‘Let me go!’ cried Lucy again, struggling as hard as she could against the roving hands of Miss Martin, but the music mistress just laughed again as she slid Lucy’s white panties down.
‘You silly thing,’ she said. ‘Not until you’ve had a good spanking for being so rude and neglecting your scales.’
‘No - please,’ protested Lucy, consumed with humiliation. It was no good, though; within a moment Miss Martin had discarded her silk glove and raised her hand. Lucy bucked her bottom vigorously, trying to evade the assault that would undoubtedly come, but she could not escape. The ignominy of it; a girl of her age being thrown over her teacher’s knee and her knickers pulled down! She screwed her eyes closed and prepared for the worst - just as Miss Martin began to spank her.
It hurt much more than Lucy had imagined - each palm imprinting itself on her bouncing behind with a smack that made her cry out. Quick as a flash Miss Martin’s hand flew up and down, spanking her with a force that turned her bottom a healthy pink and sent shockwaves travelling throughout her whole body.
‘Stop! Please stop!’ she wailed as Miss Martin mercilessly punished her errant backside, aiming her practised hand all around her hindquarters. She kicked her legs and bucked her head like a ragamuffin, but nothing deterred Miss Martin, who calmly and efficiently spanked her all the harder. Her backside began to get hotter as the ordeal continued, turning a rosy-red from the attention Miss Martin lavished upon it. As smacks began to fall on top of one another, adding piquancy to her already glowing posterior, Lucy did her best to bear it bravely, still consumed by defiance and indignation, but her protestations were soon reduced to a half-hearted wriggling and her yells replaced by sobs.
Seemingly unmoved by the repentant figure beneath her, Miss Martin continued to spank away as Lucy dissolved into tears and her kicks lost their vigour. Miss Martin seemed to take an altogether disinterested pleasure in the way Lucy’s bottom quivered and buoyed under each smack, and wore the same curious expression as when she had spanked Jenny before; an almost scientific curiosity mingled with a quite lascivious arousal.
Eventually Lucy gave up any resistance, and Miss Martin was released from the task of having to clamp her in place and could attend to the business of punishing her. Lucy, skirt raised and panties down, defeated and pliant, could only muster half-hearted yelps as Miss Martin’s palm smacked her, and her writhing became less frenzied and more languid, punctuated by groans and sobs. At last, with a flurry of quick smacks that made her squeal once more for leniency, Miss Martin stopped, and gazed down with a faint smile on the punished bottom of her pupil.
Lucy hung over her lap, tears running down her face, her spanked bottom burning. She was utterly degraded, her posterior stinging from the impact of Miss Martin’s hand. And yet she felt a curious sense of release, as if all responsibility for her disobedience had been taken away from her. The tears were cathartic, a vent for all her habitual pent-up anxiety and eagerness to please. Gradually the tears began to dry up as the pain subsided, to be replaced by a warm, prickly glow in her posterior. Miss Martin tutted sympathetically, and began to rub her sore bottom gently.
‘Now, then,’ she said, back in her maternal tone of voice, ‘that wasn’t so bad, was it?’
Her fingers gently massaged Lucy’s bottom, rubbing away the hurt and replacing it with that curious deep warmth which spread throughout her hindquarters. Lucy didn’t reply straightaway, but sniffed a little in response. Miss Martin smiled.
‘Poor thing,’ she said. ‘The first time is always the hardest. Your tender bottom isn’t used to being spanked, you see. Time will amend that.’
Lucy shifted a little on her lap to get more comfortable. Miss Martin’s hand continued to rove, pleasantly massaging her pupil. Lucy sighed. Little by little the trauma of her first spanking dissipated, and she began to enjoy the sensation of having her bottom rubbed.
‘I do hope you have learnt your lesson, though,’ admonished Miss Martin reprovingly. ‘You have been a naughty girl, haven’t you?’
Lucy moaned slightly as Miss Martin’s hand massaged a little harder. ‘Yes, miss,’ she said shakily. ‘I have been a naughty girl.’
Miss Martin relaxed her grip again, and soothingly circled her bottom cheeks. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘I hope you can see that you deserved to be spanked.’
