The funeral chapel was adorned with flowers that were almost as vibrant as the memories of her that painted themselves in my mind. Connie was gone. Her eyes had been a soft brown that could melt the hardest of hearts with a single look of disappointment, her auburn hair had been a halo that framed her always earnest face.

She had not been a beautiful woman, but a cute one as I remember, when she was about thirty-two, the year she took me in. I was sixteen that year, the year they locked my whore mother away for stealing all of that money.

Connie had been a childhood friend of my mom’s back in Kentucky when they were children. It was a convenient enough arrangement to have me move in with her because she lived near Dayton, Ohio, where I was scheduled to be a freshman at the university in the fall.
It’s embarrassing to admit that my most lasting memory of those first days after I moved in with Connie was that ass! Oh, that ass! My undersized cock grew hard every time I looked at it, and I looked at it a lot! It seemed sacrilegious to remember such a carnal thing at her funeral, but I knew that it was a memory that would never leave me. So sue me.

The pews in the chapel creaked with the weight of the townfolk. They were all Ohioans by now, all hillbilly migrants from Kentucky who had long ago flooded into Ohio for jobs. But even after the passage of decades they were all still hillbillies in appearance and demeanor, all dressed in their Sunday best, whispering old-fashioned, but heartfelt condolences to me that I could barely make out over the voices from the past that I couldn't silence.

I remembered that Connie sat me down on that very first day in her house and said, "Listen to me. Yer a young'un. and I reckon right now yer MY young'un," she said, her Kentucky accent thick and warm, "I ain’t never been married, and I might not ever be, so I live here alone. But this is a Christian house, mister, and I go to my job and work hard ever day to have it.”

“I know yer a smart boy and I’m proud to know ya. I reckon I ain’t never knowed nobody that went to college. But don’t go getting’ persnickety about it. I've got rules in this house that you need to foller if yer gonna live under my roof. Christian rules. First off, yer to show respect to your elders, to God, and to yourself, and above all, to me. I will not be disrespected. I won't have it! This home will have no cussin', no drinkin', and no actin' up'. None of that college boy carryin’ on! You understand me?"

"And as for the other things," she said, her eyes drifting to the floor before she met my gaze again, "You know how a boy can get curious, especially one as...uh...high-falutin’ and smart-alecky as I've heard you've always been. Well, if you go pokin' around down there where a good Christian boy ain't supposed to be pokin', or if you go gettin' any filthy ideas, I've got a belt that I bought down at the store as soon as I knew you wuz comin’ here that'll set you straight. You need to watch yer p’s and q’s, mister.”

Her cheeks flushed redder than a sunset over the Kentucky hills, and she cleared her throat before continuing, "Now, I don't mean to scare ya, but the devil's always lookin' for a way in, and I ain't gonna let him near you. You're too cute for that!"

Well…that last part made me blush!

I looked up at her. Hell, she was thirty-two and cute. She wasn't Liz Taylor, but even though she was practiced at making herself look plain, the men in town, especially the teenage boys, appreciated it when she walked down the street. They thought she was cute, just like I did. My hard little cock certainly thought she was cute!

But there was that one thing that set her apart from the other ladies in her little hillbilly neighborhood. That was her amaaaazing ass! It was like a firm peach, begging to be squeezed. Her plain dresses that she wore every day had a way of hugging it, making it wiggle slightly when she walked, and my young mind would often drift to thoughts that I knew were forbidden by every saint in heaven. And sometimes she wore those pedal pushers! I believe to this day that she was unaware how they stretched across her perfect peach-shaped ass!

I remember her sitting at her kitchen table lecturing me, her cheeks growing redder than an apple when she talked about the belt. Her eyes would light up when the subject of the belt came up. The very idea of it made my stomach flip-flop. I didn't dare think about the consequences of acting on the impulses that swirled in my young brain.

But as she talked about the devil's temptations, my eyes couldn't help but drift down to her ass again. Temptation! Whenever I sneaked a look at her ass, I heard a voice calling to me, a voice that I couldn't silence.

