Disciplined By The French Mistress (JIMP#24)

Jim and a young man get a leggy lesson in discipline from a sexy French teacher

SPOILER: Intercepted communications. Jim learns about Banking immunity then is attacked by Malcolm Pratt. Rescued by Mrs. Louise French, the sexy French Mistress punishes the young man’s balls in front of a detention class. Her karate trained legs then interrogate both Jim and Malcolm before forcing Jim to apologise in an intimate manner. A fleeing Malcolm runs into trouble. Angel has a vision
Based upon a sexy French teacher I had, I don’t think the story worked out as well as I wanted it to

The following story contains descriptions of sex and violence. If this offends you or if you are under the legal age of consent in your country do not read on. Although based on real people, names have been changed to protect the innocent. Any other likeness to anyone dead or alive is purely coincidental.

(c) JIM P 2011
Acquiring intercept. Intercept acquired. AES256 detected. Acquiring trapdoor. Decrypting.
Zurich: You have recovered it, yes?
London: Holland’s won’t co-operate
Zurich: Unacceptable. Cut off their credit and freeze their accounts.
London: Done but they have a substantial reserve
Zurich: Swiss accounts?
London: They are not that unwise.
Zurich: Order a stakeholder take over
London: Unlisted family business. We could remove their immunity. The police can then raid them, shut them down and recover the object
Zurich: Overt action would make us unpopular with their client base, many of whom are bank stakeholders. We cannot risk it.
London: There is another option. The private detective. We steer him to recover the object then…
Zurich: Someone’s listening. Hang up.
Trace detected. Disconnecting
The name’s Jim Priest and I’m on the trail of a stolen artefact [JIMP#19]. This has led to Holland’s auction house and Principal Newman of St.Agatha’s Domestic College in London, where I was posing as an IT manager [JIMP#21].

Security ‘testing’ had got me into their members only website [JIMP#23]. Working through an online catalogue featuring descriptions in many languages and astronomical prices, I finally found what I was looking for:
Lot: 666 Very rare mechanical artefact of unknown function
Origin: possibly Aryan circa 2000 BC possibly earlier
Reserve: $2M

Meeting up with Detective Michael Jenkins, I showed him what I had found. “I could run this stuff through our database, but there’s no proof that your object is stolen. Only you and the maid saw it in-situ” he said. “Wouldn’t do you any good anyway. We can’t touch Holland’s” he added. “Why ever not?” I asked.

“Banking immunity” he said quietly. “You’re pulling my leg” I scoffed. “I’m serious. You’ve heard of diplomatic immunity? Well its like that but gold-plated. They can do whatever they want; exempt from all national laws. Don’t even have to pay taxes”. “That’s outrageous, how come I’ve never of it” I asked. “Because they finance the media and keep it quiet. Causes nothing but trouble for The Met” he said.

“They’re not a bank” I pointed out. “Don’t matter, those rich bastards know all the loopholes and register themselves under bank protection” Michael said. “Every few years, Holland’s organises a big event with all the top rich knobs from around the world attending under banking immunity. Murder, rape, theft, we’ve seen it all and we can’t touch the blighters. They even have their own armed security force” he told me.

I looked up the announcement for the next exclusive auction and baulked at the admission price. There was no way I could afford that. I needed another angle. Then I remembered Newman’s password ‘Louise French’.

Mrs. French. The mere mention of her name conjured up images of tight leather mini-skirts, sheer black nylons and calve hugging knee length boots. Standing 5’8″ with a very slender build, she was quite sexy in a strict severe way. Her face was small with good complexion, high cheekbones and a sleek nose. Her brown hair featured highlights and was cut so severe to be almost mannish. Small penetrating light brown eyes under slim eyebrows looked out through stylish designer spectacles. A slender jaw and a small but sensual pouting mouth completed the picture. However whenever she spoke, especially when in French, one couldn’t fail to notice prominent incisors.

