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“Your form has improved markedly.”
It shouldn’t have ever happened.
“The transition from adagio into allegro was divine.”
“Thank you.”
You knew it was a mistake to indulge in it.
“You’ve been actively listening to my notes, I can tell.”
“I promised I would prove myself to you.”
“Indeed, you did. Let’s ensure we keep this momentum, shall we?”
She will never be yours.
The constant ticking of the mounted clock across the room always pulled your attention first when you woke for the day. Tonight it served as a tool, allowing you to count the time between you and your indiscretions. The remnants of your decisions lingered, despite your best efforts to scrub them away upon coming to your senses. You gently rubbed the nail marks on your shoulder, easing yourself into knowing that wearing sleeves would be nonnegotiable for a few days.
Was this who you were now? You never needed anything from her; you only desired her. Reflecting, that made things harder to reconcile than they perhaps would have been otherwise. It couldn’t ever happen again, and you knew that. You also knew that despite your better judgment, you very much wished it could. You had heard rumors about her long ago. You had also heard personal opinions about Lydia Tár that ran the gamut from blind adoration to repugnance. Believing one over the other seemed an impossible task when your perception of her had been so muddled from the beginning.
You revered the polish that her expertise coaxed from each section of the orchestra. But it was also clear to you, in a variety of settings, that Lydia’s narcissism was a defining character trait. You chose to remain neutral about this fact but couldn’t deny that, at the very least, she appeared to live in an astoundingly gray world of morality.
Now you joined her there.
Gray. Well, that’s the conclusion you came to in order to soften the reality. It was easier than playing with Sharon in view, knowing you were so willingly added to her wife’s book of alleged conquests. You tried to convince yourself that she would already know and must have always known. You weren’t privy to the entirety of how they had come together, and your heart did a slight flutter at the idea of it being similar to your situation. You pushed it away.
Regardless of the scenario, being with Lydia would never be a commitment. You understood that and didn’t even want the commitment, not truly. It was simply intoxicating to be noticed by her, to feel wholly seen.
It had begun shortly after your acceptance of your role in the orchestra. You already knew Lydia was a lesbian when you first came to Berlin. You had always admired her openness about that aspect of her life, even in a field that could easily fall prey to personal politics. It emboldened you to do the same and, consequently, made the idea of her all the more enticing. She wasn’t “available” of course, but the knowledge that you would have the opportunity before any of the men in that room was enough to make you smirk at the thought.
You had kept things professional until they weren’t. You didn’t take up her personal time unnecessarily, and you knew she appreciated that. When she first conducted you, she held you after rehearsal to review your strengths and where she saw room for improvement. She was warm, not because she was exceptionally kind in her assessment, but because you saw every nerve in her body light up when she took control of a piece. She knew what she wanted from it, and you wanted to give it to her.
You had no desire to be the proverbial teacher’s pet. You did, however, long to impress her. The fascination you had developed startled you, but certain shades of her were so elusive that you grew fond of chasing them. A day with praise was cherished and became increasingly common for you. You began feeling a sense of ease in your relationship with her and got bolder than you had intended. But you didn’t start it. At least, you don’t think you did.
She had been taking more frequent notice of you outside commanding your section. You were sure someone had to have noticed by now, but no one had ever inquired about the (astronomical to you) shift in your exchanges. Eye contact upon information primarily irrelevant to you was a regular part of your interactions with her now. It was a bit of a game to you, smiling and holding her gaze while trying to keep your face free of any hint of your desire.
As time passed, it began to feel as if she was playing along with you. But Lydia could be so enigmatic that you generally explained it away in favor of what you believed was more plausible; this woman had no interest in you. Instead, you had resigned yourself to many nights of fantasy alongside whatever you preferred that still had working batteries. And that was how she found you. Or rather, that’s how her call had found you a few days prior.
You had to admit that you felt like a bit of a creep for being so fixated on a simple photo. You had found a candid of Lydia in the midst of conducting, and the look on her face was akin to ecstasy. She was in her element, and that’s where you liked her most. Her suit was fitted perfectly, not that you were surprised. She looked debonair in a way that you had not yet had the privilege of witnessing in person. The way her fingers were shaped around her baton was of particular interest, and you allowed yourself to surrender to the mental picture it gave you of less innocent activities.
You had no more than finally allowed your hands to wander, to allow yourself to feel and discover what the thought of her had done to you that day, when her contact photo suddenly popped up on your screen. You yelped out of surprise, and it felt as if she’d been in the room to stop you just when it was becoming gratifying. But Lydia seldom called; she always remembered to share anything important in rehearsal.
This better be worth it. You thought, sitting up as you answered.
“H-hello?” You half-panted, both from the shock and from being interrupted.
No reply.
“Lydia, are you there?”
Another beat.
“Yes, I’m on the line. Petra needed me for a moment. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s fine. What can I do for you?” You immediately bopped your fist against your forehead, feeling ridiculous for sounding so eager to help her.
“Actually, I wanted to help you practice.”
Oh, surely not. You began to sweat as her words registered in your mind.
“Practice with…me?”
She laughed in that low, almost condescending tone that you had grown to associate with her.