"I ain't sayin' none of this to scare you, sugar," she whispered, "I'm sayin' it 'cause I love you. And I don't want you to go down the same path as your momma.”

The mention of my mother, the two-bit whore who had abandoned me, had committed a serious crime, and had been hauled off to prison, sent a cold shiver down my spine. I knew Connie didn't mean to hurt me, but her harsh words about my mom stung. I wouldn't be like mom! I couldn't. She was a thief and a whore. I swore that I would rather be somethin’ good, like Connie.

But even as she said her words of warning, the devil on my shoulder whispered to me about that tight, peach-shaped ass! And it was all I could do to keep from giving myself away!

One summer evening, I was out on her back porch, working on a school project. It was hot and sticky, and my thoughts had begun to drift to the coolness of the water in her washtub and the sweet relief that awaited me there at bath time. Little did I know that Connie had come out to check on me, her eyes drawn by the sound of rustling papers.

As I stood up, the tent in my pants gave me away. My face went hot, and my heart raced. And Connie's shadow fell over me.

"What are you doin'?" she barked, her voice like a shotgun blast in the quiet evening.

I yelped and jumped away, my cheeks burning with guilt even though my pants were still zipped up. "Nothin'," I managed to croak out, my voice cracking.

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to grab my wrist. "Don't you lie to me!" she growled, her grip like a vice. "You were just playin' with yerself, wasn't ya?"

She stepped closer, her eyes searching my face for any sign of deceit. "Look at me, mister," she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. "You ain't never lied to me before, and I ain't about to let you start now!"

My mouth went dry, and my heart hammered in my chest as I looked into her eyes. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, pooling in my underwear, making me feel even more exposed. "I swear, Connie," I managed to choke out, "I was just... I don't know what you're talkin' about."

Her grip tightened, and she yanked me closer, her face a mask of furious disappointment. "I ain't blind," she snarled, her sweet drawl somehow becoming the edge of a butcher's knife, "I know what fellers your age do when they're alone.

That little spitfire was utterly intimidating. As I said before, she wasn’t very big, but neither was I. It ran through my mind that if I back sassed her too much, she might kick my ass!

Then she dragged me into the house, her nails digging into my arm. The whole time, I protested, insisting that I hadn't been doing anything of the sort, but she wasn't having any of it. She pulled me into her room, the same room where she had given me so many stern lectures on Christian behavior, and slammed the door shut behind us.

"Take off yer pants," she ordered, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

My heart was racing, and my palms were slick with sweat as I fumbled with the button of my jeans. I hadn't been masturbating, but the evidence was damning—that is, my crotch was bulging. And Connie was eyeballing it for sure!

"Now, Connie," I pleaded, my voice shaking as I tried to reason with her, "I swear to God, I wasn't doin' it. I just... I don't know, it just happens sometimes. The belt was on my mind, and I knew that she was gonna give me a lickin.’ My rock hard little cock whispered to me that this might work out okay. Takin’ a butt-whoopin’ from a lady with an ass like hers all of a sudden seemed like an excellent idea! So, I screwed up my courage and said, “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Connie. Go ahead and whup me, I reckon I got it a-comin.’’ My cock said, “Yes!”

Her eyes, usually so warm and loving, had grown cold. "I know what happens when you boys get to a-thinkin' on playin' with thurselves!," she said, her grip on my wrist like a vise. "And I ain't havin' it under my roof. Yer gonna learn to control yerself, or I'm gonna control that awful thing for ya. And why is it standin’ up like that with me standin’ right in front of ya. You are disrespectin’ me, mister” Then she looked down at my minuscule hard-on and sputtered, “I mean Little Mister!”

With that, she pulled her belt from behind her bed. My eyes widened in horror as she raised it high. "Bend over, Little Mister" she ordered, her voice now deadly calm.

I did as I was told, my heart hammering against my ribs as I stared at the floorboards, feeling the coolness of the room against my bare skin. I was willing to submit to her discipline out of respect for her even though I knew I was innocent. I could hear her breathing heavily, her emotions threatening to explode. The belt whistled through the air and bit into my ass, the pain a sudden, shocking reality that sent my eyes watering. " Connie, please!" I yelled, but she wasn't listening.

