Diane’s Difficult Class

Diane’s Difficult Class by Matt with Diane - December, 1994 - (short, M/F Erotic Discipline - fun) As the title says. Matt tries to help.

Diane’s Difficult Class
by Matt with Diane - November, 1994

It's a Tuesday afternoon..... I come in the house after school... .... you know right away something is not right... .... we have been together for a short time actually but you still know me... .... so you ask, I say nothing except I'm going to lay down for a bit... .... ok do you confront me or let it go? choices choices... ..... I eventually emerge from our bedroom..... cook us something for dinner, picking at mine the whole time..... OK you can't take it much longer..... you demand to know what's wrong... .... I have a look of being torn between telling you, and face your disappointment... or refuse to tell.... you looking at me sternly, cause you want to get to the bottom of things... ..... you say "Young Lady, I asked you a question, I want an answer" I blurt out, almost in one running sentence I got my 4th quiz back I got a 60 on it... .... I hang my head, hoping for the best, expecting the worse... ...


I look across the table, Diane is hanging her head. I try to hide my smile but she wouldn’t see it anyway... I must admit I do like to spank her - clothes just melt off of a woman who wants to be undressed - even if she’s being undressed for a spanking - even if it’s more of a spanking than she really likes...

There is the problem, right there... school is harder than she thought, we both thought she’d do better, especially if she tried. But even without the household distractions, she’s having a hard time getting back into the learning... our “agreement” that sounded fun and exciting when she started now seems a little severe... and becoming more so with each passing (or failing!) grade...

I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine, she looks up at me and sees the concern, disappointment, and worry in my face and I think I almost see a smile on her own... she has a million excuses and explanations, I’m sure, just like I’m sure that I’ll hear them all...

“It’s a long wait until bedtime,” I tell her ominously. She presses her lips together and shivers a little. Teasing, I reach my fork to her untouched dinner, pushing some at her. “Didn’t want to lie down on a full stomach?” Relieved at having told me, she starts to eat a little. Now she’s slightly embarrassed, as only the mention of her love-hate relationship with spankings can make her... in her release of tension she tells me of this and that, the little moments that made up her day - for the sake of our game, I remain serious - also, I am deep in thought - how do I handle this?

The best parts of the meal gone, she lays her fork aside... come here, I tell her, pushing my chair back and expecting her at my side. She approaches with understandable trepidation despite knowing that I can’t very well do anything at the moment... my hand slides from her knee up into her shorts, across her bottom where my fingertips curl up under her panties... she looks around nervously and moves slightly away but says nothing.

“You went and laid down, you didn’t take these off?” She shakes her head “no.”

“Too worried,” she peeps.

“You have every right to be,” I assure her. Cupping her cheek, I turn her to me as she hugs herself protectively. My hand comes out.

Diane waits, silent, expectant. I press one finger flat against her waist and smooth it upward across her tummy as she draws her breath sharply and then holds it. My hand runs lightly up over her breast and downward again, the look on my face asking the unspoken question.

“I... I... ” is all she says as she tries to explain the bra I feel. Her nipple rises and I trace it lightly with the tip of my finger, then stroke downward underneath - almost lifting, just a hint of pressure, released as I circle her buried nipple once more... her breasts rising and as she breathes more deeply they swell before my very eyes, my mouth watering with the desire to taste her but I don’t let it show.
“Doesn’t matter,” I inform her and her eyes snap open wide with surprise.

“Am I in a lot of trouble?” she whispers and I remove my hand, becoming serious again. She withdraws, out of range, before someone unexpectedly rounds a corner or comes through a door.

“A 70 is a C,” I pronounce deliberately. “A 60 is barely a D. Barely.” Mmmm, I love that word...

“Yes, but... ”

“A D,” I repeat, hoping that my voice communicates disbelief. “You can not expect that to be in any way acceptable.”

“No, but... ”

“One point - one! away from an F.” I remind her. Dropping my voice, I warn quietly, “I may spank you for an F.”

“Not fair!” Diane protests before clamping her mouth shut. I look at her in mock horror and her hands instinctively fly back to protect her bottom, which should be swatted.

I hook a finger into her waistband, drawing her back to me. Her hand comes around and grips my wrist, trying to keep me under control. She leans backward, seeking to keep the greatest possible distance.

“At bedtime,” I whisper insistently, “I’m going to take you downstairs and spank you with the paint-stick.”

“Ohhhh,” she protests. Even as she stands there, her bottom wriggles in anticipation and dread. Diane doesn’t like the paint-stick, a fact which is not at all surprising.

“Spank your bare bottom,” I explain, as if she didn’t know. The wriggling continues. “Spank it for a ... 60.” I pronounce the number as if there has never been a greater sin. I poke my finger up under the leg of her shorts and hook her panties once again.

“Spank your bare bottom. So why don’t you go change and come back here.”

“Sigh,” is all she says as she heads off obediently toward the bedroom.