Mrs. McConnal XXIV

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 Twenty Four: Therapy

"I'm sorry, Jeremy," Mrs. McConnal was the first to speak after we heard Stan's final agony, "I didn't realize we could hear that from here. I've never stayed when someone was being taken there before."

I was almost in a panic and I didn't understand why. I must have been shaking but I wasn't aware of it.

"Are you alright?" she asked me.

"Yes . . . ma'am." I gasped. I didn't mean to be lying, but I wasn't alright.

"It's OK, Jeremy." she said, "It's over now. There's nothing for you to be afraid of."

I was having a hard time breathing. I was grateful that I didn't have to go to meet Dianne just yet because I wasn't sure I could make it down there to her. Also I still had an erection and didn't want to stand up in front of Mrs. McConnal.

There was something I felt I needed to speak with Mrs. McConnal about, and this was the obvious time to do it. "Mrs. McConnal," I began slowly, "if a boy felt like he needed . . . well . . . some help in, well, just calming down. I mean if he needed something that he thought he could trust someone to ask them for . . . "

"Come out and say it, Jeremy." she said. "Don't hide behind 'a boy' and somebody'."

So I did. "Sometimes I wonder if . . . if a little spanking from you would help me turn loose of a lot of these tensions that get built up in me sometimes. Maybe even settle me down before I do something that earns me a good one. Does that make any sense?"

"Actually it does." she said. "Some grown men even use it for therapy."

"They do?" I asked.

"Yes." Then she added, "You realize that your stress comes from inside you, don't you? You have nothing to fear from me, you know that. And Dianne is certainly not going to stop liking you if you don't do everything exactly right Friday night. You know that, too."

"Yes ma'am," I said, "but I can't seem to shake those fears and they're eating away at me. I know they're not reasonable fears because if I manage to put one aside, then something else pops up to take its place. Sometimes it's like it's the fear, the agitation, that is in charge, and I can put any name to it I want, but the same anxiety still won't turn loose of me. What should I do?"

"And you think a spanking might help?" she finished my thought for me.

"I don't know." I hung my head from her gaze again, embarrassed over what I, we, might be suggesting.

"If you want, we can try it." she said. "I wouldn't spank you like when I took you over my knee last spring. And if a mild spanking didn't help, Jeremy, I wouldn't want to give you a severe one, not when I didn't think you needed it."

"Yes ma'am." I said, still not wanting to look her in the eyes.

"But if it did help," she added, "I'd be tempted to use them to help get you out of these agitated states you get into from time to time. And it might mean me spanking you like that even if you didn't admit to needing it. Do you understand that?"

"Yes ma'am." I lifted my head to look her in the eyes when I said that. Actually I didn't want to have to ask her again. If it helped I wanted her to see it for herself in the future. Asking for it was far more embarrassing than just getting it. A boy is not supposed to ask his lady for a spanking. He's supposed to avoid them like the plague.

But I hated these states I'd get into when I was nervous, afraid, so agitated that I felt like beating my head against concrete. They'd drive me crazy and I would eventually reach a point where I couldn't be around people without freaking everyone out.

It was at those times that I drank a lot and took pain killers or sedatives, or both. They would cure my condition, at least until they wore off and it would be right back.

Knowing that Stan had all but asked for the spanking that he just got from Mrs. Wilkerson, made me feel a little less uneasy about coming forward with Pretty Lady now about wondering if a mild spanking might help me to release the anxieties that got pent up inside me. If it did work, she just said she'd be on the look out for these times in the future and would know how to handle them. She knew when I was in one of those states. She saw them coming. But until now wasn't ready to try this way of helping (protecting) me. She had thought about it, but I think she feared that I wouldn't understand if she gave me one of those hand spankings when I had done nothing wrong. I'd be liable to think of it as a punishment I didn't deserve rather than a release.

I didn't want a beating. And I certainly only wanted someone who loved me to administer this type of 'therapy' if it was needed. The thought crossed my mind that this was what had led to Gloria giving me that spanking last summer. I was in just such a state then. That's the real reason I had gotten depressed and started drinking that day. And the butt warming she gave me did bring me out of it.

"What do you think?" Mrs. McConnal asked tenderly.

"I don't know, Mrs. McConnal. What do you think?" I could not bring myself to say 'Yes, please spank me.' That just wasn't done.

She stroked my head and looked at me with the most loving expression, one that I knew was just for me.