The sting grew with each strike, a crescendo of pain that had me writhing and gritting my teeth. "You'll learn," she shouted, her voice trembling with rage, "You'll learn to behave yerself when you're under my roof!" Her strokes grew harder and faster, painting stripes across my ass and back. The pain was intense, but it was the humiliation that stung the most. My cock, which had been the root of this misunderstanding, was hard as a rock. I was liking this! How could my cock not be hard when I was getting’ an ass-whuppin’ from a mighty pissed off woman who just happed to have a perfect peach-shaped ass!

Then I started cryin,’ and I was pretty loud.

“Shut up yer bellerin’, Little Mister. Yer not gonna stand there and cry and wiggle out of this!” she screamed. Her arm swung back and forth, the belt cutting through the air like a serpent's tongue. Each strike brought a new wave of agony, the sound of it hitting my skin echoing in the small, stifling room like gunshots.

I wanted to scream, to tell her that she was wrong, but my fear of her, and my fear of losing her love, kept the words lodged in my throat. And she wasn't listening. She was lost in her own world of righteous anger, her face a mask of disappointment and disgust. "I've tried to teach you right, but you ain't nothin' but a sinner," she spat, dropping the belt to the floor. "But I'm gonna save ya, even if it means gettin' my hands dirty."

Her hand reached out, and before I could react, she grabbed my little hard-on. I gasped as she squeezed, her grip surprisingly firm despite her small hands. "Look at it," she said, her voice a mix of pity and revulsion, "It's so...little. I thought you wuz growin’ into a man!" And there was that disappointed look of hers again!

Connie left the room, and I could hear her rummaging around in the bathroom. I didn't dare move. When she returned, she was holding a bottle of lotion that she must've found in her nightstand. She told me to lie on my back on the bed, and I did as she said. She straddled my thighs, her skirt riding up to expose her thighs.

"Look at this. This poor little thing ain’t big enough to even be proper. I pity whoever’s gonna be yore wife!" she said. her voice a mix of disgust and pity as she pointed at my penis, "You ain't never gonna be a growed-up  man with that little thing."

I lay there, my face burning with humiliation as she unscrewed the cap of the lotion bottle and drizzled the cool, viscous liquid all over my penis and my crotch. The smell of the lotion, something faintly medicinal, filled the air, making the situation feel even more surreal. She hurt me to the bone when she called my cock "this poor little thing," her voice dripping with condescension, and I felt smaller than I had ever felt in my life. IN MY LIFE!

Connie’s hands were surprisingly gentle as she slathered the cool lotion on my disappointing cock, her touch sending shivers through me. "You ain't never gonna get a girl with that thing of yers," she said, her voice a strange mix of pity and disdain "Them girls out there like 'em big. They like 'em to fill 'em up right proper. Ever girl wants that!"

Her hand began to move up and down my shaft, the lotion making everything slick and smooth. My body was betraying me, responding to her touch despite the horror of the situation. "But it's okay," she whispered, her eyes never leaving mine, "I'm here to help ya. This ain't nothin' but a little lovin' from somebody who loves ya," she murmured, her breath hot against my face.

The sensation was strange, a mix of pain and pleasure that I didn't know how to process. But my body didn't care about the moral implications—it only knew that it felt good, and that she was kinda cute, and it responded accordingly. My hips began to buck involuntarily, my legs kicking out as the tension grew within me. Connie leaned closer, her eyes half-lidded, and whispered, "You just let it go, sugar. Let Connie make it all better." And she did.

Her hand moved faster and faster, the sound of the lotion slopping in her palm the only sound in the room. My vision swam, my mind racing with thoughts that I knew I shouldn't be havin’ but I couldn't stop them. "You ain't never gonna have to worry about that devil no more," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to my fevered brain, "Not as long as I'm here to save ya."

"Ain't this sinful, Connie?" I choked out, the words a mix of ecstasy and fear as I felt my climax approaching.

