Samantha Gets Spanked Read online

  Samantha Gets Spanked, by Samantha Whitney

  Copyright 2011 Samantha Whitney

  http://www.samanthawhitneywriter.com

  Published by Gossamer Publishing

  http://www.gossamerpublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  http://www.samanthawhitneywriter.com

  Samantha also writes under the name Shaina Richmond

  http://www.shainarichmond.com

  For her free books:

  http://www.shainarichmond.com/freebooks

  ***

  “So you’re definitely going home this weekend, right?”

  “Yes, Samantha. And we’re gonna get wasted. Count on it.” Trish cackled for a second, then let out a deep sigh. “Go ahead and plan on staying at my house Saturday night. Come over early for dinner and we’ll leave from there.”

  “Dinner?” I asked, then switched my phone from my left ear to my right. “That’s cool. I haven’t seen your parents since July.”

  “I know. They ask about you a lot.”

  “It’ll be nice to see them and spend the night. Just like old times.” I stopped to laugh, then bit my lip as a memory suddenly popped into my thoughts. “You sure they’ll be okay if we come back to your house, wasted? Remember that one time.... a long time ago....”

  Trish groaned. I could tell from her tone that she knew exactly what I was talking about. “Yes, you’re right, it was a long time ago....” Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath. “We’re not kids anymore. They know I drink. As long as we don’t make it a big deal, it’s fine. Nobody’s gonna be waiting up for us when we get home.”

  Well, damn it all. I bit my lip, knowing I’d have to end this phone call quickly to crawl between my sheets and take care of the sudden ache between my thighs. I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice. “Okay. As long as we don’t get in trouble with your dad.”

  “Shit, Sam. We’re not babies anymore. Hey, I gotta go. I’m supposed to meet someone in the dining hall for lunch.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up the phone and looked at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It was almost noon and I was already finished with classes for the day. I had another half hour until my roommate, Hannah, was due back. It was the middle of October, and so far my only complaint about living in a dorm room was the lack of privacy. I always had to sneak around to get myself off.

  Quickly, I stood up and pushed my sweatpants down to my socks. Then I pulled my panties down. Instead of completely kicking them off onto the floor, I left them at my ankles in case Hannah came back early and I had to pull them back up in a hurry to hide what I was doing.

  My sheet was soft and cool against my naked bottom as I sat down on the bed and slid back. Within seconds I was laying in the middle of my bed, my knees spread as wide apart as possible, with my pants and underwear at my ankles. I thought about covering myself with my sheet and comforter - an extra layer of protection against a sudden interruption by my roommate - but I knew the possibility of her leaving class early was slim. And the idea of finally getting to be somewhat naked, masturbating openly during the middle of the day, made my urge even stronger.

  With both hands I spread my pussy wide open and took a second to enjoy the feel of the slight breeze across my clit and my lips. I missed times like this. I longed for my bedroom at home... my locked door... turning on some music to drown out even the slightest sound of me enjoying myself. Playing with myself was a simple privilege I had taken for granted in the past. Now, it was a rare event to be cherished.

  My thoughts immediately went back to my conversation with Trish, and what happened years earlier when we got caught drinking. We were twelve years old, boy crazy, and wild. Those times seemed so far away, now that we were both 18 and going to different colleges. Trish and I had been best friends for years and we could talk about anything. There was no subject too embarrassing... except the fact that I had fantasized for years about what happened that day when her mom caught us in the basement with a bottle of cheap whiskey we’d stolen from her grandmother’s liquor cabinet.

  Mmm... I closed my eyes and reached my hand down between my legs, first parting my wet, swollen lips, then targeting my clit. It was exposed and ready, tingling with anticipation. I gasped as soon as I touched it. It felt so good to rub it again. And now I had another reason to look forward to going home for the weekend. I knew I’d have to make sure I had no plans on Friday night so I could spend a few hours getting reacquainted with myself.

  Oh yeah. I rubbed my clit, trying to savor the moment. Then I thought back to that day. Mrs. Murphy found us in the basement mixing generic diet cola with that cheap, stolen bottle of whiskey. She grabbed the bottle, horrified. She knew exactly where we had gotten it without us having to tell her. She marched us upstairs and made us both sandwiches and told us to eat so we would have something in our stomachs besides alcohol. Then she made us go to Trish’s room to take a nap. She said we were both in big trouble when her dad got home.

  My fingers worked faster. I reached down to my opening again to get them wet and went back to my clit. I hadn’t use this fantasy in a long time and it was a good one. With my other hand, I pushed my shirt up, exposing my bra to pull it down and tweak my nipple.