A swan-like neck led to a slender body with a nice thrusting bust courtesy of brassiere engineering that stirred the loins. This was usually shown to effect with a tight top with a V-neck that gave a hint of cleavage. Below the waist, Mrs. French always wore leather mini skirts in a variety colours, browns, reds, greens and occasionally black. These clung alluringly to her compact backside and thighs. Some women wear unflattering shapeless boots, not Mrs. French. She wore proper kinky boots, again in a variety of colours that hugged the shapely contours of her calves enhanced by high heels. Between these alluring leather items, her legs were covered in sheer black nylons. The overall impact was of a stylish sexy looking woman in her late thirties or early forties, who dressed to emphasise her femininity. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop staring at her pointy breasts and sexy legs as she walked by.

They say that some people’s names are vocational. I’ve never felt inclined to become a member of the clergy, however Mrs. French was the French mistress!. Although I had seen her around the college, she seemed very aloof and had never acknowledged me. At the end of one day, I saw her alone in her lecture room. She had on a tight grey V-neck top, a short dark green leather mini-skirt, sheer black nylons with shapely red knee length boots. She didn’t even glance at me as I approached her. “Hello. I’m Jim Priest, the IT manager” I introduced myself. “The computers are fine. If they weren’t you’d soon know about it” she told me abruptly. She spoke with a well-educated English accent, not French. That would have been too much of a coincidence; Mrs French the French teacher being French. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to take detention” she dismissed me.

I had just left the room feeling rejected when suddenly I was grabbed and thrown roughly with my back against the wall. Startled I looked at my attacker to see a young man in his early twenties. “You’re a fraud Priest” he snarled, shoving my shoulders against the wall. “The police will be very interested in you since there’s young people involved” he continued. “I’m going to argh argh argh” he squealed, his face screwed up in pain.

The source of his pain became apparent. Mrs. French had taken hold of his little finger and was bending it back sharply. She was in complete control as she calmly kept his arm straight and twisted it into the air behind him. “Argh argh argh” he cried as she raised his arm forcing him onto tiptoes. “How dare you attack a member of staff, Monsieur Pratt. Get in that detention class now and I’ll punish you in a minute” she said firmly. “Argh please let go” he cried.

“You can either walk into that room on your own, or I’ll march you in like this. Which is it to be Malcolm?” she asked sternly. She looked magnificent; the chic French teacher in a tight top and mini skirt making this young man dance in agony at her fingertips. Some passing students sniggered at his distress. “Ok ok I walk. Let go” he gasped in pain. Releasing his finger, the young man turned to enter the room. But not before a passing remark to me. “See you later you phoney”.

To my surprise Mrs. French stepped forward, pressing her body against me. I felt her thrusting breasts press against my chest. With a pout on her lips, her mesmerising brown eyes stared through her spectacles. The close physical contact was very stimulating. “What was that all about, Mister Priest?” she asked in a quiet firm voice that sent goose bumps down my back. “Please, call me Jim. I’m not really sure. I think he mistook me for someone else” I answered. Her bust squashed against me, her face close to mine. The intimacy stoked my loins. She stared in my eyes not saying a word. I had to suppress an overwhelming desire to grab her and kiss her passionately. “I have a class to see to. We will discuss this later” she said, ending the moment by backing away. “Mrs. French. How about we meet after your class and we’ll go for a drink to discuss it” I said. “Tut tut Jim. I’m a married woman and please call me Louise” she answered with a smile that sent a surge through my groin. “Just a conversation between two professional people” I replied. “Very well Jim. Until then, Au revoir” she said.
Malcolm’s face burned with embarrassment. “Pratt” someone sneered “fancy letting an old dolly bird get one over on you like that”. “Shut up” he spat and took his seat near the rear of the room.

Getting into this joint had been easy. First tailgating groups of students as they passed security. He wasn’t much older than them, so the security guys didn’t give it another thought. After a while they recognised him and let him in, never challenging for his pass.