Her grip on my cock tightened, her eyes never leaving mine, "It's only sinful if it's a big, long, fat cock," she drawled, a hint of mischief playing at the corners of her mouth, "Yours ain't nothin' but a little ol' thing. It don't even count."

The words were like a match to dry kindling, setting my nerves ablaze. My hips bucked, and I couldn't hold back the cry of pleasure that tore from my throat as I came. My cum spurted up, one rope landing in her hair and another splashing her face. She didn't flinch, just kept on strokin' until I was wrung dry, my body a trembling mess beneath her.

I looked up at her as sweetly as I could and said, "I want you to be my girlfriend, Connie. I want you to be my girlfriend forever."

Her eyes went wide, and she scoffed, her cheeks flaming redder than the sunset back home in Kentucky that she was always goin' on about. "What are you talkin' about, sweetheart? I’m a full-growed woman and you ain’t growed up at all!" she said, her voice high-pitched and shrill. "I ain't your girlfriend, and I ain't never gonna be, Little Mister. I won’t stand for this disrespect!"

I felt my heart drop like a rock into my stomach, but I couldn't help the way I felt. I sat up, my ass still stingin' and achin' from the belt, and looked at her with all the sincerity I could muster. "But why not, Connie?" I asked, my voice crackin' with emotion. "I ain't got nobody else, and you're the only one who's ever really cared 'bout me. Ya said yerself I ain't ever gonna have a proper girlfriend. You're the sweetest one. You're the prettiest one. Cantcha jus' be my girlfriend, Connie? I don't even have a momma!"

"Oh, sugar," she said, her voice softer now, "You're just a boy with a crush. You don't know what you're sayin.'"

I wailed out a plea, a pitiful plea, "Can't I even have a crush? I like it when you grab that belt and whip me, Connie! It makes me feel so many things all at once. And I like how it made me feel when you loved me up with your hand. You're like a mommy and a girlfriend all rolled into one. I wish I could be your boyfriend, but you say I can't. I reckon that’s ‘cause I don't have a proper cock. You said no girl would ever want that! And you even said it's too little to be sinful. But I love you, Connie. I'm just tellin' you my real feelin’s!" Then I started crying.

Her eyes got all soft and sad lookin' and she wiped her hand across her forehead, smearin' my cum into her skin. "Now, now, don't you go gettin' all worked up," she said, her voice all gentle. "You ain't gotta worry 'bout that. You're just confused is all, Little Mister."

Her big brown eyes searched mine, a storm of emotion brewin' behind them. I could see the struggle, the conflict ragin' within her. Her hand, still sticky with my cum, hovered in the air for a moment, as if it were weighin' the gravity of what I'd just said. Then, she took a deep breath and reached out to cup my cheek, her touch as warm and gentle as a mother's. "Shh, shh," she murmured, her voice a sweet caress. "You're just a boy, a college freshman and I'm a full-growed woman. We gotta keep things right with the Lord, you understand?"

Then I said, "You say those girls out there won't have me, and you won't have me either. I have love for you and there's no place to put it," I complained bitterly. After today, what are things gonna be like around here? Do we have to make like nothin' ever happened? That it adds up to nothin'? Are we gonna act like I'm just nothin'?" I couldn't stop crying.

Then I let it all out, "Yer my only chance to ever be happy. I want you to whip me with that belt everyday until I cry. I want you to lotion me up and pump my thingy thing ever day, like yer my girlfriend and you wanna look after me. Ain't nobody has to know!”

Connie looked at me with a mix of horror and pity. "Little Mister, what are you sayin'?" she whispered, her eyes growin’ wider. "You can't mean that. It's not right!"

But I was adamant, my voice steady despite the tremor of desperation that ran through me. "I do, Connie. I mean it. You're all I got.”

Connie looked at me, her expression unreadable for a long moment, the air between us thick with the scent of her sweat and my fear. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping in a way that seemed to age her a dozen years. "Alright," she said finally, her voice weary, "But you gotta know, it's gonna be different. I'll be your girlfriend, but you've gotta behave. No funny business unless I say so, you understand? And nobody can ever know."

