Lucy swallowed; Miss Martin sounded genuinely cross, as if a major taboo had been broken.
‘I have therefore decided that I will allow her to punish you,’ she added with an air of finality. ‘Jenny, run to the kitchen and get the wooden spoon.’
Jenny didn’t need to be told twice. With an almost audible excitement she trotted off down the hall to fetch her implement of discipline. Lucy couldn’t believe it - to be beaten by Jenny, of all people. It was too humiliating, for the maid was even younger than she was.
‘Please, miss,’ she pleaded, ‘don’t let Jenny do it. Can’t you punish me?’
Miss Martin gazed down on her with a tolerant expression. ‘It’s too late for that now, Lucy,’ she said amusedly. She stooped to her level then, her necklace grazing Lucy’s cheek, her perfume wafting around her.
‘You’d like me to punish you though, wouldn’t you?’ she whispered in her mellifluous, coaxing voice. ‘Should I spank you, Lucy? Would that be better?’
‘Yes,’ gasped Lucy. ‘Please - oh, would you?’
Miss Martin laughed and pulled away as Jenny trotted back in. ‘You’ll never guess what,’ she said gaily to her maid. ‘Lucy just asked me to spank her. What a strange girl she is!’
They both laughed and Lucy blushed crimson. They were playing with her, as if she was their pet. She ground her fingers against the varnish of the desk; she would remember her humiliation, and Jenny would regret her gloating.
‘Now, Jenny,’ said Miss Martin, suddenly serious again. ‘I am going to let you punish Lucy for not wearing her proper panties. You may use the wooden spoon to spank her twelve times. Then you must stop. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, mistress,’ said Jenny, not bothering overmuch to hide her eager anticipation.
‘Very good,’ said Miss Martin. ‘Lucy, you will take off those little knickers of yours and stand in the middle of the room.’
Lucy looked up, a pleading expression on her face, but it was no good. Miss Martin stood over her, her arms folded across her bosom and her long legs slightly apart. There was no arguing. Slowly, grudgingly, and with her ears on fire from blushing, Lucy got up and walked to the middle of the room, from where she shot one last despairing glance at Miss Martin.
‘Lucy, if you will not do as you are told I shall let Jenny spank you for twice as long,’ she said wearily. ‘Now get those knickers off!’
Jolted by her sudden anger, Lucy did as she was told, sliding her knickers down and holding them in her hand.
‘Now put them in your mouth,’ ordered Miss Martin.
‘My mouth?’ said Lucy, incredulous, forgetting to use her usual honorific.
Miss Martin turned to Jenny. ‘You may spank her six more times for that,’ she said calmly, and then turned back to Lucy. ‘If your panties were clean enough for you to wear to my lesson they’re clean enough to eat - now get them in your mouth and bend over!’
There was no escape. Whatever resistance she showed would only end in more punishment, and from Jenny at that. Reluctantly she fed her knickers into her mouth, trying not to taste the evidence of her arousal. Shamefully, she turned to face the piano and bent over, her bare bottom exposed.
‘Now move your feet apart and grip your ankles,’ Miss Martin ordered.
Lucy did so, feeling the air waft between her naked thighs as she did so. Between her legs she could see Jenny sniggering at her upside-down, swiping the wooden spoon in anticipation. She knew she must have looked a ridiculous sight, bent right over for a thrashing, her used panties dangling out of her mouth and her skirt tucked up to reveal all.
‘Very pretty,’ murmured Miss Martin appreciatively. Then she turned to Jenny with a serious expression. ‘You may spank Lucy eighteen times on her bottom with the spoon. Begin when ready.’
Jenny did not hesitate. She strode up quickly, drew the spoon back and whipped her hard on her buttocks.
‘Mmmph!’ cried Lucy, her knickers muffling her surprise and pain. She rocked forward a little to avoid tumbling over, gripping her ankles until her knuckles whitened. Her left buttock smarted immediately, sporting a great red mark left by the spoon as it bounced off her tender flesh.
‘Good,’ mused Miss Martin. ‘Try the right cheek, now.’
