Up A Notch Read online

  Sam hurriedly moved her hand and then buried her face in his leg to cry some more. Scott tilted her further forward over his lap, and began to spank her sit-spots with lightning speed and accuracy. "I hope you feel this spanking, and will remember it for quite some time, Samantha Anne."

  "I dooo! I wiiiilllllll!" she cried. "I'll be gooooood! Uncle Scott.... Please stopppp!"

  "I'll stop when your time with me is up, and not a second before. It's only been thirty seconds," Scott replied. He landed a few more stinging swipes to her upper thighs. "You know there's still more to come, little girl."

  "Oh Gaawwwwd!" Sam sobbed, trying to catch her breath.

  When the timer finally rang, Scott gave the girl a chance to catch her breath as he carefully pulled her panties back over her bottom and affectionately patted the warm backside. “No more minutes with me?” Scott asked softly as he rocked her and kissed her head. He hated being so strict with her, but she had to learn. He hoped that one day she would understand, but if not, then so be it. He would take whatever steps were necessary to keep her as safe as he could.

  “No Sir, Uncle Scott, Not anytime in the near future, anyway,” she murmured, her face buried in his shirt as she clung to him. "Thanks for being so lenient with me. You've never given me time with just your hand. It hurt dreadfully, but nothing like the ruler. I wanted you to know that I noticed it.”

  “Hopefully you learned something tonight. I won’t promise you that your father will be as soft, but you can trust that he will do what he believes is the best thing for you, right? You really hurt him with your insubordination and disrespect.”

  “Yes, Sir. I know,” she faced the floor.

  He kissed her temple as he got to his feet. “Good. Dinner should be ready soon. We’ll call you.”

  Scott was smiling when he returned downstairs and entered the kitchen where Dr. Quimby was stirring a pot of pasta.

  “Well? I didn’t hear too much in the way of screaming.”

  “It went well. She only got my hand, but I think I got the point across. I’m glad Mike had the guts to say something. Those kids are, and I quote, ‘scared shitless’ of us.” Scott mentioned, tasting the sauce. “More garlic.”

  “It’s fine,” Dr. Quimby argued. “And what about your time with her?”

  “I reinforced our rules for safety, obedience and respect. I think it was sufficient to remind her that she needs to think before opening her mouth. I don’t care what she says, it’s how she says it.”

  “Well, I do care what she says. Telling someone to fuck off in a nice way doesn’t cut it with me.”

  Scott shrugged, pouring a glass of wine for himself and his brother-in-law. “You’re her father. I will always defer to you when it comes to them, but I don’t have to agree. I do think, however, it would be fair to let Mike off the hook since he did show maturity and accept responsibility.”

  “You are an old softy. You just want someone around to mess with other than me. No, I’ll be the hard ass this time. Confinement stays as it is. He wants to tough it out and be an example for her, then we need to let him.”

  “Yes, Sir, General Quimby, as you say, sir,” Scott saluted teasing him.

  Dr. Quimby flung a piece of spaghetti at him. “Asshole. That’s where she gets her smart mouth, the Jenkins’ side. Make yourself useful, do the salad.”

  Dinner was unusually quiet that evening. Sam kept her eyes glued to the plate, afraid to look at her father as she anticipated her time with him. She was not particularly uncomfortable after her two minutes with Scott, and for that she was grateful. Michael, troubled that he had already said too much, was very selective in his responses. Scott causally discussed the plans for the seal unit and tried to include the younger members into the conversation, aware that they were unusually devoid of suggestions. Dr. Quimby, also noticing the dynamics, stayed quiet except for brief responses. Towards the end of the meal, Michael spoke up.

  “Did you two get into a fight or something?” he asked the older men. Both shook their heads.

  “No, why would you ask that?” his father inquired.

  Michael shrugged. “It’s really uncomfortable tonight. I mean, I know Sam and I are in big trouble. Not that this is new, but the only time things are this quiet is when you two argue about us. Please don’t, we need you to be the stable ones and let us do the fighting. We don't want to the ones responsible for screwing up your friendship.”

