The young Isabeau clenched her jaw and struck the ivory keys of the piano with her fists four times in quick succession. “Arpeggios, arpeggios, arpeggios! I despise arpeggios!” she screamed out in anger and frustration.

Isabeau stood from her piano bench and stomped her way to the open window that looked out over the impeccably maintained garden of the mansion’s grounds. She stood in defiance with her back to her piano teacher, the Maestro, her arms crossed under her small breasts and her head high in the air.

The Maestro silently observed the sixteen year old piano prodigy from across the large practice hall. He waited a moment to allow Isabeau to calm down before he said to her, “The last four sounds you pounded out of the piano were the only sounds worth hearing from today’s lesson, Isabeau.”

“Hmmph!” she replied and lifted her head higher in the air.

The Maestro sat down on the grand piano bench. “I practice arpeggios every day, Isabeau. They are the foundation on which your skills grow and are built upon.”

The Maestro placed his fingers on the keys and played Frédéric Chopin’s, Nocturne 20 in C Minor Sharp.

“A sad and somber piece, isn’t it Isabeau?” he asked the stubborn sixteen year old.

She did not reply.

Next, he played part of Franz Liszt’s, Totentanz (Dance of the Dead). The sound his fingers tore out of the piano was angry, desperate, and filled with fury. It caught Isabeau’s attention.

“Liszt is said to have damaged pianos when he played. Most will tell you that it was the force with which he played that caused the damage. They are wrong. It was his passion and his obsession with death that caused damage to the instrument,” the Maestro calmly lectured his student.

“Come sit next to me, Isabeau. I want you to be near me as I play the next piece. It is from a modern composer, one of my favorites. When I heard it for the first time on the radio I was eighteen years old, in 1978.”

Isabeau stood her ground. She neither flinched nor replied. The Maestro chuckled. “I forget that you are still a child. Forgive me. Please, Isabeau, would you sit next to me?”

Isabeau snapped back, “I am a woman. Not a child. I am not interested in the speech you are about to give. I am sick of arpeggios! I want to play, not practice.”

The Maestro took a moment before he asked Isabeau, “Is there a full moon tonight?”

Isabeau’s ears perked up. She turned and ran to sit next to the Maestro. “Yes, there is a full moon tonight!” she excitedly replied.

The Maestro smiled. “You have earned another story, Isabeau. I will come to your bedroom at midnight.”

Isabeau placed her palms against the piano’s fall board. “Thank you, Maestro.” She closed her eyes and said, “Play for me. I am ready to feel.”

The Maestro played an explosive, short piece. The melody was blinding fast, mad, raw, urgent and exhilarating. Isabeau couldn't breathe as he played.

When he stopped playing, the wide-eyed Isabeau asked the Maestro, “Who was that? Mozart, Rachmaninoff? I do not recognize the piece.”

The Maestro smiled and replied, “Edward Van Halen’s Eruption. He wasn’t much older than you are when he took the music world by storm. The piece is an arpeggio. He taps the strings, instead of strumming them, on an electric amplified guitar. YouTube it, I promise you’ll be impressed. My rendition on the piano does no justice to his skill and genius.”

Isabeau nodded her head and coyly said, “Make my story very scary. I love to be frightened. It provides me such a thrill!”

The Maestro laughed and replied, “What creature of the night would you like to visit you at midnight?”

Isabeau thought for a second and then excitedly replied, “A werewolf!”

“As you wish, Isabeau,” the Maestro chuckled.

~

The Maestro was hand-picked from dozens of potential music tutors for the young prodigy, Isabeau. Her mother had personally screened, interviewed and raked each potential tutor over the coals. Isabeau's mother was an accomplished pianist in her own right, and had begun her daughter's music education from the day Isabeau was able to sit on a piano bench.

Isabeau's mother had studied under the famed, Heinrich Gustavovich Neuhaus, in Russia. Days shy of her eighteenth birthday, her family had to relocate to the USA under a cloak of secrecy.

The Maestro thought it strange that Isabeau's mother had selected him to be her daughter's tutor in her absence. The house staff consisted of six females. He had never seen, or heard any reference made to another man in the isolated mansion.

Isabeau's father had perished in a horrible, fiery car wreck on his way to the hospital the day she was born. Perhaps, he thought, the tragic event had been so painful to Isabeau's mother that she was not willing to risk getting close to another man, in any capacity. Since she would be abroad for a month, she would not have to interact with the Maestro, and had picked him solely for his teaching skills.