“Yes. I would like to go over the Shostakovich piece with you. You know I’ve found your progress nothing to scoff at, but I would like to finetune your performance.”
“Oh, I see…” you trailed off, head still swimming at the notion. You heard scribbling on her end, and she resumed her thought without hesitation.
“This Thursday afternoon would be perfect. Are you available?”
“I-I, yes. I am free this Thursday.”
“Shall we grab lunch beforehand? There’s a delectable-looking place that I’ve been intending to try. Francesca’s already grabbed a reservation if you’re interested.”
“Of course, that sounds wonderful,” you said between your still-steadying breaths.
“Excellent. Parking is a nightmare, so I’ll pick you up around one. Y/N?”
“Yes, Lydia?”
“Are you alright? You sound a bit winded.” You could hear a satisfaction in her voice that you supposed either confirmed your outlandish theory that she knew what you’d been doing before her call or it proved you were seeking validation that wasn’t there.
“Never better. I…just got back from the gym. I think the Stairmaster was a bit too intense for me,” you said as confidently as you could muster, thankful that she could not watch you blush.
“Ah, I see. Well, you’d better go rest then, yes? I’ll send you some details to mull over until Thursday.”
“Sounds good. Thank you, Lydia.”
“Mhm. Have a nice evening, Y/N.”
You spun around in front of the ornate mirror beside your dresser. Lydia hadn’t ever said where the two of you would be having lunch, but you didn’t need her to; Lydia’s tastes always seemed to lean into upper crust indulgence. You also knew that everything with Lydia could be an opportunity to prove your value as part of her inner circle, insomuch as one could be. For your outfit, you had decided on a favorite of yours; a simple black dress. It was classy to the degree that you anticipated you should present as, and just revealing enough to make you shiver when you saw your reflection. Its sleeves were off-the-shoulder, and the neckline framed your chest subtly, leaving room to tease the imagination.
Slipping on your heels, you began to ponder whether or not you were afraid. The rational part of your mind was fighting for dominance against the more lascivious sections. Said rational part reminded you that this was Lydia’s career and passion, nothing more. Your desire tried to convince you there was no harm in pretending this was a date, even if that felt a bit masturbatory. Pretending it was a date meant that things felt at stake, and that made you nervous. Even if unfounded, pretending it was a date also filled you with warm anticipation. The mixture of excitement and anxiety swirled together, a chaotic brew in your chest.
You finished smoothing your hair into place when her notice of arrival came through. Wrapping yourself in a shawl, you grabbed your purse and clarinet case before locking your apartment. As you rounded the corner of your building, Lydia’s vehicle came into view, and you immediately felt your pulse skyrocket. You had never felt more nervous or confident, and the juxtaposition was more thrilling with each step. Waving as you approached, you heard the click of the door’s lock as it released.
“Punctual as always,” you said without looking at her. “How are you today, Lydia?” You asked as you settled inside her car.
“Better now that I’ll finally have the opportunity to sit,” Lydia said with a bit of a drawl.
You finally glanced over to her and felt your breath catch in your throat. Her hair had been pulled up and back, her cheekbones highlighted by the light spilling in from the windshield. She was wearing a deep gray two-piece suit and one of her trademark button-ups in white. You knew it was silly, but you wanted to look like you belonged with her today. You wondered if any strangers would see the two of you and assume you were together outside your meal. You couldn’t deny that you knew the visual would be stunning.
“It truly is nonstop for you, isn’t it?”
“Most days,” Lydia said nonchalantly.
“You thrive more than most.”
“You think so?” Lydia laughed lightly as she pulled away from the curb. Her smile seemed genuine in a way that said her question was rhetorical and that she knew she could prosper under demands that most could not.
You laughed and then enjoyed a comfortable silence for a few minutes. You tried not to fidget as your mind drifted. You didn’t want to stare at her until you’d arrived, and it was socially acceptable. You savored her jawline resting in your peripheral vision and wondered how it looked when she tensed, on the verge of spilling over.
“Have you read over the notes that I sent you?” Lydia asked, breaking the silence.
“Yes. I’ve been practicing as best as I can without you. I’m happy to play this piece,” you said with a smile.
You saw a flicker of something on her face and weren’t sure if you should apologize. Lydia’s face was settled again by the time it registered for you, and if she wasn’t going to say anything about it, you had to trust that it didn’t matter now. You cleared your throat.
“I read your guest column on the merits of digital media. I thought you made great points about preserving quality versus accessibility.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure how much of it I believe from day to day, but it made for an interesting bit of comparison.”
You nodded, and suddenly, she was pulling into a private parking structure. You couldn’t have recalled a single mile of how you had arrived here or where “here” was. Lydia navigated the tiny space and slipped into a spot before you knew it. Before you had finished unbuckling, Lydia was already at your side to help you out of the vehicle. This wasn’t dissimilar to things she’d done around others, but the feeling of it happening in an isolated space with her was a rush. She offered her hand to you.
“Much appreciated,” you said as you stepped out. It was a bit more sheepish than you had intended, but you were never prepared to feel her hands. Her grip was always firm, and you wondered if that was innate to her or purposeful.
