The Misadventures of Samantha and Malcolm/Chapter 1 First Time For Everything

“I warned you both this morning about fighting…and now we’ll go home and you can have another conversation with your father!!!” Alison Martin declared to (physically) six year old Samantha and Malcolm. She picked up their discarded undergarments and ordered her young charges to restore them. “Brother and sister” did so with sobs and sniffles, but without complaint (Malcolm took longer has he had kicked of his shorts). And so she led her two charges to the van by their wrists. Jet Martin, a tall muscular middle aged man with a bald head and a black beard, had several hobbies he used to sublimate the stress of his job; his bonsai garden, working on the cars, his jazz music collection, and most recently pottery. He had a used, foot powered pottery wheel and a small oven he had modified to work as a kiln set up in the garage. To date, he was more proud of his kiln than he was of his pottery. What was supposed to be a bowl, a cup, and a candle stick holder looked more like a taco shell, a crushed beer can and a lump (respectively). Alison had trouble holding in her laughter upon seeing his works, Samantha would poor on ingenious praise, and Malcolm just stuttered “I…um, um…well…” until Jet told him to go watch cartoons.

As the sound system dutifully produced Bobby Darin singing about a lover across the sea, Jet Inspected what he felt would be his final work. It was supposed to be a pitcher for water and tea and so such, but it looked more like some kind of spore that would release pollen if you stepped on it…with a handle. Then the garage door opened. Alison parked the van and hauled the sniffling Samantha and Malcolm into the presence of their father.

“Your children seem to be under the impression that the mall exists for the purpose of displaying their little squabbles to the world. Little Jaydee Cummings suggested…” Alison stared, and then stopped when house computer interrupted both herself and Bobby Darin.

“Overload in section D, shutdown necessary.” And with that the lights and the music died.

“Alison,” said Jet calmly, “While you were at the mall, did you get the replacement regulator I’ve been telling you to get for the last three months?”

“Uh…” said Alison.

“You’re going to get in the van and go get the regulator,” Jet declared as he set the failed pitcher on the shelf above the workbench. “I’m going to go downstairs and rig up a temporary bypass,” he picked up a tool kit. “And then I will deal with the behavior of Samantha and Malcolm.”

“Couldn’t you wait on the children until I get back?” Alison asked. Jet looked her in the eye and she retreated to the driver’s seat and departed.

“You two stay here,” Jet ordered, “and no more trouble.” He hit the garage door button as he left out of habit, forgetting that the power was out. He just kept walking and hoped they didn’t notice. Sam and Mal were alone now.

“Why do you always have to start it?” asked Malcolm.

“Not my fault you’re a wimp,” she said.

“No it’s just your fault you assaulted someone,” he said. At this she shoved him into the workbench. As he struck it, the pitcher fell off the shelf and onto the workbench, breaking off the handle. Samantha froze. Malcolm picked up the broken handle and the deformed pitcher. It was a clean break on both parts. If he had a…yes! Dad had left a sonic fusor on the workbench!

“I can fix it,” he said.

“What?” asked Samantha?

“I can fix it, just be a lookout,” said Malcolm. All the animosity and resentment for his sister was gone, he had something to fix. Samantha took up a position at the door and kept the watch. Malcolm gave each cross section a destabilizing pulse, and then affixed the broken handle. Now can the hard part, he had to go over the fissure and seal off the cracks a bit at a time, it was about knowing when not to move forward. If he moved too fast, the handle would jump and then he would have an obviously uneven fix.

“Got it!” he whispered as loud as he could. The lights and the music returned and the garage door started to close.

“Put it up there!” Samantha whispered. Malcolm reached, to no avail.

“I can’t reach,” he whispered. They were both frantic.

“Give it to me!” she whispered. He obeyed.

“Now give me a boost,” she said. Malcolm obeyed again. With Malcolm supporting her weight, she was able to reach the high shelf and place it where it was. Malcolm let her down.

“Okay, now stopping looking guilty!” whispered Sam.

“I look guilty?” whispered Malcolm.

“You know how Dad is,” said Sam. “He’ll see right through you!”

“What do I do?” asked Mal.

“Cover it up with something else!” ordered Sam.

“Like what?” asked Mal, then Sam gave him an Indian burn. She was halted by the harsh stare of their father. Both pennies stood in respect. Jet scooped them up (one under each arm) and carried them into the living room. He set them down in front of the large armless chair, opened up the correction box/ottoman and produced a small strap. He set himself down in the chair.

“I remember having a conversation with the both of you this morning about how you were supposed to behave. I’m wondering how it could have faded from your memories so fast,” he said as he patted his palm with the strap. “Well, no explanation?” he asked as the children remained silent. “Then I will have to make more of an impression.” He set the strap on his lap, reached out and undid Samantha’s skirt, letting it drop to the floor. He did the same with Malcolm’s shorts and hauled the boy over his knee. The only protest Malcolm made was a quiet sob. Jet pulled Malcolm’s underwear just under his already red bottom and patted it with the strap, then let the boy have a good force swing. SWAT! “EYAAAAAH!” SWAT! “S’NOT FAAAAAAAIIR!” said Malcolm. SWAT! “Who told you life was fair?” asked Jet. SWAT! “Whoever told you that was lying to your face. SWAT! Malcolm only sobbed incoherently. SWAT! SWAT! That was how Jet handled discipline, there was more conviction in his voice than anger. Like this was just a job that he knew had to get done.

