Spanking Samantha (Chapter 5, F/F)
Previously on “Spanking Samantha”:
Ginger’s whiny excuse for making up the Spanking Samantha story pushes Heather’s hot button: gender politics. Heather – by now, it is Ms. Conway – brings Ginger to prolonged sobbing with a slotted spoon and a tongue-lashing. After consoling Ginger, Heather points to her lap. Ginger assumes the position without protest. When it’s over, Ginger promises to set things straight with Samantha.
The six women from the initial bar scene (Chapter 1) introduce themselves to a live studio audience and evaluate the story so far. Yolanda and Molly chide the author for using shallow stereotypes in place of meaningful character development. Everyone laughs when Kim, the spanking virgin, describes trying to spank herself “just to see what it feels like”.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************
Ginger was just emerging from a stall when Kim entered the studio restroom after the interview.
“Hi, Ginger. Look, I know you have to get right home, but … do you have just a minute?” Kim smiled tentatively and wrinkled her nose. Loose dark curls framed her cinnamon-toned face. God! That perm is so freaking adorable!
Ginger grabbed a paper towel. “Sure, pookie. We weren’t making fun of you out there. It was just funny.”
“I guess.” Kim summoned her courage. “Did you really make that story up about – you know – about spanking Samantha?”
“Yeah. It was stupid. And selfish. I shouldn’t have led you guys on. She and I have some issues, okay?”
“Is that why Heather gave you a spanking?”
“Basically. That’s how it worked out, anyway. You know Heather. She really believes what she believes.”
“About being strong, yeah. I don’t think I’m strong.”
“Oh, yes you are, in your own way. You have strong beliefs.”
“Like about God, you mean?”
“And marriage…”
“It’s not the same as with Heather. What was it like?
“This afternoon? It was like… It was like being a kid again. I’m lying there bareassed across Heather’s lap, listening to her go on and on about why I should be ashamed of myself, about how I need to grow up, about how this is gonna be for my own good. And I can tell she’s getting ready to get down to business. And I look back at her and say the same kind of stupid thing I used to say to my parents.”
“Like?”
“Like ‘I was just kidding around.’ My mother couldn’t stand that kind of whiney-ass shit! And there I was! Whammo! Fifteen years old, bottoms up on Mom’s knee, about two seconds before she starts whacking me with that hairbrush. Is that weird or what?”
“And that’s when Heather … you know … got down to business?”
“Look, Kim, it’s a long story. I know you’re curious. But every spanking is different.”
“Can I see?”
“What? My ass? I guess so. In there.” Ginger nodded toward one of the stalls and started to unbuckle her slacks.
Kim looked as though she had just seen her first dead sparrow. “It’s all red still. And it looks … puffy. Holy moley! What’s this?”
“Careful!” Ginger peered over her shoulder. “Shit. That looks nasty. I guess it’s from the kitchen.” She wiggled carefully back into her panties and finished dressing. “Heather got pissed that I was sulking and not answering all her questions. So she took one of those metal cooking spoons you’d use to pull an egg out of boiling water – the kind with the little holes in it? – and let me tell you, that thing really gets your attention.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah. Anyway, I guess it left a couple of welts.”
“I don’t think I could take a spanking like that.”
“What are you worried about? Marcus? Marcus loves you.”
“Didn’t your mother love you?”
“Mmph. Look, I’ve gotta go. I promised Heather – and myself – that I’d talk to Sammie tonight.”
“So you’re okay with this?”
“It’s a spanking. It happens. You kick and fuss and you think you can’t take it, and then it’s over. So maybe you have a sore ass for a while.”
“I guess.”
“Okay, look. It can be more than that. Sometimes there’s this really strong emotional reaction. Maybe anger – this really ferocious outrage that swallows you up. Or grief. Or feeling incredibly close to this person who cares so much about you.”
“CARES about you? Enough to hurt you?”
“No, Kim. The spanking is … just a process, a means to an end.”
“Hmphh.”
“Bad pun. It wasn’t planned. It’s causing a small hurt to stop a big hurt. It’s not quite like getting a shot to prevent a disease, but that’s the general idea. Hard spankings hurt, and people are afraid of pain, but the other pain can be worse.”