Lucy felt she would say anything in order to keep Miss Martin caressing her bottom, so she nodded, her fringe falling over her eyes. ‘Yes, miss,’ she said. ‘I deserved to be spanked. Thank you for punishing me.’
Miss Martin gave Lucy’s bottom an affectionate pat, and then withdrew her hand, releasing her pinioned wrist from behind her back. ‘Good girl,’ she said. ‘You may get up now.’
Awkwardly, Lucy clambered to her feet and hastily pulled her panties up. Miss Martin returned to her desk and put her silk glove back on. Lucy gingerly rubbed her bottom; it was still sore, but the prickly warmth made her feel strangely good inside.
‘Well, I think that’s all for today,’ said Miss Martin, quite as if nothing untoward had happened at all. ‘For next week I shall expect you to have learned all the scales you should have done for this week. Also please prepare for a theory test.’
She turned back to her score on the desk. Lucy, somewhat unsure of what to do, waited for a moment, and when no further instructions came collected her music and headed towards the door.
‘Um...’ she said, uncertain of what to say.
‘I’ll see you next week, Lucy,’ Miss Martin said matter-of-factly, her attention wholly devoted to the music in front of her.
Seeing that her presence was no longer required, Lucy opened the door and went out in something of a daze. How quickly it had all happened. As she moved into the hall she spied the figure of Jenny scuttling back up the stairs, her pink bottom still on display. She must have been listening at the door, but Lucy decided to ignore her. Walking carefully, she made her way to the fitting room to change.
The journey back to her halls was tough going. She found it hard to sit down on the bus with her bottom being so sore, and walking in a pair of jeans rubbed the spanked area mercilessly.
And adding to her discomfort was an altogether unexpected sensation, a deep-seated, all-pervasive arousal that gnawed at her like an itch. Fidgeting on the bus, she could not tear her mind away from the sensations working within her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright - it seemed that the whole of her body was pumping with energy. Spreading out from her punished posterior, a healthy sensual glow had suffused her, and so strong was her frustration at not finding outlet for it that she felt she would burst. Middle-aged men and dumpy bovine women, dull and sexless and flaccid, surrounded her.
She crossed her legs, wincing at the sensation, but the burning did not go away. She had been sexually excited by her spanking, that much was clear, but what to do about it? She looked out of the window deliberately, determined not to let such perverse desires gain a foothold. What had occurred in Miss Martin’s study was an aberration - it could not be allowed to happen again. The episode scared her, partly because of its suddenness, but also because she found herself so aroused by the whole spectacle. Spanking was bad, she thought to herself, knowing that she should not, could not, give in to the sensations she was experiencing. What would Dr Tovey think if he knew; a grown girl like her being given a bare-bottomed spanking by an older woman and, against all the dictates of nature, enjoying it? The whole thing was ridiculous and embarrassing.
She resolved to erase the memory of that afternoon from her mind, to leave Miss Martin’s tuition, and to try to get on with a normal student life. She had scared herself with her reaction to the punishment - there were limits, after all.
Once she got back to her room the sensations had ebbed somewhat, and the ferment in her mind calmed down. Carefully, she stood in front of her mirror and lowered her jeans. Turning around
, she peeled her panties down and examined the evidence of her first chastisement. Most of her bottom was still a light pink hue from the force of Miss Martin’s hand. Shaking her head in disbelief, she took off the remainder of her clothes and went to have a shower.
Afterwards, scrubbed clean and invigorated, she put on a fresh set of clothes, throwing her used underwear in the laundry basket. Suddenly hungry, she realised she had not eaten any tea, and decided to look for some food at the refectory. Her flatmates, three other girls who spent their waking hours drinking, smoking pot and getting noisily laid, were out, so she locked the door to her room and went out into the evening chill.
When she arrived, the refectory was closed. Uncertain of what to do with herself, Lucy wandered back to the main college building. By then she was beginning to feel a little light-headed from lack of food. She’d only had a snack lunch quite early in the day, and keenly felt the need for some proper sustenance. By then, though, it was late and she knew there was little likely to be open on campus. Aimlessly, she soon found herself ambling past the staff bar. As she passed she looked in through the window, only to catch the eye of Dr Tovey, who was sitting by himself nursing a half-full pint of bitter. He waved, got up and came outside to greet her.
