The Piano Lesson

Lorraine watched with satisfaction as Scrunch and the girls left the room, slamming the door as well as they could behind them, but the door fit too well and the hinges were hydraulically damped.

She and Andy stood there unmoving for several long, silent moments, then he turned on her.

"Damn it! Why did you?"

"Hush!"

Her word was like a slap. It stopped him cold, shocking him, but he soon picked up the attack again.

"No! I want to know why!"

"Hush, now!" She turned on him and he clamped his mouth shut, startled.

"Did you tell them you were going to get rid of me? Was that your plan?"

He looked away from her, unable to meet her gaze as Lorraine's eyes bored into him. He tried to face her, but it was as if he couldn't lift his head. He stood there shamefaced.

She turned and went to the gym bag and reached inside, pulled out a random handful of stuff—cuffs and chains and a whip—and threw it on the carpet. It was all new. It scattered and clanked at his feet.

"And what's this? Is this something new for you, Andy? Is this one of those things that you're 'into' now?"

"It's none of your business," he said softly.

"Do you even know anything about this, Andy?"

"I said, it's none of your business."

"No, maybe not. But thinking you can get rid of me just by telling me to leave, making a mockery of me in front of your friends, that is my business, Andrew. I just wonder what gave you the idea you had that kind of authority? What side of the whip are you on when you play your little games, Andrew? Do you even know?"

He looked at her with sudden fear, then cast his eyes down quickly and clenched his teeth in resistance.

She was swept with a sudden wave of compassion for him, for his innocence and naiveté, and yet inside that compassion there was a rising excitement too, as when a predator scents a bleeding wound.

"Sit down," she said, indicating the piano bench. "We're not done with your lesson."

"No. I told you, I quit."

"I said, sit down, Andrew. You can't quit without notifying me. You have to complete this last lesson. Now sit down."

With a stubborn pout on his face, he sat at the bench.

"I haven't practiced," he said stubbornly.

"Oh, but you have. You told me you have. Play 'Heart and Soul'. Play what you know."

He looked like he was about to resist, but Lorraine stood up behind him and tapped her umbrella on the floor, and the old routine of teacher and student reasserted itself. Andy lifted his hands and began to play the bass part he'd been playing earlier, the childish, oompah left-right that all non-pianists learn, the part both of them had heard a million times. He was a capable pianist, but despite its dreary simplicity, he was nervous, and as Lorraine tapped out the beat with her umbrella, he stumbled and got lost and quickly gave up in embarrassment.

"That's terrible," she said. "You can't even play this idiotic bass part? You've been playing piano for eight years and you can't play this? You're just incredibly awful."

"Shut up. I was nervous."

He started in again and she immediately stopped him.

"Wrong tempo," she said. "Take it slower. It'll be easier for you."

"Leave me alone. I know what I'm doing."

But he didn't, and he screwed up again. He swore, and made as if to leave, but Lorraine glared at him. Turning back to the piano, he started again, only this time an octave too low, and now he was really flustered.

"God! What's wrong with me?"

"You're awful, Andrew. You're completely incompetent. That's what's wrong. It's not just your technique, it's your basic musicianship. You haven't any. I don't know what I've been wasting my time for. You're a hack, a mediocrity. No, worse than a mediocrity. You're a total non-talent. An anti-talent. Worthless!"

"Shut up," he said. "Shut up!"

He put his hands on the keyboard and played two notes and stopped. Played them again and stopped. He was completely disoriented now and he moved his hands on the keyboard, as if looking for a note that didn't exist.

Lorraine sat down on the chair beside the piano and studied him. "You really are incompetent, aren't you?" she asked. "You're totally worthless, Andrew. You can't even find low C on the piano. A child can do it and you can't. How terrible for you. How humiliating."

"You make me nervous. I got flustered."

"Flustered? Like a little girl?" She reached out with a boot and snagged one of the whips on the floor—a riding crop—and she dragged it over to her chair. She bent over and picked it up.

"Flustered?"

"Why should you be flustered? Tell me." She took the whip and struck him on the backside.

Andy flinched when he was hit but didn't move. He took it as his due and his face reddened. He sat erect, staring at the keyboard.

"Did you really think you could get rid of me like that, Andrew? Just by telling me to leave? Do you really think you have that kind of power?"

