Mrs. McConnal XXXIII

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 Three: Miss Andrews

Talking with Mr. Donaldson, the principal, forced me to be late for my first period class. It was a biology class with Miss Andrews. She was just out of college a couple of years before. This was her first teaching job so I tried to be patient with her. Some of the older boys considered her fresh meat, fair game for hazing. I thought she was cute, 5' 2" or so, not much taller than me. She looked every bit as young as she was. She was on most guys' list of 'Teachers I Most Want to Go to Bed With'. She certainly made it on mine, even though we hadn't struck up any kind of relationship. I liked to look at her. I sat in the front of the class so as to get a good view. Her shoulder length brown hair and girlish figure made her a fine sight to kick off the school day with.

She never called on me and almost never spoke to me at all. I figured that meant that she must not like me. The girls got along fine with her. Many of the boys heckled her, which by this time in the year was starting to get to her.

Discipline was not her strong suit. To the best of my knowledge she had never paddled anyone. I don't think she even had a paddle. Only in later years did it occur to me that some of the boys may have been trying to egg her on to get one and use it on them with their behavior. Personally, I wouldn't have minded a pants down, over the knee, hand spanking from her, but there wasn't any teacher, even the prettiest, who I really wanted to take a paddle and go to work on my butt.

For that matter, the idea of pulling Miss Andrews' panties down and hand spanking her lovely bottom was appealing to me, too, though I knew that was out of the question.

When I was that young other boys thought it strange on my part that I had little interest in playing football or basketball or baseball, but preferred the company of pretty teachers or pretty girls (usually older than me). Some of the older guys even made remarks accusing me of being homosexual since I preferred girls' company to theirs. At the time I took it seriously. There were enough girls though, and some grown women, who knew for a fact that I was not gay. I was too little to compete in athletics with boys in my own grade. But I knew how to turn on the cute and play on the motherly instincts of the older girls, and work my way into hugs and kisses. And, as in Sally Ann's case last spring, considerably more than that. Of course, Dianne knew by now that I would fuck her in a flash.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Miss Andrews," I told her when I interrupted her class, "but I've been in Mr. Donaldson's office.."

A murmur arose in the class. 'Jeremy's in big trouble this time.'

"Did he give you an excuse slip?" she asked.

"No, ma'am." I said. "I forgot to ask for one. I'm sorry." Be deferential. She'll let it pass. Then I thought, "You can ask him if you like."

She let it pass. I was the least of her worries. Here was this cute little thing trying to teach 10th grade boys about the human reproductive system. You can imagine the lewd remarks she elicited.

This day got particularly bad. I found myself embarrassed for even being in the class with some of these dolts. I knew that sex was at the forefront of their minds all day and all night. But, even at 13, I already knew the way inside a girl's panties was through her heart, and that such garbage as they were wont to spout off only turned off ladies. If you want the girls in the class, or the teacher, to want to snuggle up to you, be sweet to them, guys. Be kind. Make them feel pretty. Some women may go for being abused, but that's no fun for anybody.

They had Miss. Andrews almost to the breaking point and it was only 1st period. I saw her lower lip tremble a few times. This was not good. This is no way to treat this little girl, all alone and away from home in her first job. She's easy to break. Where's the manliness in this? Go try to break Mr. Donaldson, that would be a challenge.

She gave the class a writing assignment, some meaningless paperwork. I knew it was so that she wouldn't have to talk any more for a while. Her voice was about to break, poor thing.

She sat down at her desk which was only a few feet from me. Our eyes met. I looked to her in sympathy, wanting to take her in my arms and comfort her. Was this ME? Was I actually feeling sympathy for someone I hadn't spent a long time securing a relationship with? Did I actually want to HELP a virtual stranger? Did I actually feel compassion for another human being?

Maybe this had something to do with growing up. Maybe it had something to do with all I had experienced in the past week, culminating with Dianne and Mrs. McConnal wearing my butt out yesterday. I didn't feel compassion for Miss. Andrews because I feared Pretty Lady would spank me if I didn't. But how I felt knowing that I had hurt Pretty Lady did carry over into being able to put myself in Miss Andrews' place now, and feeling that I wanted to make things right for her.

She saw something in my eyes, but probably wasn't sure what it was. After all, I did have a reputation for intimidating teachers. That was probably why she never called on me. As intimidated as she felt by those older boys harassing her, she was probably more frightened of me. She immediately looked down at a book, as if she had some pressing reading to do.

I did the writing quickly. I saw that no one else was finished. Maybe I did it too fast, I thought. Maybe not. Maybe this was a time I should talk with her, while I had the courage. I wasn't afraid of her, not now. I knew if she said something to hurt me that it would only be out of fear of a student, not personally aimed at me. But then, I was just a little boy. Would she think me just a silly little child? After some moments to work up my full courage, I decided to ask to talk with her; now, while the rest of the class was writing.

I took my paper to her and placed it on her desk. Then I just stood there for a moment, not quite sure how to start this.

"Thank you, Jeremy." she said, without even looking at me.