Jenny swung again, her spoon landing with a great slap on Lucy’s posterior, causing another muffled exclamation and stumbling attempt to stay in position. Lucy’s bottom stung from the impact of the bowl of the spoon, two red areas now gracing her creamy backside. She felt the first tears well in her eyes. Jenny spanked her again, and then again, each time striking the target with greater accuracy and cruelty. Miss Martin stood aloof, occasionally offering advice or encouragement to her maid.
‘That’s it,’ she said after Lucy let out her twelfth stifled cry. ‘You’re really getting the hang of it, Jenny. Perhaps you should aim a little lower - Lucy’s bottom looks a little pale there.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ Jenny concurred, pausing for a minute to admire her handiwork.
Between her trembling legs, Lucy observed all of this through tear-gilded eyes. They were mocking her, spanking her as if she were merely a toy. The heat from her bottom had now begun to spread outwards, the scented air circling around her displayed womanhood, cruelly offering a piquant remedy for her pain. So there had now been twelve strokes given, and she knew she had to endure six more. She gritted her teeth against the cotton of her underwear, determined to take her chastisement. There could be no capitulation, not with Jenny present.
Without warning, Jenny suddenly smacked her viciously with a flick of her wrist. The pain was more intense, causing her to take three comical steps forward to stay in position.
‘Step back, Lucy,’ Miss Martin warned sharply.
Lucy shuffled back to take the rest of her punishment, her bottom held high.
The spoon fell again, this time with yet more force. She desperately wanted to right herself to rub her stinging bottom, but she grimly stayed bent over, clasping her ankles as if her life depended on it. Suddenly the spoon flew cruelly upwards between her parted legs, whipping at her most tender parts.
‘Ow!’ she wailed, her knickers dropping from her mouth. Her hindquarters felt like they had been invaded by a hoard of bees, her reddened flesh throbbing with soreness.
‘Lucy!’ snapped Miss Martin. ‘Pick those up at once! Keep your hands where they are!’
Lucy thought she was going to break into sobs at the humiliation then, but she held herself together. Slowly, she attempted to drop her mouth to the carpet to retrieve her panties, but it was no good - she couldn’t stay upright. Reluctantly, sensing Miss Martin’s impatience and Jenny’s eagerness to see her in deeper water, Lucy dropped to her knees and picked up her knickers in her teeth. With her hands still grasping her ankles, her awkward position left her bottom high in the air, her spread thighs exposing her completely to the attentions of the vengeful maid.
‘How charming,’ remarked Miss Martin, observing her splayed pupil. ‘Lucy, you will stay in that position for the remainder of your spanking. Jenny, you may carry on.’
Lucy groaned through her panties, resigned to her indignity. There were four to go. Jenny had to stoop a little, but she set about the task with relish. Bracing herself over Lucy’s prone figure, Jenny beat her cruelly on her upturned bottom with the spoon, eliciting stifled cries and squeals from the carpet below. Lucy, her face buried in the fragrant softness of the floor, screwed her eyes tight and bravely took the rest of her spoon spanking, chewing her panties from the pain as each swipe struck her naked flesh.
And then, after what seemed an age, it was over.
‘That is enough, Jenny,’ said Miss Martin as the last blow fell. ‘You may go back to your chores now.’
Jenny grudgingly turned from her sport, hesitated for a moment, and then assented. ‘Yes, mistress,’ she
said, sounding grateful for her afternoon’s entertainment. ‘Thank you, mistress.’
And then she went, turning at the door to gaze with mocking eyes at the spanked figure grovelling on the floor.
When she had gone, Miss Martin sat down on her chair and sighed a little. ‘Poor Lucy,’ she purred. ‘Why don’t you come here?’
Shakily, sniffing back her tears of humiliation, Lucy clambered to her knees and shuffled over to Miss Martin. The music mistress took her head in her lap and stroked her hair kindly. At the touch of her fingers, Lucy broke down and let free hot, cathartic tears of release. Miss Martin held her in her lap, whispered soothing words and caressing her gently. After a while Lucy resumed control, sniffing back the last tears.
‘Now, now,’ commiserated Miss Martin. ‘I’m sure Jenny punished you harshly, but it’s all over now.’
‘Yes, miss,’ whispered Lucy into her lap, her naked bottom burning.
Miss Martin smiled. ‘Lucy, why don’t you go over to my desk?’ she said. ‘There’s some lotion in the drawer on the right. Perhaps it might soothe your discomfort.’
