The Maestro (10 page)

She drew the
outline figure first, a man standing erect with a muscular chest.
Then she drew the faint traces of his lewd greedy smile. She took
considerably more time trying to draw the phallus, making it much
bigger than the phalluses even she had seen in Heraklion, thinking
what a lovely cock it was. She imagined licking it, rolling her
tongue all the way down to the base of the shaft and then back up
to the preposterously bulbous head. A beautiful cock that dominated
the whole body, the whole personality, which is how she often
thought of Sebastian when he was fucking her. His whole being would
be totally transformed by his tool, and that imbecilic grin showed
not really idiocy but the total surrender to priapic power.

It took her
thirty minutes to sketch the figure and the next two hours to
improve on her drawing. During the whole time Delgado did not
appear, and she began wondering what sort of a teacher he was if he
didn't give advice while they were working.

A bell rang
and Alfonso shouted over. 'Time for a break.'

'Where is
Delgado?'

'He comes in
now. We have twenty minutes, then he gives us his opinion of the
work.'

When they
returned from their break their sketches had been taken off their
easels and placed on one central board, one overlaying the other.
Delgado had covered the top sketch with a blank piece of paper.
Their chairs had been arranged before the board.

Linda found
herself sitting directly in front of the towering figure of
Delgado, who had the psychological advantage of standing while the
rest of them where seated before him.

'Shall we
start?' Delgado flicked the blank piece of paper over the easel to
reveal the first sketch. It was a drawing of the sexual organs in
vivid close up, a huge phallus entering the sexual mouth of a
woman. To Linda it was nothing more than a competently drawn sketch
that might have been found in a biology textbook.

'What do you
see, Mrs Powell?' Delgado asked.

'A good
sketch.' She did not want to disparage the work of her fellow
artists on the first day.

'Is that
all?'

'No, it's an
excellent sketch, very accurate.'

'I thought you
were a critic,' he said, his voice containing all the disparagement
about her comment that Linda had refrained from employing about the
drawing. She was about to speak, but Delgado spoke first.

'I like this
Anita. I like it because it is crude and blatant, because you have
shown the meat, if you like, of sex, and the meat of sex should
excite us. It does not attempt to be erotic in any superficial way.
The missing element of course is colour and, for me, size. The
drawing, I think, should be five times bigger and you should use
colours that bring the painting alive.'

That was all
he said, nothing about technique or execution. It did not strike
Linda that his criticism was either incisive or particularly
helpful.

After the
maestro had disparaged Damian's and Alfonso's work he came to
Rebecca's sketch. Linda hated it. A handsome, naked boy lying
supine in a meadow, slipping his hand down and touching his flaccid
dick, and wearing an irritatingly winsome smile on his face that
evoked the dreamy romantic nonsense that Linda assumed Rebecca's
head was full of. Delgado didn't think much of it either.

'Are you a
virgin, Rebecca?'

Rebecca
blushed. 'No.'

'In that case,
like Damian, you need to do more work at the conceptual phase,
utilise your experience and if you have no experience then
fantasise. Masturbate. See what comes into your head.'

Rebecca's face
was rubicund. After Delgado had finished speaking, her eyes stared
downward.

The next
drawing she knew was going to be hers.

'And now to
the worst piece,' Delgado said, flicking to Linda's priapic figure.
I hate this picture. This is a picture from an artist who hates sex
so much she can only laugh at it. There is nothing urgent or
desirous in this figure. It is ironic. It is only ironic. Mrs
Powell, here, thinks that sex is a disease and not a joy. What else
can we make of this man, but that in sex he becomes preposterous, a
smiling fool? Oh dear! How I pity the English, especially English
men if this is how their women see them. Try again Mrs Powell; try
to paint something else in your soul apart from this
frigidity.'

'But it's a
primitive...'

Delgado
scowled at her. The others all scowled at her. It must have been
another unwritten rule that Delgado could not be criticised when he
was speaking.

'We can
discuss this in my room. I would like to see you and Rebecca
immediately,' Delgado said haughtily before storming out of the
studio.