His original brief was to keep an eye on Priest. To avoid suspicion, he mingled with the older students. He tried to befriend Priest’s kids, hoping to coax some information about their father’s activities. Jackie was gorgeous but was a bit too young and athletic for his liking. Bobby was closer in age and was an OK bloke but tight-lipped about his dad. Michelle Wellington was more forthcoming about Priest senior, who let her and her girl friends use the computers during the evenings. Malcolm quite fancied her, although her brother was a pest until he disappeared [JIMP#23]. It was from her that he learnt that Priest had gotten through to Holland’s’ web site.

Malcolm was really struggling learning French. He should have ditched this class but Mrs.French was an irresistible draw. Fangs, the girls cruelly called her because of her prominent incisors. None of the boys called her that, they all fancied her. How could a young man concentrate on his studies with the distraction of studying her sexy mini skirts, legs & boots? It was this frustration that had landed him with detention. “Why do servants need to learn French anyway?” He asked aloud. “Très bien, Monsieur Pratt” the sexy shorthaired lecturer had said. “Because your masters will be well educated. They may have French chefs; they may have guests from abroad. You might want to seek opportunities in Domestic Service on the continent”. “I ain’t anyone’s servant” he replied. She hadn’t liked that, so here he was like a naughty schoolboy. It also rankled that the bitch had interrupted his little chat with Priest.

“Monsieur Pratt, down the front please” her strict voice broke his reverie. Walking towards the front of the lecture room, the slender woman is waiting in front of her desk. She looks so severe with that short hair and spectacles, but he can’t help running his eyes lustfully over her outthrust bust and sexy legs. “Stand here please and do not move unless I tell you too” she tells him. Malcolm watches her figure appreciatively as she proceeds to sit on top of the desk. The leather mini-skirt rides up exposing an expanse of sheer nylon clad thigh that makes his groin ache. As she crosses her legs, his dick stiffens at the glimpse of black stocking tops and black suspenders running over tanned bare flesh. Suddenly Malcolm finds a leather booted shin brushing between his legs, fully awakening his manhood.

He tries to push it away, but the boot rises sharply forcing him to his toes. The sensation of balancing on her leathered shin did nothing to lessen his erection. Malcolm could feel the top of her foot pressing against his backside, keeping him in place. “Monsieur Pratt. You will stand still and take your punishment or I will make sure that you will never have children. Do we understand each other?” the woman asks. The way her small mouth moves and pouts when she speaks is so sensual; he really is aching for her. On his toes with a shapely knee length boot between his legs, he had no option but to agree. “Bien” smiling she lowers her foot allowing Malcolm to breath a sigh of relief.

“Class. We will recite the French verb Obéir. To obey. Begin” the shorthaired woman commanded.
“J’ obéis” Thud Thud.
The leggy French Mistress emphasised each word by tapping her leather booted shin hard against his balls. “Argh” Malcolm cupped his hands over his groin to protect them. “Non!” the woman reprimanded. As she leant forward, Malcolm could see down her tight figure-hugging top. He got an eyeful of mounded breasts cupped in a lacy white bra and an alluring cleavage he wanted to stick his erection down.

“Remove your hands, Monsieur Pratt” she commanded. Once again his little finger was bent back forcing his hand away. “Take your punishment or I’ll break you” she said with an undercurrent of violence in her voice. “Bein, we will start again”

“J’ obéis” Thud Thud.
The sexy boot swung firmly in time with the words against his tight balls.
“Tu obéis” Thud Thud.
The sight of a stocking clad thigh driving her foot back and forth, maintained his boner keeping his balls tight and sensitive.
“Il obéit” Thud Thud.
The muscles in her thighs twitched, moving sensually under the sheer black nylon. He was rock hard and in pain.
“Nous obéissons” Thud Thud.
Hard shin sheathed in soft leather mashed his balls rhythmically with each word.
“Vous obéissez” Thud Thud.
Slowly the pain began to win out. Each tap of the boot sending waves of deep bone aching pain through his groin. Malcolm gritted his teeth and creased his eyes.
“Ils    obéissent” Thud Thud.
Malcolm felt relief, it was over. “Monsieur Pratt. You are part of this class, Non ?” the ball torturer spoke. “I did not hear you reciting. You will recite on your own”. “No, please, my balls hurt” he begged. “Then speak loudly and clearly otherwise we will repeat this until you get it right. Begin”.