  I’ll never forget it. We followed her dad to the den and stood with our noses stuck in separate corners for fifteen minutes, then Trish’s dad came in and sat down on a high backed leather chair. He gave us a long, serious lecture, and it felt like the longest lecture in history. I always knew Mr. Murphy had permission from my parents to spank me, but he had never done it before. Trish’s turn was first. He pulled her pants and panties all the way down and used his hand to spank her over his knee, hard. I stood there and watched her cry as her bare butt got redder and redder. But he was fair, not brutal. Trish and I both knew what we did with that bottle of whiskey was enough to earn each of us a spanking if we got caught, so the happenings in that den weren’t exactly unexpected. But as I watched her dad go at her with such sternness, it made me wish I could go back in time to change my mind about that whiskey.

  When he was finished punishing Trish, he told her to pull up her clothes and sit down on a wooden chair. She got a few tissues from the box on the desk and sat there, crying. I was in shock. We both had parents who spanked us, but I had never been in that kind of situation before. I had seen friends get popped a few times on the butt, just as a warning. One time Trish’s mom had even given her three hard, quick whacks with a wooden spoon in front of me when we were younger. But I had never stood in a den and watched a friend get a sound spanking from her dad while awaiting my own fate.

  It was all in my head, replaying in slow motion. At the time I had no idea it was the birth of a whole new world of fantasy for me. A new reason to be alone with myself between the sheets. Mr. Murphy cocked his head to the side and looked at me with sympathy. I stood in front of him, unsure what I was supposed to do. He told me he would spank me on top of my panties because I was not his da
ughter and he felt it was improper to make me bare myself completely. And he said he had already talked to my dad, who encouraged him to go ahead and punish me. What I didn’t know at the time was that Dad would spank me again, much worse, before bed that night. But right then, Mr. Murphy was so gentle. He had been stern and grumpy when he was lecturing us a few minutes earlier. I guess he felt weird about spanking someone who wasn’t one of his own children.

  I had never before realized just how sexy Greg Murphy was. He was in his mid forties at the time. His short brown hair had just a sprinkling of white, which he attributed to too much work and not enough vacation. He was a successful chiropractor, and according to my mom and her often catty observations, he set his own schedule and always took plenty of time off.

  I could still see his face in front of me as I gulped and unzipped my jeans, letting them fall to the floor. We stared in each others’ eyes. I knew it meant something different to me than it did to him. In fact, it wasn’t until weeks later that I understood the effect it had on me. I was attracted to my best friend’s dad, the same way I was oddly attracted to our principal, Mr. Reed. It was the start of a crush, for sure. One that I had never admitted to anyone. Mr. Murphy looked at me like he was sorry to have to do this to me, and sorry that I had to watch him punish Trish. He took a deep breath before pulling me over his knee and securing my waist with his heavy arm. The tips of my fingers barely touched the floor on the other side. I was embarrassed by my choice of underwear - pink, with tiny little pastel hearts. I felt like such a stupid little baby.

  The first smack only stung a little. I could still hear Trish sitting in her chair, crying even harder than before at the sound of my first whack. The second one was a little harder. The next one harder still. They quickly increased in strength until I could hear the sound of each one echoing off the walls in the den. And he barely paused in between.

  I was confused, laying across his lap, wondering why it had gotten me so tingly even though I started crying after probably the tenth smack. It was nothing like being spanked by my own parents. And it was much milder than what I had just seen him give my friend.

  On my bed in my dorm room, my fingers worked fiercely around my clit. I hadn’t used this memory in quite some time. It usually led to other fantasies, ones that I occasionally tried to get boys to act out with me. But talking to Trish that day, knowing I’d see her dad that weekend, and that we’d be drinking... it made my thoughts go right back to that day. To crying as Mr. Murphy did what any reasonable parent - who believed in spanking - would do to their own child if they caught them in the basement with a stolen bottle of whiskey. He warmed up my bottom.

  “Ohh! Yes!” I was about to come. A quick thought went through my head regarding my roommate walking in, but I was past the point of no return. I didn’t care who caught me. It felt too good. My body writhed around on the bed. My hips bucked against my right hand as I pinched one of my nipples with my left hand. I remembered the sting of his palm on my backside, and the thrill of being in my panties, spanked by a man who wasn’t my father.

  I wonder if I can somehow make it happen again this weekend...

  And just then, I came. My back arched as I grabbed my breast. I circled my clit with my fingers even harder, determined to make the most of that rare orgasm.

  I knew I would never take privacy for granted again.

  After I was finished, I relaxed on the bed in the same position, enjoying the moment. A moment that would soon be interrupted by my very studious roommate turning the key to open the creaky door. I was thankful to be able to lay there for several minutes with my legs spread wide open, showing off my glistening pussy to an audience of no one. I took a few deep breaths to get my breathing to return to normal.

  And, of course, as soon as my bare feet hit the threadbare carpet of the dorm room, I heard Hannah shove her metal key into the lock. I pulled my up my pants, then looked over my shoulder to see her long, curly dark blond head.

