The Conductor and the Muse

The Conductor

Each year, I accept one
from many applicants to study under me.  I receive thousands of referrals, hundreds of recommendations and in the end, I chose
only
one
.  I pay for their travel and give them a space in my guest house just near the main house where I reside full time.  As my muse, they each agree to study music
only
,
for one
full
year.  There are no televisions or internet connections on the property.  Family members are welcome the first day and encouraged to write letters instead of phone calls.  I have a telephone but it i
s only for emergency purposes.

I have had Muses from all walks of life, both male and female and all truly talented before they came.  I teach then discipline and
help them
polish their talent.

I have a staff of eleven that keep the atmosphere friendly and professional.  In the ten years since starting this program, I have
never had a muse cross the line.  A
lthough, there have been a few
whom have walked closely to that
line.

A soft knock startles me as I sit at my desk. 

“Come in,” I say stepping to my feet.

“Conductor?
  I apologize for disturbing you,” she says lowering her eyes to the
carpet
.

I gasp at the site of her.  She looks
like an alabaster doll with pale white skin and dark curly hair.

“No interruption,” I reply.  She raises her eyes and then her face to meet my gaze.  Her eyes are silver with small specks of amethyst sprinkled throughout.  Her nose is small but her lips are full and pink.  I watch as she blushes and extends her hand.  I take it, completely out of habit.

“My name is Leena.  Leena Winter and I just wanted to thank you for accepting me as your
muse
.”

Her fingers are long, slim, and perfectly manicured.  I want to bring them to my lips and kiss each one.  Her eyes lower again and rest on our hands, still holding one another.

I realize that I am
acting
completely inappropriate and allow her hand to fall, gracefully to her side.  Her hips are small, and although she is dressed modestly, I can see the outline of her perfect figure.  Her breasts are high, firm and pressing against the
confines of her
cotton top.
  She crosses her arms across her just as her nipples pebble and peak.

I clear my throat, “I am very pleased that you accepted the offer Miss Winter.  It is not often that I have the opportunity to have someone of your talent under me.”

She blushes, bright pink and shifts her weight.  Her reaction is creating one of its own within my trousers.

“Please,” I gesture toward the chair in front of my desk.  “Please have a seat,” and I move quickly behind the security of the oak adjusting myself out of view.

She swallows hard,
knots her fingers together and places them in her lap as she sits properly in the le
ather chair.  She looks nervous
or scared and I am
troubled
that I have intimidated her.

“What do you wish to take with you once the year is over?”  I ask this question to each muse and always near the beginning of our encounter.

Her eyes dart to mine and widen.  I watch as her pupils dilate and she shifts in the chair.

“Everything that the Conductor is willing to share with me, I will graciously accept,” she swallows again.  Her voice is raspy, breathy and she is rubbing the top of her thighs with her hands.

“Are you nervous?”

She nods her head, “Very.  I have never met anyone like you,” her mouth opens and I watch her tongue appear and wet her lips.

And I you, I think to myself.

“Would you feel up to playing for me this evening?  I mean, after you have settled into the guest house of course?”  Why am I asking her? 
I
am the Conductor
and
I have never cared if any of my muses were settled in before asking them to share their talent with me.

“I have already unpacked Conductor.  I,” she stops.  “I would very much enjoy the pleasure of
being in
your presence this evening.”

“Did you receive the schedule already?”

“Yes Conductor, M
s
.
Tanes presented it to me upon my arrival.”

“So am I to expect you for dinner then?”

She nodded, “Yes,
but now
I should go.”  She stood and made her way quickly to the door.  I watch as she leaves.  I cannot stand for fear of embarrassment.  She excites me, a feeling that has been absent for far too many years.

I need to release some pent up energy before I see her again.  I take the stairs, two at a time and feel light on my feet.  I remove my jacket and lay it on the foot of my bed.  I pull my tie and place it in the door handle of my closet.  Removing my collared shirt and slacks, I step into my running shorts and grab a
fresh
pair of socks.  My heart is thudding and my erection has yet to retreat.  I hope the staff
is
busy preparing dinner I think to myself as I tie my running shoes.

I reach for my mp3 and place the buds into my ears.  Miss Winter had sent her compilations with her appli
cation and I have listened to them
enough to have the separate tracks memorized.  I select track three and head back downstairs.  The foyer is empty and my erection
is
receding as the piano begin
s to play
in my ears
.  I take a deep breath, exhale and run toward the lake trying to clear my mind of the beautiful muse now under my study and my skin.

_________

The run was cleansing for both my mind and libido.  I close my eyes and tilt my head under the cascade of water falling from the shower.  No muse, no woman, has ever had the effect the Leena has had on me
and in what?  Less than twenty minutes of being in her presence
.
I feel like the muse
.

