Mrs. McConnal I

From: Anonymous



Note From The Editor: The writer of this very nice story sent it to me and asked to remain anonymous. However, I have his e-mail address, so if you want to tell him what you think about his story you can email me ([email protected]) and I will make sure he gets your comments.

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Chapter One: Spank Land


"This afternoon, after school, come to my room. I'm going to take you to the teachers' lounge, pull your pants down, and paddle you until you can't sit down for a week!" She was mad. Then she added, "And if you don't show up, I'll do it in front of the class Monday morning."

She was my favorite teacher. I loved her dearly. That's why I gave her so much trouble, because when I was a problem to her she gave me her undivided attention. Well, now she obviously planned to give me her undivided attention for sure. And although I had fantasized many times about her paddling my bare bottom until I was bawling like a baby, now that it appeared a reality, I wasn't so sure that it sounded like that good an idea.

This was in a small Georgia town back when no one questioned a teacher's right and authority to discipline students any way they saw fit. It was not unusual for the sound of a paddle being planted on a teenaged behind to ring through the halls of our school at least once a week. Usually the student received 3-5 licks; sometimes as many as 7, or even 12. Almost always whoever got 3-5 managed o keep quiet throughout his spanking. A kid getting 7 licks may or may not cry out. But someone getting 10-12 licks always was crying out before his spanking stopped.

And then there was the teacher's lounge. Someone taken there, it was understood, was going to get it PANTS DOWN, bare bottomed. It was also understood that getting taken to the teacher's lounge meant that it was going to be a bottom blistering to be remembered for a lifetime. We had even developed a term for it. Whoever was taken to the teacher's lounge was being "taken to spank land". Spank land was that place where a teenager's entire universe was reduced to nothing but his butt and his teacher's paddle. Nothing else mattered, nothing else even existed. He would be paddled until he was squalling like a naughty little boy, bawling and blubbering, no longer caring about his dignity nor pride, just caring about his stinging rear end. He would not care who was listening, or watching. In fact, by that time it could even be being done in front of the whole school and he would no longer care. All he could care about was his poor well paddled bottom. Of course, it wasn't done in front of the whole school, but the whole school invariably did know when someone was to be taken to spank land since the sentence was handed down during the school day and wasn't carried out until after school.

Another rule that was never written, but was universally understood, was that any student hanging around to listen or try to take a peek would be invited inside to join the party. He or she would then receive the same treatment as had the original culprit. This rarely happened but there was a school legend that once two cheerleaders had tried to listen in on a younger student being punished that way and did get caught and not only got to see him, pants down to his ankles, standing against the wall, purple bottomed, but got similar panties down spankings themselves. And all three of them stood together, naked from waist to ankles, against the wall until all three had finished crying.

Since that time the assistant principal waited outside the lounge during the spanking to hurry off anyone who came near. He was gone when the teacher and student emerged, probably so as not to add to the kid's embarrassment.

The student invited to the teachers' lounge after school was the subject of a lot of interest both that day and for several to come, especially in PE class when he had to strip naked for a shower. The day it was coming everyone would stare at his butt and comment on how it might look the next day.

"Last time you'll see that ass pink for a long time", followed by a chorus of laughter, was a comment often heard. A sting on his bottom with a rubber band was always to be expected. If the guy even flinched he was reminded that the rubber band didn't hurt nearly as much as what was going to be stinging his butt cheeks later.

"Who's taking you on the trip?" . . . "Hay, man, she's hot!" . . . "Not as hot as his butt's going to be." . . . "She's going to get to see your dick and your balls, too! OOOOOeeeee!" . . . "And blister your fanny!" . . . "I'd sure like to watch this one." . . . "Man to get naked with her I'd be willing to let her blister my ass, too."

The awaiting kid always had to take this in fun. Actually it was some light hearted release for the kid knowing his time was drawing close. Although he was thinking about the beating to come (that thought never left his mind once sentence was pronounced), he wasn't now thinking of it with the horror that he would be otherwise. He could now be the center of attention with the other boys treating him like it was a sign of his masculine prowess, when he knew he was really going to be getting a stiff reminder that he was still a little boy. Some of the boys acting as though they'd like to swap places with him, or to join him. Of course, none of them really would. Once sentenced, no one really wanted to go through the bottom burning that they were facing. There could be some excitement in the anticipation, and it may be remembered fondly many years later, and become a cherished memory. But right now, it was viewed in terrified trepidation by anyone facing a trip to spank land.

The first kid I knew who got one of those was a junior named Joel. I was in my first semester of 9th grade. I was 12 I had skipped 2 grades), he was 16, so he looked like an adult to me, and I didn't know that adults were still subject to being spanked. I soon found out that the teachers did not consider 16 to be an adult.

His offense was putting a pair of tacks in the seat of every girl in Mrs. Johnson's math class. Mrs. Johnson was a little younger than Mrs. McConnal, and smaller. Wavy blond hair coming down just past her shoulders. Dressed like a business woman whereas Mrs McConnal dressed . . . well, more feminine. Mrs. Johnson was 35, but she looked more like 25 or younger. She was light complected, blue eyed, and had a curvaceous figure that would have won her the title of "Teacher the Boys Most Wanted to Go to Bed With", had there been such a poll.

It was known that Mrs. Johnson had a paddle and wasn't shy about using it. She would take at least one boy a week out into the hall for 3-5 licks. She could almost always quiet a rambunctious class down with, "I've taken people to spank land before, does anyone want to go today?"

"No ma'am." came the immediate answer from a suddenly silent class.