Jet let the boy up from his lap. Malcolm collapsed to the ground clutching his red bottom. Samantha already had tears in her eyes. Unmoved, jet pulled her over his lap and tucked her panties beneath her also red bottom.

SWAT! Samantha’s sobs tripled in volume. SWAT! “DAAAAAADEEEEEEEEE!” SWAT! “PLEEEEEESE!” SWAT! “Now I hear polite speech?” asked Jet. SWAT! “It shouldn’t take a strapping to get manners out of you.” He finished up the punishment with one great big SWAT!

“Both of you remember,” said Jet. “It doesn’t matter who starts it. It ends with punishment.”

Jet set her on the floor. He allowed them to rub their bottoms as he set up the corner stools. As he strapped a sniffling Samantha into hers, Alison returned with a bag from the hardware store.

“Oh, I missed it!” she whined.

“Don’t worry,” said Jet. “I still have one special strapping to give tonight.”

“Really?” asked Alison as she gave him the bag.

“Three months of procrastination should not go unpunished,” said Jet. “You’re going to need nano-lotion worse than they do.” Alison let out a long whine.



Malcolm and Samantha would spend the next 30 minutes squirming on their stools (Malcolm was really disappointed that he didn’t get to help install the new regulator) followed by a gentle application of nano-lotion. The rest of the afternoon was taken up in the usual childhood activities. Dinner was a splendid chicken teriyaki and rice dish.



After brother and sister were tucked in for the night, Samantha initiated the ritual she had thought up. As a veteran penny she knew that audio sensors were monitoring them. She figured out that by breathing on a hand mirror and writing on it, then wiping it out, she and Malcolm could communicate in quick messages without the intrusion of the parents. Of course up to now, they had only used it to call each other names before the delta inducers kicked in.

Tonight, however, as Malcolm looked over at his sister, her mirror held the simple phrase “Thank you.” He produced his mirror and wrote, “You’re welcome.”

They both smiled. Then they heard the muffled shriek of Alison through the walls. They both grinned. Then the delta inducers activated and they both fell asleep.

Jet missed smoking after sex, but it was either cigarettes or Alison and he did not regret his decision. He admired the taught body of his wife splayed over the bed in the moonlight, her back rising and falling with her breath, her bottom was a series of red stripes.

He had meant for this to be a proper punishment for her procrastination, twelve hard licks of the strap followed by an hour of corner time and going to bed sore, but after the twelfth stroke, Alison had leapt up and shoved her tongue down Jet’s throat. ‘Fuck Discipline” he invariably concluded and proceeded to pleasure his wife with much vigor.

He would have fallen asleep with her, but his detective sense kept nagging him, telling him he had missed something (you can’t turn off “Cop”). He slipped on a pair of sweat pants, his slippers, and slipped out of the room without waking his wife.



Jet sat in on the work chair in the garage with the portable console on his work bench. He went over the recording one more time. Then his wife’s arms surprised him with an embrace from behind.

“Jet,” she cooed. “You know how much I hate waking up alone.”

“Sorry Alison,” Jet said. He pulled her over to his side with his left arm, confirming she was wearing nothing under her pink robe.

“What’s so important?” she asked.

“After I rigged up the bypass,” said Jet, “I came back to the garage to find Sam and Mal arguing over something, I took it as just one of their little squabbles and assigned them extra corner time for it. But here’s the thing, that’s not what today’s surveillance audio reveals, now I don’t have everything that happened, because our power failure took the receiving console temporarily off-line, but here’s what I have.” He played back the recording, started with Samantha whispering “put it up there” and ending with “for fighting anywa…”

“So, what did they do?” asked Alison.

“Can’t be sure,” said Jet. “I’m thinking that the sound I heard after Sam asks for a boost is that of ceramic on wood, like this.” He demonstrated the sound with the bowl that never was. “Which means that whatever happened during that blackout had something to do with my crafts works.”

“The children have developed an interest in hideous pottery?” asked Alison. Jet grabbed her bottom, making her yelp. “Sorry, Sorry, Sorry. So, what are we punishing them for?”

“Nothing, can’t find any evidence,” replied Jet.

“What? Samantha admitted they were guilty!” proclaimed Alison.

“She said Mal looked guilty,” said Jet. “It’s a big difference between looking guilty and being guilty.” Alison sighed. Jet always retreated to a hyper literal interpretation of the rules when he wanted to let something slide. “Our children are going to end up criminals again,” she exaggerated. “And you are making them a team. I can see it now, ‘the criminal known as S and M…’” She started laughing out loud.

“What is it,” he asked.

“Our children’s initials are S&M!” she exclaimed. Jet started laughing too.

“How did we miss that?” he asked.

“It’s one big Freudian slip!” she proclaimed.

After a few more laughs, and a request from Alison for some more mixed messages about responsibility, the two returned to bed.