The Music Master

In her unfolding flight of fancy Master Croft had shaken off his professional reserve and was mad with desire for her. Passion burned in his cold grey eyes. Growling deep in his throat, he trailed the crop along the curves and contours of her torso. Teasing and appraising as he went. Occasionally the biting crop would flick against her exposed flesh making her jump. The tip slowly traced the swell of her breasts, down the length of her stomach, stopping at her feminine mound. Her breath caught when he pushed past her soft curls, the tip nudged between the wet folds of her sex. He turned the instrument on its side, spreading her lips open. Imagining it was the crop, Lucy's fingers mimicked the motion. She moaned when they slipped inside.

In her mind, her fantasy tutor was swatting her clitoris with a firm steady rhythm. In the real world, her thumb strummed the bud with even more force. Yet it wasn't enough. Try as she might she could not simulate the vicious kiss of the crop. She needed the touch of another- the touch of a master... Lucy pictured Master Croft's unyielding hands in place of her own. Within moments, she was undone. She whimpered and shuddered through her orgasm, her fingers continuing to milk her release until even the minor tremors subsided. And then it was over.

Fantasy dissolved back into stark reality and she found herself alone in her big bed. Craving more. Craving him.

"You're late." Master Croft growled as Lucy scurried into the music room.

She had intentionally lingered in front of the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed many restless nights. Every time she had attempted to find sleep her unruly imagination would conjure up images of his crop and his stern, handsome face, driving her to distraction. So that by the time she presented herself for their lesson she was already flush and flustered.

What was it about the man that agitated her so? He was nothing like her previous tutors. They had been fat old men or callow lanky youths, easy to scare off by hurling a few dishes or insults their way. She sensed that Master Croft wouldn't be driven away quite so easily. Which was galling to the extreme but also rather intriguing.

It was all so very confusing. She loathed her time upon Master Croft's lap and yet fantasized about it for the rest of the week. She hated him for his strictness yet longed for his praise. As a result of her confusion, Lucy had dallied before the looking glass for some time after she had been made aware of his arrival. She had hoped that the delay would help to steel her nerve, perhaps to regain a small semblance of control. But from the daggerlike glint in her instructor's eyes she knew the only thing she had managed to regain was his displeasure.

"My apologies."

"That's five strokes."

Lucy swallowed hard.

Once the lesson began Lucy played poorly, even by her own standards. Owing to her sleepless nights and muddled thoughts she had barely touched the harp all week. Master Croft wasn't helping the situation either. He was always nearby. Even touching her occasionally to correct her fingering or posture. His touch, however dispassionate, never failed to make her heart beat faster. She was quite sure he was trying to unnerve her. When he wasn't looming, he was stalking about the room, emanating a masterful aura that at once repelled and attracted her.

"You have not been practicing at all." Master Croft announced, the muscles in his jaw clenched tightly. "And your copy work looks like it was done on the back of a galloping horse. How disappointing."

Lucy screwed on her sweetest smile. "If you are displeased with my performance might I suggest that you take the unacceptable copies and your disappointment and shove them up your tight arse!"

With that Lucy rose from the stool, shoving the harp forward as she went. Acting swiftly, Master Croft caught the heavy instrument on its path towards the floor and righted it gracefully. He fixed his gaze on her, his dark eyes flaring with anger.

"Oh, Miss Bradshaw. When will you realize this shrewish act will get you nowhere?"

"The only place I wish to be is out of this room."

"You wish? I think you know by now that is not how this works. While you are in my presence your wishes are immaterial. Only my desires matter and right now I desire to give you a sound thrashing."

"That hardly seems fair." Lucy groused, chin held high to disguise her fear behind false bravado.

"You're not required to find it fair. You're merely required to accept it. After today you've certainly earned it." Master Croft heaved a frustrated sigh. "You are no dunce Lucy. Who knows what you could become if you applied yourself to something other than being the biggest brat in London."

"I don't have to listen to this," she shrieked. The harsh truth of his words stung as much as any crop. She had to get away from them. In a mad dash, Lucy bolting towards the concealed servant's entrance. There was at least half a chance it would be open.

"Oh, yes you do." Croft was upon her in a flash.

He seized her easily and lifted her body like it was a sack of potatoes. Before she knew it, she was being hauled over his lap, legs dangling over the floor helplessly. The soft touch of muslin against her backside was suddenly replaced by cool air. It all happened so fast. She hardly had time to brace herself when the detestable crop whistle through the air and then land with a resounding whack.

It hurt. A shocking, searing pain invaded her senses and muddied her thoughts. Soon came a second slap and then a third and a fourth. They fell in quick succession, the sting of one lash blurring into the next, so that she never had a moment's respite from the pain. The tender flesh on her bottom was swiftly beginning to heat up. He held nothing back as the frightful volley of strokes stole the breath from her lungs.

