Mrs. McConnal XXXI

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 Thirty One: A Birching

I spent the day thinking about what Dianne said about my reason for getting stoned that morning. She was right. The only reason I had done that was to stuff it in Mrs. Wilkerson's and Mrs. McConnal's faces. I wanted to spend the morning knowing that I was stoned and knowing that they weren't aware of it. And I wanted that because I was mad at them for what I perceived they had done the day before; having conspired against me behind my back. Deep down I really did believe Pretty Lady when she told me that they had not been in collusion, but my pride wanted to say they were.

After the spanking I got from Dianne I tried putting my pants back on, but it was too painful since my regular pants were snug. So I put on sweat shirt and pants for the rest of the day. I didn't feel like moving about much. These clothes were like wearing heavy pajamas, so I lounged around the house, which was all I felt like doing. Even with the protection of the sweat pants I still wasn't able to sit on anything hard, and didn't really feel too good sitting on cushions for that matter. I laid on the couch, reading. Some of the day I spent in my room listening to music, reading, smoking more pot, drinking a bit.

I took a shower (couldn't sit in the bathtub) thinking I might get off on the memory of being over Dianne's lap, but couldn't get off my mind the fact that I had fully intended to insult Mrs. McConnal (though without her knowledge) by being stoned in her face. I couldn't get aroused when thinking that.

I really felt like a low life. Mrs. McConnal had never done anything to insult me, or to throw her authority in my face. She always treated me with respect, even when she spanked me, even when she admonished me for one thing or another. She treated me with more respect than any 13 year old would get from most of their teachers, or from any other adult. And Mrs. Wilkerson had done the same, even though I had treated her like dirt often. I had treated her like an idiot while she treated me respectfully.

What a jerk I was. Dianne was right in every respect. I found myself wondering why any of them even liked me at all, why would they even put up with me, much less love me. Why would they even allow me to be a part of their lives? I didn't deserve any of that. I deserved to be the outcast that I was. No wonder I didn't have any close friends. Who would want me for a friend? All I was good for were insults and trouble.

By early afternoon I knew that a bottle of painkillers and a fifth of whiskey would be just the cure for all that. No one would have to put up with the likes of me again. And the world would be a better place. Dad would miss me for a while, but he could then go on about his life without having to worry about me. Mrs. McConnal wouldn't have me bothering her any more. Dianne could get a real boyfriend and not be laughed at for dating a little boy any more. Mrs. Wilkerson wouldn't be putting up with being insulted by a little brat any more. Timmy could get a role model worthy of him. And the Nobels wouldn't have to worry about what kind of influence I was on their kids.

But Dad loved me. I looked like Mom. And I was all he lad left of a family. And Mrs. McConnal loved me, though I couldn't figure why. Mrs. Wilkerson must like me, or she wouldn't be putting up with me. And Dianne had said, just that morning, that she knew we would be each other's some day.

It would be easy on me to be rid of myself now. But I would hurt those people that I loved even more than I already had.

I was crying when the phone rang. Sniffling, I answered it. I should have expected Mrs. McConnal to call. It was a few minutes after three o'clock. I didn't want her to see me or hear me now. But I craved her forgiveness more than I ever had before.

"Jeremy, are you any better? Dianne told me you were sick?" she said, concerned.

"Yes, ma'am." I said, trying to hold by the sobs.

"Is Mrs. Travis there?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. She'll be back tomorrow." I answered, "But I'll be OK."

Without giving her a chance to respond, I said, "I'm sorry I bothered you, Mrs. McConnal. I really am."

"You're not bothering me, child." She said so sweetly. "I'm coming over there."

"No, ma'am." I immediately replied, "I'm OK now. I really am. You don't need to come over here." I really didn't want to be confronted with her right now. I wanted to beg her forgiveness, but hadn't worked out how to confess this to her or what to say.

"You don't need to be alone if you're sick. I'll be right over." She insisted.