“J’ obéis” Thud Thud. Ow my balls
“Tu obéis” Thud Thud. They ache so much
“Il obéit” Thud Thud. He tried to keep his voice calm and steady but couldn’t mask the pain.
“Nous obéissons” Thud Thud. Oh god don’t let me cry.
“Vous obéissez” Thud Thud. The shooting pain.
“Ils obéissent” Thud Thud. No more please.

“Bien. You can go and sit down” the pouty woman told him. Malcolm hobbled to the nearest desk. Wincing, he sat down, but it was impossible to find a comfortable position. However he sat, the hard seat pressed against his aching balls. “I want you all to sit there quietly and contemplate on why you are here” the leather skirted vixen said. Malcolm contemplated his aching balls.

After a while, he was aware of mumbled voices from the back of the room. Looking around he saw Mrs. French speaking with Priest. The way they both kept glancing at him made him realise that he’d been rumbled and needed to make a swift exit.

“Sit down. Monsieur Pratt” the voice said from the back of the room. “The rest of you may go”. Sod that, I’m out of here. Oooh, Malcolm found that he couldn’t walk too fast because of his throbbing groin. By the time he got to the rear of the room, the rest of the class had gone. Priest was in front of the door, blocking his escape. The short haired vixen with the tight top and thrusting breasts was striding down the aisle towards him, her mini skirt swishing around her thighs. “Monsieur Priest informs me that there is no student registered in this college called Malcolm Pratt. Explain s’il vous plaît?” she demands. “Ask Priest. He’s the phoney” he replied trying to push pass.

The sultry pouting woman with the spectacles reaches out to grab his hand. I’m not falling for that again, Malcolm thinks as he grabs her wrist. He sees her raise her other hand vertically, edge on, fingers straight. There is a blur of quick motion then he feels the side of her hand chop into his neck like an axe into a tree. The blow makes him feel light-headed, his knees give way, and blackness swirls in.

The sight of the elegant Louise French dropping the young man with a single elegant chop made my dick throb. “Wow that was amazing. I didn’t know you did Karate” I said. “We’ll have to wait now until he comes around then we can ask him some questions” I added looking down at the unconscious form on the floor.

“That gives me plenty of time to ask you questions” she says looking at me sternly. Suddenly I saw her raise a knee in front of her, the tight leather mini-skirt sliding up her thigh. I can’t resist running my eyes along her elevated thigh to her stocking top and suspender belt. Big mistake. BAM. A sudden twitch and her leg is flying up, the sole of her boot smashing into my chin.

“Oww” I cry, clutching my bruised jaw. A nylon clad leg kicks high with a brief glimpse of white briefs before a booted foot clubs the side of my face. My head in a daze, I’m dimly aware of her jumping into the air and her foot kicking out to hammer my gut. “Oruurgh” the breath explodes from my lungs. Leaning forward in winded agony, the leather mini skirt lifts in front of my face giving me a close up view of sexy lingerie before her boot rockets my head back hard.

My head in a whirl, I stagger back and come up against a wall. “Grrhhkk” the sole of a boot presses against my throat. “Grkkk” my hands grip the leather, unable to stop her crushing my larynx. “Grkkk” I croak as I look down the shapely contours of her booted calve and along her long slim thighs. The sheen of her stockings arouses me, despite my situation. My eyes continue pass a suspender belt to skimpy white briefs moulded to her crotch. The sight is so sexy that I spring a hard-on even though my throat is being crushed. I barely notice the other sexy leg leading back to the floor; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that crotch.

“Monsieur Pratt called you a phoney. Explain?” the voice is commanding. Her brown eyes blaze at me through her spectacles.
“Krrhh” the toe of her boot pressed my windpipe into my neck. I could feel it move and that scared me. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t take you straight to Gill Butcher. Although as you can see, I am perfectly capable with dealing with over amorous admirers” she told me whilst her foot pressed my windpipe as if she were pressing the pedal in a car.

