Chapter 3

Fiona arrived home, thinking about how her afternoon with Laura had gone. It had been different this time, Laura taking the lead much more and being more commanding this time. Fiona reflected that she had taken her by surprise on the first occasion, but being ready and prepared this time Laura had been much more in control. Fiona didn’t see that as a bad thing. Quite the contrary, she had positively enjoyed Laura setting the agenda, so was quite happy with how the dynamic had seemed to change between their two intimate encounters.

“How did you find the grand piano?” Her mother’s voice jolted Fiona’s thoughts away from her intimacy with Laura, and back to her music lesson.

“It was wonderful. The sound ... louder, richer, clearer. I had to work harder to play it, but the improved sound makes that worthwhile.”

Her mother smiled approvingly. “Ms. Middleton called to say you made excellent progress with that Beethoven piece. She has a high opinion of you, Fiona.”

Fiona’s pulse stuttered at the mention of Laura’s name. She turned toward the staircase, shrugging off her coat to hide the blush creeping up her neck. “She pushes hard. But it’s...” Their time in the bedroom that afternoon came into her thoughts again. “ ... rewarding.”

“She mentioned that she was giving you your next lesson on the grand too.”

“Yes, it’s very good of her,” said Fiona. “I’m excited about it.”

Her mother smiled warmly. “We’re lucky that she’s giving you such special attention, but she told me that you deserve it.”

Fiona nearly choked, knowing just how special Laura’s attention had truly been. She gripped the banister, her thoughts turning to her intimacy with Laura yet again. “I’m glad she feels that way,” she managed to say, her voice a little higher than usual.

Upstairs, she closed her bedroom door and exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead against the cool wood. The memory of Laura’s hands, her voice, the way she’d taken control - it all flooded back in vivid detail. Fiona bit her lip, her mind humming, and wondered how she was going to focus on anything else now. The lessons, the grand piano ... they were just pretexts, weren’t they?

The next day, feeling more composed now, Fiona sat at the piano, making the effort to go through some of her practice exercises. She knew that Laura would be disappointed with her if she didn’t continue to make progress with her playing, so she tried hard to concentrate.

Laura had set the next lesson for Tuesday, so Fiona vowed to make good use of her time until that day arrived. She abandoned her scales and turned to the Appassionata, gritting her teeth through the fractured transition that had cost her forfeits of clothing last time. After three attempts she had still failed to get through it perfectly. Measure forty-two was the sticking point. She studied the chord progression, determined that she would conquer the transition by Tuesday.

As she practiced, she became aware that she was playing differently now, louder, more confidently, attacking the keys with a boldness she hadn’t possessed before. Was this Laura’s influence? She imagined Laura standing behind her, her hands resting lightly on Fiona’s shoulders, guiding her movements with whispered praise. The thought sent a tremor through her fingers, disrupting the rhythm.

She sighed and stopped mid-phrase, rubbing her temples. Distractions were inevitable, but the music had to come first - Laura would demand nothing less. Still, her mind wandered back to yesterday, the way Laura had stripped naked, the way her voice had fractured beyond recognition, she way she had dominated the dynamic. Fiona reveled in such thoughts, but steered her mind back to the piano.

The next few days passed in an almost feverish haze, Fiona’s fingers stumbling over scales, her concentration fractured every time she thought of Laura. However, by Monday evening, she had at least beaten the Appassionata’s problem section into submission through the force of sheer repetition. Despite her lack of focus over the last few days, this was an undoubted triumph.

She found herself counting down the hours until Tuesday’s lesson. She was eager to hear Laura’s reaction to her progress. She was also eager, of course, for what would happen after the lesson. She imagined Laura’s pleased smile when she played the passage smoothly. Would Laura reward her? Would she still find fault and punish her? Fiona wasn’t sure which excited her more.

As she arrived at Laura’s studio, Fiona smoothed her skirt and adjusted her blouse, ensuring she looked presentable. Laura answered the door with a knowing smile, her gaze lingering on Fiona’s lips before stepping aside to let her in. The grand piano gleamed under the soft lighting, but Fiona barely registered it, distracted by her heart was hammering against her ribs.