‘Hello, Lucy,’ he said breezily. ‘How was your lesson?’
‘Um - interesting,’ she replied, still not quite sure how to describe the experience. Increasingly the whole episode seemed like a fantasy.
‘Why not come inside?’ he said, holding the door open. ‘You look like you could use a drink.’
‘Isn’t it off limits to undergraduates?’ she asked nervously; she hardly wanted to get into trouble again that day.
‘Not as a guest of a lecturer. Come on - it’s chilly out here.’
‘Well, thank you then,’ she said, looking greedily at the warm lounge and the snacks stacked up along the bar. It was the best offer she was likely to get that night, she reasoned.
Dr Tovey ushered her to the bar. ‘What would you like?’ he said.
‘Oh, I haven’t had any tea,’ said Lucy. ‘Would it be all right to have some sandwiches?’
Dr Tovey frowned. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘But I’ll have to insist you have a drink as well. This isn’t a cafeteria, after all.’
Lucy wasn’t sure she should be drinking at all on such an empty stomach, but it would no doubt be rude to refuse.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a sandwich from the rack in front of her. ‘Could I have a vodka and lemonade, please?’
‘Coming right up,’ said Dr Tovey.
The drinks arrived and they went to his table and sat down.
‘I trust Miss Martin put you through your paces?’ said Dr Tovey, taking a swig of his drink.
Lucy felt herself blushing at the memory. She wondered how much Dr Tovey knew of Miss Martin’s practises. Surely not everything.
‘It was rather hard,’ she said, truthfully enough. ‘But I’m not sure if it’s really for me.’
‘Oh?’ said Dr Tovey. ‘In what way?’
It sounded suspiciously like he was angling for information.
‘I don’t know, really,’ Lucy said evasively, determined not to give much away. ‘Perhaps I misjudged my appetite for music making, after all.’
Dr Tovey shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Why not give it another week, though? You may change your mind.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, eager to change the subject. The vivid image of Miss Martin standing before her like a present-day amazon was one she was trying to rid her imagination of. She took a sip of her drink and unwrapped her food. Sandwiches and vodka; it was an odd mix, but she was ravenous by then and really didn’t mind.
‘So how were your lectures today?’ she asked.
Dr Tovey smiled grimly. ‘Tedious, recondite, prolix; the usual,’ he said dryly. ‘They don’t want to learn. They just come here to drink. I stand in front of them for an hour and then wait for the essays. But it could be worse, I suppose.’
Lucy wasn’t sure how serious he was being. ‘It’s not that bad, surely?’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m absolutely sure you’re a model student,’ said Dr Tovey, almost fondly. ‘But you must remember you’re hardly a typical undergraduate. Most of the rabble I teach have no desire whatsoever to learn anything. It’s the way things are going, I’m afraid. Standards are slipping every year.’
‘You sound like Miss Martin now,’ said Lucy, quite forgetting she was trying to steer the conversation away from her.
‘Well, she talks a lot of sense,’ said Dr Tovey. ‘It’s all about discipline, you see. The instillation of respect. Lose that, lose everything.’
Lucy didn’t have anything to say to that, but she suddenly became away of the residual prickles in her bottom, and looked away lest Dr Tovey catch her blushes. She had finished her sandwiches, and her glass was nearly empty. She drank it down in one gulp.
‘Refill?’ said Dr Tovey.
‘Yes, please,’ she accepted the offer automatically, without really thinking. She couldn’t hold her drink at the best of times, and suspected that the sandwiches she’d eaten would have little effect on her empty stomach. But by then it was too late, for Dr Tovey had gone back to the bar. She sighed, and resolved not to make a fool of herself in front of him.