She had already paddled Joel, once 3 licks and then 5, both times for putting tacks in girls' chairs. But those times he had only put them in one girl's chair. Now he had put tacks in 12 girls chairs! What could this kid have been thinking?

All of us who sat there watching and waiting probably had some culpability, too. But it was worth having Mrs. Johnson irked with all of us to get to see those fantastically shaped fannies sit down of a pair of tacks and then jump back up with a look of surprise and pain on their faces. After all, girls never got spanked so this was a rare chance to see them with their fine bottoms stinging. Only about half of them sat on the tacks. The rest, warned of their presence, avoided being pricked.

Boy, Mrs. Johnson was mad. She was madder than I had ever seen a teacher before. At the time I didn't know about Joel's prior offenses, so I thought Mrs. Johnson was over reacting. She was scaring me. She especially scared me when she said that she should "wear all of you boys out", as she put it, right here in front of the girls. (That didn't sound like a very good idea to me.)

But instead of doing that she simply added, "Joel, meet me here after school." I was told soon afterward exactly what that meant.

I also had PE with Joel. I hated PE, being so much younger and smaller than everyone else. I was 12 and everyone else in PE was 14-17. So, as frightened as I was for Joel, it was still good to have somebody else be the center of attention in the dressing room for a while. Joel was 16. I hated to imagine what kind of real punishment might be in store for him. I hadn't been spanked since I was 5, and then with my mother's hand.

I had seen Mrs. Johnson's paddle and I felt certain it could hurt real bad . . . REAL bad. It was 22" long, 4" wide and a half inch thick, with 4 rows of small holes running down its length. It was made out of black walnut. It was quite old. She told us that it was given to her by her former high school principal when he retired just as she was graduating from college. He had never used it on her, but had used it on plenty of others, just as she had used it plenty since. My guess was that it could get someone to spank land real quick.

Math class was just before our PE class, so someof the guys immediately got to start paying Joel's butt some attention. I just stayed back and watched. I was both horrified and fascinated by what Joel was going through; now, this afternoon, and over the next week of so. I certainly didn't want that to happen to me, but it was fuel for my imagination.

The next day Joel entered math class slowly and sat down gingerly. Mrs. Johnson told him that he could stand up if he wanted to, and that she had already explained to the rest of his teachers and asked if he could stand in their classes as well. They were all in sympathy with him, even Mrs. Johnson who had done the deed. He thanked her and spent the rest of the class (the rest of the next two days for the best I could tell) standing up. When he finally did sit for a class I could tell he was still hurting.

And well he should have been hurting! We saw his butt the next class period in PE, and she had ruined that ass for sitting down on for a LONG time. She had worked on the lower half of his butt and the upper part of his thighs something ferocious. She even had his ass cheeks spread so far abart that her paddle left its marks all the way down into the crack of his butt and across his ass hole. I was in shock and horrified by the sight of it. I said nothing, but in my 12 year old world I may have imagined the spanking itself, but I had never imagined a bottom being left looking like that. A rectangle of purple from the lower half of his butt cheeks downward to the tops of his thighs, all uniformly purple, without a break for even the deepest part of his crack.

Custom was whoever bore the marks of a good spanking had to tell the class about it. What did she make you do? Could you keep anything on? What position were you in? How many licks? How hard? Did you cry? Did she make you keep your pants down after she paddled you? How long before you stopped crying? All those questions were thrown at him while the rest of us took in a good look at the results of her handiwork.

He said she had made him take off his shoes, pants, and underpants. And then she lectured him about what he had done.

Did you get a hard on? "Yeah, I already had one." Could she see it? "Yes."

And he told the tale. "After she chewed me out she took me to one of those big stuffed chairs in there and bent me over it with my butt stuck up in the air." Then she made him spread his feet as far apart as they could go, leaving him fully supported by the chair and exposing more ass and inner thigh for punishment. And then she rared back with that black walnut paddle of hers and started working on his lower butt and thighs with a vengeance.

Each lick didn't hit exactly the same spot but the area at the very top of his thighs and the lowest part of his ass had felt each lick. She worked around that spot, but always catching that spot.

He bent over and grabbed the seat of a bench and spread his legs to show the position he hd been in. "Oooooo! Man, she got a good look right at your balls." Yes I know. "Did she whop them a few times for good measure (followed by a punch to his balls and a chorus of laughter)" No, she didn't hit me there. "Did you still have a hard on when she finished?" No. "How many licks?" I don't really know. I lost count after 12, but my guess is she game be a lick for every tack." 24! Wow, man, she tore your ass up!" I know that.

"Did you cry?" Yes, I cried. It hurt! "Did you cry a lot?" I guess. "Did you jump around naked afterward?" I could tell he was embarrassed to have to answer, yes. "Did she see your pecker flopping while you danced?" Probably. "Did you have a hard on?" Not any more, no.

Then she made him stand facing the wall until he quit crying. I didn't know then but found out later that he left out a lot of what goes on during a trip to the teachers' lounge. None of the boys told about those parts. As much as what was always told about one of those punishment sessions would have reminded any boy that he was not yet an adult, what was left out was what made him feel like a little child again.

What was never told to others was how being made to pull his pants down for a paddling made him feel like an 8 or 10 year old, not a big man. What was also left out was the fact that they were not just "crying", they were squalling, bawling, blubbering, trying to beg the teacher to stop but not even being able to say the words for crying desperately gasping for breath, unable to see for the tears, snot running freely from his nose. Praying for it to stop, but being convinced that it never will.

That, as I eventually learned, was what a visit to spank land was all about.


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