  I said, “Hello,” and smiled against my gritted teeth as I left the room to go down the hall to the community bathroom.

  ***

  “Well, hello there!” Trish’s mom gave me a big smile and opened the door to welcome me inside the house.

  “Hi, Mrs. Murphy. Nice to see you.” I sat my overnight bag down on the floor and gave her a hug.

  All week long I had fantasized about this woman’s husband but as soon as I hugged her, I felt ridiculous. She was Trish’s mom. A nice lady who used to let me come to her house after cheerleading practice if my parents weren’t home. She and her husband were practically my second parents. In an instant, I went from nervous anticipation while I waited on the porch for someone to answer the door, to sheer embarrassment at the vivid fictional scenarios I’d created in my mind all week.

  I stepped back and looked Mrs. Murphy up and down. “What’s different? You look really good. Not that you usually look bad or anything.” She really did look good. It made me feel even worse about my recent thought life.

  Mrs. Murphy always took really good care of herself. She was short and a tiny bit chubby, but it only accentuated her curvy figure. Her medium length auburn hair was shiny and full of volume.

  My thoughts went back to a memory of her letting me tag along when she took Trish shopping for her first bra. I had already graduated from training bra to a C cup by the time we took that trip to the mall. Mrs. Murphy took me aside that day and gave me a little talk about what it was like for her to develop so early, like I had. She was such a sweet woman. And I felt like such a whore...

  She blushed. “I lost a couple of pounds and tried a new hair color. No big deal.”

  “Hey stranger!” Trish ran into the room and threw her arms around me the second I turned away from her mom.

  We spent a few minutes hugging and catching up, fawning over each others’ clothes and shoes. Then she took me by the wrist and led me off to her bedroom. I looked around the house for signs of Mr. Murphy. My heart skipped a beat when I passed the den. I did everything I could to pull Trish to a halt outside the door so I could stop and look inside. My brief glance across the room revealed that they still had the same leather high back chair he used that day.

  Trish excitedly went on and on about how much she loved being in college. I sat beside her on the bed, listening, watching her mindlessly twirl her shoulder-length red hair.

  Was there something wrong with me? I loved being in college, too. It was always a new adventure, living in a dorm around all those hot, young guys. Trish knew about some of my escapades. I had a few “friends with benefits” situations going on, and they were great. It was exciting to be away from my parents and able to do whatever I wanted to do, whenever I wanted to do it. But all week long, the only person I thought about fucking was her dad.

  My fantasies got stronger and livelier as the days passed. They started with him giving me a good, hard spanking, followed by some fondling. Fingers dipping between my legs. Me straddling him as he sat in the chair. By the time Saturday came around, I had to start my morning by locking my bedroom door to have some alone time with a dildo and a bottle of lube.

  I wasn’t interested in those boys at my dorm. Not even Lucas, the one who’d go down on me for hours at a time if I’d let him. My body craved something else. I thought for sure it was Greg Murphy, a handsome 50 year old chiropractor, and father of my best friend. But being in that house, seeing Mrs. Murphy, then hearing Trish babble incessantly about her college exploits.... I had never felt so ashamed of myself in my entire life.

  And then the bedroom door opened. It was Mrs. Murphy. “Okay ladies. Time for dinner.”

  I took a deep breath and walked to the dining room with Trish. This time, I didn’t look at the den. I just kept my eyes straight ahead like there were blinders on both sides of my face.

  There had been no mention of Mr. Murphy’s whereabouts, but that was normal. Most of the time when we were in high school, Trish and I were in that house alone while her parents were ou
t doing whatever made them happy - charity work, golf, tennis. They also belonged to a bridge club which kept them busy two Thursday nights out of every month. I was at her house regularly but I would sometimes go weeks without seeing Trish’s dad and I hadn’t thought twice about it... until today.

  Maybe it was just the fact that I was in a new environment, away from home. Maybe I was around too many guys my own age and I was bored. Maybe that’s why I was suddenly obsessed with a man more than twice my age. A man who had only occasionally appeared in my fantasies when I masturbated over the years, to spank me like he did when I was twelve.

  The warm, delicious smell of Mrs. Murphy’s mashed potatoes and gravy made me hungry as soon as it hit me in the hallway. I followed Trish through the dining room and into the kitchen. Her mother stood there filling a gravy boat like the perfect domestic goddess that she was. She wore a pretty blue apron, tightened at the waist against her curvy frame. Her wavy auburn hair that usually fell just below her shoulders was neatly pulled up on the sides in a pretty gold clip. She looked so wholesome and sweet. Yep, she was my like a second mom to me. She took a moment to look at me with a smile as she stood there preparing a salad. I knew it would be a long time before my guilt went away.