Lords, Ladies, Butlers and Maids: Period Erotica in Private Houses. Alegra Verde

plays. It’s soft and sweet, just like her. I’m no expert but to me it sounds heavenly.

      Mr Blackshaw, however, is unimpressed. He raps Lily smartly across the knuckles with his ruler. I gasp in concert with her and cover my mouth lest my own noise attract his displeasure. Fortunately, it all seems reserved for his pupil, who cowers beside him like a flower withering in a storm. Wisps of hair have come loose from her lacy mob cap and she smoothes them away from her face before making another attempt at the piece. But it’s no use. She’s lost the trick of it.

      ‘Appalling,’ Mr Blackshaw says. The room seems full of the stony silence that follows. Lily looks almost relieved when he tells her sharply to begin again.

      By this time her hands are trembling so much she can barely place her fingers on the right keys. She takes a deep shuddering breath but before she can start to play Mr Blackshaw finds fault with her posture.

      ‘And don’t slouch. Do you think Chopin imagined this piece played in such a fashion? By young ladies who can’t even be bothered to sit up straight and who clearly have no respect for his music?’

      Lily has no answer for that. She lowers her head submissively as he chastises her.

      ‘I’m trying to make something of you, young lady. Or don’t you want to be more than just a chambermaid?’

      ‘I do, sir, it’s just –’

      ‘I like to instil a sense of culture in my servants, to smooth out the rough edges. But it seems like I’m wasting my time with you.’

      Lily whimpers as though struck. ‘But sir,’ she protests, ‘I have practised, honest! It’s just … it’s a difficult piece.’

      ‘Of course it’s difficult. I’m hardly going to set you something easy to learn, am I? Or perhaps you’d prefer that? Some simple little nursery rhyme? Something you can peck out with two fingers like an infant?’

      ‘But I can’t –’

      ‘Stand up.’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘You heard me, Lily. Stand up.’

      I hear her swallow as she slowly rises to her feet, head well down, her face flushed with shame. My own face burns in sympathy but I wouldn’t take her place. I stand still, as I have been instructed, a silent witness to her disgrace. But her nervousness is infectious and my fingers pluck at the velvet ribbons of my gown. The brocade skirt rustles softly, earning me a warning glance from Mr Blackshaw. I stop at once and fold my hands in front of me, the perfect lady.

      Mr Blackshaw turns back to Lily. He taps the cushioned piano bench with his ruler and she gives him one final beseeching look before obeying the unspoken command. I press my legs together as she assumes the familiar position, gently placing first one knee and then the other on the piano bench. She kneels there like a penitent, her hands resting lightly on the keys as Mr Blackshaw raises her black uniform skirt and tucks it into the strings of her pinafore.

      Her undergarments barely conceal her as it is but Mr Blackshaw wants her fully exposed, humiliated. He unties the drawstring that fastens her pantalettes around her waist. They fall open like the petals of a flower, revealing her soft round bottom and the pink lips of her sex.

      The position forces her back into a graceful arch although I can see the strain in her thighs as she keeps her bottom raised up. She is not allowed to sit on her heels. Mr Blackshaw makes that clear with one warning tap from the ruler.

      ‘Now,’ he says coolly, ‘we’ll see if you can’t perform a little better now. You may begin when you’re ready.’

      I hold my breath while I wait for her to find the courage for another attempt. I know she’ll fail. Sure enough, she hits a wrong note in the very first chord. Bravely she tries to play through it but there’s no recovering from such a disastrous mistake. Eventually the notes trail away and she bows her head in disgrace.

      This time Mr Blackshaw doesn’t say a word. He steps purposefully to one side and lays the ruler against the smooth pale flesh of her bottom. A little shudder runs through Lily’s body and she holds perfectly still for him as he raises the ruler and brings it down with a sharp crack across both cheeks.

      I edge a little to the side so I may see her face as well. Her eyes are closed and she bites her lip to keep from crying out. Mr Blackshaw doesn’t like her to make a fuss.

      The second stroke elicits a whimper and she tosses her head with a gasp. Her fingers twitch but she knows better than to bang the keys in response to the pain. She wriggles a little and I can see two vivid pink stripes rising across her flesh, flaring and deepening. They might be the brush strokes of a painter.

      Lily tenses in anticipation of another stroke and Mr Blackshaw leaves her in suspense for several seconds before delivering it. This one is harder than the others. This one makes her yelp and she drums her legs on the cushion.

      My breath catches in my throat at the sight, at the shock of bright pain she feels in such an intimate area. For I am no stranger to it myself. My bottom tingles at the memory of my own such punishments. The slice of the cane, the kiss of the rod, the smack of a hard hand. All of it makes me squirm. All of it makes me wet.

      It has the same effect on Lily, whose pouting sex glistens with her own arousal as the ruler finds its mark again. I bite my lip, feeling lightheaded as I imagine myself comforting her, stroking her tender pink cheeks. Kissing her …

      But only afterwards.

      Now I must watch as she struggles to maintain her position. Her cap has come away and her hair falls in soft waves around her pretty face. I love seeing her in disarray, all her dignity stripped away, her vulnerability laid bare. My sex throbs in response as she whimpers and yelps, flinching at each stroke. When at last the punishment is over I have to remind myself to breathe.

      ‘Now then, Lily,’ Mr Blackshaw says, his voice a little kinder now that she has been corrected, ‘shall we try it again?’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ she whispers.

      Her legs tremble with the effort of holding her position as she arranges her fingers on the keys once more. This time she doesn’t hesitate. This time the music that comes forth is note-perfect. Beautiful. I close my eyes, listening, letting it flow over me. The lovely little song might be her cool hands caressing my naked skin, perhaps soothing away the pain of my own chastisement for some trivial misdemeanour.

      She brings the piece to an end and waits to hear his verdict.

      He is smiling. ‘Very good, Lily. Very good indeed.’

      She smiles too, her face radiant with pride at having satisfied her demanding taskmaster. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she murmurs.

      He takes her arm and helps her up. After kneeling for so long her legs wobble and it takes her a moment to find her feet. Mr Blackshaw doesn’t allow her to adjust her drawers or her skirt, however, and as she turns around I have a good view of the scarlet canvas of her bottom. The red is a startling contrast to the black of her skirt and the white of her pinafore and pantalettes. She looks over at me and I blush as she gives me a lascivious wink, all her shyness gone now.

      I feel my nipples tighten beneath the heavy gown and I suddenly sense Mr Blackshaw’s eyes on me. His gaze might be a hand beneath my skirt for the wave of desire that overwhelms me. My sex pounds with need. Mr Blackshaw turns to Lily, who returns his look with a mischievous grin. Then they both hold out a hand to me.