Story summary: When Rosalie suggests Samantha make up with Chris, how, exactly, does that … well, work. Not exactly à propos to "The Bells Are Ringing," so this is a spinoff, even though Rosalie still narrates.
Dedication: To 'Chris.'
Warning: Besides usual servings of copious and sweet femslash LEMONade you've come to expect from your dear lesbiatic authoress, this story contains femdom (heavy if you're not used to reading it, and light if you are). So like for my story "The Bells are Ringing" if you haven't got past the concept of the college position, or adding the letters 'ess' plus 'em' is not your thing, you may wish to skip this possibly cringe-inducing (for you) story.
Also contains a passing mention of Rosalie's rape. Sorry, but she never forgets that, so it comes up in her thoughts from time to time, like in this story.
I returned from the laundry room after moving the load to the drier and was again greeted by a rather interesting tableau.
Chris was standing outside Samantha's door, and she was more dressed than me now.
She was wearing socks. And sneakers.
And that was all she was wearing.
I suppose I should get used to these kinds of carryings on with the not-exactly uninteresting acquaintances Bella and I had been making, but I wondered at the surge of activity. Was this due to what they called 'Christmas cheer'? I thought alcohol had to be involved in some respect for that. And neither of them had drunk any alcohol. I would have smelled that. I'm particularly sensitive about that, given my past. Any if anybody drank Scotch, they ran the risk of death, just on general principles, at my hands.
Pour Scotch all over me then rape me and then 'share me' around with your 'chums' before leaving me to die?
Yes, I had issues with that particular spirit, and with anybody who drank it.
Which fortunately for the girl at the door, wasn't her.
Chris knocked lightly on the door, one could say almost pleadingly.
"Sam," she begged, "c'mon, let me back in, huh?"
"No," came the cold response from behind the closed door. "If you're going to be like that, you can go back to your own room in your own hall."
"I could," Chris said angrily, "if I had my key, in my jeans, that are in somebody's room."
"Not my problem." Samantha sounded unmoved.
"Then how am I supposed to get back into my room?" Chris asked frustrated.
"I'm sure Campus security will let you back into your room … with ID, right? They have your butt prints on file, don't they?"
I could almost hear Samantha's smile.
"Ha, ha, very funny, Sam!" Chris shouted. "Like they're going to help me? If they don't lock me up?" Chris demanded.
"What part of 'not my problem' did you not understand?" Samantha responded unsympathetically.
"C'mon, Sam," Chris whined, "what do you want from me?"
"Well, you could apologize for starters, …" Samantha began.
Chris looked incensed, but she did notice me, and glanced at me embarrassedly, noting I was less clothed than she before she returned her attention, and anger, to the door.
"Me?" she demanded angrily. "Me? Apologize? For what? I didn't offer me up to that girl or throw me out of your room or …"
"Yeah," Samantha interrupted, "that girl: Rosalie! That girl who when I woke you up to hear the goings-on next door, you said: 'Oh, wow! What's she doing?' and 'Wow! I wish I could be doing what they're doing!' and that girl that got you all wet in the laundry room cumming like crazy on her machine on spin cycle. And then when we get back to the room, was there anything else you could talk about? How hot she is? How amazed you were that she took off her slip just like that? Hot really hot she is without the slip? As if I didn't know! If you love her so much, why don't you just go right next door and have yourself a ball with that wonderfully perfect fantasy come true, huh?"
Here Chris did look over to me, apologetically, but she also appeared very embarrassed and maybe a little bit hopeful.
"Sorry," I said coolly, "we're leaving very early tomorrow morning to catch a flight out West."
Chris looked desperate, but at the sound of my voice I heard the deadbolt clear and the door opened up a crack to reveal the chain lock still in place, partially obscuring Samantha's critical eye.
"Speak of the Devil," she said sarcastically, looking me up and down scathingly.
I completed the phrase for her: "… and she doth appear."
I smiled dangerously. She didn't know how close to the truth her phrase had hit.
"Hmmphf!" Samantha snorted, the addressed Chris: "Have fun with Miss America!" and slammed the door shut again.
Chris turned to me: "Help!" she pleaded.
I wasn't feeling particularly helpful: "How?" I asked coolly.
"Well, like, do you have any clothes, at least, that I could borrow?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "I just put them in the drier."
"Any spares?" she pressed.
I glanced down at my naked self and looked back at Chris, my eyebrow raised.
"Sorry," I said, not sorry, "I just gave away my last spare to somebody." Then I added (not-)helpfully, "Ask her."
But then I continued more sympathetically: "It sounds like this is something between the two of you which you should to sort out … between yourselves. Heaven forbid I place myself between two lovers in a quarrel."
Because the last time I did that, I got … well, I got Bella. I guess that didn't turn out so poorly for me … and I could add 'or for Bella' if I wasn't the humble type.
I'm not really the humble type, if you haven't noticed.
"But apologize to her?" Chris demanded. "You saw what she did … what she's doing!"
I regarded Chris coolly and then shrugged. "So there's always Campus security …"
There was no way I was inviting this human into my dorm room. No way. Besides the fact of her tempting sweet self was already putting me on edge, there was the whole thing that she would be coming into my room, and then I'd have to put up this whole front, this whole pretense of being something that I'm not, of being human, in the one place where I could relax and be myself and be with my Bella. Pretending to be human? Remembering to pretend to use the bathroom? Actually having to drink water or eat human food? Then, as it eventually came right back up, explaining that, no, I'm not bulimic. And then there's the whole pretending to sleep in Bella's arms?
Well, the last one wouldn't be too disagreeable, but then I would have to hide all the feelings that Bella's flesh on me would elicit. And having to hide my continuous masturbation?
And then if Chris brushed against me? 'Oh, Rosalie, why are you so cold?'
No. Chris would not set foot in my room tonight.
Chris sighed and then turned back to the door. "Sam …" she began softly.
"What?" The hiss from the other side of the door was angry.
Chris grimaced, but pushed out an: "I'm … I'm sor-… I'm sorry, okay?"
The door reopened a crack. Samantha regarded Chris critically. She then closed the door. I heard the sound the chain being removed from the latch, and then Samantha reopened the door, grabbed Chris by the arm roughly, and pulled her into the room.