"You will listen and you will obey. Say it." Her assailant paused in the act of drawing his arm back.

"I will obey, Master." Lucy cried, willing to say almost anything to make it stop.

"Again." Whack!

"I will obey, Master."

"Again." Whack!

"I will obey, Master!" She choked on a sob. "Please, please, no more. I can't take it."

"If you do not enjoy this-" Whack! "then perhaps next time you will choose to follow my instruction." Whack! "Instead of acting like a petulant- indolent- child-." The last three words were accompanied by three more strokes of the crop.

His words were humiliating and his blows were painful. There was no fire of passion in his eyes, just cool disdain. This wasn't anything like her masturbatory fantasy. Yet somehow, from the depths of her discomfort, arousal was taking root. The familiar tension between her legs rising.

The man was pompous and high-handed, she reminded herself as he landed successive swats from one heated cheek to the other. Lucy tried her best to hold on to her anger and disgust. If only the ache between her legs wasn't so insistent and distracting. Through the haze, Lucy wondering vaguely if this intense arousal without satisfaction was part of the punishment.

The lashes were getting more vicious by the second, raining fire and fury down on her. The ache in her bottom and the throbbing in her sex competed for her attention. In the end pain won out, pushing desire to the periphery. Just out of reach.

With pain as her only companion Lucy opened herself up to it, let it invade her consciousness. It snaked through her veins, burning away her frustrations, her ennui, her feelings of inadequacy. Guilt for not living up to her parent's expectations. For not obeying Master Croft's orders. They all melted under the searing lick of the crop until she felt pure and light, like a sinner after confession.

As if sensing her inner shift, he leaned in to purr, "shhh, good girl. Let it all go."

Truly sorry for her stubborn misbehavior, she hid her face in her hand and cried until her palms were damp. She didn't know why she acted the way she did. She couldn't remember why she had defied him in the first place. The veil of tears and agony parted for a fleeting second and in that moment of clarity Lucy decided she would be a good girl. She was going to try her best. To please Master Croft. To prove to him that she could but also to prove it to herself.

Then, just like that, the agony was back. She tried to accept it with equanimity but her hips bounced up and down on their own, instinctively trying to evade the crop. Yet she couldn't predict where the next lash would fall. The pattern was too erratic. Sometimes the whip would focus on one spot, repeatedly attending to one portion of her plump buttock until it burned and bloomed with redness. Other times the blows would descent in a haphazard manner, peppering her from her upper thighs to the side of her flanks and back again until no part of her backside was left unmarked.

Time lost all meaning. She had no idea if it had been minutes or days since the ordeal had begun. Just when she was sure it would never end, that her new existence would be nothing but pain, it suddenly stopped. Feeling physically and emotionally worn out, she dangled across his thighs, motionless apart from the occasional trembling sob that shook her.

"I'll try harder next time. I promise." Lucy assured her Master once she had regained enough composure to speak.

"I know you will." He whispered and the absolute certainty of his words stripped her bare.

And so it went on for weeks, the nighttime fantasies, the long hours of practicing, the demanding lessons. Until gradually Lucy's playing began to improve. It wasn't perceptible at first but eventually she noticed her tutor winced less frequently while she played and the number of punishing strikes at the end of each session had decreased.

"Very good." Master Croft exclaimed after Lucy had finished a challenging part of The Last Rose of Summer. "You've been practicing."

A broad smile stretched across her face. Master Croft was not lavish with his praise so every kind word was a precious commodity. Yet her smile quickly faded when he gestured for her to approach the chaise lounge. The place where her faults and errors of the day were accounted for. Still she obeyed. She was ready to prostrate herself across his lap when he patted the spot next to him. Slightly befuddled, Lucy plunked down onto the seat.

"I know I have been hard on you." He began. As he spoke he carefully removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. She stared at his powerful forearms, her corset suddenly feeling too tight. "But my method isn't all punishing bad behavior. Good behavior must be rewarded in equal measure." He pulled her over his knee.

"But I thought I've been good." She looked up at him in confusion.

"You have."

"So why are you still punishing me?"

He laughed, the sound was almost musical. "My dear, not all spankings are for punishment. Some of them are for pleasure. I could try to explain it but it's best I show you the difference."

Slowly she felt him lift her skirts. Bare before him, she felt the warmth of his gaze. He pushed her forward, tipping her backside up further, amplifying her sense of exposure. Her breath hitched in keen anticipation. And then she waited. And waited.

When his hand finally came down on her bottom Lucy let out an astonished gasp. She had imagined many times what the rough touch of his bare hand would be like. But she hadn't anticipated how very different it would feel from the cold, unfeeling crop. So much more intimate.

