JIMP#24: Disciplined By The French Mistress
By Jimp
Jim and a young man get a leggy lesson in discipline from a sexy French teacher


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. "Tr#s 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 Ob'ir. To obey. Begin" the shorthaired
woman commanded.

"J' ob'is" 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' ob'is" Thud Thud.

The sexy boot swung firmly in time with the words against his tight balls.

"Tu ob'is" 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 ob'it" Thud Thud.

The muscles in her thighs twitched, moving sensually under the sheer black
nylon. He was rock hard and in pain.

"Nous ob'issons" Thud Thud.

Hard shin sheathed in soft leather mashed his balls rhythmically with each
word.

"Vous ob'issez" 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 ob'issent" 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' ob'is" Thud Thud. Ow my balls

"Tu ob'is" Thud Thud. They ache so much

"Il ob'it" Thud Thud. He tried to keep his voice calm and steady but couldn't
mask the pain.

"Nous ob'issons" Thud Thud. Oh god don't let me cry.

"Vous ob'issez" Thud Thud. The shooting pain.

"Ils ob'issent" 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
pla#t?" 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".