The Maestro

by

The Maestro
published as an eBook in 2012 by Chimera eBooks.

ePub ISBN
9781780801155

mobi ISBN
9781780801162

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

Chimera (
ki-mir'a,
ki-
) a creation of the imagination, a wild
fantasy.

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This work is
sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or
otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and
without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this
work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all
characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no
relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright Leo
Barton. The right of Leo Barton to be identified as author of this
book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This novel is
fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

'In Spanish,
linda
means beautiful,' Alfonso had told her after she had accepted
his offer of a studio in Barcelona for three months. 'Blondes too,'
he had added half jokingly, 'real blondes at least, are very much
in demand in Spain. You will be a little English exotica.' The idea
that '
linda
' meant
beautiful in South America made her laugh. She had always thought
that her name was quite ugly and very unsexy.

Sebastian
would have taken off by now. As she lay in their double bed, she
turned her eyes to the half light of a grey dawn, and imagined
Sebastian sipping his black coffee, a script as always open on his
lap, his blue eyes staring intensely at the print. He had that
actorly knack of completely engrossing himself in whatever he was
doing. She would have already slipped from his mind, maybe to
return fleetingly over a pensive gin and tonic and a small
cigar.

'Only three
months,' he had said, trying to console her, as he had shaved in
the bathroom mirror, and she, having dragged herself from her sleep
to see him off, stood watching him, slightly irritated by his
apparent nonchalance at their separation.

'Three months,
Seb, is a long time! Well at least it is for me,' she had
remonstrated, as she watched him smiling at her through the mirror
as she spoke.

'You know this
is important. This will be the last time I'll be away for such a
long time. It's bags of lolly, nice Hollywood lucre. After that
I'll be stuck in the West End in some cruddy farce for months, I
promise.' He turned his lathered face towards hers. 'Anyway, you've
got your little Spanish sojourn,' he added, a caustic
dismissiveness in the adjectival 'little'.

Sebastian
could be insufferably condescending sometimes. It was his class, he
always said with a jokey defensiveness whenever Linda accused him
of sounding superior. He certainly had the better looks of his
class, that silky blond hair, the intense blue of his intelligent
eyes, the fine boned prettiness: there was something
quintessentially aristocratic about him. That is why they always
gave him either those stiff upper lip military explorer roles, or
else the homosexual, public school fop types to play.

Sebastian was
neither of those things, but if he was good at anything, it was
playing a part. Presently, he was playing the role of suburban
husband casually bidding his wife goodbye before another day at the
office, somehow hoping she wouldn't notice that he was off into the
deep of the Peruvian jungle for the next three months.

Even though
she feigned annoyance at his impending absence, the truth was that
she was far too excited about the prospect of going to live and
work in Barcelona to become overly depressed by his departure. How
many years had she talked about getting down to her art seriously,
leaving the analysis and the dissection to those who knew for sure
that they couldn't paint, while she attempted, once and for all, to
find out if she could.

She was
surprised how quickly and neatly everything had fallen into place.
One day Sebastian was sheepishly telling her about his fabulous new
role in some Hollywood epic, and the next, Alfonso was casually
mentioning how cheap studios were in Barcelona; and that he could
arrange for her to work with the feted Delgado, possibly the
greatest teacher and painter in western Europe. The synchronicity
of the two events gave heart to her natural impetuosity and before
the week was out, and probably not considering the full
consequences of voluntarily making herself unemployed, she handed
in her notice at the gallery.

She got out of
bed and made herself a coffee. Of course she would miss Sebastian,
she thought, as she poured the viscous brown coffee from the
cafetiera into her china cup; she would miss his wonderful sense of
humour and just the great feeling she could still get sometimes
when she was with him.

He was also
fantastic in bed. Every previous sexual relationship paled into
insignificance next to having sex with Sebastian. Never had anyone
manipulated her quite like him, teased her with such skill, taken
her so gently, then so roughly, so fervently, giving her such
pleasure that it shocked her by its immensity.

For example,
when she thought about him he could still make her do what she was
doing now as she sat on a stool near the kitchen table. Her coffee
forgotten, her hand had unconsciously crept under the silk kimono
she was wearing and sneaked between her thighs, her fingers were
stretching over the moistness of her tumescent sex lips, then
languidly snaking up to rub the hard knot of her clitoris.

Her memory
turned, as it often did when he left her to go filming, back to
their first dizzying encounter. They had been introduced by mutual
friends at a dinner party in Hampstead. Sebastian had immediately
dazzled her, by the combination of the almost angelic pure beauty
of his looks, the hearty easy laugh and his brilliant sense of
humour. He could be so amusing. Even then it did not seem a stilted
staged performance. Sebastian had seemed as if he was born telling
funny stories.

No, it was not
just his looks that made him the natural centre of attention
immediately he entered a room. He was so self-confident, so
comfortable with himself without being smug, it was impossible not
to be attracted to him.

