tagBDSMOver Miss Francy's Knee

Over Miss Francy's Knee

byfrancypants©

Miss Francy smacked her lips and leaned forward into the mirror. Yes, pink is a good color for today. She put the lid back on her lipstick and checked her watch. She only had 15 minutes before catching the train into the city and she didn't want to be late for her first appointment.

She slipped on her heels and ran a hairbrush through her short spiky hair then tossed it into her black tote bag. "Better get a move on it ... so many naughty boys ... so many bottoms to spank."

She put on her black fitted suit-jacket and buttoned the middle button as she gave herself the once-over in the mirror. "Not bad for a mature broad," she thought, "I've still got it going on." She laughed to herself as she smoothed out her tight black skirt and gave herself a little smooch in the mirror.

As she walked to the car, her cell phone rang. It was her 11 o'clock appt. He better not be calling to cancel. She flipped it open, "Yes, James?" She frowned as she started up her red sports car and eased out on to the road. "What did I tell you, James. Hm? IN the corner. YES, the entire time, Sweetheart. I want you to think LONG and HARD about what you've done. I will be there in an hour." She clicked her cell phone shut and put it back in her purse.

"Oh, these young men," she thought to herself. "What would they do without me?" They have no self-discipline, how do they expect to develop into the powerful, evolved men she knows they can be if only they developed the right habits.

It has been little over a year since Miss Francy heard her calling and began to provide this much-needed service to all the many young men in Manhattan who seemed to have become overwhelmed by the city and had lost their way. Of course, she was financially rewarded for her time, expertise and hard-earned labor, but it was really the satisfaction that had gotten her hooked. She KNEW she was needed, and it gave her great pleasure to share in the results her loving punishments reaped.

Just yesterday, when young Tim had emailed her his accomplishments for the week she was astonished at how much he had grown. He was on time for work all week, he had forgone that extra drink or two after work and gone to the gym instead ... where it appears he has met a nice young woman. If something does develop, he knows Miss Francy will be happy to provide expert training for this gal so that she will know exactly how to help her man be the best he can be. Sure, Miss Francy would lose Tim as a client, but that was secondary to her mission.

She pulled out her notebook and the print-out of James' Naughty Report that week. She looked over the things he had written for her and tsked. This will not do. Not at all.

Building wayward young boys into good, strong men is her motto. Men who are kind and generous and loving as well as capable and responsible. Men a mother could be as proud of as she was. And if it takes all her energy, all week long – well, then, she is secure in the knowledge that she is contributing her unique talents to the greater good.

"Go right on up, Miss Francy, he's expecting you," says Jesus, the doorman of young James' building on the upper east side. She smiles and throws the sweet man a kiss. Now there's a lap she wouldn't mind climbing over herself. Always pleasant but in charge. Ahhh ... yes.

She approaches James' apartment door, which is always left ajar for these weekly visits. She pushes it open and sure enough, there he is ... standing in the corner. His jeans lowered to his knees. His bare, pale buttocks peeking out from under his t-shirt. "He's learning," she thought, "He has a long way to go, but the boy IS learning."

She put her bags down next to the chair and didn't stay a word but just stood there, staring at him. James could feel that familiar sinking in his stomach. And gulped. He could hear her start to pace behind him and the tiny hairs on his buttocks stood on end. His visits from Miss Francy had come to be such an important part of his week. Although he knew what was to come it was the out of control feelings he felt all week long in work and in his life that really frightened him. Finally ... she was here and all would be right.

"Alright, James, let's talk about your drinking."

He shivered. He knew he was in trouble now. "Well, I've been trying to get that down this week."

"TRYING? You consider going out with the guys from work four out of five nights this week TRYING??"

CRACK! She slaps his buttocks HARD, just once, to emphasize her point. He cries out from the sudden pain and surprise of it.

"Do you think I'm STUPID?"

CRACK! Another hard slap, on top of the pain from the first.

"You know what I think about TRYING, James." She grabs his arm firmly and yanks him around. "Look at me, young man."

He looks up at her and is suddenly shamed. Her piercing yet loving gaze cuts into him and he knows that in disappointing her he is disappointing himself, as well. He looks away.

"I said, look CRACK! at CRACK! me CRACK! young man!"

OWW! He is near tears already. As time goes on, he's noticed that it takes less and less for him to let go and experience his feelings. Miss Francy never admonishes him for crying, and actually encourages it, for she believes that the tears cleanse the soul and are necessary for the changes he needs to make in his life.

He looks at her, her eyes blazing in determination.

"I don't want you to TRY, James" CRACK! "I want you to DO." CRACK!

OWWWW! She was right. She's always right.

Miss Francy walks over to her chair, which he has set up for her this morning before his corner time. He loves to watch her sit in it, her commanding nature, her sensuous form, her pretty face that he has seen change, in an instant, from stern to smiling when she knows he's learned an important lesson.

She's old enough to be his mother, but she's no mother of his. She once told him that although she never had children of her own, she considers her naughty boys (and girls) to be her family and seeing them do well in life is one of her greatest joys.

Miss Francy looks him squarely in the eye as she lays her a small towel across her lap and spreads her knees in preparation for him. He tries to avoid looking up her skirt, but it's hard not to be drawn to that secret, forbidden place of hers. As much as he longs to be there, he knows that is not possible. Miss Francy has made it clear that such thoughts and actions are not apropos and any begging or touching will immediately terminate their relationship. Which he couldn't bear. He just couldn't bear it.

"JAMES. Come here, NOW."

He walks over to her.

"Lay across my lap, sweetheart."

He lays across her lap.

"Bottom up."

He tilts his bottom up, the way Miss Francy requires. He feels so exposed that way, with his back arched and his cheeks raised and slightly parted, his balls can feel the cool air of the room, his cock growing against the towel on her lap.

He waits that way for what seems like a delicious eternity. Safe and secure over Miss Francy's knee.

(to be continued...)

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