French Lessons

by Georgia Harries

  “No no no! Please Daddy, I’ll do anything! Please don’t!”

  Her voice climbing ever higher in pitch, Eleanor continued to beg her father for clemency, lying helpless in a wet heap. This was the stuff of nightmares. He must not actually spank her! And not with a sandshoe! It was all just outrageous!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Up the hill less than five hundred yards away from the Eleanor–Jane, Charlie Hetherington brooded angrily over a stiff Scotch. His friends had been surprised to see him return to The Grand in such a dark mood. Especially given how taken he had been earlier in the day, with the little blonde thing. They had imagined he’d be even more taken, on introduction to her millionaire father’s motor–yacht. But Charlie had told them he was making an early night of it. He was floored by the way that cheeky, disobedient Walker girl had behaved. He was also distracted by her beauty, he could not deny. He wondered how Walker Senior might be dealing with his daughter’s stepping so very publicly out of line. Presumably the glamorous dark–haired woman was Harry Walker’s wife. He doubted her father would excuse the way she had been spoken to. If Harry Walker wasn’t of a mind to put his darling daughter over his knee for her woeful behaviour, then he wasn’t half the man his Uncle Jack had described. Hot–headed little beauty though she surely was Charlie thought, Eleanor Walker was in dire need of a hot seat to match. Smiling to himself, he raised a casual toast to Monaco Bay and hoped with all his might that she was getting it.

  On the Avenue by the harbour, passers–by enjoyed the setting sun and admired the Eleanor–Jane. All were oblivious to the painful drama now unfolding, for the nineteen year old whose name the vessel bore. Confined to her father’s bureau on the lower deck, from that distance no–one could hear her sorry protests or Harry’s brusque rebuttals. Only Tamara, a few doors away, was close enough.

  “Daddy! No! I demand you to stop this!”

  But Harry Walker took no heed of his offspring’s ‘demands’. The alluring teen was wearing pink and yellow flowery cotton knickers that stretched tight across her wet, quivering bottom. With every stitch she wore completely soaked through, her neat curved buttocks were all but exposed as it was, through the thin fabric. As her desperate begging continued, Harry briefly debated whether or not they should be bared. It would be a sore enough spanking in any case. He gripped the deck–shoe hard in the middle.

  “I’ve said how sorry I am!” Eleanor wailed. “I hate you I hate you! You’re evil!”

  So came another deciding moment. How dare Eleanor speak to him like that, with all the privilege she had been afforded? Harry blanked out the tearful protests and without thinking a second longer, he placed the shoe atop the heaped dress skirt. Then with his right hand, her father roughly peeled Eleanor’s knickers clean away from her bottom and down, leaving them like a creased rag on her trembling thighs. The long drawn–out screech she emitted pulsed painfully off the three–inch thick tight surrounds of the lower deck. Harry didn’t flinch, and grabbed back the deck–shoe.

  Tamara almost dropped the magazine she was reading, three doors down. Oh dear. It looked as though things could not be worse for her new stepdaughter. Was that her panties coming down? Tamara wondered what on God’s earth that must feel like. Harry was so strong, so big. She had sat on his knee often enough to know... her thoughts wandering to desire for him once more. Then more indignant yells from the bureau broke her reverie.

  “Nooooooo! Aaaagh, nooooooo!”

  Lying in a wet, bared, undignified heap across her Daddy’s knees, with absolutely no hope now of a reprieve, Eleanor was stunned into sheer disbelief. This had not happened to her since she was a little girl. Her bottom was now completely naked, in full view of her father. Still wet like the rest of her, it felt cold and exposed in the interior chill of the yacht’s lower deck. Oh, the appalling shame of it all! She felt her whole body grow stone cold, as she was rendered completely vulnerable. How could her loving Daddy do this to her? Why was he being so cruel?

  “You can’t Daddy.... please please please...” Eleanor’s begging was now coming fast, shrill and desperate.

  But she need not have bothered. Without any further hesitation, Harry raised the deck–shoe high. He whacked it down hard across his daughter’s bare, perfectly rounded, and still very wet bottom. The results were immediate as the soft skin of her two pert, creamy mounds turned a bright pink. She yowled in pain. Harry ignored her ferocious writhing, intent on delivering the soundest hiding of her life.