"I'm really OK, Mrs. McConnal." I pleaded, "I really am. Please, you don't need to come over."

"Nonsense." she said. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

I was stoned. I had been drinking. I made no effort to cover it up. I knew I deserved to be punished, but I could barely sit down now. I didn't want her to be mad at me. I did want her to know that I loved her and that I was terribly sorry for what I had done, that I would never really want to hurt her even though I had done exactly that.

I lay back on the couch and resumed crying. I was such a low life piece of crap! I had meant to insult her, and here she was worried about me. I didn't deserve her at all. I didn't deserve any of these people's love. How could I ever make up to them for what I had done? Not just this morning, but for all the times I had been such a pain in the butt?

I knew I deserved to be punished, severely, for this. To get high, I thought, was no offense. But to have done this for no reason but to hurt and embarrass Mrs. McConnal and Mrs. Wilkerson, was unforgivable. But my butt was already well spanked. There would be no looking forward to another spanking today. I knew that. Which made what I did next take a considerable amount of courage.

I went in the back yard (we had a big one, in fact it extended to the creek and far beyond). The sweet gum trees had become brittle in the fall, but the plum branches were still limber. I broke off several straight ones, about 30" long, eight of them. Plum branches bear formidable outshoots that could pass for thorns, coming out of the branch at a right angle. I cleaned off the branches, knowing that I couldn't stand to be beaten with the thorns attached, and that she wouldn't do that anyway. I tied them all together into what I had read described as a birch.

I knew they would really sting my already well paddled bottom, but wouldn't add to the bruises Dianne had left. My heart sank at the prospect of the fire that I was preparing to be applied to by sore ass. There was no arousal in anticipating this. But I couldn't think of any other way of atoning for what I had done. And I wanted to make things right with Mrs. McConnal more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. Whether she could forgive me without this I didn't know, she might could. But I didn't think I could ever forgive myself without knowing that she had taken her just retribution on my tender behind for this terrible deed I had done to her.

Not feeling like sitting down, not just from the pain I already felt but also the pain I anticipated, I paced the living room while waiting for her to arrive, birch in my hand, checking it out, tapping my hand with it, feeling its sting even from a gentle stroke, getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach contemplating how my tingling butt would feel under the serious blows that I expected Mrs. McConnal to apply.

The room turned cold the instant the doorbell rang. How do I do this? How do I tell her what I've done? Who ever heard of a kid preparing his own spanking without being ordered to do so? Would she think me crazy? Would she, could she, ever forgive me for what I had done?

And what exactly had Dianne told her? Would I be getting Dianne in trouble if I told Mrs. McConnal the truth? Certainly not. At least not if I took full responsibility.

I wanted time to stop. I didn't want to face this lady who loved me so much and whom I loved so much, and have to tell her of the day's events.

And my tremendous ego didn't want to submit freely to anyone like I felt I had to submit to her right now. It was one thing when she took charge and commanded me. That all seemed in order. I was like her own kid by now. I trusted her to love me even when she was mad at me, even when she spanked me. But now I had to either keep up a lie to her, or tell her the whole truth and ask her to make things right. And from the perspective of my 13 year old brain, the only way to make it right was for her to give me a blistering.

I must have been pale as a sheet when I opened the door and invited her in. All I could do was start blubbering and cry, "I'm sorry, Mrs. McConnal. I'm sorry." And hug her, effectively pleading for her to return my embrace.

She did, of course. Needless to say, she was puzzled at first. What's going on?

She came in and I stood before her and told her everything that had happened, except for the part about Dianne spanking me earlier. I thought that if I told her about that, she would think I was trying to get out of the spanking that I knew I had coming from her.

After explaining everything, between sobs and tears and sniffling, I kept repeating, "I'm sorry, Mrs. McConnal. Can you ever forgive me? Please?"

