Private Lessons

A/N: I dedicate this chapter to Peter Jackson. LOL!

Warning: bondage and toys below

--------------------------------

WEEK TEN – STAGE FRIGHT (Part Two)

The rest of the week went by too fast and too slow at the same time.

On the one hand, I couldn’t wait to see Mr. C again. This last encounter of mind-blowing sex had truly pushed me over the edge. My ability to compartmentalize had gone all to hell. All I could think about was how good the sex was. No, ‘good’ did not describe it. I know it sounds cheesy, but I felt as I finally understood what the big deal was. Before I always thought that the idea of being sexually fulfilled was just a phrase used in romance novels and Cosmo. But that last time, I truly was satisfied.

Again and again, I would remember fondly that feeling of being cuddled against Mr. C’s chest, looking out the window out at the snow. I took sadistic pleasure in being so warm and (dare I say it?) happy, my body singing with afterglow feelings while lazily peering out the window, watching the poor schmucks out on the street slipping and sliding in the snow.

Like a drug addict, I had the worst sort of craving to repeat the experience: both the sex and the afterglow.

But I had to have time to get ready. This wasn’t a quick tumble in a black box theater basement. This was an honest-to-God date! Things were getting serious; and I had to look dazzling. Even if I did only have adequate material and meager funds to work with.

Usually, I could not stand spending a lot of money on buying clothes in Manhattan. I would much rather take a trip out to New Jersey. You didn’t pay sales tax; and there was more of a chance that you would find real clothes for real people out there. But there was no time for a mall in Jersey. No, I had no choice but to hit the Manhattan stores and find something that would fit the bill.

Gritting my teeth, I went to Macy’s, figuring at least there would be a lot of selection there. No matter what I would pick, it would mean more debt on my worn credit card. Ultimately, I found the perfect dress for the occasion. A burgundy slinky silk dress with spaghetti straps. Apparently, my obsessive dieting and working out paid off as I actually looked pretty good in it.

In theory, it was a good idea. In practice, I was freezing my ass off as I walked along the New York streets to Mr. C’s apartment. Even my black winter coat felt as thin as silk against the biting gusts of winter wind. Oh, well, better to look good than to feel good, right? I just hoped that I wouldn’t get a relapse with my illness.

Too miserable to be nervous, I frantically rang the buzzer.

“Come on in,” Mr. C smiled. He was wearing a suit and looked fabulous. I got that silly dreamy feeling just looking at him.

“Take your coat off and relax,” he said invitingly. “I just need to finish talking to my agent.”

“Okay.”

Mr. C went off into another room, closing the door behind him.

Trying to relax on the luxurious black leather sofa, I stayed huddled in my coat although I did undo the buttons. Again, I was in a starstruck condition as I looked about what I guessed was the living room. I noted pictures of Mr. C on Playbill Magazine , Time Out and People. There were publicity photos from some of his various film and television work.

I was reminded of the line from Sunset Boulevard. “That’s Mr. C...and that’s Mr. C...and that’s Mr. C...” Going from one picture to the next, one award to the next, one tribute to the next...

What could it possibly be like to know such glory? What could it like to know so much of life?

“Aren’t you going to be a bit cold in that?” The voice startled me out of my musings.

“The price of fashion,” I smirked with a grin.

“You want to borrow one of my sweaters?”

I didn’t know whether to smile or sigh in irritation. There goes Mr. C being my Dad again. It was sweet of him to care, but why did he want to go and tear down all that I had so artfully created at such expense?

“You don’t like it?”

Mr. C gave me a smile that made me melt like butter as he sat down next to me. Even after all we had done, I felt a bit like Red Riding Hood being eaten out alive by the Big Bad Wolf.

“You’re beautiful..” he whispered huskily, leaning towards me.

Gently he kissed me on the lips, stroking my hand with his fingertips. I grew all weak and shivery as his mouth moved to the side of my neck. The kisses grew more and more heated.

“We’d better go to dinner,” he rasped. “We have reservations.”

“To hell with the reservations,” I sighed, pulling him back in my arms.

“Ssshhh....”

Mr. C put his fingers against my lips.

“Let me take you out like I promised,” he cajoled. “I want to do this.”

“Okay.”

Like I could deny him anything...

------------------------------------

We went to an Italian restaurant, very posh and expensive with a name that I could not pronounce. As I perused the menu, I had to use all of my acting skills in order not to seem as awkward as I felt. Gnocchi, fettuccini, manicotti, linguini...hell, I would have been happy with spaghetti and meatballs. Sadly, that wasn’t on the menu.

“What would you like to drink, Maggie? Does a bottle of wine sound good?”

“Sure.”

“Any particular kind you like?”