Lucy moaned a little, the very idea sending shivers of pleasure through her. ‘Yes, miss,’ she said weakly, and gingerly got up.
Her skirt still riding high, her knickers a tiny bundle on the floor, she delicately went over to the desk and opened the drawer. Inside were some papers, an inkbottle, the ruler she had suffered under the previous week, and a jar of cold cream. She took the jar and presented it to her mistress.
Miss Martin smiled at her in her habitual curious fashion - part cosy, part vicious.
‘Now, let’s see what we can do to make you feel better,’ she said coaxingly, gesturing towards her knees.
Slowly, both excited and repelled by what she was doing, Lucy swallowed her pride and lay across Miss Martin’s lap, supported by her hands on the floor. She bit her lip, waiting for the first touch. Miss Martin unscrewed the lid of the jar in a leisurely fashion, gazing fondly down at the spanked bottom glowing back at her. Equally slowly, with a deliberation both teasing and cruel, she massaged a little of the cream between her fingers. Then, as Lucy’s frustration neared breaking point, she began to apply it to her errant pupil.
The first touch was heavenly, the cool cream sinking into her sore behind and easing the hurt into warmth. Lucy let out a sigh of pleasure, and gave her bottom a contented wriggle on her mistress’s lap. Miss Martin laughed.
‘You like that, Lucy?’ she asked gaily.
‘Oh yes, miss,’ Lucy said dreamily, revelling as her buttocks were subtly massaged. Miss Martin’s expert fingers smoothed her sore flesh gently, sending a blissful sense of calm flooding through her.
‘That’s it, you see,’ Miss Martin murmured. ‘First the pain, then the pleasure. It’s all the same. You’ll get used to it.’
Lucy hardly listened to her words, but drifted into a reverie of delight, lying under the roving hands of her mistress. The only sounds she made were little sighs and grunts of pleasure as Miss Martin’s fingers probed and circled her punished behind. She could feel herself becoming lighter than air, floating like a leaf under the auspices of her terrible, wonderful tormentor. Miss Martin began to rub her more vigorously, making Lucy shiver from the sensation.
‘Your playing is improved,’ Miss Martin said then, slipping her healing hands all over Lucy’s upper thighs. ‘I think you shall respond to tuition well. There is much for you still to learn, of course; today has only been the beginning of your instruction.’
Lucy pricked her ears up at that. The beginning? Did she mean the music, or the punishment? But she couldn’t concentrate for long, so overwhelming was her soporific pleasure, so she merely breathed acknowledgment, drifting on a tide of delight as her hindquarters were caressed and soothed.
‘What do you think you have learned today?’ asked Miss Martin airily, letting her forefinger slip lightly between the firm mounds of Lucy’s buttocks.
‘Ah...’ gasped Lucy, ‘I - I have learned to wear my proper clothes, miss.’
The finger teased, worming suggestively against the cleavage between the tops of her legs, before resuming its circling soothing of her bottom.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Miss Martin, tutting a little. ‘You were very bad in that respect. But what else?’
Lucy wracked her brain. What did she mean? She certainly hadn’t picked up any better musical habits. She thought for a while, but Miss Martin’s attentions distracted her. She felt so naïve, so inferior, so subservient. Honesty, she decided, was the only policy.
‘I don’t know, miss,’ she confessed.
Miss Martin stopped toying with her, and leant down to whisper in her ear. ‘You have learned, Lucy dear,’ she said in her sibilant tone, ‘that Jenny is your enemy. She will be out to get you at every turn. Every mistake you make will profit her, every chance to see you punished she will exploit. You remember how much she enjoyed spanking you? You are the only person beneath her at this moment, her only chance to revel in the humiliation of another. She will compete with you for my favour, which will be at your expense. Do you understand what I am saying?’
Lucy nodded, her hair flopping over her eyes, suddenly realising the truth of what her mistress said. ‘What should I do?’ she asked faintly, wishing Miss Martin would resume her massaging.
Miss Martin laughed. ‘Why, Lucy,’ she said, ‘that is what you are here to learn.’
She gave her an almost friendly slap on the buttocks, clearly a sign for her to get up. Reluctantly, Lucy got to her feet.