The Maestro had moved in to the spacious guest house located just shy of fifty meters from the main dwelling. His contract was for one month, at an exorbitant fee that had been paid upfront by the very wealthy widow.

In the short span of three weeks, the Maestro had become quite fond of his beautiful, young and talented student. As had Isabeau become fond of him.

~

The Maestro made his way to the mansion a few minutes before the strike of midnight. Eloise, one of the maids, opened the front door and greeted him.

"You spoil the child," she smiled warmly as she spoke the words.

The Maestro smiled back and replied, "It is the least I can do for Isabeau. A distraction from all that is expected from her is good therapy. She is a stubborn and difficult student, but she works very hard and is her own worst critic."

Eloise nodded and replied, "I won't be keeping vigil outside her room as you spin a tale for Isabeau. Your stories give me nightmares. I don't know how she finds those horrible stories the least bit amusing."

The Maestro laughed. "She has a very active and vivid imagination, just like every other young lady her age."

"See yourself out when you’re done, Maestro. I am off to bed. Good night," Eloise politely excused herself.

"Good night, Eloise."

The Maestro tried to push the thought of Isabeau's slender, young body out of his thoughts as he made his way up the spiral staircase to her room. His cock twitched at the thought of seeing Isabeau dressed in a tight, white sweatshirt that barely covered her round, firm young ass. She never wore panties to bed. When she became frightened her nipples would harden and poke through the thin cotton. Isabeau wouldn’t cover herself or try to hide her hardened, pink nipples. She enjoyed observing his reaction to her young body. The lustful look on his face and the sizeable bulge in his pants made her wet and made her belly feel as if it was being tickled from the inside.

She would wrap herself tight in a blanket when the story the Maestro told was near its end. And rub her wet pussy as the Maestro told the frightful ending. Something the Maestro was well aware of, unbeknownst to the young Isabeau. That night, she had decided that she would tell the Maestro a story. Her favorite story.

“Enter!” Isabeau excitedly called as she jumped off her bed when she heard the knock on her bedroom door.

The sly grin on Isabeau’s face was the second thing the Maestro noticed as he entered her bedroom.

Isabeau was delighted at the reaction she had provoked in him. “Well? Cat got your tongue?” she coyly asked. “I’m ready for my story, Maestro.”

The Maestro cleared his throat and replied, “Yes, of course, Isabeau. Your story.”

Isabeau skipped over to the burgundy, floor to ceiling, velvet curtains and pulled them apart, allowing the pale light of the full moon to spill into her bedroom through the open sliding doors that led to a balcony. The Maestro flicked the light switch off and locked the bedroom door. His cock twitched at the sight of Isabeau bathed in pale moonlight. The girlish curves of her slender body were accentuated by the shadows cast by the pale light. His lust for the young girl had reached a new plateau. For an instant, he considered lying to Isabeau and telling her he wasn’t feeling well and that he should leave. He would tell her a story another night.

When Isabeau turned to face the Maestro he feared that he would not be able to restrain the inappropriate impulses she stirred in him. Her lithe, young body appeared to be throbbing in the shadows. Calling to him to soothe her burning desire to be touched. He shut his eyes and rubbed them. The dim light must have played tricks on his eyes; he thought he saw a turquoise glow radiating from Isabeau’s porcelain skin.

Isabeau asked, “Are you alright, Maestro?”

A strange fatigue washed over him. He gripped the arm of the parlor chair with both his hands and sat down.

Isabeau asked again, as she made her way to him, “Are you alright, Maestro?”

The Maestro shook his head; his breathing had become ragged and labored. His mind raced with strange images, sights and sounds. He could hear distant waves crashing against rocks and herring gulls squawking high above him. When Isabeau lifted his head in her hands, the smell of the sea was all around him.

“Y-yes,” he replied. Maybe I should leave, Isabeau. I’m not feeling like myself. This bedeviled feeling coursing through me, I don’t think I have the power to control it.”

“Oh,” Isabeau calmly stated and asked, “What feeling do you speak of, Maestro?”

He looked up at Isabeau and struggled to bring her face in to focus. The turquoise haze glowed brighter around her. “M-my lust for you, Isabeau. It is powerful beyond anything you can imagine. It is maddening. I hear, smell and taste the ocean in your bedroom… in you.”