“After you,” Lydia motioned and nudged you forward as her hold on your hand slackened.
By now, you had already decided that even if this became an embarrassing story you told years down the line, you would enjoy yourself. Later tonight, you’d have a well-deserved drink and probably end up reminiscing about Lydia. It wasn’t a full-blown obsession, but you were self-aware enough not to mention it to those you knew.
“We’ll need the elevator just beside those stairs,” Lydia spoke again, this time with a tinge of amusement. You felt a blush threatening to creep over your skin and wordlessly followed her guidance. The two of you entered the carriage, and as you allowed yourself to lean back against the wall, you realized you hadn’t fully observed her yet. Looks of this caliber were routine for Lydia, but the visual remained striking. “It occurs to me that you never asked where we were meeting today,” she said, staring straight ahead at the elevator doors.
“With your track record, I’ve just decided to trust your judgment,” you said with a shrug. You thought you saw her reflection smile, so you smiled back at it. You felt the slight lurch of the elevator as it came to a stop. As the doors parted, they revealed dark and intricately decorated walls leading up to a softly lit stand for check-in. You could hear the faint sounds of calming music emanating from what you assumed was the dining area. As anticipated, you found that every person you could see was dressed well in a way that made you feel pleased with your choices for the day.
As you proceeded forward with Lydia and she checked in for your reservation, you couldn’t help noticing her cologne as it wafted toward you with every movement. It was clean and androgynous, fitting her to a T. She felt so perfectly curated sometimes that it was peculiar, which suited her just as much.
The hostess soon ushered you in through a second and final entry into the dining section. Lydia knew how to select a place; the ambiance was relaxing and quite obviously catered to the regional elite. Once you were seated, you became acutely aware of how the lighting in the room was even gentler than it had been at the reservation desk. It felt abnormally intimate for mid-afternoon, but there were no complaints from you.
Lydia explained the prix fixe menu and the available categories from which you could pick your experience. You told her a bit about your palate and agreed to have her order for you; she’d had exposure to a far wider variety of flavor profiles than you. When she ordered, Lydia requested a specific bottle of wine that she seemed eager for you to try.
“You’ll love the way it pairs with their selection; I guarantee it,” she said, raising her glass for the server to fill as they returned to the table.
“I’m sure I will.”
“Well then, shall today’s toast be dedicated to new experiences made old favorites?” Lydia extended her arm and glass in your direction, and the dim light around your table framed her more softly than you typically saw her. You weren’t sure that felt right for her, but you did feel anonymous sitting together, every other guest in the building seemingly isolated from you in the veil of privacy that was the lighting. It was your secret little meeting in the fantasy that your mind had been concocting.
“Cheers to that,” you said. As you raised your glass to meet hers, you carefully allowed the shawl draped around your shoulders to slip down and settle in your elbows. This finally revealed the upper half of your dress to her. You conceded that watching her pupils dilate hadn’t been on the feasible section of your wishlist for the day, and seeing it happen compelled you to cross your legs beneath the table carefully. It didn’t matter if she said anything about the dress because no one could take this from you. You could reasonably confirm that you were at least desirable to her on some instinctual level, which made you all the more confident. You watched as her slightly widened eyes settled back into place. It would have been imperceptible had you not been so conscious of the special game you were playing.
“You know, I’m surprised we haven’t done this before,” Lydia said, taking a languid sip from her glass.
“Really?” It was a genuine question, and you were grateful for the lighting again, praying it would conceal the warmth that flooded your face.
“Yes, isn’t it a shame? A room of us weaving together the stories of dead men, each moving piece working to accomplish the same goal, yet, I know frighteningly little about most of you.”
“Well, it’d certainly be more perplexing if your time wasn’t so sought after.” You fiddled with your glass, circling the rim with your fingertip. Her mouth was closed, but you heard a low, satisfied chuckle.
“Am I that known for my brevity?”
“You are to me,” you said without thought, making eye contact before having your first drink of wine. “Oh! I like that.” You smiled, leaving your verbal breadcrumbs to land wherever they would.
“That’s unfortunate,” Lydia paused, “I would like to address that more.” Her eyes seemed to glance down ever-so-briefly at your chest, and, predictably, you couldn’t decide if it was real or if your eyes only saw what they wanted.
“How so?”
“Your technical skills are quite prodigious, and I-”
“Thank you!” you interjected and instantly regretted it. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Lydia’s lips formed a small smile, and she waved away your apology.
“And I don’t see that as often as I would prefer. I’ve long thought I should invest more time in the development of those who arrive with a great foundation, the ones truly interested in honing their abilities. You desire that.”
“I do.”
“You do!” Lydia’s eyes were set alight, and each movement was spirited. “That’s the factor I’m looking for! I don’t need more time for Paul, who’s been in his chair for eight years with no desire to evolve beyond it; I need time for people like you, people who see beyond what they do and into what they are capable of.”
