Author: The Naughty Gaffer brndtag at mcn.net.
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Title: La Fille Jeune et Jolie  
Keywords: Ff, sp, nosex
Summary: A French exchange student shows that discipline is international
The bathroom was a sty, again.  Daphne’s wet towels were all over the floor, again.  The laundry hamper was overflowing, again.  I had had enough.
“Elliot,” I said as I stormed into the bedroom.  “I can’t stand this any longer.  Daphne’s bathroom is a disaster area.  I’m sure her room is just as bad.  She’s supposed to help around the house, but I’m doing twice as much work taking care of her things!”
My husband looked up from his book.  “I thought we were trying the ‘natural consequences’ thing.  Let her stuff get as nasty as she can stand and she’ll learn to take care of it herself.  You’ve shown her how to use all the appliances.  And she’s nineteen years old, even if she looks twelve.  I’m sure she used all these things in France.”
“Well, she isn’t using them here.  Something’s got to change.”  I stormed back to the bathroom and spent an angry half hour cleaning up behind our little exchange student.  I had to admit she was kind of cute – only about five feet tall, a hundred pounds in her short skirts and sweaters.  I had seen how my husband would watch her from behind once in a while.  Especially in the morning, if she was in the kitchen making breakfast with just her sleep-shirt and her panties.  I think he put the coffee cups on a higher shelf just so she would reach up on her tiptoes.  I kind of liked it when she did that too.
But this was too much.  I was seeing pink when I started cleaning the bathroom.  I was seeing orange by the time I loaded the washing machine.  And when I found a sweatshirt that I had lent to little Daphne wadded up under the bed, I was pretty much shooting laser beams out of my eyes.
“This is it!” I yelled at Elliot all over again.  “When she gets home from her late class, we are going to have a conversation with her!  In English!”  Elliot had been trying to improve his French by talking with Daphne, who would answer in English.  I could usually figure out what he was telling her from her answers, but we weren’t going to play that game.  I was in charge of this one!
I had forgotten that her late class was dance – she ran straight to the shower when she came in.  I had Elliot waiting with me in the living room for her and I called out as soon as I heard the shower stop. “Daphne, come in here! Right away!”  She came in a moment later, still drying her short black hair.  “Young lady, have a seat.  We are going to get some rules clear for you tonight.”   She looked puzzled.
“Reglements,” said Elliot. “Reglements de maison.”  
“Oh,” she said in her little-girl soprano.  “Rules from the house.”
“Yes, rules of the house,” I snapped.  “You’ve been a thoughtless young lady.  I spent my whole afternoon —“ well, it felt like it – “cleaning up behind you.  I got your laundry done and straightened up your room and your bathroom.  And I got my sweatshirt back, merci beaucoups.  But you are going to have to make some changes.”
“I will, Madame Lucille.  Oh, I will. Vraiment!”  She looked like she finally realized I was mad.  Her eyes and her mouth were all big, round O’s in her dimpled face.  Well, dimples weren’t going to do it this time.
“You’ve promised that before,” Elliot said.  “Last week and the week before, if I remember right.  We’re both quite angry with you at the moment.”  If he was angry, he was hiding it quite well.
I was sure still mad.  “Listen to me,” I said.  “What did your parents teach you about rules and thinking of others?”
“Oh, my pere, he was very strict.  He and mama told me to always be polite.  They were so excited when I was invited to come to America for a year!”
“And I’m sure you had rules at home about cleaning up and taking care of your things.”
“Oh, bien sur,” she said.
“Of course,” Elliot translated at my look.
“And what happened at home when you broke the rules?”
Daphne looked down and her pale skin blushed behind the freckles.  Yes, even the French have freckles.  “I do not like to say,” she said very softly.
“Well?” I asked.
“My pere or my mama, sometimes they were quite cross with me.  They would be furieux, sometimes.  I am so sorry, but I have always been a little bad about my room and my things.”