Barely able to speak, with my hand feeling her shapely calve through the leather, I gasped that I was a private detective and that Gill knew. Her eyebrows arched in surprise and to my relief, she removed her foot and lowered her leg.

“So why are you here?” Louise asks as I massage my throat. “I think Principal Newman is…Worpppphhh”. Suddenly she grabs my shoulders and drives a knee high into my chest, just below the ribcage. “My husband sent you to spy on me, didn’t he?” she asked angrily. I can’t answer; the knee is buried deep stopping me properly inflating my lungs.

“I’ve told him Gregg takes me out sometimes for a drink or a meal. It’s all professional. He’s my boss. What can I do? I think he fancies me” she continues. With the knee preventing my breathing, I’m feeling faint. I slap my hands futilely on the lovely firm stockinged thigh, unable to push it away. The knee eases back slightly allowing me to gasp out that I’m investigating stolen antiques that I believe Newman is passing to Holland’s.

The pressure eases off. With her knee resting firmly on my chest, I run my hand appreciatively over the sheer nylon while stealing occasional glances up her raised mini-skirt. “Holland’s” Louise says “Gregg took me there once. He knows the manager, George Holland. A nasty man who kept eyeing me up especially when they X-rayed me”. “X-ray?” I asked. “Yes, they do that to all visitors even the cleaners. Inside was amazing, all this very expensive furniture, painting and ornaments. The auction hall is stunning very luxurious”. She knocks away my groping and scolds me “Please. I’m a married woman, Jim”. However, that doesn’t stop her hand feeling the front of my trousers. “Hmm, another admirer” she says softly.
Malcolm found himself on the floor. A pair of shiny red knee length boots in front of him, reminds him of his predicament. Fangs dropped him! The bitch.

“Ah Monsieur Pratt. With us at last or is that your real name?” the smug superior tone in her voice grated on his nerves. “That’s my name, bitch” he spat. There was a gasp. “How dare you speak to me like that? Get up this instant and be punished” she commanded.

Malcolm reached out, grabbed the calve hugging boots by the slender ankles with both hands and pulled. The woman fell backwards in a splay of legs and sexy undergarments. Getting to his knees, he should have stood and got away but the amount of leg on display is irresistible. He can’t help running his hands down those long shiny black stockings towards the skimpy white briefs at her crotch. “Oh god, Mrs.French, you make me hard” he murmurs. “Get off me” she cries. Aroused, Malcolm leaps on her pinning her. “Let me show you my French” he tells her. Kissing her passionately, he slips his tongue inside her mouth. The sensation of wrestling tongues with a woman springs his erection, which he has to rub against the struggling body beneath.

A pair of arms grab him from behind lifting him off the object of his desire. “Leave her alone, you creep” Priest, he’d forgotten about him. Malcolm struggles and shakes off the older man. Mrs.French appears before him, her face a mask of such rage and anger that he nearly wets himself. WHUMP! A sole of a boot fills his vision as it hammers right in the middle of his face. Bam! Another boot blasts his face before he could even react to the first. Wham! Another boot explodes pain in his face. He barely glimpses her angry determined face and her long sexy legs as she silently blasted rapid kick after painful kick into his face.

A brief pause leaves his stunned head in silence. He opens his bleary eyes then “Hai!”. The terrifying vision of an angry long legged woman wearing a leather mini skirt, stockings and suspenders with boots unwinding a monster of a high kick loosens his bladder. His head is rocked back so hard that the next thing he felt was his back slamming loudly against the wooden floor.

Malcolm looks up in a daze to see white briefs atop of a long nylon clad leg. In an incredible display of flexibility, the angry woman is doing standing splits over him. A stockinged leg vertical against her chest. “No” he cries in alarm. The lethal axe kick is never delivered.
Terribly turned on by the lightening fast leggy demolition Louise had just delivered, I grabbed her from behind and pulled her back forcing her to lower her leg. “Get your hands off me Mister Priest” she scolds. “I need him to answer questions, not for you to knock his block off” I tell her.