This woman was electric, and you yearned to be a conduit. It was only upon the arrival of your first plate that you could temporarily remove yourself from the haze and function as the professional human that you needed to stay within the lines of. Between courses, you allowed Lydia to steer the conversation to the day’s task. She would speak about an area, such as the tone she wanted to convey, and you would nod. You could tell you would retain none of the information, but you weren’t opposed to hearing her repeat every word. You watched her fingers wrap around her fork like her baton, and you thought back to when she called you to arrange your meeting. You remembered how you were unable to finish your alone time after she’d hung up and how you’d made up for it when you finally calmed down the next day.
I really should wash those sheets tomorrow. You thought, squeezing your legs together. At the rate I’ve been going, there’s no point in doing that tonight when I-
“Perfect, I was craving a bold dessert,” Lydia said, pulling you back to the moment with her. The server placed your food before you, and you excitedly retrieved a healthy spoonful.
“I love ladyfingers!” you said, lifting the spoon to your mouth.
“Interesting,” Lydia said, a small, pleased smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I can’t say I’ve heard someone lead their commentary on tiramisu with their opinions on ladyfingers.” The heat of embarrassment at your little Freudian slip stretched from the base of your scalp to down past your chest.
“Well…they can be…flavored in so many ways, you know? A tiramisu relies on the quality of its ingredients, doesn’t it?”
I wish the ground would swallow me up.
“And what does the connoisseur think of the quality?” Lydia asked, her right brow lifting in amusement as she spoke.
“Oh, it’s fantastic! The amaretto was a smart choice to enhance the flavor.”
I have never once given a shit about tiramisu.
“I agree,” she replied, lifting her utensil to take what you noticed was her first bite. You left after finishing your meal in pleasant conversation, Lydia refusing to accept your money despite repeated offers to contribute. She was swift when she paid, ignoring your efforts to grab the bill.
“You really didn’t need to cover all of that, Lydia,” you said when you settled back into her vehicle.
“I am aware,” she said. It was matter-of-fact and casually reminded you that this woman wanted for nothing monetarily. You decided it was best to accept the refusal and enjoy the drive. Lydia peppered the time with anecdotes about peculiar people she had met in passing and industry gossip that had just enough information to be titillating but not so much that it was identifying.
“You know you can’t repeat a word of this, of course. It’s strictly between us,” she said as a disclaimer before each story. You nodded every time, unsure of what you having this information could ever possibly do but delighting in her trust all the same. You laid it on thick, laughing at every organic opportunity, gasping in surprise, and emphatically agreeing with her whenever appropriate.
By the time she had arrived, you had forgotten that this would be the first time you’d ever seen Lydia’s home, business, or personal. It was in a shared building, and when she led you in and up the stairs to her place, you welcomed the idea that there was potential for at least a modicum of modesty. Whether or not this was by choice was irrelevant; it pleased you that she seemed content to work in the space. Watching energy as large as hers weave her touches throughout something so contained was strangely intimate.
When she opened the door to her unit, you smiled at how undeniably Lydia the entire space was. You crossed the threshold and were promptly hit with the smell of well-loved books. Shelves were scattered around the rooms and full of various but related materials; vinyl for her record player, biographies, and a variety of compendiums dedicated to her craft; anything she could need concerning her work was available to her.
You followed her, marveling at the personal details; an intense portrait of a younger Lydia, notes that were seemingly scattered but all coordinated with complementary pages, and her piano. You had stepped into a slice of her mind palace, which was exhilarating.
“I’ll be back in a moment; I’m just going to grab you a chair,” Lydia said, already halfway out of the piano room. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“Just some water, please.” You began to unpack your carrying case, piecing your clarinet together. By the time she returned, items in tow, you were already beside the piano, with your sheet music resting in a spare stand that you’d found.
“Well, you’re certainly eager to start,” Lydia teased as she handed you a water glass.
“I’m always eager to learn.” You tried and failed to resist the urge to blush at your words because it was true on all counts. But, embarrassed or not, you wouldn’t allow yourself to feel shame for your private desires, so you refused to look away from her. You heard Lydia softly click her tongue as she spun around on her heels to move to her piano bench, and you released a carefully held breath. Never mind your face; the scene you’d imagined since meeting with her was now threatening to spread its heat across your chest. It was only once Lydia began to play that you fully relaxed into yourself.
“Then you are in a perfect place. Now, warm yourself up with me.”
“Of course,” you said, sharing a layered smile. As Lydia continued to tune herself to her piano, you began your breathing exercises, focusing on your control. Once comfortable, you joined her music and worked through your scales and arpeggios, ensuring everything played adequately.
“I’d like to begin by playing this through with you.” Lydia flipped through her sheet music, finding the correct set. You couldn’t fathom how much people would pay to receive a masterclass from her, and it didn’t go unappreciated.
“Whenever you are ready, Maestro.” You waited for her cue as you secured your posture. When she began and pulled you in with her, it was a reminder of why you enjoyed this work as much as you did. It felt like playing under her instruction for the first time; the thrill of that day had been incomparable. You had dreamed of the experience for several years, and achieving it was emotional. You felt your heart swell with pride as you remembered how she’d told you face-to-face that you were being offered your position within the orchestra, the announcement calls to your friends and family, and the move to a new, exciting city.
