Spanking Samantha (Chapter 3, F/F)
Previously, on “Spanking Samantha (Ginger’s Big Boast)”:
Heather stumbles home and tells Rick about Samantha getting spanked. Despite Heather’s morning-after regrets, Rick tells Sam’s husband Bill. At lunch, Sam goes ballistic when she learns that Bill hasn’t squelched the rumor. “I go ANYWHERE, and I never know. Half the town’s gonna look at me and think I got my skirt pulled up and my ass warmed. From now on, I’m just a bare bottom!” She orders Bill out of the house, leaves voice-mail for Ginger, and storms out. Bill knows he’d better get to Ginger before Sam does.
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“Ginger? Hi, it’s Heather. Yeah, I had a great time, too. Look, I kinda told Rick about you and Sam last night. Yeah, about the spanking.”
“I know … I’m sorry. Yeah, I can tell him that. I was drunk. He’ll believe me. Sorry. Ginger? There’s more…”
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Bill was panting by the time he got to Ginger’s office. “Hi. Ginger Wallace, please. I’m her brother-in-law, Bill Parker.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker. Ms. Wallace has gone for the day.”
“Is she ill?”
“You’ll have to ask her, sir.”
Bill vaulted into a cab and offered to double the fare if the driver could get him to Ginger’s apartment in fifteen minutes.
He paid the double fare, but Ginger wasn’t home.
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Ginger WISHED she were home. At the very moment Bill knocked on her door, Ginger was at Heather’s. Sprawled across Heather’s lap, her slacks in a tangle, her right hip locked in place, offering one last wheedling plea for mercy before the first slap of a good hard spanking.
“I was just kidding around,” she whined. As soon as the words were out, a full fifteen years since she had last been spanked by her parents, Ginger knew that she had made a tactical mistake. Any feeble ploy to duck responsibility or to negotiate milder punishment had always brought worse.
“You didn’t MEAN to, young lady?” her mother would ask. Smack Smack. “You didn’t mean to take the car when you were grounded?” Smack Smack. “How stupid do you think I am?” There would be several more hard smacks, and Ginger would be wincing and twisting before the real spanking had even begun. “I’m sorry, Mom. I mean I wasn’t thinking.” “That’s right, Ginger. You weren’t thinking. Well, maybe this will help you remember….”
This whole episode was not turning out the way Ginger had figured. All she’d wanted when she had raced from work to Heather’s was a calm conversation, a simple plan to get their stories straight. They had to bamboozle Samantha. Maybe Heather could persuade Rick it had all been a gag, but Sam would be out for blood. If one story had Ginger making it up and the other had Heather making it up, there would be holy hell to pay.
Ginger needed a solidarity pact with Heather. They had to position the whole mess as an unfortunate misunderstanding about something that never happened. Why would I make up a horrible story like that, Samantha? Who would say such a thing?
Maybe it was Ginger’s panic. Maybe it was Heather’s hangover. But it didn’t go smoothly at all. Each accused the other of being responsible for the predicament.
“Ginger, you shouldn’t have made the story up in the first place.”
“Well, I didn’t think you were going to broadcast it, you moron!”
“I only told Rick, he knows I was drunk, and he doesn’t believe it.”
“Oh, but he told Bill anyway. Shit!”
Ginger angrily grabbed Heather’s wrist. Heather freed herself. Ginger stumbled and fell.
And Heather realized she had nothing to lose! She could handle Rick just fine. Ginger had started the story, and Heather had asked Rick to keep it quiet. This was Ginger’s problem.
Ginger got to her knees. Heather pinned her down.
“Here’s the deal, Ginge. You get Molly and the others to shut up about this. I don’t care how you do it, but you talk to the four of them and work it out. I’ll tell Rick that I just made it up. I was buzzed, I made it up, you never spanked Sam, you never said you did. However…”
“Okay. But what?”
But Heather wanted compensation for her trouble. “Since you think spankings are so much fun, I think you should take a little trip across my knee.”
“What?”
