Mrs. McConnal IV

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.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


Chapter Four: Terrible News


I didn't tell any of the other kids that Mrs. McConnal had spanked me for several months after that. Several of them were interested in spanking. They would never come out and say so, but must get off on it because they're all talking about it often, exchanging stories about their own spankings, other kids' spankings, parents who spanked, and a favorite subject, teachers who spanked. One of the older boys and I were talking one day about what pretty teachers spanked and telling me about who had gotten how many licks from her. And he said that Mrs. McConnal had never "spanked" anyone at all. I turned beet red upon his reminding me of the fact that she had.

"What?" he asked, a grin coming over his face.

"Nothing." I said, getting redder.

"She spanked you didn't she!" he laughed.

I hung my head, wishing I didn't have to answer, but knowing I did and knowing that he knew the answer already. So I nodded.

"Well . . . " he said.

"Well what?"

"Well tell me about it." he said, amazed that I had to be told. "You're the only person in this school who has ever been spanked by her. What was it like?"

So, I told him about. At least I told him enough to satisfy. I told him what I had done, getting caught the second time, smoking in her class. "And she bent me over and gave me three licks."

"Did she make you grab your ankles?" he asked.

"No, she bent me over and held me with her arm around my waist, pulled me tight to her side, and spanked me. Three licks."

"Did it hurt?" he asked.

I told him it had, but not real bad.

"Did you cry?"

"No." I lied.

He asked if she did it with a paddle and I told him no, it was with her hand, spur of the moment, but that she is pretty strong. I considered myself to a fairly strong 12 year old, and I knew I couldn't have gotten away from her, but I also know that I couldn't know if she was spanking me with the same force as she was holding me. After that much passing of time I had convinced myself that I could take 10 licks from her like that before crying out.

I knew a paddle would hurt much worse than her hand did, but I was also just 12 and there would be no need to brutalize me. So I was convinced that she would never use a board on my behind, I got to thinking more and more about anticipating one from her. I got to imagining what she would do to me if she ever did catch me high again.

I enjoyed imagining everything up to and including a trip to spank land in the teachers' lounge. I knew there was no way she would ever do that to me, but I could pretend anyway.

And I was certain that a real spanking meant her hand on the seat of my pants, only more licks than the first time.

And I think that at some point I decided that I would get her to give me that REAL spanking. When I did what got me spanked it was not done with the conscious intent of getting her to spank me, but I now think that subconsciously it was intentional.

Not long before Christmas she announced her trip to Europe that coming spring. She was going to England, France, Germany, Austria, and Holland. They'd fly to London, spend several days there, then take the ferry to France and travel by bus from then on before taking a ferry from Amsterdam to England and train back to London to fly home. I wanted to go SO bad. I had never left Georgia, Alabama, and north Florida before in my life. My father, who was one of the top engineers with a large company in Atlanta, traveled all over the United States, Europe, and the Far East in the course of his work. I had wanted to go with him, but so far he didn't want to take me out of school and there weren't many places he went to in the summer that I cared to go. So we enjoyed the time he was home, which was most of the time.

But traveling with Mrs. McConnal and some other students to Europe in the summer sounded like the greatest thing that could ever happen to a kid, at least the best thing that could ever happen to me. Dad agreed that I could go, so long as it was OK with Mrs. McConnal of course.

I just knew she would let me come. She didn't act like my misbehaving so badly that she had to spank me had made her like me or love me, any less. She was just as vivacious, just as warm, just as receptive towards me, as she had ever been. Maybe more. This I attributed to the fact that I was growing up some. I knew I was far from being grown, her spanking had reminded me of that if it had done nothing else. But I was growing up. I was learning more than I had ever learned earlier, mostly due to her. So, looking back on it now, she must have been finding me more and more interesting as I grew up.

So when I asked her if I could go I knew something was horribly wrong when a saddened pall came over her. She sat on the edge of her desk so as to be looking straighter in the eyes (she was still looking down at me from there). She called me to her, gently put her hands on my shoulders and said, "I can't, darling."

I was crest fallen. It was because I was such a problem in class. I knew it. She knew I was never a problem when we were alone together. Shouldn't that count for something? Pleeeeeese, Mrs. McConnal, please take me with you! But I knew I didn't have to even say it. She knew exactly what was going on in my head.

"Jeremy," she looked me straight on, with all the sympathy she had, "it's not because of your wildness or your willfulness. Lord knows, I KNOW I could never control you in Europe. I can't control you here. But, darling, as much as I want to take you with me, you're still not old enough."

I knew her announcement said "anyone 13 or older", but I was certain that didn't apply so strictly to me.

"I'll turn 13 while we're over there." I pleaded.

"I know," she explained as gently as she could, "but my insurance won't let me take anyone under 13 that is not a member of my immediate family. Now, I know that most people your age would not understand that, but I know you can."

Yeah, I could understand. But that didn't take much of the pain away. At least I knew that it wasn't that she chose to leave me behind. And that was more comfort to me than I wanted to admit.

She stroked my head and said, "But I'll tell you what I want for us to do." She put the emphasis on "us", so I knew that she was talking about just the two of us. My ears perked up. A lot of the pain started flying away. She had something she wanted for US to do. Whatever it was it would be fantastic!

"I think the class is doing well with the speeches we've been working on from Shakespeare. Now this spring we've going to do 'Mame', and I want you to be in it. And as soon as it's over I'm going to announce that next year's drama class will be primarily aimed at preparing to do 'A Midsummer's Night Dream'. And you're going to make a marvelous Puck."

Puck was a mischievous character, a magical wood spirit who played jokes on the main characters, a pair of mortal lovers. Most characters in the play are usually played by young adults (18-25), some children often play the fairies (who don't speak much, but sing a few songs), and Puck is best if a 12-15 year old kid can pull it off. Mickey Rooney played the part on film when he was about 15. I already knew a lot of his speeches. And she was going to let me be Puck! (I had forgotten about not being able to go to Europe this time.)

"And next year," she added, "I'll plan a trip especially with you in mind. So as soon as we're through with the play, you'll be having to get ready to ship out. How about that?" She was smiling now. So was I. Life was great.


Back to Issue 23
Back to All the Stories

1