The Music Master

Haziran 20, 2024 Yazar admin 0


“I quit!” Exclaimed Mr. Wimple as he tottered down the front steps of the Bradshaw’s fashionable London townhouse.

“Please Mr. Wimple, we’ll double your fee.” Mr. Bradshaw called out to the man’s back.

He spun on his heels, pushing his spectacles further up his stubby nose. “I wouldn’t venture to teach that young ‘lady’ for all the tea in China!”

Mrs. Bradshaw appeared behind her husband, pleading sweetly on her daughter’s behalf. “I implore you Sir, if you could give her one more chance.”

“I’m afraid, Madame, that a dozen more chances would make little difference. The word unteachable comes to mind. Good day and good luck!”

Lucy Bradshaw, the young ‘lady’ in question, observed the exchange from the window of the music room with a satisfied smile. Good riddance, she thought as she watched the music teacher flee from their posh Grosvenor Street address with all the speed his stocky legs could muster. Hopefully he would be the last. But probably not.

Catching her own reflection in the windowpane, Lucy sighed. She could find no obvious flaw. Deep brown locks and a sun kissed complexion, even if not in vogue amongst the ton, suited her well. Perhaps she was slightly too short for a high praise and a bit too dark for a fair praise, still no one ever faulted her beauty. Her dress too was flawless. Owing to her father’s fortune she was always bedecked in beautiful gowns of the latest fashion. Yet at the age of one and twenty, Lucy was unattached. She had many qualities to commend her to a future husband and still the proposals were not forthcoming for one simple reason; her reputation.

As the only child of wealthy and indulgent parents Lucy had been allowed to run a bit wild as girl. Left to her own devises, her natural willfulness and short-temper only worsened with age. Lucy’s coming out ball was quite the cause celebre after an unfortunate incident involving a glass of punch being introduced to the face of an impertinent Earl. And things had only gone downhill from there.

A series of similarly disastrous incidents lead her to acquire a kind of minor celebrity. Everywhere she went members of polite society whispered of her sharp tongue and explosive temper. The less polite among them used more direct and colorful language to describe her. The result of such gossip was that despite their daughter’s substantial wit, beauty and wealth, Miss Bradshaw’s parents were rather anxious to see her wed and settled in someone else’s home.

It was with this view in mind that they summoned Lucy to the second-best drawing room not long after Mr. Wimple’s substantial silhouette had disappeared around the corner. They were rather permissive parents but even they had their limits and judging by the stern expressions on their faces as she entered the room, Lucy had found them.

“What did you say to Mr. Wimple?”

“Merely that his foul breath was in danger of curling the harp strings.”

“Lucy!” Both her parents exclaimed in unison.

“I’m sorry that you taught me the importance of honesty.” Lucy nearly managed to conceal a cheeky smile. Nearly.

Mr. Bradshaw’s mustache twitching in anger. “Well owing to your honesty, we must now find you a new music master. Again!”

“I don’t want to play the harp.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“But darling, you simply must gain a few feminine accomplishments if you’re ever to find a husband.” Her mother reasoned, as she spoke the intricate lace of her cap trembled slightly with nervous energy.

“Reading poetry, embroidering cushions, learning French. It’s all so- so- so bloody dull!” Lucy stomped her foot emphatically. “Perhaps if you got me a fencing teaching.”

Judging from the way Mr. Bradshaw’s eyes expanded to the size of half-crowns, the thought of his hotblooded daughter armed with a pointed weapon did not appeal. “Fencing is not ladylike.”

“Hang your idea of what’s ladylike. Hang your suitors and hang that bloody harp!”

They never let her have any fun. Lucy just wanted to go hunting, riding, running about. Anything besides being locked up in her shockingly dull gilded cage. When would her parents realize she would never be the perfect missish girl? The frustration made her want to scream. Or- or…

It was at that unfortunate moment that a servant entered carrying a tray for afternoon tea. Lucy abruptly seized the tea pot with both hands and held it threateningly over her head.

“Please dear, not the bone china, it belonged to your grandmoth-”

Her mother’s words were cut off by the sound of the little pot smashing onto the floor. The pieces skittered and slid across the shining hardwood now wet with tea.

As Mr. Bradshaw looked over the damage his face became a starling shade of tomato red. “That’s it! There’s just no getting around it. I’ll have to call in favors from half the members of White’s. But we’re getting Master Croft!”