"Get in here now!" she barked to Chris and closed the door, leaving me in the hall alone.
I turned to my own door when Samantha reopened hers.
She looked at me coldly through the crack of her just ajar door: "I'm sorry," she said sarcastically, "but it's going to get a bit loud. If that bothers your beauty rest, well then that's just too bad. File a complaint for all I care. Oh," she added, "and Merry Christmas and sue me for saying that."
She slammed the door shut. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place carried a note of finality to her statement.
Well, well. Somebody was feeling her oats.
I reentered our room. Bella was fast asleep, but I could hear the two girls next door as if I was right there in the midst of their conversation.
"Get on that bed!" Samantha snarled.
"Sam …" Chris began cautiously.
"Now!" Samantha's breath came in pants.
I heard the sound of hesitant footsteps and then a rump sitting on a mattress.
A moment of silence as I could almost feel Samantha glaring at Chris.
I wondered if Chris was glaring back? Or could she not look at all at angry Samantha?
But Samantha's voice, as she spoke next, wasn't angry, it was careful.
She said: "Chris, what is your safe word?"
"Sam, you gave it to me; you know it." Chris' voice was confused.
"Chris," Samantha said in a tightly controlled voice, "you are probably going to have to say your safe word tonight at least once, so I want you to say it right now, please."
"It's 'salt,' Sam," Chris finally said quietly, still confused.
I heard the sound of a chair being pulled along the tiled floor of the kitchenette. I heard the sound of a rump hitting wood. Sam had sat down by her kitchen table, I surmised.
"Sam," Chris asked hesitantly, "what are you doing?"
"Nothing," was Samantha's brusque reply. "You said your safe word, so I'm not going to do a God damned thing until your say-so, which isn't coming because you're so infatuated with somebody else, so why don't you just grab your stuff and move in with her!"
"Sam," Chris pleaded, "will you please stop that? I'm not infatuated with her, okay?"
"Oh, really?" Samantha asked incredulously.
"Yes, really!" Chris responded heatedly.
"Then what was all … that?" I heard Samantha's arm wave through the air.
"That, Sam," Chris said angrily, "was for you, okay? I was like, okay, I was like wow! But why? Because it was amazing, okay? I mean, where do you hear sex going on like that except in the movies or something, okay?"
"You could have that right here, Chris." Samantha's voice was coldly furious.
Samantha was cold, but Chris was hot: "That's what I'm saying!" Then I heard Chris' panted breaths as she tried to collect herself. "I'm saying," she said more calmly, "that we could be doing that, and we did do that! Remember the fucking laundry room, for fuck's sake? That was fucking …" Then Chris' voice turned sad. "That was fucking amazing, Sam, okay? It was fucking amazing." Then Chris murmured a regretful: "God damn it."
"But then what was that stuff about Rosalie?" Samantha asked quietly.
"What about it?" Chris demanded.
"She's not fucking nuclear hot?" Samantha put it back to her.
"Well, isn't she?" Chris wasn't to be deterred.
After a moment, Samantha answered sullenly, "yeah."
I could feel my evil smile twist my lips upward. Damn straight I am, I thought pleased. I turned to my closet and picked out another slip to wear. Good thing I have spares, unlike that lie I told that Chris … more than three spares, in fact. You can never be too prepared when it comes to nightwear … not with 'rip'm Rosalie' in town.
I love that little nickname Bella gave me. In fact, love everything about my Bella.
But then I put the slip from the closet back, and picked up Bella's slip from the floor, breathing in deeply her scent embedded on it, and put that one on. It was if I were putting on Bella, in a way, and I loved that. I hugged the slip to me, and felt her caressing me.
I turned my attention back to the delightful conversation next door.
"So …?" Chris demanded.
"So I don't go around announcing that fact to the whole God damn world, Chris!" Samantha countered.
"Sam," Chris sighed, "Catherine Zeta-Jones is hot, but that doesn't mean I'm going to dump you to line up for hot sex with her, okay? I have as much chance getting to her as I do with that girl. They are both way out of my league. Way."
I'm just loving this conversation. Really.
But somebody else didn't: "Oh, so that's what I am, huh? Just Sam, is that it? Just somebody in 'your league'? Well, that's just great! I made the little leagues, unlike that Rosalie in the Bigs! Wow! Go me!"
"Oh, God!" Chris murmured as I heard what children these days call the 'facepalm.' Then Chris explained herself: "No, Sam, you're totes out of my league, too, 'kay? Here I am a frosh, a small town girl in Dartmouth, and everybody's like, 'look out for that fiery Samantha when she's on the prowl, 'cause she'll turn you, gf, … but you'll never get that lucky, so don't worry about it.' And guess what? I got that fucking lucky, okay?"
It was silent for a moment.
"Really?" Samantha asked disbelievingly.
"Yeah, Sam," Chris answered in resignation, "really."
"You know," Samantha said after a moment, "you're going to give me a big head. You know that, don't you?"
"Sam," Chris sighed, "I am way, way too late for that."
"Ooh!" Samantha responded sarcastically, "little Chrissy is getting all rambunctious!"
But I could also hear the smile in her voice.
"It's Chris, Sam, and I'm not that little," Chris corrected, a smile in her voice, too. "I'm taller than you."
"Very rambunctious!" Samantha's smile caressed the words.
"So what are you doing way over there, besides nothing?" Chris asked a bit sadly.
I could almost hear Samantha shrug. "Safe word, Chris," she explained, "you didn't say I could come over there since you said it."
"Would you come over here, please, Sam?" Chris pleaded.
It was quiet for a moment, then I heard the soundless sound (for humans) of Samantha getting up from her chair and walking across the floor.
And then no motion … until I heard the sound of a hand patting a bed.
I heard Samantha sit down.
"Sam," said Chris' hesitant voice. "I'm sorry, okay?"
I heard Samantha swallow, and her heart rate was elevated.
"Kiss me, huh?" Chris pleaded.
After a second of silence Chris added a quiet: "Please?"
I wondered if Chris is giving her Samantha the big eyes, because I heard the sounds of hands going to hair and lips pressing to lips.
After a moment, eloquent Samantha said throatily, "So, um …"
"Yeah …" Chris added helpfully.
