A Piano Lesson

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Certainly the most interesting lesson Katie has ever had.
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Fuck! Another botched note. Had I suddenly forgotten what key I was supposed to be playing in? Whatever. I shook my head in exasperation, shifted my hands a half an inch, and started playing again from the beginning of the measure. But Dave sighed and put his hand on mine to stop me. "Chill out and take a break for a second, okay?"

Dave, as you've probably guessed by now, was my piano teacher; in fact, he had been for the last four or five years. I had just turned 18, and in his mid-to-late twenties, Dave was almost ten years older than me. But that didn't stop me from admiring him. Everything about him exuded confidence and authority, but without a hint of arrogance -- in fact, he had never been anything but quite kind to me. He was the type of man I could imagine just as easily as the President of the United States or as an affable teacher. And I had never asked him what he did besides teach piano, for fear of ruining the mystery. And of course, his physical attractiveness completed the ensemble. A foot taller than I was, and thin -- but strong, without being overly buff. I don't think it would be a stretch to say I had always had a crush on Dave.

I have been told I'm cute my whole life, but I've never known whether to believe it. I mean, people will say anything to be nice, right? My long, straight black hair and slightly olive skin were the only attractive things I got from my mother's racial background; everything else came from my lily-white mother. I was 5'6'', but I might have been cheating and measuring with shoes on. And I knew girls in middle school with breasts larger than mine, but hey -- at least I had something there. I guess my only real assets were my butt and legs. The former was small and tight but still very round; the latter were long for my height, slender, and slightly toned. I always tended to wear tight, high-cut dresses to accentuate my two favorite features, especially -- I'm ashamed to admit -- when I was around Dave.

"Katie, what's wrong? Over the years I've taught you everything from Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars to Beethoven, and this is the first time I've seen you play a piece so badly that you claim to have thoroughly practiced. Either you lied about practicing at home, which I doubt, or something's on your mind besides the piano. Which is it?"

I don't know whether it was the "President of the United States" aspect of his personality, or the "affable teacher", but the fact is, I had always felt I could trust Dave completely. And since he had ordered me to spill the beans in that voice that was stern without being harsh, I felt compelled to answer.

"It's my boyfriend... we just got into a fight. He said there was no point dating me if I wouldn't "put out". But my mom raised me pretty traditionally, and I just don't think some high school fling is, well..."

Although we had never talked about anything so personal before, Dave didn't hesitate to finish my sentence for me, saying what I was too embarrassed to. "You don't think it's the right context to lose your virginity in?"

I blushed and let out a nervous grin, almost a chuckle. Anyway, back to business. I noticed Dave's hand was still touching mine, and I brushed it off, preparing to start playing again. But Dave had a different idea. Moving his hand to rest on the bare skin above my knee, moving my dress up just a hair by doing so, he asked: "Well, I don't think you want to hold onto it forever. So what would be the right context?"

I was too busy dealing with the electric shock that shot up my leg with his touch to answer with anything but a sharp intake of breath and an increased heartrate. Even after processing what he had said, I realized it was a question I had never even thought about. But Dave didn't see the need to wait for a response. Fighting against the fabric of my dress to push his right hand slowly towards my thigh, he used his left to brush my hair out of my face, before settling with his palm and fingers around the side of my neck and his thumb on my cheek. He moved in until his face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath, and said, softly, "well, you'd better figure that out, hadn't you?"

I was more turned on by those two strategically-placed hands than I had ever been in the most passionate make-out session with my boyfriend. As Dave started to draw away from me as if nothing had happened, I put my arms around his head and lunged at him for a very awkward but still decidedly enjoyable kiss.

"Damn. I'm glad my boyfriend wasn't here to see that. I have no idea why I kissed you. Sorry. Let's just get back to this song and forget that ever happened, okay? I mean, I like you, and all, but you're my teacher, and I'm not single, and besides--"

Whatever was to come after "besides", it was too muffled for Dave to hear it. He had placed his hand forcefully on my mouth, preventing me from emitting anything more than a muffled cry of surprise. But I didn't resist. I couldn't quite understand why, but I was even more turned on than I had been before. When Dave started planting very soft kisses around my neck a moment later, I actually started moaning into his hand. His kisses lingered on my earlobe before he whispered: "I'm going to give you instructions, and you're going to follow them. You can't speak right now, so I won't ask you if you understand or are okay with that. But based on the sounds you're making, I assume you are. Now for my first instruction. Take off your shirt."

