Exhausted from a Miss Grant's usual strenuous class, the dancers straggled out as the bell rang. Their leg warmers were drooping only slightly more than their sore arms and legs.

But Miss Grant, also as usual, looked like she could keep going for hours. Days, perhaps. Even though sweat was glistening on her face and had soaked a deep V on her pink leotard, plastering it to her heaving breasts, her eyes were still afire.

Bruno got up from the piano, shaking his head and giving her an enigmatic smile. He was always astonished by Miss Grant's energy. Why, she must be almost 30, maybe even past it, and she could still keep up with a class of teenagers. He stuffed the music sheets into his folder and turned to go.

"Mr. Martelli!" Miss Grant's voice was like a knife, able to slice through even the loudest dance music and pierce the back of a dancer who'd gone astray. In the quiet, empty room, it echoed sharply and stopped the young, curly haired piano player in his tracks.

"Mr. Martelli, I have to practice my solo for the teacher's recital next week. And I need you to play for me."

Bruno's shoulders rose and fell as he thought of the date he'd made after school.

"That is if you don't have other plans," the slim, dark-skinned teacher said. Her tone, it seemed to Bruno, made it clear his other plans would have to wait. With a sigh, he trudged back to the piano and splayed out the music she handed him.

He began to play. It was an up tempo classical piece, full of bold arpeggios and pounding chords. Not his style, at all, but he could admire the way the composer used a wall of sound to stir up the emotions. In a way, it was the easy way out, avoiding the subtleties he liked to put into his own compositions. But there was nothing easy about these chords, and he had to keep his eyes on the pages for awhile before he got into the composer's head and could anticipate what came next.

When Bruno looked up, Miss Grant was writhing on the floor next to the piano. Her shapely legs whipped furiously back and forth in counterpoint to her waving torso. Slowly, without seeming to use her hands at all, she rose to her feet.

Bruno swallowed as he looked at her in between glances at the music. Miss Grant didn't have just the energy of a teenager; she had the body of one, too: slim, lithe, bursting with promise. The sweat that now soaked her entire leotard made the already tight garment stick even closer to her body, hugging the gentle curve of her breasts, allowing the taut nipples to poke through.

She looked him in the eye and Bruno glanced away. He looked off into space, trying to think of something else, maybe to get lost in the music. It didn't work. The notes were pounding in his brain, now, working their cheap magic on his emotions. He looked over at Miss Grant again.

She was arcing her back, slowly falling back into an arch with only the tips of her toes and her fingers touching the floor. Bruno stared at her crotch. The leotard was pulled so tight that he could see a few curly black hairs poking out around the sides and the folds of her cunt were clearly outlined by the material.

Trying to avoid her eyes as she bounced to her feet again, he shifted on the piano bench, trying to give his raging hard- on room to breathe. It was pressing against his tight jeans. Hoping she couldn't see, Bruno quickly jerked his left hand down to shift the cock into a more comfortable position. Miss Grant glanced pointedly in his direction; she must have noticed the missing chord, he thought.

Still she twirled on, flashing across the floor, making dramatic leaps and abrupt pirouettes. Bruno began to fantasize about her, imagining the skimpy leotard falling away under his eager fingers.

In his daydream, Miss Grant turned in surprise as he approached her on the practice room floor and harshly ripped off her leotard. She quickly crossed her hands in front of her breasts, trying to shield herself, but he would not let her.

With flashing eyes, he pushed her down to one of the practice mats. She struggled underneath him. "Admit it," he told her boldly. "You want me, I saw it in your eyes. You want my hard cock in that cunt of yours, and you want it now!" Her eyes looked up at him pleadingly and her lips moved but she said nothing.

Holding her down with the weight of his body, Bruno stripped off his shirt and shrugged out of his jeans. His stiff dick wobbled above her wet cunt as he gazed at her svelte, brown body, that perfect dancer's instrument. He brushed the tip of his cock against her pussy and at last she spoke.

"No! No, Bruno, please, don't do this!" Her slim hands were no match for his strength as he brushed aside her weak protests and split her cunt lips with his shaft. It slid in easily and he thrilled at the crushing feel of her tight tunnel.

"Yes, Lydia," he said, bending over her. "Yes, yes, you want it! Take that cock into you. See, your cunt knows what it wants," he said, as her hips began to buck up at him.

"Oh, yes," the teacher said, sobbing. "All right, I admit it, I want it all! Fuck me, Bruno! Bruno!"

"Bruno!"

Miss Grant's sharp voice cut through his reverie. He looked down and saw his hands flattened against the keys in a massive chord that, he now realized, he could still hear echoing against the walls. He blushed as he looked up at the teacher, who was leaning against the piano, catching her breath.