  “Ow! Yow! Noooo! Ooooow!” Eleanor’s high–pitched howls rang out loud. She was forced to succumb to the fact that yes, she was having her bare bottom spanked across her father’s knee at the age of nineteen. The glamour of The Grand, the drinks, handsome Charlie, all seemed like a lifetime away. Eleanor was thrust into the very painful and embarrassing present. Her ego was brutally dismantled by her father, as the shoe made repeated red–hot contact with her softest spot. And there was absolutely nothing at all she could do to stop it.

  “Ow! Yow! No! Aow! Aow!” Along the lower deck, Tamara heard her stepdaughter’s shrieks of irate agony and focused hard on imagining the scene.

  Harry knew that the sound leathering on wet skin was far worse than any spanking Eleanor had had before. But her ghastly behaviour and dangerous prank had more than warranted it. Grimly he pinned her ever tighter to him, and delivered seven, eight, nine, ten spanks in loud succession right across her totally bare, rounded rear. And then more.

  “Aaaoow! No! Noooo! Yow!” Eleanor yelled in sheer agony as the leather sole did its very worst on her stripped seat. With every blow, a vicious heat spread through her buttocks and she thrashed her arms in fury. Harry was unmoved. This most important spanking would last, until he was satisfied that his unruly teenage daughter had finally learned her lesson. Up and down went his sturdy arm, fit from years of sailing and skiing. The shoe was just ideal. Its ribbed leather sole made hard scathing contact with Eleanor’s soft bare cheeks, leaving them aching and scarlet.

  “Ow! Ooow! Stop it! Stop it Daddy! Oooowww!” Eleanor was demented with pain and mortification, and would have done anything in the whole world to make it all stop. Paralysed from the waist down with her father’s heavy shin across her lower legs, she was a howling mess. Every inch of her bottom from the crest of her buttocks to her thighs was coming under attack from the merciless leather sole. She screamed louder, not caring who might hear. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

  Tamara sat silent. There was no way she could concentrate on reading. The faint dull sounds of the punishing blows and Eleanor’s far more discernible cries, drifted steadily along the entire length of the lower vessel. What was Harry using to spank his daughter? Despite herself, Tamara was now filled with curiosity. Holding a silk cushion tight to her chest, she was enthralled. Harry was so sturdy and fit. What on earth must it feel like to be spanked by him? In a rush of crazed, mixed emotions, Tamara then felt a hint of what was definitely jealousy ... that she had never known this kind of paternal punishment. She had simply no idea what a stark, no–nonsense bit of physical correction felt like at all.

  Hearing it all so clearly, and recalling Harry’s determined threats and promises, for the briefest moment Tamara wanted to find out for herself.

  At that very same moment, Eleanor was convinced that would never sit again. Harry gripped her as though in a vice, doggedly focused on giving his darling daughter the hottest bottom of her days. As she howled in complete humiliation and scorching pain, he whacked the shoe several more times across her cheeks with steady force.

  “Aaaaaagh! Stop it! I hate you! Ow! Ow! I’m going to run away! You’ll never see me again! I will never, ever forgive you for this!”

  Eleanor’s words were garbled and tear–laden as she flailed her arms against the chair leg. The spanked skin burned like fire and had been effectively dried by the wrath of the shoe. The outrageous embarrassment of having her knickers taken down was now the least of Eleanor’s concerns. Her bottom was ablaze. She h
owled, praying that Daddy would have mercy. Time and again though, Harry beat down with the shoe, watching his little girl’s rear end turn a dark, mottled scarlet. It was a steady, rhythmic, spanking. Eleanor screwed up her eyes and yelled almost hoarse, unable now to discern one blow from the next. The soaked knickers, grubby and ruined with the salt water, slid towards her knees. She shook in abject agony and utter shame, over her father’s iron–like thighs.

  “Daddy pleeeeasssseee....” Harry could barely make out what his daughter was saying. He concentrated hard as the shoe bounced off her bottom once, twice, three, four more times. He could see faint welts forming on her lower buttocks and was satisfied there really would be no sitting down, for quite some time. Finally Eleanor flopped, drained of all energy and weeping loudly like a baby.