“Leena,” I say her name aloud as I reach for my shampoo.  “Leena,” I moan.  I feel my appendage awaken once more.  It is throbbing with need as I rinse the suds and watch as they flow toward the drain.  I reach for the soap but I cannot ignore my own needs any longer.  I feel
the steam surround me as I grip my own hardened length.
  I pump, violently, holding my breath just waiting for its release.  Building, building, “Leena,”
and I erupt into my own hand.

_____

M
s
.
Tanes is setting the dining room for two as I walk into the kitchen.  I reach for a wine glass and feel a strange presence.  I turn only to find Miss Winter standing in the doorway.  She is dressed is a white satin, form fitted gown that has a scoop neck.  Her breasts are trussed up and
the tops are
exposed.
  The tiny straps lay softly on her shoulders.  Her hair is pinned back, with only a few tendrils touching her bare skin.  Either she is wearing rouge or she is flushed.

“Would you like a glass?”  I hold out a wine glass and she accepts.  Her fingers brush against mine as she takes it from me.  I hear her breath hitch fr
om the contact.  I turn quickly as
I don’t want to embarrass her, or myself.  Her hand is noticeably shaking as I pour the white wine filling it half way before filling my own.
   She follow
s
me into the dining room.

M
s
.
Tanes has lit seven candles and placed them in the center of the large table.  She has set the white linens and gray china at each place setting complet
ed
with water goblets filled with crystal liquid.  The glasses have begun to condense.

I pull the chair and watch as Miss Winter sits, brushing her hand along her bottom to smooth the white satin.  I push the large chair gently and she takes the white napkin and drapes it across her legs.  She crosses her ankles and I catch a glimpse of her light blue stilettos.  They are strapped around her ankle, ending mid-calf, tied with a single bow.  She has a feather tucked into the bun on the back of her head in the same color as her shoes.

The dining room is set as it always has been for the first dinner, however tonight it feels more romantic than professional.  I make my way over to the opposite side of the table and place my napkin on my lap.  I look up and see that she has her arms crossed protecting her chest.

“Are you cold?”

“A little,” she replies and places her arms at her side.  My eyes are diverted to her hardened nipples once again.  I stand and remove my
jacket knowing
I will be unable to control my thoughts if
I don’t cover her.  I drape the tweed materia
l over her shoulders just as M
s
.
Tanes walks into the room with two salad plates.  I catch her glare as she places the plate in front of Miss Winter.

“Conductor, shall I turn the heat up for your guest?”

“Yes, please,” I respond firmly and take my seat.

I watch Miss Winter pick up her salad fork and move the lettuce around the small gray plate.

“Is there something wrong with your salad Miss Winter?”

“No, no.  I am
just,
this is all new to me.  The salad is fine, thank you.”

I watch as the color makes it
s
way to her face
once again
.  I am making her feel uncomfortable, and I don’t know how to stop.  I stare intently at my salad.
  Piercing a few chunks of lettuce, I shove the fork into my mouth.  I keep my eyes on my plate during the course.

M
s
.
Tanes returns and takes the dishes.  I look up and see that Miss Winter had consumed most of the vegetables.  The main course is baked chicken wrapped in prosciutto, baby red potatoes, and steamed carrots.  I watch as she picks up the knife and carves the chicken into bite size pieces.  Her fingers are strong, nimble, and I cannot wait to see her play the piano.

“Are you satisfied with the accommodations in the guest house?”

She quickly swallows, “Yes, it is very nice.  I especially like the bed,” she
stops and covers her mouth.

She likes the bed?  I try to recall the bed in the guest house.  It has been so many yea
rs since I have been inside.  Mister
Kensley
takes care of the grounds as well as the guest house.  Miss
Riner
takes care of the housekeeping and laundry for the Muses.

“What do you like about the bed?”

Her eyes meet mine, they are darkened, heavy.  Her lips are pouty and full.  “I, uh-I like the heavy down comforter and all of the pillows.  It’s so luxurious,” she smiles softly.  We sit quietly, finishing our meal staring at one another, stealing smiles and exchanging pleasantries. 

M
s
.
Tanes places a small bowl of Neapolitan ice cream in front of
each of us and returns
to the kitchen.  I watch Leena
scoop
a small amount of strawberry ice cream on the spoon and place it into her mouth.  Her movements are so fluid, so seductive and I cannot take my eyes off her lips.  I spy her tongue flick out and wet them, retreating quickly.  My ice cream remains untouched.  Instead, I drink the water that has now warmed to room temperature.  It still feels cool against my arid mouth.