  Both men looked at each other and suddenly broke out into loud, hearty laughter. Michael and Sam glanced at each other with confusion. “Oh my God, do you hear this?” Scott laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “We must sound like an old married couple, Joe!”

  “With our kids afraid of us breaking up. Oh shit,” Dr. Quimby laughed, trying not to choke on his wine as he swallowed the remainder of the glass.

  “I don’t see anything funny.” Sam said quietly. Michael whispered something in her ear and she reddened with an “oh.”

  “Don’t you worry, you two, your old Dad and uncle are not going anywhere. No matter how much we disagree about you,” Scott reassured them.

  “So I was right? You were fighting?”

  “Not really, son. We just have different opinions regarding acceptable behavior and the degree of discipline warranted. For once, I’m the jerk,” Dr. Quimby said.

  Michael made a face as he caught the hint. So much for trying to beg some time off for good behavior.

  His father glanced at the clock. “You have plenty of time before our date, Miss Samantha. Help your brother clean the kitchen then the two of you are to return to your rooms.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Sam answered despairingly.

  “I’m guessing Scott that wasn’t too hard on you,” Michael whispered as they rinsed the dishes.

  “For him? No. He only used his hand and talked a lot about trust. I realized that I actually trusted you more than them.”

  “How can that be? They are our parents. They would die for us.”

  “Exactly. You are in a literal situation of proving it. I never connected their involvement as being the same. I know I deserve everything Daddy is planning for me, but I’m still scared.”

  “You are so funny. You will face a bullet without flinching, go to sleep in a killer whale’s jaws, and dive deeper than humanly possible, yet you will do anything to avoid getting your butt whipped. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Consensual verses nonconsensual? I dunno. All I know is I’m sick to my stomach and wanna puke.”

  Her brother laughed, blowing some dish bubbles at her. She ducked before splashing water back at him. The game was on. The older men ran into the kitchen when they heard shrieking and found the girl pinned to the floor underneath her large brother as she squirted the dish hose into his face. Water was everywhere.

  “I’m seeing a pattern here,” Dr. Quimby sighed as he lifted Michael off his sister with some effort while Scott rescued the overstretched hose. Michael and Sam were soaked as they stood in front of their parents and faced the floor, trying desperately not to laugh and make things worse. “This is a first,” Dr. Quimby said calmly, looking at the kitchen. “Care to explain?”

  “We were cleaning the kitchen, Daddy. Just like you told us to do,” his daughter said innocently, giving him the doe eyes. He fought not to laugh. Scott just stood there, face straight. No jaw clenching, though.

  “Like I told you to do… I wanted you to do the dishes, not the ceiling. Or the walls. Or,” he stepped over a puddle, “the floors.”

  “Yes, Sir,” both said. He could see they were not particularly bothered. Or in the least bit contrite.

  “Please clean this up, and then throw the towels you use into the wash. You have exactly 30 minutes.”

  Scott was biting his lip to avoid laughing after they left the room. He roughly pulled his friend into the office down the hallway and closed to door. “Do you remember that night Mike tried to give his sister a bath for the first time? He was, what? Seven?”

 
“Six. How could I forget? He already started to take on that posture with his hands on his hips to try to look so grown up. I remember his exact words, too. “Daddy, I’m big enough to take care of her by myself. I don’t need your help. She needs a bath.” And she was absolutely filthy. To this day, I still don’t know what she got into,” Dr. Quimby chuckled.

  “Remember how insulted that boy looked when we offered to stand by to help? She was a mermaid even then,” Scott shook his head with his arms crossed.

  “That was something I wish we had on tape. He was wetter than she was within minutes and she refused to stay still and let him wash her hair. If I recall, she bit him too.”

  “Yep. He smacked her little wet bottom which made her scream to high heaven. Poor boy looked like a drowned rat before he finally called in reinforcements,” Scott laughed. “Then he thought he would be in trouble for smacking her.”

  “Hell, I would have walloped her if she bit me,” the father grinned, remembering the two so clearly. “The bathroom didn’t look much different than this kitchen. Remember the lecture he gave her as he insisted on dressing her for bed?”

