Samantha Gets Spanked

by Samantha Whitney

  Mr. Murphy sat in a recliner in the living room. His eyes were glued to the television for only a second, then he spotted us. “Oh no.” His lips formed a line. Such a stern expression. “You girls better behave yourselves.” He stood up and walked toward us, meeting us at the front door.

  “Don’t start, Daddy.” Trish put her hand on her hip. Her tone made her annoyance clear. “We’re too old for that.”

  “You’re not too old for anything.” He matched her tone of voice and stared in her eyes. “I’m serious. I don’t like the look of this.” His eyes darted between me and Trish. I noticed them linger a a bit at my chest. He blinked a few times and turned to his wife, who had just entered the room. “One of us will be up waiting for them, right?”

  “Dad!” Trish’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t wait up, okay? Seriously. It’s fine.”

  “Now, honey,” Mrs. Murphy said, “I know you’re all grown up now but we’re your parents and we worry.”

  “And this is still our house.” Mr. Murphy’s voice rose just a little as he stared in Trish’s eyes.

  I gulped. It was the angry tone I’d fantasized about all week. My pussy immediately throbbed for Greg Murphy. It made me forget all about what just happened between me and Trish in her room. Damn, I wanted that hand slapping my ass, turning it red after a long, serious lecture about rules and worrying, and telling me how important it was for me to be home at a certain hour. Spank me. Please. Spank me. Maybe even make me cry. Then take advantage of my aching, wet pussy. It’s ready for you. Right now. The den. Please. The chair. Your cock...

  “Samantha?” Mrs. Murphy’s hand was on my shoulder.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  The three of them were gawking at me. Mr. and Mrs. Murphy looked at me with concern. Trish stared at me with a smirk, like she could read my thoughts and was utterly disgusted.

  “Are you feeling sick?” Mrs. Murphy leaned in closer. “Was it dinner?” She pulled her hand to her chest, then looked at Trish and Greg. “Is anyone else sick?”

  “I’m not sick, Mrs. Murphy.” As I stared in her eyes, I actually did feel a little sick. But not for the reason she thought. I simply wanted one night with this sweet, wholesome woman’s husband. And I felt terrible about it.

  “Come on!” Trish grabbed my forearm with both hands and dragged me out the door.

  My legs were like Jell-o. I hobbled along after her. The last thing I saw before the front door closed was a confused expression on Greg Murphy’s face.

  Yeah, I was confused too. And I had been for many years. Just one night. That’s all I wanted. Maybe not even a whole night. An evening. A couple of hours. I could even jot down an outline of how the event could take place and he could follow it and we could get it over with. Then maybe I could put it behind me.

  I thought I was going to cry when I saw Roger’s stupid little blue car waiting there along the street. We walked slowly toward it. Trish kept pulling me along.

  “What the fuck?” She tightened her grip on my arm. “Why are you being so weird tonight?”

  It was only a few more feet to go. “Seriously?” I tried to keep my voice low. The windows were rolled down in the car. I saw Carter smile and open the passenger side door and step out. “Roger and Carter? We’re not kids anymore.”

  She glared at me, her eyes full of venom. “Okay. So, what then? You want my dad or something?”

  Before I could answer, she let go of my arm and ran off toward Carter. “Hey you!”

  Carter had a huge smile on his face. “Hey sexy. Love those outfits.”

  Trish and I both wore black miniskirts with tank tops. Mine was still the low cut silky red one I carefully chose earlier that day. Trish wore light blue, which looked really good with her red hair.

  A few minutes later I was in the front seat beside Roger, staring straight ahead out the windshield. I tried to ignore the sounds of Trish giggling in the backseat with Carter. Roger looked almost as annoyed as I was. I had no idea why, and I didn’t care. I had a nagging feeling that it had something to do with the fact that Carter was having a good time in the backseat while he was stuck in the front seat with me. I had barely greeted him when I got inside the car. It was hard for me to believe that I used to have such a big crush on him when I was a junior. He was a well-built football player with thick dark hair and smoldering brown eyes. I was one of several cheerleaders who watched him intently from the sidelines, cheering for him even when it was obviously unnecessary.

  Through the murmuring and chuckling in the backseat, I heard kissing and occasional words like, “cunt” and “shots.” I saw Roger shake his head, then reach down to turn up the radio.

  The ride to the bar felt much longer than ten minutes. Instead of opening his door, Roger reached into the glove compartment in front of me. He let his elbow brush against my nipples and then lingered there with the back of his arm. A few seconds later he pulled out a small brown paper bag.

  I closed my eyes, wishing like hell that I was still at Trish’s house.

  “Here we go,” Roger said.

  “Fuck yeah!” I heard Carter yell from the backseat.

  I opened my eyes to see Roger twist open the cap of a small bottle of vodka. I turned to look at Trish in the backseat. Carter whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Seconds later, she reached for the bottle and took a long drink, followed by her usual dramatic gagging and screaming upon taking a swig from a bottle of liquor. She and Carter laughed. Then they each took another turn drinking from the bottle and proceeded to make out.