I sighed. How could I follow the developments in the next room with the way people grunted at each other these days? I thought progress was supposed to advance the world … it seemed me that the way people talked these days was making a huge leap … backwards to prehistoric monosyllables. Back in my day, back in the '30s, people knew how to use the right word for the right occasion. None of this verbal shorthand and indecision that so plagued conversations these days.
But then they started speaking more helpfully … for me that is, and that's what counts, right?
"Well," Samantha said, "you're kind of overdressed, and …"
"Well, you are, too, Sam," Chris interjected.
"So, do you need help taking off your sneakers?" Samantha asked.
"No, ma'am," Chris replied, "I got 'em, but can I help you with your sweater?"
"Yes," Samantha whispered, and then I heard cloth sliding across skin.
"Hmmm!" Chris hummed appreciatively, "How's about I take off my sneaks and you take off your jeans."
"Hey," Samantha complained faintly, "I'm supposed to be calling the shots."
Chris sighed. "Okay, shot-caller," she said, "what do we do next?"
"Uh, well," Samantha said, "I'll take off my jeans while you take off your socks and sneakers, okay? Or, I mean, we'll do that."
Chris snickered. "Yes, ma'am."
"Are you getting rambunctious?" Samantha demanded.
"What?" Chris shot back, "I'm taking off my sneaks, see?"
"No, but you called me 'ma'am.' That's rambunctious."
Chris sighed. "What's with the 'rambunctious' line? Anyway, saying 'ma'am' is polite."
Samantha corrected, "Not here; in fact, not anywhere in New England. You say that around here, and you'll have angry people in your face asking what your problem is. In New York and New Jersey, they hear that, they're liable to shoot you."
"Really?" Chris asked disbelievingly.
"Yeah, really," Samantha answered. "So, luckily for you, you have an understanding and patient person in myself."
A snort of laughter escaped from Chris' lips.
After a second Samantha continued, "So which small town you from?"
"You wouldn't have heard of it, it's a small town outside of Houston," Chris said.
"Houston, Texas?" Samantha asked.
"Yeah," Chris agreed shyly, "Houston, Texas."
I did notice the almost unnoticeable southern accent in Chris, now that she stated her origin.
"Wow!" Samantha said, "I always wanted to ride a cowgirl!"
"I'm not a cowgirl, okay?" Chris retorted. "Do you see me in boots and a ten-gallon hat?"
"Hm, very sexy image there," Samantha purred. "But if not a cowgirl, then how about turn a prim and proper Southern Bell?" Samantha teased.
Chris sighed, but then added: "Actually, according to statistics, only five percent of the population are gay, but twenty-four percent of girls have had a lesbian experience, so there's that."
"Uh-huh," Samantha said disinterestedly, but then her voice became inviting. "So, ya wanna up the percentages?"
"Which ones?" Chris asked in confusion.
"Both, obviously," Samantha clarified lasciviously.
"Um, but I thought we already had …" Chris continued.
"Well, there's always making sure, right?" Samantha pressed.
"Yeah, I guess so …" was Chris' unenthusiastic reply.
Apparently it was enthusiastic enough for one of the parties, because I heard two heads hitting a pillow, … or two pillows?
"So," Samantha whispered as I heard her hand caressing flesh, "what town in Texas you come from?"
"You wouldn't have heard of it, Sam," Chris said apologetically.
"Try me and see," Samantha offered.
"It's called El Lago?" Chris essayed. "I went to Clear Lake High School? You know, the school where all those suicides happened back in '84?"
"Uh-huh," Samantha answered politely.
"Yeah," Chris said, "in fact, I'm the first girl … that is, the first person from there to make it to Dartmouth. I'm right up there with when the Band won some competition in Austria."
Chris' voice was tinged with sadness.
"Hm," Samantha said noncommittally. "Well, congratulations, then, for making it to Dartmouth." Then she added, "Welcome."
"Gee, thanks," Chris replied sarcastically.
"No, really," Samantha answered sincerely, then: "but … does that mean I'm going to be written up in your local paper as that damn yankee that 'turned' the sweet yellow rose of Texas made good?"
"The state flower of Texas is the bluebonnet!" Chris responded irritatedly.
"I just love that Southern accent when you get all righteous like that," Samantha purred.
"Sam, are you talkin' or are you turnin'?" Chris demanded.
"Yeah," Samantha said impishly, "that accent."
"Oh, for goodness sake!" Chris grumbled, but that's all she said, because apparently she took matters into her own hands, as I heard more arms embracing and more lips pressing to lips.
After a moment, I heard a pulling back.
"Chris, what are you doing?" Samantha asked cautiously.
"What does it look like I'm doing, you sexy panther? I'm upping the percentages by draping myself over you."
"'Panther,' eh?" Samantha asked pleased. "But is somebody forgetting the rule? I'm on top."
"Some rules are meant to be broken …" Chris began playfully.
"Not this one," was Samantha's not-so-playful response.
"Yes, it is," Chris giggled.
Then I heard sliding on sheets as the girls struggled with each other, fencing verbally as their bodied fenced in other ways. "No, it's not! Now get under me where you belong!" Samantha called. "Can't make me," Chris taunted. "Can, too! Oof!" Samantha grunted. "Less talk, more rokk!" Chris teased. "Chris, I'm warning you! Last chance!" Samantha's voice was portentous. "Or what? Hey!" Chris' question turned into a surprised squeak.
"Too late," Samantha's voice carried finality. "I warned you," she said, "but you wouldn't listen; well, you play with fire, you're gonna get burned. You break the rule, you get punished."
"'Punished'?" Chris gulped.
"Yup, and bad little girl that you are, you're getting what's coming to you," Samantha said ominously, "a spankie."
"A spankie?" Chris cried out in shock.
"Yup, and there you were, thinking you could get all toppy, and where did it get you? Exactly where you belong, sweetness, you, face down on the bed, with me, straddling your legs, looking down at that naughty little bottom of yours that's just so ready to be spanked. So, get ready, cowgirl, 'cause you're about to be ridden. Now raise up that rump so I can slide this pillow under you. Now."
"Sam …" Chris' quavering voice tried for reasonable.
