His free hand reached out to touch her with a swiftness that gave her no time to pull back. And he didn’t just touch her, he reached into her silk blouse, slipping part of his arm up it like a snake that bit her painfully on the nipple. She squealed just like a mouse, stunned by the abruptness of such an intimate touch. He pinched her nipple, then he spread his hand over her breast and massaged it, taking its measure before cupping it and weigh it gently in his palm. ‘Are you quite comfortable now, Anna?’ he asked softly, leaning forward slightly so he was almost speaking directly into her ear.
She let herself lean against his dark suit, and closed her eyes. If she didn’t look, she didn’t have to see that his hand was in her shirt, and she could try not to think about the fact he was pulling on her other nipple now, sending oddly delicious shivers down her spine to her virgin pussy. She had never been touched like this by anyone except herself, and she had never touched herself quite like this...
‘Bend over,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ Anna’s eyes opened, but she was surely dreaming.
‘You seem a little hard of hearing,’ he remarked, ‘a dangerous thing for a musician. Assume the position you took just now when you were, very fetchingly, fetching your violin for me. Reach down and touch your toes.’
Even though it made no sense, this was a command Anna could understand, so she bent forward and touched her toes. It put her in a humiliating position, no question about that, and the blood rushed to her head as she realised what part of her he now had every opportunity to inspect leisurely, to his heart’s content. And then, to her astonishment, she heard the sound of a violin, not of a violin being played, but of a violin swinging through space. A little jangle rose from its strings as they displaced the air.
‘Yes, not a bad instrument, the Carlson, but you really do deserve better if you’re going to be my student. Do you want to be my student, Anna? That’s what the award pays for, you see, my personal instruction.’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ Anna whimpered between her knees as she gripped her ankles.
‘Good girl,’ the judge said. ‘Hold still now. Just six strokes should do it, I think.’
‘Six strokes?’
‘Punishment for attempting to manipulate the judge of a national competition with your attire,’ he explained. ‘Your bottom needs a bit of an education before you can progress with your training. Hold tight to your ankles.’ He swung the violin back down, and smacked her buttocks with it just hard enough for it to seriously hurt, the polished wood making a sharp sound as it connected with her smooth young cheeks. Then he lifted the instrument again, and brought it down a little harder on the bottom half of her delicate rounds, which quivered deliciously beneath the impact. His second blow truly hurt, and seemed to clear her mind as she suddenly realised in disbelief that she was bent over, nearly naked, on the stage of Wigmore Hall with her bum in the air for anyone, and everyone, to see, getting spanked, slowly and methodically with her own violin. And it hurt! Then there was a terrible splintering sound, the unmistakable sound of the delicate box she had played on for the last ten years beginning to give way. The wood, after all, was much less resilient than her soft and yielding bottom. It was the fourth stroke that cracked the instrument. She bit her lip and held on tight, but the fifth blow made her cry out despite herself, and her breathless scream echoed through Wigmore Hall.
‘One more,’ her judge and future teacher said. ‘Be a good girl, or you will not get what is coming to you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The last stroke fell, and the body of the violin broke away from the neck altogether as the box caved in against Anna’s buttocks. It fell to the stage with a hopeless clatter, leaving the neck in his hand. He tossed it away as Anna straightened up, putting one protective hand over her pussy again while with the other she caressed the burning cheeks of her bottom. She froze when she saw the great erection thrusting out of his open black trousers like an obscene conductor’s wand. His penis was astonishingly white against his dark suit, and she wondered if all cocks were as pale and hard as ivory, except for its head, which was such a lovely purple colour it made her think of a big, juicy grape ready to burst.
‘What do I have to do now, sir?’ she heard herself ask.
‘Do you want to be my student, Anna?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered without hesitation, unable to take her eyes off his magnificent male instrument.
‘On your knees then, my girl,’ her teacher said.
She sank to her knees, it was easy since they felt so strangely weak, and looked up at his face expectantly.
