You have earned yourself quite the punishment for that little outburst.”

I’m too chastened to protest.

***

My embarrassment mounts when I meet his friends.

There’s Ned and Gloria. They are in their sixties. She’s tall and thin, and she wears a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and radiates Parisian chic. He’s rumpled and has a hot professor vibe going on.

There’s Ash, who looks twenty. He hugs his
djembe
close to him, and seems painfully shy.

Anita brings a guitar and a wide, cheerful smile. From the familiarity with which she greets Nikolai, I’m fairly sure she’s an ex-lover. But there’s no lingering glances from either of them, and she’s warm and friendly when she chats with me.

Finally, there’s Sergei, who holds a saxophone. Okay, Sergei is hot. I kind of regret telling Nikolai I don’t want to be shared. My brain wants to linger on some very inappropriate fantasies of being sandwiched between Nikolai and Sergei.

Nikolai introduces me as an old friend. If he’s angry with me, he shows no sign of it. He beckons me to sit with him on the piano stool, and we launch into a duet.

This isn’t a night of quiet, classical music, serious and contemplative. This isn’t the kind of music that will bring tears to your eyes. No. The djembe’s beats, the saxophone’s strident sound, the guitar’s strums and our own raucous playing on the piano – this is the kind of music that will get you to dance.

I laugh in sheer glee as we play. Nikolai shoots me a sidelong glance, and I see a small smile dance on his lips. At some point, he leans in. “Music,” he says, very, very quietly. “It lives in your heart.”

Damn him. I blink back my sudden tears.

This man was going to be the finest pianist of his generation. That he is here, playing with his friends, fingers thrumming out the melody, just surrendering himself to the rhythm? I have never felt more humbled, and I have never been as inspired.

***

“Do you know,” I say thoughtfully, when his friends have left, and we are washing up. “I have no idea what you do.”

“I teach,” he says, offering the information readily. “Piano, of course. At Boston College.”

“Today was a working day,” I point out. “Did you stay home because you had to babysit me?”

He laughs. “It’s spring break, Allie. I’m luxuriating in my week off.”

I make a face. He’s given up some precious free time to tutor me and I feel quite selfish about it. “It’s hardly a week off if you are teaching me.”

“The perks are excellent though. I can’t actually use these training methods on my undergrads.”

“So, nipple clamps are reserved for your best students?” I tease.

“Something like that,” he says dryly.

“Is Anita an ex-girlfriend?” I continue my interrogation, but he’s in a talkative mood, and he nods.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, sounding curious.

I shake my head. “I don’t think I really have the right to be.”

“Maybe. But you also have nothing to be jealous about. Our relationship is very much in the past.” He raises one eyebrow. “I noticed you seemed quite enamoured by Sergei.”

I blush. So he has noticed. “Okay,” I confess. “If you wanted to share me with Sergei,” I start, and he laughs aloud.

“Such a bad girl.” His lips twitch. “You know you have a punishment coming now, don’t you?”

“For mentioning Sergei?” I don’t know if Nikolai is the jealous sort. Is he really that perturbed by my offhand comment that I found his friend hot?

“For screaming at me earlier.”

Ah. Yeah, I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten my outburst earlier. We finish the dishes, and I dry my hands on the towel. He comes up to me, and kisses the back of my neck. “Ready?”

I’m nervous, but I trust Nikolai. “I’m ready.”

***

“Tell me about your life,” he says conversationally, as we make our way to the dungeon.

I snort. “Isn’t this something you ask me before you strip me naked and whip me?”

“I am,” he says dryly, and I laugh out aloud. It’s hard to be too outraged. My playing has improved by leaps and bounds. Short of a major screw-up, I’m playing well enough to ace my audition. Nikolai’s methods, unorthodox though they are, have worked their magic.

Plus, I’m assuming that after the punishment, he’ll fuck me, and I really, really want to get fucked.

“There’s not much to tell,” I reply, answering his question. “I’ve been in limbo.”

“You are too goal-oriented,” he says. “You need to work towards something to feel content, I think.”

He is right. Not having a sense of purpose has been terrible for me. I’d been drifting until I decided to audition for Juilliard. I resolve to never let that happen again.

As I’m thinking my thoughts and removing my clothes, he’s setting up, pulling whips and crops and spreader bars and dildos out of the cabinets in the dungeon. “Ready,
myshka
?” he asks me.

“Will it hurt?” I’m a little nervous.

He inclines his head. “I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest you might enjoy it,” he says. “Give it a try. Pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin. Use
yellow
if you want me to slow down,
red
if you want me to stop. Okay?”

Despite his threat on the first day, I’ve always had a safe word. Nikolai is entirely too responsible to neglect that safety precaution. “Okay,” I say. I straighten, resolving to trust in him. After all, he’s mentioned that I might enjoy my punishment. That doesn’t sound like someone who wants to inflict pain for pain’s sake.