"That was a very vigorous interpretation," she said, looking at him. "But I don't think that was quite the tempo the composer had in mind." Her eyes traveled down his body and stopped. "Oh, I see," she said with a smile. "You had your -- uh, mind -- on other things, Mr. Martelli?"

He tried to stammer out a reply but nothing came to mind. What could he say? "Yeah, I was thinking about fucking that tight cunt of yours, Miss Grant?" Instead, he said nothing. Let her make her own conclusions.

"Look, Bruno," she said, "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from some hot date, but I really need to practice this piece, and you're the only one who can do it justice. I..."

He broke in. "No, it's not that, it's... uh, never mind." He kept his eyes fastened on the keys, not daring to look at her. "Do you want to try it again?"

"Mmmm, yes, I think so," she drawled. "But give me a minute, first, OK? I'll be right back."

She trotted off through the front door of the practice room. He heard an odd double click as she closed it, but didn't give it much thought. Taking advantage of the break, Bruno massaged his aching cock while he scanned the music.

Just a few moments later, the back door of the room opened. He turned back, startled, as Miss Grant backed in, fumbling at the door for a minute before she let it close behind her. Bruno noticed that she had slid the shade down over the door's window, probably to keep out gawking students as she ran through the number again.

"From the top?" he asked, turning back to the music.

"Not yet," Miss Grant said. "I have to get into the mood for this. Let me put my costume on."

Bruno looked around, confused. The room didn't have any closets, so where... ?

As he watched, Miss Grant pulled a blackboard that was mounted on rollers away from one corner of the room and slid it across in front of him, positioning it to screen the corner facing the piano. She picked up a brown paper bag and slipped behind the board.

He could still see her legs, almost to the hips, in the open space beneath the chalk-covered board. As he watched, the teacher hopped from one slim leg to the other, pulling off her leggings and tossing them over the top of the board.

He felt his cock growing even bigger as he looked.

Next he saw her pink leotard come wriggling down, down, down, and then she kicked it up and he saw it, too, flop over the board, swaying slightly.

It suddenly occurred to Bruno that Miss Grant must now be naked behind the screen. Again visions of her body came to him. As he rubbed his dick slowly, he imagined the taut skin of her belly brushing his, the rippling muscles of her arms and legs wrapped around him like a vise, her hungry cunt grabbing at his cock.

"I hope you're thinking about that middle arpeggio, Mr. Martelli!" Her voice again cut his reverie.

Bruno blinked. He answered her by rippling through the notes.

"Sounding good," she said as he saw her hand reach down and pick up the bag.

There was some rustling and other odd noises. Then the bag plopped to the floor again and a silky white stocking floated down below the board. As Bruno watched, licking his lips, Miss Grant's right leg slid into the stocking, which clung tightly to her well-shaped ankle. Then another stocking came down and again a firm leg filled out its smooth curves.

When the teacher bent down to pick up the bag again, Bruno thought he almost could see her nipples hanging down below the board, but they were gone before he could be sure. Two red stiletto-heeled shoes clattered to the floor and Miss Grant stepped into them, accentuating the curves of her legs.

The empty bag, crumpled into a ball, came flying over the board and bounced once on the piano before skidding past Bruno's shoulder and onto the floor.

"Sorry, I hope I didn't hit you," Miss Grant said. Bruno looked up. She was coming around the side of the board. She seemed to slink more than walk. She was tying the last knot in the top of a bright red... thing. It looked like something Bruno had seen once in a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog the boys in grade school were passing around; it had been called a merry widow, he thought. Whatever it was called, the tight outfit barely covered her sleek torso; her breasts bulged out the top, looking bigger than he had imagined. The ruffles on the bottom seemed to stop just at the bottom of her crotch. He could see the thin white straps tugging at the tops of her stocks, rising along her chocolate brown thighs and disappearing under the tufts of the red ruffles. He felt drops of pre-cum soaking into his briefs as he thought of what was under those tantalizing ruffles.

"Y-you're going to wear that?" he managed to get out.

"There's a dress that goes with it," the lithe black woman said, motioning to a chair along one wall, where he saw a flouncy white gown. "But this should be enough for me to get in the mood. Don't you think?" She wiggled her top at him quickly and strode to the center of the floor. Her heels click- clicked as she picked her spot and waved at Bruno to begin.

As she began to dance, her movements seemed even more sensuous than the first time. Bruno felt the room grow hotter. His fingers almost slipped on the keys and he looked down at them: He was sweating. Funny, he hadn't noticed the heat before. In between beats he wiped first one hand, then the other on his jeans. His cock was pressing so hard against his jeans that even the quick, slight movement as he wiped his hands dry sent a shiver up his dick and through his entire body. He was glancing at the music only once in awhile, glad that he had memorized most of it the first time through. He wanted to keep his eyes on Miss Grant and her incredibly sexy body, writhing before him.