Then she took me by the hand and stood up, pulling me up with her. My dick was still hard, and I tried to hide it as best I could. She closed the door and came back to me. She then took the chair she had been sitting in and pulled it to an open area near the front of the room.

She put both her hands on my shoulders and said sweetly, "You're getting to be a big boy, but you're not too big to go across my lap yet, are you?"

I didn't answer, but didn't object either.

She sat down and gently pulled me over her knees, helping me to get in just the proper position. I was laid across her lap with my hard dick pressed against her thigh. Even through my pants and her dress I know she could feel it, but she made no comment about it. Then with her left elbow in my back she grabbed the waistband of my pants with her left hand and pulled my pants up tight across my bottom. Her right hand rested gently on my sit down spot. My dick got even harder when I felt her hand rubbing my ass.

And then she began.

Slap!

"Ow." I yelped but not loudly. I wasn't trying to hold anything back now. Unlike other spankings from her I wasn't trying to act the grown up, but rather letting all my emotions fly.

Slap! These licks stung. Not like her hair brush but they did sting.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

She was going to work on my bottom just as if it were to be a severe spanking, only with her hand. She spanked fast.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Her spankings were a barrage of licks all falling on or near my tenderest sit down area. She knew how to bring the little boy out of me real fast. I was crying by now.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Ow, Mrs. McConnal, stop. That's enough." I cried. But she wasn't stopping.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

I was crying in full now. "Stop, please Mrs. McConnal! That's enough! Please!"

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Noooooooooo!" And with that I went limp, giving myself over to whatever was yet to come, just laying there and sobbing.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Aggghhh! I'm sorry Mrs. McConnal! I won't do it again, I promise." Needless to say I had no idea what I was promising not to do again. That must be a standard phrase cried out by every boy getting spanked from time to time.

All her licks had blended into one by now. That's how her spankings were. They weren't individual licks that accumulate, like Mrs. Wilkerson's spanking of Stan had been. Mrs. McConnal's spankings were a continuous flow of licks that eventually seemed like a constant lick falling on my behind, the pain increasing all the time but with me losing track of one lick from another. Like a hot brazier being applied to my fanny and being kept there, the pain increasing in a continuous flow rather than steps.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

I continued crying, no longer pleading, just lying limp across her lap, until I realized, as I finally did, that she had quit spanking me some time back, and I couldn't even say when she stopped.

I lay across her lap now exhausted, limp. She was rubbing some of the soreness out of my rear end, just as I would have, but it felt so much better with her doing it.

I was no longer hard. Her spankings always took that away immediately. I always had one when she started. I never had one when she finished. I'm sure she knew. Her brothers must have been the same way when she spanked them. Maybe a lot of boys were. She never tried to embarrass me more because of that. The moments before a spanking, especially one on the bare, are embarrassing enough for a boy. If he has a hard on whoever is giving it to him could make that extra humiliating. A beautiful lady could do his self esteem a lot of damage if she wanted to at that moment. Mrs. McConnal didn't want to. I doubted that Mrs. Wilkerson had wanted to do that to Stan either (bless her heart).

After several minutes she helped me up and sat me in her lap. I was almost too big to sit in her lap, and would have been terribly embarrassed had any of my classmates seen us. But I was so glad to be there, still sobbing, hugging her while she hugged me.

I still sobbed, gasped for breath a few times, and finally with a deep sigh, slipped back in time to when I was a toddler. In my mother's arms? or in Mrs. McConnal's arms? I understood then that Mrs. McConnal's arms felt as safe and as much home to me as if they were my mother's arms.

"There now," she cooed, "it's all over. Everything's just fine."

In fact I did feel better. I no longer felt like demons were eating away my insides. There was no longer a steel band around my chest getting tighter and tighter by the minute.

"I didn't think I needed to get spanked that hard, Mrs. McConnal." I said, with my head on her shoulder, speaking softly into her ear.

"Jeremy," she replied tenderly, "even when a boy understands that he needs a spanking, he invariably needs a mush worse spanking that he thinks he does. You didn't give yourself over to me until the last few licks. A few more swats and I stopped."

"Yes ma'am." she was right, "I know." And I hugged her closer, snuggling deeper into her presence, perfectly safe, perfectly at ease. She gave me what it took to relax me. No more, but certainly no less either.

"Now, my young cavalier," she said jokingly, "with a lovely young damsel to rescue from lecherous band members, do you feel like you can face the world again?" She knew I was in no condition to face the world prior to her spanking me.

