The Piano Teacher

by Sophie Elliot

  Miss Martin started to stroke Lucy’s hair again. ‘Clean, please,’ she said coolly, offering her left hand, still slick from Lucy’s pussy, and eagerly Lucy took her mistress’s fingers in her mouth and dutifully obeyed.

  ‘Good girl,’ the woman said. ‘You must be tired.’

  Lucy was, and nodded. ‘Yes, miss,’ she whispered sleepily, ‘I am a little.’

  ‘Well,’ Miss Martin said softly, ‘why don’t you stay there for a while?’ and she covered Lucy with the sheets, who murmured dreamily and curled up in the snug warmth. She felt secure and blissfully happy. Miss Martin stroked her hair again, running slender fingers through Lucy’s blonde locks. Lucy shut her eyes, adrift on a raft of contentment, totally relaxed, and Miss Martin gazed down on her with a strange look.

  ‘You really are precious,’ she whispered.

  Lucy barely heard, already sinking into welcome sleep. ‘Yes, miss...’ she mumbled, shifting slightly to get even more comfortable.

  ‘I only wish it didn’t have to end so soon,’ the music mistress said quietly, and then, with a sigh, she rose gracefully and left, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.

  Concerto

  The next morning Lucy awoke from a deep restful sleep with the sun in her eyes. The smell of crushed flowers filled her nostrils, and for a moment she simply stretched luxuriously in the large bed, enjoying the feel of the crisp fresh sheets against her skin.

  Then, coming to her senses, she remembered where she was and with a start she opened her eyes and sat up, still in Miss Martin’s bed. A feeling of panic gripped her. Surely she had not spent the whole night there?

  She groaned and rolled over onto her front to think, throwing the covers off her tender buttocks. Where had Miss Martin gone? And why had she been allowed to sleep in her bed?

  Then her confused thoughts were interrupted by a cough and she turned quickly to find Jenny gazing down at her striped bottom. Lucy rolled over again quickly, pulling the sheet up over her breasts.

  Jenny was carrying a silver tray with tea and slices of buttered toast. ‘Very nice,’ she smirked. ‘I see Mr McLellan did a good job on you.’

  But Lucy wasn’t in the mood. ‘Oh be quiet, Jenny, and if that’s for me please put it down,’ she snapped, and to her surprise the maid instantly did as she was told.

  ‘Yes, Miss Cavendish,’ she said, and placed the tray on the bedside table. ‘Will there be anything else?’

  And then something occurred to Lucy, and she realised the truth: Jenny was only surly with those who failed to dominate her. She was an absolute submissive, and not the aggressive minx Lucy had assumed her to be before she’d learned better!

  ‘Do you know,’ Lucy said craftily, an idea forming in her head as she sat up in bed, ‘I don’t like the way you’ve been behaving towards me these last few weeks. You’ll address me properly in the future, and I won’t tolerate you trying to get me into trouble with Miss Martin. Is that clear?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Cavendish,’ she said.

  It worked! And Lucy savoured the idea of her discovery. ‘And for your comments just now,’ she pressed on, ‘I’m going to teach you a lesson. You’ll have to start showing me some respect from hereon in, so bend over.’

  Lucy wondered if this was pushing her luck too far, but astonishingly Jenny turned and placed her hands on her knees, her short maid’s skirt lifting to reveal her frilly panties. Lucy felt a thrill surge through her. She was going to spank the maid! Not minding at all that she was still naked, she got out of bed and pulled Jenny’s panties down to her knees.

  ‘This is for being so rude,’ she said, and without further ado she started to spank her naked bottom. Jenny squealed as she was chastised, her pretty bottom quivering most attractively as Lucy smacked it. Soon her buttocks had a healthy pink sheen across them, rosy finger marks appearing on her rump. Lucy really enjoyed herself, slapping the maid’s reddening backside as she meekly stood in the punishment position, hands on her knees.

  ‘Ow!’ she eventually squealed. ‘Please stop, Miss Cavendish. I’m sorry...’

  But Lucy was in no mood to stop; she was enjoying spanking Jenny so much that she completely failed to notice the figure standing behind her until it was too late. Suddenly catching a glimpse of Miss Martin on the edge of her vision, she whirled around.

