“I hate you and you’re the worst person I know,” I cried out in fury at my foster sister, Samantha.
She was my closest sibling and we were practically best friends. When we were both seventeen, I spent far more time with her or around her than anyone else. We were not blood, but we sure acted like it at times. With her being merely weeks older than I am, it tended to lead to disagreements between us. This anger and contempt I harbored against her wasn’t out of hate or rage but stemmed from jealousy. She was the model of perfection in my mind, and anything I did was futile when compared to her.
She was the epitome of greatness to me; she studied hard in class to earn straight A’s, she trained long hours at the gym to lead the girls’ basketball team to victory, she even had so many friends that I couldn’t remember them all. To top it all off she was a stunning figure of beauty. She had an athletic body I could only dream of. She was toned in all the right places, lengthy brown hair that she always kept in a nice ponytail and developed breasts and backside that when compared, made me look like a two by four with legs.
“No one wants to listen to your dumb classic rock,” she spewed back, switching the station on our radio.
“It’s way better than your pop country bullshit,” I argued back.
With my back turned I mumbled, “You only listen to that because everyone else does,” and tried to hide my retort.
“Listen here, you scrawny ginger rat, you wouldn’t know good music if it bit you in the ass. You’re a total weirdo, everyone thinks so. That’s why guys don’t want anything to do with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you died alone as a crazy old cat lady,” she barked back with one hand on her hip and pointing at me with the other.
“At least I can think for myself, you bitch,” I snapped, fueled by her harsh words.
She then let out a terrifying scream, like a possessed confederate banshee hell-bent on unleashing her fury. Physically, I was no match for her. Before I could react, she tackled me face down on the bed. She dug her knee straight into my spine and held my red hair in her hand so tight, it felt like the roots were about to exit through my scalp. It was painful, but I could feel my pussy starting to drip. I never really considered myself a lesbian, but I was getting insatiably turned on.
Does she feel it too? I wondered, as Samantha started to loosen her grip. She took her knee out of my back and began to straddle me. Through the back of my shirt, I could feel the lips of her slit on the small of my posterior. She held me down on the bed by the back of my wrists, and whispered in my ear, “Think about all that I could do to you,” with a voice that bordered domination and desire.
“What in the Sam Hell is going on in here?” Mother’s voice conquered the room. As she closed the door behind her I could see the fires bellowing in her eyes. Already in her silk nightgown, getting ready to retire for the evening, she must have overheard the commotion while brushing her hair.
Samantha immediately released me from her captivity. I turned over, trying to conceal my obvious arousal, and tried not to make direct eye contact with Mother.
“She started it,” Samantha whined while giving me a little shove.
“I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it,” she said turning her attention to Samantha.
“You know better than to pick on your sister,” Mother condescended.
Honestly, her assessment that I was a victim was more hurtful than the punishment we were about to receive. I held back a hurricane, knowing full well that she viewed us as unequal. I was just the poor ginger orphan that was defenseless and weak, while Samantha was more like the strong confident daughter she could be proud of.
I was first to go over her lap, of course. To this day, I always felt like she just didn’t like me. Not to mention the fact that I was the one who was attacked. She was going to beat me, not because I deserved it, but because she wanted to.
When the first slaps came, I took them in stride. I knew the only way that I could outdo ‘Miss Perfect’ was to keep my composure during this trial. However, my false bravado faded quickly as she continued to spank me. With each smack, I went from a stoic model of a warrior princess to a wailing schoolgirl.