Ginger tried haggling. I’ll make it up to you. Okay, but not too hard. Forget it. No sale. If Ginger wanted Heather’s support, she had to take a spanking. Robbed of leverage, she finally accepted defeat. At least it wouldn’t be one of Mom’s hairbrush thrashings. It COULDN’T be. Heather was one of her best friends. They were out together all the time. She was 30 years old. How bad could it be? A mild scolding, maybe. A few swats on the seat. An apology. Done.
Heather beckoned her to the couch, and Ginger lowered herself onto Heather’s lap. She felt ridiculous.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh, not the pants, Heather!”
“Bottom bared, please.”
Ginger stood, unbuckled her black alligator belt, dropped the business office slacks to her ankles, and shimmied out of the cotton bikini. With one hand covering her crotch, she shuffled miserably back into position.
“Not too hard.”
Heather smacked each cheek smartly. “Ow! Hey! Oww!” What’s this about? A REAL spanking?
Heather’s lecture covered the abuse of a sister’s trust, the demeaning of all women that the Samantha rumor constituted, and the disgrace that Ginger had brought on herself.
Satisfied that the pending punishment had been explained properly, Heather patted Ginger’s upturned tush. “Let’s get this over with.” A fingernail drawn lightly through the valley between Ginger’s shapely cheeks raised goosebumps. Heather raised a knee to nudge the base of Ginger’s bottom into the natural swing arc, tightened her grasp on Ginger’s right hip, and lifted the spanking hand.
And Ginger, peering across her shoulder, hoping for eye contact, offered Heather that last desperate please-don’t-spank-me excuse. “I was just kidding around.”
Immediately, she flashed backed to 1989, to the added consequences of deflecting responsibility, to the overwhelming sting of the maternal hairbrush exploding into her helpless adolescent backside. “Oh geez. Now I’m really gonna get it.” She inhaled sharply, clenched her rear, and braced for the first smack.
The first smack. Where would it land? Ginger squirmed and waited.
“Ginger, you are so pathetic.” Heather relaxed her hold. Ginger felt Heather’s palm rest lightly on her backside and unclenched.
“Ridiculous, sniveling, and totally fucking pathetic. Women change society, break down gender roles, seize opportunity, make a difference. Like Samantha. And what do you have to say for yourself? I was just kidding around.”
Ginger was speechless.
Heather taunted. “Please don’t spank me on my bare bottom. At least not too hard. I was only kidding. Ginger, you are the fucking women-are-just-girls-with-tits poster girl. Girlfriend pissing you off? Put her over your knee! Wife giving you too much lip? Don’t waste time talking about it like adults. No, just yank those lace panties down and teach her a good lesson. Hell, she deserves it.”
Ginger was sniffling. She’d always agreed with Heather’s politics, but Heather walked the talk. Heather confronted unfairness with dignity and clarity; Ginger would fume in her cubicle and gossip in the cafeteria. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Get up!”
Ginger rolled off Heather’s lap and started to hoist her panties. That wasn’t so bad after all!
“Not s
o fast. Slip those off and sit here. Right next to me.” Heather patted the couch cushion. Oh shit, there’s more.
Humiliated and mystified, Ginger sat. The velvety green fabric bunched in the crac
k of her ass. Hoping for modesty, she crossed her legs and hunched forward. Heather was right. She was ridiculous and pathetic. She rocked back and forth.
Heather stroked and straightened Ginger’s sandy brown hair.
“Why did you tell everyone about spanking Samantha? You knew it wasn’t true.”
“Because I hate her. I hate her country club. I hate her BMW. I hate how she treats me.”
“You knew Kim would believe it.” Ginger sulked in silence. “And you lucked out. The rest of us bought it, too.” Nothing.
Heather had seen enough. She grabbed Ginger’s ear, yanked her upright, and strode across the room with Ginger stumbling awkwardly behind. “You told a selfish lie. Didn’t you?”
“Ow! Let go!”
As they reeled past the glass doors leading to the backyard deck, Ginger desperately tried to cover her crotch, then her exposed butt, then her crotch. Heather veered into the kitchen, released the ear, and grabbed a slotted spoon from a large crock by the stovetop. Ginger careened into the sink, and Heather quickly caught her by the waist and bent her forward.
