Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 16 Dec 2015
At 8 a.m. the next morning, Mrs. Evans was in my bedroom, standing over my bed where I was splayed out still asleep. When she called out to me, I looked up in a stupour of semiconsciousness.
Wake up, Connor. It’s Saturday morning, and we have some unfinished business, young man. And I have some work, raking leaves, for you to do, she called down to me.
She reached down and yanked the blanket and sheet off me. The cool air, as well as the fact of my nude, lean body with full morning wood being exposed before her, made me jump and grab the sheet and blanket to pull back up over me.
That apparently was viewed as oppositional conduct by Mrs. Evans. She grabbed the sheet and blanket again to pull off me, but I held on with my hands.
Unbeknownst to me, she turned and quickly left the bedroom, returning a minute or so later with the same, wooden spoon she had employed on me the preceding morning. I was back on my stomach, with my face in the pillow, swiftly drifting off to sleep.
Displeased with my resistance to her directions to me, she reached down the side of the bed, slid her arm under the sheet and blanket, grabbing my naked, thin leg. Even though I felt it, I was too tired and far fading along back to sleep for it to bother me.
With surprising strength, she pulled me by my leg out from under the sheet and blanket, off the mattress and bed, to land on my butt and back on the floor, with my stiffy pointing up at her. My face instantly flushed red with embarrassment while I was irked at finding myself manhandled in this manner.
As I lay there looking up at here with puzzled grogginess, she reached down, grasped my skinny arm, lifting me up onto my feet. As quickly as I was standing, she sat on the bedside and I found myself towed around to her right, and dumped naked, upside down over her lap.
Aaaaa-ah, Muh-isses-aaa-Evans! Whuh-uht nowwww! Aaaa-ow-ow-oooo-ow! I squealed as she began
revisiting the spank marks from yesterday morning’s spanking with the same wooden spoon.
I bucked and twisted immediately, trying to writhe myself off her lap and away from her restraint. That only evoked a faster, harder flurry of smacks to my still sore bottom and upper legs. She roughly slid me around so my butt was elevated and slanted, poised as a ready target.
You are a very insolent young man, quite out of control. If I had known you behaved like this, I would never have allowed you to rent here.
I told you over two months ago what the rules and conditions are, and gave you a list so you would
know. I asked you if there was going to be any trouble by you in obeying them, and you told me no problem,
Mrs. Evans. Didn’t you, Connor?
I was taken aback by her confronting me and did not answer. She began swatting my backside and upper legs harder as she demanded,
I asked you a question, Connor. I expect an answer – and an honest one, young man,
Aaaa-haaa-ye-es, you did, er, I mean, I did, aaaa-ow-ow-aaa-okaaay-ah-please-ah-staaaahp!
You want me to stop?! she barked her question in reply.
Back in August, I told you any
deliberate violating of the rules would be dealt with from the bottom – this little, red-marked
fanny – up to your mind and memory.
I was squirming and whining under the barrage of smacks assailing my behind and thighs.
You hold still there, Connor, she commanded, tightening her encircling left arm around my bare waist.
Yesterday morning, you skipped class to sleep in, which you know is breaking the rules here. When I tried to get you up, you fought against it, and you found out the punishment for violating the rules is serious, didn’t you, son?
I was gasping from the shocking, crumbling effects of the pain afflicting my rearend.
It doesn’t look like you’re one bit sorry, Connor Robertson. You were told yesterday morning: you are going to have a bedtime and a wake-up time from now on, and you’re also grounded for this weekend. Instead of obeying, and coming straight back home after school, you went out and got drunk, underage, and a minor, and another violation of the rules here – not to mention the law!
Now, you’re getting a second dose of punishment. Tonight, after supper, you are going to get a third dose – besides which, you are now grounded for the entire month of November!
Uh-uh-whuh-uht-uh huh-oooool-uh-month?! I shouted my question.
Be quiet, boy! Starting tomorrow morning, you are going to be getting up and going with me to mass every Sunday.
Whuh-huh-uht?! I asked startled.
You heard me, Connor. You’re Catholic aren’t you? And you’re going to a Catholic college.
Uh-ye-es-uh-buh-uht we-eee-don’t goooo-to-uh-uh-chur-urch, I cried out.
