Spanking Samantha (Chapter 6, F/F, F/F)

Posted in: OTK

Previously on “Spanking Samantha”:

Kim loves Marcus and trusts that he would be guided by faith in all matters, but his suggestion that she might need to “learn a lesson” troubles her. It’s obvious now that there’s more to a spanking than what she was able to self-inflict. ‘It’s like tickling yourself. It doesn’t work.” Ginger’s inflamed backside magnifies her concern. “I don’t think I could take a spanking like that.” Ginger explains that a spanking can be a gift, a temporary physical hurt that resolves an emotional hurt. Kim begins to understand why Ginger willingly presented herself to Heather.

Still conflicted, Kim shares her perspective on all this with Ellie. It was “like getting saved from the Devil…Like having a prayer answered.” Ellie invites her in for dinner. “It’ll be fun.” She plans to warm Kim’s sweet cinnamon buns for dessert.

A livid Samantha bursts into Ginger’s townhouse. “Do you know what you’ve done to my life?” In a flash, the hairbrush is out and Ginger is over her lap. At the last moment, Mom strolls in. “You left the door open, DUMBASS!” Who’s sorry now?


Well, yes, Ginger IS over my lap, mother. And, yes, I AM holding a nasty wooden hairbrush. (Shit! Shit shit shit!) And I know what it looks like…

“I didn’t hit her, Mommy.”

Samantha yanked Ginger’ jammies down to her knees. “Hey!”


If Samantha had been auditioning to play Gomer Pyle, Jim Nabors would have spent his entire career in small-town Holiday Inns.

“What the…?”


“How did…? I…? Huh?”

Ginger’s thoughts about rescuing her sister vanished. Her spanked red rear was her own business, not Defense Exhibit 1. She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

“Ginger, honey, are you okay?”

Ginger pulled up her pajamas and sniffled. “Yeah, Mom.” Another sniffle.

Mrs. Wallace tapped the hairbrush against her palm. “Would you please go make sure the front door is locked, dear?”

“No-o-o-o-o! MO-O-OM!!!” Samantha squirmed like an eight-year-old who really really really has to pee. “Ginger? Ginger, please? Please, Mommy?”


“Hey, babe!” Heather dropped her keys on the breakfast bar and unpacked a single grocery sack. “Feel like fish? Rick? Turn down the game, wouldja? They had fresh tuna steaks on sale.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good. Good day?”

“Yeah. Remarkable.” She set down the jar of teriyaki marinade. “I felt like I really made a difference. You?”

“Okay. There’s a stain or something on the couch. Do we have some stuff to get it out?”

“I’ll take a look.”

“There were these teenage girls in the backyard when I got home. They were all giggling about something.”

“Probably some boy.”

“They were pointing at your Mom’s Waterford on the sideboard. Right through that door. Think I should call the cops? Just in case?”

Heather slammed the oven door. “Don’t bother. Just some kids.”

“I chased ‘em away.”

“Uh huh. Did you talk to Bill?”

“He was cool about it. It’s a weird thing to be talkin’ about, but he understood.”

“What’s he gonna do? Inspect Sam’s ass?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Just a story.”

“Told ya.” Rick walked into the kitchen.

“And what’s this, Samantha? It’s a pimple, Bill. Stop!”

“Knock it off. You need help, Ms. Conway?”

Heather licked her lips and smiled. “Yeah. I had an early lunch.” She unzipped his fly and reached in. “I need a snack.”


“It’s locked, Mother. Should I turn on the TV?”

“Yes, dear. And get your sister a nice pair of pajamas, won’t you? We want her to be all ready for bed after her spanking. My daughters don’t get any supper when they’ve been naughty.”

“No, ple-e-e-e-ze? Please!”

“Okay. Be right back.”

Samantha’s watery eyes followed Ginger toward the bedroom. “Ginger, PLEASE.”


“Get undressed, young lady. Don’t make me say it again.”


“That’s really nice music, Ellie. Peaceful.”

They were sitting on soft square pillows and staring into the flames through snifters of Bas-Armagnac.

Ellie ran her slender fingers through Kim’s curls. “M-m-m. That’s what Marcus does.”

“Does he have nails like mine?”

“No, silly.”

“You have beautiful hair.”

“Oh, stop. Don’t embarrass me. M-m-m-m-m!” Kim tilted her head and looked back at Ellie, “I wish I could have long gorgeous hair like you.”

“And if you did, you’d want curls. Do you want to talk about Marcus?”

“No. He’s a big meanie.”

“Okay. But you would want curls, wouldn’t you?”

“Leave me alone. I’m fine.”



Samantha turned toward the wall. With trembling hands, she began to unbutton her silk top.

Ginger brought a neatly folded pair of pastel yellow pajamas with a print of small fuzzy teddy bears and candy canes.

Samantha kicked off her shoes, undid her belt, unfastened the waistband.

“The legs and arms might be a little short.”

“That’s all right, dear.”

Samantha reached back to release her bra strap.

“Move along. No more dawdling.”