Laura wasted no time. “Play me the Appassionata,” she commanded, gesturing toward the piano. Fiona obeyed, sliding onto the bench with practiced ease. The moment her fingers touched the keys, she felt Laura’s presence behind her, close enough for her warmth, her scent, the faint whisper of her breath against Fiona’s neck. She played flawlessly, her fingers flying through the once-troublesome passage with newfound confidence.

Laura’s hands settled on her shoulders, thumbs stroking the tense muscles there. “Good,” she murmured, her voice low and approving. Fiona nearly missed the next chord, her breath hitching. Laura’s lips brushed her ear. “But you’re still holding back. Play it like you mean it.”

Fiona swallowed hard and attacked the keys again, pouring everything into the music, the weeks of fantasy and frustration, the restless nights imagining Laura’s touch, the desperate ache between her thighs whenever she thought of their last lesson. The piano practically vibrated under her hands.

Laura’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Better,” she purred, then suddenly swept Fiona’s hair aside, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the exposed nape of her neck. Fiona’s hands faltered, but Laura caught her wrists, guiding them back to the keys without breaking contact. “Finish the piece.”

Fiona obeyed, her pulse roaring in her ears as Laura’s teeth grazed her skin between phrases. When the final chord rang out, Laura’s fingers squeezed her shoulders tightly again. “That was your best rendition by far,” she murmured. “You practiced well. Perhaps you’re ready to try the second movement.”

Fiona was unsure how to respond. She liked being challenged and enjoyed Laura’s confidence in her, but had found the first movement very difficult to master and fully expected the second movement to be the same. “Yes I can try it,” she said eventually. “If you think I’m ready.”

“I think you’re ready,” Laura replied. “But first, let’s try something lighter. Just to mix things up a little and make your lesson varied.” She walked away from Fiona and rustled through a large pile of sheet music, returning to remove the Appassionata from the music desk and replace it with something new.

“In My Life,” read Fiona. “Words & Music By John Lennon and Paul McCartney.”

Laura tapped the sheet with a polished fingernail. “You’ll sight-read this. No preparation.” Her tone brooked no argument, but her lips twitched - anticipation or mischief? Fiona squinted at the unfamiliar arrangement, a simplified piano version of the Beatles classic. Her fingers hesitated over the opening chords.

She took a deep breath, banishing the thunder of Beethoven’s furies from her mind, understanding that this was something of a different character entirely. The opening chords came out a little stiff, her eyes darting between the staves as she oriented herself. The melody emerged cautiously, careful rather than confident, but intact. She relaxed a fraction once she realized her fingers were finding the shapes without conscious effort.

“Keep going,” Laura said softly, encouragingly. She hadn’t needed to, actually, as Fiona had settled well, the rhythm steady now. Her sight-reading was sharp, a byproduct of Laura’s relentless drilling, and soon the melody began to sing. Laura was pleased, but wanted perfection. “Play the left hand more lightly,” she said. “Think of it as support, not structure.”

Fiona followed the instruction and noted how the melody became warmer and more natural. She played on with enthusiasm, growing in belief, seeing the piece differently now - not as a break from Beethoven, but as something with its own quiet demands. When she reached the final chord, she let it fade naturally, fingers resting on the keys.

“Again?” she asked.

Laura nodded. “From the top. And this time, make it yours.”

Fiona straightened the score and began again. This time, the opening chords settled immediately. Her left hand moved with less weight, more intention, while the melody in her right hand unfolded with a quiet confidence. She no longer had to chase the notes; her eyes skimmed ahead, anticipating the turns instead of reacting to them.

Laura sat on the bench beside Fiona, listening hard, hoping to be impressed. By the time the second verse arrived, the music had softened. The phrases breathed. Fiona allowed the line to linger just a fraction longer at the ends, not quite rubato, but enough to let the melody speak.

“Stop there,” said Laura. “Now, just one more thing.” Fiona kept her hands poised over the keys, waiting. “On the melody,” Laura continued, tapping the air lightly in time, “let the high notes bloom, but don’t lean on them. Think of them as memories passing through, not moments to underline.” Fiona nodded slowly, absorbing the image. “And ease the pedal here,” Laura added, indicating a bar with her finger. “Too much blur, and the harmony loses its shape.”

