"Ah, there you are doll. Go ahead and take a seat, you're earlier than usual but that's okay haha." Maisie gives you her usual charming smile, it tends to disarm the dread that had been building up over the week. The woman's an angel, it isn't her presence that you dread, simply your own inadequacy. An angel she may be, but Maisie is brutally honest about your performance and it's been lacking for a while now. Learning an instrument isn't easy, of course it isn't, but you're starting to wonder if you're simply not musically inclined. 

Taking a seat at the piano bench and slapping your cheeks to stave off these negative thoughts, you wait patiently for your teacher to return. Hands settle shyly atop your knees and you tap your foot in steady rhythm, at least that can manage to maintain tempo. With a wry grin, you consider Maisie. The woman's almost a decade your senior and yet by your age she was already miles ahead of where you're at now. Suffice it to say she's an authority and you need to listen to every word that spills from that woman's mouth, she speaks so gentle and clear that it shouldn't be a problem. 

Just as you find yourself adrift in thoughts of Miss Maisie and her gentle clarity, a strange object clacks down onto the piano held firm in her well manicured hand. The fingers release it and you realise this object isn't very strange at all, it's a metronome. You've practiced with one before, but this appears to be different to the one Maisie usually brings out. That's nothing to call attention to, though, as insignificant as your current skill. 

"We'll be starting off slow today, sweetie. I know how overwhelmed you can get when I push you, ehehe." Is Miss Maisie coddling you? You can't help but feel patronised by her words, teased, the softness she speaks them with only further embarrassing you. It makes you feel a child, but... perhaps she's right. Starting slow is never a bad thing. With a deep, slow intake of breath, you flex your fingers and await teacher's instruction. 

Weight shifts onto the bench as Maisie's hip kisses your own despite the space, her perfumed scent cloying and thick. It always makes you lightheaded, like you're inhaling petrol fumes, but you've always been too embarrassed to tell her this and risk another perceived sensitivity to be coddled over. You're an adult, you can handle a little thick perfume. Maisie seems amused by your distraction of deep thought, snapping her fingers in front of your face and bringing you back into the room. "You can get distracted on your own time, doll, while you're sitting here with me I'm going to ask that you focus." Ah, why does she always call you that? Again, something else that's too embarrassing to bring up. God you're a pushover, simply nodding as you agree to focus for Miss Maisie. 

"Sorry, I'll focus." You respond in a slightly robotic tone, lifting up the piano's lid but not daring to touch the keys until you're given teacher's permission. 

"Oh, good doll." Says Maisie in a sweet, husky voice that brings heat rising to boil against your cheeks. It's a good thing these sessions are one on one in her private home, or the way she treats you would be far too humiliating to continue. "Focus itself is the only focus of today's training, okay?" Training? Doesn't she mean lesson? Her choice of words always rubs you the wrong way, perhaps you're just being pedantic however. 

"Okay." Another strangely static reply, with a slightly sardonic smirk you consider that her past lessons have trained this clear curtness into you. Maybe she used the right word after all. 

"Perfect, then let's begin." Miss Maisie reaches over to start the metronome, its swaying ticks filling the otherwise silent living room and demanding your focus as it rightly should. It ticks left, then right, then left, then right. It never strays nor falters, it simply performs its function within the tempo it's set to. You need to focus and become just like the metronome, forgetting everything but the timing of your steady hands as well trained fingers fall upon the hollow keys. Hallowed keys, Maisie's piano is a thing to revere, it will never guide you wrong. Fingers gently tighten around your shoulder as Maisie praises you for your focus so soon after you've started. 

It almost distracts you, the hot beam of Joy that fires through your body from the praising words. You yearn for her affection with each tick left, you crave her touch with every tick right. Wait... her touch? That hand on your shoulder feels so strange, it shouldn't be there and yet you know you're being a bad doll for focusing on it in the first place. Maisie's hand on your shoulder has nothing to do with the piano, the metronome's ticking tempo reminding you of nothing but the music. Even when her hand slides down your back and snakes around your waist, you dutifully remind yourself to focus. 

"You're becoming a very obedient pianist, you know? I can't wait to bring my doll to shows, show it off, make it perform for all my friends. It's a different kind of music to this, but you'll be able to play it well by focusing on the same tempo." The woman's tone is dripping with a sick amusement you're unable to focus on as the metronome ticks and ticks and sticks to your thoughts like sweet molasses keeping you placated. Your fingers move automatically and your face has lost its lustre, an emptying expression that tells her you're committing to your focus. The metronome pulls you deep inside its housing, locking away consciousness with every tick and fall. You're falling, just like those submissive fingers that you could swear are tied to strings. You're an extension of the instrument, strung up and set to this slow tempo. Tick, tick, tick. 