“Besides,” he continues, “this isn’t actually a punishment.” He sounds slightly embarrassed, and I look up curiously at him.

“Explain?”

He clears his throat. “We don’t really know each other as adults, do we, Allie? And based on the way I’ve treated you – with the nudity and the collar and the clamps, your conclusion was not completely illogical. The screaming wasn’t helpful, but I bear the lion’s share of blame for the misunderstanding.”

“So, what’s this about? My
punishment
?”

There is an amused look in his eyes. “I thought you might like to try out the flogger.”

Actually, I really do. My expression must betray my anticipation, because Nikolai chuckles indulgently. “Come on,
myshka
,” he says, “Let’s get started.”

The first thing he does is wrap a blindfold around my eyes. I pout openly. “I want to watch,” I complain.

Smack.
His palm cracks down, hard, on my ass, and I jump in response. “Behave.” His voice is firm. “Or I will double your punishment.”

Ah, pouting and whining isn’t permitted. “Yes Sir,” I say meekly. I feel the heat from the spot where his hand has made contact. Desire dances on my skin, and my blood boils with lust. I am so ready for this.

I feel his hands on either side of my face, cupping my jaw in his hands, before he brings his lips down on mine. I open my mouth, automatically permitting him entry. Our tongues twine, and he pushes his body against me, backing me into the wall. I am helpless with longing.

He pulls away from my lips, and slides his hands down my body. “Do you want your punishment, Allie?” he growls at me.

I whisper my reply. “I want it so much.”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “Good girl.” I feel the approval emanate from him, and his mouth nibbles at one of my nipples. His fingers, those talented, ruined fingers, play with the other. Pinching and pulling, twisting and rubbing, until I am writhing with a sensation that resembles pain, but one I welcome. I want this to go on forever.

He cups my breasts, then glides over my hips, before honing in on my dripping pussy. He zooms in, finding my clitoris with an ease that’s truly intimidating, and rubbing it.

My little noises of need intensify. So good. I am wet, and I am ready for him. I wonder if he’ll let me come? He’s certainly not holding back when he’s touching me. The sure strokes are designed to get me off quickly.

“You are absolutely not allowed to come.” His voice is implacable, and just like that, my hopes are dashed. Ah well. I should have known there was no way he was going to permit a climax so soon. And I’m not as bothered by it as I might have been prior to coming to Boston. In the few days I’ve been with Nikolai, I’ve learned the power of delayed gratification. When I am forced to wait for my pleasure, the eventual reward is so much sweeter.

I’m almost sobbing with the intensity of the sensations he’s causing, but I’m desperate to hold back and obey. But it is so difficult. My body is shivering, and I hear the squelching noises my pussy is making as his fingers pump in and out of me. I can’t hold on. I can’t.

Just when I’m at the point where I’m convinced I’m going to come, consequences be damned, he stops and pulls away. “This is exactly the way I want you, Allie,” he says. “Your skin is so pretty and flushed. Your lips are parted so sweetly, and you beg with such desperation. Such a needy little pet.”

“And you are pleased with your pet, right?” I ask boldly. “Enough to let her come?”

I can’t see the expression on his face, but I don’t need to. I feel the smack on my ass, and he chuckles. “Not quite that much contentment, Allie, not yet. You’ll just have to be patient and wait.”

Anticipation
, I remind myself.
The joys of delayed gratification.
But it takes noticeable effort to keep from whining and begging again for my climax.  

His hands encircle mine, and I feel him fasten something around my wrists. “Cuffs,” he explains as he works. “I’m going to tie your hands up so you can’t shield yourself.”

“Because it’s going to hurt that much?” I’m nervous again.

He strokes my cheek soothingly. “Because your hands might reach out to block the strokes instinctively and we can’t risk any damage to your fingers,
myshka
.”

Fair point. My second-chance audition is right around the corner.

He draws my hands up and above my head, and I hear the clanking of chains. “Very dungeon like,” I quip, and he laughs. He keeps working though and in about thirty seconds, my arms are completely held in place. I tug on my bindings, and I hear the chains clatter once again, but I don’t have much range of motion at all.

“And now,” he says, in an exaggerated Russian accent, sounding for all intents and purposes like a member of the feared
mafiya
, “you are in my control, little one.”

I burst out laughing. He sounds ridiculous.

“Now, Allie,” he interrupts my giggling. “Let’s play some music, shall we?”

The melody that fills the air is instantly recognizable. Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 3. But the acoustics of the recording are
off.
The tape is definitely home-made. I raise my eyebrow silently, and wish I could see his face.

Again, his fingers cup my jaw. “This is you,
myshka
, from earlier today.”