Mrs. McConnal XXXVI

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 Thirty Six: My First School Paddling

I was glad that I asked Coach Grant to participate in the meeting with Principal Donaldson about setting the ground rules for the chess match. Mr. Donaldson was not used to having a student be the one making any demands, yet he also was not used to admitting that he knew nothing about any subject. Coach Grant, on the other hand, knew that I was the chess player, and would defer to my judgement in these matters. I expected that he would back me up in my demands, making it easier to Mr. Donaldson to acquiesce to the Coach and not to me.

The first thing I wanted was a long time limit for each game. Lictfield, being such an aggressive player, and liking to intimidate opponents on the football field (as our players had told me) probably liked to play fast. So I wanted to be able to slow things down if it was to my advantage. 'We' stipulated 60 moves in 180 minutes, and 150 minutes for the remainder of the game. Coach Grant pointed out that that would allow each player 3 minutes to think about each move, so Mr. Donaldson thought that adequate. Actually, since many moves are made quickly, it allows for a lot more time when a player needs it. And it meant that a game could, theoretically, go on for 10 hours, an extremely long game.

"The first person to win four games wins the match.

"Draws count for zero." I said. "Not a half point. Someone actually has to win 4 games, not win one and draw six." This was important to me. Too many masters are drawing masters, getting a point up on their opponents and then playing for draws forever until they accumulated enough points to win.

I suggested the games be played at center court on our basketball courts, and that only people directly involved in the games be allowed within the circle. That would include not only the players, but officials, and designated people to relay the moves to any people who cared to watch. I didn't think many people would care to watch, but if they did, they couldn't see the games from any distance so would need some sort of large board that showed the moves as they were being played. Coach Grant suggested such a board at the end of the court.

Glenn Oaks had asked for the winner to be determined by whoever was the first to win 4 games, and that the first be played at our home. That was fine with me. It told me that they were expecting a sweep and wanted the final (4th game) to be played on their site. I was hoping for a sweep, too, and was perfectly amenable to concluding my sweep of this kid on his own home court.

Each school would provide table, board, and chairs when the games were on their sites. That seemed appropriate. Of course each school would also provide their own site and any security necessary, just as with any other competition.

I wanted the first game to be played on the Wednesday evening of the last week of school before Christmas holidays (at our place); evening games to begin at 7:30, a Saturday afternoon game to begin at 2:30, no game on Sunday or Christmas (if it went that long). I didn't think anyone would object to that.

"What about admission charge?" Mr. Donaldson looked to Coach Grant. I didn't think he needed to worry about that. No one would want to watch a chess game.

"Fifty cents for students, a dollar for adults." Coach Grant replied.

Whatever. Sell Cokes.

"Oh, yeah," I added (I almost forgot), "I want a pitcher of ice water and a glass for each player on the table. And, since we'll have water, somebody needs to have a towel handy."

Mr. Donaldson nodded. "Well," he said with a smile, " that seems to about cover it."

Then I turned to Coach grant. "Coach, here's want I'm going to need from you:"

He gave me his full attention without the slightest sign of surprise.

"I'll need guys to play with me; some guys to play chess, and I mean every afternoon after school. The more classes we can be excused from during the day the better. And some of your bigger guys to just play with me, like they might a kid brother. Just play."

"You got it." he said. "I'll make some assignments tomorrow."

"Make some assignments." I said. "But get the names of everyone willing to volunteer, also. I'll go over the names. Go to the whole school, not just athletes."

He nodded.

Then I turned to Mr. Donaldson. "And I'll need to be excused from all homework until this is over."

He hesitated about this. "I'll need to talk with your teachers about that." he said.

"Fine." I said. "Can you do that tomorrow?"

"Yes." he said. "And I'll call the principal over at Glenn Oaks first thing in the morning."

"Oh, yeah," I added as an afterthought. "Both schools should split the cost of a trophy, with a plaque with plenty of space on it. The winning school keeps it for a year and engraves their name and year on it that they win. Let's do this every year from now one."

"That sounds like a good idea." Coach Grant chimed in.

"Yes, it does. Doesn't it?" Mr. Donaldson echoed, smiling.