She peeled the pantyhose to her knees and wobbled as she stripped them first from the right leg, then the left.

Ginger approached, looked into her sister’s miserable eyes, and presented the pajamas as a Marine might pass the flag to a grieving widow. “Here, Sam.”


The fire popped.

“Wow! I was thinking it was so peaceful, so inviting. But it’s dangerous, too.”

Ellie leaned forward to rearrange the logs. “Not if you pay attention.”

“Some things aren’t what they seem; that’s all. Where’d you get this brandy?”

“It’s called Armagnac. It’s French. Like cognac. You can get it at Sam’s.”

“If you want a whole case.”

“Not Sam’s Club. Sam’s. Near the Whole Foods. More?”

“Is that all that’s left? Oh, why not? We’re relaxing. Whole Foods. Isn’t that expensive?”

“Sometimes. See? You tried something ELSE new.”

“I guess I did. What was that seafood again?”

“Cuttlefish. And the green chunks are bitter melon.”

“It wasn’t bitter.”

“No. It’s good to try new things.”

“I guess. If it’s not TOO different.”

“You just need someone to show you what to do.”

“Marcus showed me how to go whitewater kayaking once. That was really scary, but it was fun.”

“See? If you hadn’t tried it, you’d have missed out. What’s TOO different?”

“Like something you know you shouldn’t do.”

“Like what?”

Kim sipped her fancy French brandy – what’s it called again? – and gazed at the fire.

“Like bad things. Like when it’s really the Devil tempting you. Oh, there I go again.”

“That’s okay. I know what you mean. Like Ginger’s devils.”

“Kind of. I
can’t believe she just let Heather spank her.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s a spanking!”

“And what do you know about spankings?”

“They hurt! That’s why people GET spankings.”

“People get spankings because their behavior is making them unhappy.”

“That’s lame! Oh! Sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean if some kid gets a s
panking for sneaking all the cookies out of the cookie jar, he wasn’t unhappy about eating the cookies.”

“Probably not. But it’s self-destructive. If he keeps eating the cookies, he’ll get sick. And if that doesn’t stop him, he’ll get fat.”

“I guess.”

“And if he doesn’t learn to do what his mother tells him, other bad things happen.”

“Okay, but that’s a kid.”

“Ginger’s not a kid. You’re not a kid.”

“Exactly, Ellie. Wait a minute. What does THAT mean?”

“Ginger’s behavior toward Sam was making her unhappy. You told me yourself. Everything that Heather said.”

“I know. I feel sorry for her.”

Ellie made eye contact. “And what about you? They don’t sell happiness at Bloomie’s.”

“I know,” Kim pouted. “I still feel sorry for Ginger, though.”

“Why? Ginger made the choice to get back on Heather’s lap, and it sounds to me like it was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. She did it for herself. A small hurt to stop a big hurt. But Ellie, you should have seen it! It was all puffed up and nasty-looking! Is that what always happens when someone gets a spanking?”

Ellie put an arm around Kim’s shoulder, drew her close, and lowered her voice. “Aren’t we curious? Kimmy, I think we both know what you’re really thinking. Don’t we?”

“You’re scaring me.”

“The spanking hurt goes away, remember?”

“But Marcus has really big hands and he’s really strong! What if he’s really angry?”

“I’m not angry.”

Kim nestled her head on Ellie’s chest, gazed into the dancing flames, let them drift out of focus. “I know what you’re doing, Ellie. I’m not stupid.”

“And yet you stay.”

“Not too hard.”

“Just enough.”

Two logs popped in quick succession. Kim jumped. “Oh! Sorry! I’m a little nervous.”

“Of course. I understand.”

Ellie slid a large upholstered ottoman toward the center of the living room.

“We’ve been talking for a long time, Kim.”

“Yes. We have. Thank you for the wine. And the food. It was all delicious.”

“Yes, it was fun, wasn’t it? I’m glad you liked it. Now come over here, dear.”

“I’m scared, Ellie.”

“It’s just something new.” She undid the button at the side of Kim’s calf-length skirt.

“How much will it hurt?”

“Less than you hurt now.” She slid the zipper down firmly, and the skirt dropped to the floor.

“Just a couple of minutes, okay?”

“Just a few.” She bent Kim forward slightly at the waist.

“I won’t look like Ginger?”

The thin elastic waistband of Kim’s slip slid easily past her hips. “Promise.”

“Just spank spank we’re done?”

“Kimberly Anne!” Ellie slapped each cheek of Kim’s pale blue panties. “Do you think we’re done?”

“No.” She lightly kissed Ellie’s right palm. “Don’t be angry.”

Ellie eased into the plush ottoman. She raised her right foot and gently tugged Kim across her leg. Kim tumbled forward.

“It’s a really cute blouse.”

“Move forward a little, please.”

“Just a few minutes, right?”

Ellie began to work the panties down Kim’s cafe-au-lait thighs.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You are?”


Next time on “Spanking Samantha”:


Not just talk. Spankings!

And another incredible “Spanking Samantha” twist!

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