Miranda's Lessons Page 3

  However, just as she was halfway through the midsection of the piece, her eyes unluckily opened directly on Mario’s face. His noncommittal expression, with just a trace of judgment in his discerning eyes, shook her. She stared at him a second too long, and she snipped an instant later. It was just a tiny fault and Miranda knew it would have been imperceptable to an untrained observer, but she’d felt it and she knew damn well that Mario had seen it. Then, with her concentration broken, the flaws began to multiply. Two baubles, a near fall, and she heard Mario clap his hands sharply behind her. The music stopped seconds later.

  “Miss d’Angelo,” he addressed her, “what the hell’s going on?” His eyes fired darts that went right through her.

  “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m so terribly nervous about this, and right in the middle, I just choked.” She fought for a better explanation, but none was forthcoming, her defense was as clumsy as her dance.

  “A lapse in concentration is inexcusable,” he said.

  “I saw your face, and it just threw me.”

  “Is that suppose to mean something in particular?” he asked, pretending that she had offended him.

  “Oh! No sir, please, it just rattled me.” Everything she said made it sound worse than it was. “Please, may I try again?”

  Mario eyed her thoughtfully with very intense eyes. “If you think you can improve,” he said, relaxing his gaze.

  “Oh yes, sir,” she replied readily.

  As Mario started the music, Miranda waited again. This time she waited longer to begin, just so she could get completely com posed. She knew the music well enough to alter the program accordingly, and with her confidence renewed, she began to fly across the wood floor again.

  This time Miranda was able to get through the rocky moment where she’d messed up before, but just before she was to end, a long run and jump ended in disaster. From the moment she began the series of steps she knew she was headed for trouble. And not only did she lose her balance, she did something that was almost unheard of for, a professional dancer: she fell, landing with an ungraceful plop square on her bottom.

  Miranda sat with her legs sprawled out in front of her for some seconds, first trying to absorb the physical shock of the fall, then trying to keep back the flood of tears that threatened to spill. from her eyes. Unfortunately, for all her determination, she couldn’t stop the tears, and she remained on the floor like a bewildered child in the midst of a temper tantrum.

  “Miss d’Angelo,” she heard Mario’s sobering voice. He walked towards her and pulled her to her feet.

  “Do you always behave this way, or just when you dance so atrociously?”

  His ready judgment went straight to her heart, as it seemed to break in an instant.

  “No sir, I’m so sorry, I’ve let my nerves get the better of me.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Mario said. “Keeping your poise under adverse conditions is part of a dancer’s job.”

  “And now I’ve failed miserably,” Miranda moaned as more tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m finished.”

  “Well, you’re not finished here,” Mario said. “Though I’ve had enough of your whining.” He moved to his table and handed her a Kleenex.

  Taking it from him, Miranda blew her nose and wiped her eyes, all the while thinking what a horrible mess she’d made of things. She was sure Mario would dismiss her, but instead he picked up his baton, and returned to her side. He tapped her thighs lightly.

  “I’ll do the choreography this time,” he said. “Let’s just begin with basic steps.”

  Miranda couldn’t believe that he wanted to see more, and what was worse, she didn’t think she had much left to give. But, taking a deep breath, and clearing her throat, she looked up at him with a poised and ready attitude even if her feelings didn’t match the confident look she wore like a mask.

  On Mario’s instruction, she was led through several basic steps. It was an easy beginning, one Miranda was certain not to mess up, but even so, she danced halfheartedly. All the spark and desire had vanished, as she considered her chances of becoming his pupil had died with her last misstep.

  When the music that had been playing behind her frail attempts abruptly halted, Miranda turned to face an angry Mario, his exasperation and displeasure were obvious.

  “Young lady, it’s one thing to fail because of your nervousness, it’s quite another thing not to even try.”

  “I’m. sorry, this is just all wrong. I’ll just leave,” Miranda said weakly. She bolted toward her bag, preparing to gather her things and go.

  “You will not go,” Mario countered her. “I don’t take kindly to wasting my time, if there’s anything you’ll learn from me, it will be to take yourself more seriously. Now to the bar,” he ordered her.

  “Sir?” She looked up at him meekly.

  “Go to the bar, lean over and grab it firmly,” he told her, as if he were instructing her in another dance step.

  “What?” Miranda looked at him, dumbfounded. “What are you going to do?”

  “I think you know exactly what I plan to do,” he countered her.

  “Sir?”

  “Miss d’Angelo, I’m going to do with you what I do to all my irascible students.”

  It was only beginning to become apparent what he had in mind. Mario chuckled, and grinned broadly. “Oh, you are a cagey one,” he observed. “You think I didn’t see you yesterday, staring blatantly at Miss Reault’s punishment?

  Miranda gulped. “You saw me?” she said sheepishly.

  “Mirrors are an interesting invention. I’d say you had more than just a passing interest in the display. I do hope Miss Reault was not aware of your peeking, I’m sure that would have made her doubly humiliated.”

  Miranda. blushed, her cheeks suddenly feeling red and burning.