  Harry stopped the spanking and put the shoe on the floor. He straightened his hand, now intent on completing Eleanor’s punishment with more intimate contact.

  “Now you listen to me, young lady. And I want you to listen hard.” Harry maintained all his authority, as his cherished nineteen year old daughter bawled full of resentment across his lap.

  “Oh I hate you! Oooow, I am going to die!”

  “Eleanor! Unless you want me to carry you to the top deck and continue your punishment in full view of the entire harbour, you will stop your wailing and listen to me right now. Is that clear?”

  Eleanor gave out another loud sob. She was quite convinced that he might indeed carry out such a beastly threat. Who on earth was this cruel monster that had replaced her lovely Daddy?

  “Yes ... “ she spluttered in rage. Harry then placed his palm across her bottom cheeks. They throbbed hot as the heat from a coal fire to his touch. Eleanor could barely feel her father’s hand, given the awful soreness all over her rump.

  In his ire, Harry often reverted to the coarser language of his roots.

  “You’ve had a damned good tanning to your bare bum, young missy. Something I truly believed I would never have to give you again. Thought you’d been over my knee for the last time, when you made a show of yourself at that Hallowe’en shindig.”

  He drew breath as Eleanor continued to sob in self–pity and acute pain.

  “But it seems not. You were warned last night that I’d tan your backside if you didn’t behave yourself. And so what did you go and do?”

  Eleanor wept, no longer thrashing her arms or protesting. As she discerned the feel of Daddy’s hand on her bottom, she realised she had no useful reply to offer. He was absolutely right. She had willfully disobeyed him despite his plain threat.

  “And you know fine well why you deserved it, Eleanor,” her father went on, now patting her sizzling hot bottom.

  “Tamara is a wonderful woman. Everyone can see that, including you. She and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together. We want to share that happy family life with you. But I will have absolutely no more miserable behaviour from you, whether in my home or elsewhere. Do you hear me?”

  Harry then smacked her lower cheeks firmly a few times in succession with his hand. Eleanor yelped in pain. For both of them, it was a rude reminder of her childhood.

  “Yes I hear you! Please stop Daddy! I can hear you!”

  Harry stopped smacking, and again placed his hand firmly on Eleanor’s lower bottom. Her skin throbbed mercilessly. He felt a brief pang of pity for his only little girl. It must be so sore. Then he remembered the way Charlie had described her conduct in The Grand. And the way she had insulted his wife. His pity was gone in a flash, replaced with rounded satisfaction that he was doing exactly the right thing. Over his knee, his little girl sobbed her heart out as he continued his lecture.

  “You will welcome Tamara into our lives, just as I’ve done. You will stop your childishness, your disobedience, and your sulky moods. If there is any further repeat of the kind of nonsense we were witness to today, and I mean even a hint of it, you will find yourself back over my knee in a flash. And the next time I won’t be kind enough to spank you in privacy, Eleanor Walker. It will be skirt up and knickers down, wherever we happen to be. I love you very much, and I really didn’t want to do what I’ve just done. But you left me no other option whatsoever.”

  Eleanor blubbered, trembling.

  “Oh, I want to run away! I mean it! I’ll never forgive you, ooh!”

  Harry’s hand had not moved from his daughter’s searing hot bottom.

  “I’m now about to remind you of what my hand feels like put across your bare behind. Like it was when you were a little girl. Since you still insist on behaving like one. Then you will go to your cabin, get cleaned up and go straight to bed. If you disobey, it’s time for another spanking. Is all of that quite clear to you?”

  Eleanor cried like a baby, sniffling and blinded with tears. She didn’t care about being sent to bed. There was nowhere else she would rather be right now, height of the summer or not. But he couldn’t spank her again, surely! She desperately needed to rub her bottom and get some of the terrible pain away.

  “Please no more Daddy! Please!”

  Harry wasn’t listening. Brusquely, he applied his strong roughened palm to the lower cheeks of his daughter’s bottom. Impressing home to her once again the stiffest lesson, exactly where she would sit. A dozen or so hard spanks gave out crisp cracking shots around the bureau, accompanied by a further round of Eleanor’s humiliated wailing. Hearing it, Tamara felt for the girl as never before. How painful it sounded! Curling up on the large sofa in the day lounge, Tamara was compelled by the sounds of hard male hand on bare female skin, and by the shrill girlish protestations. She imagined Harry’s hand, so good at caressing in lovemaking, spanking a bare bottom. For a second, she dared to imagine not his daughter’s current predicament – but one of her own, over her husband’s knee.

