The Piano Teacher

by Sophie Elliot

  ‘Yes?’ said Mr McLellan, impatiently.

  ‘I haven’t... I mean, I’ve never taken the cane before, sir.’

  The shopkeeper grunted. ‘I’m fully aware of that, Miss Cavendish,’ he said. ‘Miss Martin sends all her girls here to be caned - she prefers the palm of the hand, or perhaps a smart riding crop. It’s a passion of mine, though, and your mistress is quite capable of recognising a connoisseur of the disciplinary arts. One might say it is my vocation, the caning of female flesh.’

  That did little to reassure her. ‘H-how many shall I h-have, sir?’ Lucy asked, failing miserably to hide the waver in her voice.

  ‘Six of the best,’ said Mr McLellan. ‘If you stay in position, of course. Any attempt to protect your bottom or any lapse in posture will merely add another stroke. You would do well, therefore, to take your punishment with as much good grace as possible. It is for your own good, after all.’

  Lucy groaned inwardly. Six strokes! The crop had been bad enough, and had urged her to do the most degrading things with Jenny. She didn’t know if she could take six strokes of the cane, especially from such a sinister figure as Mr McLellan.

  Seemingly oblivious to her consternation, he again whipped the vicious implement a few times through the air. It had a wicked noise to it - a hissing, sibilant menace. Toying with her, he rested it on her buttocks, turning it admiringly in his fingers.

  ‘Now, Lucy,’ he went on, ‘I wish you to speak out loud upon each stroke. You are to say, “thank you, sir, for punishing me. May I have another?” Is that clear?’

  Lucy, resigned to her fate and increasingly wanting her ordeal to begin and be over, nodded contritely.

  ‘Very good,’ said Mr McLellan, taking a step back.

  Lucy knew it was coming then, sensed him raising it in readiness to strike, and her pert buttocks clenched in dreadful anticipation, she screwed her eyes shut, and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands.

  ‘One!’ cried Mr McLellan, and swatted Lucy’s perfectly presented bottom with the cane.

  ‘Ow!’ she cried, a sharp pain immediately biting into her smooth flesh. It felt like a line of bees had stung her, and it was all she could do to stay in position, her breathing quickening as she fought to stay bent over the desktop. It was such a shock she barely remembered her instructions, but just in time she heard Mr McLellan begin an admonishment and performed her lines.

  ‘Th-thank you, sir, for punishing me,’ she said weakly. ‘May I have another?’

  ‘Good girl,’ said Mr McLellan, running the tip of the cane over her bottom cheeks again. ‘You have a lovely stripe across your derriere now, my dear. It quite complements Miss Martin’s graceful hand.’

  Before she could relax the cane was drawn away again, and she braced herself just as the cruel instrument swept pitilessly down onto her naked flesh.

  ‘Ow!’ she cried again, muffling Mr McLellan’s calling of the numbers.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for punishing me,’ she panted quickly, her breath coming even more heavily. ‘May I have another?’

  The caning was easily the most painful punishment Lucy had endured. She devoted all her concentration to surviving it without shifting from position or forgetting her instructions. The only pleasure she took from her humiliation was that Miss Martin had ordered her to take it. Mr McLellan was a cruel master, and caned her extremely diligently. After a couple more swipes Lucy’s bottom was criss-crossed with sore red lines that burned her skin where the rattan had landed and throbbed painfully when it left. She was determined not to cry, but the severity of her thrashing, combined with none of the soothing comforts Miss Martin offered, made it very difficult to endure. She was being truly chastised, and she vowed to remember it. It was all she could do to grip the desk firmly and clench her teeth through the punishment session.

  ‘Five!’ Mr McLellan counted, and whipped her again squarely across her buttocks.

  This time Lucy could not control herself, and her hands flew to her bottom. She squealed, unable to stay in position, quite forgetting about her response as her naked behind writhed from the pain.

  ‘Put your hands back, girl!’ Mr McLellan ordered sharply, and reluctantly she complied, pulling her hands away from her ravished bottom and placing them gingerly back on the cool desktop.

  ‘That was foolish,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You were clearly told to stay in position for your punishment. You have just earned yourself another stroke for insolence. Straighten your legs and stand on tiptoe.’