"Chris," came Samantha commanding voice, "we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Your choice. But I don't think you want to make me put this pillow under you, 'cause that's the hard way. And you don't want the hard way."
"Sam …" Chris protested again.
Because Samantha sighed. "Okay, it's the hard way, then. Too bad … for you."
I then heard a bit of a struggle and some more grunting from Samantha, then she said, pleased, "There." Then she added sarcastically, "Mmm! All comfy now!"
Chris was silent.
I heard the sound of rougher flesh rubbing on smoother flesh, and I imaged Samantha's palms caressing Chris's buttocks.
"Chris," Samantha began, and her voice sound strained, "you've been a very bad, bad girl, and you need to be punished, trying to get on top of me, making me put that pillow under you and raising up those super sweet sexy ass cheeks just begging me to spank them, and I am so going to spank them, good and hard, and make them fire-engine red, because that's what's going to be needed to put out the fire on your bottom after I'm done with you, baby, but you are going to learn your lesson of who's on top and you're going to …"
"Sam!" Chris began, but then:
"Eek!" Chris cried out, astonished.
"You are not to talk without permission," Samantha commanded imperiously, "got it?"
"Yes," Chris bit out.
"Hey! Ow!" Chris exclaimed. "What was that for?"
"That," answered an angry-sounding Samantha, "was for saying 'yes' when I didn't say you could talk, and this…"
"… is for your back-talk, asking me questions all rebellious like that!"
Chris grunted at each solid open-palmed strike. I reflected that I had made the correct decision in refusing to lend Bella out to this particular panther, … the things she taught to her fems, … well, I don't think Bella would be forgiving to me for the lessons she learned from Samantha.
But I also noticed that I was getting rather … excited at the lesson going on next door, and my scent was starting to fill the room.
And I was starting to stain Bella's slip, too.
"Got it?" Samantha's commanding voice demanded.
After a moment of silence, Samantha purred, "Good, very good girl, Chris, … now."
I heard more rubbing of flesh on flesh.
"Now, Chris, we have to have to deal with that little discipline problem of you trying to get on top and stay on top. That's Rule Number One, Chris, and you tried to break it. How many spanks do you think that is, breaking the rule so brazenly like that?"
Chris was silent.
"Well, Chris," Samantha continued, "I'm feeling generous. Usually punishment for breaking the law is forty lashes."
Here Chris gasped fearfully.
Sam's voice turned consolingly. "That's okay, honey, I'm not going to do that to you, but you can't get toppy with me, so … hm … ten smacks on that sweet little bottom ought to do it, yes?"
"Okay, Chris, here we go. Brace yourself."
SMACK! … SMACK!
"Other cheek," Samantha said quietly.
SMACK! … SMACK!
"How many was that?" Samantha asked.
"Mphf! Four!" Chris gasped out.
"No talking, Chris," Samantha commanded, "so that one is extra."
"Okay, let's see how you're doing," Samantha said quietly.
I heard flesh touch flesh.
"Yeah, you're getting nice and warm, Chris … nice and warm. And you are so making me hot, honey. Let's check how you're doing there."
I heard a shifting on the bed.
Then Samantha said, "Okay, honey, spread your legs."
"Wider, Chris, I'm not going to ask again."
Chris whimpered, but I did hear her comply, as I heard skin sliding across sheets.
Then I heard something else. A very special sound. A sound of a finger encountering friction, and … moisture.
"Ah, yeah," Samantha's voice was filled with wanton lust. "You're hot, too, aren't you, baby? You're getting all wet there, aren't you?"
Then, after a slight pause, I heard Samantha whisper conspiratorially: "You like this, Chris, don't you?"
I heard more shifting of skin on sheets.
"Oh, honey," Samantha said dismissively, "it may be a prim and proper for you to be shaking your head no. 'Oh, no, I can't like this; a sweet little girl like me would never want a spanking — a good, hard, firm spanking — that will make me cum so fucking hard … not a small-town girl like me, oh, no!' But, Chris," Samantha continued knowingly, "we know better … 'we' being me and that hot little pussy of yours squeezing so hard on my finger."
Then I heard shifting again.
Samantha cooed, a bit louder, "Don't worry, little puss, you're so going to get to cum so hard when I fuck you like nobody's business."
Chris sighed out a whimper.
"But, first," Samantha's voice returned to normal speaking, "we need to finish some other business with these back here. Your buns are so deliciously nice and pink, but we need to a fuller blush to them, don't we, Chris? Okay, honey, bear down, because I'm going to give you three more spanks on each cheek. So, here we go."
A slight pause and then:
"Uh!" Chris grunted.
SMACK! … "Mmmh!" Chris panted.
"And …" Samantha said, then:
"Ah!" Chris cried out and gasped and gasped and gasped.
I reopened my eyes and removed my hand from my breast and removed my fingers working my vulva. I had no idea how my hands got there.
I couldn't stand it anymore, I just had to see what was generating all that noise in the other room. Oh, I had an excellent mental picture, but my eyes were hungry to fill in the gaps their noises and silences made. I silently opened the window, and swung out ours, closing it most of the way, and clambered over to theirs.
We were three stories up, but, like Elie in the Swedish movie Bella and I saw, or like 'Spiderman,' who Bella though we were like — she didn't know how right she was — I could grip the ripples in the brickwork just as easily as your feet grip the ground to walk over it.
I peeked into Samantha's dorm room.
Oh, what a sight peeked back at me.
Samantha straddled Chris lying prone on her bed. Samantha's face was preternaturally calm. Chris' was strained; holding in her emotion.
"Good, Chris," Samantha said encouragingly. "Very good, honey, you're doing well. I'll give you a second to catch your breath, and then we'll finish up on the other cheek."
Not much of a second later, Samantha said, "Okay, here we go."
"Nmm?" Chris' whimper was outraged, but:
SMACK! … this didn't seem to deter Samantha.
SMACK! … who seemed to have a real dedication to her work
Chris grunted with each stroke, and with the last one administered, she seemed to let go of what she was holding in and panted and grunted and whimpered at the severe punishment she'd be given.
"There, honey," Samantha said consoling, "there. You did it."
Samantha shifted off the bed then bent down and administered a very soft kiss, first, to one of Chris' very reddened buttocks, then once more to the other.