Don’t go to mass?! How can you say you’re a Catholic and not go to mass?! she interrogated.
Anyway, that’s changing. You’re going to start going, Connor, and attend the Catholic youth gathering
on Sunday evenings as well.
Uh-uh-wuh-uht-uh-aaaa-ow-ow-uh-I-don’t-uh-waaant to dooo-uh-thaaat!
That’s too bad, Connor Robertson! You are going to start behaving, and being a good boy –
which means going to mass on Sunday mornings, and Catholic youth on Sunday evenings.
When we finish here, while you’re in the shower washing up and crying your sorry eyes out, I am going to call your parents and inform them of everything that’s gone on here, starting yesterday morning, and the added conditions being placed on you.
If they disagree, they can come get you, or find you another place to rent and get you moved – right away. I am not going to put up with any more defiance and disobedience from you.
My-uh-uh-parents-uh?! I asked amidst my gasping, near-tears moaning.
That’s right, Connor. You’re not even an adult, and here you are getting into trouble. They are responsible for you, and they will have to make other arrangements for you because you can’t obey! she flatly decreed.
Hush your impertinent mouth, young man! she scolded me, as she lit into my butt and thighs with the spoon. I jerked and jolted with each spank, but quickly ceased my opposition, breaking down in uninhibited sobbing.
The pain was doubly intense from the overlay on yesterday’s morning spanking. My shame was even deeper in view of her calling me out for every incident of misbehaviour.
At the same time, my horny woody was becoming crazed with intense over-stimulation as it rubbed all over her lap as I buck and bounced under the repeated swats.
I was terrified I was going to lose it and ejaculate on her as she was spanking me.
Sobbing, I shrieked and screamed howling, bawling cries. She quickly and completely mastered me, and I broke, caving in, capitulating to her authority and discipline, and the right to exercise it over me.
As last, and in the nick-of-time, she stopped, letting me hang sobbing, heaving, and shuddering. She pulled me up off her lap and turned me around to sit on her lap, straddling her legs, facing her.
Ashamed, hurting, and regretful for my bad behaviour, I leaned into her, hugged her, and cried on her bosom. She held onto me, patting my head and back, telling me it wasn’t too late. I could still
things around and be a good boy.
My willpower, supple and bent toward pleasing her, and doing what she said, surprised us both by uttering pleas to be forgiven and have a second chance, apologies, and promises to be the
good boy you expect.
On her lap, facing her, clinging to and resting on her, crying with a hot, freshly spanked bottom, my words just tumbled out. Later, I cringed remembering how I had pled and begged, and what I’d said. In response, she said she would see whether I could be trusted to obey from now on.
When she pulled me up off her lap, I stood up, bent backward, face up, nude as birth, my hands plastered on my hot, dark red, sore mounds, my boner still engorged and standing stiffly upright.
She led me out of my bedroom to the next-door bathroom. Turning on the shower, she opened the door for me to enter, then pulled it closed.
You hurry, now, Connor. I think I’ll wait until you’re present, and we’ll call your parents together, she added.
Nooo-hoooo-oooo-aaaa-Mrs. Evans! Please! I’ll be good! I promise! I mean it! Please, I’ll be your good boy! I’ll obey, I will! I promise, Mrs. Evans.
You just hurry and get cleaned up, then dressed in work clothes, and come out to the kitchen for
breakfast. We’ll discuss it further then.
Inside the shower, I broke down into loud, squalling sobs. While I showered and shampooed, my youthful manhood clamoured for relief. It didn’t take much to give it that, and I did feel some assuaging calm afterward.
I raced to my bedroom, dressed in old jeans and an old sweatshirt to wear and work in the yard. There were a lot of fallen leaves in her yard, and I worked long and hard until I had them all raked into a huge pile by the side of the road. It was well after 1 p.m.
As I stood pausing with weariness for a minute, I heard her calling me.
Connor, come on in for lunch now, son. You’ve done a very good job. They’ll pick them all up on Monday.
I turned and trod back to the house. As she held the door open for me to enter and pass her, she complimented me again.
I see what good work you’re capable of, young man, when you listen, heed, and do as you’re told.
