French Lessons Part Un

French Lessons Part Un
By NAMB

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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French Lessons – Part Un

As I opened the door, I heard my mom utter the words I dreaded, "Jorge, I got a call from your teacher today."

All the way home I was thinking of what words I could say that could acquit me of my actions.

Gretchen can be such a bitch. She's a year behind me at school, but we share the same French class. She shouldn't be there at all, but she seems to be some sort of intellectual giant who was advanced in her grade. She was only 11 years old, but took a lot of her courses with us 13-year olds. I don't like parlez vousing. It's not like I'd ever use French for anything. So I don't do well in class. I failed yet another test, and she was rubbing it in. Maybe learning a foreign language is a girl thing; she had aced the test.

She stood there smugly as she, and several of the other students who had done well on the test were dismissed so us poorer students could get some remedial tutoring.

"See you later, Jorgie," she taunted. "Don't be such a dummy and try to learn something."

I saw red. As she turned, I reached out intending to give her a backhand slap on her butt. Instead my fingertips caught the hem of her short skirt and flipped it up. She shrieked. Dozens of heads turned to see her bared behind and panties in the brief second it took for the skirt to fall back into place. There was no way Ms. Rejean was going to miss that.

"Monsieur Holt, qu'avez-vous fait?" she said. Which I think means, "What did I do?"

"Oh, madame. Il ..." and Gretchen was off pleading her case in fluent French. I hardly understood a word she said, and having to defend myself in French put me at an extreme disadvantage. I got a detention slip, and was told to report to the principle's office after class. Gretchen left smiling and sticking her tongue out at me behind Ms Rejean's back.

Ms. Rejean explained what happened to Mr. Muller. "What do you have to say for yourself, young man?" he asked. I didn't plead my case any better in English and was sent home with a note explaining the event and asking for my mother's intervention.

Mom! She's not a bad woman, but she is very old fashioned and strict when it comes to discipline. I figured I would be grounded for weeks. I figured wrong.

So here I am opening the door to my house still without a good excuse. Mom went on. "Who is this Gretchen?"

"She's a bitch in my French class."

"Jorge!" she recoiled, "I won't tolerate such language in my house. You've just earned a bar of soap for dessert after dinner tonight. Now who is she?"

"She's just a girl in my class."

"And you flipped up the back of her skirt?"

"She had it coming," I explained, "She was being a bit.. She was giving me a hard time about my French test."

"That's something else we'll talk about some other time. Why did you do it?"

"I told you mom. She was being nasty to me."

"You should know better. You will have to learn to keep your hands to yourself. I've called Gretchen's mother and apologized. She's coming over with Gretchen and you will apologize to both of them, after I've given you your spanking."

"Mom! You can't spank me. I'm too old for that!"

"You certainly aren't acting your age. If you are going to pull little boy pranks, you are going to get little boy spanks."

Unfortunately for me Gretchen lived rather close, and mom and I hadn't even finished our discussion when the door bell rang.

"Go answer that," mom ordered.

On the doorstep stood Gretchen and her mom. Apparently they didn't linger long after getting mom's call. Gretchen hadn't even changed out of her school uniform.

"Come in," I said rather stiffly. My uncomfortable meter was already in the red zone and it was only going to get worse.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Miller," mom said. "This must be Gretchen. What a lovely looking girl she is."

Mom was being exceptionally polite. Gretchen was anything but lovely looking. Well, at least to me. She has never been civil to me and that did skew my opinion of her appearance. I suppose if you took away her mean personality, she could actually be considered cute.

"Would you like some tea?" mom offered.

"Oh, yes thank you and call me Taela."

"Thank you, Talea, I'm Eva. Both of you can call me Eva. That goes for you too, Gretchen."

"Thank you Mrs. Holt ... I mean Eva." Gretchen giggled.

"Eva?" I thought. I knew that was my mom's first name, but I'd never be allowed to call her that, and here she's giving Gretchen, a girl in the class below me, permission to use her first name.

Mom bustled in the kitchen to make the tea leaving me with Gretchen and her mom. The three of us sat there in unbearable silence. I certainly wasn't going to start any conversations. Gretchen didn't make eye contact with me, and for some reason that made me even more uncomfortable.

I was hoping we could get on with this: I do my apologies, the Millers go home, mom spanks me, and we all forget about the whole thing.