‘You may put your knickers on and let down your skirt,’ said Miss Martin perfunctorily. ‘I think we’ve done enough for today.’
Grudgingly, her bottom still buzzing and her itch unfulfilled, Lucy pulled her panties back up and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. Her buttocks sung with soreness against the cotton, still damp with saliva. She collected her music and turned towards Miss Martin.
‘Thank you for my lesson,’ she said demurely, hoping not to have to leave.
‘Good girl,’ replied Miss Martin approvingly. ‘I think you’re really beginning to get somewhere now. But there’s much work to be done, of course.’
She caught Lucy’s eyes then with a dark, direct stare. ‘We have yet to explore all your possibilities, I think,’ she said with a crooked smile.
Lucy blushed, and looked away.
‘But enough,’ said Miss Martin, loftily turning back to her desk. ‘You may go now.’
Lucy turned and left the room slowly, her mind still full of questions and her body cruelly unsated. She slowly made her way to the fitting room. Jenny was nowhere to be seen, but Lucy could somehow sense her presence about the house. It was as if a door had been opened in her mind; Jenny was the enemy, the obstacle between her and the beloved Miss Martin. She had a competitor, a rival for the affections of her mistress, and it could not be borne. After Jenny’s punishment she had been given her reward, a satisfaction that Lucy keenly felt the need of. Their positions would have to change, she thought as she changed back into her normal attire.
Leaving the house and striding out into the sun, Lucy felt a new sense of purpose, a new direction to her studies. Above all, she knew she would be back the following week.
Lesson Three
Over the weekend the sky darkened and the fragile spring sun vanished behind thick dirty veils of grey. The gentle warmth and light of the pubescent season had cracked and dissipated almost as soon as it had arrived, and heavy clothes, drapes and duvets came out once again to ward against the seasonal chill.
Rain followed cold, confining students to bedrooms and bars unless forced out into the open like ants disturbed by an invasion of their subterranean dwellings. Pallid faces stared miserably out of rain-streaked windows in the libraries, pining for the Easter vacation and the quickly forgotten joys of fre
sh air and liberation.
Only Lucy, it seemed, was oblivious to the lowering of the light about her, buried as she was in her studies. A new mood had taken her, a kind of fierce determination, and she divided her time almost exclusively between sleeping, eating, lectures, and music practise. Of these it was the latter which consumed the greater part of her attention, and she feverishly rehearsed her material in a bid to make it perfect. The idea had seized her that only the best was good enough for Miss Martin, and it failed to loosen its hold over her imagination.
When Monday arrived her fingers were sore from the work she had put in, but still she was not satisfied. A fire burned within her, a resolution she had not known before her music tuition. Part of it was, of course, her desire to learn the music, to uncover the pearls of delight in the Mozart as it unravelled under her fingers, but there was more to it than that. Hardly daring to admit it to herself, Lucy half knew that the true object of her devotion was the muse-like figure of Miss Martin - implacable, unattainable, a goddess of Parnassus, cruel but unanswerably worshipful.
Even to the limited extent that such thoughts revealed themselves to Lucy at all, they were, surprisingly, something of a comfort to her. To have a purpose, a goal towards which to strive, set the miserable weather and demeanour of university life alive with an edge of exhilaration. There was something ineluctably outlandish about the way of life she had stumbled into, no doubt, but in that it provided her with a simple reason for living, an outlet for her creative urges, it was something Lucy found herself increasingly drawn to.
Not that she was altogether happy with the arcane demands made on her as a pupil at Miss Martin’s, and she still felt a shudder of fear and trepidation when the memory of her various chastisements returned, but there was a sense in which Miss Martin’s words to her at their last parting had made matters a little clearer. Jenny was her rival, the bridge she had to cross in order to gain the prize, which was the sole attention of her piano teacher. If she had stopped to think about it, it had been a short and sudden transition from her distrusting the domineering music mistress to the yearning for attention she now felt permeate her thinking. It was as if a switch in her psyche had been tripped, and a capacity there already for years had been pricked into life. And yet her transformation was not a full one, for most often she failed to understand, or even acknowledge, the growing alteration in her character. And so it was generally easier to ignore the urges that periodically thrust their demands upon her body, and to put them down to lapses in good sense and dismiss her escapades as aberrations.
The Piano Teacher Page 10