  “What’s wrong?” Roger asked. He tilted his head to the side, looking at me. Then he inched forward, staring in my eyes. “I think you need a drink to loosen up. You look like you’re in pain or something.”

  “Hmm.” I sat there and watched Roger take the bottle from Carter’s hand. Carter then used that hand to grab Trish’s thigh, making her moan loudly. I was so fucking bored. Why did I ever think this was so great? I glanced at Roger as he handed me the bottle with a big smile. Suddenly I felt bad, like I was leading him on. He was one of many guys that I either fucked or flirted with when I was in high school. Whatever I once found interesting about Roger, even just a few months earlier, had long since disappeared. Sure, he was still cute. Tall, dark, handsome. Kind of exotic. And he even smelled good. He wore a long sleeved light blue button-down shirt with thin black stripes. I could tell he tried hard to look nice. And I had no idea why. Was it so we could all just sit at the dark, far end of the parking lot in his car, drinking cheap vodka and making out? This is why we all got dressed up?

  Maybe he was right - I needed to loosen up. This night could have been a lot worse, right? I forced a grin and took the bottle, then turned the bottom up and took a long drink. I winced and stuck out my tongue in response to the burning liquid hitting my throat.

  Roger burst into laughter and slipped his arm around my shoulders. “You okay? You should drink a little more.”

  I felt like I couldn’t get out of it. The evening was going exactly how they had all planned. Exactly like dozens of other nights. Drinking in a car. Making out. I could hear slurping sounds amidst the heavy breathing of Carter and Trisha in the backseat.

  I took another drink from the bottle, which was already more than half empty, before handing it back to Roger. “Aren’t we going inside the bar?”

  Trisha piped up from the backseat. “What the fuck for?” Then she went back to laughing and making noises with Carter.

  “What’s wrong?” Roger narrowed his eyes and peered into mine. “Just have another drink.” He pulled me closer and kissed my forehead, then started fondling my left breast. “The night’s young.”

  And so it went. I took another drink before Trisha decided she wanted the rest of the bottle. It wasn’t long before Roger opened the glove compartment to reveal two more bottles. He handed one to Carter in the backseat and kept the other for himself.

  I watched Roger drink. “Hey!” I said. “I thought you were our dr
iver?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a baby.”

  “Fine.” I snatched the stupid cheap bottle from Roger and took a hearty swig. “There, you happy?”

  Roger smiled, then pulled me forward to kiss me. I gave in. It felt good for about thirty seconds, until he put his hand on my leg and moved under my skirt.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered. “You’re wet. You’re having a better time than I thought.” Then he latched on to my mouth again.

  I pushed his hand back down to my knee and leaned away from him. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” I lied. He wasn’t the reason I was wet. He was just another young, stupid boy.

  I looked in his eyes with an innocent grin, realizing how I could get myself back to Murphy’s house early. “So, where’s that vodka? You guys should have a drinking contest.”

  ***

  It was eleven o’clock, and my plan had worked like a charm. I sat inside the bar at a booth with Trish propped up against me, almost completely passed out. The manager only let us stay because he knew Mr. Murphy was coming to pick us up. Roger’s car was still in the parking lot, but Roger and Carter had just left, having taken the cab the manager called on their behalves.

  I picked up my big glass of water and took a long, well-deserved drink. Those stupid guys. They were always so competitive. It took almost no time for my little game of “Who Can Drink the Fastest?” to get them both drunk enough to act like even bigger idiots than they were when they were sober.

  “Huh?” Trish murmured. She opened her eyes for the first time in several minutes.

  “Shh,” I said. “You want some water?” I held the glass so the straw was close to her mouth.

  “Hmm? Oh. Uh huh.” She nuzzled my shoulder and closed her eyes.

  I tried not to smile. I didn’t want to seem too obviously happy when Mr. Murphy arrived. I looked at the clock again, estimating that he should be there just about any minute. The bar was crowded, and I saw several people eying our table, probably wanting seats and wondering what we were doing there.

  I shook my head. What were Roger and Carter thinking? There was no way we looked old enough to be around that middle-aged crowd, no matter how good our fake ID’s were.

  And then I saw him. Greg Murphy. A real man. And he had that same serious, concerned expression he had before we left for the evening. Mmm... and I’d finally get him all to myself... at least for a few minutes.

  “Hey!” I waved. “Mr. Murphy!”

  Trish startled awake beside me. “Huh?” Her eyes were about half open.

  “Your dad’s here.”

  “Yeah. Uh huh.” She wiped a tiny bit of drool from her mouth before collapsing against me.

  After a few more attempts to get his attention, Mr. Murphy spotted us, then practically ran to our table. “Damn, she’s in bad shape.” He ran his hand across his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  He walked to the bar and started chatting with Harvey, the manager. I knew from my previous conversation with Harvey that Mr. Murphy was his chiropractor. Harvey went on to tell me about his trick knee, his gout, and his mother’s sciatica. The two men exchanged a few words, then Mr. Murphy chuckled and shook his hand before coming back to our table.