God, I knew even less about wine than I did about pasta.

“Um, I like Pinot Noir,” I answered, remembering Sideways.

Mr. C smiled with amusement as he ordered the wine. I guess he must have seen that movie too. The immaculate waiter bowed as Mr. C ordered for us. I had no idea what I was going to be eating. I just hoped there was no anchovies or mushrooms in it.

Could I have felt more out of my element?

“Why me?” I asked suddenly, immediately wanting to slash my wrists after the stupid question.

“What?” my teacher asked, taken aback.

God help me for being a fool, but I had to know. It was hard to say the words, but I had to get them out.

“You could have any woman you want. You could have...movie stars or...one of those blonde models in class. Why me? I’m...” I hated to say it, but I had to be honest with myself for once. “I’m nobody, just a struggling acting student. I’m not even particularly pretty. Why me?”

“Because I like you,” he answered simply, taking my hand. “Isn’t that good enough? And you're very pretty...”

I felt vaguely frustrated, like he was just skating around my question. Why did he like me? I knew what was in it for me, but I could not possible see what I had to offer someone like Mr. C. I didn’t have a damn thing. Not money or connections or beauty. My self-esteem was suddenly sinking to subterranean levels.

Still, I fought to keep my insecurities from completely sabotaging my date as I murmured inanely about how good the bread was.

What was even more maddening was that I kept thinking about Monica Lewinsky. And believe me, the thought of her crouched under a desk in the Oval Office giving the President a blow job was doing nothing to increase my ardor. But I guess I felt like I was walking in her shoes. She was also a Nobody, just a White House intern. She was comely enough, but hardly a movie star or model. Why did Clinton fool around with her? Was it because she was easy and there? Because she inflated his ego and made him feel young? And I remembered how she became such a joke when all of the scandal broke out all over the place. I had always felt kind of sorry for her. Maybe she had just been overwhelmed with all of the excitement and let it go to her head where she got stupid...

I tried to push the image of her face out of my mind.

This wasn’t the same thing at all. For one thing, Mr. C was divorced. In the second place, he was a Musical Theater star, not a President. And in the third place, I was smart enough not to breathe a word of our relationship to anyone.

And I was being entirely too neurotic about the whole thing. So Mr. C wants an affair with a younger woman who is no threat to him. That is understandable. We have a nice S/M dynamic going on which is also a major plus. Why was I getting so worried?

“Are you all right, Maggie?”

Wrenched back to the present, I looked at my handsome date and smiled, trying not to grimace.

“Sure.”

“You’re being so quiet.”

“It was just a hard day at work,” I shrugged with a lie. Actually, I had spent most of my day at the office, reading some new plays I had bought, but he didn’t need to know that.

Mr. C asked me about my job, where I was from, et cetera. I was appreciative of the small talk as I desperately needed to relax and just feel normal for a while. The rest of the date was good. We didn’t set the world on fire, but the nervousness had eased...at least, until the next catastrophe occurred...

We were walking off dinner, walking along the Promenade of the Winter Garden. This walk could be beautiful or depressing, depending on your point of view, literally. If you faced out towards the water, you saw colored purple and blue lights in the water. You saw all the ferry boats and ships. You saw the skyline of the surrounding boroughs. If you looked in the other direction, you saw the large amount of space where the World Trade Center used to be. And then the inevitable 9/11 flashbacks would kick in. I tried to keep looking out at the water.

And that was when I saw the billboard of That Movie.

That Movie was the film version of a very successful Broadway musical that Mr. C had been in. On stage, his performance had been legendary. What a treat it would have been for Mr. C to have been in the film version of That Movie, immortalizing his brilliance on film forever. As it was, the Hollywood Powers That Be in their infamous wisdom decided to cast a younger actor in Mr. C’s part in order to bring in a “younger audience”. Every time I thought about it, I practically got livid to the point of violence. And if I was so pissed off about it, I could only imagine what Mr. C must have felt about the situation.

With my arm linked through his, I could feel him tensing up.

“It’s sort of cold out here. Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I suggested desperately.

“It’s all right,” he said, rather tersely.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Maggie,” he repeated. “It is all right. Don’t worry about it. Really.”

Still, the conversation and easygoing feelings dwindled away as we eventually made our way back to his apartment. I had pretty much written the date off as a disaster and was on the verge of a major anxiety attack. We would have to run into a movie poster of That Movie with That Actor. Now Mr. C was depressed and would forever associate this date as a bummer.

I was quite prepared to go home and get dead drunk to deal with the disappointment.

“I guess I should go home...” I said softly, standing with him at his doorstep outside of the brownstone.

“Oh?” Mr. C asked, genuinely surprised, taking my hand. “I thought...well, I was sort of hoping you would stay here tonight.”

