The Maestro (12 page)

Behind the
game of sexual power being played out there was another deeper,
darker battle going on between her and Delgado. She wanted to
submit her body to him, for him to beat her, but she refused to
submit her whole will as Rebecca had done. This she knew had
nothing to do with being a better artist; this was about the
strength of her will. Even if Delgado was going to lash her as he
had done with Rebecca, she knew she was challenging Delgado's
absurd pretensions that had so impressed the others.

As she looked
into Rebecca's cold and trancelike eyes she felt the cane descend
on her, the red heat of pain stretched across her buttocks. Another
stroke. It was delicious, delectable to be held like this, Rebecca
digging her nails into Linda's wrists, her bottom exposed to
Delgado's furious eyes and the furious beating he was delivering to
her.

For some
reason, though, Delgado was not satisfied. He muttered some
imprecation in Spanish that Linda didn't quite understand and she
heard the cane topple to the floor. She turned her head around and
watched Delgado retrieve a short riding crop from a space where an
oil painting lay propped on a wall.

She watched as
he reared the whip above him and lashed her with it, the sting much
more intense than the cane, it seared through her body, making the
raw ends of her nerves tingle in her delicious pained delight.

And again the
lash came. The pain was intense on her flesh. The pain and the
sound and Rebecca's nails all seemed to belong to the same
sensation, each component of the experience merging into one
feeling, the throbbing of her heart, the sweep of adrenaline
through her body, the thud of pressure between her legs.

Another lash,
then another, her legs wilting under each blow, her eyes were
closing. Delgado was winning. He must not win! She wanted more and
more to go as close to the edge of her pain barrier. Harder, she
wanted him to lash her harder. Delgado was conquering her. He must
not! All she wanted to do now was to submit to him. It was a
delicious temptation.

He seemed to
be able to control the exact level of pain; each lash was applied
with a little more ferocity, pushing her closer to the edge.
Delgado knew what he was doing, what the real battle between them
was about. He was winning her over with each lash. She couldn't let
him destroy her.

The last three
lashes were much heavier. It was almost reaching that ambivalent
stage that she seemed to instinctively know, that she seemed to
have known all her life. She wanted him to stop but she wanted him
to go on. Another excruciating lash and she knew it was over. She
could hear Delgado's heavy breath, and when she turned to look at
him she could see his face covered in a sheen of perspiration after
his hefty exertions.

He hadn't won;
she hadn't won. Both of them knew that. Linda had found a strength
of will that she did not know she possessed; and she knew that with
this will she could be anything. She was, and she thought that
Delgado recognised it too, capable of being precisely what she
wanted to be. She had the skill, but what was more, the strength
and the determination. And this she had learnt under Delgado's
lash. No, that was no longer a will to dominate, she saw in
Delgado's eyes, that was mutual respect; he had met his match and
he realised it.

'Beat her with
her cane,' he instructed Rebecca, his voice calmer now. He had
re-established that majestic control. Linda realised that Delgado
was indeed a maestro.

He stood
beside her and removed his mighty cock from his trousers. It was
thick and already erect. Without being asked, and knowing now that
Delgado could dominate Rebecca, but he could no longer dominate
her, she removed the slicked purple dome from the loose flaccid
sheath of his foreskin and pumped her mouth on him.

Rebecca hit
her firmly on the swollen cheeks of her bottom, but not as hard as
Delgado had, but the pain was still exquisite. She felt the hard
meat of his cock and the beating were both emanating from his
power, the power that she now accepted as a gift.

She held
Delgado by his heavy balls and slid her mouth over his tool, down
to the base until the top of his massive helmet pressed against the
back of her throat.

For all that
Rebecca was still beating her, she knew now that it was she who was
in control, she who was manipulating the maestro. Their eyes gazed
at each other intently, even as she sucked on him; their eyes met
and he knew what she wanted. He pulled out of her, and pulled the
chair that she had been leaning against, next to hers, and with
some gesture that Linda didn't see instructed Rebecca to desist
from the caning.

She knelt on
the dirty wooden floor now, removed his trousers from him, but with
a tenderness that he had not shown to her when he had torn her
clothes from her back, and licked the coarse skin of his scrotum.
He pulled her up with his strong hands and sat her on his lap, and
finding the opening of her sex easily, he slid her onto him.

Rebecca looked
on bemused, aware that something had happened in the room, but
unable to understand exactly what it was. Delgado rocked Linda's
beautiful body onto his rock hard tool. They both knew that this
was not what he had wanted, that through her strength she had
thwarted his plans. He grasped her hard by the hips as if she was a
doll, hard and fast. Her tender buttocks slapped against the top of
his thighs, increasing her pleasure.

He was so big
inside her. He seemed to bury himself deeper inside than any other
man had ever done. He was coming now; she was coming as she thudded
down onto him. She felt his thighs lock tightly, a prelude to the
gushing of his hot jism shooting up into the depth of her, the
trigger for her own scintillating climax. He still pushed her hard
onto him prolonging her orgasm beyond its natural course. She
spasmed in the immensity of her pleasure, an ocean of magnificent
delight, before her body sagged on him in its orgasmic release.

And then he
did the strangest thing. Gently, tenderly, he held her by the neck
and levered her head up to his and kissed her passionately on the
lips.

All the time
Rebecca looked on bewildered, understanding only that something
dark and exciting had been unleashed in Linda's soul; she knew
instinctively that it was Linda and not her who had both the
passion and the will to be an artist.

'What on earth
happened to you?' Alfonso asked. They were sitting in the dusk
light of Plaza Real. Linda had always loved the square, even though
it had a bad reputation for thieves and muggers. She loved the
French neo-classical style, and Gaudi's iron lamps in the centre,
the beautiful stone work softening in the early evening light.

