A story I wrote some time ago which I stumbled across and re edited.

None of the characters are based on anyone living or dead.

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Paying the Price of Success

Michelle lay on her hotel bed munching her toast and reading the reviews of her latest concert in the papers her patron had sent her.

Her prized Cello lay in it's case and between the critic's sentences and bites of toast her thoughts turned to the events of the previous evening as she waited  for the call that would confirm her arrangements for the evenings private corporate function.

She grabbed at the cell phone as the ring tone trilled Marriage of Figaro, and answered  "Hello."

"Happy Birthday Michelle!" She had half expected him to ring but even so his the words sent an icy shiver down her spine as she remembered the significance of this day.

"Thank you." she replied as pleasantly as she could.

"Did you get the present?" he asked.

"The keys, yes, thank you, I haven't picked it up yet." she replied.

"Then do so, and drive north," he ordered, "Chateau Mirron just beyond Blanchimont, I shall expect you for Dinner at eight, come around seven, don't worry about dressing, we have a gown for you."

Twenty two years old. Michelle pondered, today she was twenty two years old and she had done a deal with the devil and she had lied and cheated and now she was to be found out.

It was so long ago that she sold her Virginity for three years of tuition at the conservatoire and then squeezed a two hundred year old Cello out of the deal, except she was no virgin, a drunken evening of  experimenting with marijuana had ended that phase, Clarissa's eighteenth birthday, two whole weeks after her own had seen her wake from a drunken stupor to feel sore and wet between her legs, with an ominous trail of slime over her leg and the sheets of her own brother's bed.

And tonight was the night she was to pay.  Not her twenty first birthday but her twenty second, a time when she was making her way in the world, making a name on the international stage, all based on the patronage of Gerard, all based on saving herself for him.

The hotel was booked for the week, she had a corporate recital the following evening, and now she was expected to collect her new car from the dealership and deliver herself for payment, she felt empty.

"In default you will be mine for ever." he had joked as made her sign.

She considered her options, she had none, her earnings and bookings were managed by his company, her Cello was owned by his company, everything she owned had been bought on his credit card, she was effectively his chattel, he owned her, she hated him.

The hate had grown from fear, the fear that her deception would be discovered, she gradually transferred the feeling of guilt from herself to an unreasonable hatred, blaming him for the deceit, the dapper little man with his moustache and Homburg hat, "Hitler" she called him when he was not there.

How dare he pay her tuition and living fees so she could practise when her friends were working in diners or worse to pay their way through college

She had almost become a pariah, pushing boys away in the dread of being found out and losing her sponsorship, and in the process losing girl friends too.

"Ice Maiden" was one of her more repeatable descriptions, her lack of indiscretions a constant annoyance ever since her playing brought her fame, the purity of the sound, unsullied by drink or drugs a delight to all who heard her, but now she walked in near anonymity down the street towards Porsche dealer.

"Surely this is not it?" she asked when the salesman brought the top of the range 911 Turbo Cabriolet around.

"Certainly Madame!" he said, "The top specification, and with extras."

"There's nowhere for my Cello." she whined.

"Madame?" the salesman queried, "It is as ordered, and as Monsieur asked we have done one thousand kilometers to break in the engine for you, so it cannot be returned."

Michelle sat behind the wheel with a heavy heart, a hundred thousand dollar present completely useless to her, yet the fuel tank was full and her master awaited, so carefully she eased out onto the highway.

The acceleration was breathtaking, compared to her Citroen hire car, or her Neon back in California, and the steering frighteningly direct, she glanced at the speedometer as she left town and accelerated past a truck and was astonished that it showed 160 kmh, in just a few hundred  metres from the 30 zone.

She braked hard all at once damp with sweat and fear and tried to concentrate on the speed limits, she hated the car, she dreamed of owning one, yet now she was sweating and her hair was a mess with the wind and bugs and she didn't know how to put the roof up or where half the controls were.

