Wednesday, 26 November 2014

'Famous Moms Advice'

While I was busy posting the SotM for November the LSF managed to slip a recent Seegee story past me. If you've read it over there, you can enjoy it again here, and if not well it will be entirely new to you.

Florence 'Carol Brady' Henderson.

Shirley 'Shirley Partridge' Jones.

Meredith 'Elise Keaton' Baxter.

Marcia 'Bree Van De Kamp' Cross.

Susan Rourke, who asked her four fellow TV Moms for advice on how to deal with her onscreen daughter and her behaviour.

Susan Rourke looked anxiously in the mirror again, checked her makeup and fussed with her mane of fiery red hair. She knew that she shouldn’t be nervous, but she was. After all it was not every day that someone got to meet people that they had idolized throughout their lives and tried to model their own career on.

Susan was the classic TV success story. She had always acted, from being cast as a shepherd in the pre school nativity play, to doing drama and some serious roles throughout college.

The early years had been hard, a lot of way way off Broadway work, the occasional commercial, leading to voiceless cameos and then small speaking parts, finally a recurring character on a day time soap opera and culminating in her current fame as one of the stars of the hit sitcom Kids!

Susan played the Mitchell matriarch, although she felt at the age of 41 she was probably a little young to be referred to as a matriarch, she was married, but did not yet have children. In her onscreen persona as Diana Mitchell she was happily married to a rather quirky, but loving husband and father, and had three teenage offspring, two girls and one boy.

The show generally centred around the younger generation of Mitchells and their trials and tribulations. Everything was wrapped up in a laugh filled half hour, or 22 minutes when you accounted for commercials. The best lines, and consequently the meatiest storylines and off screen adulation, tended to go to oldest Mitchell daughter, Samantha, played by teenage actress Zahra Summer.

It was Zahra that had prompted Susan to put out a call for help, and 4 very special ladies had responded. It was those women that Susan was stressing about meeting with this very moment.


Owing to the profiles of Susan’s visitors and the fact that this meeting was with Zahra’s best interests at heart, the makers of the show had set up a comfortable room and provided refreshments for the meeting to take place.

Before entering Susan took a quick peek in and the sight of two well preserved octogenarians having a quiet conversation over coffee with a blonde lady who looked a good deal younger than her 67 years and a redhead into her 50’s, but who like the blonde held her age well, was something that brought tears to the 41 year olds eyes. She waved them away, took a deep breath, tugged her clothes nervously into place and entered the room.

Curious eyes turned towards her.

Licking suddenly dry lips, Susan said nervously, “Welcome to you all and thank you so very much for coming to see me.”


Once she was seated and had a fresh cup of coffee in front of her Susan wondered about how best to broach the subject, but was stopped from doing so when Shirley Jones said very matter of factly, “This is about Zahra, isn’t it?”

Susan looked at the Oscar winner, and blinked in astonishment, even as she nodded slowly.

“We thought it would be,” Florence Henderson said smugly, seated next to her former TV ratings rival, and sipping coffee.

“How did you know?” Susan asked when she had recovered the power of speech.

“Oh we may not all be acting anymore or on TV regularly,” Meredith Baxter said with the soft smile she had made famous in her role as former flower child Elise Keaton on the hit sitcom Family Ties, “but we still keep our eyes on the papers and the entertainment shows, and your Zahra is in them more often than she’s not.”

“Not always for the best reasons,” Marcia Cross sighed, her green eyes shining and contrasting with her dark red hair. “I can see why you asked for Shirley, Florence and Meredith, they’re all famous for parenting teens on screen, but me?”

Susan blushed. “I wanted someone a little closer to my own age, and while I know Joy on the show was relatively well behaved and a fairly minor character, she was a teenage girl, plus you had to see Andrea Bowen at fairly close range, and Teri Hatcher was busy.”

Marcia laughed delightedly. “Teri is always busy. I did have a bit to do with young Andrea as it happens, although interestingly Eva did most of the on set mothering there.”


“I’m at a bit of a loss with Zahra really,” Susan confessed. “I don’t have kids, and the other two are so well behaved both on and off set that we’ve really never had any issues with them. Zahra plays the most popular character by far, and ever since she became emancipated from her parents it’s only gotten worse.”