“Don’t feel like talking?” Six quick thwacks of the spoon. Right left right left right left. Ow ow ow!
“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer.”
“Okay. Jeez, Heather, that really hurt!”
“Good. Something needs to get your attention. Tell me, who’s the one getting a naughty-girl spanking now?”
“I am.”
“Right. You’re the one with a bare spanked bottom. Not Samantha. You.”
“Heather…”
“Heather is your drinking buddy. For now, you call me Ms. Conway.”
“All ri-i-ight.”
Whack! Whack! Ow-w-w!
“Don’t get smart with me, missy. What’s my name?”
“Ms. Conway, ma’am.”
“Good. We have a lot more to discuss. Are you ready to go back into the living room, or do you want some more of this?”
“No, Ms. Conway.”
Smack! Whack! Ginger did a two-step.
“No which? No you’re not ready, or no you don’t want me to spank you again?”
“No, please. I don’t want to get spanked any more, Ms. Conway.”
Again Ginger was dragged by the ear. As she hobbled past the sliding glass doors, her eyes locked for an instant on those of two passing high schoolers. Out on the sidewalk, one said, “Wow! Did you see that?” to her classmate. They giggled as they turned the corner.
Heather dumped Ginger on the sofa and sat. She calmly turned Ginger’s chin toward her. Ginger turned away.
“Look at me.”
“Leave me…” Ginger’s jaw quivered as she fought back mortified tears. “…Ms. Conway.”
“Ginger, look at me.” Heather spoke quietly, firmly. “You don’t hate Samantha’s car … or Samantha’s parties … or Samantha’s life. That’s what YOU want, isn’t it?”
“I like who I am. I’m fine.”
“Oh, well if you were just fine, you wouldn’t be sitting here on a splotchy spanked bottom. Samantha doesn’t come right out and say it – I mean, she does seem oblivious at times – but she wants the best for you. And you did a mean, hateful, spiteful thing.”
“What?”
“Telling everyone you spanked her, you dope. How she couldn’t stand it if people found out. What a big baby she was. Oh oh oh it hurts. How you’ll just spank her again if she – what did you say? – if she pulls another stunt. You did that to hurt her. Didn’t you?”
Tears welled up and trickled down Ginger’s face. “I’m s-s-sorry.”
“Speak up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. What a sight you are! Sitting there on a spanked bottom, blubbering like an eight-year-old.”
Heather ran her fingers lightly up and down Ginger’s spine. Ginger hunched tighter and sobbed.
“I think you should talk to Samantha.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Is that a yes?”
Ginger shook her head. “Y-yes, M-m-ms. Conway.”
Heather stroked Ginger’s back for a full five minutes as she waited for the cathartic sobs to subside.
“Hush. sweetie, hush. I’m right here.”
“You spanked me!”
“Shh. Shh. It’s okay.”
Heather brought Ginger a glass of cranberry juice and a box of tissues. She offered a consoling hug.
And when she pointed to her lap and said, “Come on,” Ginger climbed aboard and presented her bottom without protest.
“Shall we begin?”
“Yes, Ms. Conway.”
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Next door, Belinda Campbell was pondering a bid of three diamonds. “What’s that ruckus? Sounds like someone’s building a tree house!”
“Mind your business. Are you passing?”
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Ginger dressed, washed, combed out her tangled hair, reapplied her makeup.
“Do I look presentable, Ms… May I call you Heather now?”
“That depends. What did you learn today?”
“To act like a grown woman. I’m gonna call Samantha.”
“Okay, sweetie. Then I’m just Heather again. Go get ’em, grrrrl!”
“Thanks for everything.” Ginger rubbed her seat. “Well, most of it.”
“Call me.”
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Ginger called Samantha’s cell as soon as she got home.
“Yeah, come on over, Sam. Yeah, I’m just gonna hop in the shower. Good. Half an hour.”
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Next on “Spanking Samantha (Ginger’s Big Boast)”:
“Ow! Ow! Stop! Ow!”