His big hands administered rhythmic spanks, steadily warming her bare cheeks. The broader impact of his palm was not as stinging as the crop but it still delivered a firm wallop. It shaped itself to her, making the heavy globes sway with each impact. The promised pleasure was beginning to creep in. Blood coursed just beneath the skin, making the entire area below her waist throb and tingle with desire. Lucy shuddered, her breathing coming in uneven pants.

The pleasure alongside the pain formed an unlikely yet exquisite union, like the dissonant chords of a Mozart quartet. It was lovely but a restless need was growing inside her. A need for something more. She gave an urgent moan when his palm smoothed over her red-hot cheeks, kneading and rubbing some of the sting away.

"Touch yourself."

The husky command took Lucy by surprise. Perhaps she had misheard but when she hesitated to obey her instructor took her hand and guided it between her legs. My stars! She was sodden. The flesh there was swollen and slick. This is wicked, the voice of modesty counselled her to stop. But oh so lovely, a louder voice urged her to continue. She gave in to the more insistent cry, letting her searching fingers spread wetness across her folds to her engorged clitoris. The tingly soreness from the spanking added to the acute delight of her caress, the two sensations amplifying one another. It was almost too much.

Lucy was left with two options; try to understand the jumble of conflicting sensations or simply give herself over to them. Wisely, she chose the latter. Submitting fully to his orchestrations, she welcomed the torrent of hot spanks. Her limbs became pliant and yielding. The dizzying impression of weightlessness engulfed her. It felt like flying. Lucy was staggered to find an ironic sense of freedom in surrendering to another's will.

Master Croft played her body like a well-tuned instrument, delivering just enough pressure to leave her teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. Every slap sent a throb straight to her womanhood. One moment she would jump at the biting contact of his palm, the next she'd be arching back for more. He kept her on that threshold until she was trembling from exertion and pent up need. The exquisite tension in her sex vibrating like a harp string wound too tight.

The resounding clap of his hand contacting her rosy cheeks and the slurping of her fingers against her wet quim created a harmonious chorus of passion. The scent of her arousal hung heavy in the air around them. Steadily the pressure inside was swelling and building towards a heart stopping crescendo.

"Come for me, Lucy." Master Croft growled.

As if prompted by his command, her body erupted. Her channel clenched and released around her fingers, soaking them with her nectar. Lucy found herself screaming louder and longer than any tantrum she'd ever had. She had no idea her body was capable of such ecstasy. The intensity was far greater than anything she had experienced at her own hands. As the pleasure ravaged her frame she arched and writhed on his firm thighs. He held onto her until her body had wrung out the last drops of bliss and then sagged limp and exhausted across his lap.

Dazed and a little rumpled, Lucy felt herself being righted and placed back on the chaise lounge. Her loose and pliant frame made no resistance as he positioned her and smoothed down her dress. She felt like a doll her Master arranged with his big strong hands. Before rising he planted a chaste kiss on her sweat dampened forehead.

"I trust you see the difference."

"Yes, most instructive." She replied, still panting.

"I shall see you next week, Miss Bradshaw." Master Croft announced matter-of-factly. His voice did not betray any emotion but before he turned his back to her Lucy glimpsed the barest hint of a smile. The sight was worth every hour of practice and then some.

Thusly the weeks went by and with a mixture of strict discipline and generous reward Lucy's talents progressed. After each session, the marks would be tallied. First would come the harsh kiss of the crop reminding her to do better and then came the firm caress of his hand inspiring her to new heights. Soon she was playing less like Discord and more like her sweet-sounding sister Harmonia.

The positive effects of the lessons were not only witnessed in the music room. Lucy's entire demeanor had changed. The servants stopped cowering whenever she entered a room. The gentlemen no longer fled from her at balls but rather flocked to her side. It was even remarked upon that her step seemed lighter and her complexion brighter.

Her parents had certainly not failed to notice the transformation. The Bradshaws watched from the wings with pride as their daughter played, eyes tightly shut with a blissful, transported expression on her face. The small throng of guests gathered round, equally transported. Even the cherubs seemed to look down approvingly.

"She's had two more proposals this week!" Mrs. Bradshaw clasped her hands together in triumph.

"Yes. The Marquess of M-- has ten thousand a year but I think she favors the Earl of B--. He promises she can continue her studies with Master Croft after they are married."

"Do you think we might safely take the Wedgewood plates out from storage?" Mrs. Bradshaw asked her husband hopefully.

"I think we very well might." Mr. Bradshaw acknowledged as the song ended and the room erupted in enthusiastic applause.

Indeed, the family porcelain was finally safe. The proud parents both agreed that the small fortune Everett Croft charged for his tutelage was a minor price to pay for such brilliant results, however unconventional his methods may be.

And that, dear Reader, is how Lucy Bradshaw traded her shrewish reputation for one of being the most musically accomplished young lady in London.