Florence Henderson’s eyebrows drew down in a frown. “I’ve heard of this being emancipated from someone’s parents before reaching a majority, but what does it really mean?”

“It means,” Shirley Jones answered firmly, “that Zahra’s parents were found unfit via a legal process to look after her, and as she was over a certain age and making a living she was given into the care of another suitable family member of age.”

“Her older sister,” Susan agreed.

Shirley nodded. “I wish we’d been able to do that with Danny. I did what I could during the show, as did Dick. I often felt we were more his mother and father than his birth parents ever were. However the show ended and he went off the rails a little.”

“You mothered him?” Susan asked, daring to wonder.

“Yes,” the film and TV star said. “I scolded him, I sent him to his room once. I was so frustrated that I didn’t even realize I was sending him upstairs to a featureless set! And yes, if you are all wondering I did spank him. I turned his sassy little butt the same shade of red as his hair.”

“You what?” Susan asked, her mouth dropping open and her cheeks catching fire.

“I’d be surprised if she hadn’t actually, Susan,” Florence said, sipping from her cup. “Over the years on the show I spanked all 3 of my ‘daughters’ from Maureen to Eve and Susan. Surprisingly enough it was Maureen that spent the most time over my knee, although given her age you may have thought it was Susan. However her bottom and my hand renewed acquaintances some years later when we filmed the variety show and she was right in the middle of the terrible teens.”

“Only your hand?” Meredith inquired gently. “By the time I got Justine over my knee she needed the back of a good solid wooden hairbrush to make any sort of an impression on that firm adolescent backside.”

Marcia nodded. “I found the same with Andrea, and Eva recommended something like a paddle for her, too.”

“Yes,” Shirley chimed in. “I always had a hairbrush for Susan. It actually came in rather handy during her anorexia period. I called it the ‘Attitude Adjuster’, and after Susan and I took a trip to the bus it generally ensured good behaviour from the others for the rest of that filming period.”

“You’re suggesting I spank Zahra?” Susan asked, remembering how often even her own mother had commented to her that if Zahra was hers she’d be pants down over the knee getting a good hot bottom. The older lady was of course referring to the behaviour of Zahra’s on screen persona, and not the real person off screen. To Susan’s way of thinking what Zahra did when not on screen was far worse than the snappy one-liners the character was known for.

“You sound like you’re at your wits end, darling,” Marcia said sympathetically. “That’s how we handled Andrea or even Joy when they got too big for their boots. It was suggested she take a visit to someone’s trailer, usually Eva’s or mine, for a ‘chat’, and it did work wonders.”

“It’s a natural consequence of so much notoriety so young,” Florence gave her opinion. “It’s a hard thing to handle and that’s even when you do have a stable home life, which Zahra most definitely doesn’t.”


Susan found herself unconsciously nodding agreement with the former Brady Bunch matriarch and then noticed that Shirley, Meredith and Marcia were doing the same thing.

“David was the one that got the adulation,” Shirley said, remembering her own days as Shirley Partridge, “but he had a father and a stepmother in show business, and he was older when his popularity exploded, so he handled it better than others may have. Susan did let it go to her head a little. She suffered from anorexia, and by the time we caught it and my hairbrush had a discussion with her rear end, her skin had already taken on an orange tinge, because she ate nothing but carrots, having heard somewhere that you could get everything the body needed from them and still not put on any additional weight. Silly child! We monitored her caloric intake from then on.”

Meredith smiled. “Justine used to have the occasional temper tantrum, and got a bit too big for her boots, but like with you Shirley, it was Michael who got the large profile and adoring hordes of female fans. Fortunately he too was older when he landed the role of Alex plus he also had some Hollywood experience, and knew how quickly it could all turn to smoke if one wasn’t careful.”

“You really spanked Justine?” Susan asked the blonde woman softly.

Meredith nodded. “I know Elise was a flower child, but I’m not, and Justine responded to my hairbrush.”

“Andrea never went through the whole adulation thing,” Marcia recalled. “She certainly had opportunities that other girls her age did not get. An Australian television network flew her out there to be their guest at a horse race for some reason. She was however, a teenage girl, and it is a simple fact of life that at some stage nearly every teenage girl needs her butt worn out the old fashioned way, and that’s what Teri, I and Eva did for Andrea when it was required by her behaviour. These kids spend more time on set than they do at home, and we have to provide a firm, but nurturing environment for them.”