  “He sounded so much like you. Calling his two year old sister a young lady, and told her how she failed to exhibit appropriate behavior befitting a Marine. That was the funniest thing I’ve even heard,” Scott mused.

  Dr. Quimby elbowed him. “Remember what she did? Threw her arms around his neck with a kiss and said “I love my Michael”. I about melted.”

  “Mike sure did. She was his favorite plaything. She still is.”

  “And she still uses the same tricks. I guess they will always be babies to us, huh?” Dr. Quimby sighed deeply.

  “It seems so. They grew up too fast. I wish they were little again, things were easier.”

  “Me too. Well, it’s time for our youngest to meet her doom. See you in a few.”

  “Okay. Try to be merciful.”

  Dr. Quimby walked upstairs to his room at the very back of the large house. Breezes from open windows blew across the hall and he glanced into his daughter’s room. Her bed was unmade, clothes on the floor, bathing suit draped over a chair. He then looked into his son’s room across the hall. Everything neat, picked up, put away. They were so opposite, yet so alike.

  Chapter 3

  Dr. Quimby was sitting on the edge of the bed when his daughter entered at exactly 7:30. He patted the mattress next to him and waited for her to sit. Putting his arm around her shoulders and kissing the side of her temple, he explained calmly the reason they were meeting there that night. She leaned against his hard body, facing the floor and listening carefully. She could tell how disappointed he was in her, and how he felt it was his responsibility for her misbehavior. Just like Michael did. She could also see how incredibly sad he was, despite his controlled monologue. When he finished, he waited patiently for her response.

  “Daddy, I feel like I failed you miserably. I’m so, so sorry. I promise to try harder, for all of you. I just keep messing up and making the people I love most in this world so upset with me. I can handle your anger but it’s when you are disappointed and sad that I feel the worse. Please forgive me,” she looked at him, eyes welling with tears.

  “Of course I forgive you, my love. Of course I do.” He held her tightly, letting her lean on both his inner and outer strength. She was his greatest weakness, the one thing in the world that he had little resistance to.

  “Daddy, um, you know that spanking me isn’t necessary, right?” she whispered.

  He sighed, kissing her again. “Are you sure? Do you really think you’d believe that you’ve been forgiven if I don’t discipline you?”

  “I’m grounded already. We talked. Scott got on me. I think I would survive without you adding to it. I’m still sore.”

  “No doubt you’d survive. But here’s my question again, my little weasel, do you really think you’d feel forgiven? I know Scott was super easy on you, as far as Scott goes. Come on, be honest. If you really feel that way, then you are free to go.”

  She stared at him in shock. His warm brown eyes, studied her closely. He can see right through me, she thought. Her heart ached as she stared back into the eyes. She loved him so much it hurt. Daddy could do no wrong, even if it meant having to cause her pain. He was her strength, her solid fortress when life got to be too much. She was quiet for a moment, thinking of the results if she told him she felt forgiven. First, she would be lying. Of all things, she hated to lie to him. He deserved better. Second, she deserved some sort of punishment for being so disrespectful to him. He was never that way to her. Third, she needed to know her Daddy was fully in charge. Michael was right. She wasn’t quite ready to grow up yet and make all the decisions for her life. It was tough enough just to survive.

  “No, Sir. I guess not,” she admitted.

  He hugged her again. “One thing I cherish most about our relationship is your honesty. Despite being—how did Scott term it, oh yes, scared shitless of us, you do seem to know we would never harm you.” He stood her to face him, kissing her lips briefly. “Go into my closet and bring me the strap, honey. I’m sorry, but it is needed this time,” he said, seeing the panic on her face.

  The old razor strap was far worse than his belt. It was a thick piece of cured leather hide, well-oiled and about 3 inches wide and three feet long before being doubled over. Sam felt bile rise in her throat and her legs began to shake as she stood to obey. The use of the strap said volumes regarding how he felt about her behavior towards him.

