French Lessons
Authors: Georgia Harries
French Lessons
By
Georgia Harries
©2013 by
Blushing Books® and Georgia Harries
Copyright © 2013
by Blushing Books® and Georgia Harries
All rights
reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or
by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publisher.
Published by
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Trademark Office.
Harries, Georgia
French Lessons
eBook
ISBN:
978-1-62750-064-7
Cover Design by edhgraphics.blogspot.com
This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and
other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended
for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or
the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of
minors.
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Don’t miss
A Debutante Tamed
By
Georgia Harries
Twenty-one year
old Olivia Stamford is a beautiful debutante running amok in her uncle's
wealthy estate in the rolling English shires.
Forced to travel
overseas on last minute business, Uncle Benjamin installs Earl Lennox, a
twenty-six year old suitor, in his home in order to keep his niece entertained
and in check. The two young people met previously a year before. From the
outset, there was a fiery spark of attraction between them.
Sparring begins
as the furious young woman resents her aging Uncle's moves to have her “looked
after”. At once, the dashing Earl Lennox can see that here is the spirited
partner he wants to share his life - but only if she can keep a civil tongue in
her head. Olivia is having none of it. Things come to a head when Olivia is
almost badly hurt in a riding accident, having disobeyed Lennox and mounted an
unbridled stallion.
To her horror, Lennox subjects her to the first spanking of her
pampered life, overheard by all the servants. It is left to a young maid to
comfort the thoroughly humiliated debutante, and to show her the error of her
ways. In doing so, can she persuade the stunning young woman that Lennox really
does have her best interests at heart?
Praise for A Debutante Tamed
***** What a Wonderful story!
If I could give it a thousand stars, I
would!
***** Superb Story!
Completely and utterly adore this book, have read it
again and again already, and would highly recommend to all lovers of classic
spanking in literature and history.
***** Fantastic!
A complete stay-up-all-night until
sunrise read!
Table of Contents:
Monte Carlo
Bay, 1958
“Oh
Daddy, it’s wonderful! I love it! I absolutely adore it!”
Eleanor
Walker stood at the top of the gangway of her father’s luxury motor–yacht,
taking in all its impressive scale. Aged nineteen and blossoming into a real
beauty, she offset her surrounds perfectly as she turned to gaze out at the
glorious Côte d’Azur. The gulls circled in the light, salty harbour breeze. It
was a hot summer noon in Monaco, and the second day of the Walkers’ now regular
summer holiday to the south of France. The coming two weeks held a wealth of
promise for young Eleanor. London seemed a lifetime away.
The
floating home, purchased by her father as a surprise, captivated Eleanor. It
was a triple cabin cruiser, a wide stateroom dominating the dark navy and cream
exterior. A small Union Jack flag fluttered cheerily in the breeze atop its
elegant swaying mast. Holidays with Daddy had always been tremendously exciting
for Eleanor, but these days it was paradise on earth. As the only daughter of a
multi–millionaire, she had come to know the Côte d’Azur rather well.
Eleanor often felt it belonged to her alone, this magical little playground in
the sun. They had visited each summer for the last three years, and stayed in
the most glamorous hotels. This vivid part of France was a different world,
full of beautiful people. But now a motor–yacht, too!
Named
after Harry Walker’s only child, the
Eleanor–Jane
bobbed proudly
by the quayside. The vessel attracted admiring looks from locals and crew. Her
teak decks and bronze bollards glistened in the intense light of the
Mediterranean sun. It was a bustling Saturday. Weekend shoppers and tourists
wandered up and down the grand Avenue leading away from the harbour. These
dazzling coasts were a haven for the rich and famous, and drew travellers from
England and America in the hundreds during the warmer months. The teenage
Eleanor was determined to catch a glimpse of at least one film star. She had no
interest in any of the “promenading” or “gourmet food” that her father’s new
wife had been chattering on about.
In
her stubborn young mind, Eleanor called Tamara “New Wife” as a title. That was
as close as she wanted to get to “Mrs. Kelly–Walker.” She tried now to
push the woman well to the back of her thoughts.
On
the solid timber gangway a young French deckhand, Pierre, threw down a bucket
of soapy water. The motor–yacht had to be sparkling clean at all times
for the Monsieur Walker and his wife. Some of his friends felt that deep–pocketed
Englishmen without a word of French were overrunning Monaco these days. But it
was good work, and Le Walker was an honest, fair man Pierre thought. And as for
his cute little daughter? That pretty young thing would gladden the eye any
day, he grinned to himself as he glanced up at her discreetly.