I smiled, "Yes ma'am." I hugged her extra hard, and kissed her on the cheek before getting to my feet.

I straightened myself out when I was standing, as did she. I looked to see if everything looked in order. "Do I look OK?" I asked her.

"You need to wash your face before you go to Dianne. But other than that you look absolutely dashing." She was being encouraging to me knowing I was nervous about Dianne and our date. Again, the same support a boy needs from his mother (some actually get it).

"Your eyes do look better." she said, referring to our wondering whether a spanking would do me any good or not. "I'm going to give this a week or so before deciding if it is good for you, though. Is that OK with you?"

"Yes ma'am." I answered. "If you see it did do some good, will you let me know?"

"Here's how you will know, Sir Lancelot," she said with a grin, "if, the next time you get into one of your 'states' I turn you over and start planting my hand on your young fanny fast and furious, then you'll know I decided it was worth keeping this up." She meant she'd just snatch me up and spank me.

"But it'll be in private, right?" I insisted. "I mean I really don't' want the other kids to think I get these because I like them."

"Do you?" she asked.

"NO." I answered emphatically. "Well . . . " I was embarrassed to look at her again. "I don't like the hurting part, no."

"But . . . ?" she knew I had more to say.

"But I do like the being close to you, Mrs. McConnal." I blushed.

She pulled me to her. "I like the being close to you, too, Jeremy. But hugs don't have to wait for spankings, darling. From now on I'm also going to try plenty of hugs and kisses to help alleviate those anxiety phases of your, too."

We were still hugging each other when I asked, "But that'll be in private, too, right? I mean you won't do that in front of the class either, will you."

She laughed. "Boys! You'd rather I spank you in front of the class than kiss you in front of the class, wouldn't you?"

I was laughing now, too. "They'd laugh at me." I said whining.

"You don't have to worry." she said in feigned irritation. "I'll try not to embarrass you by hugging or kissing you in front of your friends. Now wash your face and get on down to Dianne. You don't want her t think you've forgotten her."

"Yes'm." I got my books and turned toward the door.

"Mrs. McConnal?" one more thing concerned me.

"Yes?"

I looked at the chair she had used, "You wouldn't ever do that in front of the class, would you? I mean, you would never really spank me in front of the class would you?"

"Only if you get too cocky in thinking that I won't." she said half joking, half serious.

Mrs McConnal planted a playful swat on my butt. I grabbed my ass with my free hand, looked to her and in a low voice almost whispered, "ouch.", smiling.

"That's not an 'Ouch'," she said. "Do you want me to show you an 'Ouch'?"

"No ma'am." I grinned and sped off.

My butt was still warm when band practice finished and I met Dianne. She noticed a change in my demeanor immediately.

"You look like you got over Stan getting spanked pretty quickly." she said.

"Mrs. McConnal and I had a talk." I said. "She helped me to calm down." I blushed a bit on saying this. Of course I was thinking not of the 'talk' we had but of going over her knee.

"Good. I'm glad she cares so much about you. A boy needs an older woman in his life that he can turn to." Then she added, "My mom likes you, too."

"Great." I said. "I like your mom, too. She's pretty cool." I was also thinking 'she's pretty'. Dianne got her dark looks from her father. Her mother had blond hair and blue eyes, late thirties, real nice figure, full and firm. (Hay, by 11 or 12 boys take note of ALL women, not just those their own age.) Dianne's little brother Timmy looked more like his mother than his father.

While we walked home I told her about Stan's sound thrashing, as much as we had heard. I asked her not to spread the word that we had listened in inadvertently. I didn't think Stan would like that. Let him tell what he wanted people to know and leave it at that.

"Jeremy," Dianne said, "there are times when what a boy needs most is the most severe spanking he can imagine. Stan doesn't get spanked hardly ever, maybe never any more. Maybe he just finally needed all the spankings he had missed out on wrapped up into one extra good one."

"He won't be sitting down for a while." I noted. Maybe this was a time to ask her this: "Have you ever spanked Timmy until he couldn't sit down?"

"Yes, I've spanked his little bottom until he wouldn't sit for a couple of hours, not on a hard surface at least." She went on, "But Timmy's only 10. I would never give him one like the one Stan got . . . at least not while he's 10."

Wow. Should I take that to mean that she would be willing to spank him that severely once he was Stan's age? I didn't ask. I figured her answer was implicit in her statement, and I didn't want to press the matter right now.