Susan dropped her eyes. She and her cast mates certainly hadn’t done that for Zahra of late. In fact most of the time they moaned about her behaviour, and how it affected them, without looking for causes or ways to remedy it.

“Amen sister!” Florence backed the Desperate Housewife. “Maureen was so like Marcia Brady and she lived a lot of what happened to her alter ego. Carol may not have spanked, but I did.”

“What about the boys?” Susan asked gently. “Who dealt with them? Surely they weren’t angels.”

“Oh no!” Florence agreed. “They certainly weren’t.”

“So did ‘Carol’ spank them?”

Florence swallowed coffee and shook her head.

“Robert dealt with it?’ Marcia asked.

Florence laughed musically. “Oh goodness no! Robert was the loveliest man and took his job very seriously, but he was far too soft to do more than raise his voice to the boys, and even then only when the script called for it. It was Ann who took the boys aside and over her lap.”

“Alice?” Susan asked, her voice awed and forgetting in her shock to use the actresses’ real name, rather than her character name.

Florence nodded. “It just seemed to work for us. The boys respected her and if they didn’t, then they got sore bottoms and believe me that lady could lay it on when she wanted to!”

“So everyone thinks I need to spank Zahra?” Susan asked.

The four ladies nodded.

“I can see the sense of it and to be honest I think a good hot bottom would do a lot for that young lady, but how do I go about this?”

Shirley hid a smile and then said, “Well, my dear it would appear that you’ve called together the right group of ‘moms’ to advise you on this.”


“So she’s not on set?” the female voice on the other end of the phone asked anxiously.

“I wouldn’t have called you if she was Heather,” Susan said to Heather Summer, the older sister and guardian of teen actress Zahra.

Heather sighed loudly. “I knew she was going out, but she told me it was a cast thing.”

“We had nothing official organized,” Susan confirmed. “The younger cast members do socialize, but they weren’t doing anything last night and they’re all on set. We start filming in half an hour.”

“This just isn’t good enough!” Heather exploded. “I have a day job, and I spend a lot of my free time with accountants and lawyers trying to navigate the financial and legal minefield that Mom and Dad turned Zahra’s accounts into. I just can’t babysit her all the time.”

“I do understand, Heather,” Susan sympathized. “Not every big sister would do as much.”

“I’d like to think that they would,” Heather said gently. “I think it’s time to put that plan you spoke to me about the other day into action.”

“You’re sure?” Susan asked the older of the Summer siblings.

“One hundred per cent,” Heather said firmly. “The agent has okayed it, too. He said that her behaviour could jeopardise the whole spin off idea, and we don’t want that to happen. You got the copy of the contract I faxed over, right?”

“I did,” Susan said. “I’ve even highlighted the relevant sections if there’s any resistance from Zahra when I drop the bombshell.”

“Oh there will be, if I know my little sister,” Heather muttered. “Mom never did it, and I never felt that I could, there’s not that many years between us, but Zahra needs her butt busted, and from what I’ve seen of you on the show and the few times we’ve met, I think you’re just the lady to do the busting.”

Susan laughed and felt herself blush at the compliment. “Thank you, Heather. I do have a hairbrush in my on set bedroom with Miss Zahra’s name on it.”

“Well give her a few for me when she does show up,” the girl said.

“Oh wait,” Susan said. “I can hear a commotion on set. I think she may have just turned up. Make sure you have a nice soft pillow for her to sit on this evening, I’ve got a feeling she’ll need it.”


Zahra Summer had indeed arrived on set. She was not dressed in character, despite there being less than thirty minutes before they started shooting. She hadn’t visited hair or make up either, and unless Susan was very much mistaken the seventeen year-old was also suffering the effects of a hangover.

She stood in front of the show’s exasperated director, rolling her eyes as he lectured the girl on the sheer unprofessionalism of her behaviour.

Susan reached the pair and said smoothly, “I’ll take it from here, Lee. Do you have scenes that you can get started on without needing Zahra or I? We could be a while.”

The director ran an agitated hand through his thinning grey hair and muttered, “Yeah, I think so. Kids! I am never working with kids again after this!”

Zahra snorted laughter at the man’s departing back.