Again she got to the part where she bent over backwards. Bruno's mouth opened involuntarily when he saw that only a narrow strip of cloth stretched across her slit, and she wore no panties. He could see the darker skin of her pussy lips, split by the thin band of red. As she dipped back the cloth worked its way between her labia and he could see wet, pink folds opening up. The pounding beat of the music was tearing at his body and only a shred of self-control kept him from leaping off the piano bench and raping her right there and then.

He was still staring when Miss Grant rose to her feet. Had she seen him? He shifted his eyes back to the music sheets, trying to concentrate on the notes and forget the luscious body his teacher seemed to be flaunting so wildly.

She was leaping about again, her long legs flashing in the silky stockings. It reminded him of nature films, of gazelles on the run. Her entire body seemed to flow from one spot to another, moving so fast her limbs were a blur. But every once in awhile he would see her face frozen like a stop-motion movie, her eyes open wide and staring directly into his. Bruno's thoughts raced madly. This is crazy, he told himself. She's practicing for a performance, not a seduction. If I don't get myself under control I'll... he glanced down at his crotch. Damn! A dark spot was spreading just to one side of the zipper. He pictured himself creeping out of the room, music sheets clutched in front of him to hide the stain, feeling like a fool. Just the thought of the embarrassment made his dick subside a little.

A breeze brushed his cheek. He looked up and was startled to see Miss Grant was now dancing just inches from his body. He could feel intense heat pulsating from her and a heavy, musky odor filled his nostrils. Bruno tried to stare straight ahead at the music, but he couldn't help glancing to the sides. She stretched out a leg and her heel almost touched his arm; she swung an arm around and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Desperately he tried to get his mind off her body, so close to his. His cock was rising again; he squeezed his eyes tight for a second and imagined a knife slicing through it like a bologna -- that used to work when he got a hard-on while riding the school bus and needed to get rid of it before they got to school.

But when he opened his eyes Miss Grant's palm appeared before him, sliding down so close he could see the whorls of her pale fingertips. His dick immediately leaped back to its full length.

"You're doing very well, Mr. Martelli!" Her voice came out in between puffs, a whisper in his ear. "Just... just keep it up."

Then with a few pirouettes she was on the other end of the piano, and then she leaped atop it. Bruno looked up at her, stretched full-length before him. Her breasts heaved against the red lace of her top as she kicked her legs high, then swiveled quickly, placing her feet on his shoulders. He was looking directly into her cunt. It was shiny with her liquor, just inches from his face. He forced his eyes back to the music and felt her legs lift off him.

Bruno was bobbing back and forth on the piano bench now, his aching cock stretching to get some friction against his soaked briefs as he continued the throbbing music. Every nerve was on fire, his teeth were clenched tightly, his eyes stared blankly at the pages before him as he drove on to the finish. The crashing chords sent vibrations through his body and he wasn't sure he could hold on; he felt as if he would explode into a million pieces if he didn't get some relief that instant.

And then again he saw Miss Grant's hand sliding down his field of vision. A dry groan was forced from his throat as he sensed her lush body almost touching his back and he knew he could last no longer.

Just as he felt himself about to let go, cum ready to spurt out of his cock, a deep moan welling in him... Miss Grant's fingertips brushed his chest, sliding down his sweat-soaked shirt and landing, to his complete shock, directly on his fat cock.

He came immediately. The warm goo shot out, smearing over his crotch as his hands dropped to the keys for the final chord.

For a second he forgot where he was. When he shook himself back into the moment, Miss Grant was standing next to the piano, several feet from him. God, he thought, it was another daydream. He squirmed on the bench and felt his cum, already cooling and beginning to cake on his skin; that was no dream. Did Miss Grant know what had happened? Had he said anything? Made any noise? He couldn't tell what was real and what was just his imagination. Flustered, he blushed brightly as he looked up at her.

"Perfect tempo, Mr. Martelli," she said in a low voice. "But you finished too quickly."

He stammered out an apology, flipping in confusion through the sheets of music, trying to figure out what he'd missed. He was concentrating so hard that he didn't even feel her touch. It was only when her voice came again that he noticed the dark skin of her hand pressed against his arm.

"That's not what I meant, Bruno," Miss Grant said.

He turned slowly, comprehension slowly dawning on him.

She was standing before him, her legs slightly parted. Her nostrils flared slightly and her pink tongue slid back and forth on her thick, dark lips. Slipping her hand down his arm, she knelt before him, unbuckled his belt and tugged off his jeans and briefs.