‘Kiss it,’ he said. ‘You have to learn how to love an instrument before you can handle a good one. Kiss it as you would kiss a beautiful violin.’
She wet her lips with her tongue as she reached out and touched the head of the stiff penis before her with the tip of her finger. It was warm, and tender. She was pleasantly surprised, because his pale shaft had looked so cold and hard. She opened her mouth, which also came naturally since she was already gaping in wonder at the sight before her, and stuck out her pink tongue to give the tip of the judge’s prick a tentative little lick. He tasted sweet, like he had bathed in honey-water, and then it just seemed natural to wrap her soft lips around his whole head. She heard him groan above her, and strangely inspired by the sound he made, she rose a little higher on her knees and slipped his whole cock into her mouth.
He fucked her virginal orifice as though it had taken dozens of dicks before, making her moan anxiously as he kept stroking his helmet with the back of her throat and threatening to choke her. Then he pulled out of her abruptly, and even though it was a relief to be able to catch her breath, part of her was inexplicably disappointed.
‘Lie on the floor,’ he said harshly, ‘on your stomach next to your broken violin.’
She did as he told her without question.
He took off his suit jacket, wrapped it around her discarded skirt, and then shoved them both under her tummy. ‘Push your bottom up,’ he commanded, and she did as he said as he sank to his knees behind her. ‘This is your first lesson, Anna.’
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She would never have dreamed that her first time with a man he would completely ignore her pussy and make her give him her rear hole instead.
‘Thrust your bottom back,’ he said again, and she did, she thrust her bottom back towards him and let one of his skilled violinist’s fingers find her clenched little hole. It felt wet, and she knew he must have licked his finger before he put it in her. Groaning, she found herself thrusting her cheeks back at him as his finger worked between them, making the tight passage between them feel warm and slick, although it was nowhere near as hot and wet as her pussy.
And then his long hard cock entered her. She felt his head pushing against her reluctantly puckered opening, and then he was in. With a hard thrust he breached her sphincter, and his whole shaft slid into her body through her back passage. She groaned in pain and disbelief as he buried his entire erection in her petite bottom, and it felt even worse when he started moving in and out of her, his hips rocking back and forth, back and forth relentlessly. And yet through the initial blaze of torment, she became aware of another sensation brewing in her smouldering pussy. She was lying nearly naked on centre stage in Wigmore Hall, and the idea of what was happening to her, merging with all these new and intense sensations, began to get the better of her... she felt the veins in her body tightening like strings, and she began climaxing under the penetratingly hot lights. She cried out as she came with a strange man’s cock pulsing in her rectum, and as she felt him pull his fleshy bow out from between her mysteriously vibrating cheeks, she breathlessly found herself hoping he would let her play for him every night.
The Second Seed
‘Lift up your skirt.’ The usually smooth old voice sounded harsh and commandingly sharp. Madame Stryker smoothed away a stray lock of white hair
that had escaped the severe bun perched on top of her head, accentuating her high cheekbones and broad forehead, as she surveyed the blonde girl standing before her in a short-sleeved white shirt and a crisp pleated tennis skirt.
The girl was Valerie D’Ambois. She was lovely, and she had all the makings of a star. Valeria possessed grace, magnetism and skill, and somehow her gorgeous thirty-six-D breasts did not hinder her movements on the tennis court. Valerie could be a star because people liked looking at her, men in particular, and Madame Stryker, like any truly good coach would, intended to teach Valerie who she was and everything she could be. ‘Lift your skirt, girl,’ she repeated impatiently. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
‘But...’
‘What is it, girl?’ the older woman demanded fiercely. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
‘But I won!’ Valerie exclaimed, in a soft but nevertheless defiant voice.
‘Yes, you won,’ her teacher responded just as quietly. ‘Of course you won. My pupils always win. But how did you win?’
‘My... my serve,’ the blonde girl answered, biting her lip as she realised what was coming.