“Stop, stop, break.” Lydia lifted her hands up and off the piano keys and turned to look at you. “I need to hear you play alone.” She looked at you but offered no other details. Both a blessing and curse, the entirety of you and your work felt perceived by her. This was your passion, and you weren’t embarrassed by it or your capabilities. Still, you felt your face sweltering in anxious anticipation. “Now, don’t be nervous,” Lydia said warmly, “you’re learning.”
You took a sip of water before diving into the piece once more. You ignored her immediate presence as best as possible, channeling what you had felt with her moments prior. When she stopped you again, you’d made it about halfway through the section you’d been playing. “You said you were happy to play this piece, and it shows.”
“Sorry?”
“Earlier today, I asked you if you’d read over my notes, and you told me that you were ‘happy to play this piece.’”
“I-I did. I am.”
“You have to temper your excitement with the emotion of the piece. Focus. Listen. What was Shostakovich trying to say?” You sat silently for a moment, trying to decide what she wanted. You could admit that you didn’t enjoy studying the pieces as much as playing them. “Look, it’s alright; I can work with this. Listen to me play.” You watched as she straightened her form and seamlessly slipped back into the music. You luxuriated in watching her play so freely. It was a different passion on her face than when she would conduct, her deft hands still fulfilling the promise of control they made every time they ran the room.
“Do you hear this?” Lydia asked. “Instinct first tells us this is happy. It’s a waltz, so we want to dance, right? Are you with me?” You nodded, melting into the sounds she was creating. “But consider the differences between movements. Second and third are in stark contrast, so there must be a shift, correct?”
“Yes, that makes sense.”
“Perfect, can you feel it? Listen. Listen carefully. There’s a melancholy to it, a longing. You know, Shostakovich once said, ‘If they cut off both hands, I will compose music anyway, holding the pen in my teeth.’” Lydia continued playing. “So we can surmise that he not only had thoughts to share but a need to do so. We could delve into his inspirations for this, but I think it’s just as valuable to find the intersection where it resonates with you, personally.”
“I can do that,” you said with a smile, feeling both reassured and as if you were under a microscope.
“So find it.” Her gaze began to grow in intensity. “Close your eyes and hear me.” You did as she instructed, savoring your personal concert. “Feel it again and ask yourself: Have you ever yearned for something so intensely and repeatedly had it pulled from you? Was it dangled before you and teased? Maybe it was all but promised to you and then taken away. Maybe you deserved it and never had the opportunity.”
You knew it was improper, but all you could picture was her. You didn’t think you deserved her, but you wanted her to lust for you. All the nights at home crying out her name would have been so much better if she had heard them…if she had wanted to hear them. You didn’t want to spend any more of today being coy with her. The need to confront your desire had become an annoying bandaid waiting to be ripped off.
“Tell me, what do you yearn for?” Lydia purred.
“Lydia, I-”
Fuck it; I can’t keep this contained any longer.
“I love ladyfingers.”
Jesus Christ.
“Yes, we’d established that,” she said as a smug grin spread across her face. You shook your head.
“No, I…I’m sorry, this is difficult.”
“It’s safe to tell me; I may already know.”
“Do you?” Self-preservation told you to stop speaking, but primal curiosity would not allow it.
“Oh, I think so. I certainly have theories.” Lydia carefully removed her hair tie, allowing the strands to fall and smoothing them out with her fingers.
“Am I that obvious?”
“I love ladyfingers!” Lydia said in an exaggeratedly high-pitched impersonation of your initial slip-up. You couldn’t help but snicker.
“Lydia?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to put you in a precarious position.”
“Do I look afraid to you?” Her eyes were locked directly onto yours, and you swallowed.
“No…”
“Then out with it. What do you yearn for?”
“This. You. I haven’t been myself today because…” you set your clarinet to the side and sat up straight. There was no hiding the red tinge that had fully enveloped your skin now. “Because I’ve been pretending this is a date.” Lydia’s reaction was careful, absorbing you and your expression. You wanted to close your eyes but did not.
“I see.” Lydia stood from the bench, stretching, before placing her palms flat against the piano top and bracing herself. “And how was the date faring?” she asked, gently tapping her fingers against the smooth surface. “Hmm? How was it going to end?”
“With me,” you rose and moved closer, standing just a few feet away, “showing you,” your voice dropped to a soothing whisper, “just how excited I was to learn.”
The pitch of Lydia’s already low voice sank even further, “So, is that why you’ve been throwing yourself at me today?” You felt her relish in your humiliation, but you were too delighted by your new freedom to dwell on it.
“As a matter of fact, it is. It’s why I haven’t been as calm, and it’s why I haven’t had my thoughts together. And,” you began, taking another step toward her, “it’s why I wore this.” You slowly drug your dominant hand down the front of your body, starting with your collarbone and ending at your hips.
“Did you think it would please me?”
“I knew that I wanted it to.”
“Oh my,” Lydia removed her hands from the piano and closed the space that separated you. Her face inched closer to yours, the heat of your exhales beginning to bounce between your bodies. “That’s positively vulgar, isn’t it? Have you always delighted in being this shameless?” The slight gravel in her voice caused a flurry of goosebumps all over your body. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” she said, smirking.