"And I want us all here to understand something else." I added. If I am to play this match for Southerland High School, then it is to be ME playing the match. There's no way I can have any chance of winning this if I have to take orders about it from anyone else. I'm serious about that." I was looking at the principal as I said this. I knew there were some things I'd be doing before this was all over that he wouldn't like, but I had to have everyone's assurance now that my strategies would not be interfered with, no matter how distasteful it may seem to them.

They both agreed.

Mrs. McConnal was waiting in the outer office for me when Coach Grant and I emerged. I felt pretty good about how that went. Coach had his hand on my shoulder as if he were proud of me.

"You'd have been real proud of him, Mrs. McConnal," Coach said. "He handled himself real good in there." And he patted me on the back; a little hard, it stung and even knocked me forward a little bit, but affectionately anyhow.

Looking down at me he said, "I'm not even going to ask you what you have planned that's going to piss all of us off beyond our expectations."

I looked up at him and smiled. "I plan to play by the rules. And I plan to win." I said.

"And to conduct yourself like a gentleman at all times?" he asked.

"Would you rather I do that, or would you rather I win?" I said with a snicker.

He shook my shoulder like he might have a much bigger kid and said, "Win. We can worry about the rest later."

"Coach!" I intended to show signs of disappointment. "You wouldn't paddle me for WINNING. Would you?"

"I would never paddle you for winning. I would never paddle you for losing, Jeremy." And he continued, "Just don't intentionally embarrass us."

"I won't."

"I didn't think you would." I said.

The next day Mr. Donaldson told me that the principal at Glenn Oaks had agreed to all 'our' terms and that everything was all set. He also told me that he had cleared it with all my teachers that no homework would be expected of me until this was all over. That was good. We were really going to do this. Only now did it start to seem real to me.

Coach Grant told me to get with him after school and we would go over the names of the people he had lined up ready to work (and play) with me in preparation for the match.

Things went smoothly in Miss. Andrews' class the next morning. Maybe those three jerks got the message and would put a lid on it now. I doubted it. I felt sure they would, in time, force her hand. I hoped they would, for I felt certain that the results would be three sliced up bottoms and three wailing little boys begging for mercy and telling her how sorry they were. And I hoped that we would all get to listen while she went to town on their butts out in the hall. But it wasn't to happen that morning.

By the time gym class rolled around I was feeling pretty good about myself. No official announcement had been made about the chess match, and I hadn't talked with any other students about it, but word was getting around anyway. Evidently Coach Grant's talking to earlier classes about needing volunteers had caught the school's interest. And already some of the other kids were acting as though this was finally Southerland's chance to score a win over Glenn Oaks.

I liked the idea that people thought I could win for the school. Maybe I could actually become popular and accepted by my classmates. Wow, that would be really something. I'd never experienced anything like that.

But it only seemed to increase Richard's animosity towards me.

We were playing basketball during gym. Needless to say, there was no way I could actually compete with the other boys in my own class in any sport like that. I was way too much smaller than they were. We played half court games, and there was no need for me to get near the goal. I'd have to jump a foot, it seemed, just to be on the same level as they were already. I got picked last, of course. But once teams were chosen, we kept the same teams after that. And I was on a team with four other kids whom I liked better than those on the other team. So at least I had fun playing.

I had fun, that is, until Richard, while passing me in driving the ball, hit me with a forearm up side my head. Hard, too. It rattled me. I stifled a curse as he drove on and hit a lay up. Then he turned back to laugh at me. That really pissed me off.

I bided my time for a few plays until I found myself guarding him again, trying to keep him away from the goal.

He was taller than me, but I was quicker on my feet. I feigned to let him think he had faked me out and was easily getting passed me, and then quickly stuck out my foot and tripped him as he ran by at full speed.

He went sprawling as he hit the floor with no time to protect himself, landing splat on his face with a loud 'THUD' as he gave out an, "Oooofff". The ball rolled quietly out of bounds.

"Our ball!" I exclaimed.

I was feeling pretty good about myself right at that moment.

Then I heard from behind me a light hearted, "Jeremy, come here, son."

Oh, shit! Coach Grant hadn't been there when I last looked. I stood there for another moment as my heart sank into my stomach and whispered, "Oh, God damn." under my breath.

He was standing there, on the sidelines, arms folded, smiling but still serious. I didn't like the look on his face. It wasn't really angry (thank goodness), but it was menacing enough. Somehow I didn't think he only wanted to talk.

"Yes, sir." I said sheepishly. I wasn't feeling so hot up on myself any more.

