The Piano Teacher

by Sophie Elliot

  Lucy watched meekly, sitting on the edge of the bed, her triumph with Hayley quite driven from her mind as she waited for instructions.

  Eventually, and with infinite care, Miss Martin finished her tasks, and moved close to Lucy. Standing before her, she fondly let a manicured finger graze her cheek. ‘Dear girl,’ she breathed, smiling at her fondly. Lucy didn’t know what to say, but the touch of her mistress was as overwhelming as ever. She shivered a little from the close contact, and half-closed her eyes. She had no idea why she had been brought up to the bedroom again, but in Miss Martin’s presence she was no longer capable of resisting anything.

  The piano teacher sat beside her, her fragrance drifting to Lucy’s nose, a captivating aroma. Miss Martin sighed, and placed her hands gently in her lap. ‘Lucy,’ she said, ‘do you know why you are here?’

  ‘No, miss,’ said Lucy, forgetting she had been asked to forget the customary honorifics.

  Miss Martin paused before speaking, collecting her words. ‘I have asked you here in order to propose something to you,’ she said, and without knowing why, Lucy thought her words tinged with a lingering sadness. ‘Over the last few weeks, Lucy,’ she went on, ‘scant as they have been, I have witnessed you grow beyond my wildest hopes. I took you on, at Dr Tovey’s suggestion, when you were a timid young lady, plagued by doubts and beset by an unfriendly world. I have seen you progress into someone willing to explore her submissive side, to relish the thrill of yielding to the will of another. I have seen that love of submission grow into a desire to please me, a longing to use your body and your music to serve a loftier cause. And recently, I have observed the first signs of what I saw in you from the very beginning, dormant as it was. I have seen the understanding of what a mistress is dawn in you. It gives me great comfort to know that you have reached the maturity and gained the wisdom to impart loving chastisement to others, to dominate them as others have dominated you.’

  As she listened, Lucy became shocked by her mistress’s words. ‘But miss,’ she started, ‘you think too highly of me. I could never be like you, not after a hundred years.’

  Miss Martin smiled sadly. ‘So I thought once,’ she said. ‘But things move on, and times change. You have a lot to learn, that is true, but when you tempered your punishment of Hayley with sensitivity, I knew that my hopes were not ill founded. You have experienced the full spectrum, from submission to total command, from humiliation to respect. What you have is rare, Lucy: the desire to learn and the application to succeed. Everyone remarks upon it, even Mr McLellan, who is the least sensitive to these things.’

  ‘So you are all working together,’ said Lucy, hoping all would be made clear to her. ‘I thought you must have been.’

  Miss Martin nodded. ‘As you have heard, we do belong to a society of similar minded people. It is a select group, formed to preserve the arts of discipline and sensual correction. Young ladies from all over the country partake of our services, for which the rewards are many. But there are members higher up than I, and no one knows everything about the workings of the whole. We are secretive, it is true, but in today’s climate of suspicion and banality it is wise to be.’

  ‘So where do I fit in?’ Lucy asked. ‘Dr Tovey has been making strange remarks, and I was hoping that things would become a little clearer.’

  ‘That’s right, Lucy,’ Miss Martin said. ‘The members of the society here have decided to introduce you to the circle in the hope that you might join us. Most of the dominants here are men, which is the way it should be, but there is need of a mistress, a woman who can give punishment as well as receive, and who can instruct new girls in our ways.’

  Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her, a dominant?

  ‘But what about you, miss?’ she said. ‘You’re more powerful and beautiful than I will ever be. What is the need for a new mistress?’

  Miss Martin looked towards the candle on the dressing table, watching the flickering light briefly. ‘Because I am going away, Lucy,’ she said simply. ‘I have to leave and attend to society business somewhere else. It has been my one remaining task here to find and initiate a successor. You are not ready yet, it is true, but you will be. And there are people who can help you - Dr Tovey, Mr Galsworthy, Mr McLellan. They will provide for your submissive needs, as well as giving you guidance in the ways of educating young females. If you choose to be, you can be the next piano teacher, the new music mistress.’

