Page 363 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

“Peter, from school.”

“What grade are we in?”

“Twelfth.”

“And what are you?”

“Bored to tears,” she said in barely concealed exasperation. She poked her fork at her eggs, which looked as though they’d sat too long in the fridge.

Swallowing the last of what was in his own mouth, Morgan set his fork aside and said, “Try again.”

Audrey wilted in her chair. “But we’ve been over this a million times!” She didn’t mean to whine, but that’s how it came out anyway. And she even kicked at the legs of her chair, an emphasis to her frustration.

He was completely unsympathetic. “Then make it one million and one.”

Growling with frustration, Audrey bouncing in her chair and stomped her clunky shoes on the floor. Then she sighed. “I’m worried about my father. I’m don’t know where he is. I want to go looking for him, and yet I’m going to school instead. Morgan, I’ve played hooky–for real—for lesser reasons!”

“The script says—”

“Oh, hang the script!” She scowled at her plate. “I don’t see what difference it makes if we go look for him now or later. The end result’s the same. We still go looking for him.”

“It makes a difference. There’re things that happen at school that progress the plot, such as it is. So, to school we go. Eat your breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

In the process of picking his fork up, Morgan put it right back down again. His good-natured smile faded into something slightly less amused, and that stern look in his eyes grew a little grimmer. “Is this really how you want the day to go? Because if your highest aspiration is to be as difficult and as argumentative as possible, then we can start practicing for scene thirteen right now.”

“Practice for whatever the hell scene you want,” she grumbled into her eggs. “I could care less.”

It wasn’t until he pushed his chair back that she remembered what scene thirteen was.

Her eyes widened and her head snapped up. “I’m sorry!” she blurted as he walked over to the stove and took a wooden spoon out of the utensil crock. “I didn’t mean that! I—I’m just on edge, Morgan! I didn’t sleep well!”

He came back to the table and pulled her chair out.

“I just—I don’t want to be here!” she cried as he took hold of her arm and pulled her up.

“I don’t want to be here either,” he said as he took her place on the chair. “I have also been here a heck of a lot longer than you, but you don’t see me trying to make the situation worse.”

“You’re right,” she babbled, digging in her feet and leaning back when he dragged her to him. He was stronger than she was, and despite her best efforts, he won the tug-o-war by slow inches. “You’re absolutely right! I’ve seen the light, Morgan! I-I’m a changed woman! Oh no, please—I-I-I swear y-you won’t hear another snarky word out of me! No, no wait! I-I’ll be a ray of sunshine!” she cried desperately when he finally took her chair and, with a stern yank, pulled her face-down over his sturdy thighs. “Oh please, Morgan! I didn’t mean to say that! It just came out!” She whimpered and reached back one handed to grab the back of her skirt to keep him from raising it. “No, you can’t! What are you doing? I promise I’ll be good! Don’t—don’t spank me!”

He caught of her wrist, pressing it up into the small of her back and out of his way. As he worked her pale skirt and slip up over her hips, she began to kick and struggle with frantic desperation.

He wouldn’t need to bare her to make a lasting impression this morning. The switch had left its mark and dark lines streaked out around the edges of her elastic underpants as well as lower down where he had caught the tops of her thighs in two places. On that soft crease where her bottom met her thighs and her underwear failed to cover her, there were dark mottled prints that looked suspiciously a lot like his thumb and two long fingers.

He patted the seat of her white cotton panties with the wide flat head of the wooden spoon. “You remember what I said about choices and about being a pain in the butt instead of cooperative?”

Giving up the useless fight, Audrey sagged limply over his lap. She swallowed hard, tried feebly one last time to twist her wrist out of his grasp, then reluctantly answered, “You said you’d return the favor.”

“This would be a lot easier on us both if you’d make up your mind to believe me.”

The wooden spoon bit into the fleshiest part of her buttocks with sharp, crisp smacks that had her yelping and screeching within the first six whaps. He only gave her fifteen, but he made them hard enough to count. And he put them in all the right places so that by the time the last one fell, Audrey was performing a veritable shimmy of a dance over his thighs, panting and gasping, her breaths like sobs although she stubbornly blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes.

When he let her go, she vaulted up off his knee, scrambling to get her skirt back down and then grabbed her bottom in both hands. She mewed in pain as she clutched herself, then rubbed, then clutched again and gave him the most wounded look.

“I think I’ll keep this until the scene changes,” he said, and as he stood, he slid the wooden spoon into his back trousers’ pocket.

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down into a mutinous frown.

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