  The music mistress stood in the doorway, an intrigued look on her face. ‘Good morning, girls,’ she said ominously, and Lucy felt her heart sink; she was surely for it now. She gulped, and stood back from Jenny, aware again of how naked she was.

  ‘Good morning, miss,’ she said shamefully, blushing.

  The music mistress ignored her. ‘You may get up now, Jenny,’ she said. ‘But I must say I like the hue of your bottom. You shall therefore work naked today, I think. Go to the laundry room and undress.’

  Jenny scuttled from the room, her knickers round her thighs, her bottom a pretty vermilion, while Lucy stood before her mistress, wondering what punishment awaited her.

  Miss Martin turned to her and raised a graceful eyebrow. ‘I thought you’d have had the decency to dress for breakfast.’ she said.

  Lucy stammered an apology, and reached for her uniform.

  ‘No, no,’ said Miss Martin, pointing to her own clothes which had evidently been brought up during the night. ‘You won’t be needing those today. You have a heavy week of practise ahead of you, my girl.’

  Lucy nodded and started to get dressed, as Miss Martin watched her with apparent indifference.

  ‘You enjoyed punishing Jenny, did you?’ she eventually asked, walking over to the bed and straightening the coverlet.

  ‘No... yes, I mean...’ Lucy faltered, quite unsure of what to say.

  Miss Martin frowned at her. ‘Don’t mumble, girl,’ she said crisply.

  ‘Sorry, miss,’ said Lucy, pulling her jeans up. ‘I apologise for my behaviour.’

  Miss Martin looked thoughtful. ‘I have no real objection to you punishing the maid if you deem it necessary. Jenny is a wilful girl and needs a good spanking every now and then. And in any case, the practise will do you good. Just ask my permission next time.’

  Lucy nodded again, her confusion intensifying; what did she mean about practise doing her good?

  ‘Well, now,’ Miss Martin interrupted her thoughts, ‘I think you should be thinking of going, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ she said. ‘Shall I see you again next week?’

  Miss Martin smiled at her. ‘Oh yes, I think you are ready now for a public performance.’

  ‘A public performance, miss?’ Lucy blurted.

  ‘A public performance. You have come along very pleasingly under my tutelage, and I think it time that you played for a select group of intimates. I wish to show you off, as it were. I can’t think of a better time than next Friday, so you shall perform then.’

  Lucy felt her stomach sink. ‘Do you really think I’m ready, miss?’

  ‘I know you will be - if you work hard between now and then. You’ve already reached the end of your piece, which was more than I wanted you to achieve this week...’ her voice reflected her displeasure at that failure to follow instructions, ‘...but you’ve already been punished for that. I therefore believe this week should give you all the time you need to polish off your Mozart. I have every faith in you.’

  Lucy wasn’t quite so sure that faith was warranted. ‘If you say so, miss,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I do say so,’ Miss Martin said lightly, yet with an underlying threat. ‘Now, you had better go back to your practise room and get to work. I don’t wish to be disappointed by my star pupil.’

  For the next few days Lucy did little but practise. Each morning at nine, when the rooms opened, she made her way to the Music Department and hammered away at the piano until she could do no more.
>
  On Tuesday she played through her lunchtime and ended the day feeling faint from hunger. Under her diligent practising she felt a slight improvement in her piece. As she worked and worked at the difficult sections, trying to use all the skills Miss Martin had taught her, she gradually felt the most daunting measures slip into place. Her fingers no longer faltered over thorny lines of semi-quavers, and her problems with the various syncopated passages eased somewhat as she went over them again and again.

  By Wednesday she had played the whole sonata from beginning to end for the first time, and with only a few mistakes. Nonetheless, she’d had to stop once in the middle of a particularly dense cluster of notes, and she knew that would not be acceptable when she came to perform it.

  And there was something else; however hard she tried, she felt she was missing something. Perhaps it was the aspect she’d felt had always been missing, the free expression of the spirit of the music. Lucy knew that if she practised enough then the accuracy would come in time, but she despaired of capturing the easy grace and flawless command that Miss Martin conjured out of her own playing. On more than one occasion during practise she found herself staring at the keys, too depressed to carry on. However hard she tried, she knew her playing had a way to go to live up to Miss Martin’s expectations.