  “Now, since you’re already privy to my best kept secret, you might as well get a taste of what you fear so much. After all, you’ve certainly earned a good paddling, and now’s as good a time as any to get the first one over with. Maybe it will help you get beyond your ridiculous fears, before you totally ruin your dancing career.”

  Miranda was speechless, seeing that the dance instructor was completely sincere in his plans.

  “Grab the bar and offer me your rear,” he ordered.

  She stood before him letting the reality of her situation sink in, and then suddenly coming to her senses, she was reminded of the adamant resolve she’d exhibited to Julia that morning, almost defying Mario to spank her.

  “I will not submit to a spanking!” she declared.

  “Oh?” he questioned her, almost as if he was amused.

  “It’s barbaric!” she sputtered indignantly. Unfortunately she was quickly loosing any resolve she had in light of his unbelievable eyes, that bore into her with such fierce purpose, she was suddenly too afraid to do anything but comply.

  “If you’re going to let a little constructive criticism keep you from your dancing career Miranda, then you don’t have much desire for this art. Grab the bar.” He enunciated the last three words deliberately, as a clear order.

  The tears that had ceased resumed, as Miranda found herself obeying Mario’s order. She never expected that he would punish her so soon. And now, all the adamant speeches she’d made to herself the night before about submitting to something so brutally callous went out the window, as she obeyed without another protest. There was such a mysteriously compelling energy behind his manner that she couldn’t do otherwise. Even though she was totally mortified, her whole body was tingling all over with the strangest thrill.

  “My God, what am I doing?” she wondered to herself. She leaned over, just as she’d seen Cassandra do, trembling terribly, thinking that she wou?dn’t be able to remain on her feet.

  Mario, retrieving the leather paddle he used on his erring students, approached the waiting Miranda with a good deal of anticipation of his own. Miranda d’Angelo was a fine dancer, one he’d planned on taking under his wing for some ti
me. She was often sloppy and undisciplined, but she had a real gift, one that he saw in only a few dancers. He did not, however, take kindly to the exasperating antics she’d treated him with today. If he’d take her at all as a student, she would have to get a few things straight right off.

  Gazing thoughtfully at Miranda’s round bottom, he appreciated her fine body, not just for the gentle lines and soft curves, that made her such a graceful looking ballerina, but for the many ways she was also very much a woman. Her long muscled legs were classic, and now the way he viewed them, pressed tightly together, he found the lovely swell of her hips most alluring. While she was thin, as all ballet dances are, she still had a most voluptuous look about her, and communicated that with a lush sensuality. Her lips were thick, today brushed with a sweet pink, that highlighted her flawless white complexion. Her long dark hair, once tied neatly into a bun, was coming loose, so that several locks floated gracefully about her face and long neck. It only made her look more stunning.

  Her innocent eroticism was probably something she didn’t even realize she had, though Mario found it exciting for his own purposes. He always fell in love with his divas, at least at the start. But with Miranda, he hoped she might be more than just a passing fancy, as he trained her to be the brilliant dancer he knew she could be.

  SNAP! SMACK!

  Miranda gasped as the paddle hit her bottom. The shock of it almost made her fall down. Mario laid several quick smacks across her rear. While these were simply introductory ones, and certainly not painful, they made Miranda’s bottom warm readily. With each one her body jerked, and as he waited a few seconds before applying the next, she was able to let the sensations die away before she had to accommodate another.

  After the first smacks however, Mario began again, this time letting the leather paddle fly in a steady staccato rhythm. Harder and faster than the others, these stung, each new stroke adding to the pain that was radiating throughout her bottom.

  Before long, Miranda was moaning and crying, her hips and bottom gyrating as if she could manage the pain that way.

  It had been years since she’d been punished with a sound spanking, though in fact, she’d never received such a fierce treatment as this. When her mother paddled her as a child, she was laid over her lap, while her mother’s broad hand gave her several dozen firm quick smacks unless of course she was very naughty, then she received a more vigorous treatment with the back side of her mother’s hairbrush.

  But there was nothing to measure up to this horror. Being paddled by Mario had to be the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her. It seemed like such an intimate thing, even if he hadn’t yet seen fit to expose her naked bottom the way he had Cassandra’s.

  The smack smack smack of the leather, in its unceasing journey around her backside was starting to hurt so much, she wasn’t sure if she could take anymore. Miranda found herself wailing loudly, “Please stop, please no more!” Though all this was to no avail. It seemed that Mario had a beginning and an end in mind for this, and he was not about to be dissuaded by the young woman’s desperate pleas. He’d no doubt done this often enough, so that he had little sympathy for emotional appeals.

  “There Miss d’Angelo,” he finally said. “I think that’s enough for today.”

  Miranda was whimpering softly, but too afraid to express how horrible she felt. She remained bent over, first letting the stinging sensations subside, and then because she didn’t know how she could stand and face Mario Diego. When she felt his hand on her arm, gently pulling her back up, she was just beginning to feel a sensuous warmth in her well spanked bottom, replacing the acute pain of the vigorous smacks.