Susan’s hand encircled the girl’s slender wrist and she said, “Come on, Zahra. I think it’s past time that you and I had a little mother to daughter chat.”

“Mother?” Zahra said, her dark eyes flashing. “Since when were you my Mom?”

“Why don’t we pretend?” Susan suggested. “We’re actresses after all, we pretend for a living.” She tugged at the girl’s wrist firmly.

Zahra let out a long breath and huffed, “Whatever!” She however offered no resistance to her older co star and allowed herself to be led into the rabbit warren of cubicles that were dressed to form the interior of the Mitchell’s household, that was seen when the show screened to it’s adoring public.


Once in the set that made up the bedroom Susan shared with her onscreen hushand, Zahra flopped onto the bed and regarded her ‘Mom’.

“What is this about?” the girl asked, pushing dark hair out of her eyes.

“What do you think it’s about?” Susan asked, seating herself at the dressing table where Diana Mitchell put on her make up and brushed her hair, unconsciously her hand curled around the handle of her ash wood hairbrush, it’s turned handle, which had always naturally fitted her hand, giving her reassurance about what she was planning to do.

“I dunno,” Zahra shrugged. “Lee didn’t have to have a cow about it. I’m late for work, it’s not like no one’s ever done that.”

“If it was once then I don’t think Lee would have been so upset, Zahra,” Susan said, trying to put on her best lecturing, but at the same time nurturing Diana Mitchell voice. “I’m having trouble remembering the last time you ever got here in a decent time for the show.”

“I have a busy life. I have appearances and things to do. Contracts to sign.”

“All your contracts are signed, young lady. I know that for a fact. I was just talking to Heather before you decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Oh,” Zahra said, she was trying not to sound worried and failing. Relations between her and Heather had been strained of late. It was only earlier in the week that the older sister had screamed at her younger sibling, “You’re a spoilt little brat who needs a darned good spanking!” Not that either of them had ever been spanked. Their parents had largely let the girls do what they wanted, especially once Zahra’s acting started bringing in a sizeable paycheck.

“Did you know that the producers of the show are seriously considering whether you’re worth the trouble?” Susan asked, opening the drawer of her vanity table and removing the highlighted contract.

“No,” Zahra answered, her voice becoming smaller.

“They have had those discussions, and do you know how your behaviour affects the rest of us?”

“The rest of you? What has what I do on my own time got to do with everyone else?”

“So when they run a story in the media about you getting drunk or high, and don’t deny it, I know you’ve done both, you’re nursing a hangover right now, despite you not being of legal drinking age, you don’t think they mention the show along with your name? That drags all of us in, me, Jack, Kevin, Lisa, all of us. Then there is how your habit of turning up when you feel like it sets the shooting schedule back, which means we all have to spend longer working on scenes and getting around you. How many takes have you missed and lines have you fluffed because your mind wasn’t on the job, but still fuzzed by alcohol or lack of sleep?”

“A few?” Zahra ventured quietly. She was rarely, if ever, spoken to like this, and she didn’t enjoy it.

“A few?” Susan echoed. “You must regard few differently to the way I do, young lady. We’ve all had enough Zahra and it is going to stop right now.”

Defiance grew in the young actresses’ eyes. “What exactly are you going to do about it? I’m the star of this show, you know.”

Susan nodded. She removed a slim smart phone from her pocket and brought up a recorded conversation she had had with the head of the studio after her meeting with the 4 famous TV moms. “Have a listen to that Zahra and then we’ll continue this conversation.”

Zahra’s brows knit together in concern as she accepted the phone from her onscreen mother and put it to her ear.

Susan sat back and watched the girl’s expression closely. She was wondering if she could work out when she got to the bit where the powerful studio leader had thundered, “If she were my daughter I’d swing her over my knee and give her a damned good hiding! I’m getting sick and tired of paying spin doctors to run interference for her breaches of contract.”

The widening of Zahra Summer’s eyes and the draining of colour from her face told Susan Rourke that the girl was listening to those very words as she watched.


Zahra handed the phone back to Susan with a shaking hand. Her brown eyes brimmed with tears. “You…he…can’t…I’m not…” she stammered in a halting voice.

“He won’t,” Susan said firmly. “I will, though.”

“No, you can’t!” Zahra protested, bouncing off the bed and stamping her feet, the eyes flashed.