Thanks, Mrs. Evans, I replied meekly, looking for a place to sit down.
Oh, no, you don’t, my boy, she read my mind.
Go get those dirty clothes off and get back in the shower. When you’re ready and dressed in clean clothes, I’ll have lunch ready for you. After that, you can study and do homework.
Gee! I feel like I’m back in high school, being programmed and regimented with my time and work! As I thought of how to tell her to back off from dominating me, I looked at her face.
She glanced a no-nonsense, serious look of determination, and I thought better about saying anything in opposition. After all, she still hadn’t called my parents. So, I hurried into the bathroom, tore off my soiled, sweaty clothes, and got in the shower.
When I’d dried, I carried my dirty clothes to my bedroom to put in my laundry bag. It was missing, so I put them on the floor in the closet, unwrapped the towel from around me, and re-dressed in clean underwear, socks, jeans, and a sweater.
Are you ready, Connor? I heard Mrs. Evans call.
I hastened to the kitchen, smelling grilled cheese sandwiches, two of which she placed on a plate before me. Hungry from the strenuous work and the cool, outside air, I ate them quickly and downed the tall glass of milk before me.
Here’s a half dozen peanut butter cookies to hold you until dinner, Connor, she cheerfully offered, placing them on a small plate.
Thanks, Mrs. Evans. Ummm, these are really fresh, and gooood! I commented.
Good cookies for a good boy, she replied. I cringed at her words while blushing intensely.
Oh, ah, Mrs. Evans. I was looking for my laundry bag and it was missing from my bedroom.
That’s because Nana Evans took it and has your laundry going in the washing machine while we’re
Ah, why, Mrs. Evans?
Nana Evans, son?
Nana? I couldn’t help expressing the odd feelings at her wanting me to address her like I was her grandson.
Do you still have grandparents, Connor? she digressed with the question.
No ma’am, ah, Mrs. Evans, ah, they’re all gone.
There now, I knew it. See, you need a grandparent to look after you, spoil you when it’s right, and spank you when you surely need it. From now on, I’m gong to be your Nana Evans. That’s what you are to call me from now on, boy.
Man, I know I’m not yet an adult, and just embarking on being out in the world on my own; but being required to call her
Nana like a young grand kid was too much.
Ah, Mrs. Evans, I, ah, I mean it’s just not...
Nana Evans, Connor. You can say it. Say it now. Nana Evans.
I just stared at her, perplexed at this whole turn of events and finding myself under the demands of this lady who insisted on treating me like her juvenile grandson.
Say it, Connor – unless my boy needs another spanking to get his attention from a freshly
tanned little fanny.
Oh, gee whiz! She is really coercing me! I thought. But I’d already had 2 spankings from her in 24 hours. I sure didn’t want another.
Noooo, no, that’s not necessary, Mrs., ah, I mean, Nana Evans.
There you go, son. See, you feel better about that already, don’t you? And you’ve avoided another trip over Nana’s lap too. Of course, that doesn’t let you off the hook for tonight, after supper –
for disobeying and behaving so badly last night.
I grimaced at what I was hearing from her.
I know, Connor. No boy likes getting spanked. That’s what makes it so effective. After tonight’s, I doubt you will go off trying to deviate from your Nana’s rules again. You’re hot, sore little bottom will help you remember and obey in the future.
Anyway, Nana Evans is going to take over doing your laundry, Connor. That’ll give you more time to study, since you’ve got to get more done before your bedtime. You won’t have to worry about that any more.
So, now, you go on back to your room and get busy with your school work. I’ll call you when it’s dinner time.
I bit my lip, but refrained from objecting. Instead, I walked quickly back to my bedroom, took out books for assignments, and began working through them.
The combination of the late night, with too much alcohol, and the fresh air and exercise today, made me drowsy. My head was bobbing up and down and my eyes slamming shut.
All at once, Mrs. Evans was beside me.
Having trouble staying away, Connor? she asked. I nodded,
and she put a large mug of coffee on my desk.
Sip this, and maybe the caffeine will help wake you up, son.
It did help, and I finished a lot of homework by supper time. She called me to set the table, which I did readily and at once. We sat down to chicken cacciatore which she had prepared, along with squash and beans.