‘Exactly, your serve.’ The older woman’s voice rose slightly. ‘Your serve! And what am I always telling you that you must learn to have?’
‘A stride.’ Valerie looked down at her tennis shoes.
‘A stride to catch the other girl’s serve and to bring her down,’ Madame Stryker added, breathing hard now. ‘And have you learned that?’
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ Valerie muttered.
‘Lift up your skirt!’
‘Not when I’ve just won.’
‘I’ll tell you when you’ve won,’ her coach snapped. ‘Now show me your bottom.’
Knowing there was nothing else for it, the lovely girl turned around obediently and lifted the short, crisply ironed pleats of her skirt to reveal her perfect pair of cheeks. They were firm but also beautifully full, and right now they were nestled comfortably inside a pair of tight white athletic panties.
‘Stick your bottom out,’ Madame Stryker commanded.
Valerie complied. She was gritting her teeth, but she complied. At least Madame Stryker had waited until the other girl left before doing this. Valerie knew her teacher enjoyed disciplining students in front of each other ‘for the general education of all’, as she was wont to say.
‘Now bend over, girl.’
Valerie cursed silently, but did as she was told. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but the old bat was obviously in a tizzy.
‘Down with your panties, and take them off completely. Don’t leave them around your ankles. I want you bare.’ Madame Stryker spat out her instructions with relish.
Valerie bit her lip again in anticipation, and fear. This was going to be the whole works, and she felt the usual blush warm her face as she reached back, her head more or less parallel with her knees, and pulled down her tight white cotton panties, exposing the taut cheeks of her bottom as she slid them down her slender legs.
Madame Stryker feasted her eyes on the displayed buttocks. They were deliciously round and relaxed, not anxiously clenched; the girl did not yet fear the punishment coming to her. Her blonde bush was just visible above the tender lips of her sex, and also visible was the little rosebud of her anus, which Madame Stryker considered her own personal prize. She knew once she had the girl properly trained that she would perform on the court just as she wanted her to. But Rome was not built in a day, nor was a girl broken in a week. She reached out a hand and rested it lightly against her student’s cheeks. ‘What have we learned, Valerie?’ she asked.
‘To be faster on the court?’ the girl responded nervously, clinging to her ankles to hold her position.
‘We should learn to obey,’ Madame Stryker said, and lifting her hand, she brought it back down again fiercely across the girl’s left buttock.
‘Oh!’ Valerie cried. ‘I’m sorry, madam,’ she apologised at once.
‘You will pay a penalty,’ Madame Stryker decreed, and her hand came down again even harder on the girl’s right cheek.
This time Valerie kept quiet, biting her lip from the pain but knowing better than to straighten up and move away. The blows fell one by one, on this cheek, and then that cheek, slowly and regularly, which was how it hurt the most. And then the punishing hand hovered over her blazing cheeks again.
‘What have we learned, Valerie?’ the severe woman demanded.
‘To do as madame says,’ Valerie replied meekly and dutifully.
‘You have done well, dear girl.’ Madame Stryker’s fingers slipped between the cheeks of the girl’s bottom, and moved down to part the soft and silky lips nestled below.
‘Oh...’ the girl’s mouth fell open, and she moaned as Madame Stryker dipped her fingers into her hot young slot and manipulated her swollen clitoris until she couldn’t resist thrusting her hips back against the skilled old hand.
‘Do we know how to obey?’ Madame Stryker asked quietly.
‘Yes, madam, yes,’ Valerie sighed, and climaxed as madame flicked her clit swiftly back and forth with a long fingernail. An orgasm making her whole body shudder, she pressed her face against her knees as waves of pleasure crashed through her blood and made her cry out despite herself.