He didn't answer. He was sitting at the keyboard with his hands on the wooden strip before the keys, his eyes closed, his face red.

"You don't, Andrew. I have the power here. I'm the one in control. Now try it again. I'll give you the tempo. One...two...three...four..."

With each beat she slapped him on the ass with the crop, and Andy sat there, his face red, not daring to move as two, three bars went by, then he picked up his hands and tried to start the song, but he was totally off the beat and he soon stumbled, the notes collapsing into a cacophony of broken rhythms.

"Stop, Lorraine ordered, slapping him hard on the ass. "It's obvious you're worthless. You're no good at all. You want to quit lessons just to save yourself from humiliation. I should have seen this before, Andrew. I should have seen this long before. Stand up."

"No," he said.

"Stand up, I said."

"No! I won't."

"Up!" She hit him firmly on the bottom and Andy got to his feet.

He stood reluctantly, his knuckles on the keyboard, and Lorraine saw at once what the problem was. The bulge in his pants was obvious, straining against the denim of his jeans. There was no mistaking it or his furious embarrassment. His face was almost crimson, his jaw set. Tears stood in his eyes.

"So," she said. "I should have known. I suspected as much. Stand up straight, Andrew. Shoulders back."

Andy closed his eyes and did as she said, putting his shoulders back and standing up ramrod straight, his hands at his sides, knees locked. The knot of his hard-on was even more obvious now, and Lorraine could almost see it throbbing with each beat of his heart as he fought to maintain composure over his body's humiliating betrayal.

She brought the crop up and traced the outline of his cock . When the end of the crop reached the head of his dick, Andy gave a small moan and his teeth dug into his lower lip, but he didn't resist, made no move to escape. His hands balled into fists.

"So this is why you've been such a problem these last few months, isn't it?" she asked. "You've discovered you enjoy being yelled at. You get off on being chastised and upbraided, and so you act like a naughty boy. You need discipline, Andrew. You need training and a firm hand, don't you? Is that what you need?"

He stood there, breathing deeply. "I don't know. I don't know what I need. If you say so. I don't know. Yes."

She stared at him for a moment, weighing her options.

"Stay where you are." Lorraine stood up and went to the door and locked it. She was conscious now of the roll of her hips under the snug skirt, the pressure of the turtleneck against her breasts. "Take your pants off, Andrew," she said walking back. "Take them off now. Your shorts too."

He looked at her with alarm.

"Don't look at me like that. Take them off before you come in them, boy. You look like you're about to shoot your load, and I'm warning you, if you do, I'll make you wish you'd never been born. Take them off and sit down at the piano. You're going to play for me, Andrew, without any pants on, and I'm going to whip your cock for every mistake you make."

He stood staring at her until Lorraine reared back and slashed the crop across his ass, bringing it down in a broad arc that made a fearful whooshing sound as it cut the air and landed on his jeans with a loud crack, snapping Andy out of his lethargy.

"Miss V.¾"

"Do it! Pants off! Shorts off!"

She grabbed his belt and Andy gasped, then quickly fumbled with the button on his jeans, unzipping them and letting them fall. They pooled around his ankles and before he could react, Lorraine pulled his blue shorts down, exposing his cock which stood out bent up from his body in an urgent arc, looking pink and ruddy where it poked out from between the tails of his blue shirt.

"Now sit down and play."

"Miss Vann, this is crazy! You can't do this!"

"Since when do you tell me what I can and can't do, Andy?"

She took the crop and tapped it slowly against his thigh, then ran it up the underside of his cock, as if she were wiping its chin.

"Sit down, Andy."

Andy did as he was told, sitting down at the piano bench looking contrite and pitiful and tight with nervousness, his pants and shorts gathered around his ankles as if he were on the toilet.

"Play," she commanded, and Andy lifted his hands and started '"Heart and Soul" again.

It was no good. He played three notes and collapsed into embarrassment, and no wonder, with his big dick staring right up at him.

Lorraine lost no time. "Not very good, Andrew. Do you think that was any better?"

He said nothing.

"Answer me, Andrew. Was that any better?"

"No, Miss Vann."

She came over to the piano bench and leaned over. "You heard what I said. I said I was going to whip your cock for every mistake you made, didn't I?"

He kept his eyes straight ahead but his face was scarlet. "Yes, Miss Vann."

She reached out and smacked his cock with the tip of the crop and Andy jumped. He made a funny little sound, an eager little groan as if expecting more.