After supper, I was clearing the table and putting the dishes in the dish washer.
You’re a big help, dear, but you may as well go on into your room and get ready for the spanking you know you have coming. I’ll be in shortly and we’ll get it over with.
I flinched at her comment, turning to look at her. The serious intent in her eyes sent me on my way down the short hall to my bedroom.
Depressed, I sat down on my bed, pondering the strange set of circumstances that had swept me up and along so fast. How the heck did I get into this situation, sentenced and waiting to be spanked by my landlady?
Connor, why are you sitting there, and still dressed? My reverie was broken by her query as she strode into my room, vicious wooden spoon in hand.
You know spankings are always administered bare, young man. Stand up right this minute.
I did, and she took hold of my waist and belt, pulling me around 180 degrees to face her as she replaced me sitting on the side of my bed. Methodically, but with dispatch, she disrobed me of every stitch of clothing.
Being denuded to stand totally bare before her, I felt like a self-conscious, naughty, little boy, awaiting punishment. The added embarrassment was my instant, erect, stiff boner jutting out and up at her.
Now, son, over you go! her voice sweetly sung as she pulled me around to her right, then dragged me downward and forward across her lap. My penis was trapped between her legs, and she tightened them down on it, as she angled me better to hit.
Mrs. Evans started in with more hard spanks from the wooden spoon, which immediately brought a real cries of protest from me, as she counted the series of smacks to my buttocks and thighs.
One... two ... three... four... five... six...
She spanked more slowly, alternating from one red mound to the other, raising her hand two feet above my cheeks, and flicking her wrist at the last moment before impact. I gasped and lurched and kicked with each one. She was obviously a very experienced disciplinarian.
Seven... eight... nine... You know, Connor, I thought a real spanking might get your attention,... you naughty child... ten... eleven... twelve... Any boy who’s not too old to disobey and try me is definitely not too old to be well-spanked over the lap of an older woman whenever he misbehaves... like you have, Connor,... thirteen... fourteen... fifteen... .
I was flinching and squirming all over her lap, while my trapped, engorged penis rubbed against her legs during my wild movements. Increasingly, it was hard to listen to her as the pain drove to overriding intensity.
I hope you’re listening, because Nana is going to use spankings to make sure her boy minds... sixteen... seventeen... eighteen. You will soon come to see, I am a very capable woman when it comes to giving out spankings, even for big boys like you.... Nineteen... twenty... twenty-one...
Sooner or later, every boy who rents this room and disobeys me learns that. You are certainly not the first boy who’s ended up over my knee. Twenty-two... twenty-three... twenty-four... twenty-five.
Those first smacks were hard, coming in rapid succession. With my already hard penis positioned between her legs, I almost jumped off her lap after the first few swats.
They really hurt. They also propelled my rod driving up an down, back and forth between her legs.
She was a big, strong lady, and she held me down and proceeded to pepper my butt with smacks until hot, stinging pain was spreading all over. I was jumping and yelling for all I was worth. She paused momentarily at twenty-five, and I hoped this was the end.
She resumed the spanking with the wooden spoon. At first, I begged her to stop; but she only struck me harder and held me tighter, catching my hand as I moved my arm backwards, trying desperately to stop or shield the blows.
I was perspiring, my heart racing, my butt blazing like a forest fire as she whipped my cheeks sore with full pounding blows. Soon I was weeping, blubbering, quickly receding from my 17 year-old status to a younger, misbehaving, punished boy.
You just remember, youngster, as bad as this is, it’s only a taste of what a much harder spanking will be like, if you continue disobey. If you do, though Nana will give you one of those, and you will be crying your eyes out, while hopping up and down grabbing your torched little bottom that will feel like the skin has been flayed from it.
I grew hoarse from yelling, pleading with her, and begging God to deliver me. Soon I was actually crying aloud, sobbing out of control, as she spanked me even harder.
In a chastening, angry-toned voice she chided me.
Never mind begging God. He is surely blessing this spanking, because I am not sparing the rod on my boy. As a matter of fact, you’re going to get it harder, so get down there!
Surprisingly, she paused again. For a moment, I thought the punishment was over. Instead, she directed a question to me.
Are you listening, Connor? Do you understand me, son?