Her expression remained stern, but I could see the hint of something softer in her eyes. "Good," she said, her voice firm. "But you gotta know the rules, and you gotta stick to 'em. No tellin' nobody, no matter how much you think you can trust 'em. This stays between us."

"What are the rules gonna be, Connie? I asked in a soft and trembling voice.

Her voice grew stern, "You're gonna do what I say, when I say it. No backtalk, no sass, no disobedience. You're gonna go to church with me, you're gonna pray with me, and you're gonna keep your hands to yerself unless I tell you otherwise."

I came back with, "Otherwise? When will 'otherwise' happen?" I pleaded.

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she took a moment to compose herself before speaking, her voice low and measured. "When I say so, Sweetie. When I decide it's time for you... for you to learn how to be a man."

Then I said, "Does that mean gettin' whipped with your belt? Does that mean you lovin' me up with your hand? Does that mean you lovin' me like you're my girlfriend? Because if all that is what you mean, I will obey you forever!” I declared.

Her voice went soft, like a warm summer breeze rustling through a cornfield. "It means all that, Kittle Mister," she whispered, "And a few extras I'll throw in."

The words hit me like a bolt of lightning, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Connie, my strict, God-fearing caretaker, speaking to me in such a way. I felt a mix of shock and excitement, my heart racing in anticipation of what she could possibly mean by "extras."

Her hand slid down to my crotch, and she gave me a gentle squeeze, her eyes never leaving mine. "From now on, you call me Sweetheart or Baby Doll," she said, her drawl thick and sweet as molasses, "And I'll call you 'Little Mister.' And if you're a good boy and do as I say, you'll get all that you mentioned and more."

I nodded, my voice trembling with the gravity of the promise she'd made. "I'll obey you, Baby Doll," I murmured, the words feeling strange and yet incredibly right on my tongue. "I'll be the best Little Mister any girlfriend ever had!"

Connie leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear. "And the extras," she whispered, her voice dripping with something that made my cock stand up taller than ever, "Those are special treats for when you're extra good. Like a secret that a proper girlfriend has for her proper boyfriend."

The thought of Connie, with her everyday plain dresses and stern demeanor, being a Baby Doll lover sent a thrill through me that was more potent than any belt cutting into my ass could ever be. "What are the extras, Baby Doll?" I asked, my voice barely a croak.

Her hand began to move again, stroking my cock through my pants as she spoke. "Well, for starters," she said, her eyes half-lidded, "You get to watch me when I take my bath. And maybe, if you're really good, I'll let you help me wash some of those hard-to-reach places that a girl has, Little Mister."

I could feel my dick swelling under her touch, the image of her naked body, slick with soap and water, filling my mind. "Oh, God, sweetheart," I moaned, "I'll do anything for you."

Her smile grew wider, and she leaned in to kiss me, her lips as soft and sweet as the strawberries from her garden. "That's my good boy," she murmured, her hand moving faster. "Remember, though, this is our little secret. Just for us."

And as she whispered those words into my ear, I knew that I was forever bound to her, and my cock shot off its streams of cum again with results that were similar to those of an hour before. Where did Connie even learn this kind of shit, I shouted to myself!

In the days that followed, our lives took on a new rhythm, a secret rhythm that no one else in town knew about. I'd come home from school, do my chores, and then wait for the moment she'd call me into her room. Her voice would be sweet as apple pie, "Little Mister, come here."

And I would obey, my heart racing like a rabbit through her garden. She'd lay me over her knee, the smell of her lavender perfume filling the room as she'd pull down my pants and give me a good, hard spanking. Or if she were mad, she would whip me with the belt that cut into my skin, and I'd feel something else, somethin' that made me feel alive in a way I never had before.

Then she'd tell me to strip down, and she'd run her hand over my striped ass, her nails scrapin' against my skin in a way that enflamed my soul. "You're mine now, you ain't your mommy's no more," she'd whisper, her voice thick with want, "I'll take care of you, Little Mister."

