Transfiguration

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Richie had never experienced such freedom as he felt when his new mother took his hand and walked him out to her car. He breathed in the fresh autumn air and was exhilarated. His artist’s eye took in the blazing golds, scarlets, and oranges of the trees. He gasped when he saw his mother’s car. It was huge and shiny, gleaming black with chromed exhaust ports, grill, and bumpers. The interior was cushiony gray. She smiled at his wonder and told him it was a ‘51 Buick as she wheeled the car onto the street. In her silk dress, white gloves and heels, Richie thought his mother was more beautiful than Deanna Durbin.

To his embarrassment, his mother stopped at a department store and bought three dozen diapers and several pairs of rubber pants. As she loaded the shopping bag into the car she said, “Sister Felice suggested I keep you in diapers for now. Later on, I’ll see how you do. Are you wet now?” she asked down at him.

Richie turned scarlet at his mother’s frankness. “No, Mother,” he mumbled, ever so grateful he’d been able to hold it.

His new home was a modest white frame bungalow set on a small groomed lot. His mother lived on a quiet street lined with over-arching elms that formed a dense green canopy over the street. He thought she must have heaps of money to live this good. Eager to help, he jumped out and swung open the heavy garage doors. After she pulled in, he proudly closed the garage doors and followed her into the house.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender, fresh-cut flowers, and furniture polish. Margaret hung her new strap on a hook in the kitchen. “Right where you’ll be sure to see it, young man,” she said primly, then took him upstairs to his bedroom. Richie was beside himself now. He had never known such privacy at the orphanage. Now, he had his very own bedroom.

As she unpacked his meager bag, she frowned. “I’m taking you shopping tomorrow - pants, shirts, shoes, and ties. You’ll also need jeans and tops for home.” She paused to look down into his eyes. “I’m also stopping at the fabric store for patterns and material. I am going to make you some pretty things; ruffled underpants to go over your diapers, jumpers, and some prissy little dresses. Nana and Circle will expect no less when we visit them.”

Richie’s brows rose and his lips pursed into a tiny O. He tried not to look too crestfallen.

“I won’t tolerate your pouting, Richie. You had better stop it right now. If those ruby lips don’t turn into a smile, I’ll take you over my knee. Headmistress told me about the denim jumper in your bag. She made you wear it on Naughty Sundays, didn’t she?” Richie nodded and blushed to his neckline. “Well, little man, I intend to continue that practice. So, you’d better resign yourself to be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Richie sighed as his enthusiasm to explore the house diminished.

Margaret showed him where to put his clothing. Sensing his dismay and embarrassment, she put her arm around him and drew him into the arc of her hip. “You have nothing to fear, Richie. I’ll be a good mother and you’ll be a good boy.” She gave him a gentle slap on his buttocks. “Now run along. You have my permission to roam the house from the attic to the basement. However, you must never enter my bedroom without my permission. If I catch you there, I will warm your seat. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I promise.”

“Good. Get on with you, then. Go investigate the house and the garage. Mind the street.”

Reinvigorated, Richie hurried down the stairs. He sailed out the back door to the beckoning garage. He’d never had this much fun poking through his mother’s house. That night, exhausted and alone in a new bed between crisp new sheets he’d never experienced in the orphanage, he lay awake and stared at the ceiling. The excitement of his new home could not replace his need for Allen. Already, he missed him, desperately longed to feel his plump warmth burrowed into his backside.

September passed into November. For the most part, Richie settled easily into his new home. There were occasional temper displays, but Margaret had not found good cause to spank her new son. That would change right before Thanksgiving. She was delighted to find out the nuns at Richie’s grade school worked closely with the order of sisters that operated Holy Angels orphanage. The Principal had received a folder on Richie and she knew Sister Benita. Richie was dismayed to find his new teachers knew him nearly as well as Sister Felice did.

Sister Maria, the Principal, showed him the paddle she kept behind her desk and warned him she didn’t want to see him in her office. However, if a teacher sent him to her office, he would not forget the lesson she would give him. Richie had nodded his tacit understanding. The last thing he wanted was to be sent to the office.

