‘Yes, thank you,’ she said bashfully, knowing she was blushing again, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. The crisp morning air circled around the tops of her legs, and she tugged her wayward hemline down as firmly as she could.
‘Are you all right?’ Dr Tovey went on, noticing her slight agitation.
‘Fine, thank you. May I use the bathroom?’
‘Of course,’ he said, throwing the door open.
She trotted out into the hall and squeezed past him, aware that as she went the nightie offered a fairly good view of what she had to offer. She smiled at him and waited for him to leave, but he stayed where he was. Lucy suddenly panicked; surely he didn’t expect her to go with him watching? She coughed politely, hoping he would get the hint, but Dr Tovey merely raised his eyebrows.
‘Oh, you go ahead,’ he said, unconcerned. ‘I’m just running your bath for you. Then we can get you nice and refreshed for breakfast.’
‘Um,’ started Lucy, bewildered. ‘I don’t...’
‘Do get a move on, Lucy,’ he said, gently chiding. ‘I have lectures to attend later.’
The running bathwater was having its effect, and Lucy found herself hopping from one leg to the other. It was exasperating; why wouldn’t he leave? Then Dr Tovey turned round to the basin and turned on the tap to clean his teeth. That was the final straw, and she found she could hold on no longer. Hurriedly she lifted her nightie and sat on the toilet. Dr Tovey, toothbrush in mouth, turned around and smiled at her approvingly as she went. Lucy, blushing crimson from the ignominy of it, did her business as quickly as possible, and hastily flushed the toilet.
‘Good girl,’ said Dr Tovey, and glanced at the bath. It was full by then, steaming invitingly and topped with a mountain of luxurious foam. He turned the taps off and finished cleaning his teeth.
‘You can pop your nightie off now, Lucy,’ he said brightly. ‘Let’s get you scrubbed up.’
Lucy backed towards the door. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘I thought the bath was for you.’
Dr Tovey frowned with the expression of disapproval she now recognised all too well. ‘Young lady,’ he said. ‘You were too tired last night to have a proper bath, and that was all very well. But I will not have you staying in my house without keeping yourself clean and tidy. Now, will you get in the bath or will I have to remind you of what happens to girls who won’t do as they’re told?’
Lucy gulped. Her bottom was still sore from the last night’s drubbing, and she really didn’t want to get into trouble again. She cast a look at the bath. It was actually extremely inviting, the steam curling fulsomely towards the ceiling, the bubbles popping gently in the bright light from the window.
‘Very well,’ she said, a little uncertainly. ‘Thank you for running it for me.’
Dr Tovey smiled at her. ‘That’s quite all right,’ he replied. ‘Now let’s get you in. Arms up!’
She did as she was instructed, and Dr Tovey whisked the nightie over her head. Suddenly exposed in front of him, her breasts hard-tipped and her bottom a rosy-red, Lucy quickly scuttled into the water to cover herself. Gratefully she sank down, the soapy liquid curling about her limbs. Her bottom burned somewhat as she lowered it into the hot water, but modesty compelled her to keep her nether regions submerged. Dr Tovey ruffled her hair fondly and she smiled up at him, expecting him to go then, but instead he rolled his sleeves up and sat on the edge of the bath.
‘You really got quite dirty last night, Lucy,’ he scolded amiably. ‘You’ll need a good scrubbing before I let you out of here.’
Lucy felt a twinge of anxiety. What did he mean? Surely he didn’t really intend to wash her? Nonetheless, the warmth had a curiously relaxing effect on her, and she arched her back slightly, running her hands down her flanks. The water was indeed lovely: hot and slippery with soap, sparkling in the morning sunlight. In the warmth she began to find Dr Tovey’s presence less distracting and rather pleasant. She rolled her shoulders and stretched out, aware that patches between the mounds of bubbles left little to the imagination.
Dr Tovey reached down then and began to gently massage her shoulders. Almost immediately she found it impossible to maintain her anxiety, the touch was so delightful. She sighed and closed her eyes. Dr Tovey’s fingers worked her shoulders deeply but tenderly, skilfully excising her tenseness. Her knees fell gently apart as she relaxed, the water lapping teasingly about her body as Dr Tovey kneaded her. He paused to gather soap in his palms, rubbed them together, and roved all over her skin. He worked slowly and deftly, massaging her neck, her shoulders, her upper back.