I honestly hadn’t heard it all, but I did hear the inquiry.
Yea-assess, Mrs. Evans! I screamed.
She resumed spanking my red, hot bottom with more smacks, while remonstrating me,
Yes, Nana, Connor!
Aaaa-uh-yeh-essss-uh-Nuh-annaaaa! I cried out as a desperate child emerged, wailing.
please no more! Please, Nana, no more spanking! Please... oh, please, Nana! Please! I won’t disobey
you any more... ever ! I promise, Nanaaaaaaa!
I’m sorry, young man, but we’re just beginning your licking. I’m a firm believer in long, sustained
spankings. I find boys learn a much better lesson if they spend a a goodly length of time over Nana’s
There’s something about a long spanking that gets a child’s attention and allows him and me to have a real talk about his behavior. A short spanking doesn’t correct problems very well at your age. A prolonged lesson forces you to think about what you did wrong, and what will happen if you misbehave again.
A longer spanking also helps most older boys admit they needed their punishment. Short spankings often leave a youngster bitter and more rebellious. After a long spanking, a child knows he’s been well punished, and why, and usually feels better afterwards. Especially when Nana takes him on her lap for a hug and a kiss and tells him that his punishment is over.
Only when a boy your age gets to the point where he can admit he deserved to be punished does he reap the full benefit of a spanking. That’s why cuddles afterwards are important too. They help older boys understand how spankings are a sign of maternal love they still need in many ways, even in college.
Believe me, no boy who has ever gone over my knee didn’t deserve and need the spanking he got, even if he couldn’t admit it right away. That’s where long spankings help.
Something different seems to happen, by the time I’m finished spanking. Most naughty boys your age, Connor, realize and can admit they still need someone to set firm limits for them, take them in hand when they exceed those limits.
A few boys have trouble admitting that, even after many spankings. Still, one thing they do agree on, despite their recurrent defiance, is how effective spankings are as a method of punishment and discipline
for their misbehaviour – especially boys your age. Once a child your age recognizes and admits
he deserved the spanking he got, and learned a good lesson from it, he knows exactly what to expect if
he misbehaves again.
At that point, it also helps to go over all the house rules again while he’s still blubbering, hanging upside down over my knees, so he has reinforced to him all the things that will lead to more spankings. You’d be surprised how well behaved most boys are after each, successive time they have to go over my knees, especially if its something they’ve already been warned about.
Tomorrow afternoon we are going to go over the rules once again, Connor, including the bedtime and morning get up time. You are going to assure us both you fully understand and accept your responsibility to comply with them, young man.
Oooo-hooo-uh-kaaaaay-huh-uh-buh-uht-uh-pleeeez, stuh-aaaahp-uh-spaaaang-keeeng meeeeee-huh-uh-Naaan-uh-uh-aaaaaa! I cried out in a boyish, soprano-like voice.
Your acting out, and needing these spankings, is really not surprising, Connor. I find most boys initially test my resolve by misbehaving in some way or another again, within a few days after their first
spankings. I suppose they just can’t believe I actually took their pants down and paddled their bare bottoms
red, hot, and sore, she explained.
I remember one boy, who even left his door slightly open so I would catch him masturbating, just to see if I meant what I said. Of course, he wished he hadn’t, and learned I did. That’s what you did by not coming home when you were told to last night, isn’t it, Connor?
I gulped amidst my sobbing convulsively over her lap as she continued smacking my bare bum and upper legs while lecturing me. I couldn’t sustain any focused listening to her lecture that was more and more background sound to the severe spanking afflicting my bottom and upper legs.
You might be surprised at how many college students renting this room over the years have realized and accepted they needed regular discipline to keep them in line, once they got their first experience of being punished. One boy, for four years straight, earned himself two or three spankings a week, usually for trying to peep on me in the shower.
He also got drunk with a friend who was staying over for the weekend. Later on, he told me his friend didn’t believe I spanked him and wanted to visit to see if it was really true.
After catching them both red-handed in this very same room, I marched the friend to the corner, while I gave the boy-renter good, hard spanking right then and there, with his friend watching. Judging by the horrified expression on the friend’s face, it dawned on him while standing there watching he was next.