Blanchimont, white mountain, passed and then a hand painted sign Chateau Mirron, she overshot the dirt road turnoff and struggled to find reverse gear, then she was crunching her way down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.

She parked the car and a servant appeared, "I shall park your car Madame." he offered, and she handed him the car keys and entered the Chateau's pillared portico.

A middle aged woman in a smartly dressed in a  plain white blouse with a black jacket and black knee length skirt came to meet her. "Hello, we were expecting you, you are Michelle yes?"

"Yes, sorry." Michelle replied.

"I am Anna, Monsieur Gerard asks me to help you."

"Thanks." Michelle replied awkwardly.

"But Madame you are filthy!" Anna cried in dismay.

Michelle looked in horror at her reflection in one of the full length mirrors, her hair windblown and shapeless, her skin dusty and her once smart white designer dress ruined.

"Come you must bathe, quickly." Anna gasped in panic, "come quickly."

Michelle followed her up the left hand side of the wide curved staircase, and then on down a long corridor oak panelled corridor, carpeted in soft deep pile red and gold patterned carpets and adorned with modern paintings. "Your room Madame, I shall draw your bath, one moment." she announced as she opened the heavy door to one of the Chateau's master bedroom suites.

Michelle gasped at the sheer opulence, the bed was the four post type of ancient history yet huge fully two metres wide and two and a half long, all hung with exotic silk screens, the old oil paintings would have been worth millions, had the subjects not been so erotic as to have precluded their display, the carpet pile was so thick simply walking on them left footprints, the furniture was exquisite, all antique, and laid on the bed a virginal white nightgown.

A huge lump appeared in her throat, an empty feeling inside, so much preparation for a first time which could not but disappoint.

"Madam, is pret, I mean it's ready." Anna called.

Anna waited by the bath, a king size bath partially sunken into the bathroom floor, white shining hard glaze in a bathroom of white tiles and white carpets and towels "I shall assist, we have little enough time." she advised and she gently pulled down the zipper on Michelle's dress.

It slipped to the floor, "You have been sweating Madame do you not use spray?"

"I did" she stated, "It was the car, the car is so fierce!"

"Quickly in the bath." Anna ordered and Michelle quickly discarded her dusty pale sheer stockings and now grubby white shoes, together with her sweaty panties and bra and slid into the tub, "We do hair now save time." Anna ordered  and she pulled Michelle back so her head submerged as her long elegant legs waved uselessly in the air.

Michelle thrashed helplessly until Anna helped her up.

A man spoke "Michelle, my dear, you are here at last." it was him, Hitler, Monsieur Gerard, with his Hitler moustache and thinning hair.

"Aaaiieee." Michelle squealed as she tried to cover her breasts.

"You look divine." he said, "An angel."

"I'm a mess sir, sorry." Michelle apologised.

"Anna, do her hair the simple style, like the photograph, like this one." M. Gerard pulled a old worn wallet from the pocket of his old brown suit and removed a much creased photograph.

"When we first met," he said. Michelle recognised her old publicity photograph, when her hair was straight, not her trademark frizzy look, and when a Tee shirt and Hot Pants had been her chosen attire not three thousand dollar designer dresses.

"Certainly Jean-Paul, I mean Monsieur Gerard." the woman said and blushed.

"I shall take these to the Laundry," M.Gerard announced as he collected up Michelle's clothes and shoes, and she just watched him take them, leaving her naked, trusting something would be provided to hide her nakedness.

Michelle watched him retreat, closing the door behind him.

"Monsieur wishes a recital before Dinner, he has your Cello from high school, you have practised the composition he sent you," Anna enquired.

"Oh yes," Michelle answered, "but the Cadenza, in the middle, it is just for improvisation, I never know what to play there, but the rest is simple enough."

"Good," Anna, answered, "then get out and dry yourself, I shall fetch the drier."

Anna worked at Michelle's hair teasing it until it hung long and straight and childlike.

Then as Michelle covered herself in a bathrobe she said, "Come, it is time."

"Where is my outfit?"