“Really?” I responded. “Are you sure?”

He smiled indulgently as he led me inside. Gesturing for me to sit down on the living room couch and take off my coat, he sat down next to me.

“I haven’t been the best of company today,” he said. “And I apologize.”

“Yes, I guess I’ve been a rotten date too.”

“But I’d like you to stay. Maybe we can turn the night around. Let’s see what’s on TV.”

TV was good. Something to get our mind off of our problems and nerves. TCM was showing King Kong, the 1933 version. Great. Hardly a date movie.

“Perfect,” I moaned.

“What’s wrong?” he laughed, pouring us some glasses of sherry. “You don’t like this movie? It’s a classic.”

Now it was my turn to smile with indulgence.

“Well, I liked it as a kid. And I know the film was an amazing technical achievement for its day, but now it all seems pretty silly.”

“It’s a fantasy. You’re not supposed to take it seriously.”

“I know, but surely that big monkey must know that the size difference with the little blonde is a serious problem that cannot be surmounted. He’s constantly leering at her and carrying her around everywhere, but doesn’t seem to have the sense to know that she is the wrong species for him all together.”

Mr. C guffawed with laughter.

“And I thought I was a cynic!”

“Well, really, I don’t see what the big deal is with this story.”

“I am surprised that with your acting abilities that you can’t see the forest for the trees where this story is concerned.”

“Well, you don’t need to get personal,” I said, rather miffed. “I haven’t had to audition to play a primate in some time.”

Mr. C pointed at the large ape, roaring out from the TV screen.

“Think of what it must be like to be the last of your kind. A prehistoric creature from days gone by. Maybe he doesn’t know about species because there is no one else like him. Maybe he can’t even conceive of another female gorilla because he’s never known one; at least, not one of the right proportions.”

I took a sip of my sherry, suspecting that Mr. C must be drunk to be carrying on a serious conversation about such a silly story as King Kong.

“The only other creatures he knows are the other creatures on the island, like the dinosaurs, who are always wanting to kill him. And the natives who are so afraid of them that they build a big wall to keep him away from them. And then suddenly, there she is. The blonde creature of beauty who represents what he longs for.”

“Yes, because all monkeys secretly crave beauty...” I quipped. “Especially blonde beauties with big breasts.”

“He probably knows that a union with her is impossible in the true sense,” he continued, ignoring my comments. “Yet he holds onto her because she is the only beautiful thing he has ever known. And he doesn’t want to lose that beauty. Thus, beauty killed the beast.”

How did Mr. C always have this insight that made such sense? Maybe that ability was what made him such a good actor.

And I thought about how I felt about Mr. C. That was what Mr. C was for me. A beautiful creature I could never truly have. Not really. He was Beauty, and I was the Beast. I suddenly wanted to cry, completely identifying with the big monkey on the screen.

“Besides King Kong is as sexy as hell.”

I nearly spit out my sherry in surprise.

“You have to be kidding me!”

“Am I?” he asked, sidling next to me on the couch. “Look at Fay Wray up there on the screen.”

“Whatever happened to Fay Wray?” I sang, quoting The Rocky Horror Picture Show. “That delicate satin-draped frame...”

“Maybe it’s just a male thing, but the way she is tied up like that between those totem poles, all vulnerable and helpless, is extremely arousing.”

I felt his arms wrapping around me. Well, the night seemed to be improving. If he got off on bound blonde beauties with wide eyes, I was suddenly very supportive of that. I felt like purring as his hands cupped my breasts, playing with my nipples through the silken cloth of my dress.

“With her dress halfway falling off of her body,” he murmured, pulling naughtily at my shoulder straps. “Not knowing what is going to come out at her from the darkness. Only that she is dependent on him for everything.”

The cool air made my nipples harden as he lowered down the front of my dress and bra. My breasts were now exposed and completely at the mercy of his large beautiful hands. I let out a soft moan as my pussy began to ache sharply.

“He could devour her whole if he wanted to. Her fate is in his hands. Will he give her pleasure or pain?”

The image of the RKO movie grew blurry as I felt my insides start to melt into hot juice between my legs. I squirmed slightly, feeling all weak.

“And she can’t move. She can’t escape. All she can do is take whatever he chooses to give her...”

His mouth nibbled at my ear. I jolted at the feel of his tongue swirling around the sensitive lobe.

“Don’t you find that sexy?”

I didn’t answer, because I truly was too turned on to speak at that moment. His hand crept up my skirt, pressing against my panties.

“Ah, yes, I can feel that you do...” he whispered as his fingers rubbed against my damp underwear.

I could only moan helplessly in response, thrusting myself against his fingers.

“Maggie, you know what I want, don’t you?”