He was. I finished with the first boy, put him in another corner, and took the friend out from his corner, brought him over to the bed, and took his pants down.
Boy was he embarrassed at finding himself stripped, overturned, and spanked, not to mention when I saw how excited he was. Of course, that didn’t last very long once his spanking began. He was the cockier of the two; but he cried even more, and harder, once he went over my knee.
As you now know, I believe in giving spankings right away for infractions. No delay, no waiting. You know immediately what you have coming, young man!
All her fiery flurry of smacks were landing right in the very center of my butt! I was screaming now, at the top of my lungs, and kicking, trying to get away, with occasional curses slipping out; but to no avail. This lady was strong as a man.
The pounding got harder and each blow seemed to sear into my consciousness bringing me further and further from thinking awareness and more and more into submission. It felt as if welts were forming on my mounds under the blistering assault, burning like an eternal fire.
At the same time, my boner kept getting harder. I found myself somehow balanced over her knee, with my hard, stiff member trapped between her legs.
When she closed them on me, I flinched, feeling them compressing and rubbing against my pole that moved as I jolted with each smack. My penis was rigid and sensitive, and every time I shifted around, it rubbed against her nylon-covered legs.
The air was charged with an electric tension. Shame competed with arousal.
That was when I made the stupid mistake of coupling my pleas for a stoppage of the spanking with demands that she do so.
Please, please staaaaaahp! I didn’t meeeeeean itttt! I swearrrr!-uh-uh-and-uh-I-uh-cuh-aaaan’t uh-nooo-uh-staaaap it now!
Out of nowhere, I totally burst into loud, high-pitched sobbing, bawling like a baby. I was so embarrassed now, crying big, heaving sobs, like a little kid – or worse, like a little girl! But I could not help it.
For at least a good 10 more minutes she walloped me so hard I screeched with every blow. My nose was snotty and my mouth drooled like a child. Yet as I cried my young rod was in a frenzied overload.
All at once, I exploded, shooting ejaculate repeatedly, all over, as if this would be my last ejaculation ever. In a kind of primordial release, I shrieked amidst the pain with delirious pleasure while exploding between her soft thighs.
Ever attentive, Mrs. Evans continued to spank me gently through my orgasm and for another few minutes until I regained composure that focused and reacted solely on the pain and shame of getting a spanking.
Now, that’s we’ve taken care of that, young man, it’s time for the real spanking I promised.
With that announcement, Mrs. Evans began to spank me more briskly, all the time watching me carefully so as not to push things too far. I was hoping she would stop spanking me now, but my orgasm seemed to ramp up the spanking harder.
Nana doesn’t mind if you have a climax when she’s putting you over her knees and spanking your little rump, son. That’s a normal reaction from boys your age who find themselves being disciplined. I’m also well aware that a boy your age needs a reasonable amount of relief.
This licking no longer felt erotic in any way. It was really now just discipline – pure and simple. I kept crying and wiggling, trying to escape out of her control on her lap. She paused intermittently for extra scolding throughout the process, constantly explaining exactly what she was doing and why.
When at last she stopped scorching my bare bottom and thighs, I was just a small, young boy, squalling and sorry for being bad and having to be spanked because of it. She stood up, obviously aware of the ejaculate on her from my orgasm.
Instead of mentioning it any more, she informed me,
You are now going to bed, to stay put until
tomorrow morning, Connor. In the morning, I’ll wake you in plenty of time to get up and get ready to go to mass with me.
I was in no mood, with no moxey, to oppose her in any way.
Come on, now, child, into your bed.
As she pulled down the sheet and blanket, holding them for me, I slid into bed on my stomach, nude, with my dark red, wounded bottom glowing. She pulled them back up over my butt, back, and shoulders, then turned to leave me.
Just before closing the door, she turned and said,
Just so you know, young man, if you act up, disobey, take a defiant tone and attitude with me again, you are going to go right back over my lap immediately, and Nana’s going to give you a very sound spanking, you understand, don’t you, Connor?
I nodded in my pillow from the bed. She paused, then demanded,
What do you say, Connor?
Still weeping, I stammered out an answer:
Good boy. Now you try to go to sleep, angel, even though it’s early. It’s part of your punishment, and you brought it on yourself.