  Lucy felt slightly faint, as well as incredulous. Surely they could not expect her to take on Miss Martin’s role? It was ridiculous.

  ‘I - I don’t know what to say,’ she mumbled, confused yet breathlessly excited.

  Miss Martin smiled at her. ‘That’s fine, Lucy,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to say anything, yet. But you must ask yourself whether you would wish all the work we do in this house to cease when I leave, which it will. I shall have to send Jenny somewhere else, which would devastate her.’ She looked at Lucy with a knowing expression. ‘There are few lines of work which give Jenny what she really needs.’

  ‘So when are you going?’ asked Lucy, her head in a spin.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Miss Martin said definitely. ‘I’ll be gone by the evening. You have until then to make your decision.’

  Lucy shook her head in bewilderment. ‘But it’s all so sudden. I thought I had finally reached some sort of equilibrium.’

  ‘There’s only one thing stopping you taking over from me.’

  ‘What... what is it?’

  Miss Martin seemed to blush slightly. ‘You haven’t punished me yet,’ she said, her gaze lowering.

  Lucy couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Surely you don’t mean...’ she started, and then lapsed into silence. It was all too much to take in.

  Miss Martin sighed and crossed her legs with a seductive whisper of silk. ‘I know this must be difficult for you, my dear,’ she said. ‘You have spent so much time coming to terms with being devoted to me that the thought of taking control must seem ludicrous. When I had the chance to become a mistress, I thought the same thing at first. But it is a choice you must make: whether you return home to the life you had after I am gone, or whether you take up the offer to replace me. If you choose the latter course, you have one final hurdle to pass. You must prove yourself by overcoming your submission to me.’

  Lucy hardly knew what to think. The room seemed to swim before her eyes. Over the last couple of lessons she had realised that Miss Martin was the only stable thing in her life, and now that certainty was being taken away from her. She stood up and walked over to the dressing table, trying to think clearly.

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said, almost to herself. She looked back towards the bed. Miss Martin sat on the edge, her long dark gown falling like water about her slim figure. She was a goddess. She rose and stood before Lucy, her fragrance filling the air.

  ‘I understand how hard this is for you,’ she said softly. ‘It is a difficult choice. But you must make it - there is no middle way. Look over there.’

  The piano teacher motioned to a stool by the bed. Upon it rested a black whip; a thin handle joining a dozen or so strips of leather.

  ‘That will be the instrument of my punishment,’ she decreed, a catch of emotion in her voice. ‘You may choose to use it, in which case you will have taken on my mantle and become mistress of the house. Or you may leave now. But if you go, you may never return. It is your choice.’

  Lucy suddenly became angry at her mistress’s words. It was all very well telling her it was her choice, but it was an impossible one. To have to decide whether to bring down the woman who had taught her everything or whether to leave her new-found life of strange pleasures completely seemed the most unfair, arbitrary thing in the world. Lucy found herself torn terribly between two impossible poles.

  ‘It’s not fair!’ she snapped at her teacher. ‘You can’t do this
to me.’

  Miss Martin bowed her head. ‘Then all we have done for you has been in vain,’ she said sadly.

  At that, Lucy felt her anger well up and boil over. She felt betrayed and hurt, and knew then that there was only one way to release her frustration. She looked at Miss Martin, who seemed to taunt her then with her perfect beauty, and made up her mind in a flash.

  ‘Go and get the whip,’ she said, in a menacing tone.

  The music mistress looked at her steadily. ‘Are you sure?’ she said, not yet relinquishing her authority over the situation.

  ‘Don’t question me,’ Lucy warned, feeling her powers of command swell within. ‘Get the whip and bring it to me.’

  Miss Martin nodded her graceful head. ‘Yes, Miss Cavendish,’ she said.

  The whip was duly proffered, and the music mistress stood meekly before her pupil, hands clasped before her. Lucy felt no lessening of her anger. She would make Miss Martin pay for her betrayal.

  ‘I shall no longer refer to you as miss,’ said Lucy, imperiously, ‘since you seem no longer to deserve that title. What is your first name?’

