Moonlight Sonata

As the spotlight caressed the silver ring nestled on Seymour's nimble fingers, he could feel a surge of exhilaration coursing through his veins. With eyes fixated on the piano keys before him, his scheme began to unwind with each fluid motion.

Seymour guided his fingers across the piano. The first few keys of the Moonlight Sonata resonated through the ornate concert hall with their enchanted notes permeating the quietness.

A hush fell over the captivated audience, breaths held in awe as they became ensnared within the song. And Seymour, the primary orchestrator of this moment, reveled in the sight before him.

With every stroke of the keys, Seymour's craving for power intensified. He yearned to rule over his music, to be the primary force shaping each woven strand. The grand piano became his domain, his instrument of control, and the audience his devoted subjects, bound by the magic he conjured.

As the Moonlight Sonata progressed, Seymour's fingers danced across the black and white keys. The dynamic crescendos and delicate diminuendos rippled through the air, filling the atmosphere with a sublime energy.

"Wow, this pianist is absolutely mesmerizing." A gorgeous brunette gasped, leaning towards two other ladies, seated at the same table, "I can't take my eyes off him."

"I completely agree!" nodded another charming beauty with an unusual chestnut colored hair. "His talent is undeniable, but there's something about his aura... so captivating."

The third beauty, dressed in a rather diplomatic way, clutched her chest. "Ladies, I can't keep it to myself any longer." She blushed, "I have this intense desire for him. He's just so incredibly sexy."

"Oh my, I thought I was the only one feeling this way." The brunette giggled, caressing her thighs. "He could have me for months on end."

The audience, lost in the enchantment before them, surrendered willingly to Seymour's magnetic musicality.

Yet, beneath his charms, lurked a power-hungry maniac, driven by an insatiable thirst for dominance. Seymour craved not only the spotlight but also the strings of fate that he could manipulate to bend the world to his will.

His obsession whispered in his ears, urging him to seize control of everything that piqued his interest—to orchestrate the very fabric of existence.

As the final notes of the Moonlight Sonata rang out, an explosion of applause erupted, echoing through the concert hall. The audience, awestruck and bewitched, rose to their feet in ovation. Seymour basked in the moment, his chest swelling with intoxicating satisfaction.

"A true mastermind, always leaves his audience mesmerized." Seymour uttered with an unnerving grin, while exitting the stage. He made his way through the bustling backstage area. Spotting a restroom sign, he entered.

"Yet every master deserve to unwind." He thought. "You know... a bit of solitude won't hurt."

He approached the urinal, unzipping his pants, when suddenly he bumped into a slender woman, clothed in a black lace attire that left little to the imagination.

"What in the devil's name is a shawty doing in here." Seymour froze for a moment, looking confused. He had taken extra precautions to avoid mistakenly walking into the ladies lavatory, like he did once before.

"Oh, my apologies. I must've entered the wrong restroom." He apologized and turned, eager to get out of the weird situation. "So much for a chance to unwind, huh!"

"No, darling. You're exactly where you're meant to be, and so am I." She said, twiddling away at her hair like a black widow. "Carry on with what you came here to do, and pretend I'm not even here."

"??!"

Seymour hesitated, unsure of how to respond to this unexpected encounter.

"Well, isn't this just perfect. Might as well hurry up and disappear." He shrugged it off, deciding to ignore her presence as she so kindly instructed.

He walked towards the sink, splashed water on his face, trying to cool down the adrenaline rush. He could never have enough of this feeling of total domination. He adjusted his suit, staring into the mirror which reflected the sensuality and strength of his sexy appearance. His hands ran through his gray wavy pompadour, attempting to regain his composure.

The strange woman hopped onto the sink beside him with her legs elegantly crossed. She watched him intently as though she could she into his soul, her eyes filled with calculated desire.

"Mmm, Seymour, you look positively stunning tonight." She said teasingly. "That performance of yours... it left me breathless"

"Hehe! A for effort." He chuckled inwardly, scoffing at her feeble attempt at flirtation without getting too entangled in her web.

"Thank you, but I believe you're exaggerating." Seymour replied. "It was just a simple recital."

However, it seemed this woman was out for him no matter any attempts to ward her away. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she inched closer, her hand caressing his arm.

"Oh, Seymour, you underestimate your power." She let out a low whisper. "Your fingers on those keys... they could make even the coldest hearts surrender."

"Oh, you sound so confident. If only you knew the truth." Seymour whispered as his gaze flickered, caught momentarily by her enticing allure. His heartbeat quickened, but he resisted the temptation.

"You flatter me, but I must be going." He said, trying to regain composure.

Just as Seymour turned to leave, she grabbed hold of his wrist with an unexpected force, locking her sultry eyes with his, and Seymour could clearly see it. A dangerous desire burning within her.

"Stay, Seymour." She whispered seductively. "Let go of your reservations. Indulge in the forbidden with me."

Seymour honestly didn't want to go down that lane, at least not tonight. He had things under control, and that alone made him feel godly. Also, this was an annual event and the last thing he would want to do is to sort for a distraction.

However, a man's bane has always been his powerlessness against the allure of a woman. Seymour might be in control of the most controllable aspect of his life, but this...

Driven by an unseen force beyond his control, he couldn't help but feel himself bulging below the equator.

"Damn! You are a hundred and fifty pounds of pure evil," Seymour had to admit, inching closer and closer until the physical gap between himself and her was negligible.

His hand, almost as if guided by some primal instinct, grabbed her hip and traced reflexively down her thigh to the hem of her dress.

Suddenly, a knock echoed from outside the restroom. "Five minutes until your next performance, sir." informed the stage manager.

"Just what I need to unwind." Seymour yelled back.

"Not that I am a two pump chump." He felt the need to emphasize on that, as any misconception on her part will be an insult to his pride.

***