"M.Gerard says he wants purity, Michelle, the Cello, the seat, the music, no more, come the audience awaits, you agreed remember?"

Michelle remembered oh so well selling her soul, signing her virginity away, something she had already squandered.

"Then if I must, I must." Michelle agreed reluctantly.  Anna walked gracefully down the corridor, leading Michelle but not to M.Gerard's room as she expected but down the curved stairs and into the former ballroom to the side of the entrance hall, where rows of seats were set out, and a hundred, maybe more, people waited expectantly while talking quietly.

M. Gerard waited on the small stage, a seat was waiting, a music stand, and there her old battered Cello from her high school days.

Anna led her to the stage, then stepped aside to take a front row seat. M Gerard held out his hand and Michelle grasped it and he pulled her up the three steps to the stage.

He handed her a long jewellery box, and when she opened it the audience gasped, a huge ruby hung on an antique gold chain.

"Allow me," he said and he opened her bathrobe, placed the chain around her neck and as he did so he allowed the robe to fall to the ground.

Such was the allure of the jewellery that few noticed her nakedness as he guided her to her seat. More a box than a seat, black,with wooden sides nondescript.  She grasped the Cello, and the bow, and noted the music.

"Are you ready,?" M.Gerard asked.

She coughed, and said, "Yes Fine."

"Michelle DeNeuve will perform La Defloration, by Mark Stainforth, this is the first performance ever and the middle section is to be improvised, Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Michelle DeNeuve.

Michelle looked on, it was called La Defloration, she had no idea, her copy had no title, except MS 99/D but she saw the tape machine revolving ready to record her performance so she took up her bow and started to play.

The sober suited audience listened intently, the high school Cello had a different feel to her antique instrument, but she remembered its idiosyncracies well enough, and soon the cadences came rolling from it, simple arpeggios, from low to high, an octave and a half, and as the high notes came the chair resonated and as she played the hidden machinery started, the part of the seat slid away, unnoticed, and from below a black ebony phallus slowly rose to gently nuzzle her most private parts.

Michelle looked anxiously around, she wanted to stop, but she had a duty, indeed today was the day she agreed to lose her virginity but never in her imaginings of how that might happen had she considered it would be so public.

She looked at M.Gerard and the expectant and delighted face of the man beside him, the composer, she supposed, Stainforth a small dark haired man, but clearly French, not an Englishman and not an attractive man yet she could not bring her self to disappoint him she had that duty to the composer no matter what sacrifice it involved.  

Michelle played on, she knew the piece by heart, the sheet music on the stand a mere prop a mere irrelevance, she gazed across the audience as a man stood and walked from the hall, slowly methodically proudly, she wondered why, but as she played on the phallus rested, until it sensed moisture, then as programmed the hydraulics raised it fractionally as the pitch of the notes rose and lowered it as they fell, raised it more as the volume swelled, and lowered it as it fell.

Michelle knew something was happening but she knew her duty, a duty to the composer to the public, to herself, to her patron, M.Gerard, a duty to perform, it became uncomfortable as the phallus eased ever deeper within her, she shifted position awkwardly, but without breaking the rhythmic, or dynamic flow of the piece as the audience remained mesmerised by her playing and the contrast of ebony and pink as the phallus slowly claimed her.

The Phallus rose and fell, the crescendo to forte on the rising cadences raising it while the sudden drop to pianissimo on the falling cadences lowered it, but only slightly, she was being lifted, even as he phallus sought he most tender and secret part, easing mechanically within her unshaven lower lips, again it rose with the music, and fell but slightly, and as she realised its significance so the crescendo grew to fill the hall while the decrescendo was so sudden and the pianissimo so soft a pin could be heard were it to drop.

The mechanism whirred and as she played on Michelle worried she might topple but the machine was carefully programmed to support her and she played on even as the chair portion began to subside increasing the portion of her weight on the phallus, until suddenly there was nothing else supporting her, only a big black phallus, streaked with moisture.