Chris gasped in big gulps of air.
"But …" Samantha said hesitantly, "I have some bad news for you, sweetie."
Chris continued to pant, helplessly.
"Listen to me, Chris," Samantha commanded softly, "you were a very, very bad girl for trying to get on top, and you've been appropriately punished for that, but we still need to make sure who's who and what's what, so I'm going to ask you a question, and you're going to answer only that, because if you get chatty … well, I suggest you don't get chatty. So, Chris …"
Here Samantha paused, and then:
Samantha had administered two light, quick smacks, and then said: "My question is: who's on top?"
Chris didn't answer for a second.
This displeased Samantha. "Chris, I said:"
The smacks came a bit more forcefully.
Chris responded right away: "You are, Sam, okay? Jeez!"
"No, Chris," Samantha said coolly.
Smack! "I'm not on top …"
"… as you said Chris. No, I'm on top with no side commentary. I'm on top. So we're going to try that again, …"
Then Samantha became very quiet and calm: "Who's on top, Chris?"
Chris answered right away this time: "You are, Sam! You're on top! You're the boss! Okay, Sam? You're the boss."
Samantha smiled. "That's right, honey; I like that. I'm the boss. But I have another question for you: how do you spell 'boss'?"
Chris' face twisted in confusion, but again she answered quickly. "You spell it bee-oh-ess-ess, Sam."
"Right again, Chris," Samantha said pleasantly, "so you don't spell it jay-ee-are-kay, as you mispronounced it in the laundry room earlier, right?"
Chris was silent.
"So let's correct that spelling mistake, okay, sweetie?" Samantha asked sweetly, smiling mildly. "Spell 'boss' again for me, please."
"Bee-oh-ess-ess, Sam," Chris said meekly.
"Right, Chris, not:"
"Are" Smack. Chris whimpered.
"Got it?" Samantha demanded angrily.
"Yes!" Chris said; her buttocks, a bright cherry red, just incandescent in the infra-red, or heat, spectrum, were still quivering from Samantha's precise and controlled discipline.
"You'd better, you sweet little thing," Samantha said fiercely, "so we're clear on that now. But then you whacked me in the arm there, so now, … oh, dear! we have to deal with that little bit of rebelliousness, don't we, Chris?"
Chris whimpered under her breath, 'Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!'
Samantha whispered dangerously, "Get ready, Chris, here it comes …"
And Chris' whimper became a gasp of fearful anticipation.
But Samantha surprised both Chris and myself by quickly leaning over Chris' back and planting a soft sweet kiss between her shoulder blades.
"God, Chris," Samantha sighed into Chris' back, "you are so sexy when you're feisty like that!"
Chris jolted in the shock of the soft kiss, so very different than the punishing strike, and that jolt caused her buttocks to rub against the very top of Samantha's hips.
"Oh, fuck!" Samantha whispered helplessly and slid a little further up Chris, resting her chin on Chris' shoulder, and then rubbing her vulva rapidly against Chris' buttocks.
"Oh, Chris," Samantha sighed, "Do you see how wet your raised hot buns have made me, oh … oh … Chris!"
As Samantha rubbed, Chris couldn't help bucking from the contact against her very sensitive backside.
"Fuck, Chris," Samantha exclaimed, bucking furiously herself now, grinding her vulva into Chris' quivering and bucking buttocks, "fucking … oh, man … fucking … I'm riding you, cowgirl, I'm … Ah! Nnn! Fuck!"
And Samantha came onto Chris' bucking backside, as Chris' moans of pain intermingled with pleasure caused Samantha to come for a rather long ride of the filly she was breaking in.
Do you know how a panther in heat gives out copious amounts of pheromones? I do. You come across a lot of scents when you're hunting in the wilds far from inhabited areas. All I can say is thank goodness their window was closed, because Samantha's desperate coupling with Chris was so close to rutting that I had to grip more tightly to the brick and the window frame as the sympathy orgasm washed through me. Yes, Bella's slip was now more stained than my own one in the laundry.
If their window had been open … ? I probably would have joined them and fucked them both silly, that's how strong both their combined scents would have just pulled me right into to their frenzied coupling, and that would have eventually required a series of rather awkward explanations about body temperatures (or my lack thereof) and silent entrances into locked dorm rooms … or a rather embarrassing article in the campus newspaper and probably carried eventually over the wire by AP about Jack(or Jacqueline)-the-Ripper-esque sex murders.
But, my goodness can that girl Samantha come!
Samantha eventually rolled off of Chris, gasping heavily, but draping the back of her arm across Chris' back. Chris turned her head and looked at Samantha's exhausted face, upturned, eyes closed. She reached out tentatively and brushed her fingers against Samantha's shoulder.
Samantha's hand whipped out and grabbed Chris' fingers. Chris jerked in surprise, but eased when Samantha brought Chris' hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly. Samantha then brought Chris' hand to her breast and rested it there.
It was quiet for a moment, with Samantha's hand over Chris' over Samantha's heart.
"You feel my heartbeat, Chris?" Samantha asked quietly, still breathing heavily.
"Yes," Chris whispered hesitantly.
I could hear Samantha's heartbeat was over 120 beats per minute; very elevated.
"You wore me out, baby!" Samantha said in a deep voice, and then chuckled lightly.
"Then …" Chris' voice was shy, "rest, Sam, okay?"
"No, honey," Samantha answered tiredly, "I have to take care of you first."
Samantha got up from the bed.
"Be right back, honey," she said, then moved to the bathroom, coming out with hand towels and lotion. She then went to the kitchenette and took down a large bowl from the cabinet and filled it with ice and returned to the bed, kneeling by Chris' side.
"How's your buns, honey?" Samantha asked kindly, then smirked.
Chris' eyebrows clouded, but answered simply: "Um, something like on fire or stinging or both …"
Samantha shook her head. "Virgins!" she muttered.
"Yeah," Chris said defensively, "what's wrong with that?"
When Chris said that, I did recollect the care with which Samantha approached and probed Chris' pussy. It wasn't Bella's tiny kitty, to be sure, but I saw Samantha only ever insert one finger, and that carefully, as she ministered to Chris' needs in the laundry room and here.
