Spanking Samantha (Chapter 6, F/F)
Previously on “Spanking Samantha”:
“No, ple-e-e-e-ze? Please!” Samantha squirms like a little girl who has to pee when she realizes she’s in for a long hairbrush paddling. While Samantha peels off her clothing and whimpers, Ginger gets her a nice pair of yellow teddy bear pajamas so she’ll be all ready for bed after her spanking.
Rick Conway fails to realize that the little stain on the couch – and the giggling girls he chased from the backyard – are evidence of a different spanking. He still doesn’t think that grownups get their bottoms warmed. Just to be sure, Heather distracts him with a spousal blowjob. Besides, she’s feeling good; she really made a difference today!
Ellie calmly seduces Kim. “I know what you’re doing, Ellie.” “And yet you stay.” Kim is about to lose her spanking virginity across Ellie’s ottoman.
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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.”
Samantha swayed in a near-fetal position: naked, knock-kneed, shoulders hunched, arms across her breasts as much for warmth as for modesty. The shrieking tigress of just minutes before (“See this? It stings like the dickens!”) was blubbering for mercy from her former prey.
“P-please, Ginger,” she whispered. “Tell her w-what really h-h-happened.” A trickle of clear mucus reached her lip.
“What’s going on over there?” Mother Wallace monitored the humiliation of her elder daughter from a British-green Morris chair across the room. “Samantha, get into those pajamas now!”
“Sam, I asked you over so I could apologize for that story I told. I’m sorry. You should have let me.”
“I know. Help me, please. I’ll do anything. She’s gonna whack me extra for s-saying I didn’t hit you.”
“GINGER! Stop wasting time, please. Give your sister her uniform.”
“Mother? I’ve been thinking. Samantha’s hairbrush is a little small. There’s no heft to it. Do you still keep that nice natural-bristle brush in the car? The one with the little grooves carved on the back?”
“Why, yes, dear. That’s a splendid idea. It’s out in the glove compartment.” On her way toward the entryway, she dropped Sam’s little drugstore brush on a side table. “Nice and solid. That’s the one I used to spank YOU with, isn’t it? Remember?” She closed the door behind her.
Samantha shuddered. “Lock the door.”
“No, Sam.”
“Lock it. There’s still time.”
“That’s not it, Sam. I want you back. I’m tired of us sputtering at each other.”
“You resent me.”
“You think I’m a failure.”
“No, Ginger, I don’t.”
“Stop it, Sam. Now! I hate it when you lie. Grow up!”
“Please, Ginger. I’m so sorry. I’ll be good to you. I’ll do anything. Tell her the truth. Don’t let her spank me. She’s coming back!” When Samantha nodded toward the front door for emphasis, her boobs jiggled a little more than – well, than when they’d been at the pool a couple of years ago. Tennis helps muscle tone, but collagen goes its own way.
“I’ll save you from this one if I can, Sam, but you owe me.”
“Anything.”
Ginger thought about her afternoon at Heather’s. “You’re still getting that spanking, you know.”
“No-o-o-o!”
“You may not know it, Sam, but a good hard spanking is exactly what you need.”
Samantha teared up and started to sniffle again. “I’m sorry.”
“Here. Get these on now.”
Samantha slipped into the pull-on pajamas and sat on the dining chair that would soon be hosting her paddle party. “I don’t want a spanking.”
“You earned it. Oh! Hi, Mother. Sammie’s all ready. Did you find it?”
Samantha cringed as her Mother displayed the weathered monster that had been purchased from a traveling Fuller salesman back in the day.
“This should do the trick!” Mother Wallace smacked it against her cupped left palm. Samantha shuddered. “Old Faithful! Now let’s get on with it. Samantha, stand up!”
“Yes, Mother. Ginger?”
“You leave your sister out of this. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
“Mother, that’s what I wanted to talk about…”
“Oh, hush, baby. You don’t have to defend your sister. Now tell me, how long has it been since you got your last spanking?”
Ginger was puzzled. “Well, about fifteen years ago, I guess. Not counting today…”
“Oh no, not you, sweetie. Samantha!”
Samantha pouted.
“Come on. What’s it been?”
