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Spanking Samantha
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When I asked her what the hell she thought she was playing at, she didn't reply. I was angry that she had tried to fool me and getting angrier by the minute. The black pvc mini-dress had a long zip that ran all the way down the front. I'm not sure what I intended doing at that point.Maybe I was just trying to shame her. Maybe I thought it would teach her a lesson. I don't know. I felt her flinch away as my fingers went to the zip on her dress. I told her to stand still. She wouldn't meet my eyes. I started to pull the zip down, slowly, not sure myself how far I should go.
I guess I was looking for some reaction from her. Some point at which she would feel so ashamed that she would beg me to stop. But she didn't. As I pulled the zip lower, over her breasts and down towards her flat stomach I told her how dissapointed I was in her. How her mother had left her in my care and how she'd abused my trust by trying to trick me. I asked her how the hell could she go out in public dressed up like a cheap whore. I asked her who she was dressed up like that for.  She didn't answer me. Looking up at her, I could see twin spots of red burning on her cheeks, either shame or anger. I wasn't expecting her silence.  I wanted to provoke some response from her. I pulled the zip down further and the shiny pvc dress opened wider.
She was wearing something else made of black pvc underneath the dress, something with bright chrome buckles and thin straps that criss-crossed her breasts. It looked like a swimsuit in stretchy, figure-hugging black. The zip of the dress  was down near her crotch now. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. I guess I hadn't realised before how much Samantha had grown. In my mind  she was still the scruffy little tom-boy I played ball with, but inches away from me now was a tall, beautiful young woman with soft curves and long, shapely legs. Part of me knew I shouldn't be doing this, but another part of me wasn't going to back down until she did. If she'd just once said stop I would have stopped, but she didn't. I pulled the zip all the way down and her black mini-dress slithered down her long legs and came to rest in a shiny pool of pvc at her ankles.
I sat for a long minute just looking at her. The unworthy thought crossed my mind that she was like a centerfold out of Playboy magazine or some perverts teenage fantasy. She was so close I could feel the heat from her body. So close I could smell her musky scent. Trying hard to control my voice, I told her that she should be ashamed of herself. That I was ashamed of her and so would her mother be if I ever told her about tonight. I ordered her to go up to her bedroom right now and get changed out of those ridiculous clothes so we could throw them in the trash. I also told her that she was grounded for the rest of the weekend. That was when her head came up. The red spots on her cheeks had blossomed into anger now. She put her hands on her hips, threw her hair back,  and really let me have it with both barrels.....
"Just who the fuck do you think you are,  Bob ? You're not my father and you can't tell me what to do.  I'm not a little girl any more, or haven't you noticed ? The way you're looking at my tits I think you have. Well lets get this straight buddy, I dress how the hell I like and its got nothing to do with you. As it happens all the kids dress like this, but I guess you're such an old fogey you wouldn't have a clue about that. Now I don't give a flying fuck if you tell my mother or not, but I'm going out tonight and I'm going dressed the way I please. If you don't like that, tough shit"... and that was when she gave me the finger. Well you can call me old-fashioned if you like but how could I let any female, especially a sassy 19-year-old brat like Samantha, give me the finger ? So I suppose what happened next had a certain inevitability about it 
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