‘Why don’t you turn over?’ he suggested after a while.
With a murmur of uneasy compliance, Lucy rolled onto her front, her bottom bobbing to the surface in all its punished glory. Dr Tovey then began to fondle and massage all the way down her back, his fingers probing and stroking any residual tautness from her. Lucy hummed a little and rested on her elbows dreamily. Gradually, in spirals and curves, Dr Tovey’s practised hands worked their way downward. With water slapping and slipping about his fingers, he migrated towards the small of her back, stroking her white skin under the warm coverlet of the bathwater. Lucy’s world began to melt into a gentle mix of pleasure and relaxation. She sighed, and let her head drop gently to the side of the tub. The hands wormed lower.
‘So, what do we have here?’ Dr Tovey remarked, finally coming across the exposed mounds of her buttocks rising cheekily out of the skein of soap. ‘This bottom looks rather red to me.’
Lucy sighed and gave her hips a lascivious wiggle. ‘I was a naughty girl,’ she murmured, almost to herself.
‘I see,’ said Dr Tovey. He gently began to play with the sore area. ‘And what happened to you?’
‘I got spanked,’ she sighed, increasingly enjoying being played with.
‘Ah.’ Dr Tovey began to massage her buttocks properly, his fingers kneading the flesh and rubbing her cheeks in luxurious circles. It hurt somewhat to begin with, but as he went on the pain dissipated to be replaced by the lovely, prickly glow she’d savoured before. She sighed again from the pleasure and nibbled her lip. Dr Tovey slipped his hands easily all around her hindquarters, smoothing and easing her body while she soaked. Ever and anon his fingers would slip wetly between her legs, only to flick back out again just as quickly. He teased her and soothed her, at once calming her with a gentle stroke of his right palm while tormenting her with an amorous dart with his left. For what seemed like a delightful eternity he played with her bottom, Lucy herself drifting into a reverie of unexpected bliss.
‘I think you should turn onto your back, now,’ he said at last.
She grudgingly complied, gouts of steam rising from the water as she rolled lazily over. Her breasts broke the surface, their gentle curves surmounted by two rose tips, erect and swollen. She let out a long sigh of pleasure as Dr Tovey’s hands moved to them, and then held her breath as he twisted and rolled her nipples, then tenderly took her breasts in his cupped palms, ladling soap over them and rinsing them clean. Lucy kept her eyes closed, letting Dr Tovey’s hands roam all over her body, cautiously responding to his touch. She felt she was being played like an instrument, coaxed by the fingers of a master into producing something beautiful. Her hands gripped the sides of the bath, her knuckles whitening slightly as she felt the heat of arousal stirring more ferociously within her. Dr Tovey began once again to work his way down her body, washing and massaging her smooth stomach.
‘I trust you learned your lesson, then,’ he said idly, picking up the conversation again.
‘Oh, yes,’ whispered Lucy. ‘I certainly did.’
‘Then you will be a good girl from now on?’ he asked.
‘Always,’ said Lucy, with conviction.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Dr Tovey, his hands drifting down to her hips.
Lucy let o
ut a stifled little moan, and almost involuntarily lifted her pelvis nearer the surface of the water. Dr Tovey smiled, but took his time getting there. Maddeningly, he lingered over the flesh of her thighs, the smooth curve of her tummy, the downy hair at the juncture of her legs. Lucy’s heart began to beat faster, her face flushed and her grip on the bath tight. She parted her legs further, her toes curling, and leaned back. Smoothly, and without hurry, Dr Tovey at last made his way down between her trembling thighs, and slipped a warm finger lightly over her clitoris.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Lucy. It felt suddenly like her climax was only moments away; just one touch or stroke would do it. She moaned again and rolled her hips. The bathwater slapped gently against her thighs, foaming and steaming. Dr Tovey stroked her again, his finger licking deftly across her pleasure-bud, circling and slipping against her swollen labia. Lucy felt the world begin to drift away from her, to be replaced by a mélange of delicious sensation - warm, wet, slippery and delightful. Lazily, Dr Tovey played with her, sliding his fingers all around her feminine parts, driving her closer and closer to ecstasy. Lucy completely lost her sense of what was going on and unselfconsciously writhed under his teasing touch. While she was bursting with arousal and imminent climax, his right hand returned to her breasts, with his left continuing to gently masturbate her under the water, which lapped around his moving wrist. She panted quickly as friction was effortlessly built up.