  ‘Araminta, Miss Cavendish,’ said Miss Martin, her cheeks glowing.

  ‘Very well,’ snapped Lucy, flicking the whip against her thigh. ‘You will refer to me as mistress from now on, Araminta, and I don’t expect any lapses from you. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ said Miss Martin.

  Lucy could see from her awkwardness that this was the greatest of humiliations for her former teacher, and the knowledge served only to stiffen her resolve. ‘Now, you will remove your dress,’ she said, affecting a dispassionate air.

  Slowly, Miss Martin reached behind her and undid her dress. Her movements were suffused with an odd mixture of sadness and embarrassment. But there was something else there, hard to pin down. Was it excitement?

  In a moment the velvet gown was pooled about Miss Martin’s ankles, and her body was breathtaking. She was wearing black lingerie, her smooth hips framed by stockings and suspenders, her jewellery shimmering at her neck. She bent over modestly and placed her dress over a chair.

  ‘Now your underwear,’ said Lucy, mimicking the authoritative tones she had suffered under so often.

  Miss Martin hesitated slightly, loath to submit fully to Lucy’s will. ‘Take off your underwear, Araminta,’ snapped Lucy, cutting the whip through the air in warning, ‘or will I be forced to prolong your humiliation?’

  Miss Martin unhooked her brassiere, slipped it off, and placed it neatly over her dress. She then unclipped her stockings and rolled them down, placing each of them with her shoes under the chair. Then she removed her suspender belt, before pausing to regard Lucy with a pleading look.

  ‘And your knickers, Araminta,’ warned Lucy. ‘I want you completely naked.’

  Her cheeks aflame, Miss Martin pulled down her black knickers, and rested them on top of the neat pile of clothes. She then stood before Lucy, hands held behind her back, ankles together in the manner of a submissive.

  ‘Turn around,’ she ordered, and Miss Martin did as she was told. ‘Now face me again.’

  Lucy’s voice was crisp and harsh; a copy of Miss Martin’s habitual dialogue. In truth, though, Lucy experienced a ferment of emotions; Miss Martin naked was almost sacrilegious, a violation of the natural order of things. Lucy felt like some explorer of the past, stumbling across a new and forbidden vista, a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Miss Martin’s breasts were full and firm, the smooth sweep of pale skin culminating in two deep-coloured areolae, her nipples standing erect in the warm light of the candles. The flames’ light cast shifting shadows over her alabaster flesh, figures of light and dark playing across her perfect features. Her stomach was flat, a faint sheen of dusky down adding an exotic piquancy as it descended towards the dark juncture between her thighs. And there, nestling between the firm curves of her thighs, was the triangle of raven hair, glistening from arousal. Lucy found she could not take her eyes off her former mistress’s body, so perfect was the sight.

  Miss Martin stood patiently, her humiliation evident, her toned body shivering slightly. She was both light and dark, stunning and sensual, mistress and slave.

  Lucy moved closer, breathing in her familiar aroma of crushed flowers. ‘Look at you, Araminta,’ she whispered. ‘You are my plaything now. You are naked and ashamed, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  Lucy stroked her on the cheek, passing a fingertip over her lips, teasing her with the touch. ‘Now, what shall I do with you? I think I’ll whip you. I’ll make your humiliation complete. You will bend over and submit to your punishment like the naughty woman you are. Do it now.’

  With complete elegance and poise Miss Martin gracefully turned, and with the subtlety of a ballerina performing her exercises, bent from the waist to rest her palms on the edge of the bed, the sinews in her slender legs stretched taut.

  Lucy struggled to suppress a gasp of admiration as she surveyed her teacher’s exquisite derriere, then carefully reached out and ran a reverent finger over the perfect globes of flesh that were raised before her. Miss Martin’s bottom was as perfect as the rest of her; a smooth firm pair of ivory buttocks that curved like a swan’s breast into her flawless thighs, and between them lay the choicest jewel of all; her dark moist labia, glistening with desire.

