The Piano Lesson

It was another sunny Thursday afternoon, and Chrissy was late for her piano lesson. Again.

She'd been late for every single one this school year. At first her tardiness was excusable; she was new to St. Mark's and still had trouble finding her way around campus even now, four weeks into the semester. But by now it was clear to both her and her teacher that she had other things on her mind than her music lessons. Grabbing a quick latte, eyeing the her cute bio lab partner on his way to lacrosse practice, or just catching a bit more of the late September sun-all these things came first.

Chrissy was running through the halls when she heard the chapel bell ring four o'clock. Ten minutes late already! She swore to herself, and ran faster, the sound of her patent leather shoes against the tile floor echoing through the empty hallway. Finally, she reached her piano teacher's door. Flushed, she paused to catch her breath. She was in for it now, she thought. She was almost fifteen minutes late, she hadn't practiced once all week, and she was out of excuses. She had to get out of this lesson, but if she skipped she'd be called before the headmaster for sure, and her parents would be furious! She just needed to get through the next half-hour without him noticing how badly her sonatas were coming along. If there was only some way to get his attention on something else-anything else! She caught sight of her reflection in the hallway window, and bit her lip thoughtfully. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, there was a way she could get him to watch more than just her fingers.

She undid her ponytail so that her blonde hair framed her face, with one coquettish lock hanging down in front. She undid another button on her blouse, just enough to show a little more of her pale white throat. A little lip gloss on her soft lips. She checked her reflection again, considering her regulation skirt. It was the component of the St. Mark's dress code that was typically the most hated by all the girls, but Chrissy found it oddly appealing. Something about it-perhaps the plaid pattern, the pleated front, the way her calves peaked out from under it-excited her to no end. It apparently excited everyone else as well, judging from a few of the looks she'd gotten by the lockers over the past month at her new school. Well, she thought, I might as well go for broke. She hiked the skirt scandalously high, then twirled once before her reflection. No that, she thought, is one girl he's ready for her lessons. Then her hand was on the doorknob, and she bounced in to see her teacher.

"Hello, Mr. Matthews!" she sang as she waltzed through the door.

Her teacher sat at his desk by the piano, in a low armchair. He was young, with long brown hair, a small sensitive mouth, and piercing eyes. "Hello, Christine," he said evenly.

That wasn't a good sign; normally he greeted everyone with a joyful smile. But now that she was here, Chrissy was determined to make the best of it. Turning away from him, she let her bookbag slip from her shoulder to the ground. She bent way over to rummage through it, taking just a little longer to find her music folder than usual, giving him a long time to take in her slender legs from bottom to top--her well shined shoes, her tight kneesocks, her slim calves that widened and whitened where they disappeared under her skirt. She then turned and headed past him toward the piano, sashaying grandly, swinging her hips the way she did when she waitressed and was going after the really big tips. She could feel her skirt swirling dangerously high as she walked, and she grinned to herself. She reached the piano bench, certain that his eyes were boring into her backside. Finally the tricky part--it had to look innocent--she flipped up her skirt as she settled onto the bench, offering him a brief flash of her flowery, bikini-cut panties and the tight young rump the contained. Almost into position, she wiggled her bottom once more for his benefit, then raised her hands to the keyboard and began to play.

Surprisingly, she wasn't awful. Perhaps her desperation lent something to the Mozart score that she’d been unable to attain the week before. But at the same time, her playing hadn’t been great either, and she knew it. When the last chord died away, she sat waiting for Mr. Matthews’ critique, knees knocking in anticipation.

He said nothing.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, she looked over at him. "Well, how was that?" she asked, batting her lashes innocently.

He stood up, and strolled over to the bench. He sat down next to her and placed one arm around her shoulder. "It was passable," he said.

Chrissy was about to let out a sigh of relief when he continued, "But that’s not good enough. You barely touched the piano all week, Christine. You don’t practice, your style’s sloppy, you come in ten–fifteen!–minutes late every day. What are we going to do with you?"

Chrissy just stared at her shoes and mumbled. Well, she deserved the lecture, and she’d have gotten far worse if he’d known her panty show was planned. Perhaps if she said nothing he wouldn’t mention the headmaster…

"I’ve talked to the headmaster." Shit! "We’ve decided you’ve had enough leeway. It’s obvious you need punished," he went on. Here comes work detail, she thought. Probably cleaning the stables, with my luck.