“Sit down, Zahra!” Susan ordered firmly, trying to channel her own mother the first time she’d spent the night out of home at a party and returned in the wee small hours. Then she muttered under her breath, “While you can still sit.”

“I’ve got a contract,” Zahra insisted.

“Yes. This would be it,” Susan said, producing the copy that Heather had faxed to her. She had it open at the relevant page and had highlighted the passage that gave her the right to discipline the girl.

“No,” Zahra said, shaking her head as she read the clause highlighted in bright red neon marker. “I wouldn’t have signed this.”

“That is your initial on the bottom of the page and your signature on the last page isn’t it, Zahra?”

“Yes,” the girl said in a whisper, “but this says that you can punish me.”

“It actually says that a representative of the studio can, in this case, me,” Susan explained, taking the contract from Zahra’s fingers and putting it safely away in her vanity drawer. The state Zahra was in she wouldn’t be surprised if the girl tore it up and they’d have to wait to get another copy.

“Why would a clause like that be in there?” Zahra asked, the question was half asked to herself and half to Susan.

“It’s a standard juvenile contract,” Susan said. “It was something that they used years ago with child stars who got a little too big for their boots. Yours really should have been renegotiated when you turned sixteen, but you were in the middle of that emancipation battle, and your legal team overlooked it as your salary kept rising commensurate with your popularity.”

Zahra bit her lip and asked, “What does punish mean?”

“If Samantha behaved the way you have been what do you think Diana would do?”

Zahra shrugged. “Samantha wouldn’t,” she assessed her character. “She’s a smart alec, but she’s basically a goody two shoes.”

“If she did, let’s just hypothesize,” Susan prompted gently.

Zahra let out a long breath, this was part of the business she really hated. Susan was big on character motivation. Zahra wasn’t, she read the script and had a knack of simply delivering her lines with conviction, she also had perfect comic timing. “She’d shout a lot, then she and Steve,” the girl unconsciously used Jack Browning’s onscreen name, “would talk about it. Diana would want to do something totally off the wall like spank her, and Steve would bargain her down to grounding. Initially it would be a month with extra chores and no allowance, then gradually would be whittled down to two weeks, one or two extra chores and she’d still get her allowance.”

Susan had to hide a smile. Zahra certainly knew how the show worked. The Mitchell’s never spanked - they grounded. Susan had to work on the producers really hard to get even the suggestion of a spanking in one episode on the grounds that a real parent would say it, even if they never acted on it.

“It’s kind of silly, Susan,” Zahra followed up. “I mean it’s not like you can ground me or give me extra chores or take away my allowance.”

“I could spank you, though.”

“You could what?” Zahra blurted, standing up again.

Susan shrugged. “You’re right, Zahra. It’s not practical to ground you. I can’t give you chores or dock your pay, but I can spank you.”

“You cannot!”

“But you’ve breached the terms of your contract and that clause gives me the power to punish you, and when I was your age a punishment meant a spanking.”

“Your Mom spanked you when you were seventeen years old?” Zahra asked in wondering tones.

Susan nodded. “It only happened the once, but yes.”


“How did she spank me?”

Zahra’s head nodded and the thought struck Susan that with her eyes wide like that and her head nodding she looked like one of those silly dolls with the bobbing oversized heads.

“Over her knee,” Susan replied. “On my bare bottom.”

“Oh wow!” Zahra breathed. “Did it hurt?”

“Of course it hurt, Zahra. It was a spanking, it wasn’t meant to tickle.”

“But didn’t you like hate your Mom for it?”

Susan considered the question. “I didn’t enjoy the spanking, and I cried, but no I didn’t hate my mother for doing it. My behaviour was why she did it, Zahra. She didn’t enjoy doing it, but to be honest I needed it. It cleared the air, it put the behaviour behind us and I never did what had earned it again. I didn’t hate her. I loved her for being strong enough to do what needed to be done.”


Zahra processed the information silently and thought about her own mother and their relationship. Zahra’s mother simply didn’t care. No, that wasn’t true, she did care, she cared about the money her daughter made. Once her parents worked out that acting wasn’t Heather’s thing, they essentially ignored her. It was little wonder that Heather left home as soon as she was legally old enough. Zahra had wanted to do the same thing.