  Lucy grimaced - another stroke! She wasn’t sure she could take it, but then, thinking of Miss Martin, she resolved to endure. ‘I - I’m sorry, sir,’ she said weakly, trying to collect her spiralling thoughts.

  With a pounding heart she slowly resumed her punishment posture: ankles together, skirt lifted from her naked bottom and folded over her hips, her thighs taught and her calves tensed. Obeying him further she lifted onto tiptoe, thereby presenting her bottom even more perfectly for the cane, her legs straining.

  ‘Good... very good,’ muttered Mr McLellan, admiring the delicious sight of the girl bent submissively over his cluttered desk. ‘Now we may continue... Six!’

  The cane hissed once more and again there was the searing pain as it bit into Lucy’s exposed posterior. Tears started in her eyes and she felt a catch in her voice as she recited her words. She valiantly stayed where she was though, and buried her head between the books on the desk to try and blot out her discomfort.

  ‘Seven!’ Mr McLellan counted, and thrashed her again, the cane leaving a wicked red stripe across the juncture of her thighs. Lucy squealed from the blow and panted quickly after it, trying to get through the scorching sensation as quickly as possible. As the pain slowly subsided she swallowed and raised her head again.

  ‘Th-thank you, sir,’ she mumbled shakily, but with a strange pride. She tried to imagine how pleased Miss Martin would be with her.

  ‘You may stand,’ said Mr McLellan.

  Lucy did as she was told. Her bottom was extremely sore, and she dreaded to think how she would get home. She turned around, sniffing back the tears that had accumulated, and looked at Mr McLellan, who wore a vaguely approving expression on his dour face.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘You took that well in the end. Do you think you have learned your lesson?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said meekly. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Her bottom was beginning to throb, the hot afterglow of punishment spreading through her hindquarters.

  ‘Well,’ he went on, ‘much as I would like to keep you here for my own amusement, I’m sure you should be getting back to your mistress now. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Lucy, eager to be gone.

  The music seller handed her a hardback volume of music. ‘Take this to Miss Martin,’ he said, ‘and be sure to pass on my regards.’ With that he ushered her out of his back room and into the shop, and unlocked the front door.

  Lucy hesitated before stepping out onto the street, and upon a whim suddenly turned around to him. ‘Thank you, sir, for your kind instruction,’ she said. ‘I shall endeavour to be a better pupil in future.’

  Mr McLellan smiled. ‘Better you shall be,’ he said enigmatically, ‘but not a pupil forever.’

  Uncertain how to respond, Lucy smiled back and bade him goodbye, and then as soon as she was out of the shop she remembered how she looked in her uniform and hurried back to Miss Martin’s, her bottom burning and her mind racing.

  ‘Miss Martin will see you in her boudoir immediately,’ Jenny announced with a sulky pout upon Lucy’s return. ‘Up the stairs, first door on the right.’

  Lucy’s heart leapt; she had never been upstairs, although Jenny was forever going up there. Whatever could her mistress want from her in her bedroom?

  She went up the stairs quickly
, not minding at all that the maid could easily catch sight of her striped bottom. She heard the heavy front door close as she reached the bedroom door, her heart racing, and she knocked a little timidly.

  ‘Come!’ came the voice from within, the ever-present vocal passport to her voyages of discovery.

  Miss Martin’s bedroom was exquisite; a fragrant, autumnal room of polished wood furniture and lush drapery. A large iron-framed bed dominated the room, pale silk sheets and feather bolsters heaped upon it. A large bay window let in the last of the afternoon light, throwing an auburn glow across the luxurious carpet. Paintings adorned the walls in elegant succession: a print of Vermeer’s Music Lesson, naturally enough, and original works: delicate maidens gracefully proffering themselves to the whip; a black and white line drawing of a corset-clad, high-heeled amazon; luscious depictions of Sapphic exploits amongst exquisitely rendered classical landscapes. The whole room was an avatar of its mistress - the height of sophistication with just a tinge of the lascivious, the tasteful intrusion of cruel pleasures. But the jewel at its heart was Miss Martin herself, sitting with back straight at a sumptuous dressing table gazing into a looking glass. Her hair was as perfect as ever, an ebony screen around her pearl-like face. She was not wearing dark colours for a change, which had the strange effect of softening her usually authoritative demeanour. Not that she failed to command attention - the effect on Lucy was something like some of the sixth-formers had possessed at her old school when she was a girl: a combination of respect and longing which never failed to produce a heady cocktail of lust and devotion. Miss Martin wore white: sheer stockings and suspenders, an intricate basque which clutched her figure like a corset, a simple choker around her graceful throat, a translucent nightgown about her pale shoulders. Miss Martin looked like an angel; not a wishy-washy Anglican cherub, but a supernatural being from a different plane - severe, calm, omnipotent, deadly. The room was drenched with her fragrance, the air thick with feminine allure.