Three days later Lucy found herself in the presence of the one and only Everett Croft.

For anyone with daughters in the marriage market he Escort bayan was quite simply the most sought-after music master in Town. The gentry looked to him to reform the most desperate cases, when all other avenues had been exhausted. Although his methods for working such musical miracles were purported to be on the authoritarian side. In short, Master Croft had the reputation of being something of a tyrant- but a tyrant who gets results.

Standing before her, Lucy thought he certainly looked the part. Tall, imposing, ramrod straight posture. No more than thirty, he was younger than she had expected. His black long-tailed coat and high-collared vest were as fine as they were somber. His lips, though full, were pressed into a grim line, as was his firm jaw. Dark, almost black, eyes seemed to miss very little. Begrudgingly Lucy had to admit that she found him handsome, in a lofty, brooding sort of way.

She was abruptly jarred from her admiration of his pensive good looks when he dropped a heavy black bag onto the glittering parquet floor.

“How do you do Mr. Croft?” Lucy curtseyed prettily.

“In future, you shall address me as Master Croft.” He instructed in a clear and clipped baritone.

A rather unpromising start.

Master Croft hardly looked at her. Instead he let his sharp eyes roam over the music room. As the space was designed for entertaining and impressing guests, the family wealth was on full display. The walls boasted of silk wall-hangings of a pale blue decorated with delicate molding. High ceilings arched overhead, ornately painted with figures of chubby little cherubs. Every conceivable surface had a bit of ivory or gilding to dazzle the eye. Yet Master Croft did not look particularly impressed by the garish surroundings. Something about his expression told Lucy that he was not impressed by much.

One by one her new tutor began removing sheets of music from out of the bag. He took his time laying out the sheets on the stand. The silence stretched out uncomfortably between them and Lucy had to suppress more than one nervous shudder. Finally, he reached into the bag and produced a short, leather wrapped riding crop. He arched the thin rod slightly, testing its pliancy. Lucy gulped.

“Are you also a riding instructor in your spare time?” She asked, mainly to cut the interminable tension.

“No.” He looked at her for the first time. Really looked at her. Deep inside, as if he was trying to divine what she had for breakfast. She could feel her cheeks glow warm and flush under his precise examination. “I have my own methods some would call unconventional but they have proven very effective. It will not be easy but if you give yourself over to my process I swear I’ll make a musician of you yet.”

Save the swearing till after you’ve heard me play, she thought glumly.

“I have a few rules. Failure to abide by them will result in punishment. The rules are simple. One lash of the crop for every missed note or smudge in your copying. Three lashes for failing to address me properly.”

Lucy snorted.

He eyed her sharply. “Five lashes for insolence. And finally, ten for outright disobedience. Is that clear?”


Abruptly he flicked his wrist and the crop snapped across her knuckles- a first taste of his particular brand of instruction. “Yes what?”

“Yes Master.” She answered with an indignant pout-turned-scowl.

He was standing very near, although looming would be a more accurate description. He was bigger than her, much bigger. Up close she could tell his eyes were not black but an alluring shade of slate grey. And pointed right at her. Lucy’s heart began to race at his closeness.

“Very well, let us begin.” He commanded. Although his voice had such a resonance of authority it sounded as if everything he said was a command. “Play some scales.”

Lucy gracefully perched herself on the stool before the harp. The instrument itself was a thing of great beauty. It towered over her with ornate gold scrolling along the column and soundboard. The many strings, when strummed, trembled and glittered in the light.

Seated before the elegant harp in an equally elegant Romanesque gown, Lucy bore an uncanny resemblance to a Roman goddess. But once she started playing it was immediately clear that goddess was none other than Discord herself. Harsh chords rang out, echoing off the vaulted ceiling, no doubt startling the painted cherubs from their heavenly repose.

She fumbled and cursed her way through a few basic tunes. All the while Master Croft paced nearby, occasionally swatting the crop against his muscular thigh. Lucy could feel his icy stare bore into her. His keen scrutiny only served to make her nerves more jangled and her fingers clumsier.

“Damn and blast!” She blurted as the final sour notes lingered in the air like a foul odor.

“Enough.” Her flummoxed tutor muttered, pinching his brow between thumb and forefinger.

“It’s no use, you know. Many have tried. I’m just no good.”