“Then it’s time you learned better.  What did your parents do when you behaved like this?”
“My pere, sometimes he would…” her voice trailed off.  I had an idea, though.
“He would discipline you, wouldn’t he?” I asked.
“Oui,” she said, very quiet now.  Her long lashes almost hid her eyes as she looked down at her lap – and I thought I saw her starting to look at mine.
“He would spank you, I think,” I said firmly.  I didn’t need a translator; the blush and the slight nod were enough.  “When did he stop?”
“But he never did stop, Madame Lucille.  Just two days before I came to you he was very angry.  I had not done the dishes or cleaned my room.  He … he disciplined me.”  Her face looked like a stoplight by now.  I was really on to something!
“Then I suspect you need another lesson.”  It was making some sense.  She was actually going to feel more at home if I straightened this out my way.  Once would probably be enough…and it might be kind of fun if it wasn’t.
Maybe it was what Daphne needed, maybe it was even what she wanted, but she looked scared anyway.  Her eyes looked like Bambi’s when he met his daddy.  Well, that was all right!  She was supposed to learn something from this.
”Come here,” I said. “Viens ici.”  I took her wrist firmly and pulled her to me.  She was trembling just a bit.  I thought about sending Elliot out, but then I decided he ought to stay.  More like family that way.
“Bend over,” I told the girl, drawing her across my lap.  I was sitting in a dining room chair I had brought in, just in case I needed it.  She was stretched over my lap like the scamp she was, her shapely legs to my right and her small bosom against my left thigh.  I lifted the lower edge of her sleep-shirt and pulled it up her back.  The panties were white cotton with little hearts on them.  Her bottom was round and small and awfully cute.  At least Elliot seemed to think so.
“Is this what happens at home?” I asked and slapped her one across the panties.
“Oh,” she squeaked.  “Oui, much like that.”  Her hands came across her little bottom and I grabbed her wrists to pin them to her back.
“Let’s see how it translates into English,” I said.  I gave her another half-dozen or so.  She squeaked loudly after each one, but I didn’t really think I was making my point.  I could see a little reddening under the thin white panties, but I hadn’t really hurt her.
“Madame Lucille, pardon, but my pere is stricter than this,” she finally said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My pere, he believes I should feel his hand.  He does not strike me across mes culottes -  my underpants.”
“I wondered,” I said.  I shifted her hands a little and grabbed the waistband of the panties.  She wiggled but she didn’t really fight, so I pulled the panties down just below her bottom where they made a kind of rope.
Daphne’s bottom was pink and round and cute.  “So round, so firm, so fully packed,” I thought to myself.  I had forgotten Elliot until I heard him cough slightly.  Quite a look in his eye, I thought.  Daphne couldn’t see him, which was just as well.
This time, when I slapped her bare pink skin, she seemed to really feel it.  Her squeaks took on a sincere tone they hadn’t had before.  Still, the lesson had to proceed.  My hand rose and fell several times, maybe a dozen, before I was convinced she was crying because she meant it.  I pulled her panties back onto her bottom and set her on her feet.
“Daphne, I want you to go to your room and wait for me.  I also want you to think about this and why I had to do it.”  She toddled off, still sniffling.
Elliot looked at me with a dangerous twinkle.  “Should I leave the bathroom a mess too?” he asked.  
“No,” I said.  “Just imagine that I did.  I’ll be along in a minute.”  He went to our room and I went to Daphne’s.  I had a jar of cold cream with me.
“Are you all right now?” I asked softly.
Daphne sniffed a moment.  “Yes, Madame Lucille,” she said. “I will remember the rules from the house.”
“I hope so,” I said soothingly.  “I have some cream for you.”  She was lying on her stomach and I eased her panties down again.  “It will take the sting out.”  I smoothed the cream over the reddened area and that little French tart almost began purring.  I was practically purring myself after I put her panties back up and went to our room.  My sleep-shirt and panties were lying on the bed.  And Elliot had brought in the dining room chair.