  Then suddenly it was all over. Harry stopped the spanking, having lost count of the blows he’d delivered. Eleanor’s whole bottom burned a vile, red hot. Harry smartly pulled down her dress skirt in one move, leaving the knickers at her knees. He bent down to replace his shoe. Free to stand now, Eleanor lay still crying loudly, not even sure if she had the strength to move.

  “Up you get now,” her father said rather more gently. “That’s your punishment over, provided you behave yourself. Go and get ready for bed.” He patted her covered rear a few times, softly.

  Slowly and in complete agony from her behind, Eleanor rose to her feet, shaking. Messy tears of humiliation coursed down her face. Her drying curly hair was mussed all over. She was too ashamed to look her father in the face.

  “Why did you do that to me, Daddy?” she sobbed. “I shall never recover from it! And I’ll never forgive you for the rest of my whole life!”

  Like a little girl, she rubbed her eyes and cried mournfully. Her bottom was throbbing furiously, quite the most physically painful thing she had ever experienced. Her head was now thick and fuggy, as the effects of the champagne wore off completely. How would she ever get over the horror of this day that had started so magically, and ended up with the worst thing that had ever happened to her? Her babyish crying grew louder.

  Harry was bored now with her histrionics. He rose to his feet and tucked the chair under his large oak desk. Wiping down his water stained trousers, he sighed and straightened himself.

  “You know exactly why you were spanked, Eleanor. It’s been explained more than once. And this is the last time I will tell you to get to your cabin, and to bed. Being spanked and sent to bed early is a punishment perfectly suited to a repeatedly naughty child. I am now going to count to five....”

  But Harry had no need to. With her knickers still clinging wet to her thighs, Eleanor turned to flee and do as she was told. There was no alternative, she knew that. She found she could barely walk, such was the scalding heat that burned from her damp buttocks to her thighs. She gritted her teeth through her hot tears and made off out of the bureau, along the deck. Her little cabin was tucked up a small alcove. Once in the door she slammed it behind
her, threw herself on the bed and started a fresh round of howling. It was misery. The holiday was ruined. She wept with remorse and wriggled from side to side, in fruitless effort to rid her backside of the unendurable pain. Eleanor wished with all her might that this day had never begun.

  Tamara had heard the girl’s scurry to her cabin and the slamming of the door. She resolved to make sure Eleanor knew that she sympathised, and hoped Harry would permit her to try and help his daughter if she wanted her to. She wondered what on earth state Eleanor’s rear end must be in. How long did it take to get over a real proper spanking like that? And what did it feel like, when the spanker had stopped and you were left on your own to ease it? Tamara’s mind was rapidly filling with new, and strangely appealing images such as she had never entertained before.

  Up in the Riviera Bar on the hill, Charlie thought hard as he took a drag of his cigarillo. He thought on how he and Eleanor had far more in common than she realised just yet. People thought Charlie’s family was grand, but they didn’t see themselves as a cut above. They’d fought hard to keep their home after the war effort nearly did for the men, and had narrowly escaped bankruptcy. Like Eleanor, Charlie had been taught to recognise value above price. Yes, the Hetheringtons had generations of wealth behind them. But spoiling the youngsters of the family had been out of the question.

  As night fell, faint guitar and accordion music wafted in from the square outside the hotel. Two jovial buskers were hard at work, entertaining the dog walkers and couples walking hand in hand. Wandering over to the window and looking down on the shimmering seas of the harbour as the sun finally dipped, Charlie resolved to start afresh with Eleanor. She was beguiling and bright, and unlike any of the prissy young empty–headed bobbysoxers he met at the dances at home. His inherited wealth was substantial, and meant he had countless opportunities now for travel and business. But there were tiresome gold–diggers everywhere he went. He wanted a fun playmate and a companion on his own level. And he loved France so dearly. It would be just bloody superb he thought, to be able to share it with someone like Eleanor. And God, she was a hot bit of stuff, too. Sweet, yet sexy – and her headstrong streak only added to the challenge.