The music reached the halfway point, the unwritten Cadenza, the phallus remained immobile, yet she had become accustomed to its movement, in desperation she tried playing louder faster and when there was no more movement she began to raise and lower herself onto the phallus, the sensors fed the information to the computer and once more the Phallus began to move, taking its rhythm from her but extending almost six inches, thrusting into her as  her fingers flew across the strings and moved the bow in a frenzy.

The very highest notes played loudly and the lowest played pianissimo, sent the Phallus rapidly through its full range and then as the music reached a climax the audience heard her own climax, "Aaaaggghhhhh." and yet she continued fingering the strings and drawing the bow back and forth even as the pleasure coursed through her veins the music flowed more smoothly and suddenly she was six bars into the second half, seamlessly unknowingly picking up the composers score, and the phallus gradually withdrew as the rising cadences played quietly, pianissimo were followed by dramatic stacatto falling arpegii until finally the chair rose once more, and as the final slow movement in 5/4 time changed the mood once again the final centre section of seat clicked into place once more.

The final A flat sounded, and the hall remained still, the audience mesmerised, not a sound emitted, not a single cough.

M. Gerard stepped forward and as he draped the bathrobe around Michelle's shoulders he announced "Michele's  finest performance, do you not agree Ladies and Gentlemen."

The spell was broken, the audience erupted into wild applause many standing for a standing ovation and as Michelle stood to take her bow she suddenly realised that she had performed naked, and worse, climaxed naked before a audience, "And Ladies and Gentlemen a big round of applause for Monsieur Albert Farraday the genius engineer who created La Phallus Electronique, Albert s'il vous plait, join us please." 

Michelle realised she had performed not for the composer but for the mechanic who made the sex machine, she had been publicly violated, not for art but for pornography and engineering, she had been betrayed yet in her betrayal the evidence of her own deceit, that secret of her lost virginity was finally safe.

Mechanically Michelle put down her Cello, folded her music stand, and as she had done a thousand times before, she left the stage.

Part 2

Michelle lay on her bed at Chateau Mirron munching her toast and thinking of the evening just gone, she lay naked, she felt different somehow, her abused private parts a constant reminder of the evening before. She remembered how as she left the stage naked the previous evening carrying her Cello and music so the chairs had been whisked away then neatly stacked and to her astonishment the audience had begun to undress, an audience of perverts the numbers swelled by gigolos and harlots, M.Gerards friends from the dark side of high society.

She remembered her fear that M.Gerard would require that she remained, to be violated by any as chose to, but he merely called, "Well done." as she passed.

She had bathed, red liquid had streaked her legs, she feared it was blood but on examination had proved to be red lubricant, ejaculated by the electronic phallus. She did not bother to dress, nakedness was cool and modesty seemed pointless knowing the whole household had seen her naked on stage as the electronic phallus had violated her as she played Stainforth's La Defloration on her Cello.

She thought of the music, trying to remember the cadenza, she wondered what she had played, as her own climax had engulfed her as she improvised, had she continued seamlessly? or had her professionalism seen her through, she would listen to the recording later, work out how to replicate her performance in the cold stare of the paying audience where the stimulus of the phallus could not reasonably be employed.

She mused on such weighty matters as between bites of toast  she waited  for the call that would confirm her arrangements for the evenings performance,  Her battered old high school  Cello lay in it's case and she wondered where M.Gerard had found it, and why he had been to so much trouble.

M. Gerard entered without knocking. "How are you, are you sore?"

"Only slightly thank you." she said sarcastically..

"Will you take breakfast to M.Stainforth please?" he asked.

"I'm not your slave!" she snapped, but he looked so hurt at her comment that she immediately  relented.

"Of course, I'll just get dressed."

"Yes, there is a maids uniform here, take it now please, milk and toast and condoms." he explained, "He needs comfort."

She stared at the uniform, it was a caricature of a French maids uniform a left over from the orgy she wondered?..

"Surely you don't" she started to say, but she saw it in his eyes. "You want me to give myself to him, like a whore, like a filthy whore?"

