The Piano Teacher

by Sophie Elliot

  ‘Ah, Jenny,’ said the piano teacher, ‘Miss Cavendish seems reluctant to do as she’s told. Would you please escort her to the window for her theory lesson?’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ said Jenny with a nasty grin, and moved towards the mortified girl, who squealed with panic and tried to evade the maid, but Jenny was both quicker and stronger than she looked, and grabbed Lucy’s arms, pinioning them behind her back. She then bent her double, giving her bottom a brisk spanking in the process.

  Miss Martin frowned. ‘Now, Jenny,’ she cautioned. ‘I didn’t ask you to spank Lucy, just take her to the window for her lesson.’

  Jenny relented, letting Lucy stand again and pushing her roughly towards the sunlight. Clamped firmly by her adversary, Lucy resigned herself to the indignity, and suffered herself to be propelled into view of the gathering in the garden. Once there, panting from the flurry of exertion, she shook off her tormentor. Jenny backed away, smiling slyly at her. Lucy rubbed her chafed wrists, but stayed where she was, stripped naked and forced to stand in full view of the strangers outside the window. She quickly turned away from them, aware nonetheless that her striped bottom was now on full display.

  ‘Very good, Jenny,’ said Miss Martin approvingly, taking her seat at the piano. ‘You may stay and watch if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, mistress,’ said Jenny, and duly stood by the desk opposite Lucy.

  Lucy stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Her cheeks were crimson from the embarrassment of knowing she was being leered over, and there was nothing to hide behind or cover herself with. She clasped her hands over her bottom as she stood waiting for instructions from her mistress, thus exposing herself completely to Jenny, which was hardly ideal. She was being totally degraded, and cringed at the sound of faint laughter and talking beyond the glass.

  Miss Martin raised her elegant hands over the keyboard. ‘Now, Lucy,’ she said crisply, ‘we shall begin. I will play a series of intervals on the piano, and I want you to name them as I do so. Is that clear?’

  Lucy nodded, trying to ignore Jenny’s presence, and that of the despicable lechers ogling her nakedness from outside. Miss Martin then played a couple of notes and she concentrated on those, and worked out the interval.

  ‘A... um... a major third, miss,’ she said, still distracted by her predicament despite her attempts to shut it from her mind.

  ‘Very good, Lucy,’ said Miss Martin, and to Lucy’s horror there was a smatter of mock applause from behind her. Miss Martin laughed, and Jenny poked her tongue out at her. Lucy shivered from the humiliation, shifting from one foot to another in her shame. Her nipples, hardened by traitorous arousal, stood out firmly, the roots of her hair hot with embarrassment. Another interval sang out.

  ‘A-a minor sixth, miss,’ she gabbled, consumed again by the thought of being drooled over. She thought she could hear new members of the audience arriving.

  ‘Good, Lucy,’ said Miss Martin. ‘Very good.’

  Several more tests followed, with Lucy guessing correctly each time while Jenny did her best to distract her, making surreptitious but obscene gestures. Lucy restrained herself, knowing that if she retaliated punishment would surely follow. Then one last interval was played.

  ‘Um... a major seventh?’ said Lucy after a moment, somewhat unsure.

  ‘Oh dear no, I’m afraid not,’ said Miss Martin. In triumph Jenny’s eyes sparkled maliciously, and without thinking Lucy poked her tongue out at the maid, just in time to catch Miss Martin’s gaze as she turned from the piano.

  ‘Lucy Cavendish!’ she snapped. ‘What do you think you are doing?’

  A shard of icy panic speared through the horrified girl. ‘N-nothing, miss...’ she hastily stammered.

  Miss Martin rose from the piano, menacingly brandishing her crop. ‘What do you mean, sticking your dirty little tongue out at me?’ she demanded, a terrifying coldness in her voice.

  ‘It - it wasn’t at you,’ squeaked Lucy, pressing herself against the glass as she tried to back away from her mistress’s wrath. ‘It was meant for Jenny, miss.’

  The crowd behind her were getting even more interested. She felt the slap of foreign palms on the other side of the glass, and through the pane she could hear more vociferous members of the group demanding punishment.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Miss Martin, looming over her. ‘So it’s quite all right to pull faces at poor Jenny, who went to so much trouble to prepare your uniform again. Is that what you think, you naughty girl?’