The first snow fell two days before Thanksgiving, dropping nearly a foot before it was over. Richie was overjoyed. He’d found an old sled in the garage and was anxiously waiting for snow. He asked his mother if he could go sledding at a nearby hill. Allen would be there, too. Margaret approved, but reminded him dinner would on the table at five and he had better not be late.

Richie left the house at noon and trudged through the deep snow to the hill. He was having so much fun; he forgot the time and didn’t get home until six. He and his diaper were soaked to the skin and his feet were frozen. The kitchen air was heavy with the delicious smells of roast beef and gravy. He was starving. His mother was in her apron sweeping the kitchen floor when Richie came in the back door. She took one look at him and shook her head. Glancing at her new strap, she decided the time has come to begin his training. She set her hands on her hips. Like a snowball by the fireplace, he melted in her gaze, “Before I take you up to my bedroom, what have you to say for yourself?”

“I-I forgot the time, Mother. No one had a watch.”

“That’s no excuse. You knew it was growing dark.”

Richie nodded. He just knew she was going to tan his hide. He’d have to make the best of it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have come home sooner.”

“It would have been a lot easier if you had. You have just earned yourself a strapping, young man. Take off your boots and get down to the laundry room.”

In the basement, Margaret stripped off his wet jacket and clothing. He stood before her, naked and shivering on the concrete floor. She wrapped him in a bath towel and bent down to peer into his face. Shaking her finger beneath his nose, she said, “Shame on you, child. You know better than to disobey me. I thought you had already learned I am your mother, your superior, and you must obey me. You seem to have forgotten that.” She grabbed his arm and spun him around. Her hand flew, landing several noisy smacks on his wet bottom cheeks.

Startled by the sting of his mother’s hand and the abrupt change in her demeanor, Richie tried to remain silent. His mother wouldn’t let up. She continued to spank him with her hand, like once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. He began to bawl and promise while she lectured him on absolute obedience to her and the other women in his life. His wet seat made her spanking even more painful. Through the pain, he heard her say, “That’s just a warm-up! You will get the real thing upstairs. Now get a move on.”

She followed him back up to the kitchen and up to the second floor bathroom. She ran a steaming hot tub and scrubbed him unmercifully with her stiff-bristled bath brush. After toweling him dry, she took him into her sewing room where she stood him on a chair. Naked and trembling in the cool air, Richie had to watch his mother take an unfinished dress from her sewing table.

“Extend your arms over your head, Richie.”

She dropped the un-hemmed dress over his head and worked it down over his slender body. He had no idea why, but the cotton fabric excited him. It slid over his bare skin, enveloping him, eliciting a curious thrill he’d never felt before. Before filling her mouth with pins, his mother said, “You are going to wear this tomorrow for Thanksgiving at Nana’s.”

Richie cringed at the thought of going to Nana’s in a dress. “Mama, please don’t make me. Nana’s housekeeper…she’ll pinch my seat…I won’t do it!”

His defiance earned him another other good slap to his seat. “Stop talking nonsense. Miss Grayson is a God-fearing woman. She’s been Nana’s housekeeper for thirty years. She practically raised me. I can see my little girl is going to need a healthy dose of bitter medicine. Stand still! I’m hemming your dress.” When she was finished, she removed it and laid it on her sewing table. She’d finish it tomorrow before they went to her mother’s home.

She took Richie into her bedroom where she ordered him to lie on his back on her bed. Since this was his first spanking, she had decided not to use her new strap. She took a fat wooden hairbrush from her dresser and went to the bed. She took Richie’s ankles in her hand and lifted them high. She began to spank his bare seat as Sister Felice suggested. What she called diaper style. As she looked down at him and saw his reaction to the smacks of her hairbrush, she decided Sister was right. It was an effective method, which she would use again. And of course, there was the new strap, which as yet she hadn’t used.

As Richie’s thin buttocks began to glow, a sense of tranquility settled over her. A sense of purpose she hadn’t known since the death of her husband enhanced her maternal indignation. She no longer heard Richie’s cries and promises. Tears filled her eyes. She was a disciplinary matron again. She winged a silent prayer of thanks as she added to the bloom in her boy’s bottom. Snow began to fall, sheeting the bedroom windows, blanketing the lawn, turning the neighborhood an immaculate white …