French Lessons Part Trois

French Lessons Part Trois
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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Author's note. I took French about 45 years ago, so my use of it is quite rusty. I apologize in advance for the mistakes I make. Pretend, instead, that it the mistakes are due to the inexperience of the pre-teen girls struggling to learn the language for the first time, one of whom which, thinks she knows it better than she actually does. -=o=-

French Lessons – Part Trois

The next French lesson was on Wednesday. I prepared myself for an unpleasant experience. I tried not to think about being naked in front of Gretchen and Brenda the last time as they tutored me like a little boy nor the fact that they had those naked pictures of me. The thoughts disturbed me, but I couldn't understand the funny feeling I got in the pit of my stomach thinking of them or why those thoughts would give me an erection.

This time it was Gretchen alone who appeared at the end of the school day. I noticed that there were a few heads turned in our direction as we walked towards her house. The thought that people would come to the conclusion that she was my girlfriend entered my mind. I tried not to entertain it.

The warning flags went up when we got to Gretchen's house. She stopped in front of the door and fished in her purse to get a key to unlock the door.

"Where's your mom? Is nobody at home?"

"Mom is a very busy woman," Gretchen responded, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are the days she stops off at the gym after work. She'll be home by suppertime. Our lesson should be over by then."

"How convenient that these days also coincide with our French lessons," I thought. Aloud, I asked, "Does she know you are having me over?"

"Bien sur. Certainment! She lets me have friends over all the time" Gretchen responded too eagerly.

I think I might have detected a lie. Sure she's allowed to have friends over; as long as they are 11-year-old girls like herself, and not 13-year-old boys like me.

Once inside, she led me to her "play" room. This was a room in the basement that had a TV and remnants of her earlier girlhood experiences. There were dolls, sitting neatly on shelves, a tea set and numerous stuffed animals; all seemingly unplayed with for a couple of years. The rest of the room seemed to fit in with her more current lifestyle and consisted a couple of posters of rock stars, a couch, a couple of chairs, a small table with a computer and some tray tables to hold snacks while watching TV.

"This will be our classroom," she announced. "Enleves toi vêtements! Remove your clothes!"

I didn't even think about fighting her. I simply got undressed. I didn't even hesitate when I got to my underwear. This would be her third time seeing me naked. I don't think I could ever get totally used to it, but the initial shock was over at least. Anyway, between the incriminating pictures and the way she had my mother won over to her side, I had little will left in the matter.

"Take the pillows off the couch and help me set up my dolls."

I looked at her as she gathered dolls and stuffed animals from the shelf and started to arrange them on the couch. She explained, "These are the class. There's no sense in teaching school if you don't have students."

I tried to mimic her actions as best as I could, but was rebuked at one point, "No, you can't put Kathy next to Penelope. They don't get along. Put Kathy on that end of the couch and Penelope on the other."

"Whatever," I said dispassionately, but this seemed to have angered her.

"Jorgie, ce sont toi étudiants semblable. These are your fellow students. You must treat them with respect. After all, you are the new boy. I will teach you all their names, and you will memorize them for the next time we play school." She rattled off over a dozen names. Apparently I was not only the "new" boy. I was the ONLY boy in the class.

She spent the next couple of minutes arranging her dolls and stuffed animals to her liking. "This is going to be so much fun. I haven't played school since I was a little girl."

I was thinking, "You ARE a little girl," but said nothing.

Just then the doorbell rang.

"That would be Brenda," Gretchen said, "Why don't you get it."

"Like this?"

"Of course," she said matter-of-factly, "Brenda's seen what you look like. Now don't keep her waiting. Get up there and answer it."

I felt funny walking through Gretchen's house in the nude.

I took a quick look through the peek hole in the door. I could see with my fish-eye view that it was her, standing there in her St. Agnes' schoolgirl uniform. I wondered why she didn't join us for the walk to Gretchen's house. I stood behind the door as I opened it so as to hide myself from anyone else on the street.

In walked Brenda, and so did another girl! The other girl was a shorter version of Brenda: obviously a relative.

At first the girls did not see me, hidden by the door as I was. But they soon swirled around. Both of them broke out in giggles. The new girl said, "Omigod, he's naked! You're right Bren, he's bigger than Alex."

What is it with these girls, and how do they know everyone's penis size?

I closed the door and blushed. Brenda made the introductions, "Jorgie, this is Tamura, my sister. She's a 3rd grader. Tami, this is Jorgie."