Still smiling, jokingly, he said, "Go to my office and look in the closet. You'll find two paddles hanging on the door. Bring me the smaller one. Will you, please?"

Deep sigh. "Yes, sir." And I turned for his office, not in any big rush.

"Hurry." he called to me. And I sped up into a trot.

Meanwhile the rest of the gym fell into a total silence so that everybody heard our conversation. A gym full of the boys' class and Mrs. Reilly's girls' class all remained in place, no playing resumed. They were all waiting to watch the little kid get spanked.

My feeling like a potential hero had vanished in a mist. Now all I felt was my butt already warming up in anticipation of the licks Coach Grant was going to plant on it. I could swear that I could feel every eye in the place, especially the girls', staring at my unprotected bottom. I had on paper thin gym shorts and a jock strap, the same as all the other boys. The shorts offered about as much protection as a leaf of tissue paper.

I really wished this was not happening. Yes, I had been spanked before. And Mrs. McConnal had given me five licks with her hand in front of the play cast last spring. But this was my first real in-school paddling, and it wouldn't be 'out in the hall', it would be in front of not one but two classes.

I was already the baby of the school. And now all these people were going to get to watch the baby getting his little ass paddled. I never felt so humiliated in my life.

Coach Grant had paddled a couple of guys in our class already this year. He had used a paddle about 20" long and a half inch thick, with holes in it. I was hoping that was his 'larger' paddle. Even if it weren't, I knew he didn't plan to beat me unmercifully. He had given the other boys three licks each. Pretty stout ones. Plenty hard enough so that they hurt sitting down for the rest of the day. But he had been fair. I knew he would be with me, also. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that it was happening at all.

Once inside his office, alone, I felt some small reprieve. I had a few moments alone to gather myself before going out to face this. Everyone was waiting. Very few with any sympathy, I knew. Kids don't sympathize with another kid getting publicly spanked. They revel in it. It's a treat to get to watch. And my tender young bottom was going to be the center of their enjoyment.

I opened his closet door. The paddle I had seen was the small one. Well, at least he didn't send me for the big one. It was a monster; two feet long, 4 inches wide, and a half inch think, of course with rows of holes drilled in it. That paddle could destroy a boy's ass with no problem. The one I was going to get it with could leave a boy standing for a week, if that's what the one doing the paddling wanted. But that monster, I was convinced, could leave a boy standing up for the rest of his life. I couldn't help thinking that a dozen licks from that thing would have any boy screaming.

I took down the smaller one, already beginning to tremble. Coach Grant was pretty strong. Oh, God, please don't let him forget that I'm just a little kid; that I'm not nearly as big as these other guys.

I reached in my jock strap and pulled my dick and balls up tight against me. I knew his standard position was grabbing your ankles, and I wanted to be sure that my balls would not be in any danger. I was already getting a hard on. That surprised me. I understood getting a hard on before Mrs. McConnal, or Gloria, or especially Dianne, spanked me. Any boy having to pull his pants down in front of them should be expected to get a hard on.

The reason now, I then realized, wasn't Coach Grant or even getting it in front of all the boys. It was getting it in front of all those girls that had been bothering me since I first knew what would happen. Getting spanked in front of a whole class full of girls, all of them older than me.

I didn't want this to happen, but at the same time I was excited at the knowledge that these girls would all be staring at my butt as soon as I re-entered the gym. I hoped they thought I had a cute butt. I'd like to think they were watching my butt whether it was getting spanked or not.

All this flashed through my mind far more quickly than it took to tell about it. There was no feeling that I was delaying my punishment when I re-entered the gym floor. Silence still prevailed. All eyes were still on my behind.

I trotted over to Coach Grant, still standing where I left him, and handed him his paddle. He was still holding back a grin, as if this were a joke. And I could see the humor in it, but didn't feel at all like laughing right then. However, as I approached him I did make myself determined that I would not experience this as a devastation, but rather I would see it as something, if not exactly pleasurable, at least comic.

When I did that almost immediately I got some sense of . . . pride maybe? . . . in knowing that all those pretty girls, from one to five or six years older than me, were gazing at my butt. Did they think I had a cute butt? Did they want to pat my fanny as much as I wanted to pat theirs? I hoped so. At least I could dream for now, for I certainly had their attention.

