French Lessons

  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 Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

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  is registered in the US Patent and 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:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  CHAPTER ONE

  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 fa
shion. 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.

  “Oh I can’t wait!” she squealed. “I know it’s hot Daddy, but I want a real tan! When we go back to London, I’ll be brown as a nut!”