  “Okay,” Mr. Murphy said. He sat on Trish’s other side and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m gonna get her out of this booth.” He stopped and leaned forward, piercing me with his dark blue eyes. “You okay to help me? You don’t look as bad off as her.”

  “I’m a little tipsy but I should be okay to help.”

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head like he was disappointed. Disappointed enough to punish me later? I had to stifle a smile.

  Soon, we were both in the front seat of his car with Trish completely passed out, sprawled out across the back seat. Mr. Murphy gave me a half-smile as he pulled out of the parking lot. I could only see his face because the moon was full, casting a warm, romantic glow throughout the car.

  “So, drinking, huh?” Mr. Murphy asked.

  I was about to respond when he interrupted me.

  “It’s okay.” He sighed. “I remember what it was like to be your age. And to come home for the weekend.” He sighed again. “And to resent my parents for enforcing rules after I’d been away at college. It’s rough.”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

  He laughed. “It could be a lot worse.” For a moment, he cupped my knee, then drew his hand back to the steering wheel - but not before I felt the need to squirm in my seat. His touch made me wish he’d pull off to the side of the road and jump me. Mr. Murphy continued. “You don’t know how good you have it right now. College is the best time of your life.”

  Should I find a way to turn this conversation in a favorable direction for myself, or agree with him about how great it is to be in college? I’m sure that could turn into a long conversation that would carry us all the way back to the house. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to do - pass time with innocent conversation.

  I cleared my throat. “So, you’re really not mad about us drinking?”

  Mr. Murphy snickered. “No.” He paused. “Well, I’m not thrilled about it. I’m just glad you girls are all right.”

  “Remember that time me and Trish got caught drinking in your basement?” I decided to go for it. What if I never got a chance like this again?

  “Hmm?” His brows furrowed. “You mean when you were twelve or so?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed, trying not to sound excited.

  “What about it?” He glanced at me with a smirk, then looked back at the road.

  Damn... what do I say now? What the fuck did I expect? For him to say, ‘let’s hold a reenactment in the den tonight?’ I had to think fast.

  “Uhh...” I looked out the window, searching for the right words to say. The silence in the car was deafening. “I guess after that I was just surprised you’d be okay with Trish drinking at all.” I took a deep breath. “She still lives under your roof and everything.”

  Mr. Murphy chuckled. “Okay. So, you’re saying you think I should spank my eighteen year old daughter?”

  Fuck! It took almost no prompting to get him to say that. And suddenly I was wet again. I wondered if I’d have to wipe off the leather seat when we got back to the Murphys’ house. “You think she’s too old to spank?”

  “Why?” He turned to me for longer than I felt was safe, considering he was driving. “Do your parents still spank you?”

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Dad threatens to once in a while but he’s full of it.”

  He tossed his head back against the head rest, laughing. “I say that to Trish once in a while but she’s knows I’m full of it, too.”

  “What would you do if my dad called you and said I needed a spanking for drinking tonight?”

  Mr. Murphy’s eyes widened. He silently looked straight ahead at the road until we came to an intersection, where he turned on his signal light and brought the car to a slow stop. He licked his lips, then turned to look at me.

  First, his eyes met mine, then they crept down to my chest, then my lap, then came back up to look into mine again. He was so handsome in the glow of the moonlight. It took all of my effort not to unbuckle my seat belt and launch myself across the front seat to attack him. He sat there, looking in my eyes like he knew exactly what I was thinking... and maybe he was thinking it, too.

  A car pulled up behind us and Mr. Murphy turned his attention to the road to make a right turn.

  We rode a few more miles in dead silence until he turned the radio on to an easy listening channel with the volume low. I kept trying to look at his crotch to see if he had a hard on but a combination of shadows and his loose-fitting shirt made it impossible.

  Why wouldn’t he talk to me? Had I made him uncomfortable? Was he thinking about spanking me? Did I turn him on? I waited eagerly for a sign, but he was stoic.

  When we arrived at the house, I closed the back door for Mr. Murphy after he picked up Trish like a rag
doll and carried her inside. Mrs. Murphy met us in the living room, and both of us tucked Trish safely in bed. Aside from a few quick glances and a little bit of small talk, Mr. Murphy made absolutely no effort to communicate with me.

  Disappointment settled in. I changed into my short, white cotton nightgown and matching panties, and washed up for bed. The Murphys were both cordial to me after we brought Trish home, but were they secretly angry with me? Did he tell his wife about the moment we shared in his car? Was there really a moment or did I make it all up?

  I crawled into bed beside Trish, who was out cold, her mouth hanging open.

  Under the covers, I spread my legs apart and traced over the crotch of my panties with my fingers, feeling my hard little clit through the thin fabric. If only he’d gone for it... The tiny bit of embarrassment I felt at his silence had just given way to something else. Maybe it was being in that house with all of its memories. It might have even been the tension in the car, and the suspenseful ride home. All I knew was that, for some reason, I was horny as hell.