Hay, I noticed, my attitude now had at least kept this from being the worst humiliation that I could imagine (so far, at least). Now if I could only keep it up after he paddled my ass. I knew this would hurt. But I also knew Coach Grant wasn't really mad at me, he just had seen me trip Richard and didn't have much choice but to sting my bottom.

I trusted him not to hit me as hard as he could. He knew I was still a little kid among big kids. Maybe that's working in my favor, too. Maybe the girls who are not turned on by watching my young behind get popped a few times are now feeling sorry for me and want to hug me and comfort me when it's over. That'd be nice.

Maybe even Mrs. Reilly is saying to herself, 'Oh, poor baby.' After all, she's about the right age to be my mom.

And that's how I arrived back to Coach Grant.

I knew he was thinking that he was looking down on a little genius who had just done something real stupid. (He would, in time, see how I was capable of doing things a lot more stupid than that.) He was thinking that he was looking down on the little kid who just might give Southerland High their long-sought victory that all their big jocks had been unable to deliver. And he was thinking that he was about to blister this little genius' fanny with all these people watching, and the rest of the school would soon know all about it.

He was holding back a grin as I handed him the paddle. I told him with my expression what I could have never said with words without really getting blistered. 'Yes, God damn it, I fucked up. Here's your fucking paddle.'

He sighed. "Grab your ankles."

I did.

Just try not to cry out, I thought. That's the best you can do now.


Jesus Christ, that hurt! I didn't think he was going to hit me that hard. I guess you don't have to hit all that hard with that paddle. And I had never felt a paddle before. But I gritted my teeth and breathed a world of curses, but managed not to voice any of them.

BOOM! He was working quick so at least I wouldn't have to bear this long.

"Owww!" I don't know if anyone else heard me, but I know he did. I was unable to keep quiet now. He was planting that paddle on the same spot, my sit spot, each time.

BOOM! Same spot.

"OOWWW!" Everybody heard that. Then I managed to grit my teeth again while saying, "God damn! That fucking well hurt." while managing to garble it so badly that no one could understand what I said. I did have the presence of mind to know that if I said that out loud and clearly while in the position I was in, even if it weren't in front of two classes in the gym, my already sore butt would have only begun to hurt. If that had been understood, there in a public spanking, he'd have probably given me ten more licks a lot harder than the three he just gave me.

I was still grabbing my ankles but was now aware that he wasn't hitting me any more. Three licks was what I expected, but knew I couldn't be certain of it until he told me to get up. Don't hit me again, Coach. That really was enough.

"OK, you can get up now." he said.

I stood up slowly, immediately grabbing my sore bottom. I still had my teeth gritted and was breathing through my teeth, holding back more cries of pain. Holding back more curses. I turned to face him and looked up at him with an expression displaying exactly how peeved I was at him.

He looked down at me, still holding back a grin. "What did you say to me after I gave you that third lick?" he asked.

I knew he, indeed, had understood. He knew I wasn't about to repeat it.

"I said, 'Ow'" I replied defiantly.

He shook his head and laughed under his breath. "Yeah," he said, "that's what I thought you said."

"It ain't funny." I said, still defiant, still rubbing my sore bottom, still hoping that all of the girls staring at me wanted to rub it for me.

Still laughing he said, "You're liable to spend a whole lot of time standing up before you graduate, Jeremy. You know that?"

I just glared back at him, not really angry, just perturbed.

He handed me the paddle and told me to return it to his office. He also told me to wash my face (there were some tears), and to walk it off for a while before coming back.

As I walked away from him (I didn't feel much like running) he called after me, "And don't forget that we need to get together after school today."

Without even looking back I waved to him in affirmation and said, "Alright." Don't call me back, Coach. Don't make me come back and say, 'Yes, sir.' like a good little boy. I need to retain some dignity right now. You should realize that. Just let me go. I let you paddle me. Don't make me bow down to you.

He didn't say anything. He just let me go.

Once I realized he wasn't going to call me back, I appreciated his reminding me about our meeting that afternoon in a voice that all present could hear. For one thing, he changed the subject with me . Rather than allowing attention (mine especially, but everyone else's as well) to dwell on my getting spanked like the miscreant little boy that I was, he shifted it to my being the genius on whose shoulders the hopes of the school were riding.

Coach Grant was OK. I had him pegged right.

The End

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