And she did. Most nights, she'd give me a merciless whipping that could have made the angels sing, her belt landin' on my bare ass with a rhythm that seemed almost like lovin'. And when she'd tell me to strip, I'd feel like I was offerin' myself up to a cute hillbilly love goddess with the most amaaaazing ass north of the Ohio River!

But it wasn't just about the ass-whippings and the sweet handjobs. Oh no, it was about the extras! The way she'd whisper sweet stuff in my ear that made me feel like I was the only man in the world, a big man. "You're my secret," she'd say, her voice like a warm embrace, "And I'll give you all the love you could ever want, if you just obey."

The extras started off simple enough. Watchin' her bathe was like bein' let in on God’s mysteries. Her body was like a work of art, all soft curves and sweet dips, and little titties. But oh, that ass! The ass of a movie star! And I'd get so hard I thought I'd burst right then and there. She'd see me watchin' and she'd smile, that little secret of ours just addin' to the thrill.

But then, she started teachin' me things. She showed me how to kiss her, how to touch her, how to make her moan and whine like a kitten. And every time she'd whisper, "Little Mister," I'd feel ten feet tall, like I'd just climbed the highest hill.

Connie taught me about pleasure, about the sweetness that could come from a good hard fuckin.' She'd tell me stories, stories of her youth, of the boys who'd tried to get up under her skirt. And the girls who had pinned her against a barn wall and fingered her, making her cuss and gasp.

Her lessons went further than the bedroom, too. She taught me how to be a man, how to work hard, how to treat a woman right. And when she was done with me, I felt like I could conquer the world. Like nothing could ever touch me.

And in those quiet moments, when she'd hold me in her arms, her body warm and sticky with sweat, she'd whisper, "You're mine, Little Mister," and I'd believe it. I'd believe that I was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the whole world, because I had her love and her firm guidance to keep me in line.

But as it turned out, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Oh no, there were times when I'd push her too far, when I'd forget who was in charge, forget whose house I was in. She would fly into a hillbilly rage, and she'd remind me, hard and fast, with that damned belt. No one on God's earth could scold and swing a belt at the same time like she could. And then, when she knew I'd learned my lesson, she'd kiss me, her mouth hot and hungry, her tongue sliding against mine.

Those were the nights I lived for, the nights when she'd let me love her like she was my woman. When she'd get on top and ride me like I was a little pony, her little breasts bouncing in the moonlight, her nails digging into my chest. And when she came, screaming “Little Mister,” I'd feel like I owned the entire fucking world!

And in the mornings, she'd wake me up with a cup of coffee and a slap on my ass, her way of saying, "Remember, you're still my Little Mister, and I expect you to behave." And I'd laugh and rub the sleep from my eyes, ready to face another day in our little slice of hillbilly heaven.

So, we continued on. She taught me about the Lord, about the beauty of a life lived in accordance with his word. She taught me about forgiveness, about how even the most sinful of souls could find their way back to the light. And as I grew into a man under her watchful eye, I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, I could be that good boy she'd always believed in, and that someday I would be a good man.

Connie was more than just a substitute mother, more than just a lover. She was a guide in a world that had gone mad. And as the years passed, and the seasons changed, our love grew stronger, more complex, like the roots of an ancient oak tree, deep and unyielding.

But as with all things, our time together had to come to an end. And when I graduated and left for a fancy job out in Los Angeles, I took with me not just the memories of her fearsome belt and her truly awesome ass, but the lessons she'd taught me about love, about life, about how to respect a woman, and about the power of keeping your promises.

As I stood there in that Ohio chapel, surrounded by those who knew her as a saint, I couldn't help but smile because I knew a more complex truth about Connie. I knew the real Connie, the woman who had loved me and who had marked me for life. And since the time we had together, I have never found any woman who could ever replace her in my heart.

So, I stood there in the chapel after all the years that had gone by, and I whispered, "I love you, Connie," and "good-bye, Baby Doll." Then I turned on my heel and headed back to LA.