Samantha paused. "I meant more like, 'new to a little bit of spanking,' Chris. Like I said, it usually starts with forty whacks and goes from there."
"Um," Chris said embarrassed, "um, so I must not measure up very well, not even making it to ten, even, … I thought I was gonna die around four or something …"
Chris buried her head under her arms: "You probably don't wanna go with wussy little me any more."
"Shhh, Chris, sh-sh!" Samantha said consolingly. "I'm not measuring or comparing you to anyone, okay? And I'm taking care of you now, so just relax and don't worry about anything, it's just me and you, okay?"
Chris answered humbly, "Yes, ma'am," but then grimaced and corrected herself quickly: "I mean, 'Yes, boss," but she didn't seem to like that either, "I mean …"
"Chris, did I tell you to shush already?" Samantha asked kindly.
Chris shushed and nodded her head.
Samantha smiled. "Good, now about that warm stinging tush of yours … would you like me to kiss it and make it better?"
Chris looked up at Samantha with wide eyes, but then nodded her head again.
Samantha patted Chris' beautiful chestnut hair. "Relax, honey."
Samantha put lotion on her hands then rubbed them together and then gentle remounted Chris. She put her hands to Chris' back and then began rubbing her back in broad strokes at first and then concentrating on areas of tension on Chris' back.
"Ah!" Chris sighed with pleasure.
"How's that, baby?" Samantha asked solicitously.
"Lower, lower," Chris pleaded.
"Okay," Samantha answered, then deepened her voice appreciably: "How's that, baby?"
Both girls sniggered.
"Sam," Chris sighed contentedly, "you are such a goober!"
"'Goober'?" Samantha asked in disbelief. "Do I look like Gomer Pyle to you?"
"Who?" Chris asked in confusion.
Samantha sighed. "Sounds like somebody who likes calling me mean names wants another spankie!"
"Um," Chris said fearfully, "can I say, 'no, thank you,' to that? Besides, goober is a nice name."
"Mmhm," Samantha said disbelievingly, "is that like 'ma'am'?"
"Sort of," Chris said cautiously, "so you're saying I'm going to get into hot water if I call people that?"
"Something like that, if that's what you call a spankie," Samantha said easily.
Ask she spoke, Samantha kept massaging Chris' back until Chris was just humming with pleasure.
"I just love taking care of sweet little you, Chris!" Samantha sang out happily. Then: "Now let's take care of that warm spot."
Samantha rubbed her hands with the towel, then picked up an ice cube from the bowl. I watched her with interest as she brought it up to her mouth. She didn't put it in. Instead, what she did was to rub it across her lips several times, as if she were applying lipstick.
Then she began kissing Chris' buttocks with soft, sweet pecks.
Chris hissed in shock at the first kiss, but then began purring in pleasure at the relief Samantha's cold lips were giving her. Every few kisses, Samantha would lift up her head, and 'reapply' her 'ice lipstick' as it were, and resume kissing Chris' ruby cheeks.
"God, Sam," Chris cried out in pleasure, "that feels so good!"
And I wondered … would Bella like for me to kiss her so?
I found myself getting rather wet thinking about kissing Bella like that, thinking about how my cold lips would actually be something that would cause Bella to hum with pleasure like that, and watching this always interesting tableau that Samantha and Chris seemed ever eager to present to me, even as they were unaware of the uninvited observer.
Then Samantha lifted herself up again and this time placed an ice cube into her mouth for a moment.
Then said: "Let's put out the fire back there, and start a fire elsewhere, honey, hm?"
Chris turned her head back to look at Samantha, and asked a cautious: "Huh?"
"Shhh!" Samantha smiled, leaned in again, putting her now cold hands on Chris buttocks.
Chris closed her eyes with a sigh of contentment and smile on her face.
But then Samantha separated Chris' cheeks, and leaned all the way in, and kissed Chris' anus.
"Anh?" Chris gasped in surprise. "Sam, that's my …"
Chris didn't get to finish, for as Samantha continued kissing back there, Chris suddenly stiffened, and cried out: "Your tongue?"
Samantha's grip on Chris' buttocks tightened, and she buried her head further in between Chris' cheeks, and I heard the quiet flick, flick, flick sound of Samantha's tongue at work.
This drove Chris into the pillow, hard, and then she began bucking and then grunting in time to Samantha's flicking tongue, that soon enough picked up its tempo and seemed to become more demanding, because Chris' humping became more desperate.
"Uh! Sam," Chris cried out, "I'm gonna cum!"
This seemed to drive Samantha into a flicking frenzy which drove Chris over the edge. She threw her head back and cried out in a wordless grunt, humping the pillow for all she was worth.
"Ah! Ah! Ahhh!" Chris cried, then completely relaxed, collapsing onto the bed.
Samantha withdrew, sitting upright again. She looked down at Chris.
"Feel better now, honey?" she asked impishly.
"Oh, God!" Chris gasped and continued breathing heavily as she recovered.
Samantha put her hand on Chris' back. "Get you some water?"
Chris nodded, still too overcome to answer.
"I'll be right back, honey."
Samantha got up, but instead going to the kitchenette, she went to the bathroom. She washed her hands and then retrieved the mouthwash from the mirror cabinet and gargled a few times. Then she went to the kitchenette and got out a cold wrap from the freezer and a bottle of water from the fridge, opened it and brought it over to Chris.
Chris took a few sips, then a few sips more, then handed it back to Samantha. But Samantha wouldn't take it back.
"Drink more, Chris, you need to replace your electrolytes."
Chris raised her eyebrow at that, but did drink some more before returning to Samantha.
Samantha finished off the bottle. "Discipline is such thirsty work!" she complained.
"Oh, poor baby!" Chris rejoined.
"Is somebody getting rambunctious again and needing to learn a lesson?" Samantha asked with an edge in her voice.
"No, ma'am, y'all learned me real good!" Chris let that honeyed Southern accent work its magic.
Samantha smiled. "Mmm! Well, I'll let it pass this time if you skooch over a bit and make some room for me on the bed."
Chris moved off the pillow, and Samantha tossed it over toward the bathroom. She then wrapped the ice wrap in a hand towel and put more lotion into her palms.