“What other pain?”
“Whatever it is. I’ve had this huge chip on my shoulder about Samantha for years, and now it’s gone. It might come back, but now it’s gone. I’m gonna talk to her. I’m gonna get my sister back.”
“Okay. I guess that makes sense.”
“And you. You’ve got this bug in your ear that Marcus wants to spank you. He doesn’t want to spank you. He might not even care about the wedding.”
“What? He does TOO!”
“No, about the money for the reception. He’s got a good job. He’s smart. He’ll get promoted, he’ll make money, you guys can pay for it. Or you can get a deejay instead of a band. That’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t know. He’s your fiance. It’s your life. He wants you to listen to him. He wants you to keep your promises. He wants you to – I don’t know. But unless he’s a real spanko…”
“A what?”
“Has he ever tried to spank you?”
“No.”
“Even in fun?”
“No.”
“Does he talk about it?”
“Just last night.”
“There’s no weird sites bookmarked on his computer?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He’s not a spanko. And he might not mean it. But I’ll bet there’s something between you two, and the money is just on the surface. Like Sam and me. And if you’re gonna marry this man, sleep with him, have his children, be his family … you both need to find it and fix it.”
“Wow! I never thought of it that way. The rest of your life is a long time! How come you never got married?”
“In a way, that’s what Heather was trying to teach me. Not exactly. She had me sitting there on the couch after that first … encounter … in the kitchen. She wouldn’t let me pull up my pants, so there I am sitting on my sorry spanked butt, rocking back and forth, feeling all sorry for myself. Leave me alone, Heather. Well, it was ‘Ms. Conway’ by then. ‘Leave me. I’m fine.’ Well, I wasn’t fine. I was fucked up. I hated my sister, I was lying to you guys… Maybe that’s why I dump all the boyfriends who don’t dump me first. I mean, where was my life headed?”
“On the road to Hell. It’s like you were saved.”
“Not my exact image, but okay. So she let me cry, and she got me some juice, and when she pointed at her lap….”
“…it was the right thing to do.”
“Yeah. It’s what I needed to do. For me.”
“Wow. Thanks. I think I get it now. Kind of.”
“Shit. It’s almost seven. I hafta get home and shower.”
“You better put something on those welts. You need some aloe cream?”
“More than you have in that purse, honey. I need a handful. Ow!”
“Thanks, Ginger. I still don’t think I could stand it, though.”
“Like I said, it hurts. You kick. You cry, maybe. You definitely look ridiculous.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“And maybe you’re sore for a while. It goes away. See ya!”
************************************************************************************************************************************
Ellie Hong was standing under a streetlight when Kim
stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Well, you look lost in thought.”
“Oh! You startled me. Hi, Ellie. What are you still doing here?”
“Car won’t start, so I’m enjoying the evening. It’s beautiful this time of year. They’ll get it in the morning.”
(She’s only had that Vo
lvo for a few months, Kim thought. I’d be standing here weeping!)
“Need a lift? The car’s a little messy.”
Even snuffing a cigarette with her black pump, Ellie looked smart and gracious and confident. Going places, like Marcus. An angry client was just a problem waiting to be solved. Deadlines? No big deal. Her Ferragamos probably shined themselves.
“Thank you. You sure it’s not too far out of your way?”
“Uh-uh. I’d be happy to. I don’t have anything planned anyway.”
“What about Marcus? Still holding out for that apology?”
“Maybe. You ready? I’m around the corner.”
“Sure. So what’s with the faraway look?”
“I was talking with Ginger. You two are the only ones who didn’t make fun of me in there.”
“Don’t let them get to you.”
No wonder Ellie was already a Senior Manager.
Kim opened the passenger door and tossed a Bloomingdale’s Medium Brown Bag from the front seat to the back. “Oops! Another blouse!” They drove off.
“Can I ask you something, Ellie? You’re like what? 29? 30?”
“So?”
“What I mean is… I was wondering… Sorry, but don’t you worry about being lonely?”