  ‘No... I...’ Lucy gave up; she knew it was hopeless.

  With a graceful ease of movement Miss Martin grabbed her by the shoulder and pressed her inexorably down onto her hands and knees, bottom high and vulnerable.

  ‘Two strikes of the crop for such rudeness,’ she declared, and struck Lucy’s exposed buttocks in quick succession, making her yelp pitifully. Lucy’s bottom burned, the pain and the shame combined, and she collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Sticking out tongues is dirty and rude,’ said Miss Martin imperiously. ‘There’s only one good use for them, isn’t there Jenny?’

  Jenny nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, mistress,’ she said.

  ‘And I think we should teach Lucy what that is,’ Miss Martin decreed. ‘Do you agree, Jenny?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the maid, getting even more excited.

  ‘Then assume the position,’ said Miss Martin, placing a high-heeled ankle boot on Lucy’s back as she grovelled on the carpet.

  Jenny then proceeded to slip her frilly knickers off and sit on the chair opposite to where Lucy lay. Miss Martin did not allow her to get up, but traced a figure of eight on her naked back with the crop as she restrained her with her foot.

  ‘Now, Lucy,’ she began soothingly. ‘You have shown, yet again, that you cannot behave in lesson. We only use tongues for two things at Miss Martin’s: answering politely when spoken to, and in reparation for transgressions. I’m sure Jenny will enjoy what you are about to do, but I fancy it may teach you when to keep your pretty mouth shut.’

  With that she raised her foot. ‘On your knees,’ she ordered crisply.

  Lucy got up shakily, crouching on all fours in front of Jenny. She looked up at the maid, who gazed down at her with a nasty expression on her face. She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, and shuddered at the sight of the faces peering in, their expressions etched with intent.

  ‘Spread your legs, Jenny,’ Miss Martin continued. Jenny did as she was told, placing her hands on the chair seat and raising her thighs on tiptoe.

  Lucy knew what was to happen, and was seriously contemplating a dash for the door when Miss Martin cropped her again.

  ‘Ow!’ she cried, and Miss Martin skilfully whipped her until she had no choice but to edge tightly between Jenny’s spread thighs, herded between them like a lamb, and once she was in position the chastisement was suspended.

  ‘Good girl,’ cooed Miss Martin. ‘Now you are going to pleasure Jenny with your tongue. You will stay in position, and if I detect any displeasure on my maid’s face I shall whip you again. Is that clear?’

  Lucy’s shoulders drooped. She was defeated, and this was surely the ultimate humiliation; stripped, beaten, and then forced to pleasure her adversary, all in front of a group of salacious strangers. But there was just no getting away, for she knew that any false move would bring the crop stinging against her rump. She had no choice but to comply.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ she said humbly, hardly getting the words out through her shame.

  ‘Then off you go,’ Miss Martin insisted, taking her seat on the piano stool to observe.

  Grudgingly, Lucy edged forward. Jenny was clearly excited by the prospect of receiving such service from her enemy, and shuffled her hips into Lucy’s face. She was moist already, her labia swollen and shiny with excitement. Lucy had never been with another female
before, and found herself overcome with curiosity, even through her shame.

  She placed her lips before Jenny’s sex, gently opening them in preparation. The scent of the young maid’s excitement was strong, a heady perfume that filled Lucy’s nostrils, and she soon found herself becoming inflamed as the intoxicating fragrance of Jenny’s ardour filled the enclosed air around her. It was dark and cool at the tops of Jenny’s legs, her short maid’s dress resting gently on the top of Lucy’s head. Cautiously, as if tasting a foreign food for the first time, she gently flicked Jenny’s clitoris with the tip of her tongue. The maid trembled, her thighs quivering against Lucy’s cheeks. She teased her again, resting her tongue on the little pleasure-bud, now erect and engorged, then withdrawing it. Little moans broke from the maid, and she began to shiver from pleasure. Lucy ran her tongue around her clitoris again, and then lapped delicately at the flesh around it. She might have been whipped and humiliated, but Lucy discovered suddenly that she had some control over the situation. She licked the slick flesh, drawing a heavy moan from above.