I laid my hand on her shoulder, gently like I would a sleeping cat. She looked up at me.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Miss Andrews," I said softly so that no one else could hear, "could I talk with you in the hall for a minute, please?"

"What's the matter?" she asked, as if this was the beginning of more problems.

"I'd just like to speak with you for a minute, please." I said. She didn't move, only stared at me.

Where I got the courage to do what I did next I have no idea. I certainly had not planned it. I didn't even think about before doing it. But I took her hand in mine, and softly said, "Come. Let's talk." And I gently led her out into the hall.

The class stared at us in silence, apparently astounded that I had taken charge like I had. When we neared the door one of the jocks did begin a cat call. I snapped my head in his direction and glared at him, saying nothing. He shut up immediately.

When we got outside she asked again, "What's the matter, Jeremy?"

"The matter, Miss. Andrews," I said, " is that I see a lovely young lady being tormented by a few louts. And it's hurting me very much."

She suddenly let herself go and broke down, crying. I wasn't expecting this. What had I gotten myself into now? I had a crying teacher on my hands, and now I had to calm her down and hope to make things better. Why did I do this? I was just 13.

"Oh, Jeremy," she said through tears, "all my life I wanted to be a teacher, and now I just want to run away."

I couldn't resist her. She was so fragile, and so pretty. It was like seeing a baby kitten being tortured. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to kiss her and make all the hurt go away. So I did.

At least I gently held her in my arms and kissed her on the cheek. "No, Miss Andrews." I said, "You're going to make a fine teacher." I knew she would also make some lucky man a fine wife and make some lucky kids a fine mother, but we had to overcome this hurdle first or those things would never come about.

I held her for several moments, stroking her shoulder length brown hair, wanting to stroke her perfectly shaped bottom but knowing that would be too forward.

She finally said, "But, Jeremy, I don't know what to do." looking at me pleadingly for an answer.

I looked her in the eyes while gently stroking her cheeks and said, "Miss Andrews, you have to take control of your class. I know you're a very kind lady, I can tell that, and as sweet as you can be. But you need to show those boys that you are in charge of your class. If you do that I think you'll see a tremendous change."

"But most of them are bigger than I am." she said helplessly.

"It doesn't matter." I pointed out. "You're the teacher. That carries a great deal of authority. And they know you have it. But you need to use it, not let it lay idle."

"But how can I do that?" she asked, still with tears in her eyes.

"Well, most teachers use a paddle." I replied. "Some use a strap. Coach Grant uses a rattan cane for serious offenses. I've heard that can hurt pretty bad."

She smiled now. "I understand that Mrs. McConnal doesn't use her wit on you like she does her other students." she said.

"No. She usually uses her hair brush on me, but that's another story." I said ginning. She saw the humor in that. She was coming around and feeling a little better.

"But I can't spank them." she pleaded.

"Of course you can." I said. "You're their teacher. You can spank them. You can spank them until they're bawling like babies if you decide to do that."

"But I'm not that much older than they are." She was talking as if I wasn't one of her students.

"Did you have little brothers when you were growing up?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And did you spank them?"

"Yes."

"You weren't that much older than they were, either, were you?" I pointed out.

"No." she replied. "I usually spanked them with my hand. They were little."

"Well," I said, "I don't think that would register." But you can hand spank me any time, you luscious little darling. And I'd love to return the favor, too.

"I'd be afraid to hit anyone with a paddle. If you're not experienced with it, it can really hurt someone." She was right. In the hands of an inexperienced wielder a paddle could break the base of a person's spine or crack a boy's balls.

"Why don't you speak to Coach Grant about where he gets his canes?" I suggested. He'd probably let you borrow one until you can get a few of your own." Oh, boy what have I done? I'm going to be real popular with the guys in her classes if she decides to really thrash some bottoms with a cane. But I'll bet after a few striped behinds she'd see a noticeable improvement in their behavior in her class.

So I decided to offer another suggestion. "Coach Grant could probably give you some instruction on how to apply a cane to its best potential, too." Hell, yeah, Coach, show this sweet thing how to rip those bastards' asses to shreds. Those sons of bitches will rue the day they ever tormented this precious little girl.

"Do you really think I could do that?" she asked.

"Of course you can." I promised.

"But what if they won't let me?"

"Then you just let them know that you'll pass the word along to Coach Grant. And ask his help in convincing them to let you." I told her. My guess was that Coach Grant would paddle their naked butts into the middle of next week first, and then send them back to her for the caning she was going to give them in the first place. No one would refuse her the second time. I was going to enjoy this. I bet she would, too.

"All better now?" I asked.

She nodded. "Thank you, Jeremy." she said. "You're so sweet." Yeah, I know. Then she added, "You're really nothing like everybody says you are." Yeah, well, don't spread the word.

Then she kissed me on the cheek. Oh, wow! She's so pretty.

We went back in the classroom. Racing through my mind was the thought, 'You idiots. I get hugs and kisses. And you're going to get your asses flayed.'
 

The End