This explained why Tamura was wearing a St. Agnes' uniform and why I didn't recognize her. K-4 used a different wing of the school, so we didn't see much of them. Third grade? That would probably make her about 9. The young girl extended her hand and I shook it. It felt small, soft and warm.

I stood there holding Tami's hand, dumbfounded. Finally my trance was broken by Gretchen calling from downstairs, "What's going on up there. We have some lessons to conduct down here."

I waved my hands towards the stairs. The girls seemed to know where to go, and I followed them.

When I got down there, I saw that Gretchen had the blackboard set up. She had scribbled on it, "Le Corps du Garcon – a Boy's Body."

"Bonjour, Brenda. Bonjour Tamura." She beamed.

"Bonjour Madamoiselle Miller," the girls replied in unison.

"Madamoiselle Miller," I like that! After all I am the teacher. "Jorgie, from now on, you will call me 'Madamoiselle.' And since Brenda and Tamura are also your teachers, you will call them mademoiselle, aussi. Nous vous appellerons Jorgie."

My name sounded even more girlish in French. It sounded like "Zhurzhie." It would never occur to me to refer to the sisters as Bren or Tami. I had no idea what the diminutive form of Gretchen was.

"Tres bien, classe. commencons la lecon. Aujourd'hui nous étudierons l'anatomie d'un garcon." Even I could translate that. We were going to study the anatomy of a boy. Since I was the only boy, and I was already naked, it was obvious I was to be the object of the girls' "lecon."

The girls took their seats front and center.

"Jorgie, stand here. Face the girls. Bien."

"Now class, repetez après moi," she said and she used her pointer to bring attention to various part of my body.

She pointed to my head, "la tete."

The girls repeated, "la tete."

She pointed to my neck, "le cou."

"Le cou," came the sing-song response.

She went down the body, "l'épaule, le dos, le coffre, le bras, le somach, ..." all the way to "le pied, l'orteil." I noice that she skilled over the "important parts." I doubted that she would leave them unnamed.

"Jorgie, turn around, hands on head."

I could hear the girls giggle and I could feel Gretchen tap my buttocks with her pointer, "La derriere." She added a comment, "And it looks like this derriere has recovered from its spanking."

The next thing I know, I hear a swoosh, a sharp crack, and feel the sting of her pointer. "Hey!" I yelped. "What was that for?"

"Because I can." Gretchen replied. "Now bend over and pull your cheeks apart. I am not finished with my lesson back here. Feet apart, bend over."

I did as she said. I felt particularly vulnerable in this position and awaited the next crack from her pointer. It never came, at least during this part of the lesson.

"Grab your butt cheeks and spread them apart." I flinched as I felt the tip of her pointer touch my butt hole.

"Ici, mes jeunes filles, est son rectum."

"Rectum?" I thought. The French use the same word for it?

"Aussi on peut dis l'anus." She said pushing the tip of her pointer ever so slightly inward. I doubt that even the skinny, inch long rubber tip made it halfway in, but I felt violated and threatened. Being exposed and looked should have been embarrassing enough. So far, none of the girls had so much as touched me. Now I was being penetrated by a cold, inanimate object. It was as if my inner parts and secrets were being revealed. I noticed that I was shaking.

"And now, girls, for the special 'boy parts;" she announced. She pulled out her pointer, gave me a token tap on my butt and said, "Stand up, turn around and face the girls." I had hardly completed the maneuver when she barked, "Mains sur la tete."

"The two parts that make a boy different from a girl and seem to give them trouble are: le penis et les testicules."

Even I had no problem translating that. I wondered if she were making all this up or if people in France actually call them that. I recall that Ms. Rejean said that there were a lot of English words that made their way into the French language, much to the chagrin of the French people.

Gretchen placed the pointer under my penis, and lifted it up. "This penis is circumcised.

She turned to her audience. "Brenda, will you assist me. Come stand on his other side and hold up his penis so your sister can see his balls." Then she laughed. "What's so funny?" Tamura asked.

"His balls," Gretchen giggled, "The ball – LA boule – c'est féminin." Even though we all got the joke, I was the only one not laughing.

Brenda grabbed the tip of my penis between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it almost straight up stretching it out a bit in the process and then stood to the side so that her sister and the rest of the "class" could see. It felt very funny having someone else touch my penis. At least this was a warm, human touch. But it was also a feminine touch. It felt nothing like when I touched myself. The girls were in total of control of the situation. I felt like a zoo specimen or maybe even an inanimate object that the girls brought to class for "show and tell."