"His is a great talent," M.Gerard continued, "he writes for posterity, you play for the moment, his talent will endure, yours will be lost unless."

"Unless, Jean-Paul?" she asked, "Unless of all the whores in Christendom he pokes me!"

"Don't be crude, my dear, you can be his inspiration." he suggested.

"But I do not know him!" she explained.

"My dear, as you said the world over girls wait in rooms, or on street corners for strangers to use them, surely you realise you are no better or worse than any street prostitute, all are equal in the sight of god, or do you not believe this.?"

"So I offer myself to Mr Stainforth." she asked bluntly.

"Yes." he replied. "The tray is on the trolley outside, and he is in the green room to the left."

Michelle stood up, brushed the crumbs from her pubic hair and slipped the black uniform on, it barely covered her sex, the cleavage reached her navel and barely contained her elegant though hardly oversized breasts and she posed seductively, yet coldly and sarcastically for M.Gerard before she walked from the room, grasped the tray and set off down the corridor. 

"Come" a mans voice boomed out as she knocked on Mr Stainforth's door.

She opened the door, somehow she expected to see an ageing Frenchman, but instead a mop of blonde hair and broad lightly suntanned shoulders  leading to trim buttocks and muscular legs met her gaze.

"I brought breakfast." Michelle explained. He looked round, his unshaved cheeks covered by fair downy hair, his eyes piercingly blue.

"Well well," he observed "I  thought I told Monsieur Gerard what I thought of his goings on so stick the tray down and get out."

"I wanted to talk about your composition," Michelle asked diffidently. "And your thoughts on my performance."

"What?" Stainforth demanded

"La Defloration, I played it last evening, did you approve." Michelle asked hopefully.

"You ruined it," he complained as he looked away, "I called it project 99, not La Defloration, and I walked out," he said "Slipped away, I wanted to stop it, leap at you but you seemed so engrossed in it," he complained, "It was a serious work, not a cheap pornographic joke, I spent months working on it."

Michelle stood stock still, usually only professors criticised her, those aged Maestros at the end of glittering careers. "Ruined? how?" she asked.

"The tempo, far too fast for one thing, and letting that thing fuck you was." he complained.

"You put no time signature, only allegretto, a small allegro, is that small, fast or small slow," Michelle conplained, "How should I be expected to guess, why didn't you put the number of crotchets per minute." she demanded as his criticism stung her.

"You should have asked." he said.

"Asked who? no it was your mistake, but anyway I liked that speed," Michelle said, "it suited me."

"You have an arrogance that I find distasteful." he said dismissively, I thought you were a proper musician not a whore, I expect you just mime to other peoples sound tracks half the time."

Michelle put the tray down with a clatter, and confronted him angrily, "I have never done anything like that ever before, ever." she insisted. His demeanour changed immediately.

"Look, sorry, " he said, "I didn't mean anything, you were very good but it wasn't right, it should have been lyrical, not dramatic, please leave that and sit on the bed, I'll show you."

She came to sit on the bed not close beside him but an arms length away as  he bent down and picked up a battered laptop computer and as it came to life he selected a folder then a document and clicked play.

The sound was strangely metallic.

"That  is not a Cello." Michelle announced.

"No, its an Alto Saxhorn," he replied.

"No, it's not a sax." she replied intrigued, "More french horn."

"It's a tenor saxhorn, a Baritone's in brass band speak, it's what I play," he said, "Back in England."

"It's not very good!" Michelle announced, "but I see what you mean about Tempo."

"It's why I started composing, there's always a better player around, but I thought, you know when I won Monsieur Gerard's composition prize, I thought maybe I had made it." he said sadly.

"And it was just so Jean-Paul could play a silly game and humiliate me," Michelle suggested.

"What do you really think of my music?" he asked earnestly, Michelle looked into his deep blue eyes, framed by his pale soft skin, the golden down of his unshaved stubble complementing his blonde hair.

"It is so much better played slower, so sensuous, tender, gentle, not raw but." she said.