(“Jeez!” thought Ginger. “What’s it matter? ’84? ’86? She came home late; she told you to fuck off; who cares? It was high school!”)
“June? July?”
“MOTHER!” Samantha ran to the bedroom. “Shit! How could you?” She slammed the door and began to sob.
“July! It was just before the Fourth! That’s it! SAMANTHA! Get out here.”
(Fade to black.)
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“Spanking Samantha”! Brought to you by Dr. Scholl’s Pajama Gel Insoles!
(Scene: Attractive young couple getting ready for bed in a pleasant hotel room. Perfect hair, gleaming teeth, obvious wedding rings. She is under turned-back covers, reading a celebrity magazine. He has just finished setting out a crisp white shirt for the next morning. They notice a muffled racket from the next room and smile.)
Whack! Whack! No-o-o! Whack! Whack! I warned you! Whack! Whack! Ow! Whack! Sorry! Whack! (Sobbing) Oh-oh-oh-oh! Ow! Whack! Whack! Honey, I’m sorry! Whack! I won’t Whack! Ow I won’t do it again! Whack! Ow!
SHE: Hear all that yellin’?
Whack! I promise! Whack! Whack! Ow-w-w-w!
HE: She’s not gellin’!
Whack! Whack!
(They flash “I know what you mean” smiles at each other and rub their rears with a circular “My tummy’s full” motion.)
Whack! Whack!
Logo.
Background: Ow-w-w-w! I’m sorry, honey!
ANNOUNCER: Dr. Scholl’s Pajama Gel Insoles. Stop yellin’! Start Gellin’!
(Attractive wife is seen sprawled on the bed across attractive husband’s lap. His hand is raised. Her unwrinkled satin pajama bottoms cover a mysteriously spherical bottom. Her hair is still perfect. They smile and wink at the camera.)
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(Fade in.)
“July? This year, Mother?” Ginger couldn’t believe it!
“That’s right, dear. You know your sister’s temper. Listen to her!”
“What happened?”
“Oh, it all runs together. Sassing me in front of my friends, I think. That’s it. We were cleaning up after a perfectly nice barbecue, and she didn’t want to help out. Said she’d get to it after the fireworks. Well, I don’t want the bugs crawling all over my dishes! Do you? Of course not. I told her to get to work, and she gave me one of those exasperated looks of hers. ‘MOTH-er!’ Do you believe that? I almost put her over my knee right there in front of everyone, but I thought that might upset a couple of them. I don’t think Judith and Angela ever spanked their children – don’t believe in it.”
“But you spanked her later?”
“Soon as they were gone. Grabbed her ear, pulled down those fancy Tommy what’s-his-name shorts of hers, and gave her a good piece of my mind. I’m still her mother! She can’t talk to me like that! Let me tell you, she didn’t feel so smart when I got through with her. I still know how to spank a sassy brat’s bottom when she needs it; I don’t care how old she is. You talk back to me, and you’ll be eating breakfast standing up!”
“Mother?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You sa
id it all runs together.”
“Oh, yes. Well, who can keep track? I guess it’s every 3 or 4 months or so. One thing or another. I don’t know how that husband of hers puts up with it. He’s either a saint or a fool.”
“So you’ve been spanking Samantha for years?”
“Of cour
se, except when she was away at school. That’s the problem. The deans nowadays let everyone get away with anything.”
“I see. Three or four times a year.”
“You’d think she’d learn, wouldn’t you? Why, look at you! I haven’t had to tan your backside for – what did you say? – fifteen years? You didn’t go to Vassar and get mixed up with a bunch of lunatics…”
(No, I just pretty much stay the fuck away from you, Mother.)
“…or spend your life with that crowd from the Club who just have the help pick up after them…”
(Same old blah blah blah. That’s why I got a job and got my own place.)
“…and nannies for their children and…”
“Mother? I don’t want you to give Samantha your famous extra whacks for lying.”
“What?”
“She said she didn’t hit me, and you’re going to start her off with a few extra smacks for lying, aren’t you?”
“Oh, you remember! Yes, dear. A dozen or so on her bare bottom should remind her to tell the truth. Then – and I know I don’t normally allow any clothing to get in the way – but you had your pajamas on, so it seems only fair that Sam should have hers on, too.”