She took my face in her hands, stroked my hair back gently, and said as sweetly as she ever said anything to me, "Of course I can, darling. Of course I can forgive you, Jeremy."

She then held me closely and said, "Sometimes I think I could forgive you of anything, child."

I stepped back, trying to compose myself, and held out the birch for her. She looked at it a moment before taking it from me.

"Do you really think you need this?" she asked.

"I want things to be right again." I pleaded, through tears.

She stroked my face with her free hand. "Don't you think you just made it right?" she asked, "As right as we could make it?"

"It doesn't feel right." I sobbed.

Without insisting that she give me the order, I took a position where she had plenty of room, and carefully dropped my sweat pants trying to keep some modesty even though I knew she'd be seeing everything before this was over anyway, and bent over grabbing my ankles.

She had never spanked me in this position before. Always before I had either been over her knee or standing with her holding me by the waist close against her. Somehow I had it in my head that this was the position for really serious offenses. This was the position everyone said they were told to assume when taken to the teachers' lounge after school. From trying it out over the years I knew it stretched the butt muscles taught, and it gave the person doing the spanking an opportunity to get the maximum leverage into their blows if that's what they wanted to do. From having looked in the mirror I also knew it also gave my dick and balls maximum exposure, which I found particularly embarrassing.

I wasn't so embarrassed exposing them to Dianne for the first time. I wanted to put them to full use. But being exposed before Mrs. McConnal was more akin to what most boys would feel being exposed to their mothers, though not quite. There was usually some sexual tension present when she spanked me, even though I never wanted to have sex with her (she was that much of a mother to me), but this time there was only the certainty that I had to be punished.

She hesitated. "Who . . . " she paused, "Dianne spanked you!" Of course it was obvious someone had spanked me earlier in the day. I had not thought, in preparing for this, how evident it would be that someone had worn me out earlier.

"Yes, ma'am." I replied.

"Well, she certainly spanked you worse than Mrs. Wilkerson would have. You'd have been better off going on to school, Jeremy." She exclaimed.

"Yes, ma'am." Of course I would NOT have been better off going on to school. All I could think of then was the before and after of the spanking that morning; sliding , practically naked over Dianne's thighs, holding her and rubbing on her afterwards with my throbbing dick pressing into her. No, I'll take a blistering from her any day in return for that.

And now I was getting hard. Don't drag this our, Mrs., McConnal. I can't tell you how really embarrassing it would be for me to be standing here, this totally exposed to you, with a hard on. Please go ahead and whip me.

I didn't have to ask.

Swish! Crack! "Yeouch!" Boy, that hurt. That didn't feel like any kind of spanking Mrs. McConnal had ever given me before.

She continued with a barrage of strokes all over my butt and thighs. She wasn't hitting me as hard as she could have, I knew that. But she didn't have to hit me as hard as she could. I already hurt to even touch my young behind, and this felt like she might as well be switching me with a bundle of stinging nettles. The licks didn't seem to be one after the other, but continuous. There was no differentiating one from the one before it.

I was quickly yelping and whooping, just like I would walking across hot pavement barefoot. My hollering grew in intensity as the pain increased as the licks continued

I was determined not to beg her to stop. This was a spanking that I knew I had coming and I was convinced that this was the only way I could ever feel right about what I had done. As much as I did want this to cease - oh, God it was hurting - I would only allow myself to finally blurt out through the wails, "I'm sorry, Mrs. McConnal. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

And then I settled in to the world where all that existed was my butt and those switches. I couldn't say anything more, just HOWL, and HOWL, and HOWL.

She was hammering a thousand needles into my tender fanny. And, as usual, once she had me in this state it lasted for an eternity, or so it seemed.

Also as usual, I was unaware when she stopped. My butt felt the size of two basketballs, but eventually I realized that even though the pain was still intensifying and my butt felt like it was about to burst open, the immediate stinging wasn't still happening.