I had a pretty good guess. And the prospect was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Will you let me tie you up, Maggie?” he asked huskily. “It would please me so much...”

Part of me was terrified at the thought of being tied up. He could torture me or kill me. He could do whatever he wanted. I could be a statistic in the New York Post the next morning. All I can say is that hormones are a powerful thing because I was truly so sexually aroused that desire overcame the fear. I turned my head and kissed him hungrily.

“Say yes,” he demanded. “Say it.”

“Yes...” I moaned, no longer caring what would happen, just wanting more and more...

Mr. C carried me up to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed as if I were indeed a fragile damsel in distress. Then he pulled at my dress and underwear until I was very naked.

“Just imagine what it is like, not being able to see anything in the darkness,” he said with an evil smile, holding a tie before me. He wrapped it snugly around my face, covering my eyes with it like a makeshift blindfold as he tied it shut. Not seeing anything was so weird. My breathing sounded incredibly loud. And I was ultra aware of my body. He took my wrists and tied them to the bedposts, presumably with more ties. Experimentally, I moved my arms. Yes, I was trapped and helpless, all right.

But I was okay with that.

It was when he lifted up my legs and tied my ankles up by my wrists that I started to get squeamish. My legs were too high up. My thighs were too spread apart. Everything down there was exposed. I didn’t even want to think about how pornographic I must have looked in such an undignified position.

“Do you have to tie my legs?” I whined.

“Don’t make me gag you.”

I took that as a ‘yes’.

Then there was a strange whirring sound that came out of nowhere.

“What the hell is that?” I asked nervously.

“A surprise,” Mr. C answered mysteriously.

I felt a hard object rub between my legs, vibrating busily away. Swallowing nervously, I yearned to clench my thighs together if only I could. I had never used a vibrator before, although I had seen them advertised frequently at the sex shops on Christopher Street. I knew a few actress friends who used them. They always looked so big and alien and scary, never mind the fact that they reeked entirely too much of desperation and loneliness for my taste. And here I was, all trussed up with my pussy wide open and ready to be invaded by the thing.

“Please...I’ve never used...”

“Ssshh...trust me...remember what I said about taking risks?”

“That was singing...not fu-OOOHHH!!”

I felt his warm mouth kissing and nibbling the flesh between my legs. The thought of him down there with me tied up like that was humiliating...which sort of made me more excited. It was disgusting, but Oh, God, it felt so nice...so nice... He did not stay down there very long. Just long enough to get me all hot and bothered and prepped for his evil plan with the sex toy.

I moaned when I felt him shift away.

When a small and hard fluttery sensation zapped around my clit, I shrieked from the unfamiliar sensation. My hips shrunk away, trying to escape.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Uuugghhh....” I answered, incoherently. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.

The whirring noise and vibrations stopped. Then he was sliding the head of the vibrator inside of me. To my relief, it didn’t hurt. Indeed, I was so aroused that I would have come right away if it only been a bit thicker. Then I heard a clicking sound and the head began to rotate inside of my pussy, churning away relentlessly.

“Oh, God...” I moaned, involuntarily jerking my hips helplessly.

Then I heard another click. There was a vibration all around my clit. This made my pussy tense up violently in excitement, clenching at the toy. I had to pee and fuck and scream all at the same time. It was truly a bizarre state of being.

“OOOHHHH!” I cried out. “Ohh, fuck!”

“If you insist...” he laughed. Bastard! Then he cruelly began to move the vibrator in and out of me. The vibrating part lightly spanked at my clit. As soon as it was away and I got some peace, it was there again, jolting me with more of the incessant torture. Pleasure and pain seemed to blend together as I writhed and moaned mindlessly, begging him to keep doing it, begging him to stop. I pumped my hips, trying to fuck the toy, trying to get away from it. Then Mr. C held the vibrator firmly inside of me, not allowing me any leeway to escape from it. When he cruelly pinched one of my nipples, I was pushed violently over the edge into an incredible orgasm that seemed to go on forever.

I sighed with relief when the vibrator was out of me, only to feel Mr. C’s dick taking its place. After coming so hard, I wanted to rest but he wouldn’t let me. Again, I felt that splendid sensation of his large naked frame on mine. I wanted so badly to touch him, but I just had to settle for placidly lying there as I was bound, accepting everything he was doing to me. He slapped and pinched at my breasts, forcing my body to once more build up to a fever pitch. My cunt milked away at him hungrily as I spasmed up again, tears streaming down my cheeks with the effort. He came hard, crying out hoarsely before collapsing upon me.

The rest of the night was a blur of sleep that bordered on unconsciousness. I only vaguely remember Mr. C undoing my ties...and dreaming of King Kong...