When she
laughed, as he mimicked some pompous art critic that they both
knew, it was as if her whole body laughed, her skin prickled, a
dampness spread from between her thighs, a result of both her
laughter and her arousal, the two somehow merging inside her. No
man had ever done that before.

It had all
happened so quickly. A drunken boor had engaged her in a
conversation about a recent exhibition she had reviewed so as to
stare at the décolletage of her white lace gown, had accidentally,
or maybe on purpose as Sebastian later claimed, spilled wine over
the front of her dress.

She had stood
up quickly, excused herself amid the over-effusive apologies of her
lewd dining companion, and gone to the bathroom at the top of a
wooden spiral staircase to clean off the wine before it left a
permanent stain on the fabric.

The bathroom
was a small oblong with little space for anything else but a
toilet, wash basin and a bath. There was a mirror over the
sink.

She was
looking at herself as she finished dabbing water onto the stain at
the front of her skimpy dress when He walked in.

She was
startled when she saw him appear. He smiled at her gently, but
knowingly, but he did not speak. Quietly, he closed the door behind
him.

The excitement
made her tremble. She knew why he was there. She did not turn
around to face him, but remained looking at him through the glass,
focusing on his eyes, the easy relaxed eyes, transformed now in his
lust, staring so greedily at her body, betraying his nonchalant
dinner party posture.

He was coming
closer, close enough for her to smell his cologne, to feel the
warmth of his breath on her neck. His hands threaded through her
arms and grasped her breasts firmly, squeezing the warm mounds of
flesh, then rolling his flat palms over them. Her heart speeded
frantically in her intense excitement. His slender fingers slid
under the lace of her dress, then the lace of her brassiere. He
found the erect tips of her aroused breasts. As he nibbled gently
on her neck, sliding his tongue up to the lobe of her ear, he
plucked hard on her nipples. Linda gasped with the surprise of the
hot pain that throbbed from the pebble-hard tips of her breasts
sent a shudder through her body.

Her head
automatically tilted, then arced back, exposing the delicate white
of her throat. It was electrifying to feel his strong hands on her,
his hard fingers tugging on her now engorged nipples. Her own hands
reached upwards, stroked his tensed knuckles as he continued to
manipulate her.

His hands
glided lower, brushed her flat stomach, then smoothed over her
round hips through the lace of her dress, before touching the top
of her stockinged legs. Bending lower he momentarily slid his
fingertips under the nylon, before gradually reaching his hands
higher underneath her dress to the soft flesh of her thighs, her
dress bunching, riding up until it was lifted over the bottom of
her pearl white panties.

She had never
so totally abandoned herself to a stranger like this before, so
quickly, so ardently. She was so wet. His fingers were gently
tracing their way up both sides of her swelling labial lips,
feeling their moist heat, then delving between them, deep inside,
first one finger and then two, gently at first then thrusting
harder, pushing against the inner ribbed walls of her sex. She
could feel his tool stiffen through his slacks, pushing against
her, its hardness pressing against her panties.

Without
looking at him, she knelt on the lid of the toilet, her stockinged
knees resting against the pinewood. Grabbing the edge of the
cistern with her hands, she perched her bottom up before him.

She could hear
the violins below, the strident rhythm of the cellos and double
bass, and the conversational cackle from downstairs. She could hear
it all, as Sebastian flattened the palms of his hands under her
panties and over her firm voluptuous buttocks. He slid his fingers
between the cleft of her bottom. His thumb pressed first against
her perineum, making an exquisite shiver pass through her, then up
further onto the tiny aperture of her anus, tickling her,
tantalising her. Her whole body trembled with the slightest contact
his body made with hers.

The
anticipation was tremendous. This had never happened to her before.
Somewhere in her consciousness, she knew that she should be
concerned about the people downstairs. She should be perturbed that
a man whom she barely knew was at this moment pulling her panties
down; the lace slowly sliding down her inner thighs, dropping to
her knees, her dress now crumpled around her waist, her bottom bare
before his beautiful eyes.

Her breasts
felt heavy. They throbbed with pained excitement. His hands moved
up and down the white flesh of her buttocks, squeezing them hard,
spreading her, his fingernails digging in, scratching her, etching
themselves on her skin in his seemingly uncontrollable lust.

He knelt down
on the linoleum and arched his neck, levering his mouth between her
spread thighs. As she had felt his breath on the nape of her neck
before he had touched her, so she momentarily felt its heat before
the first dizzying contact of his tongue along the ridge of her
excited quim. His tongue flattened against her as he grabbed hold
of her inner thigh, pinching lightly while his tongue feasted on
the wet folds of her intimate flesh.

There was no urgency in his movement, the tongue glided up
her, flicked her clitoris and then glided back down. She felt her
face flush as he repeated the action. Again and again the tongue
slid along the ridge of her labia, and most delicious of all, began
to probe inside her quim, softly and gently at first before
building up to a crescendo of hot, rapid jabs. She wanted to scream
out, to respond vocally to the exquisite pleasure he was bringing
to her, but she knew she couldn't. Still, the necessity to remain
silent caused an added delectable
frisson
of erotic tension to the
encounter.