Samantha hopped up onto the bed. "Here, Chris, let me massage those hot cross buns of yours, the lotion will help."
Chris said: "Okay."
And Samantha spent some time rubbing the lotion in, eliciting more sounds of pleasure from Chris. Samantha then put the towel holding the ice wrap on Chris' backside, angling Chris so the ice wrap was sandwiched between her buttocks and the wall.
"Truth or Dare?" Samantha asked in the quiet.
After a slight pause Chris said, "I think I'll go with 'Truth' because, frankly, with what happened tonight? 'Dare' is just too scary for me to contemplate right now."
"Shucks!" Samantha muttered. Then after a thoughtful pause, she asked: "What do you fantasize about when you masturbate?"
Chris was quiet for a moment, and then said: "I don't think I could come up with a fantasy that could've even touched what happened tonight, Sam. First there's you. Then the washing machine with that girl who appeared out of thin air and took off her clothes, if you can call what she was wearing clothes? And then this?"
"Well, there is that, isn't there?" Samantha seemed pleased. "But you didn't answer the question."
Chris was quiet for a moment. "I haven't … that is, I've never …" and then was silent.
"You are a good little girl, aren't you, Chris?"
Of the two girls, Bella and Chris, Bella was the much better blusher, but Chris did a pretty good job, blushing, at Samantha's teasing.
"So, you ready for your homework?" Samantha asked quietly.
"I thought Christmas break started tomorrow!" Chris groused.
"Well, actually it starts today, because today is tomorrow."
I sighed at the solecism. What do they teach children in school these days? 'Today is tomorrow,' indeed!
"So, can we get some sleep?" Chris asked.
"Yes, but homework first," Samantha commanded.
Chris sighed. "Okay, Sam, what's my homework?"
"Tell me your fantasy as you masturbate." It almost sounded as if Samantha was pleading.
"What, now?" Chris asked, embarrassed.
"Yeah," Samantha answered quietly.
"Why?" Chris demanded.
Samantha was quiet for a bit.
"I mean …" Chris began.
"Shhh," Samantha said. "I'm thinking up my answer, okay?"
Chris was quiet.
Then Samantha said, quietly, into the quiet: "You're just so pretty and so sweet, Chris, and I just love watching you let go and seeing that look cross your face when you do, and … well, we're going home for two weeks now, you to Texas and …"
"Are you …" Chris interrupted, then paused for a moment herself, then pushed forward, "Are you going to miss me? during Christmas break?"
"Well, yeah …" Samantha said defensively, then added quickly, "I mean, like, I've been on the prowl for you for a couple of months … I mean … couple of weeks and we only just got together now and …"
"You …" Chris said surprised, "you haven't been with anybody else during that time you were courting me?"
"Well," Samantha said quickly, "not, like, 'courting' you, like, I wouldn't call it 'courting' you, but I was just …"
Chris reached out and wrapped Samantha in her arms and silenced the hesitant words with a passionate kiss.
"Sam Houston, you are just so sweet!" Chris exclaimed.
Samantha snorted: "Chris, my last name is Ferris."
"You learn something new every day," Chris said.
"So what's your last name, Chris?" Samantha asked shyly.
"Houston," Chris answered with a slight edge.
Samantha paused. "And you grew up near …"
Chris answered, tiredly: "Yeah."
"You must have been teased a lot in school," Samantha said.
"Nah," Chris answered, "Not really. Not about that. Not so's you'd notice."
"Oh?" Samantha asked. "Why not?"
"'Cause," Chris answered sadly, "I wasn't really noticed, you know? I was just … not noticed … and that was … fine. I liked being not noticed."
Samantha was quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully: "I noticed you."
Chris gave Samantha a quick kiss, "Thanks for noticing me," and she smiled.
"So, can I … notice you more now?" Samantha asked.
"By …" Chris began, but then said: "Sam, I don't know how to do … that."
"Can I help you?" Samantha asked.
"Okay," Chris answered shyly.
Samantha took Chris' hands in hers. "Think about somebody really sexy that you'd like to cuddle with, or, I don't know, Chris, that you'd like to have them, you know, touch you or hold you or kiss you like … Catherine Zeta-Jones … or that Rosalie Hale or …"
"Or you?" Chris asked shyly.
I could feel Samantha smile as I looked in from their window.
"If you like," Samantha glowed. "Now …"
Samantha moved their hands down to Chris' pussy, placing Chris' hands there.
"Just think about me kissing you and holding you and … let yourself go, honey," Samantha said encouragingly.
"I'm shy," Chris said embarrassed. She was blushing rather a lighter color than the shade of red her buttocks were moments ago, but it was still very lovely. I swallowed as I watched this intimate moment.
"It's okay, Chris. It's okay. Close your eyes, honey," Samantha whispered.
Chris closed her eyes.
"What are you imagining?" Samantha asked softly.
"You're … you're … you're kissing me, Sam," Chris whispered back.
"On the lips," Chris answered. "And you're holding me, you're holding me to you and … but you're letting me slide a little bit down, and you're kissing me on the forehead and on my hair, and I'm kissing and kissing you … and I'm …"
Samantha pushed Chris' middle finger between her own vaginal lips.
"That's it, honey," Samantha encouraged, "do what feels natural. You can … yes, that's it, Chris."
Chris had begun, very delicately, to rub her vagina.
"What happens next, Chris?" Samantha continued.
"And I'm …" Chris gasped. "And I'm kissing down your neck and down to your … down to your … oh! God!"
"Yes, Chris? What are you kissing?" Samantha asked.
"I'm kissing your … your breast and then I'm kissing right up to your … breast and then I … and then I … oh!" Chris sighed, and started pumping now.
"What are you doing now, Chris?" Samantha asked gently.
"I'm … oh, God, Sam! … I'm sucking on your breast and I'm … nnnh!"
Chris' pumping became more frantic.
"That's it, Chris, cum for me, baby, cum, sucking on my breast, honey," Samantha whispered tenderly.
Chris whimpered, and then cried out, "Oh, Sam! Oh … oh, Sam! Oh, Sam!"
And she sighed, and her pumping slowed and stopped. "Oh, Sam!" she whispered.
