Then she lifted the lid on the bench seat and produced an even older looking sheet of music from the bench's contents. I didn't have to look at the sh...et to know what it said. I was a kid and peeked into the bench seat regularly. That music was titled, 'The Merry-Widow Waltz'.I didn't know my mother could play the piano. When she began, she was sitting on the bench, posture perfect, striking keys and beating time very much like the score intended. Soft and melodic, her music caught me more than. In just minutes, I had lost my chance to please.I felt tears burning my eyes, followed by rough scratching of wood across my stomach as I was pushed over the trunk of a fallen tree. The forfeit was now obvious to me, but I was overtaken by humiliation as my wet cotton pants were peeled down. To be taken in the slave quarters, under the cover of darkness was one thing. To be used in front of so many, in bright daylight... with everyone watching, cheering even. Everyone, except, my Mistress.I was. More

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