tagExhibitionist & VoyeurThe Boys and Girls are Watching Ch. 01

The Boys and Girls are Watching Ch. 01


As I wave farewell to my Mother-In-law, Francesca, as she boards her flight to return to France, I struggle to suppress my regret, both emotionally and sexually. I deeply hope she will be true to her word and returns to live with us in New Zealand once she has sorted her financial affairs back in her native France.

I cannot help but contrast my current feelings to how I felt when she arrived six months ago to live with Olivier and myself. I was dreading her arrival and resented the fact that the problems of this wreck of a woman had been thrust upon Olivier and I to try and sort out. Oh, how my feelings have changed over that six month period. It has been an amazing journey that has totally changed me as a woman.

But I am racing ahead of myself and letting my excitement get the better of me. Let me start at the beginning by introducing myself. My name is Jane Donald, and I am a 32 year old blonde. I would love to tell you that I have the beauty of a film actress but alas that is not so. I consider myself a bit of a 'plain Jane' but my husband insists I am far too harsh on myself. I am very tall for a female, being almost 5' 10", which has always made me self conscious and I have to stop myself from slouching in an attempt to hide my height. Although tall and thin with smallish boobs, I do at least have a nice firm butt, which I consider my best asset.

I am married to Olivier Le Roy, a specialist medical surgeon who works at the main hospital in our home city of Auckland, New Zealand. But what makes Olivier somewhat special is that he is French, and finding a Frenchman living and working in New Zealand is very rare. We met when I was working overseas in my early 20's, and I went to a fancy dress party dressed as an Egyptian mummy. Olivier and a group of his medical student mates were at the party and he began chatting me up. We had both had too much alcohol, and when he asked me my name I jokingly told him I could not remember. He nicknamed me "Jane Doe". We met casually a few times over the next couple of months and he always called me "Jane Doe", not knowing my real name. When he finally asked me my name and I laughingly told him it really was Jane, in fact Jane Donald, he would not be convinced until I showed him my ID. Not long after Olivier and I became romantically linked and lived together in the UK for two years until he completed his medical internship at the local hospital.

When we became engaged we decided to have the wedding in New Zealand. Olivier fell in love with this country and we have been here since. Olivier is employed at the hospital and I run a small organic orchard in South Auckland. Seven years ago we had a delightful daughter, Abigail.

All in all, life was pretty good for us. I enjoyed working part-time on our organic orchard, which still gave me plenty of free time to spend with Abigail when she was not at school. It was therefore not surprising that I was a little reticent when Olivier's sister, Gabriel, phoned from France to say that their Mother, or more accurately, Step-mother, Francesca, had been arrested for the second time for driving while drunk, and only weeks after she had discharged herself from a drug and alcohol rehab clinic. Gabriel was at her wits end as to what to do with her mother, and was suggesting that a total change of environment, such as coming to live with us in New Zealand, might be what she needs.

Now, I have met Francesca on four or five previous occasions, although she was not present at our wedding as she and Olivier's father, Jean-Paul, had separated a few years earlier. The most startling thing about Francesca is her amazing likeness to the Spanish actress, Penelope Cruz. If you can imagine Penelope Cruz with short spiky black hair and five years older, then you have Francesca. Frankly it irritates me that she is so damn attractive despite the fact she is in her mid-forties. She has the same sultry full lips, baby soft skin and perfect body as Penelope Cruz. Yes, alright, I admit it, I am jealous.

Olivier's wealthy father, Jean-Paul, began having an illicit affair with the much younger Francesca when Olivier and his sister Gabriel were only six and eight years old respectively. When their mother found out about the affair she packed her bags and left, never to be seen again. Francesca married Olivier's father a couple of years later, and although she was basically a good mother to the children, Olivier has admitted to me that he has always blamed her for causing his mother to abandon them.

This is probably an unfair sentiment given that his father continued to have extramarital affairs and finally he and Francesca had a messy divorce about eight years ago. The divorce left Francesca a wealthy woman but emotionally devastated, and she turned to alcohol for solace. A couple of disastrous love affairs with younger men only helped to increase her depression, and her alcohol addiction increased.

Despite the efforts of Gabriel and Olivier to get their Step-mother to face up to her alcoholism, Francesca has refused to face reality. Three times Olivier has flown back to France and arranged for his Step-mother to go into a rehab clinic but she always discharges herself early insisting she has beaten her addiction, only to lapse several weeks later.

Following Gabriel's tearful phone call, Olivier and I debated whether bringing Francesca to New Zealand for six months to live with us on the orchard was a wise move, and although we had major reservations we agreed it was at least worth a chance because if we did nothing their was a good chance she would end up killing herself.

Following numerous long phone calls Olivier finally persuaded his Step-mother to come and stay with us in New Zealand and two weeks later we collected her from Auckland International Airport. Her alcohol addiction had taken a toll on her in that her facial features were sunken and she had clearly lost weight. But for all that she was still a glamorous and attractive woman. A young man who had been on the flight with her had kindly helped her carry her bags. When they got to the exit lounge where we were standing Francesca took off her sun glasses and flashed him one of her full-lipped smiles, kissed him on both cheeks in the typical French style, then sexily whispered 'merci, monsieur' in his ear. I thought the poor young man was going to cream his pants right there and then.

It was immediately clear to Olivier that his mother had been drinking alcohol on the flight and once we were in the car he began giving Francesca a stern lecture, but she waved him off dismissively, blaming her fear of flying for the need to consume a few glasses of wine.