  On Thursday morning, as she hurried to the practise rooms once more, her mind was filled with a nervous depression. Even her dreams were filled with the spectre of her impending humiliation, and she had become quite unable to sleep. No part of the day was wholly free from the knowledge that the weekend would bring about, in all likelihood, the most appalling public demonstration of her inadequacies. As she walked, her head bowed, she completely failed to see Dr Tovey coming towards her.

  ‘Good morning, Lucy,’ he said, just as she was about to walk past him completely.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, pulling up. ‘Good morning, sir.’

  Dr Tovey chuckled. ‘You probably shouldn’t call me “sir” any more, my dear,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it’s really appropriate now that you’re almost there, do you?’

  There it was again. Everyone seemed to be hinting at something, but Lucy couldn’t figure out what they were getting at. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Has Miss Martin not spoken with you yet?’

  ‘Spoken with me?’

  Dr Tovey shrugged. ‘Well, in that case it’s not my place to say anything. Don’t worry about it.’ He placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. ‘But I will be coming on Friday,’ he said. ‘How’s your preparation going?’

  ‘Not well, I’m afraid,’ she said miserably. ‘I just can’t seem to get things to go the way I want them.’

  Dr Tovey looked sympathetic. ‘Well, why don’t we go and see what you’ve done - maybe I can help.’

  Soon they were in Lucy’s favourite practise room, right at the end of a long dingy corridor. She always chose it when she could, knowing she could not be heard anywhere else in the building.

  She sat at the piano, placing the Mozart on the stand, and then wearily she opened the book at the right page.

  ‘Why don’t you warm up a little?’ suggested Dr Tovey. ‘You look awfully tense.’

  Lucy duly played a few scales, each one note perfect. The days of practise had certainly improved her technique, if nothing else, and Dr Tovey nodded approvingly as she ran her fingers up and down the keyboard.

  ‘Very good, Lucy,’ he said. ‘But you’re still too tense. Try to relax; maybe that’s your problem.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said, and attempted to loosen her shoulders.

  ‘Let’s hear the Mozart, then,’ he prompted.

  Lucy flexed her fingers in preparation, and then began. She rattled off the first movement with hardly an error, but she knew as she played that she was not coaxing the requisite feeling out of the notes. She even felt that her performances earlier in the month, although strewn with errors, had been more expressive, and when she stopped Dr Tovey’s comments were predictable.

  ‘Good,’ he said, ‘but where’s your expression, Lucy? It’s no good just churning out the notes. You must try and feel the music.’

  ‘I know, Dr Tovey,’ she protested. ‘I just feel myself tightening up, and I’m not sure what to do to remedy it.’

  ‘Try playing it again,’ suggested the lecturer. ‘This time let go a little - cast off your restraints.’

  Lucy ran through the music again, trying to loosen her fingers, but her efforts were largely in vain; the more she tried to free up her creative powers, the more she seemed to seize up. Dr Tovey stopped her mid-flow.

  ‘Now, Lucy,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you’re really trying. Really let yourself go.’

  Lucy gave it another try with similar results, and Dr Tovey stopped her again, this time seeming more impatient.

  ‘Okay, stop there young lady,’ he said curtly. ‘You just don’t seem to be following instructions.’ He walked over to the window and drew the curtains together. ‘Now, I want you to do exactly as I say,’ he said, turning to her. ‘You need to relax, so take off your dress.’

  ‘T-take off my dress?’ she bumbled. ‘How will that help?’

  ‘Just do as you’re told,’ Dr Tovey said, ‘or do you want a reminder of what happens to naughty students?’

  ‘No sir,’ she said hastily, and rose obediently from the piano stool and pulled her dress over her head.

  ‘And now your panties and bra,’ he insisted.

  Lucy hesitated for a moment, but the lecturer’s stern expression warned against any dissent, so she meekly removed her delicate underwear. Her nipples were treacherously erect, two pink buds standing to attention from her smooth pert breasts, and in the stagnant gloom she felt a chill shudder down her back.

  ‘Now play again, naked,’ Dr Tovey instructed.