  The taste was strange, she found. Not at all like Dr Crawford, but subtler, more suggestive. She began to savour the various flavours, circling her tongue around Jenny’s slick pussy lips and lapping up the juices of her enjoyment. Jenny began to slightly raise her hips, pushing against Lucy’s diligent stimulation, moving in unison with her gently bobbing head. There was a faint sigh from a female member of the little audience at the window, and Lucy suddenly began to relish performing for their perverse amusement. She spread her own legs a little wider as she knelt on the floor, offering them a good view of her own moist sex. It was degrading to be forced to perform in such a demeaning manner, certainly, but strangely delicious too. As she massaged Jenny’s feminine parts with her tongue, Lucy let her hips roll suggestively at the unseen gathered behind her. She was beginning to enjoy her performance, as was Jenny, by the sound of it.

  Responding to the maid’s more urgent sighs and moans, Lucy began to probe more forcefully. She circled the clitoris quickly, pulling her tongue over the erect bud, teasing and soothing it. Jenny started to get agitated, rolling her pelvis against Lucy’s flushed face, breathing heavily and clasping the chair tighter. Lucy was now buried by the maid, cushioned by her creamy thighs and pressed hard against her groin. She slipped her tongue downwards, sliding it across Jenny’s pussy lips, dragging it up and down across the wet flesh. Jenny began to grunt from frustration, lifting her naked bottom almost off the seat to give Lucy a better angle. She wanted penetration - that was clear - but Lucy waited, flicking her tongue-tip teasingly against Jenny’s labia, fluttering against her clitoris, spiralling all around the soft, fragrant flesh between her thighs. Jenny began to get impatient, her legs trembling and breathing staccato, but Lucy tormented her mercilessly, pausing on the threshold, then wandering over her damp sex, enjoying the taste of her frustrated arousal. But then she must have gone too far, for the crop suddenly fell and a sharp pain seared through her backside.

  ‘Mmph!’ she cried, her face buried between Jenny’s legs.

  ‘Concentrate, Lucy,’ came a warning voice from above and behind her, and heeding the warning she hurriedly went to work again on Jenny, burrowing her tongue between the fleshy labia, entering the succulent maid. As her inquisitive tongue probed deeper Jenny let out a great sigh of pleasure and shivered. The taste was far more intense, a slightly piquant version of the taste of her earlier explorations. Jenny’s sex was bathed with excitement, heavy with the bittersweet juice of arousal. Lucy drank it down, letting her tongue explore as far as it could reach within, beginning to thrill to the control she had over the maid, who was by now panting with pleasure, moving closer to her climax, held in ecstasy by her performance. She was not truly in control, she knew, for Miss Martin would soon whip her if she failed to satisfy, but it was nonetheless exciting to have the power she did have - to tease, torment, and ultimately satisfy Jenny. Her ponytail swayed as she moved back and forth between Jenny’s legs, her rose nipples erect, her own sex damp with the sweet honey of excitement.

  Jenny started to whimper, her excitement reaching its peak. Lucy worked more diligently, probing and massaging, and as she worked she pictured how the scene must look for the observers: her slim form kneeling naked between the trembling thighs of the blonde maid, working away with her tongue, all the while being presided over by the impassive Miss Martin, crop in hand. She could feel the lowering evening sunlight against her bare bottom, the depth of the carpet against her fingers, the rustle of Jenny’s uniform against her hair. She felt like a pleasure-slave in the gardens of a cruel Roman empress; whipped, humiliated, and forced to perform for the assembled company. Such thoughts, far from appalling her, began to heighten her frenzy. She thrust her face fully against Jenny’s sex, revelling in the heady fragrance, pushing her tongue into her as far as possible, feverishly sating herself on the maid’s delicious moisture. Jenny bucked, her eyes widening, suddenly in the throes of her climax. Her thighs clenched Lucy’s head, holding her in position. Lucy’s tongue swirled, lapping, caressing, teasing, pushing. Jenny tensed, her cries becoming more and more abandoned, her mind and body on the edge of release, and Lucy was lost in a world of abandon, consumed thoroughly by the thought of making Jenny come.

  And then it happened. With a cry the pretty maid clasped Lucy’s head with her hands, her pelvis jerking, her pupils dilated. Her bottom ground on the seat, slick and wet from her excitement, while Lucy concentrated on keeping her lips and tongue engaged with the delicious flesh of the maid’s gyrating sex. Greedily she drank the moisture she was bequeathed while her adversary writhed on the chair, digging her fingers into her hair. And then the spasms subsided and the maid collapsed back, releasing Lucy’s head from her grasp.