From the outset it was clear that Francesca had no real resolve to overcome her alcohol addiction, and to make matters worse she had also become a chain smoker. From the first day she arrived Olivier sat her down and set some clear guidelines which included no alcohol and a plan to reduce smoking. Appointments were made for her to regularly visit a rehab therapist at a local clinic dealing with addictions. Olivier and I also gave up drinking alcohol in the house as we felt it would be unfair on Francesca

For the first few days it looked promising, but then Olivier found his mother had somehow sneaked alcohol into her room. The rules were again reinforced by Olivier, and Francesca promised to stick to them, but her resolve would always weaken after a few days. I stood by, frustrated, but trying to be as supportive as I could to both Olivier and his mother. As much as possible I would encourage her to walk with me in the orchard as I was going about my daily tasks. Francesca enjoyed spending time with our eight year old daughter, Abigail, and I encouraged the bond as I felt it was a positive distraction for Francesca. She would always ask to put Abigail to bed and read her bedtime stories.

Francesca and I got in the habit of walking together through the orchard to the main road when it was time to collect Abigail from the school bus. On this particular day Abigail raced excitedly across the road without looking for ongoing cars. This elicited a stern reprimand from me with a threat of a spanking if there was ever a repeat. As we wandered back up the orchard towards the house, Francesca asked me if I often spanked Abigail, and I told her that the threat was generally enough, although she had received the occasional spanking. Francesca then confessed that she was often spanked by her own father.

"I was, how should we say, a high-spirited young girl," she confessed. "My Papa knew that the only time I would do what I was told was when he spanked me. Mon ami, I certainly listened to him when he pulled down my panties and gave me a spanking."

Francesca blushed at her confession. I made no comment but was fascinated by her admission.

Six weeks after her arrival in New Zealand it was clear Francesca was making little or no progress towards overcoming her addiction to alcohol and cigarettes. Several positive days of progress were undone by the inevitable relapse. Olivier tried to be hard on her but once Francesca ramped up the charm she was able to convince him she would try harder and would be given another chance.

Olivier could see that clearly it was not working. He just did not have the required inner fortitude to be tough on his Step-mother, and even the therapist was making no progress. I decided it was time for me to act. I had a plan of action. It was totally off the wall and I had no idea at all whether it would work. As crazy as it was I felt it was worth a try. Francesca was reading to Abigail, so I took Olivier outside where we could talk freely. I took a deep breath and laid out my plan to him. His mouth dropped open.

"Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, after hearing my plan.

"Listen to me. Your mother is so use to getting her own way and can charm herself out of any situation. She is too weak willed to help herself, but will not accept advice from those that are trying to help her."

"True, but your plan is to spank her," Olivier asked incredulously.

"Francesca confessed to me that the only time she did what she was told as a child was when she was spanked by her father. Francesca is behaving now like a petulant child, and I believe we deal with her as such. The shame and humiliation of being spanked as an adult just might be enough to bring about a change in her behaviour."

Olivier looked at me, stunned by what I was saying.

"Look, what have we got to lose. Nothing that you have tried in France or here in New Zealand has helped her addictions at all. Give it a month and if it doesn't work out I will butt out and leave it to the experts."

Olivier continued to look stunned, but I could see that he was thinking about what I had to say.

"I must be crazy," he finally responded, "but I have to admit I have run out of ideas. You have my support. But please, there is no way I am going to spank my own Mother, for heaven's sake."

"Don't worry, darling," I smiled, "hopefully the threat of a spanking will be enough of a deterrent. But if it is not, then I will carry out the discipline."

My boldness surprised myself. You need to understand that I consider myself a rather conservative person. I was spanked as a child, but only sparingly, and had certainly never been spanked as an adult. Although I think of myself as broadminded, I am not into sexual deviancy. I was not sure about how I would feel if it actually did come to me having to spank Francesca, a woman who was a dozen or so years older than myself.

The following day I waited until Olivier had left for work and Abigail had departed for school before asking Francesca to join me in lounge.

I took a deep breath, and tried to sound more confident than I actually felt. I felt the only way was to just come straight out and say it. "Francesca, from today the approach to your rehabilitation has changed. If you break the rules you will be punished by receiving a severe spanking."

Francesca thought she had misheard. "Pardon?"

"If you break the rules, you will receive a spanking," I repeated.

"A spanking! That is outrageous. You are crazy lady," Francesca protested. "Olivier would never allow such a preposterous thing."

"Olivier and I have discussed it, and we both agree that it is the best for you. You either agree to be spanked if you break the rules, or we pack you off back to France."

Francesca dropped her bottom lip. "You are serious? You would spank me?"

"If necessary, I definitely would. And you could expect the spanking to be on your bare bottom."

Francesca actually squirmed in her seat. "On my bare bottom?"

"Do you agree to be spanked or not?" I demanded.

Francesca hung her head. "Yes," she mumbled.

"Good, I believe it is for the best. From today, no alcohol and no cigarettes!" With that I took her hand firmly and led her outside before she could argue the point. "From today you will help me with the physical work in the orchard. It is time we focused on getting you healthy."

Francesca did not protest. She helped me pick the plums off the tree and load them into our small truck so that we could deliver them to the small winery down the road that is owned by one of my best friends Paula and her husband, Dave. The plan was to make the plums into a fruit wine.

As we unloaded the plums Paula whispered into my ear, "I have been meaning to tell you. Do you realise your Mother-in-law bears a striking resemblance to Penelope Cruz?"

"No kidding!" I responded rather sarcastically. "I never noticed."

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