Mom was back in a moment. "I was talking to Jorge about his bad habits in school. There is no excuse for what he did to Gretchen. I'm really sorry about this. I was about to address the issue when you came by."

"Oh really?" Mrs. Miller said with a raise of her eyebrow.

"I'm going to do something that I haven't done for a long time and it seems that it's long overdue. I'm going to give him a bare-assed spanking. You're welcome to stay and watch if you want. In fact, I wish that you would. The guilty should be brought to punishment in front of the victimized. That is, if it's OK with you if the victimized watches," mom finished with a nod of her head towards Gretchen.

I was just too shocked to say anything.

Mrs. Miller smiled and looked at her daughter. Gretchen looked back at her and nodded meekly, but her eyes were sparkling with lust.

"We'll stay," Mrs. Miller announced.

"Mom!" I pleaded. "You can't do that. Not with them here."

"Yes I can. You've been acting like an uncivilized goon. You forfeited your rights when you stopped respecting the rights of others."

For a moment, I thought I had an ally as Mrs. Miller put forth, "We can leave, if it's going to be a problem."

"No, stay," Mom insisted. "He has this coming. He has only brought it upon himself. I think watching him get justice will be good for Gretchen as well. She needs to learn that girls don't have to take what boys dish out. They have rights too."

"Jorge," mom directed, "get a chair from the kitchen and bring it here."

I felt as if I were ordered to build my own gallows and dig my own grave, but got the chair and placed it where mom indicated.

Mom sat down, "Now strip off your clothes and get over my lap."

"Mom!" I protested, "Gretchen ... she's a girl. My protests were in vain.

"Don't 'mom' me. I'm a girl just like Gretchen. Whatever you do to any girl you do to me. You've been a naughty boy, and you need to learn proper manners. You're lucky I'm not grounding you until half past the next century. You're lucky I haven't asked you to fetch my hair brush."

Mom's face was getting red. I could tell she was really getting angry. I realized that there were potentially no end to the punishments mom could inflict on me and decided to cut my losses. I'd take the spanking and hopefully the whole deal would be over quickly.

I disrobed slowly, stopping when I got down to my underpants.

"Those too!" mom said.

"But mom, Gretchen." It was my last feeble shot of protest, and it fell well short of its target.

"Fair is fair. You tried to see her. It's only fair she sees you."

I was severely embarrassed even before I reached for the waistband. Mom hadn't seen me naked in at least a half dozen years. Mrs. Miller was a stranger, but at least she was another adult. But Gretchen was just a girl. Not just a girl, but a nasty, vindictive, younger girl who I would see every day in school. I had no doubt that as soon as she was out of earshot of her mom, she'd be on her cell phone calling every girl she could think of to tell her of how she witnessed my naked spanking.

The experience was not unlike pulling off a band-aid. I could prolong the torture by removing it slowly, or get it done with a gut-wrenching rip. I chose the latter. I had the pants down in a fraction of a second and stepped out of them. I stood up tall. If I were going down, I was going to go down with as much pride as I could muster. Mrs. Miller sat there dispassionately. Gretchen looked and smiled. She was enjoying every nanosecond of the moment.

Without a further word, I draped myself over mom's lap. She raised her hand and brought it down on my right cheek. I hadn't been spanked for quite a while, and I can't ever remember being spanked in the nude. I'll say this about mom, she was an unimaginative spanker. She remained silent throughout the spanking and maintained a fairly predictable pattern.

The silence only made it worse. There was absolutely nothing to distract anyone from what my mother was doing to me. I was sure that my rear end had the undivided attention of Mrs. Miller, and that Gretchen's eyes were locked on, unblinking to the event. In the silence, every slap mom made on my ass sounded all the louder.

Mom didn't hit hard but, each spank made my ass just a little warmer. The warmth became a tingling and the tingling became stinging. I don't know how long I was over mom's lap, or how many times she hit me. I do know that my eyes began to water, and although she wasn't hitting hard, I was in pain.

Finally she stopped. "Jorge, go into the corner and stand there with your hands on your head." About this time the tea kettle started to whistle indicating that it was ready. As she went to fetch it, I could hear Mrs. Miller whisper something unintelligible to her daughter. Gretchen giggled in response.

The two women and a girl sat behind my back sipping their teas discussing me in the third person as if I weren't even there.

Mom asked Gretchen what happened.