“I can’t imagine what else you could take it as right now.”
“Oh, I could take it as fear…or general apprehension. But no, you want this, don’t you?”
“I do. But…should I?” you breathed, leaning in closer. “What about Sharon?”
“It’s taken care of,” she said without hesitation. She offered no further information, but her tone was certain.
You pulled at your dress, “Then what should I do with this?”
“That’s a brilliant question. I can’t think of any use, can you?”
“Not anymore.”
“You put so much thought into it…do whatever you please with it.” Lydia stepped away from you and seated herself on the piano bench. Under her watch, you lost the last of your fear. You began slowly peeling down your dress, and all of it coming off in one piece made the reveal feel much more intimate. As you rolled the fabric farther down, you couldn’t help but have a smug look of your own now. “No bra?” Lydia asked, just a bit breathlessly.
“It’s built into the dress,” you said as casually as you could. You lingered a bit, allowing her to savor the moment. You felt your nipples begin to stiffen under her gaze and felt them harden further once she gently licked her lips.
“How…practical.”
“Very.” You rolled your dress down the rest of the way, stepping out of it. You were now in front of her, wearing nothing but your heels and the black, cheeky underwear you’d selected that morning. They were simple, but you loved the way you felt in them.
“Spin for me,” Lydia commanded coolly. “I’d hate for your efforts not to be appreciated.” Her eyes were hungry, and you felt heat spilling from your core, begging to be addressed. You spun around slowly, giving a tiny, playful wiggle when your back was to her. “Your ass is perfect. Come closer, come here,” Lydia said, patting her lap. You felt dizzy in the best way as you sauntered over to her. She tapped her lap again, permitting you to sit, “Face me.”
You straddled her carefully, a contented sigh escaping as you felt the fabric of her pants against your bare thighs, “Oh,” you said, gripping her shoulders to stabilize yourself.
“Does that feel good? Do you enjoy sitting on my lap like this?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And what do you want next? Use your words.” Your entire body was buzzing. The contrast between your nakedness and her being completely clothed was embarrassing in a way that only made you need her more.
“I want you to kiss me, Lydia.”
“I’m not sure about that…I mean, how can I really know that you want it, hmm?”
“Lydia, please. Please kiss me. I-I need this,” you begged.
“At the ready for me, and you have manners? What a thoughtful woman you are,” she said. Lydia leaned forward, “Don’t move, and do not kiss back, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand; please just do it.”
“As you wish.”
You closed your eyes and tried to steady your breath. When you first felt her lips, you were almost disappointed in how chaste the kiss seemed. It hadn’t landed on your lips but beside them at one of the corners. You thought about protesting when you felt them again, in a different spot this time. Lydia started slowly covering your mouth and the surrounding space with kisses so light that they almost tickled. Fighting the urge to kiss her back seemed impossible when all you could think about was the growing ache you had for her.
It felt ceaseless; she continued kissing you for several minutes, laughing to herself whenever you would whimper. “Don’t pout. This is what you wanted,” she teased. The urge to grind yourself against her leg was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore when she finally rewarded your patience. You were briefly startled as you felt her hands caress your thighs, tracing gentle circles around them. Just as she moved away from your mouth and went to nip at your jawline, you felt her squeeze your thighs, and you squeaked in surprise. “You really can’t hold it in around me, can you?”
“Not without effort,” you said, softly panting. Her hands slid up to your tummy, stroking and mapping your skin before slipping around to your back. She dug her nails in again, and you couldn’t help but throw your head back. Lydia started lavishing your neck, pushing you deeper into the pit of desire. You began to rock yourself against her knee.
“Yeah? Did you need some pressure? Have you been throbbing for me?” Lydia’s voice was as guttural as you’d imagined and went directly to your clit.
“I’m burning for you, Lydia, fuck.”
“Soon enough, gorgeous. Look at you,” she sighed. “I mean, really…look at you. Sit up straight again.” You repositioned yourself, not caring about anything except how to keep her touching you. “Yes, that’s excellent. Mmm. Your breasts are magnificent. Did you know that?”
You couldn’t find the focus to answer, but she continued anyway. Her hands found your stomach again and slowly moved up. You almost shouted as she started skillfully rolling your nipples between her fingers. Your head started drifting in a different direction, and you felt her firmly grab your chin, turning you back to face her again. When she did, her eyes refused to leave yours, daring you to look away. You knew not to accept the dare.
“That’s right, enjoy the view. You wanted this, so you’d better not waste it.” She meticulously roamed your torso as she stared you down. You watched the corners of her mouth twitch at every gasp, which made you unbelievably wetter each time.
“Lydia, I need you to touch me,” you pleaded, your arousal almost unbearable in intensity.
“I am,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Unless you mean something else?”
“Oh, God. Please, Lydia, I’m on fire. I need to feel you. I need you to fuck me.”
Her breath hitched before she spoke, “How could I deny you when you’ve asked me so perfectly? Go on, take these off.” She tugged lightly at your underwear. “Show me what a pretty girl you are.” You shivered and stood up, swiftly removing the pesky fabric. “Oh dear, I know you’re dripping. Do you need to check?”