‘Oh, yes...’ she moaned subconsciously, as Dr Tovey slipped a finger against her pussy lips, wavering as if courteously asking permission to enter. And then it did, Dr Tovey thrusting it deep into her moist vagina, circling around inside her, gently pumping in and out at will. Lucy gasped, her fingers taut against the walls of the bath. Another finger entered, sending spasms of pleasure shooting throughout her body. He began to thrust more quickly. Water spilled over the edge of the bath. Lucy gasped, the pleasure within becoming unbearable. It grew, and grew. Dr Tovey pushed suddenly against her, his two fingers churning against each other deep within her. Lucy bucked, then climaxed, her whole body clenching around the fingers within her which teased and rubbed and drove her to orgasm. She writhed in the bath, sending mini foam-flecked tsunami splashing up against the tiles, coming noisily as Dr Tovey gazed down upon her with a tolerant expression of satisfaction. He continued to masturbate her until she was replete, the last spasms of pleasure jerkily working their way from her body. Tactfully he withdrew his fingers and stood up, and Lucy lay back in the bath, her cheeks flushed and breath quick.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘does that feel better?’
Lucy nodded dreamily. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her eyes still closed. ‘I feel much better now.’
‘Good,’ said Dr Tovey.
He turned and washed his hands at the basin, as Lucy stretched like a cat amidst the ruined islands of bubbles. She tingled all over, feeling the delightful aftermath of her orgasm warm her as the heat of the water subsided. Dr Tovey leaned against the doorframe and looked at her, and it was then that her sense of propriety returned, and she suddenly became very conscious that she was naked. Pointlessly, she made a half-hearted effort to cover herself.
Dr Tovey chuckled. ‘I think you should get dressed now, don’t you?’ he said. ‘I’ll get your clothes.’
With that he left the bathroom, and the water felt suddenly cool and unwelcoming. Lucy shivered and climbed out of the bath to dry herself on one of Dr Tovey’s towels, wrapping it around herself when she was done.
Padding barefoot into the hall she could see no sign of him, but noticed that he had discreetly left her clothes folded in a pile on the bed. She entered the room, closed the door behind her and hastily pulled on her dress and knickers from the night before. She then sat on the bed in something of a muddle. It had happened again. In fact, it seemed that every time she made a decision to halt the succession of sexual encounters she was presented with, a new one would come along and she would acquiesce to the most appalling indignities.
The effects of her arousal now dispersed, she silently cursed herself for letting Dr Tovey take advantage once again. But what she couldn’t understand was how easily she was led into submission, so, for the second time in two days she firmly resolved not to have anything more to do with the bizarre world of outlandish behaviour she had wandered into, and she vowed to leave the apartment straightaway and never see Miss Martin or speak to Dr Tovey again. She could put her first failure to resist down to the vodka, she reasoned. While she stayed sober there was no chance of her submitting to Miss Martin’s strict demands, or to Dr Tovey’s punitive attentions. She was, after all, an educated young woman with a bright future ahead of her. How ridiculous to engage in spanking games at her age, to be chastised on her bare bottom for the most trivial of offences, to be bent over desks and fondled in baths by a man old enough to be her father...
Lucy snapped out of her reverie. She was becoming obsessed, and it had to stop. Slipping on her shoes, she stood up with a new resolve. She went out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, determined to tell Dr Tovey bluntly that she had made a mistake and there would be no more shenanigans in his study after hours.
But he wasn’t there. Looking around, Lucy’s gaze alighted on a note lying on the table, so she picked it up and read:
Dear Lucy,
Please forgive me, had to rush. Do let yourself out. Pass on my regards to Miss Martin when you see her.