"I was just walking down the aisle between the desks when he reached out, grabbed a hold of my skirt and held it up." She sounded almost as if she were in tears when she delivered this line.

"It wasn't like that mom," I tried to protest.

"Keep quiet!" mom admonished. "I'm not talking to you. I am having a civil conversation with this fine young lady."

Mom wasn't going to get the full story from Gretchen's account. No mention was made of the provocation or the nasty remarks or the fact that she called me a dummy. "Grabbed hold of her skirt and held it up" indeed. It was a simple flip – a fraction of a second and nothing more.

"Aww, poor dear," mom said.

With a sympathetic audience, Gretchen poured it on, "And you should see how he looks at all us girls. It's like he's undressing us with his eyes, Eva."

"Go on, Gretchen. My apologies for my son's rudeness."

"Oh yes, Eva. He's rude to everyone at school." Gretchen said with injured tones. What an act! Nothing could get through that bitch exterior.

Mom lamented, "Yes, Jorge is certainly a handful. If I'm not on his case every moment, he gets into mischief. Unfortunately, I can't be everywhere."

"Too bad you can't be at school then, Eva."

That must have been the tenth time Gretchen called my mom, "Eva." Her use of my mother's name was a deliberate attempt to humiliate me. She was putting herself on a level with my mom. She was trying to promote herself to my superior.

"I know. I get notes from the teachers all the time about his behavior."

"And the teachers don't see everything." Gretchen added.

"Well, there's no excuse for that kind of behavior. If Jorge gives you or any of your friends at school any trouble at all, you tell me. As you can see, I know how to deal with that when I know about it."

Gretchen let out a slight giggle, "OK Eva. I will. It would be so nice to see a polite Jorge around school for a change."

"Well, he'll probably be kicked out of school if his grades don't improve," mom lamented.

"I don't know why he's failing French. It's such an easy class," Gretchen said. She just wanted to make sure that mom knew I was failing French. Fortunately for me, that particular cat was already out of the bag.

Mom sighed, "I'd hire a tutor, but who can afford one?"

"I'll do it!" Gretchen announced.

"Do what?" her mom and my mom answered in unison.

"Teach him French."

"That's nice of you to offer dear," Mrs. Miller said.

It was nice, which made it totally out of character for Gretchen. She had an angle but I didn't know what it was.

Mom was flustered, "I couldn't."

"Oh why not," Mrs. Miller argued. "Gretchen is a whiz in French. She's even taught me a few things."

"But I can't. I mean, I insist that I pay her."

"I'd do it for free," Gretchen offered.

This was too nice. There had to be a big catch, and I had a feeling when I found out about it, I wasn't going to like it.

"No dear, you won't," mom said. "I can afford some things, and this is worth while. I'll pay you by the lesson."

"Good," Mrs. Miller announced, "then it is settled.

"Almost settled. Jorge has not apologized to you and Gretchen yet. "Jorge, come out of the corner, and apologize to our guests."

I turned around, lowering my hands in front of my genitals. The spanking had taken any pride I had left out of me.

"Hands at your side," mom corrected.

"I'm sorry Mrs, Miller," I said and I meant it – to her. Turning to her daughter, who was not looking at my face, but at another part of my body, the apology was a lot more difficult. The words seemed to stick in my throat.

"I'm sorry, Gretchen," I managed to choke out.

Mom would not let it go at that. "Tell her why you are sorry."

"I'm sorry for flipping up your skirt."

"And?" mom added.

"I promise not to do it again."

"Good boy," mom confirmed. "Jorge, escort your friend and her mother to the door." I went to retrieve my pants and underwear. "Oh no," mom said. "Just as you are. You do the crime, you do the punishment. You'll be naked around here for a while. I like what being naked does to you. You're more submissive. You pay attention better and you obey better."

As I walked to the door, Gretchen cupped her hand to my ear and whispered, "Your ass is mine. I'm going to tell her if I don't even like the way you part your hair. Maybe next time she spanks you she'll let me bring some of my friends along."

Gretchen was such a bitch that I doubted if she had any friends, but to see me get spanked, I think she could convince other girls to pretend that they were.

Mom and Mrs. Miller stood at the door and chatted their goodbyes. Gretchen stood there taking in my nudity for as long as she could. She didn't break eye contact until the very last moment. Smiling innocently to my mom, she said, "We can start the French lessons, on Monday. I can be over right after school lets out."