“I want you; please don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll make it up to you if you let me.”
She seemed pleased and wordlessly pulled you closer so that you straddled her legs again as you were standing this time. She wasted no time finding and playing with the trimmed hair of your mound. “Just as I’d suspected. You’re absolutely soaked…so drenched that it’s escaping.”
All you could do was surrender to your lust. Each filthy thing she said to you felt as if it ghosted over every pleasurable nerve you had. After drawing out her fill of your needful noises, she carefully parted your folds. She teased your opening, the heightened sensitivity feeling incredible but not being enough. “I don’t mean to be a tease, you know? I just want to know you’re ready for me.”
I don’t care if that’s a lie; just don’t stop touching me.
You then felt a soft, slow tapping against your clit and fought the instinct to curl into yourself at the sudden relief. It was sensual agony; the taps felt both incredible and torturous. Each time, they landed on the hottest, most sensitive part of your clit.
Lydia, if you make me cum like this, you’re a goddamn sadist.
You were gyrating in the air now, frenzied and unable to stop yourself from seeking more. When you thought you could take no more teasing, she quickly and easily slipped her middle finger inside you.
“Oh fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you,” you babbled. You almost couldn’t believe you didn’t finish right then. The knowledge that it was her. Her fingers touching you. Her voice guiding you through it. It felt explosive.
“That’s a good girl. You’re taking me so well, but do you think you can handle another one now?” You nodded enthusiastically and thanked her with your cries as her index finger slid in seamlessly. “Yes, good job. You knew you were wet enough.”
Her fingers pumped in and out, curling at your favorite spot once you quivered in response to her. “You’re coating my fingers like a greedy little thing. What about this? Will this give me even more?” Lydia’s thumb then came up and began to brush across your clit. She started with small, focused circles and followed the instructions of your moans.
You felt yourself clench around her, desperate to add more pressure wherever you could. “It won’t be long, will it?” she asked. “I doubt it. Were you dripping for me before I picked you up this afternoon? Did you imagine your day would have me buried inside you while you mewled for me?”
“Jesus, Lydia...”
“What is it? Do you not like being spoken to this way? Are you going to pretend you didn’t get more soaked when I said that?”
“No, I-”
“You what?”
“Oh, fuck, I’m going to cum; please don’t stop. Please!”
“God, yes, give it to me. Spill,” she groaned just before she bit your neck. The shock flooded through you, and all you knew was that you couldn’t stop bobbing up and down on her hand, helping her push you over.
“I’m-I’m…fuck, fuck! Yes, that’s it!” Suddenly stars filled your sight, and all you were conscious of was Lydia’s breath against your skin, coaxing every bit of your pleasure from you. Your orgasm was an eruption so long in the making that you couldn’t help the mess you made as it passed.
“I do believe that you squirted on me, dear,” Lydia said, her eyes hooded with longing.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, dazed and still in your comedown.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You can help me clean it up,” she offered.
“Now who’s filthy?” you asked, still eagerly taking her fingers in your mouth as she lifted them to you.
“You’re the one sucking my fingers clean.”
It was incredible how she could make you blush so quickly and how all it did was heighten your interest in her. You groaned around her fingers as what she said landed in your hypersensitive core again.
“That’s not the only thing I can do with my mouth,” you said as she pulled her hand away. You toyed with her belt, gauging her reaction.
“Is that how you want to ‘make it up’ to me?”
“Yes, I’d love to taste you…I want to see you.”
Her eyes rolled back slightly, and she motioned for you to continue removing her belt. With the belt gone, she slipped her pants down and off, kicking them away. You dropped to your knees and gently took off her shoes, setting them to the side as well. You went to remove her underwear next, but she stopped you.
“No, I want you to tease me through them first.” Lydia scooted closer to the edge of the seat, granting you easier access.
You had no complaints; the visual of Lydia in her suit jacket and pair of dark boxer briefs drove you wild. You began by kissing your way up both legs, taking time to adore every inch. When you got to her thighs, you alternated between feathery kisses and soft nips at her skin. Once you reached the fabric of her bottoms, you placed a kiss in the center before delicately tracing your tongue along the edges of her lips. You felt her relax and sigh in appreciation as you sucked at the flesh through her underwear.
You moaned and hungrily pressed your face against her, “You smell so good. I just want to taste you.”
“You are eager to learn, aren’t you?” she grunted. “Come on then, get rid of them,” Lydia said as she lifted her hips from the seat. You removed her bottoms and excitedly nuzzled her mound, inhaling her musk. You wanted to tease her the way she had teased you, but you were far too impatient to make her wait. You were thrilled to find that she had grown just as wet as you had for her. You carefully nibbled at her lips, just enough to surprise her with the sensation, and were met with a low “Oh.”
“I want to make you feel good, Lydia. May I?” Your tongue teased her again, retracing where it had gone whilst over her underwear.
“Yes, that’s right. Make it up to me; go ahead,” she cooed.
With permission granted, you parted her with your tongue and cherished her taste, a light salt in your mouth. You explored her folds, teasing and sucking, experimenting with her reactions. When you moved to her clit, you were in awe. She was swollen, and you knew she would appreciate your ministrations.