  Unsure of the lecturer’s strategy, Lucy sat back down at the piano and began to play, aware of him just behind her.

  ‘Look at you,’ he said in a monotone, ‘sitting naked before me. How ashamed you must be.’

  She blushed and tried to concentrate on the music.

  ‘Look at your nipples,’ he went on. ‘You’re getting excited, playing the piano for me with nothing on. What a bad student you are.’

  Lucy found herself quite unable to concentrate on her technique, so distracted was she by his intrusive talk, but then quite unexpectedly, as she stopped thinking about the music quite so hard, her fingers relaxed.

  ‘You really are the naughtiest girl,’ he went on, close by her shoulder. ‘I believe you need a good spanking on your bare bottom to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.’

  Lucy’s stomach knotted with anticipation and trepidation, her attention now divided between what Dr Tovey was saying and her playing, which sounded more sensual and expressive as she found herself able to transmit her excitement into the music. Strangely, she found the whispered commentary just enough of a diversion from her paralysing fear of her performance to enable her to concentrate better on her playing. As she felt herself getting more and more affected by the lecturer’s increasingly lewd monologue, she let go with her fingers, running over the keys as if they were barely there.

  ‘I shall punish you for your immodesty,’ Dr Tovey mused, ‘and then you will show me how sorry you are for your lewd behaviour.’

  He began to gently massage her shoulders as he talked and she played, and then his hands slid down to her breasts. Lucy struggled to suppress a sigh of pleasure, the music increasingly expressing her arousal. She played with more emotion as Dr Tovey leant closer, his tweed jacket rough against her shoulder and back, and pressed insistent fingers between her thighs. As she moved towards the final cadence of the page she felt the familiar yearning stirring within. Dr Tovey began to rub between her legs. Lucy gasped, but then expressed her growing excitement through he
r playing. As the final bars approached she felt her body losing control, and knew she had to finish before she came. The notes flowed like water under her freed fingertips. Dr Tovey eased a finger inside her. Lucy shuddered with delight and desperately tried to keep control, playing to the rhythm of Dr Tovey’s rubbing, feeling her climax nearing with the final bars of the music. As she reached the last line she knew she was going to come. Dr Tovey whispered in her ear, urging her on, his breath lightly disturbing the silky hair at her temple, his hand moving up and down between her wet thighs, and with a sweet gasp a heaving climax gripped her, just as she triumphantly pounded the final chords...

  And then she slumped back against Dr Tovey, her laboured breathing slowing, her eyes dreamily closed.

  The lecturer smiled down at her. ‘There, you see?’ he said. ‘You needed something to assuage your fears, that’s all.’

  Lucy looked up at him, still nestled in his arms. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said gratefully, but then a concern returned; it had been his triumph. ‘But what shall I do when you’re not there to help me?’

  ‘Merely put into practise what your mistress has taught you,’ he said somewhat cryptically, but as she thought about it, Lucy realised that Dr Tovey was right; at last she understood that the music and the eroticism were one and the same. She gazed at him and smiled. Her fear had disappeared.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, and then blushed as she noticed the bulge in his trousers. ‘You’ve been very kind to me.’

  ‘Quite, my dear,’ he said, watching her intently and seeing where her sparkling gaze had fallen. ‘And just how do you intend to show your gratitude?’

  Lucy paused for a moment, and he watched her moist lips instinctively peel apart very slightly, and then she turned a little more on the stool, lifted a hand, and unbuttoned his fly.

  Dr Tovey smiled down at her. ‘There’s a good girl,’ he said gently. ‘Show me just how much you appreciate my help...’

  As his swollen penis sprang out in front of her face, Lucy took it in her hands, and after stroking it for a few moments she gave it an inquisitive kiss. Dr Tovey groaned with pleasure, and placed his hands on her head to steady himself as she slowly slipped the gnarled column of flesh between her lips, flicking at the glans with her tongue as she did so. Dr Tovey grunted and urged his hips forward, and Lucy’s mouth was soon full of the man’s erection, her lips stretched around it. He shuddered, clearly nearing his climax. She sucked harder, his breathing became laboured, his cock moving in harmony with her mouth, and then closing her eyes she sat passively as, the taloned fingers in her hair clamping her face to his groin, he came deep in her throat.