"Oh, Chris," Samantha whispered, "you did so well. You …"
Chris grabbed Samantha in a very tight hug, and Samantha, after a moment's hesitation wrapped her arms around Chris and held here.
"Chris, you just did so well, I'm so …" Samantha began but then paused, looking confused, asked softly: "Chris? … Chris?"
Chris' breaths came out even and deep: contented. Chris had fallen asleep in the arms of her lover.
"Sleep now, Chris," Samantha whispered. "Sleep now, my l-…"
Samantha snapped her mouth shut and looked up and the ceiling, squinting her eyes. Then she angrily wiped her arm across those squinting eyes. The window blocked the scent, but her arm glistened with wetness.
"Sleep now, Chris," Samantha repeated more firmly, and kissed Chris' hair tenderly. Samantha lay on her back and nestled Chris' head under her protective arm.
Samantha stared up at the ceiling for a new moments before her own eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.
I captured that image in my mind: the petite, hennaed Samantha protectively holding the demure chestnut Chris.
Then I returned to our room, prying open the ajar window and sneaking back into the bedroom to check on Bella. She was in deep sleep. I felt so strongly the urge to cuddle with her, but I was afraid the coldness of me would wake her from her slumber, and I actually needed to use this time to prepare for our departure this morning.
I shook my head and headed to the bathroom. Who would have thought a girl like Samantha, for all appearances a tough, calloused, jaded girl could fall so hard for a sweet, innocent girl like that Chris. Who would believe that Chris could have seen past that harsh façade to find anything at all to desire or to admire. I hope things work out for them, that they have their separate Christmas breaks, but they find happiness in each other. They just seem so mismatched if you went by appearances.
I reflected as I headed toward the shower that it's so odd, how the world works, bringing together people so different as Samantha and Chris.
 'Chris,' you know who you are … if you think you are, you're probably-maybe-could-be right. And make sure to finish all your homework. Mmhm! After all, Rosalie requires Bella to do so, so we can't have your 'grades' slipping, now, can we? And, no, I'm not Samantha; not by any stretch: I'm taller than her (and Bella, even), and, um, 'thinner' than her.
 Like I said, this story was written as an offshoot-like story of "The Bells Are Ringing." But it was also, like my story "Memories," written as a response to a private story written to me. Both "Memories" and this story are very, very different than the originators' stories, but their stories inspired these. … Anybody feeling they want to 'inspire' me? Huh? Huh? I mean, my writing. In a muse-like way. You know.
 You know, some writers are inspired by … well, anyway. Just sayin' Sayin' what? 'Oh, nothing, nothing!' (I want Esme to be my mom after reading bb's "Her Transformation"). La-di-dah.
 Rosalie talks with Bella about her issues with Scotch in bb's msr, ch 49 "A Bottle of Scotch." And Edward is the hero of that chapter! (Edward fans love that chapter, but even I was like, 'you go, Edward!' … Yes, I know!) And it also explains why bb hates why-questions, too. So I asked him, like, 23 why-questions that day when I read that chapter, just to enjoy watching him spin up like he does.
 "Less Talk, More Rokk!" by freezepop. As Liz Enthusiasm sings: "This song is pretty kick ass!" Girls, she is, too. I found my moving body watching her sing this song on youtube, you know? And I can play this song on Guitar Hero, so that's a plus. And she totes sings "Stakeout" to me. Mmhm!
 Sharia provide 40 lashes for many punishments, including drunkenness or immodesty (such as women wearing pants). The old Jewish law also had that punishment, but usually took one back, because they were … nicer? From Wikipedia: 'The letters of the word "forty" are in alphabetical order; this is the only number that has this linguistic property in English.' That's just an fyi.
 The AP is the Associated Press, and they carry news articles to media across, well, now the world.
 The "How's that, baby?" "Lower" exchange during a back rub is from the move Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery.
 Actually, Gomer Pyle is the brother of Goober Pyle.
 I had originally put that the State flower of Texas was the blue bell, but a rambunctious reviewer rapaciously rebuked me. Apparently, Blue Bell is the brand of 'the best ice cream ever' according to her (bb, down in Louisiana with his mom, provided this judgment when I phoned: 'meh, too dense and hard'). She then corrected me that the bluebonnet is the State flower. Wikipedia confirms this, so maybe she's correct … but correcting toppy me like that? Sounds saucy … sounds seriously spankie-soliciting … I mean, if I were Samantha. La-di-dah.
 And don't you other reviewers be gittin' any uppity ideas (hanging out with 'Chris' is affecting my speech): 'Ooh! I'll leave a saucy review!' 'Cause then you'll force me to hand out numbers and that'll make me all righteously indignant … which you will not like, at all, when it's your turn. Your turn for what? Oh, nothing, nothing!
 Okay, on this twelfth endnote, I have a question: do they have a twelve step program for compulsive endnote addition disorder?
Anyway, this footnote is called the 'y'all' debate.
One feisty PMer/reviewer, feeling her oats, told me … okay, told me I WAS WRONG (I know, the impudence!) in my use of 'y'all' in this story, that is signifies solely plurality ('solely plurality,' … get the juxtaposition?) and so my use was incorrect! (Somebody's asking for a spankie…) Well, I grew up in the Union so I was willing to consider this Reb's battle cry, but then I got a PM from a rambunctious reviewer who was prolly trying to lighten her queued … attention … from me (not working, sweetie, but nice try) wrote the following …
"… Y'all is plural, but you can use it for singular people. It's just a colloquialism used for all things. I know, because I and everyone I know use it for both singular and plural. Yeah, just wanted to tell you that ;)"
… which has been my experience when I encounter people who try to pay me with Confederate dollars for their fraps, as well.
So, I'm leaving 'y'all' in there, because it seems to be authentic Southern-speak.
But I have an entirely different question now: 'singular people' in the quote above … does that mean … 'special' people … comme moiself? (that is faux-French) Ah! I'm so easily distracted, and 'the queue' just keeps getting deeper. Good thing I have a strong right arm and firm hand, eh? For what? Oh, nothing, nothing! La-di-dah!
And as always, I love every review I receive from every reviewer … I just sometimes show my love for you … differently. Well, as they say: 'different strokes for different folks.'
Hm. 'Strokes.' *rolls eyes*