"Try it again."

Lorraine watched him as he looked down at the big drop of pre-cum that was gathering at the head of his cock, then he closed his eyes in humiliation. He raised his hands and started to play again, and this time the first two figures of the absurdly bouncy part wafted out of the big Bösendorfer before he hit a wrong note. Immediately she reached out with the crop and rapped him on the shaft of his cock.

"Ow!" Andy tented his hands protectively over his dick. "What are you doing to me! I can't play like this!"

His reaction caused a rush of excitement to flood through her body. He didn't pull away. He trembled, caved in to her, savored the pain of being struck and punished. He liked it. And Lorraine liked doing it to him. She liked it a lot

She came around and straddled the piano bench and sat down, hiking up her skirt to show the tops of her boots and a long, lean expanse of naked thigh. The tight crotch of her black panties showed beneath the shadow of her skirt, a forbidden region of female mystery and power. Andy glanced down and saw this, then quickly looked away as if he'd seen too much. Lorraine's eyes glittered.

"Listen, Andrew. I've been teaching you for two years now, and don't think I haven't seen how you look at me. These last few months, you've been fucking up on purpose, haven't you? You've been trying to make me mad. "

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're sick!"

"No. I don't think so. You get a charge out of it when you make me angryI don't think I'm the one who's sick." She smiled. "Lean back."

"What?"

"Lean back. On the bench. Put your hands back here and lean back."

He moved his hands to the rear of the bench and sat back so his cock was pointing skyward and Lorraine used the tip of the crop to scoop up the drop of pre-cum off his dick. As she lifted the crop, strand of the fluid stretched out from the whip to the head of Andy's prick in a long, thin, viscous gossamer bridge, the very sight of which made him groan in shameful arousal.

"I'm sick, Andy? Looks like someone enjoys being ordered around like a naughty little boy, doesn't it? Someone really gets off on having their cock whipped and being put in their place. How sick is that, Andrew? "

She brought the crop to his face.

"Open your mouth," she said. "Lick it clean."

"No!"

She said nothing, just watched him. The authority of her years as his teacher was in her look, her authority as an older woman, as someone who was experienced at sex where he was not.

"No!" he said again. "No!"

Most of all, it was the authority of someone who'd held a whip before, of a woman who knew what he wanted better than he did.

He opened his mouth and Lorraine pushed the tip through his lips and pressed it against his tongue. He tried to move his head and shake her off but he couldn't avoid it, and she watched as he sucked tentatively at first, then avidly, eyes closed, consciously succumbing to her will. The bitter taste of the leather and his own lewd secretions were enhanced by the knowledge that he'd exuded this obscene dew at her insistence. He tasted the bitterness of his own submission

"Take off your clothes, Andrew," she said as she removed the whip from his mouth. She said it gently, almost solicitously, not wanting to break the sudden spell of tenderness that had settled there between them, caused by the connection of the whip in his mouth.

Andy managed to get his shoes off and dropped them to the carpet with a muffled thud. His socks followed, and then his pants and shorts, all in a tangle, the soft rustle of his clothes the only sound. He moved as if in a dream, standing by the piano bench and undressing as if for bed, dropping his clothes on the floor. He peeled off his sweater and unbuttoned his shirt and stood there wearing only his two-strapper tee shirt, awkward and painfully erect.

"Is that how you leave your clothes, Andrew? There's no maid to pick up after you here. Pick them up, you spoiled brat."

Andy dropped his eyes, then picked up his jeans and straightened them out, folded them neatly and placed them on the sofa. He did the same with his shorts and his shirt and sweater, then set his shoes neatly together on the floor beneath the stack of clothes and stuffed his rolled socks inside one of them.

Lorraine studied him as he did. He had a swimmer's body, lean and smoothly muscled, and in fact, swimming had been his sport. He had the broad shoulders and tight, lean waist, the high tight, masculine ass.

He stood nervously by the pile of clothes, his hands trying to cover his erection. The tee shirt fit him well and made him look even younger than his eighteen years. It was a nice contrast, the white cotton of the two-strapper above the black forest of pubic curls through which his cock emerged like a tower. He was a young animal, ripe and ready to be broken.

Lorraine got up from the bench and went to Andy's gym bag and rummaged around till she found two sets of cuffs. She tossed them to him. "Put these on."