  She turned to face Lucy, a kind expression on her perfect face. ‘Come here,’ she said crisply.

  Lucy moved closer, her cheeks flushed as she inhaled the aroma that hung about her teacher. Miss Martin crossed her legs, and leant forward.

  ‘Turn around and bend over,’ she said coolly.

  Lucy did as she was told, revelling in obeying her mistress’s every command. What a difference from her recent punishment, she thought as she bent down to touch her toes, her bottom lifting, her thighs tight together. Miss Martin gently lifted Lucy’s skirt and smoothed it over her back, then ran a teasing finger around her bruised buttocks, which made Lucy shiver with pleasure.

  ‘I see Mr McLellan punished you harshly,’ Miss Martin pondered.

  At the sound of her voice Lucy thought she would melt. She grasped her ankles tightly, trying to stay in position. ‘Yes, miss,’ she said, enjoying the stroke of the woman’s finger over her posterior even through her residual soreness.

  Miss Martin tutted. ‘Well, perhaps that will teach you to do your practise correctly,’ she said reproachfully. ‘I am afraid Mr McLellan is quite a stern disciplinarian, as you have found out.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ said Lucy, shuddering slightly at the memory.

  Miss Martin smiled a little. ‘Well, we can’t have you left like this,’ she said teasingly. ‘Why don’t you take your clothes off and lie on the bed?’

  Lucy felt her heart jump. What was Miss Martin planning? For a moment she stayed where she was, not knowing quite how to react, but a sharp slap on her bottom jolted her out of her confusion.

  ‘Lucy, dear,’ Miss Martin said briskly, ‘do as you’re told or you’ll get another spanking.’

  Mumbling apologies, Lucy hastened to comply. She quickly unbuttoned her blouse, unfastened her skirt and pulled her socks and shoes off. Within moments she stood before her mistress totally naked, her rose-coloured nipples stiffly erect and her cheeks suffused with a girlish pink glow.

  ‘Now go and lie on your tummy on the bed,’ said Miss Martin, gesturing toward the plush coverlets.

  Lucy, her pulse racing from fevered excitement, went over to the bed and lay face down on the cool fabric as Miss Martin went to a large dresser in one corner of the room, and returned with a jar of cold cream. Lucy sighed as she saw it, and wriggled her toes with pleasure. Nothing could have been more perfect after her punishment than a soothing application of cream from her mistress. Miss Martin sat beside her on the bed and stroked Lucy’s hair fondly.

  ‘Since you have had such a severe caning,’ she said softly, ‘I feel it only fair that you receive some relief. Lie still and I shall attend to your poor bottom. It is far too pretty to leave so sore, after all.’

  Lucy buried her face in the fragrant linen, her arousal now fully fledged. Her whole body was primed for Miss Martin’s touch, her skin alive with sensation. Miss Martin unscrewed the jar of cream and scooped some out with a slender finger.

  ‘Are you ready, Lucy?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ Lucy replied, her excitement growing as she waited for the first lingering touch.

  And then it came, ice-cool, instantly soothing, the cream gently massaged into her flesh by the practised hands of her music mistress. Lucy could hardly suppress a gasp of pleasure as the chilled unguent seeped in, permeating her punished buttocks like a summer breeze of relief. She buried herself deeper into the bedclothes as if trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure as Miss Martin attended her.

  The music teacher’s fingers moved swiftly and surely, caressing the pert round cheeks of her young charge gently, massaging the tight pink globes. Lucy clenched her bottom as a finger inquisitively slipped between her thighs, and then sighed with abandon as more cream was worked skilfully into her sore skin.