"But what did you think!" he asked so she thought hard and looked away.

"It needs more, ah.." she paused, "Passion, its skeletal, it needs more flesh, it needs."

"Proper orchestration, backing, harmonies." he suggested.

"Yes, it leaves questions unanswered, you keep thinking about." she broke off as he rose from the bed, and circled round to stand before her. "What are you doing?"

"Accepting your offer." he said as he undid the fastenings on her uniform..

"What, in the middle of a sensible conversation you suddenly want sex!" she retorted in her confusion.

"So it was not a serious offer?"  he asked as he gently grasped Michelle around her waist, he eased her gently down to lie across the bed. "Well?"

"Yes." Michelle said simply as he knelt placing his knees inside hers, "I must, I owe Monsieur Gerard so much."

"Is that the only reason?" he asked but she reached out and pulled him to her aiming the tip of his staining manhood towards her own soft yielding  sex.

"Yes, don't ask, just." she said "ah!" his warm firm body sank down on hers and his penis disappeared from view between her reddened lower lips, and then as he began to rock gently he began to hum his tune, and she too took up the tune humming to his tempo but an octave higher and then he began to harmonise.

She thrilled to the warmth of his penis as it slid easily within her, so soft and kind to her compared to the hardness of the black phallus, so gentle as it spread her lips which she had so carefully avoided spreading for oh so long since she had been involuntarily and unconsciously deflowered, almost four years ago.

She felt his weight pinning her down, the sensations she had been so careful to suppress now coming to the fore as her lover hummed the tune he wrote for her.

She found the experience surreal, but the pleasure profound and she felt she had found heaven, "It's time for your tempo," he whispered, and then he went quiet as he began the gallop towards climax.

"Faster, that's it." Michelle wailed and she sang out Mark's melody as he climaxed and filled her with his love.

"Oh christ, I never used a rubber." he announced, as he lay still, "Are you on the pill?"

"Then I suggest you become engaged to be married before you conceive too many children" M.Gerard suggested. Mark looked across horrified at the M.Gerard's intrusion, Michelle merely stared in defiance, neither had heard M. Gerard come in through the side door from the adjoining suite.

"Monsieur, look I'm so sorry, like I know she's your girl and." Mark started to say.

"No, my dear friend, I am just her patron," M.Gerard explained, "I merely manage her for twenty per cent of her earnings, with whom she consorts is her own affair, provided only there is no scandal, you will not kiss and tell will you Mr Stainforth?"

"Oh no sir." he agreed.

"Then cherish her sir" M.Gerard suggested, "She has locked herself away from the pleasures of the flesh for long enough" he suggested, "Please make beautiful music again, practice until you reach perfection, practice, practice, practice, apply yourselves."

"No, I can't, that was wonderful but, it's not right." Mark answered, "You're making her do it, it's not right."

"Then you are rejected my dear," M.Gerard explained, "come, you have a big night tonight."

"But Jean-Paul," Michelle called, "don't I have a say in this?"

"No! he used you and casts you aside," M.Gerard pointed out, "Come get dressed, your public awaits."

"I wrote it for you," John said quietly, "I got your picture off the internet, I had it on my wall when I wrote it, when you had the curly hair."

"Oh," Michelle replied "Jean-Paul we need more time together."

"Then Mr Stainforth, accompany her to the recital tonight." Jean-Paul suggested, "be seen together, no more."

"Yes, come with me please!" Michelle pleaded,

"Really, you really want me to come?" Mark asked incredulously.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"You were her first man Mr Stainforth," M.Gerard told him, the machine may have deflowered her but it was your music so you are her first lover, do you not feel a tremendous responsibility on your shoulders!"

"He's kidding right?" Mark asked, and when Michelle shook her head, he held his head in his hands, "Look, I'm sorry, right."

"Don't demean her, surely you have never had a more intimate moment?" M.Gerard asked, "Either of you."

They looked at each other, and both shook their heads.