  Lucy fell back into her crouch, her cheeks and chin covered in a slick film of liquid, panting from the exertion. Jenny slumped, her legs spread, her breasts rising and falling as she recovered. Her head was just raised enough to see Lucy kneeling on the floor before her, and the maid’s expression was, oddly enough, not one of scorn, but rather of amazement. Lucy rested on all fours, turning to Miss Martin to see if she had performed well enough to please her.

  The piano teacher was looking down on her with an approving smile. ‘Well done, Lucy,’ she said. ‘You’ve just given your first performance.’

  Interlude

  That night Lucy slept little. Her bottom burned from her two punishment sessions, and she tossed and turned, trying each side before eventually drifting off on her stomach, her tenderised buttocks prickly against her duvet.

  The night brought some relief though, and in the morning she felt a little less inflamed. Oddly enough, she reckoned the worst of the discomfort came from the marks from Dr Crawford’s strap. Part of this was no doubt his brusque manner - being spanked by a man was, she decided, a much more painful affair - but there was more to it. Lucy began to realise what an artist Miss Martin was. She seemed to have the capacity to whip her as long as she liked without leaving much in the way of residual pain over the following days. She was truly a consummate mistress of the art, thought Lucy, and found herself vaguely envious of such command. Her reactions had changed indeed over the last three weeks, and instead of being appalled by her humiliation, she now saw the aesthetic side of it. Surely there was nothing more to learn, she thought, thinking of the previous day’s activity. She had been stripped twice, spanked, whipped, forced to perform fellatio on her tutor and made to pleasure her adversary, some of which degradation had taken place before an appreciative audience!

  She squirmed in her bed, partly with embarrassment, but partly with a perverse, wicked pleasure. After all, the bizarre gathering had applauded her, and she liked to think she had given them something worth seeing. She remembered being conscious of them drooling over her raised bottom, her parted thighs striped from Miss Martin’s crop, and her head buried in the maid’s lap. She giggled mischievously. If Jenny h
ad hoped to humiliate her completely she had been misguided, for immediately after the performance the maid was made to lick the chair, so cross had Miss Martin been that the seat cover was made wet by her pleasure.

  Eventually Lucy rose, showered, and dressed. She spent most of the day in her room, quietly working on her second essay. The work came easier then, her anxiety assuaged by the knowledge that Dr Crawford had taken a special interest in her studies. The three flatmates appeared to be out for the morning, so there was little to disturb her. She made a light lunch and then went for a brief walk afterwards, cutting it shorter than she would have liked as her bottom was a little more prickly than anticipated.

  Upon her return to campus she called in to the practise rooms and ran over her Mozart a couple of times, beginning to feel the music flowing beneath her improving fingers. When she returned to the flat it was still empty, and pleasantly surprised, she cooked herself a simple meal, and then retired to her room once more to read. As the light began to fail towards evening, she tucked herself up in bed, still tired from her exertions the previous day. Her bottom then had a familiar warm post-punishment glow as she rubbed it against her sheets, smiling contentedly. Sleep was not far away, and she could already feel her dreams filling up with sensual images of submission. Feeling more at ease with herself then she had for months, Lucy gradually fell into slumber, a half smile of remembrance playing across her lips.

  Suddenly there was a crash outside her room and she awoke with a start. Bleary-eyed she pushed herself up onto her elbows. There was the sound of a door slamming, and then laughter. Lucy groaned; it was her flatmates, back from whatever grisly place they’d been drinking at that night. She looked at her alarm clock - it was half-past two in the morning.

  There was another loud slam and the sound of slurred, raucous conversation. All three had come back, it was clear. Lucy lay back, trying to ignore the noise, hoping desperately they would go to bed soon and leave her in peace. But then she heard it - the fateful sound of a cork popping and drink being poured. They were settled for the duration, it seemed, and Lucy knew it could be hours before they left for their rooms. She gritted her teeth, covering her head with her pillow. A most pleasant dream had been interrupted. Lucy had been playing the piano, coaxing the most wonderful notes from the ivory keys, gliding across the difficult passages with a capricious ease. Beside her had been Miss Martin, cool, crisp and beautiful, her alabaster face lit with an easy smile of satisfaction.