  She found herself wishing for two minutes with Scott. She remembered the strap only having been used twice. Once on Michael when he had taken the family car for a joyride when he was 14. She had watched as it had reduced her tall, strong big brother to tears in only five strokes, and then the three licks over her jeans when she had snuck away to follow her brother up to Pendleton when she was 10. It was designated for the most serious of offenses which was why neither one had been in contact with it much. Trembling, she handed him the heavy leather, watching him weigh it in his hands.

  “This was my grandfathers. It was a method of punishment for my Dad for almost everything. I was privy to it a number of times as well, mainly for showing disrespect, and once for taking off on his motorcycle without permission. That was not a good day,” the man sighed with a small smile. “One thing I do remember, though, was every stroke I received hurt him as badly as it hurt me. He was a good man, very kind, loving and forgiving. But he would not tolerate disrespect in any form. I wish you could have known him. He was killed during a special assignment when I was 12 and I still miss him.”

  “What about your mom? You never talk about her.”

  “My mother was a very weak woman, and very manipulative. She passed when I was 14. You know the rest.”

  Charles Quimby and Samuel Jenkins had served together in Special Ops for 25 years. Their sons had grown up together like brothers. Joe spent most of his time with the Jenkins after his father had passed to avoid his mother’s ranting. Upon the unexpected deaths of Scott’s parents, Joe moved in with his friend to help with Scott's kid sister, who was devastated by the loss. Less than one year later, Sara Quimby died, and the 22 year old marine lieutenant was designated as legal guardian to both his defiant and stubborn 10 year old sister, as well as the equally stubborn, though more reasonable 14 year old. He was pardoned for overseas duty until Joe finished college. By then, his sister had fallen madly in love with their adopted brother and his best friend.

  “Daddy, would it change things if I swore to you I will never ever speak to you again like I did, and that I’ll try to be as good as gold?”

  “I would like to hear that regardless of what occurs. Come, dear, let’s get this over and done with," he said sadly, folding the strap in half and standing slowly. The girl’s lower lip quivered. He pointed to the edge of his bed.

  “Bend over that, bottom up. Do not move, twist or flex, otherwise it will be harder for you. I need you to fear my displeasure as much
as you do your uncle’s.”

  “Can’t I just lie down on pillows like you usually make me do? I can’t stand still- you know that.” Her eyes filled with tears. Dr. Quimby just pointed and she slowly obeyed, knees shaking. He positioned her hips straight, pushing her over to flatten her back, elbows straight, legs slightly apart, and heels planted on the floor. He rested his hand on her back for a moment, and then slowly pulled her shorts and panties to the floor. He felt her shivering under his hand.

  “Fifteen strokes, sweetheart, agreed? That would be a Scott dose, I believe. You are to count for me and, after each stroke, tell me how you can improve your behavior.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she sniffed, preparing for the first stroke. When it came, she gasped, air rushing from her body. The pain was so sharp, she was unable to even yell.

  “That was one. Did I hear anything from you?”

  “One, Sir. Listen better.”

  “There you go. Onward now,” he said patiently.

  “OOOWWW! TWOOOO! Follow orders when given.”

  “Three! Stop sassing back!” She was sobbing now, struggling to stay standing.

  “Four,” came the next yell, “watch my temper.”

  Mind Michael. Clean my room. Stop stomping my feet. Stop cussing—hmm, that meant she was still challenging that one. No more stealing money from Michael’s wallet (interesting). Stay in my depth limits (another interesting item). Stop messing with the remote control just to annoy Scott.

  After that, she could no longer speak. Dr. Quimby did not pursue the lesson and completed the last strokes with focus, making sure they covered her upper thighs well. Her flesh was dark red and blotchy, outlines of the strap clearly seen. He gently touched her skin. These bruises would definitely last a while.

  Patting her back, he stood her straight. He was not finished. Dr. Quimby gently eased her into his arms. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I'm really sorry, Daddy. I shouldn't have spoken to you like I did. There was no excuse. I'm sorry, and I won't do it again," Sam said, starting to cry as she hugged her father tightly. "I'm so sorry."