Gretchen made a comment about the hair surrounding the area, but I was too embarrassed to assimilate it. My concentration was on Brenda and in particular her fingers. In my mind, she was not just holding the tip of my penis in her hands, but all of me. She was like a goddess that had picked up a mere mortal. How would she play with me? Would she protect me or would she crush me?

I was brought back to sharp reality by a tap of her pointer on my balls. It wasn't a hard tap – actually it was quite gentle, but it most definitely got my attention. She continued to tap them each time she made a point. Each tap was an unusual kind of painful, sort of like being snapped by a rubber band: it hurts when the pain is actually inflicted, but the pain subsides quickly. It was like receiving a series of annoying electric shocks. The worst part of the pain was the anticipation of the next tap and wondering when it would stop.

Whether it was the result of the pain, the embarrassment or Brenda holding my penis, I started to get hard. This was the last thing I wanted to do.

Gretchen finished her lecture and nodded to Brenda who released my penis. It didn't flop down.

Tamura giggled, "Oh look, it's sticking out all by itself!" The other girls peered on as well.

Brenda's face brightened, "That's an erection," she said excitedly as if she suddenly understood what was going on. "Remember Ms. Ober telling us about them in Biology Class?"

Gretchen nodded, "Yeah, I remember the drawing in the book and the pictures on the internet." Turning to me, she asked, "What are you doing to make that happen?"

"Nothing," I replied, 'It just sort of happens."

"Does it get any bigger?" Brenda asked.

"No that's about as big as it gets ... for now. It used to be smaller but got bigger in the last year or two."

"Obviously, it doesn't stay that way all the time," Gretchen added, "How do you make it small and soft again?"

I had an answer for that, but I wasn't going to tell the girls the full truth. "If I wait a while, it just sort of goes down on its own. Sometimes if I exercise, it goes down too."

"So you're telling us that it gets hard on its own and goes soft on its own and you don't have any control over it?" Gretchen asked.

"Well, sort of. I mean, it gets hard if I see a pretty girl."

"It's hard now. Does that mean you think we are pretty?" Brenda asked.

Actually, the girls were sort of cute, but under the circumstances it was difficult to see them that way. "Of course," I said without any conviction. Even I knew it didn't sound sincere, but the girls didn't seem to mind.

In truth, my erection surprised even me. It was happening in totally opposite conditions from when I usually got one. I got hard looking at pictures of older, beautiful, more endowed, naked women. Here I was one who was naked, being looked at by younger, plain-looking, not-even-in-puberty, fully-clothed girls.

The French lesson was temporarily forgotten as all three girls asked questions about my penis.

"Does it hurt?" "No." "Can you pee when it's like that?" "Yes, but it's difficult." "Don't you feel it in your pants all the time?" "Only when it's like this." "Besides looking at girls, does anything else make it hard?" "Sometimes it just happens for no reason at all?" "Any girl or does she have to be pretty?" "The prettier she is, the harder it gets." And so on.

They seemed to be fascinated with the fact that girls can cause boys to have erections without even trying.

To test the theory about exercise, the girls had me run in place and giggled as they watched my "equipment" jiggle and bounce up and down. "Maybe we can adapt one of my mom's athletic bras to keep that from happening," Gretchen suggested.

"Now you know why boys wear athletic supporters and cups." I responded.

The exercise period was too brief and actually had the opposite effect given the circumstances. I was as hard as I could get when Gretchen told me to stop.

Eventually, their questioning about my anatomy, or this particular piece of it wound down and we got back to the lesson at hand.

"Girls, I hate to interrupt this, but I did promise Jorgie's mom that I would teach him French. We're going to have to spend some time actually doing that."

So for the next half hour, we spent time conjugating verbs. If ever I wanted to lose an erection, I now knew a sure-fire way of doing it.

We finished the lesson almost as we started it with a review of the body parts in French. This time Tamura pointed out the parts as Gretchen called them off and her older sister took pictures. This time, I managed to keep my erection in check getting only semi-hard as the third grade girl tapped each part as it was named.

We spent the remaining time cleaning up the classroom and putting the dolls and stuffed animals back in their proper places. Gretchen had me tell her each doll's name as I put "her" away. I made the mistake of calling one of her dolls an "it" and was severely rebuked for it. I did well enough with the names, only needing a reminder on two of them.

"And finally, Kathy," I announced, placing the last doll back on the shelf, "who must never be seated near Penelope."

It was only after I completely tidied up the place that I was allowed to get dressed.