The
sun shone deep yellow shafts of the purest light down into the spotless top
deck as Eleanor set off exploring the motor–yacht. She waved cheerily at
her father, and leaned over the side to smile out over Monaco Bay. Her short,
thick, curly blonde hair blew in the sea breeze, tied back from her wide–open
face by a red velvet bandeau. She wore a tight pale green gingham dress of the
latest ‘50s fashion. It showed off her pert cleavage perfectly. Lads of the
local crews could not hide their smiling admiration. Eleanor laughed out loud
and waved at a couple aboard the neighbouring yacht.
On
the quayside, Harry Walker discussed the week’s itinerary with the skipper,
Stephens. He looked up and smiled indulgently at his daughter. He would be
keeping a very keen eye on her over this holiday. She was prone to over–excitement
and her behaviour had been erratic of late. Harry hoped their time in France
would put paid to it.
Walker
had known these jewel–like coasts since his thirties, when the burgeoning
property business had allowed him to start speculating in France. It was –
his rivals had grudgingly admitted – a bold move. He eventually purchased
properties in Paris, Nice, and the Riviera. But he had a special reason for
wanting to make this the holiday of a lifetime. Having been widowed for so very
long, he was very much in love with his new wife. Eleanor had needed a little
space to get used to it, but wasn’t this just the perfect place for the three
of them to get to know each other better, he thought?
Harry
turned to look up at he old town, rising steeply like a rather chaotic layered
cake against the rocky cliffs beyond the harbour. The deep blue–green
hills of southern France stretched far to the horizon beyond. Masking his eyes
from the glaring heat haze with his hand, he spotted her at last. Tamara walked
along the quayside, laden with expensive shopping bags. He smiled. She was just
adorable. Harry had imagined he would never again be with a woman after the
devastating death of Eleanor’s mother fifteen years before. When Tamara Kelly
had walked into his world just six months ago, she had rocked it to its
foundations.
“Hey
honey!” Tamara called cheerily, descending the stone steps towards the harbour.
“This place sure has class!” She waved her handfuls of bags playfully at Harry.
Standing
a slim five foot seven, the Irish New Yorker was a stunner. She worked for one
of Manhattan’s leading fashion magazines. Harry had met her at a business
dinner and was blown away by her from their first conversation. At forty, and
ten years his junior, she had never married. She had – as she put it
– “a goddamn splintered heart”
from knowing too many bad guys.
Unlike
Harry, Tamara had come from a wealthy home. Her own father had been a self–made
success. Michael Kelly survived The Depression, and his clothing business went
on to flourish. Just as Manhattan itself grew faster, and its buildings taller.
But Kelly was a former drinker and his wife a bitter recluse. Neither of them
had been able to forget the ‘old country’ – neither fully able to show
love or affection to their daughter.
Still,
the dollars had poured in. Tamara was sent to good schools. They moved to the
Upper East Side, and she was sought–after. There was a time, Tamara often
reflected, when the freedom she was given could well have been her downfall.
While her father spent his nights dining with mayors and solicitors and her
mother took to her bed, the young Miss Kelly could easily have followed a path
to self–destruction. There was always drink around, and the War brought
an ironic, reckless decadence to New York. For years there was a devil–may–care
attitude among her set. But she had always been a cautious girl at heart.
Picking up on her father’s great love for good tailoring, the rest had fallen
into place. By the time she met Harry Walker, the elderly Kellys were living a
quiet life upstate. If they were at all impressed by the kindly, charismatic
Englishman their daughter had fallen for, they certainly did not show it. Now,
Harry wanted to make Tamara feel like the most loved woman in the world. He
simply had to convince his teenage daughter of the same.
“Oh
Harry! She’s such an exquisite boat!” Tamara nestled to her husband’s side and
gazed up at the
Eleanor–Jane.
“Boat?”
Harry’s thick London accent made the word sound even funnier to Tamara’s ears.
“She’s a classic cruiser, I’ll have you
know, ma’am,” he teased. “All fifty feet of her. Averages eight knots at under
four gallons an hour. And...” he whispered in his wife’s ear, “comfortable
cabins ... with very snug bunks, which I fully intend to put to the fullest
use!” Tamara giggled and kissed him slowly.
From
the upper deck, Eleanor looked away glumly as she caught sight of her father
canoodling with
her.
It was so embarrassing, at their age. She felt
another sharp pang of jealousy. Eleanor had to concede grudgingly that Tamara
Kelly was an incredibly good–looking woman for her years. She always wore
just the right outfit, and kept her face soft and bright with the finest
creams. There was never a dark, shining hair out of place. But her Daddy
belonged to
her
first and foremost. She walked to the other side of the
motor–yacht and gazed up longingly at Monte Carlo, its neat elegance the
crowning glory of the sweeping Avenue. Let them behave like a pair of lovesick
idiots if they wanted to, Eleanor thought. She played idly with a blonde curl
as she leaned over and looked down into the clear blue water, the white rocks
cascading far away into the ocean below. There was plenty to do up in Monte
Carlo, and she was quite determined to find entertainment all of her own.