"Miss V—"

"Shut up, Andrew. Just do as I say. Let's get some things straight, here. Number one, I'm in charge. That goes without saying. You do exactly as I say when I say it. Number two, you don't speak unless spoken to. Number three, you don't touch me or look at me without my permission. Do you understand that, Andrew? You may answer me."

"Yes, Miss Vann."

"Good. Now put those cuffs on. Your lesson's not over yet. We've still got twenty minutes, Andrew. "

He started to open his mouth and then closed it.

He knelt down and buckled the thick leather cuffs around his ankles, his nervous fingers fumbling with the hardware, then he stood and fastened the cuffs to his wrists as well, pulling them cruelly tight, tighter than Lorraine would have made them.

God! she thought.If his cock gets any harder he's going to split his skin.

She could feel the wetness between her legs, the fullness in her breasts. She was almost ready for him, but not just yet. "What else do you have in this bag of yours? Tell me about it. Where'd you get all these things?"

He stood stiffly, brushing his hair back. " I don't know. Through the mail. Some things I bought in a shop in town."

"Empty it out. I want to see what you have. And what were you going to do with all this stuff?"

His cock started to deflate as he picked up the bag and dumped it out on the floor. Crops, whips, chains, vibrators spilled out, all brand new.

" I was going to use it, I guess. On Lisa, mostly."

Lorraine looked at him. "You guess? Do you top her?"

He shrugged with uncertainty.

"A dom, huh? Is that what you think you are? You know what you are for me? Do you?"

He pressed his lips together and held his fingers of his left hand in his right so his hands shielded his dick, which was again rising like a marionette being tugged on a string. Lorraine slapped his hands away with the crop.

"Keep your hands down sides, big dom. Your dick has more brains than you do. At least it knows what it likes."

She rummaged around in the pile of toys and found a couple of choke chains, about eight inches long, and some carabiner clips. "Pick them up, Andrew," she said.

He bent and retrieved the hardware as she unfastened the long gold chain from around her neck. "Attach one of the choke chains to your ankles, then put your wrists behind you and don't move."

He did as she said, and Lorraine bent and picked up a nice, generous flogger from the pile and put it under her arm. When he had his hands behind his back, she took a carabiner from his hand and clipped the cuffs together.

"Stand up straight," she said.

Andy put his shoulders back, and Lorraine quickly whipped her neck chain around her hand and brought it down over his cock. The momentum sent it whirling around his dick in a quick, spiraling orbit, instantly wrapping his sensitive flesh in multiple wrappings of glittering gold.

Andy gasped and tried to pull back, but Lorraine was ready for him and played him like a fish She gave him slack, then pulled him to her as the metal links dug in his cock, hurting him.

"Oh God! Stop! Stop, damn it!"

"Are you talking, Andy? Are you talking without permission?"

"No, Miss V! No!"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No! No!"

She yanked the chain and led him to one of the wall fixtures with the artificial candles and unclipped his wrists, threaded a chain through the fixture and made his wrists fast through it. She left the chain hanging from his cock, then went to the wall switch and dimmed the lights in the room.

"No," she said softly. "You don't want me to stop. I wonder, though. Have you ever really been laid, Andy? I saw the way Lisa shrugged you off tonight. Is it just the rejection that turns you on?"

"I've been laid. Plenty of times."

His words surprised her. Not what he said, but that he spoke at all.

"Oh? Is that right?"

"Yes. It is. You still think of me as your little student who doesn't know anything. But I know plenty. I've been with plenty of girls."

Lorraine smiled. "Yeah? Tell me about them. Did you fuck them all, Andrew? Did you make them your slaves?"

She could see the redness in Andy's face, the tightness around his mouth. She'd found a sore spot here, something he was supremely afraid of having discovered.

"Turn around. Look at the wall and think about it, Andrew. Think about whether you could handle me, even as well as you handled that piano. Now turn around and spread your legs. Spread them."

He turned so he was facing the wall and spread his legs as much as the ankle chain allowed, and Lorraine went up behind him and raised the flogger.

Andy was ready for it and didn't cry out as she began to whip his ass, swinging the flogger back and forth with wide, generous strokes. It was a thick flogger with a heavy fall and it wasn't until the ninth or tenth swipe that he started to really feel it and gasped, moaning through clenched teeth and pulling at the chains that held his wrists.