“Lydia?” you said, looking up at her.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to be sure you were looking me in my eyes,” you said before you took her fully into your mouth.
“Fuck,” she said shakily, bucking her hips against your lips.
You smiled into her, leisurely swirling around the enlarged nub. “You taste amazing,” you mumbled.
“God. What a fast learner you are, too.” She was breathless, and you relished in finally seeing a flush spread across her skin. You weren’t going to make her wait, but you were going to make use of the time. You moved from her clit to her entrance, prodding it with your tongue before dipping in and out a few times.
As you moved back to her clit, you watched her breathe, her chest heaving with satisfaction. You stayed focused and started dragging your fingers up and down her legs, overloading her senses. You felt her clamp a hand on your shoulder, digging her nails in as you began lapping at her with the tip of your tongue.
“Look at you, buried in my cunt like this…wanton. You just want to make me cum, don’t you?” Lydia asked. She started rocking against your mouth, and you made affirmative, frantic noises. “Seeing you look up at me like that…fuck.”
You brought your hands up to help part and more fully expose her body to you. You pulled her hood back and felt her thighs tremble against your cheeks. You swore you could taste the heat that she was feeling. As you slowly increased the pressure, her rocking became faster. You felt her arousal covering your face, which only made you work harder. Lydia’s shaking was becoming constant.
“That’s it, beautiful; I’m going to fuck your face. And I’m going to fuck your face until I cum all over it,” Lydia said, gasping. You shook your face, gleefully making a bigger mess of yourself. You sucked and swirled around her, not letting go, no matter how violently she shook against you.
“Oh my God, give me your hand,” she ordered. You gave her your right one, and she grabbed it, pulling and sliding it up under her shirt. You sought out her nipples. Searching in her bra, you found one and gave it a firm pinch that made her dig her nails further into your skin. “Faster now, I’m close.” You switched to grazing her nipple with your fingertip as you started circling her clit more quickly. You studied her face, not wanting to miss a second of her climax. A light sheen was visible on her forehead, and you hoped you could commit the image to memory.
“Yes. YES. That’s the spot; I’m going to coat that pretty face.” Lydia's husky moans reverberated throughout the room. Moments later, she cried out in the form of a guttural shout. Thrusting herself against your mouth, her flavor flooded you as she released. You grabbed her hips, locking yourself in place so she would have to ride out every second of the aftershock. You didn't want to relent.
“Easy, easy,” she laughed softly, removing her hand from your shoulder and nudging your head away. She helped you to your feet, and it was odd how normal the silence felt as the two of you gathered your things. You didn’t much care for the time it gave you to reflect, no matter how important that was.
You turned to her bashfully. “Would you mind if I took a quick shower? I’m going out after this.”
“Have at it. I’m taking one after you; there’s always a dinner party that I’m late to,” she said with a conversational smile. “Oh, but before you leave, be sure to grab this.” She walked over to one of the bookshelves and grabbed a folder, setting it on the piano. “It’s just a few more notes that may help you at rehearsal, nothing much.”
“Absolutely, yes, I will be sure to take it. Thanks.”
You picked up your clothes and scurried to her washroom. Setting up for your shower, you made the water as hot as you could stand it. You stepped in and decided to just sit for a moment. You were relieved that she didn’t press you about your (entirely fictional) plans. The truth was, you knew it would be better for you if you showered here instead of at home. If you showered here, you wouldn't have to think about her in your drain or the remnants of her scent on your towels. You berated yourself for the silliness, but you looked forward to the dampness of your body on her towels; the one imprint you could truly leave on her life from today, if only temporarily.
You scrubbed as hard as you could, determined not to take any of her home with you that didn’t live in your thoughts. You couldn't face your reflection when you finished and stepped out. This was going to be hell to process; you knew that. But you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it; you simply wished that’s how you felt. You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say you wouldn’t think back on this with any fondness. You wanted it. You sought it. You got it.
You had no relationship to answer to, and you knew you wouldn’t have done it if you had, but you wished you knew what Lydia had meant when she said, ‘It’s taken care of.’ You still felt like a homewrecker, but it takes two, and you were certainly going to take Lydia at her word if it meant you could have her. You couldn’t make predictions about your work together in the future, but Lydia seemed to have easily slipped back into her expected role. You assumed you would figure out your own way soon enough.
I need to talk to someone who has no relation to this.
You picked up your phone and sent a message to your best friend outside of Berlin.
Y/N: Hey, can I call you tonight? I made some poor decisions today…it’s a lot.
Friend: Of course, love.
Friend: Are you okay? What happened?
Y/N: Long story short? I fucked a married woman.
Friend: Oh shit…
Friend: Did you get caught?
Y/N: No, no…and she said something about her wife that may have meant it was okay?? I don’t know. But the shit gets deeper.
Friend: Deeper?
Y/N: …it was Lydia.
Friend: Fuck, I definitely need details. I just want to know at least one thing before you call me. How did this even happen?
Y/N: With a little bit of shame and a whole lot of gusto.
Y/N: Talk to you soon, xx.