Linda looked
over at Alfonso, searching his face for some reassurance but there
was none to be had. Alfonso merely pointed with his eyes in the
direction of the door, which Delgado had just exited.

Linda walked
slowly up the stairs with a nervous and trembling Rebecca. All her
previous confidence had gone and she was still blushing. They
reached the door. Rebecca tapped on it faintly.

'Come in,'
Delgado commanded.

When they
entered, he was sitting on a wooden chair. Two chairs were
positioned facing him.

'Sit down,
please,' Delgado said, remaining seated.

Linda's heart
was racing. However she disagreed with his aesthetics, he looked so
powerful in front of her, that dominating personality sent a tremor
through her, as it had done when she had fantasised about him on
her hotel bed.

'I asked you
Rebecca whether you were a virgin. Tell me the truth.'

'No, I'm not a
virgin. I have a boyfriend,' Rebecca replied, her voice quiet and
shaking.

'And do you
make love with this boyfriend?' he insolently asked. Linda raised
her eyebrows.

'Yes.'

'And how do
you make love?'

'Sorry?' the
young girl replied, wondering why her art teacher was asking such
intimate questions. She was too innocent, and in awe of him,
though, to become indignant.

'How do you
make love to him?' Delgado repeated, his voice growing even more
insistent.

'In the normal
way.'

'In the normal
way!' Delgado repeated mockingly. You talk as if there is only one
way, or maybe two, the normal and the abnormal.'

'No I just
mean that I'm ordinary, not special.'

'If you want
to be an artist then you have to be special.'

'Yes I know
but...'

'There are no
buts, Rebecca. Remember when you talked about death I got you to
think about your grandfather. Remember when we talked about justice
we discussed many of the terrible crimes of this century. Do you
remember?'

'Yes I
remember.' Rebecca was shaking.

'And did it
help your art?'

'You said it
did.'

'Do you want
to be an artist, Rebecca?'

Linda began to
realise where all this was leading.

'Yes, I
do.'

'How
badly?'

'More than
anything else.'

'And you
believe that I can help you?'

'Yes I
do.'

'Then you know
that you must do everything I tell you.'

'Yes, I do,
Delgado, I do,' the girl remonstrated.

'Not just
about art.'

'No, about
everything.'

A sly smirk
passed across Linda's face at Delgado's cheap manipulation,
although she was excited about what she thought was going to
happen.

'Sometimes an
artist has to experiment with his life.'

'You told me
that and I believed you.'

'The reason
your art is not good enough, Rebecca, is that you are too
frightened of life.'

'No, I'm not,'
Rebecca protested.

'Rebecca!' Up
until that point his voice, although authoritative, had been soft
and encouraging, just as a kind teacher might talk to their pupils
in school. Now it was raised, the increase in volume making both of
the women jerk up in their seats.

'Yes,
Delgado?' Linda noticed how Rebecca's face was a flaming red. She
had that kind of pale skin that blushes so easily.

'We are going
to explore some of your fears, particularly your fears about
sexuality, so that it will make you a better artist. Are you
willing to try?'

'Of course,
Delgado,' Rebecca said more enthusiastically.

'Then you must
do exactly what I tell you to do. Will you do that?'

'Yes.'

'Stand up
then!'

Rebecca looked
at Linda nervously; Linda took in the pert young breasts, the curve
of her round hips, and the firmness of her buttocks. A tingle of
excitement passed through her as she anticipated what the great
Delgado was about to do.

Nervously the
young English girl rose to her feet.

'Now remove
your blouse.'

Rebecca
hesitated again, eyes dilating at the prospect of denuding herself
in front of her inspiring teacher.

'Rebecca, do
as I say!' Delgado's voice was strident, insistent.

Rebecca
reached to the top button of her lilac blouse, her hands shaking
trying to unloose the button. Eventually she managed to open the
first and then the second, a triangle of her tantalising cream
chest came into view, and then Linda saw the patterned white cotton
bra.

Slowly, after
all the buttons were undone, she eased the diaphanous fabric of her
blouse over her sleek arms, tidily placing the blouse, once totally
freed from her body, onto the back of her chair.