  Miss Martin gazed down at Lucy with a fond expression, stroking her bottom with an almost maternal affection.

  Lucy, for her part, was transported to a world of infinite delight, lost on an intoxicating sea of bliss. She gasped as Miss Martin worked her magic on the red welts, gently smoothing away the pain and replacing it with that familiar warm glow, like faint sunburn from lying naked in the afternoon heat. Her thighs gently rubbed together, the friction adding to her excitement.

  Gradually the teasing fingers were replaced by a deeper massage as Miss Martin began to knead, and soon Lucy was breathing heavily, her whole being taken over by her growing arousal. She was a plaything for her mistress, a toy to be punished and spanked then lovingly indulged, then chastised again. Lucy felt a tremor of satisfaction deep within as she considered her new life - completely subservient, submissive, secure, and happy.

  Miss Martin, a look of benign tolerance on her perfect face, resumed stroking Lucy’s bottom with her fingers. An index finger strayed downwards, burrowing gently between Lucy’s tightly clenched thighs. Lucy sighed and parted her legs a little, and Miss Martin smiled and pushed her hand into the dark warm valley between Lucy’s moist thighs. Her fingertip, effortlessly skilled and experienced, located her clitoris, and with infinite gentleness stroked lightly across the pleasure-bud. Miss Martin circled her labia, flicking back to her swollen clitoris, and then sweeping over her moist pussy lips. Lucy felt her orgasm nearing. She moved her pelvis back and forth with Miss Martin’s hand, lifting her bottom slightly off the bed, offering herself to her mistress. Her thighs parted wider, her sex sparkling with moisture. Miss Martin shifted her position slightly, her right hand stroking Lucy’s hair, her left probing ever more deeply into her charge’s most intimate parts.

  Lucy began to pant as her mistress built up the friction between her parted legs. She shut her eyes, pushed her bottom higher, and gripped the bolsters tightly. Miss Martin teased her some more, rewarding her presumption only with teasing little sweeps around the edge of her sex, but never dipping into the succulent honeypot. Lucy writhed with frustration, her juices seeping, her cheeks flushed, her thighs trem
bling.

  And then Miss Martin, with a quick sure movement, plunged two fingers between Lucy’s pink labia. They slipped into her prone body with the greatest of ease, her tight vagina slick with the nectar of her impending climax. Lucy cried out loud, her thighs tensing, her buttocks clenched. Miss Martin withdrew her fingers and then pushed back again, quickly working up a rhythm. A cool smile on her lips, she began to masturbate Lucy to a strict tempo, thrusting her fingers again and again into her, slapping her palm against Lucy’s buttocks as she fed her fingers ever deeper. Lucy was desperately clawing the pillows around her head, her bottom raised, her legs wide. She cried aloud each time her mistress thrust, a sunburst of pleasure exploding in her head. The pain from her caning was completely forgotten, her sensory world flooded from Miss Martin’s effortless control. She felt her orgasm upon her, the dam about to break, and spread her legs even further, willing herself to be completely penetrated by her beautiful mistress.

  Miss Martin slipped a third finger inside, causing Lucy to lose all control. One, two thrusts, and she felt herself pushed over the edge. As Miss Martin purred encouragement and stroked her hair, Lucy came, and Miss Martin continued to stimulate her, prolonging the pleasure until Lucy thought she would faint with joy.

  Then she slowed, and smoothly withdrew her fingers. Lucy relaxed, her body glowing with perspiration, flushed, twitching from her breathtaking orgasm, and it took a few minutes for the world to return. She gazed up at Miss Martin, serene and lofty, and smiled at her. Miss Martin smiled back.

  ‘Is that better, Lucy?’ the music mistress asked, a smile playing across her lips.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ said Lucy. ‘Thank you, miss.’

  The woman nodded, and turned to look out of the window. ‘It is getting late,’ she said.

  Lucy looked up. The sun was rapidly fading to dusk and it looked cool outside, and she wormed into the bedclothes with a shudder of pleasure, dreading the moment she would no longer be required to perform for her mistress and sent home.