  Mario pulled her close enough, so that for a brief instant, she could smell his cologne and even feel his warm breath on her neck. His fiery Italian eyes flashed, with a look of charm and stern command that mingled together in such a masterful way, that Miranda suddenly felt an all too familiar twinge in her loins. It was definitely a sexual feeling that shot through her. She squelched her arousal as Mario walked away, but the deed had already been done Mario having suddenly tripped feelings in her that she never imagined she’d associate with her dance training.

  “Now, are you feeling a little more settled, Miranda d’Angelo?”

  “Yes sir,” she said wiping the last tear away with the back of her hand.

  “All right,” he began again, with the baton in hand. “Let’s see those moves I want, and I want them flawless.”

  His eyes bore into her once more, making it quite clear that she would have to get used to the intensity of this vibrant man, if she was to ever work with him.

  He turned the music on and paced back and forth as Miranda went through his proscribed routine. As she danced, he rapped his baton against his thigh to encourage her. Though her start was just a little rocky, Miranda finished with a brilliant flourish.

  “Well. That’s more what I expect of you,” he said.

  Miranda smiled, relieved. She relaxed for a moment while Mario, arms crossed in front of him, peered at her with the same ruthless intensity that he had earlierinthe session. “I think I’ve seen enough for today. I imagine you’ve Mad, enough too,” he suggested.

  Miranda looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

  “Despite your sloppy start, you managed to make a good ending of it. It was impressive.” Miranda’s heart skipped a beat hearing the more positive evaluation. “You do have promise,” he continued, “but it appears you have some o_ the same sloppiness and attitude problems that I’ve noticed in many students at your stage of development. As far as your dance, I think I can coach you into becoming a passable company dancer. I could even see you taking a staring role, but nothing will be accomplished without a great deal of work. You’ve been in ballet long enough to know that this can be a torturous art. To excel at all means some willingness to suffer.”

  “I’ve always understood that,” Miranda said.

  “Perhaps, but now you know what kind of suffering that will entail with me. I find that applying the paddle to the bottom of a sloppy dancer does wonders to create the necessary motivation to succeed. Considering your response today, you’re no different than my other students. A warm bottom did wonders for your performance.”

  Miranda sighed deeply and bit her lip, feeling ever more like a child listening to Mario’s stern lecture. This was a far cry from the independent young woman she thought herself to be. She looked at him for a moment, trying to stare him down with the same ruthless fervor that he used on her. “I really don’t understand how you can get away with spanking your students,” she ventured. Her bottom was still warm from the awful sting, reminding her of how harsh he’d punished her, as well as how much. the whole thing aroused her. “I think this is totally out of line,” she added. She was trembling as she spoke, afraid, indignant and totally confused.

  “Perhaps it’s odd to you Miranda, but then you did know the possibility existed. You didn’t take your eyes off Miss Reault yesterday, while she was in the midst of her agony. And you did come back. I suspect that’s because this kind of heavyhanded discipline appeals to you.”

  “Oh no, you’re wrong there!” Miranda denied his assertion, though she wasn’t altogether certain that he wasn’t right.

  Mario smiled smugly, and turned away. He took her music tape from the machine and motioned her to follow him into his private of fice. Once there, he hung the leather spanker on the wall. Next to it hung a wooden paddle with a broad round end, and on the other side was the thin reed cane that he’d used to finish off Cassandra the day before.

  “Sit down,” he said, motioning to a chair in front of the desk, right where she would have to gaze at the three implements hanging side by side. “Yes, you’ll probably feel them all before you’re finished with me, and likely on your bare bottom,” he assured her, as he noticed her studied interest in his far wall. “Might as well not mince words with you.” He had an air of detachment that made Miranda shiver. The way
he spoke to her seemed to hit some hot spot inside her, that was most disturbing.

  Mario shuffled through some papers on his desk, pulling out Miranda’s resume, which she recognized it by its cover. He also pulled out a form, and quickly made a whole long list of notes that Miranda could not read, but assumed had to do with her audition. On pins and needles, (and her stillsore bottom) she waited with baited breath for Mario to speak again. The suspense was killing her. Was he going to accept her or not?

  “Well Miranda,” Mario finally said looking up from the papers, “I think I have all I need to know to make my decision.

  “Your decision?” she queried, not sure what he meant.

  “Yes, I’ll be in touch with you when I have my plans firmly set.”

  “What do you mean?” Miranda asked. “You’re not going to tell me now?”

  “I would never make any quick determination on a dancer’s future,” Mario replied calmly.

  “You mean, you put me through that whole ordeal, only to tell me that you’re not yet sure?” she said, bursting out with the angry invective.

  Mario looked at her amused. “I promised you nothing, Miranda, but you’re hardly doing yourself any favors bellowing at me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just a little frazzled,” she answered, though she hardly sounded apologetic.

  There was a small chuckle that Mario suppressed, because he didn’t want to totally humiliate her. She was very predictable, though she was the prettiest and most appealing dancer that he’d seen in a long time. Even her feisty protest was charming as hell.

  “I see you’re flustered, but that’s no excuse for behaving like a brat. If you were my student now, you’d be getting a half dozen cuts with the cane on your bare bottom.” He looked at her as if to gauge her response. “You do remember the eight cuts Miss Reault had to endure yesterday?”