"Chrissy, we’ve decided on corporal punishment. You’re going to be spanked."

Her head jerked up in surprise. "What? You can’t…that’s not…"

"Spankings are a traditional part of the St. Mark’s education, young lady. It’s been decided. Please bend over. I’m not happy about this either."

The genuine sorrow in his voice did nothing to dispel her outrage and growing fear. "I’m leaving this instant and calling my parents," she said. "You can’t…EEEEK!"

Mr. Matthews had grabbed her and thrown her over his lap. Before she could squirm away, he had lifted her skirt and yanked down her panties to around her knees. "Don’t struggle," was all he said. "It will make this easier." And then his hand came down upon her bare bottom.

Smack! Her cheek reddened, a handprint forming on the pale moon of her cheek. Smack! "This is for your own good," she heard him say. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

She was biting her lip to hold in her screams, tears beginning to well at the corners of her eyes. Her legs scissored as she kicked in agitation; she was squirming, but his grip was too strong, like a bear’s…like… Suddenly she became aware of a new sensation–the feel of his lap, his rising penis against her hips. He was getting aroused by this! She flushed anew with shame at this discovery, and with another–that she was becoming aroused as well! Something in her wanted that this spanking, wanted to always be over his knee, wanted his cock against her… She could feel herself growing wet, feel her breath becoming ragged, feel her cries become cries not of pain, but of desire. Suddenly, she was riding with the blows from his palm, pressing closer against him, grinding fiercely, loving the sensation of his manhood against her young mound. "Yes, Mr. Matthews, yes!" she screamed.

Shocked at the change that had overtaken the schoolgirl, the piano teacher released his grip on her. Overcome with need, she took advantage of his loss of control, swinging around so that she straddled the stunned man’s lap. She unzipped his fly and fished around for his cock. It leapt into her hand, throbbing. In another second she was on top of it. Her cunny was so wet she slipped him in before Mr. Matthews could utter a syllable in protest.

Chrissy was in control now, not her teacher. She wrenched open her white blouse and whipped off her lace bra. Her teacher protested, "Christine this is wrong, we can’t, I’m your teach–" but was cut off as she grabbed his head and forced it to her young, round breasts. Instinctively, his mouth found a nipple and started suckling. Her nipples sprang erect at his touch. He was nuzzling, nibbling, kneading, needing. Her hands were raking through his hair, over his back, tearing at his shirt. They rocked together, his rod sliding in and out of her wet pussy. As they neared climax, she was bucking in his lap. "Mmmm–AAAHHH!" she screamed, awash in sensation. She ground against him more, feeling him deep insider, filling her to bursting. This was what shed always wanted, this was beyond fantasy, this was heaven, this was….

They came together in a wrenching final thrust. She collapsed against him, nuzzling him in contentment. He curled around her protectively, limp with shock.

Slowly they came down in the slow warmth of afterglow. Neither said a word. He straightened his tie and glanced about for something with which to dry his damp trousers. She primly slipped back into her panties, bra, and blouse. She buttoned up, grabbed her music, and hurried out the door. Mr. Matthews hurried after, unsure of what to say. But she was already out of reach, disappearing down the hall. Her skirt was still hiked up, and he watched the twitching of the schoolgirl’s fanny till she rounded a corner and vanished from sight.

It was Thursday again. Chrissy was late for lesson. Her teacher glanced at the clock, the door, the clock again. He hadn’t been fired yet, he reflected. That was good. But he’d not seen her in the intervening week, and that, he was sure, was bad.

Finally, the door swung open. It was Chrissy. "Hello, Mr. Matthews," she sang, as if the week before hadn’t even transpired. She unslung her bookbag from her back.

Did I dream last week? the piano teacher thought. Am I crazy?

Then he looked over at his student, who was bent over, searching through her bag. Her skirt seemed even shorter this week, and her bare cheeks peaked out. As she bent over further, her small furry mound appeared. There were no panties in sight.

She glanced over at her teacher, chuckling at his shocked expression. "I’m afraid I still haven’t done much practicing, Mr. Matthews," she giggled.

As if in a dream, he heard himself say, "Well, let’s just see what we’ll have to do about that." He leaned back in his chair, and smiled shyly as Chrissy strolled over and settled herself into his lap…

The End