The
harbour grew busier as the afternoon went on. Driving past in a little red
sports car, Charlie Hetherington’s eye was caught by the
Eleanor–Jane
.
It stood out quite remarkably beside all the other vessels. The twenty–three
year old slowed his car to a gentle ten miles per hour and skirted the harbour
twice, taking it all in. He wondered whom the motor–yacht might belong
to. It was an English name, and a damned fine looking piece of work. Charlie
hadn’t been to Monaco the last two summers while he completed his engineering
studies in Switzerland. His Uncle Jack would surely know who the owner was. She
was some sight he thought, resolving to get a proper look as soon as he could.
As
he slowed to a halt to let pedestrians cross the Avenue, Charlie noticed a
young blonde girl on the top deck waving out to passers–by. Taking his
binoculars from the glove pocket, he took the opportunity to get a closer look.
What he saw almost took his breath away. She was a right stunner too, and no
mistake about it. Perfect figure, with those bare legs under a tight–fitting
dress. Great smile too, and those fashionable blonde curls really did suit her.
As a car behind him tooted its horn in impatience, Charlie scrambled to
continue the drive up the hill. The young heir to the Hetherington estates was
suddenly rather excited ... and determined to seek out the English family anchored
at the harbour. As he checked himself in the wing mirror, pitch–black
hair smoothed back in one of the more sophisticated flattop styles, he smoothed
down his sideburns carefully. Having worked hard to get his qualifications,
Charlie Hetherington was intent on enjoying this summer holiday to the very
fullest.
Harry
and Tamara walked hand in hand towards the deckhouse. The Head Steward, Fabien,
greeted them warmly.
“Coffee,
sir?” he asked.
“That
would be lovely, thank you Fabien.”
Harry
led Tamara over to the wooden slatted table, its chairs positioned to look out
over the bay. Tamara removed her expensive sunglasses and leaned back. Her eyes
closed, she breathed in the warm summer air.
“Where’s
Eleanor, honey? Has she been out shopping today?”
“No,”
Harry replied quietly. “She’s so distracted by the yacht, I’ve barely seen her.
I really do hope we don’t have more offhand behaviour from her.”
Tamara
frowned.
“I
worry that maybe it’s too early for this holiday together, sweetheart.
She
lost her mother so young and – “
“Tamara,”
Harry stilled his wife’s thoughts with a strong hand on top of hers, “we’ve
been over all of this. You’re my wife now. My soul mate. Eleanor has to
understand that the world doesn’t revolve around her. I’ve told her she’s allowed
to do things by herself this year. Maybe make some new friends. But only if she
behaves herself and respects us. And most importantly, that she gets to know
you
as well. Eleanor is not a child anymore. I don’t want her acting like one.”
“
Thank you sweet man,” Tamara gripped Harry’s hand tight.
“That
means so much to me. I love you – both – I really do.”
She
smiled happily at him, as Fabien poured the coffee.
By
early evening, Eleanor had chosen her cabin on starboard end. It was strewn in
excited hurry with her clothes, magazines, cosmetics, and trinkets bought at
the French markets. Her little bed was covered with pink silk sheets and heart
shaped cushions. She switched on her transistor radio and the sweet vocals of
Doris Day filled the cabin. How Eleanor wished she could spend the evening up
in Monte Carlo! She had tried to persuade Daddy to take her out for dinner. But
he had insisted that they all eat together on the yacht, as the stewards had
gone to so much trouble to welcome them to France. Reluctantly, Eleanor left
her cabin and made her way up to top deck. Her father and Tamara were seated at
the table. There was a dazzling aroma from fresh cut flowers in vases, and
Fabien poured wine.
“About
time,” Harry said a little sternly. “Fabien, could you pour my daughter a half
glass of wine, please?”
Eleanor
sat down frowning, as the steward did as he was asked.
“Why
only a half glass? We’re in France. Can’t I have a full one please Daddy?”
“No,
you cannot,” Harry replied swiftly. Tamara’s heart sank.
Please
she
thought,
let there be no more bickering between father and daughter tonight.
“I
want you to take it easy, Eleanor,” her father continued. “It’s exceptionally
hot weather and you need to acclimatise. Tomorrow you can go up to Monte Carlo
if you like. But only for an hour or two.”
Eleanor
lightened a little as she sipped the stiff cold Burgundy.