"Then I shall give you privacy to relive the moment, you have forty minutes, farewell my children" M.Gerard announced as he swept from the room.

"Mark." Michelle asked, "Can we get under the bedclothes, I feel awkward."

"Of course," he agreed and threw back the covers, she slid under the duvet.

"Make love to me." she said, "Please."

"Not before your performance, afterwards perhaps."

"No, now" she objected, as for the first time in her life she reached out to feel a warm live penis,"Fill me with your love, please."

"Monsieur Gerard." Michelle addressed her patron formally as she found him in his study at his temporary home Chateau Mirron just north of Blanchimont.

"Cherie, has Mister Stainforth gone."

"Yes Monsieur." Michelle replied. "Monsieur," she asked awkwardly, "Can I speak with you?"

"It sounds serious, are you not happy with Mister Stainforth?"

"Oh yes, he is a god, he makes me feel so ah." Michelle explained inadequately.

M.Gerard smiled, "I hear it in your playing, the innocent quality has gone, it is the passion of a woman, you have become one of the greats."

"But Monsieur, that is what I need to tell you, to confess, I was not a virgin."

M.Gerard smiled at her. "I know!, and how you struggled to be celibate, it was awful to watch!"

"You knew!" she squealed.

"I said if you cheated you would belong to me, do you remember?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"Then undress." he ordered

"What?" Michelle exclaimed in alarm.

"Undress, I shall sample your charms, quickly now." he insisted.

"No!" she refused firmly absolutely.

"Then it is decided, I shall offer you to the servants." he chuckled.

"All right." Michelle agreed, "I promised I keep my word."

“No, Michele, it is not all right, " M.Gerard continued, "You shall marry whom you choose, make love to whom you choose, but choose wisely, our bargain is complete, you are complete and you belong to me."

"I don't understand," Michelle protested.

"It is history, you are my Protege, I your Patron," he explained, "It is widely known, indeed I have ensured it is so, and no matter what happens that cannot be changed."

"So I always belong, as in, will be associated with you?" she asked.

"Indeed," he explained, "I don't need sexual gratification from you, no instead I crave the sensual gratification from your future performances."

"Monsieur?" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" he said, "Exactly! and now you are of age and must explore sensuality and sexuality, and choose your own partners, I have chosen for you, but it is for you to decide whether he should be the one."

"Yes Monsieur," Michelle replied, "I understand."

"He has taken the train?" M.Gerard asked.

"Yes," she agreed. "He doesn't like flying."

"Then the telephone Michelle, ask him to return, you have engagements, you can perform his composition, MS 99." M.Gerard suggested, "Introduce him as the composer and support him as he writes more, become his Patron as well as his lover?"

"Oh," Michelle recoiled at the thought of the commitment, then she decided "I shall, yes I shall."

"Then use my telephone Michelle, I have the number here. in the memory, see."

She took his phone and pressed call, "Mark," she asked, "Michelle, I miss you,"

"I miss you too." he admitted.

"Come back," she said.

"Where?" he asked.

"Hotel du Sud?" she suggested, "I have a suite."

"Three?" Mark suggested, "Three o'clock."

"Ah," Michelle stared around.

"If you hurry but say six, then you can take your time, let the wind flow through your hair," M.Gerard suggested.

"Six?" she suggested.

"Yes!" Mark agreed.

They made their separate ways to the hotel and they met in the foyer, made their way up stairs to the bed room and there in the luxury of a king size bed they made love, deep satisfying love.

Deep satisfying inspirational love, varied love, in four movements, the overture short indeed rushed and inadequate, then the long appassionato movement in a double waltz time One two three two two three, with a tempo change to four four with a long accelerando to a pounding, urgent,marching, thrusting beat and then faster and faster to a glorious climax and then the gradual decrescendo and decelerando through the same double waltz time to a soft tender slow finale, disappearing finally into the ether as reality returned.

"I reckon we rushed the intro," Mark commented as he finally slid from her.

"Mmmm," Michelle purred, "Practice makes perfect.........."