This had crossed the line. I was able, using two hands, to force his hand off my mouth. "No! Stop it! I'm sorry Dave, I just can't do this. I'm going home." I got up to try to leave, but he grabbed my hands and put them behind my back, holding them there with his strong left arm, as he put his legs around me to completely prevent me from using. With his right hand, he slapped me as hard as he could across the face. I let out a few whimpers of pain, then just tried to concentrate on breathing as he ran his hand down from where he had just slapped me, slowing down over my breasts for just a moment, over my stomach and down my leg, and then back up my dress. I tried to struggle against his other hand holding me still, but to no use. He got his hand up my dress, and gently touched the front of my panties, which by this point were wetter than they had ever been."

"I wouldn't do this to you if you weren't enjoying it, Katie. Now let me explain how this is going to work. Obey me, and you will have a first sexual experience that you will remember for life. Disobey, and, well... let's just say you'll also remember it for life, but it won't be for the enjoyment. Is that clear?" I answered him by spitting in his face. He seemed unphased by this, and caressed my breast gently with his free hand before pinching my nipple roughly and then striking me across the face even harder than before.

"You've just earned yourself a punishment. Would you like to be tied to this piano bench for it, or tied to my bed?" I realized that I had nothing to gain from resisting anymore, and his dictatorial manner was still making me hot. I figured that it would be better if I just went with it instead of fighting back when I knew I couldn't win.

"Bed, Dave. The bench sounds uncomfortable."

"Well", he replied, "uncomfortable is exactly what I'm aiming for. But I'll honor your request. He grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me out of the bench and led me towards his bedroom. Five minutes later, I was bound with rope face-down to his bed. He had made the ropes securing my legs to the bedpost just long enough so that my legs weren't quite stretched out, leaving me in a sort of kneeling position with my ass, barely covered by the dress, hanging in the air. "I was going to forgive you for refusing my first order, but I guess I'll have to punish you for that as well as for spitting on me. I can tell by the way you've looked at me over the years that you want me to dominate you, though, so I guess it won't be much of a punishment. Anyway, fifty strikes of my hand on your ass. For each transgression. That makes 100, in case you're as bad at math as you were at the piano today. Oh, one more thing -- in the purse you left on my counter when you came in, is there a hairbrush?"

"Yes", I answered.

"Good. Five strokes with the hairbrush too. So ten total."

I thought about protesting, but didn't want to make my punishment worse. And God, I felt like I was about to come already just by the way he was talking to me. So in spite of my inhibitions, I decided to refer to him by a title that I had always fantasized about calling him.

"Yes, Sir."

I don't know if that put a smile on his face, but I like to think that it did. At any rate, he roughly moved my dress up until it was bunched around my waist, then came up behind me, moving my legs out of the way with his (as much as was possible within the confines of the rope), until he was close enough that I could feel his rock hard cock through his jeans and my soaked panties. On my cunt. His cock, on my cunt. Everything that I knew telling me I should get out of this situation, all the statistics I had heard about how rape is statistically most likely to come from a man you know well, flew out of my mind at that one delicious thought. They weren't yet touching skin to skin, but I could, for once, feel his cock on my little unworthy cunt.

My reverie was interrupted by the first strike. It stung, but I thought I could handle it. "Thank me, bitch", he ordered. "I want you to thank me while keeping count. Now say 'thank you for my first spanking, Sir."

"Thank you for my first spanking, Sir."

"Good, and don't lose count."

*SMACK*. "Thank you for my second spanking, sir." *SMACK*. "Thank you for my third spanking, sir." *SMACK*. My voice faltered as he got to ten, and I was crying by the time he got to twenty. My ass was burning as if it was on fire, and my initial thought that I would be able to handle 100 spankings without breaking down vanished pretty quickly.

*SMACK*. "Thank you for my fifty-third spanking, sir." ... *SMACK*. "Thank you for my sixtieth spanking, sir." By now I was crying profusely from the pain, making my eyes almost as wet as he had made my cunt, also from the pain. Or rather, his cunt. His property. It was his now, as I clearly was no longer in control of it.

*SMACK*. By this point I was screaming in pain, but I knew no one could hear me in his rather isolated and likely well-insulated house. I gripped the sheets as hard as I could to try to keep my mind off the pain. Slowly, in between my sobs, I managed to get out the words. "Thank you ... for ... my hundredth ... spanking, ... Sir."