“Huh?”
“Not having a husband or a boyfriend.”
“There’s more to life than men. I just don’t have someone I want to be with now.”
“I mean you’re attractive NOW, but…”
“Who cares? And you can’t tell with us Asians anyway. We look good forever. You hit menopause and WOOMP! everything just goes all at once. Good genes, good diet, good skin. They say it’s all the fish and complex carbs, but I think it’s the kimchee.”
“The what?”
“Spicy fermented cabbage. You never get constipated. You get rid of all the toxins. Kim, is this about you and Marcus?”
“I guess.”
“And Ginger?”
“She says that getting spanked was a GOOD thing. Like getting saved from the Devil. Oh, I know, that’s me talking. I mean the Devil inside her. Having to sit there half-naked and take a scolding, she finally realized she wanted to forgive her sister and patch things up. I think that is so admirable. And when the time came, she just went right back over Heather’s lap without a peep because she knew it was the right thing to do. For herself. Like having a prayer answered. Does that make sense?”
“I think every woman makes her own sense. You need to find your own answers. Sound right?”
“I guess. Is this your street? Look at all those flowers! They’re beautiful!”
“Third house on the right. Thanks, Kim. You were so kind. Look, I have plenty of stew in the fridge. Why don’t you come in?”
“Oh, Ellie, I shouldn’t burden you with my silly problems. I’ll be okay.”
“No, come on in. Please, I insist on repaying your generosity. We’ll have some wine, we’ll eat, we’ll talk. It’ll be fun!”
*****************************************************************************************************************************************
Ginger scooted home and called Samantha’s cell. “Great, Sam. That’ll be fun. We need to talk. Yeah, I’ve got those cookies you like. I’m just gonna hop in the shower. Good. A half hour.”
Ginger rehearsed her speech as she coated herself with cool soapy water.
“I know you must be furious with me, Sammie.” No.
“I know you’ve been disappointed with me for a while, now, Sam.” No.
“Samantha, I’ve done something terrible that may have hurt you badly. I am so ashamed, but I want to be your sister again. May I apologize to you?”
Better. Ms. Conway would approve. Her concerns swirled down the drain.
“Oh, no! Don’t think I feel like wearing pants.” She pulled out a fresh clean pair of pink cotton pajamas. “It’s family. Who cares?” She knotted a towel around her hair.
The doorbell rang. She wrapped the belt of her white terrycloth robe into a loose knot as she unlatched the door.
“Hi, Sam…”
****************************************************************************************************************************************
Kim figured she’d like to see Ellie’s house anyway. It’s probably gorgeous.
“Let me show you around. Here’s the kitchen. Do you like to cook?”
“Wow! Look at this! These are so cute. Are they from Korea?”
Ellie checked the clock. A bottle of wine, a cup of understanding, a teaspoon of courage. She’d be warming Kim’s sweet cinnamon buns for dessert.
“**************************************************************************************************************************************
Samantha heard the latch turn and pressed her full 140-pound frame into Ginger’s front door. It blew open and slammed Ginger to the tile floor.
“Hey!”
Samantha ripped the towel from her sister’s head, grabbed a hunk of sopping hair, and dragged Ginger toward the dining area. The predator had her prey!
“What are you doing? Ow! Ow! Stop! Ow!”
“From what I hear, that’s what I’VE been saying lately. ‘Ow! Stop! Ow!’ “
“Samantha, that’s what I wanted to talk about…”
“Stop! I’ll be good. I promise. Oh oh oh, it hurts so much. Please Ginger. Please stop spanking me. I promise I’ll be good.”
“Ouch! Sam, wait…”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my life? My husband thinks you turned me over your lap, your friends think you spanked me to tears, the girls at the club are checking to see if my ass looks swollen, and by now half the town is probably wondering whether they really want a city councilor who gets her bottom bared and paddled by her own sister!”
“Sam, I can explain…”
“And I told Bill to get out of the fucking house!”
“It is my fault. Let me apologize.”
“You want to apologize? Well, you’re going to be sorry, all right. I’ll see to that.”