I’ll stop back in around 10:30 to check on you, make sure your sleeping. Goodnight, child.
Good night, Nana.
In view of the threat of a spanking earlier that afternoon, I had for the first time called her Nana. It was because she insisted, unrelentingly, or face another – a third – spanking that day.
I had never even imagined, much less considered, calling her Nana, before she introduced and demanded it. During this spanking she’d just dispensed, it just slipped into the dialogue. I guess her insistence on my saying it, calling her that, repeatedly made it easier sounding to say.
Now, though, somehow the tingling warmth of my sore bottom, and the after glow of my earlier orgasm, from the recent spanking this night, all added up to new and strange feelings of being loved, cared for and protected. I also felt safe and a security which I wanted her to know.
Lying in my bed, my bottom still tingling and stinging, I suddenly felt closer to Mrs. Evans than ever before. Any thoughts of hostility or anger were vanished from my mind.
An hour later, I was drifting off into a sound sleep when Mrs. Evans returned. Sitting on my bed, she took this clinging youngster, pulled me up from the mattress, onto her lap, cradling me and rocking me in her arms.
After fifteen or twenty minutes of silent, secure nestling, I had completely let loose and relaxed, nodding off to sleep. Gently, firmly, she lifted me up and lowered this soundly sleeping, exhausted, young man onto my face and stomach on my bed.
She pulled up the sheet and blanket to cover me for the night. Unbeknownst to me, she also leaned down and kissed me on the side of my forehead.
The next morning, she came in awakening me to her singing
You are my sunshine. I blanched, then blushed deep crimson, as she tore off the bed covers and pulled me out of bed completely naked.
Hurry, now, Connor. Nana’s got breakfast ready after you shower and get dressed for mass. We’ll go in my car.
I fled to the bathroom, if for no other reason than to regain some modesty from the exposure of standing bare before her. Afterward, dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, and khakis, with dress shoes, I joined her for breakfast.
When we finished, she asked me if I had a tie to wear, to which I shook my head
Wait right here, child, she instructed. Leaving, she returned a minute or so later with a tie in her hand. It was bright yellow and blue striped.
This was one of Mr. Evans’ ties, he explained.
Put it on and tie it, and you’ll be all set.
I threaded it backward through my collar.
No, no, no, boy! Don’t you know how to tie a tie? she asked.
No, Mrs., ah, I mean, Nana, I quickly adjusted myself at seeing her scowl.
I’ve never needed
Here, stand still, she directed. I froze, standing unmoving. She threaded the tie into my collar around my neck. Adjusting the length, she then tied it in a half Windsor.
There you go, she replied.
Oh, my, doesn’t Nana’s boy look handsome! You’re going to be a knockout as you get older, youngster, I blushed and thanked her for tying the tie for me.
That Saturday night was the first of many nights over the rest of the semester when Mrs. Evans would come in and fetch me from my bed around bedtime, and hold me in her arms on her lap, cradling and rocking me, cooing to me what a good boy I was, how proud of me she was.
Although I reacted by trying to resist the next time it happened, she quickly turned me back over her lap, had my boxers removed, and spanked my bottom so hot and red, I surrendered completely, promising never to object, or oppose her doing it again. She put me back into my bed bare, on my stomach, my arms and hands grasping my flaming bottom, and I fell asleep acceding to her wishes.
As I soon discovered, nestled on her lap, in her arms, in the dark, I just let go and totally relaxed. She usually left all the lights out and ended up transporting me back into my bed to finish sleeping through the night until morning wake-up time.
That Sunday morning was the first of every Sunday I got up, got ready, and went to mass with Mrs. Evans. Before 6 p.m., she drove me back to the parish hall for Catholic youth, coming to pick me up to go home by 10 p.m. By 10:30, I was in bed getting a good night’s sleep to begin the week of classes and school work.
Over the next few months, I learned even more about complying with her rules and requirements. Over that same period of time, it was obvious I was maturing into the kind of young man that not only my parents intended me to be all the time they had been raising me, but also Mrs. Evans – Nana Evans – who I plainly demonstrated my desire to please.
I was extremely careful, however, to keep private what went on at my home, with my
Nana Evans, and avoid any inkling about it away from there or on campus.
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