From that point the conversation flowed quite naturally, aided along by the lubricating effects of the vodka. Lucy had the dim awareness that her tongue was loosening more than perhaps it should, but the pleasant warmth, attentive company and most agreeable feeling in her head made it hard to stop. It wasn’t that she was getting drunk exactly, more that her habitual reserve and intense shyness suddenly seemed ridiculous in such commodious surroundings. And, of course, there was the distracting presence of Dr Tovey sitting before her, being charming and interested. It was odd, she thought as she prattled away, to be drinking together. After all, Lucy could remember quite clearly Dr Tovey’s visits to the family home when she was a little girl. Then he had seemed an awe-inspiring presence who would visit rarely and engage with her father in talk that went quite over her head. When he came around for dinner she would be banished to her room for the night. She could still remember creeping out onto the landing in her pyjamas and secretly listening to the muted conversation and sudden laughter of the table before being spied by her mother and chased back to bed. But then her thoughts started mingling with her conversation, and she realised she was lapsing into autobiography. She made a mental note that she really oughtn’t to have any more to drink.
Dr Tovey smiled at her.
‘Yes, I do remember coming round to your parents’ when you were smaller,’ he said. ‘I don’t recall seeing you there over the last few years, though. I expect you were out with your friends. The last occasion was some time ago when you must have only been about sixteen. I think you’d had a row with your mother or something.’
Lucy cringed at the memory. She had been a well-behaved teenager in most respects, but like all adolescent girls, she’d had her moments. She remembered the time - she had been caught smoking at school by a teacher and a letter had been sent home. It was not that she’d even enjoyed the experience, but the result was a grounding for a week.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘I must have seemed a very moody teenager.’
‘If you’d been my daughter,’ said Dr Tovey, ‘I’d have put you over my knee, and no mistake.’
‘Oh, would you?’ said Lucy flirtatiously, then, suddenly remembering the events of that afternoon, blushed again.
Dr Tovey laughed. ‘Or would you prefer a drink?’ he said, and Lucy, embarrassed, agreed without thinking.
‘This place closes in a few minutes,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Why don’t we go back to my office for a nightcap - it’s only around the corner. I’ll walk you back afterwards.’
&
nbsp; ‘All right,’ said Lucy, her head feeling a little light. Not for a moment did she question the idea of a young undergraduate going to the office of a lecturer after hours, for it seemed the most natural thing in the world. They collected their things and walked out into the cold night air.
Within a few minutes they had entered the music department, dark and echoing from emptiness, and found Dr Tovey’s office. The room was dimly lit, dominated by a great dark desk that sat belligerently between the shadowy, book-lined walls. There were a couple of armchairs, a blackboard and an old-looking computer secreted away in the corner. There was little in the way of furnishing - it was definitely a man’s room - but there was an understated elegance in what there was present. Clearly the furniture was not standard university issue, and the bronze, green-shaded desk lamps and deep-pile rug on the floor spoke volumes of Dr Tovey’s refined and traditional tastes. He ushered Lucy into one of the armchairs, and retrieved a bottle of whisky from a desk drawer.
‘Oh, I don’t think I should,’ she said, feeling a little bleary.
‘Nonsense,’ said Dr Tovey, pouring a generous measure and diluting it slightly with some mineral water. ‘It’ll do you good.’
Lucy took the glass uncertainly, and sipped a little. It burned somewhat and she coughed, but the result was undeniably warming.
Dr Tovey sat down opposite her and raised his glass. The conversation then resumed, with both parties reminiscing about Lucy’s childhood. As it progressed, she found it easier and easier to slip in a flirtatious line here and there, and her tongue became quite uninhibited. Time passed, and Lucy became more and more garrulous as the whisky in the bottle diminished. If she had been paying a bit more attention she might have noticed Dr Tovey begin to tire of her prattling, but the notion had entered her head that she was making a wonderful impression and he must surely be falling for her charms. Slyly, as if she were the most subtle thing in the world, she began to edge her skirt a little further up her thighs, and slouched deliberately in her chair. She played with her hair, fluttered her eyelashes as she talked, and laughed coquettishly at Dr Tovey’s frequently less well-hidden reproaches to her behaviour. To Lucy, the world had become a wonderfully warm and sensual place, and she believed that she was absolutely the most sophisticated and seductive part of it. In truth she presented a rather comical aspect, her hair out of place and her tipsy speech showing the first signs of a drawl.
The Piano Teacher Page 6