My mind pictured Timmy, pajamas down to his ankles, draped across his sister's lap while she blistered his little fanny with her hairbrush. I pictured Dianne, with her panties down to her ankles, over my lap while I hand spanked her gorgeous fanny until it was red as a beet. I had a hard on again. I shifted our books to be in front of me, trying to hide it.

Mrs. Nobel, Dianne's mom, invited us both in to share in a sweet potato pie she had just made. I love sweet potato pies, and this one was fresh out of the oven. She cut a slice for each of us and poured each of us a glass of milk. I remembered the last time anything like this had happened to me. I was 10. It was my mother doing the cooking. A month later she was dead. I almost choked up upon remembering that and wishing so hard that she was still with me, but got control of myself before freaking everybody out by bawling over a slice of pie (what a weirdo, right?).

Timmy brought me back into the now by singing, "Sister's got a boyfriend. Sister's got a boyfriend."

"Timmy, that's not nice." Mrs. Nobel rebuked him.

I didn't mind being thought of as Dianne's boyfriend at all. What concerned me was that Dianne might be embarrassed by people saying that she had a younger boyfriend. It's OK for a boy to have a girlfriend younger than he, but the reverse seems somehow inappropriate.

Evidently Mrs. Nobel's admonition didn't fully register with Timmy for only moments later he started singing, "Dianne and Jeremy sitting in a swing. K-I-S-S-I . . ."

That was as far as he got. Ending his serenade prematurely, Mrs. Nobel whapped his young fanny a good one. The resounding 'WHAP!' lingered in the air. She brought him up on his tiptoes. His eyes shot wide open. His teeth gritted. And his hands shot back to cover his bottom. Her hand print was going to be on his butt for the rest of the day.

"I said, 'That's not nice.'" she repeated. She didn't have to repeat it again.

A few tears welled up in his eyes but he did manage to keep from crying out loud. I managed to keep from laughing out loud, though Dianne did show signs of a smirk.

Timmy ate his snack standing with his back to the kitchen counter.

I got hard again. From that one lick I was convinced that Mrs. Nobel knew how to spank. It was evident that she could bring Timmy to bawling when she wanted to. I bet she could have me bawling if she wanted to as well. The sting left over from the 'physical therapy' Mrs. McConnal had administered to me earlier increased.

I didn't know if I was hard from seeing Timmy's mom fan his tail once good, from thinking of him mom fanning my tail, from dreaming about me fanning Dianne's tail, from Mrs. McConnal fanning my tail, or from Mrs. Wilkerson fanning Stan's tail, or the suggested idea of Mrs. Wilkerson naked fanning Stan's tail. Or from all the real and imagined tail fanning that went on that day. Whatever the cause, I did not want to have to stand up right then. I no longer had any books to cover me. And I really didn't want Dianne and her mom seeing my pants turned into a tent by my erection.

So I ate slowly, trying to keep my mind on things like the upcoming football game and dance.

As soon as it felt safe I excused myself and headed on home. Once there the first order of business was a bath. I had a lot to get off my chest that afternoon. Well, not exactly off my chest, but a lot to get off. I checked my butt in the mirror. It was still red. I assumed a few positions in front of the mirror so that I could see how my ass might look in the course of the early stages of a serious tanning. Grabbing my ankles made my bottom sting worse. It also presented my dick and balls to the most clear view, fully exposed inches below my butt, perhaps even making a tempting target in some cases (oh, how that would hurt). Stan must have been in agony just assuming the position for Mrs. Wilkerson; wow he had really gotten his ass tore up. I wondered how close she came to strapping his balls and how frightened he got as she got closer and closer. I wondered how Timmy's behind looked right then. He certainly wouldn't be anxious to get on his mother's bad side again today.

I also wondered how Dianne might feel were she to ever see me ordered into this position for real and watching someone really go to work on my butt. And how would I feel if Dianne were to ever watch me getting a blistering in this position, naked; her watching everything I had either destroyed or threatened with destruction. How would she feel watching her mom doing it to me? How would I feel about getting it from her mom? I wondered how Mrs. Nobel would feel doing it to me. I wondered how Dianne would feel giving it to me and how I would feel getting it from her. Now there was an idea.

I had a lot to get off that afternoon. Taking a sit down bath kept the memories quite alive in me, especially in my rear end. I took another bath later that night.
 

The End