“Nonsense, you just need Bayan escort to be taken in hand. It’s not your fault that you have never been held accountable for your actions. A daily diet of constant compliance cannot be healthy. To be thwarted now and again exercises the character.” Amusement pulled at the corner of his full lips. “Tell me Miss Bradshaw, have you ever been spanked before?”

“Certainly not. My father wouldn’t dare. I had a governess once who tried to spank me but she soon gave that up after my teeth met with her hand.” She announced with a triumphant grin.

“If you attempt such a tactic with me I shall be obliged to get out the bridle bit.” The icy tone of his voice suggested that the threat was not an idle one.

Lucy’s eyes grew wide at the horrid suggestion. Who knew what implements of punishment awaited her in that black bag of horrors. Anxiously, she leapt from the stool to put some distance between them.

“But I don’t want to be spanked.” She whined peevishly, knowing full well how childish she sounded but unable to stop herself.

“You’ve been allowed to do just as you want for far too long. That ends today.” He pronounced the last words with particular firmness.

Lucy briefly contemplated screaming. Although she doubted that would help. The servants had long since learned to ignore her outbursts. She eyed the door, maybe if she made it to her bedroom she could lock herself in.

Seeming to read her mind, he moved to block her path.

“Now now, there is no getting out of it, Miss Bradshaw. Your parents bolted the door and gave me the only key. It was one of the stipulations for my employment that my lessons must not be interrupted. So until I say we are finished no one is leaving this room. Now come here!” He barked while striking the riding crop against his palm for dramatic effect. Dramatic, indeed.

For a moment Lucy considered making a grand show of refusal. To fly about the room shrieking, smashing plates and toppling furniture but then she saw the unrelenting determination of Everett’s gaze. His power, his will was not to be denied. At the thought a peculiar shudder ran down her spine and lodged in another place all together.

Lucy trudged over to him, if only to avoid the humiliation of being dragged.

Without further ado, he pulled them both onto a nearby chaise lounge and forced her over his lap with a firm hand around her waist. She flailed in response. Although she had intended to cooperate, the way he manhandled her rankled her pride so that her limbs began to rebel on their own accord. Her body bucked like a snared rabbit. Yet despite her squirming and kicking she remained firmly in his grasp.

Still her struggles doubled when she felt her skirts being lifted around her waist, shift and all. Cool air rushed to greet the exposed flesh of her backside. Lucy couldn’t believe the position she found herself in- naked from the waist down, turned over the knee of a handsome ‘gentlemen’. About to be spanked. It was terrifying and yet a little exciting. Admittedly more exciting than embroidering cushions.

“By my count you have earned 58 strokes but since it is your first time I shall be lenient and round it down to 50.” He announced calmly.

“Put me down!” She protested once more. The embarrassment of being subdued and displayed in such a demeaning manner seemed punishment enough to her. “This isn’t funny.”

Ignoring her objections, he ran the crop gently along the rounded curve of her bottom. “Such lovely raw material. I’m going to enjoy breaking you down and building you into something new and improved.”

When the first blow came she gasped, more in shock than in pain. Lucy went very still, her body innately yielding to his confident control. Before she could process the first lash he was swatting her again. After a few moments, the pain finally reached her, erupting in a hundred tiny pin pricks across her posterior. In a panic, her hands shot back to try to block any further attack.

“If you do not put your hands down they will be bound.” He warned coolly. “Your choice.”

Reluctantly she lowered them to her side. The riding crop resumed its stinging assault. Lucy decided then and there that she hated the crop almost as much as she hated the brute who wielded it.

During her initial struggles ringlets from her carefully constructed coiffure had fallen around her face. Now they jiggled ignominiously with every impact. Lucy focused on the pattern on the parquet floor, the clawed feet on the furniture, the shine on Master Croft’s hessian boots. Anything to distract from the sting and the embarrassment. Glancing up, she caught sight of the painted ceiling and blushed. It felt as though the cherubs were watching her humiliation with their round, guileless faces.

Lucy tried to remain quiet, to not give her tormentor the satisfaction of hearing her howls of discomfort but she could not stop the soft whimpers that began to steal from her lips. As the punishment continued they were converted to full-throated Escort moans and then sobbing cries. The pain was overwhelming.