Fiona adjusted and began once more from the top of the phrase. The change was immediate. The melody rose naturally, warm but unforced, and the harmony beneath it stayed clear, supportive. The piece no longer sounded like a sight-reading exercise at all, but like something gently remembered.

Laura smiled, just slightly. “Yes,” she said. “That’s the balance.” Fiona played through to the end without hurry, letting the final chord fade. Her hands rested on the keys, and she realized she was smiling too. The piece was simple compared to Beethoven, but somehow sophisticated at the same time.

“Good,” said Laura. “Now, remember that sound.”

Fiona looked up, a little surprised. “That sound?”

“The balance,” Laura replied. “The way you let the melody lead without forcing it. The way the left hand supported instead of dominating.” She paused, then reached for the thicker score still resting on the side of the piano. She placed Beethoven back on the stand. “We’re not starting from the beginning,” Laura said calmly. “Just a few bars. But I want you to bring that same listening into it.”

Fiona hesitated. “Into the Appassionata?”

“Especially into the Appassionata,” Laura said. “People think it’s all power. It isn’t. It’s control under pressure.” She pointed to the opening passage. “Look here. The left hand drives, yes - but it must never crush the right. Just like in the Beatles piece. The melody still has a voice.” Fiona nodded slowly, understanding beginning to dawn. “Try it,” Laura said. “Quietly. No heroics.”

Fiona placed her hands on the keys again. This time, she didn’t brace herself. She let the opening chord fall with weight but not violence, listening closely as the sound bloomed and settled. The right-hand figure entered more clearly than before, shaped rather than pushed.

“There,” Laura murmured. “Do you hear the difference?” Fiona did. The music felt steadier, less frantic - darker, yes, but more deliberate. She made it through the first phrase without the familiar surge of panic.

She stopped, almost startled. “It feels ... slower.”

“It isn’t,” Laura said. “You’re just not fighting it.” Fiona tried the passage once more, carrying over the same restraint she’d found in In My Life. When she reached the end of the line, she let her hands rest, breath shallow but calm.

Laura smiled, this time openly. “That’s progress,” she said. “Real progress.”

Fiona glanced down at the score, no longer intimidated in quite the same way. “So the easy piece wasn’t really a break,” she said.

Laura’s smile widened just a fraction. “It was a lesson. Just a different kind.” Fiona nodded, feeling the pieces - Beatles and Beethoven alike - quietly rearranging themselves into something new she could understand.

Laura turned to another page in the Beethoven score. “Time to try the second movement.”

“The Andante?”

Laura nodded. “Exactly. After all that turbulence, Beethoven asks for restraint.” She tapped the page lightly. “Theme and variations. Nothing here should sound forced.”

Fiona shifted on the bench, scanning the score, her heart fluttering a little. The notation looked calmer - steadier rhythms, fewer explosions - but the length of the lines made her wary. “This isn’t much easier,” she said cautiously.

“No,” Laura agreed. “Because it asks something different of you.”

Fiona placed her hands on the keys and began the opening theme. The first chords unfolded simply, almost austerely. After the storm of the first movement, the music felt exposed, as if there were nowhere to hide. Fiona focused on keeping the tone even, letting each harmony speak clearly before moving on.

Laura listened closely. “Good. Now, don’t rush the cadence. Let the silence do some of the work.” Fiona adjusted, allowing the final chord of the phrase to linger just a breath longer. The effect surprised her - the line felt more complete, more intentional. “Yes,” Laura said softly. “That’s the idea.”

They moved into the first variation. Fiona’s fingers hesitated as the texture thickened, but she kept her touch light, remembering the balance she’d found in In My Life. The music grew, not in volume, but in complexity. “Careful with the voicing,” Laura said. “Bring out the top line. Everything else should feel like it’s breathing underneath.”

Fiona tried again, shaping the phrase more delicately. The melody rose clearer this time, and the harmony supported it without weighing it down. When she finished the variation, she exhaled slowly. “This feels ... calmer,” she said.

Laura nodded. “It’s calm on the surface. Underneath, it’s incredibly disciplined. Beethoven doesn’t let you relax - he just changes the rules.” Fiona moved into the next variation, concentration etched across her face. A note slipped slightly under her finger, but she recovered without stopping, maintaining the flow. Laura smiled faintly. “That recovery matters.”