  ‘Right then,’ Lucy said. ‘I am going to whip you now, Araminta. And to think that you ever aspired to be a mistress; you make a better slave, I think. Let me hear you say it - what are you?’

  ‘A slave, mistress,’ said Miss Martin, her voice muffled.

  Lucy felt a feral energy within her, and smiled at her teacher’s embarrassment. ‘Very good, Araminta,’ she said. ‘You are learning fast.’

  And with no more to be said she swatted Miss Martin on the buttocks with the whip. The leather strips dragged across her pale skin, leaving lines of pink where they had landed. The music teacher gasped and her head rose.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Lucy, inspecting the stripes she had made. ‘You mark well.’

  Then she whipped her again, drawing the whip back the other way, flogging her mistress’s bottom quickly and accurately. Soon the whip was striking freely, Miss Martin’s bottom bucking and swaying as the cruel thongs bit into her flesh. It was an odd role reversal, but one that Lucy found herself enjoying more and more. She whipped her teacher harder and harder, flicking the tips of the leather up between her legs, and flogging cruelly at her thighs. Soon Miss Martin’s hindquarters were criss-crossed with red welts, her whole bottom an angry pink from the lashing. The piano teacher began to pant heavily as Lucy flogged her, her statuesque body writhing under the onslaught. Lucy found herself more turned-on than she could remember being, the perversity of humiliating her teacher sinking home. She started to relish the fierce sound of the whip, both sweeping potently through the air and then striking vulnerable, quivering flesh.

  For her part, Miss Martin did all she could to stay in position, her smooth skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration. Lucy swept the whip wide, letting the thongs curl around her mistress’s legs like tongues, enjoying the tight crack of sound as they cruelly slapped against her flesh. She whipped her again and again, remembering her own humiliation under the crop, until Miss Martin was crying out for clemency.

  ‘Please,’ she panted as the whip fell again, ‘please stop!’

  But Lucy was enjoying being in control too much. ‘Are you not enjoying it, Araminta?’ she goaded. ‘Is this not what you wanted?’

  Miss Martin gasped as the whip flicked against her legs, her muscles straining, and then a thought occurred to Lucy, and the punishment stopped.

  ‘Stand up,’ she ordered.

  Shakily, Miss Martin straightened, moving slowly and carefully, her proud posture undiminished. Her hair, usually so perfect, was di
shevelled, although she still retained her unique beauty. As she turned around, Lucy once more admired her body.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough for now,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think me cruel or heartless.’

  ‘Thank you, mistress,’ said Miss Martin, clearly relieved.

  Lucy frowned at her. ‘Not that your punishment is over,’ she said. ‘Get down on your knees.’

  Obediently Miss Martin sank onto all fours, awaiting further instructions.

  Lucy then sat on the edge of the bed, sliding her knickers off and seductively easing her dress up to her knees. ‘I seem to remember you making me service Jenny not so long ago - when you still had the power to, that is,’ Lucy said, a note of sarcasm in her voice. ‘Now you will do the same. Crawl here and pleasure me with your tongue.’

  Miss Martin hesitated, but then seemed to realise she had no choice, so she shuffled on all fours between Lucy’s legs, and nuzzled her head between her thighs.

  ‘Very good,’ Lucy purred, relaxing and nudging her teacher’s face closer. ‘Now please me...’

  Lucy felt the first tentative touch of her mistress’s tongue against her pussy. She gasped and squeezed with her thighs, clamping Miss Martin between them. She laid back on her elbows in bliss, sighed, and idly flicked at Miss Martin’s buttocks with the whip, her control immediately beginning to ebb. Already the tides of orgasm were fast approaching. She ground her hips, wanting desperately to come in her mistress’s face. And then she collapsed into the enveloping mattress, waves of sheer pleasure drowning her, her body slick with perspiration, the spasms of orgasm rippling within her.

  Lucy closed her eyes dreamily, her breasts rising and falling as her breathing gradually slowed. It was over. The final test was over. And she had passed.

  Jenny turned to Lucy, a look of amazement on her face. Behind her the candles flickered, the great old piano a comforting presence in the dark.