She hadn't
seen Alfonso since being ordered up to Delgado's room, and now it
was Sunday.

Delgado had
sent her back to her hotel, suggesting that she gather a few things
and stay for the rest of the week in his Sitges apartment. She
needed time to think, to contemplate her work, and what she really
hoped to achieve by staying in Barcelona.

She had felt
flattered and honoured and saw it as some sort of recognition that
Delgado was prepared to take her work so seriously.

'You do have
promise. I have been hard on you and I will continue to be hard,
but I saw from the moment I saw your work that you had more
potential than anyone I have seen for a long time.'

'Well, why
were you so awful to me about my work?' Linda had asked.

'I needed to
learn about your will.'

Linda had
recalled the words repeatedly as she walked along the beachfront of
Sitges, or later lying in the white room, under the bright
moonlight; she knew that Delgado would not lie about art, others
might, but Delgado wouldn't. He would probably lie about everything
else but not art. It elated her, although she knew that this was
only the start, that Delgado was right: she needed to think, she
needed direction.

She realised
of course, as Delgado had told her, that the way to think was
through the mediation of practice. She would work in the morning
from dawn until midday, then take a stroll along the beach, then
from around three until the light faded she would continue.

She was not
always happy with what she produced, but by the end of the week and
her return to Barcelona she realised that she had the outline of a
project: a series of non-figurative paintings that relied purely on
shape and colour. What would fuel her inspiration were her sexual
experiences, especially the experiences she had already had in her
short week in Barcelona and the further experiences she wished to
have. Her art would be, in short, an exploration of her own
sexuality.

She also knew
that it would be at least a month before she had produced anything
substantial, even one painting that she could confidently take to
show a gallery.

She had
virtually forgotten about Alfonso, and Sebastian for that matter,
her mind swept away by her artistic plans. But seeing him now
something of her old attraction for him resurfaced. As if the
Maestro had read her thoughts, his last piece of parting advice had
been to refrain from self-arousal, and as Alfonso sat before her,
she knew that before the night was out she was going to bed
him.

'Oh I was told
to go away for a few days,' she said, answering his question.

'All Delgado
said was that you were going to start the course properly next
week, and that you needed some time to think before you began.'

'Well that's
true I suppose.'

'Linda I was
very worried. I mean, I felt a little responsible. After all, it
was my suggestion that you come here.'

'There is no
need to feel responsible for me in any way. You're right, Delgado
is a great teacher. He's given me a very interesting
direction.'

'What's
that?'

She didn't
want to say anything at the moment. The only person that she wanted
to discuss her ideas with was Delgado. She was confident but she
was not certain. 'You'll see,' she said, breaking out into
laughter.

'I thought
that was my line,' Alfonso said smiling, lifting a glass of ruby
red wine to his lips.

'How are the
others?'

'Well Damian
has left. He stormed out last week in tears, saying what a horrible
fraud Delgado was.'

'I thought
that would happen.'

'But Rebecca.
I don't know what happened to that girl, but she has completely
changed.'

'In what
way?'

'She's become
a nymphomaniac. A different man every night. She tells us all about
it. She's talking about separating from her boyfriend. I know she
comforted Damian. I saw him the day after he left. He didn't look
unhappy at all. I think he is going to join his father's business
selling life insurance.'

'And what
night were you?'

'Linda, I was
last night.'

Linda
laughed.

'What happened
in there?'

'It's
confidential. I can't tell you.'

'Oh
please.'

'The only
thing that happened is that I sorted out some differences with
Delgado and came to some kind of arrangement with him.' She didn't
want to tell Alfonso more than he needed to know.

'There is
something I know I have to tell you about.'

'What's
that?'

'Maria told me
she said something to you about it. She said you were upset. I
thought that might have been why you disappeared.'

'What are you
talking about?'

'Sebastian and
me and what happened when you thought Sebastian was filming.'

'Oh that!' She
had more or less forgotten about it, having put Sebastian and all
of his deceptions to the back of her mind. She knew she was going
to have to deal with it at some stage but she was too occupied to
concern herself with them now.

'I want to
take you somewhere.'

'Oh good.'

They finished
their wine and Sebastian led her around the Barrio China. She
thought he might be taking her to some seedy sex club. It was a
prospect she found quite enticing.

Instead, they
entered a cheap looking, fairly desolate bar in a narrow side
street. It was typical of the town, a long narrow room dominated by
the bar, a fruit machine in the corner, a few tables to the back
with gingham table clothes; nothing unusual, it was like a thousand
bars she had been into before.

There were a
couple of workmen at one end of the bar staring at the football on
the television set, and there was a tall thick-built waiter
cleaning glasses behind the bar.

'Why on earth
have you brought me here?'

'It's part of
the story. I want to explain to you something about what happened
with Sebastian and myself.'

'Isn't it a
little late for that? I'm not so sure that I'm so fascinated with
my husband's infidelities.' In truth, Linda was much more
interested in the possibility of sleeping with Alfonso.

'It probably
is too late,' Alfonso glanced around him sheepishly, but I wanted
to explain that it wasn't really all Sebastian's fault.'

'I suppose he
would say it never is.'

Alfonso
ignored her comment. 'You know that I have always admired
Sebastian, looked up to him. Perhaps it's a weakness, but I do find
him rather glamorous.'

'What are you
trying to tell me, Alfonso?'

'No, nothing
like that, nothing sexual. I'm deviant but I'm not gay.'

'Well, what
then?' She thought she had made it clear enough that she wasn't
interested. She didn't really understand why Alfonso was insisting
on telling the story.

'I suppose I
was trying to impress him. He kept on saying that he should get
back to you in the hotel. He knew what time you would be there. He
thought it would be a nice surprise for you. But I kept on
pestering him to have another drink and that was when I saw
Suzanne.'