‘Today we are playing the full game,’ Madame Stryker announced. It was a week later and Valerie was in a tracksuit and running shoes. Beneath the suit she wore a tight vest with no bra, on the insistence of Madame Stryker, who liked to pull the girl’s tracksuit bottoms down and get straight to work on the vital matter of proper discipline. ‘You have heard me discuss,’ Madame Stryker began, ‘the difference between the male and the female game.’
Valerie nodded dumbly. She found this was the safest way to respond when madame was in a certain mood, and she was, more often than not, it had to be said, in a certain mood.
‘What is the difference between the male and the female game?’ madame demanded.
‘The masculine game is fuller?’ she muttered a guess, unable to remember what her coach had actually said about the two games.
‘Stupid girl!’ Madame Stryker snapped. She picked up one of the black crops she favoured for private training sessions with her more promising pupils, a hand-stitched leather riding crop with a tightly laced grip at the handle that sat as comfortably in her hand as a conductor’s baton. ‘What is the difference between the male and female game?’ she asked again slowly, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
Thankfully, the answer came swimming out of Valerie’s memory. ‘Women play the game to be filled,’ she replied hastily. ‘Men play the game to be emptied.’ She smiled, proud of herself.
‘Well done,’ madame said, just a little sarcastically. ‘And do you know what this saying means?’
‘Um... no,’ Valerie admitted, and now she knew it was going to be one of those days. This time, her relentless coach was really going to give her the works, she could feel it.
‘Today, I wanted to show you what the male game is like,’ Madame Stryker informed her, ‘but I can see that won’t be possible. I will have to find another teacher for you, and you can go study with him from now on. What I can teach you will no longer do.’
Valerie’s mind reeled from the implication of these words. ‘You mean...?’
‘Yes,’ madame said firmly. ‘If what I said has meant nothing to you, if after all this time you haven’t a clue what I was trying to tell you, then you had best get yourself a male teacher, and he perhaps can show you. I can do no more for you.’
‘But madam...’ Valerie’s voice caught on a sob. She could not believe her esteemed coach and teacher, to whom she was utterly devoted, was just casually dismissing her like this, as though there were no personal feelings between them at all.
‘What is it, my girl?’ Madame Stryker asked.
‘I - I don’t want
to leave my teacher.’ Valerie was appalled to find herself on the verge of tears. She had never felt so upset, not even after losing an important match.
‘Then tell me what it means to you to be filled,’ madame urged.
Valerie glanced back at her in confusion, tears shining in her lovely, candid eyes. All she could think about was that her teacher was coldly dismissing her. ‘What do you mean, madam?’
‘You have a boyfriend, don’t you?’ the older woman demanded. ‘His name is Lorain, I believe?’
Valerie’s face went crimson with embarrassment. Could she possibly mean...?
‘Don’t you get filled up by him, Valerie?’
‘I... I don’t know what you mean, madam,’ she replied shyly.
‘Do you want me to teach you what I mean, Valerie?’
‘P-please, madam.’ Anything was better than being sent away by her beloved teacher to continue her training with a complete stranger.
‘Then take off your tracksuit bottoms,’ Madame Stryker commanded briskly, ‘as well as your top and your vest. I want you in just your shoes and socks.’
Valerie began to obey at once.
‘You haven’t had his cock?’ Madame Stryker demanded again as she watched the young woman slip her tracksuit bottoms down her legs, her old eyes on the sweet blonde bush that bloomed into view.
‘No, madam.’ Valerie’s cheeks blushed red as blood oranges, and her pert little nose turned pink beneath her freckles. ‘I just let him... I just let him touch me,’ she confessed in a barely audible voice.
‘He probably contents himself with your beautiful breasts, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes... but sometimes he... he touches me... down there.’ She pulled off her vest and her magnificent bosom sprung into view. Her nipples were erect; she was enjoying being forced to tell madame all her secrets.
‘Do you want a male teacher, Valerie?’ madame asked the girl who was now standing naked before her except for her tennis shoes and socks, her hands crossed demurely between her thighs.
School for Nurses Page 19