Isabeau grabbed the Maestro’s hair and pulled his head towards her belly. She swayed her hips from side to side, slowly and seductively. “You smell, taste and hear only me, Maestro. I am the sea.” She lifted a slender leg and placed her foot on the armrest of the chair. Isabaeu thrust her hips forward and pulled the Maestro’s mouth to her slit. “Feast on my salty cunt,” she hissed.

The Maestro sunk deeper into bewilderment. His lustful hunger for the young Isabeau consumed his very soul. He sucked on Isabeau’s plump pussy through the cotton fabric that was denying him her full flavor. He grabbed at the baby blue material and ripped her shorts to shreds. Isabeau threw her head back, removed her tank top, and spread her pussy wide with her thumb and fingers. “Drink from me. I am as deep as the seas.” Isabeau shuddered at the feel of the Maestro’s mouth and tongue on her inner folds and clit.

The Maestro slid both hands around Isabeau’s hips and clawed at her ass as he pulled her young, salty cunt to his mouth. Isabeau’s moan filled his ears. It was a sound like no other the Maestro had ever heard. He was spellbound by the seductive, deep sadness in Isabeau’s song of lust. He had to be inside her. He had to fuck the beautiful seductress with the voice of a tormented angel.

He wrapped his arms around Isabeau’s waist and stood up from the chair. On wobbly legs he carried her to the bed, as he continued his licking, sucking and gnawing at the young girl’s dripping pussy. He turned and sat on the mattress. Isabeau pushed him on to his back and straddled the Maestro’s face, grinding her pussy against his mouth as she moaned the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

“I must fuck you, Isabeau. I will slip in to madness if I do not cum inside you!” the Maestro cried out.

Isabeau reached behind her and freed the Maestro’s throbbing cock from the confinement of his pants. She placed her hands on the Maestro’s shoulders and slid down his body. She wiggled her hips when her pussy found his fully erect cock. The Maestro gripped her hips and thrust his hips upwards, impaling Isabeau with one powerful thrust. Isabeau let out a bloodcurdling shriek as she threw her head back and spread her arms wide. The Maestro fucked his cock in and out of her with wild abandon. He needed to hurt her, split her in half, punish her pussy and burn her insides with his hot seed. He fucked her with a bloodlust raging inside of him.

The Maestro should have been terrified as Isabeau transformed into a winged beast before his eyes. He should have feared for his life. He should have been repulsed by the feel of her talons caressing his face. But the cursed song she continued to serenade him with only increased his need to fill her with his seed.

She spread her black wings and blocked out the moon. Her wings cast a hellish shadow across his body. The creature wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles tight against the small of his back, pushing the Maestro’s deeper inside her. With one downward flap of her wings they were airborne. Isabeau flew out of her bedroom through the open sliding doors and in to the pale night sky.

She soared towards the moon as the Maestro continued to pound her salty cunt with a lascivious, mad rhythm. They were locked in a dance as old as the seas and the mountains. The Maestro’s body stiffened and the rhythm of his thrusts became a sporadic. Isabeau squeezed his cock tighter inside her and folded her wings. They began to free fall, the Maestro and Isabeau screamed out in an eerie harmony as he pumped his seed inside her and she came.

He opened his eye and fear gripped at his pounding heart as he watched the dark, rocky ground racing towards him. He shut his eyes tight and prayed for forgiveness.

~

The Maestro was torn abruplty from his slumber. He sat up in his bed with a frightful start. He clutched at his chest and drew a deep, desperate breath. The bed sheets were damp with his sweat and clung to his cold, clammy skin.

“It was just a dream,” a distant voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He got out of the bed, put on a pair of boxer shorts and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. His mouth and throat were bone dry. He sated his thirst and was startled by a knock on the guest house door. When he opened the door, Isabeau greeted him with a smile and a covered tray.

“You slept in, Maestro. Eloise asked me to bring you breakfast.”

She walked past the Maestro, placed the tray on the kitchen table and turned to leave. The Maestro grabbed hold of Isabeau’s arm as she walked past him.

“I can’t remember the story I told you last night, Isabeau. Do you?”

Isabeau smiled, got up on to her toes and kissed the Maestro on his lips. Her kiss tasted familiar on his lips. She exhaled softly into his mouth as she broke the kiss. The smell and salty taste of the sea filled the Maestro’s senses.

“It was just a dream,” Isabeau mischievously grinned at the Maestro.

~ FIN~