It took Samantha four seconds flat to pull one of Ginger’s high-backed side chairs away from the dining table, yank her bathrobe out of the way, and throw Ginger’s burning butt across her lap.
“Sam, please. I’m already so sore.”
SORE? Samantha was so lathered up fishing the oval hairbrush from her purse with one hand – and holding Ginger down with the other – that she simply didn’t catch it.
What Samantha heard was “I’m already so SORRY.”
“Well, prepare to be a lot sorrier. See this, you little bitch? It stings like the dickens! Now let’s get these jammies down.”
“No!” Ginger kicked desperately. Sam had her pinned.
Her eyes watered. God, not another spanking. Not with a hairbrush! Not yet.
“Okay, what the fuck. You want to start this way? I’ll pull ’em down later.”
Samantha tapped each cheek with the bristles. Ah, sweet delectable revenge!
She flipped the brush over and reached back like Roger Clemens readying a 95-mile fastball.
***
“SAM? Is that YOU? I don’t like my girls using that kind of language. You were brought up better than that.”
***
Samantha froze. “Shh!”
***
“GINGER? Who’s in there?”
***
“Shhhhhhhhh!”
Ginger pushed one hand into the carpet, raised her torso a few inches, and grinned over her left shoulder.
“You left the door open, DUMBASS!”
Samantha’s jaw fell. She slackened her grip on Ginger’s waist.
“WE’RE IN HERE, MOM!”
Mrs. Wallace turned into the dining area and dropped her handbag. Plop! “What’s going on here?”
She didn’t need three guesses. She was staring directly at her poor little baby’s pink pajama bottoms and dangling bare fee
t.
“Samantha Gail Parker, what is the MEANING of this?” She snatched the hairbrush.
Samantha’s heart rate doubled.
“What are you doing?”
“Mom, we were just…”
“Just WHAT? Doing yoga?”
Ginger wobbled on her sister’s lap. She bent her knees and alternately swung each calf to keep her ba
lance. “Can I get up now?”
Ginger wasn’t the only Wallace daughter to have gotten a dozen extra swats for flimsy, irrelevant excuses – for anything short of accepting responsibility and acknowledging the consequences. “Mother, it wasn’t me!” WHACK WHACK WHACK… Sam was usually in tears when Mom announced “That’s for trying to blame it on your sister.”
Think, Sammie, THINK! Make it good! It’s for art class! My friend Julie wants me to pose. I’m gonna be the teacher in an old-time classroom scene. Ginger was just helping me get the position right. She won’t buy that! Shit! Shit! Shit!
Ginger stood up. She still had raccoon eyes from her afternoon at Heather’s. A single tear trickled down her face. That was all her mother needed.
“I don’t know what Ginger did, and I don’t WANT to know. Stand up!”
Samantha’s eardrums pounded as she stood.
“Now that your father’s gone, NO one spanks my little girls except ME! I don’t care how old you are.”
“Mo-o-o-m! I didn’t DO anything!” Mrs. Wallace slapped her hard across the face.
“I know what a spanking looks like, young lady!”
“No!” Samantha was fourteen years old and counting. “I know it looks bad…” Twelve. “I was just angry.” Ten. “I didn’t hit her, Mommy.” Eight.
Samantha lunged at Ginger and grabbed hold of the waistband of her pajamas. “Really!” She tugged the bottoms down to Ginger’s knees. “Hey!”
“See?”
Her mother gasped.
Ginger’s thoughts about rescuing her sister vanished.
And Samantha looked down to discover Ginger’s swollen red bottom and its brace of spoon-raised welts.
*************************************************************************************************************************************
“Is that okay? There’s a yummy Montrachet if you think the Bordeaux needs to breathe a little.”
“Oh, no, Ellie. This is delicious! I love this little statue on the fireplace.”
“Want to see the upstairs?”
***********************************************************************************************************************************
Next time on “Spanking Samantha”:
Sing along, folks!
Oh, the red red bottom goes bob-bob-bobbin’ alo-o-ong.
There’s be lots of sobbin’ when she starts she singin’ her lo-o-ong (whack smack) sweet so-o-ong (whap splat).