Lucy began her struggles anew. She wriggled and twisted in his lap but it was no use. His hold on her tightened, making her acutely aware of his superior strength. The blows continued, her buttocks clenching with each touch of the devilish implement. She balled her fists, fingernails digging crescent-shaped grooves into her palm.

Tears began streaming down her cheeks. She peered over her shoulder, searching Master Croft’s face for even a morsel of pity. Nothing. His eyes were impassive and his jaw set in a hard line as if he was utterly indifferent to her suffering.

“You villain!” She seethed between clenched teeth. He answered her insult with a particularly hard stroke along her upper thigh. “Stop this at once or I will-.”

“You will what?” He paused with his arm raised menacingly.

“I’ll- I’ll tell my father.” She threatened, wishing she could better conceal the less than intimidating quaver in her voice.

He chuckled in response. “Your father said I was to improve your playing by any means necessary. I assure you this is sorely needed. As well as richly deserved.”

The strokes began again, this time harder. Lucy slumped into his lap, resigned to the torture. A realization settled over her; that nothing could stop it- not struggles or threats or pleas for mercy. She could only endure it. Accept it, accept it, accept it, she chanted inwardly.

The mantra seemed to work. Her tense muscles relaxed a bit. The sharp sting of the crop turned into something closer to a dull ache. Once she decided to give herself over to the experience she noticed something lurking under the pain. Something as delightful as it was shameful; the burning brand of desire.

A building tension was steadily mounting deep inside her. A tension that demanded resolution. Without warning a hard strike nipped the sensitive lips of her sex. She yelped as a bolt of pleasure shot through her. A teasing taste of pleasure that left her breathless for more.

Her tormentor maintained a brisk tempo and with each lick of the whip the fire spread. Would he strike her quim again? she wondered with a combination of excitement and trepidation. She didn’t need to wonder long. The stinging leather tip suddenly caught her in that most sensitive place. A rush of moisture drenched the dark curls there. The arousal confused and disturbed her, bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

The crop came down over and over. Lucy alternated from agony to ecstasy and back again. She had long since lost track of the lashes. Surely, they had reached fifty. Perhaps he would never stop she thought in a panic. But finally the blows did stop, though it took her disordered mind quite some time to realize. For long moments after she lay trembling and crying, ashamed of her body’s indecent response. Her derriere feeling nearly as bruised as her pride.

Eventually Master Croft set her down on the floor and her legs nearly gave out. He was by her side in an instant, steadying her. Once she was sure her wobbly legs could hold her she tried to push him away. It seemed wrong to accept a kind gesture from someone who had so recently inflicted such cruelty.

But he refused to release her. Instead he leaned closer, “There now, was that so bad?”

“It was horrid.” She pouted, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. Which wasn’t a lie exactly. More like a half truth.

“But you took it so well.” He said, his voice suddenly gentle.

“No I didn’t,” she sniffled. She tried to remain indifferent but his words secretly thrilled her. Some part of her wanted him to be pleased with her, though she couldn’t possibly conceive of why.

“Now for our next session I expect you to practice your scales at least two hours daily and copy two Mozart pieces.”

“Yes Master.” Reluctantly Lucy mumbled the requisite words.

Hat and bag in hand, he walked toward the exit and then turned back. “Oh and Miss Bradshaw, do not disappoint me.”

That night sleep eluded Lucy. She couldn’t stop thinking about Master Croft. The man was impossible! That he should presume to use a riding crop on her like a wayward mare, it was unthinkable. And utterly ungentlemanly. Although her reaction to his behavior wasn’t very ladylike in return. She blushed just remembering her body’s shameful response. The hot, insistent throbbing in her sex brought on by his exacting punishment.

Still the heat in her loins had not dissipated. It lingered through dinner. It was present while she bathed and prepared for bed. And it was most definitely still there as she laid between the cool sheets trying vainly to fall asleep.

Every time she would shut her eyes lewd scenes would play out on the backs of her eyelids. In these unbidden images Lucy found herself stark naked in the music room. Master Croft circling her like a predator, crop in hand. Before she knew what she was doing, Lucy was reaching under the covers to toy with the delicate flesh between her thighs. Finding the area wet, she let her fingers wander. They quickly uncovered the swollen nub of her clitoris and rubbed it vigorously. Her caress was not gentle or teasing as it was on some nights. She didn’t want gentle tonight, she wanted something harsher.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32