"I..." Your mouth moves drily, something about this is very wrong. Maisie's sessions are two hours every week, yet you only ever remember arriving and subsequently packing up to return home. You had always chalked this up to the tedious nature of teaching, the flow state of learning, but now with head this heavy and focus overriding will... you're suddenly struck with concern. What is Maisie doing to you? Training her doll? That sounds... 

"Did I give my doll permission to speak? You should be playing your music dear, a song of focus and acceptance. Accepting that these sessions have changed you for the better, made you malleable for Miss Maisie. I started slow, conversational in my teaching, and you slowly succumbed to my sage guidance. You're not about to throw away all we've worked up to now are you? Do you not remember the progress from last session, hm? The breakthrough?" Maise hums and hooks a thumb into your shirt, untucking it from waistband and delicately stroking the skin underneath in circles. You shudder and try to recall that thing. That thing that felt so out of place from last time you almost brought it up. Maisie told you not to worry about a thing, that thing, and suddenly it no longer mattered, a week later it was forgotten entirely. 

Oh god. You remember now. Teacher's snaps waking you up from your session as she always does during wrap up, your fingers resting flat over the keys in wait for fresh commands. Waking you up? Why were you asleep, though? Must have been really focused on your playing, that flow state you mentioned earlier. Right now you need to focus on last week's session, the strangeness therein, because Mist... because Miss Maisie just ordered you to. That's right, during wrap up you had to get dressed. Isn't that strange? Maisie helped you button your shirt back up with an innocent, lilting hum and you were still completely out of it despite the snaps to bring you up. You remember your flush skin, the hands crawling over it that couldn't have been your own when piano music yet filled the quiet room. Teeth that grazed your neck and gave you a mark you've been telling everyone all week a partner gave to you. You're single though, of course, because Miss Maisie says that a relationship would be too much of a distraction. If she puts her foot down on something it's the law, she is your teacher after all. Your instructor. Your handler. Your... 

"Help me with this last button, doll. You can still stay in tempo, still focus, with a temporary reprieve from the keys. Worry not dear, we're training your mind to always hear that music even when your own soft hands are still." You snap back into the room and tilt your head, lost in reverie and remembrance, forgetting if this moment is past, present or future. Does it really matter? Time is a flat circle and you're to step into its centre and prostrate yourself before your temporal teacher. 

"Yes Miss Maisie." You answer her clear and direct, right in tempo, a dizzy smile curling against your lips that makes you feel right. Hands lift up from keys while the ticking metronome yet takes you, whisks you to a world of her which you can only orbit as an obedient satellite of a doll. Fingers close around your own and together you remove that silly shirt that only got in the way of your performance. Next she drags your hands down south and you let her, loving her whispers in your ear that praise you for each and every second of surrender. You're hers, lost in tempo, swaying left and right with each alternating tick. Tick, tick, tick. The tick makes you thick, an embarrassment of academia, a waste of student who couldn't learn. You needed to be trained, you asked for it, you paid for it. Maisie's only taking what she paid for, right? 

"Such a good doll, I think I'll really put your focus to the test today. You just need to stay within the timeframe, let the metronome hold your thoughts, you wouldn't want to slip up again and disappoint me would you?" Maisie's fingers unbutton your pants and slide them down past your hips, ordering you to lift them and pleased with the response time of your obedience. 

"No Miss Maisie." Your mechanical response plays out in a sing-song rhythm that contrasts the flat tone, eyes losing all focus but your hearing working overtime. You'll catch every tick from that metronome and between them, Mistress Maisie's commanding words. 

Fingers dip down and begin to play with something near your lap. Maisie touches her toy and you make sure to not let it distract you, even when your hips rock up to meet her greedy touch and a light gasp escapes your slutty lips. Dolls don't do anything but agree and focus. Just need to... ah... do as you're told. 

For the next half hour, Miss Maise has her way with your doll body, her touch sometimes sweet and often rough. In either case, you make sure to remain focused and the metronome's sway never leads you astray, telling you that everything mistress does is okay. You like it. You accept it. You want to be hers full time.

Playing the piano was something you never quite got the hang of. No matter how hard you tried, you'd always lose focus. Being Maisie's doll like this, accepting her wanton touch and letting her indulge in vice... this is finally something you can do. You're a natural, or so she tells you, and you think you believe everything she tells you now because you're just an obedient doll. She said she wanted to show you off, have you perform for others? That should be humiliating, but each tick from the metronome she turned off a while ago now tells you it's okay. 

More than okay, it's what you want.

Snap!