“No, Mom…”
“Don’t worry. She’ll still feel it. Well, YOU know. You just got some of that yourself.”
“Mom, I don’t want you to spank Samantha at all.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous! She’s my daughter. I’ll spank her whenever…”
“I know, Mom. But remember what Dad used to say? ‘It’s my house, and I make the rules?'”
“Well, yes…”
“Well, it’s my house.” Ginger flinched for just a moment. Had she crossed the line? Was this “sassing”?
“All right then. You’re right. It’s your home; you’re in charge. Here’s the brush, Ginger. You do it.”
Ginger took the hairbrush from her mother. “Thank you. I will. Samantha needs a good hard spanking.”
“Like mother, like daughter.”
“But not why you think…”
And Ginger told her mother about getting the spanking from her friend Heather, and about being sorry for making up a story, and about how she had called Samantha to apologize, and about how she wanted to be worthy of having her sister’s respect.
“Okay. Sounds like I taught you well. You tried to tell the truth, even though it almost got you in trouble. Good for you. And good for Heather. She must be a very good friend.”
“Yeah, she was. And that’s why Sam still gets a spanking. She needs one, too.”
“Okay.”
“From me.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. I’d like to see you two get along better.”
“We will. I’d better go have a talk with her.”
“Don’t let her try to talk you out of anything!”
“She won’t. She knows. We talked when you were outside.”
“All right, then. I’ll be going.”
“Here.”
“No, you keep it. Sounds like you’re the one who’s going to need it.”
Ginger saw her mother out. She waited ’til she heard the car drive off. She turned off the television. She put the ancient hairbrush away underneath the master bathroom sink, behind the extra bottle of shampoo and the rolls of toilet paper and the bottle of Motrin and the 4-pack of bath soap bars. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and combed her hair and looked into the mirror.
“Sam! Come on out. She’s gone.”
Ginger filled the kettle and turned on the burner. She pulled out two chamomile tea bags, two oversized mugs that said Natural Bridges National Monument, two spoons, a squirt bottle of Wisconsin white clover honey, and a bag of the raspberry oatmeal cookies that Samantha especially liked. She put eight cookies on a small plate.
She watered the Ficus in the living room.
She fluffed an overstuffed couch pillow with a large floral pattern and placed it on the high-backed dining room chair that Samantha had pulled out. “There! No need for both of us to suffer!”
“Sam? Come on out. Have some tea. It’s just us.” The kettle whistled.
She put away her watering can and poured angry water over the tea bags. She cut two lemon slices and brought them to the small glass-topped dinette table near the broom closet. She knocked on Samantha’s door.
“Samantha Gail Parker!” Yeah, that worked okay. “Samantha! Get out here this instant. I’m tired of waiting.”
Ginger cracked the door open and found Samantha asleep on the bed with half-dried tear trails running down both cheeks and mascara everywhere.
“Sam?”
They had a good long chat, and Samantha was glad to have a nice hot mug of tea and three of her favorite cookies.
“Can you believe I told Bill to get out?”
“You can stay here.”
Ginger put the mugs and the dishes in the dishwasher, and Samantha swept the crumbs off the table.
Ginger went out to the living room to turn the TV back on while Samantha brushed her teeth. Not quite so loud; it’s getting late.
Ginger sat on the flowery cushion on the high-backed dining chair. When Samantha had finished combing her hair and rubbing Vitamin E cream into her face (“I’ll have to pick up some better stuff than this!”), she walked out to the dining room. She took a deep breath and crawled across her sister’s lap.
“Is that okay, Mommy?”
“Just a little… That’s it. Good. Now let’s get those jammies down. Lift up.”
Samantha raised her butt, and Ginger slid the elastic waist down to Sam’s knees.
“Do you understand why you’re getting a spanking, Samantha?”
“I think so. I mean, I tried to spank YOU. But it’s really what we talked about in the kitchen, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want you to be unhappy any more.”
“I know.”
“It has to be a real spanking.”
“I know, Mommy.”
“I love you, Sammie.”
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Next time on “Spanking Samantha”:
Okay! There’s nothing left!
Next time it really is two spankings!
Ow! I promise! Ow! No, really. Ow! Ow! Promise!!