“Very well” she seems to calm herself. “Now release me”. I turned to the terrified young man on the floor and asked, “Who sent you?”. “Crook of Ugley” he replies. “Rubbish. Guy Crook is in jail, try again” I tell him.

Before he could reply, the mini-skirted hellcat had grabbed his feet, lifted them in the air and stomped her boot on his nads. “Owwww” there is a scream that would make any man wince in sympathy. “Answer the question Monsieur Pratt or do you need more discipline?” the woman asked, her foot pressing on his groin. “Its true” he weeps openly, the pain apparent in his voice and in his face. “Ted Hawkins is using the name” he sobs. “Works for Sir Humphrey Jones?” “Yes yes, please get her off me” he begs.

Louise looks like a vengeful vixen, so dangerous, I wouldn’t dare. “Why are you here?” I ask. “To stop you getting to Holland’s before we do. Please, that’s all I know” he weeps. Louise looked at me and I nodded that I had no more questions. To his evident relief, she released his legs. “No!” he screamed. In a flash, she had lifted her leg at the knee then her foot lashed out hard into his gut, his upper torso starting to fold in response. The boot then slid up to his ribs. The young man passed out with a pained expression on his face.

I’m really turned on by this leggy display of dominance and before I know I’ve stepped forward, intending to kiss her but I come to a halt when I see her face. “Now I must discipline you Monsieur Priest for interrupting my class” she told me. “But I needed to tell you about him” I protested backing away as she advanced towards me. “That’s no excuse”. The short leather skirt kicked up, a shapely slinky leg kicked out sideways, her boot hammering my chest. Driven by the force of the kick, I stumble into a table behind me. In horror I saw the sheen of her stockings as a long leg rocketed skywards then fell towards my face. “Mmmmm” her crotch collided with my mouth, the weight of her body pushing my back onto the tabletop. I felt a hand stroke the front of my trousers. “Bein”. The weight of her crotch momentarily increased on my mouth as Louise mounted the table and spread her legs out. My hands reached out and found a thigh on either side of my face. I could imagine her like some predatory creature, doing the splits on my face. “Now that apology Monsieur Priest”.
Malcolm comes too; he hears the sounds of sex. It sounds like Priest is giving Fangs a good rodgering!. He sneaks out quietly trying not to disturb the rutting couple. Outside the college, he breaks into a run, his thoughts preoccupied by what he has seen and his aching body from that woman’s kicks. He has only known life in the towns and villages of the Home Counties, not aware of all the dangers of the big city.

Suddenly he is aware of people crowding around him. He looks up as a big hulking brute stares in his face, its bulging eye ridges, its big wide ugly nose, its jutting jaw and big yellowing teeth. Its dull eyes reflecting the slow thought processes. It spoke “Aaay” it squawked. Shit, Neanderthals.
She could feel the attack coming on. The building pressure was too strong; she would be unable to put it off any longer. Pressing the button on her intercom, she spoke “I’m taking a little rest, Lisa. I feel a migraine coming on. Make sure that I’m not disturbed any under circumstance”. “Very well, Madam. Shall I’ll bring you some painkillers?” came the reply. “No thank you, Lisa. I shall be fine”.

Operating a small console on her desk, she closed the blinds and dimmed the lights. Walking across the penthouse office to a quiet couch area, she selected a strong Coca Mocha from the drinks machine then added several teaspoons of glucose. Placing the cup on a low coffee table, she lay down on a couch, closed her eyes and let the visions take her. Terrible images flooded her senses, scenes that she had seen before but this time much stronger and clearer than before. They were close to the point of certainty. She could not let these things happen. There was so much to do, so little time to do it. It was too much for one person. Unbidden, the images shifted and coalesced into the one person she did not expect to see then faded. Opening her eyes with her head pounding, Angel grabbed the drink and downed it. Why him? What does he have to do with any of this? he’s only alive as long as he’s useful to me. The drink didn’t have the desired effect. Staggering across her office to her desk, Angel hit the intercom. “Sorry Lisa. I’ll have those painkillers after all, thank you”.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.