At those times my mind was too preoccupied to consider that she was standing next to me, watching my butt quiver, listening to me bawling, watching my dick and balls dangle furiously underneath my demolished ass.

When I could, I slowly stood up, pulling up my pants as I rose, still bawling uncontrollably. I was still ashamed of what I had done. In days to come it sank into me that nothing I could ever do could undo what I had done. Spankings couldn't turn back time as I had hoped.

I still didn't want to face her. I covered my face with my sweat shirt and stood there still sobbing, as such from shame and the terrible regret of having hurt her as from the pain in my butt.

Through my sobs and muffled by my shirt I managed to ask, "Is everything alright now? Do you forgive me?"

She pulled my shirt away from my face and forced me to lift my head to look at her. She then broke the bundle of switches in two and threw them in the fireplace. (It was more symbolic than anything else, there was no fire going.) Then she kindly asked me, "Do you think everything's alright?"

"No." was all I could say. It wasn't alright.

After a few more sobs, and some thought, I said, "It wasn't alright what I did. And I still did it. I doesn't go away, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." she said looking me squarely in the eyes. "But you know what else doesn't go away?' she asked.

I just looked to her, not knowing what to answer.

"The fact that I love you doesn't go away, either." And she took me in her arms and held me as gently as she ever did.

I held her in return, so very glad to be in her arms. "I love you, Mrs. McConnal." I sobbed.

"I know you do, Jeremy. And that's why it hurts you so much to hurt me. That hurts more than any spanking I could ever give you."

I melted into her embrace. She was right. The pain of the spanking could only replace the pain of my having hurt her for a very short while. It could help me feel purged, and properly punished for what I had done, but it could never change the fact that I had done it. That's what loving people is all about.

I don't know how long we held each other. It was an embrace I never wanted to end. I knew it would be asking too much for me to want her to feel like I was her son, but I did allow myself to pretend that she felt that way from time to time. And this was one of those times.

When my crying subsided she told me, "Now go get your things. You're coming home with me."

I was hoping she would say that. I really didn't want her to leave me alone that afternoon.

At her house I got cleaned up. (I still felt more like wearing those loose sweat pants and shirt rather than putting on anything more snug fitting.) She had done me the favor of bringing me my home work assignments for the night (thanks a lot), so I wrote whatever needed writing. It didn't take long.

Mr. Jed and I played a game of chess before supper. He was pretty good, a real thoughtful player. He tried to keep all his bases covered saving his aggressiveness for whenever he could make some genuine headway. Our games were usually slow and defensive. The way I usually had to beat him was by playing for gaining space a square at a time, always looking for the time when I had him so cramped that I could force an advantageous exchange, and those took calculating quite a few moves in advance. But even after that he still hung on strong. There was never a quick mate in the offing.

After supper he went to his study to do some work. Mrs. McConnal and I watched TV. I felt the need to be hugged still. We both sat on the couch. I looked to her with what must have been a pleading look and she reached out to me to slide over to her. I curled up as close to her as I could and she put her arm around me. I couldn't have cared less what was on TV.

"Mr. Donaldson wants to see you tomorrow." she said during a commercial. She roused me from my ecstasy of simply snuggling with her. Mr. Donaldson was the principal of the high school.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"No." she paused a moment, "He'd probably rather tell you himself, but I thought you needed something to cheer you up." Being in her arms, knowing that she loved me, cheered me up. "He wants you to play chess."

"I already play chess." I always had a knack for the obvious.

She popped me gently on the head. "He wants you to play chess for the school."

"I don't understand." I said.

"He got an 'invitation' from the principal of Glenn Oaks High School for their best player and our best player to have a match. Around Christmas."

Glenn Oaks was our rival in the next county. We hadn't beaten them in anything for several years.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow." I said. Then I snuggled up closer to her. I lay my head on her breast. She took me closer in her arms.

Mr. Jed must have carried me to bed that night. I awoke the next day feeling like the world was brand new.
 

The End