He lowered my dress to its normal position covering my ass, untied all the knots keeping me attached to the bed, and sat down next to me. Still sobbing uncontrollably, I turned around, straddled him, put my arms around him, ground his cunt into his cock, and started kissing him as passionately as I could.

This went on for five or ten minutes. It felt like hours: he knew exactly how to touch me to make me crave him, to make me want his cock in its rightful place, violating and using me. Finally he stopped and told me, in the same powerful voice as before, to stand up off the bed and to take off my clothes.

I complied this time, dropping my dress and panties to the floor. I hadn't been wearing a bra, and now I stood before him, totally nude, in all my nubile teenage glory. I can't have looked too good with my face caked in tears, my hair messed up from the makeout session, and my ass bright red, and starting to turn black and blue. Still it must have pleased him, because I saw his cock start growing perceptibly in his pants.

"Go get me your hairbrush", he commanded, and I promptly obeyed. I found it strange that he let me out of his sight, At the beginning of this ordeal, I would have taken the opportunity to dash out his front door and call for help. But he must have known I wouldn't do that. Not anymore. When I came back to his room, he was already naked, his cock ready to use me as its toy. I got on the bed, handed him the hairbrush, turned around so my back was to him, and kneeled with my head as low as it could possibly go to receive my beating.

"I didn't tell you to assume this position. Although I do enjoy seeing how much of a whore you've become in the last half-hour. Now get up and straddle me." I did so,pushing his cunt up against the bottom of his hard cock. Oh God. I needed it inside me so badly that I couldn't think of anything else. But still through the fog in my mind I knew I couldn't fuck him. I had to resist. To be loyal to my boyfriend, and to myself.

He struck me across the face with the hairbrush, and I immediately screamed bloody murder and tried to get away. It didn't work. He held me tight with his arms around my waste, and the increased pressure of his cock against me quickly transformed the scream into a loud moan. "Let me make a proposal", he said. "Now, I don't want to fuck you against your will. So I'll try to bargain with you for the right to. How about this. I never said *where* I was going to strike you with the hairbrush, as you can see from the first hit. But I'll refrain from doing the other nine, if you agree to fuck me."

I considered it very hard. I really did. But in the end my desire to be a good girl won out. "No sir. I can't. I'm sorry. I REALLY want to, and you know it, sir. I want you to make my virgin teenage body belong to you." (his cock grew another half an inch at this statement). But I can't. It's wrong. I know it's wrong. Just give me the spankings and let me go home. The spankings were extremely painful: one more strike to the face, two to each breast, and one on each inner thigh. He then forcefully turned me over and contorted my body into the kneeling position I had before, where he wound up his arm to full force and struck each ass cheek. Nine. Ten. After the beating I had received before, combined with this, I didn't know if I would ever be able to sit again. As I kneeled in relief, knowing my ordeal was over, I could feel him getting closer behind me for some reason.

"Bitch, I lied. I don't give a fuck about whether you want me to fuck you. I was just giving you a change to go willingly instead of being raped. Maybe I would have even let you come. Now I'm going to have to take you by force." I yelled and screamed and thrashed, but it didn't help. Before I knew it, his cock had been united with his cunt. I wasn't a virgin anymore. Despite all of my intentions, I had been given what a deep, dark part of me had wanted since the beginning, and, God, the sparks going up my clit every time he pounded me felt incredible. I started slamming back, grinding into him with his rhythm. Soon I got close to coming again, but I told myself I needed his permission to do so, or I would be punished again.

"Sir. May I come?", I panted. "Please. I'm so close."

"No, of course not. Hold back if you know what's good for you."

I had lied to myself when I said that I was asking him to avoid punishment. I knew the real reason was that I wanted to please him. A toy's purpose is to please its owner, not to feel pleasure itself when it's played with. I wanted to please the man who had brutally tortured me and who was now raping me. I clenched my teeth and thought about anything else to avoid coming. It worked. A few minutes later, he came inside me first, leaving me on the brink, learning a new meaning for the word "frustrated".

"You can go clean up in my bathroom now", he said. "I'm trusting you not to touch yourself, either in there right now or anytime between now and next week's lesson. Clean yourself up, and then show yourself out."

I hadn't even thought about my next lesson! I had taken it as a given that I would never see him again, except after I told the police about all of this and testified in court. But as I realized how much I had enjoyed this, I saw that there was no way that was going to happen. I took a deep breath to steady myself and replied.

"Yeah. See you next Tuesday."

"Sir."

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