Dr Tovey.
Frustrated, Lucy screwed it up and threw it away. She then made the bed, had a glass of water, and collected her things. Leaving by the front door she walked into a blaze of fresh spring sun, her dress fluttering cheerily in the breeze.
The following week was rather strange. For the remainder of the weekend Lucy felt lethargic and heavy limbed. She didn’t feel like practising her music, and sat instead in her bedroom in halls and read aimlessly. She found her studies, as ever, tedious and impenetrable, and her disappointment with Philosophy was not diminished even a little on returning to the world of work.
The weather was splendid; a series of wild, cold, blue days which immediately banished memories of the frigid winter and sent the students scurrying out to sit on the grass and smoke. This had the advantage of giving Lucy plenty of time to herself, which was just what she wanted - she felt profoundly let down by her experiment with Miss Martin and spent her time indoors, shunning the new sun and moping in the shadows. But this lack of direction did not last long, and by Sunday evening she had become bored of being bored. Being by herself was a wearisome burden, and she soon missed even the impersonal contact provided by her lectures.
Lucy’s three flatmates were never around during the day; they spent their time in the heady world of Exercise Sciences, which as far as Lucy could tell meant a rough division of time between the gym, swimming pool and sports bar. The only time she saw them in the flat was when they brought cheap bottles of wine back with them before a slavishly alcoholic night out, laughing raucously and slapping eyeliner onto lids already groaning under slabs of mascara.
She heard them plenty, though; her sleep was interrupted nearly every night by the shrieks and cries of one night stands; quick fucks which rocked the walls for a few minutes and then subsided, leaving Lucy wide-eyed and slow to drift back to sleep.
Her contempt for her companions was quite mutual, and the most she got out of them when their paths did cross was a kind of disdainful pity. This uneasy relationship served, of course, to make her lonelier than ever, and it occurred to her that the only time since she arrived at university when she had been completely able to forget about the petty domestic grind of hall life was that spent in the company of Miss Martin and Dr Tovey. At least then there had been something different, something new. But she had resolved to leave that behind, and each time thoughts of her mad excursion into deviancy entered her mind she put them away, cross with herself for even contemplating such excesses.
By Monday
morning her bottom had lost the last faint sheen of pink from her two spankings. Before she went into the shower she stripped naked and inspected it, just to see if any marks lingered as shameful evidence of her activities. Alone in the flat except for her snoring companion in the adjacent room, she tarried for a while in front of the glass, turning around in the half light. She lightly ran a finger down her torso, watching the way the smooth pale skin dimpled against her touch. Lucy had never really studied her own body before, but in the golden haze of early daylight, diffused through drawn curtains, her flesh took on a soft rich lustre. Intrigued, she studied the curve of her outer thigh, the gentle descent of her tummy into the deep triangle of shadow between her legs, the sharply defined line of her breasts, firm yet tender. She was held rapt then, just like a female Narcissus before the water, never having realised before what a wonderful thing a body can be. Not before the weekend, at any rate.
She paused, recollecting her experience in the bath just two days earlier. Wrapping her dressing gown about her, she walked into the shower room at the end of the corridor, standing under the hot shards of spray as if she hoped to purify herself. But it was no good; elemental urges stirred within her, lean and hungry from hours of suppression. Hesitantly, fearfully, Lucy’s hands began to move over her body. Nervously, reluctantly, they crept down between her thighs, and she quickly lost herself in the familiar, guilty rhythm of clandestine relief.
Lucy’s decision to leave the world of music behind lasted until Wednesday, when she finally gave in to the inevitable. She had spent the morning in a lecture on Wittgenstein’s later philosophy, in which a doddering old professor with a stained tweed jacket and unspeakable brown shirt had attempted for two hours, without much success, to convey the finer points of the Philosophical Investigations to an unsympathetic audience. Lucy sat alone near the back, well-intentioned but soon lost in a labyrinth of arcane explanation. The most she was able to draw from the argument was that mental states are not private but public. That thought scared her, and she found herself looking around a little nervously; what if others knew what she had been thinking that week?
The Piano Teacher Page 8