Linda was
surprised at how white her flesh was considering the strength of
the Mediterranean sun. Rebecca was not a girl who apparently went
sunbathing.

'Now remove
your brassiere.'

Rebecca
hesitated again. She found the hook at the back and then timidly
pulled off the bra, releasing her beautiful small breasts from the
constriction of the cotton. Rebecca had big rose-coloured nipples,
and fantastic, unblemished skin. She looked so young, so fresh.

'Come
here!'

The girl
shuffled a yard towards Delgado's chair. He reached up and clasped
the delightful small mounds of flesh in his hands. Rebecca looked
on aghast at the indignity of the scene. Delgado plucked her two
nipples between his fingers, then pinched on them hard.

'Do you want
to be an artist?' he asked again.

'Ouch,' she
said feeling the hot pain of Delgado's manipulation. 'Yes,
Delgado,' she said, breathing in deeply.

'Lift up your
skirt!' He looked momentarily at Linda, a knowing smile passing
across his face.

Rebecca's
skirt fell below the knee. Slowly she raised it a little higher
above her knees up to her thighs.

Linda had a
terrible sense of deja vu. Had she not imagined such a scene with
herself in her hotel bed only a few days ago?

'Higher!'

The dress went
further up, until Delgado's eyes could rest on the lily-white of
her thighs.

'Up to the
waist!'

The dress was
pulled up higher. Delgado could now see the matching white cotton
panties, like little schoolgirls' knickers hugging the cheeks of
her bottom.

Up until then,
Rebecca had been looking down, watching Delgado's eyes.

'Hold up your
head!' Delgado ordered.

She raised her
head and stared in front of her as Delgado reached his hand over
and placed his palm firmly over the panties, the hand covering her
cotton clad pubis. He scrutinised her for a moment, then slid his
finger under the cotton and along the innocent folds of her
tumescent lips.

Linda was
deeply aroused by the sight, as she saw Delgado delve into the
girl's cotton panties, sliding his finger lower down, pressing his
finger on the girl's anus. Linda suspected she had never been
touched there before.

The girl was
twitching with every movement of Delgado's hand.

Delgado
relaxed back into his chair. 'Take off your skirt now,
Rebecca.'

Rebecca
unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, Linda catching an
exquisite view of the girl's bottom as she stepped out of it.

'Now kneel on
the chair.' She was still nervous and shaking, but she no longer
questioned Delgado's instructions. For the briefest of moments
Rebecca caught Linda's eyes, but she averted her gaze as she placed
her knees on the leather seat of the chair she had been sitting
on.

Delgado stood
up and offered his hand to Linda, pulling her up from the chair she
had been sitting on and then placing the chair in front of where
Rebecca kneeled.

'I take it,
Mrs Powell, that you will participate.'

Linda didn't
reply, but merely looked into Delgado's eyes, trying to find there
some depth behind the pantomimic charade that he was directing.

'Kneel
straight and hold onto the chair in front. Mrs Powell, remove her
panties.'

Part of Linda
wanted to protest at the ignoble seduction of the innocent girl.
She knew that this had little to do with Rebecca's growth as an
artist and more to do with Delgado satisfying his lust; but Linda
was also very aroused by the sight of the English girl bent over
the chair, her glorious little bottom perched over the wooden
back.

She hooked her
thumbs into the waistband of Rebecca's panties and slowly pulled
the cotton over her alabaster bottom.

As Delgado
went to his desk at the back of the room to retrieve a long
straight cane, Rebecca turned around and met Linda's gaze, her
doe-eyes staring into Linda's. She was trembling, acquiescing in
her ordeal for the sake of her art, but terrified by what Delgado
might do to her.

'If it's too
much, tell me,' Linda whispered in her ear, trying to bring some
reassurance to the frightened young girl. Rebecca nodded.

'Rebecca, do
you trust me?' Delgado asked, a false, gentle calm in his voice,
unable to completely control the excitement in the rising
intonation of the enquiry.