Heather had encouraged the emancipation and Zahra had gone along with it, because at the rate her parents were chewing through the money she made from the show and the endorsements that went along with it, she was going to be broke by the time she reached eighteen.

She felt no love for her mother, and she knew the woman would never have disciplined her. That was in part why she did what she did now that she was free of her careless parents. Heather made sure that enough of her money was held in trust and invested, so that she couldn’t waste it, but like most people her age, she did require boundaries and someone to tell her no, and yes someone to discipline her if she went over those lines, or did something she had been told not to.

The girl cast her mind back to when she first landed the role of Samantha Mitchell and was told who would be playing her mother. She’d been absolutely delighted. Zahra had never worked with Susan before, but she had seen her playing a mother in a short term role in a day time soap and had been impressed by how ‘Momlike’ she was and what a great pretend mother she would make for young Samantha Mitchell.

On more than one occasion when Samantha had been put in her place by Diana, Zahra had reflected after filming the scene how much she wished Susan was really her mother, and that she or someone like her would tell her off and maybe even set some real rules that she was expected to stick to…or else. Susan just had a way of uttering those two words ‘or else’ that made Zahra’s bottom pucker involuntarily even though she’d never been spanked, or had that word actually mentioned to her as part of the show.


“Would you, really?” Zahra said in an almost inaudible voice, not really believing that she was asking this.

“Would I what?” Susan asked.

“Spank me?” Zahra asked in a stammering whisper.

Susan’s green eyes softened. “Are you asking me to spank you, Zahra? Do you want me to spank you?”

Zahra dropped her eyes and said, “Probably not, but if it can do what you said it does, then maybe I do need it.”

Susan moved from the chair in front of the dressing table and sat on the bed. She patted the duvet beside her and motioned Zahra to sit next to her. Zahra did so, and became aware that this was often how she and Susan sat when they had their mother daughter talks on the show and also that they hadn’t done one of those at all this season. She believed the idea was that as Samantha matured she grew too old for Mommy daughter time. Possibly it had also been because she’d become kind of difficult to manage and had requested less screen time with Susan.

Susan took Zahra’s hands in her own and said in a nurturing voice, “I won’t lie to you, Zahra. I brought you in here today with the sole intention of laying down the law to you, and if it took a spanking, then so be it. I was expecting quite a fight when I mentioned the ‘s’ word, so this is a bit of a shock for me, although the other ladies I spoke to about disciplining on screen daughters said your attitude may change as theirs had for the most part.”

“Other ladies?” Zahra asked.

Susan smiled. “Before taking this course of action I consulted with Carol Brady, Shirley Partridge, Elise Keaton and Bree van der Kamp.”

Zahra hadn’t ever heard of Shirley Partridge and she only vaguely remembered Elise Keaton as Michael J. Fox’s mom on Family Ties. She did know who Carol Brady was as she’d seen plenty of Brady Bunch reruns, and of course she knew about Desperate Housewives, she’d almost landed a role as a local kid in the show’s early days.

“Why?” Zahra asked her co-star.

“They all dealt with teenage daughters on screen,” Susan explained. “They all experienced those daughters letting fame go to their heads, too and corrected it over their laps.”

Despite the situation Zahra grinned, she could still remember Heather saying that Marcia needed a spanking once when they were watching an episode of The Brady Bunch.

“Something funny?” Susan asked, her voice a little sharper than usual.

Zahra shook her head. “Not really.”

“Do you want to try spanking?” Susan asked.

Zahra nodded and then said quickly. ‘Wait! What does it mean? What will you do?”

“It’s a fairly spontaneous thing, Zahra,” Susan explained. “The first thing we probably need to do is make sure you understand why I’m going to spank you.”

“I do,” Zahra confirmed.

“And why is that, young lady?” Susan asked, unaware how much like her own mother she sounded in those moments before her panties made the southward journey and she was turned over those maternal thighs.

“I’ve been going out and partying, getting my head in the celeb papers and websites for all the wrong reasons. I drink and I’ve taken drugs. I regularly turn up late for work. I know it’s all wrong, but I can’t seem to stop doing it because I get the feeling no one really cares.”

“Oh honey!” Susan said, she leaned forward and enveloped the girl, who was now starting to cry in a warm, loving hug.

They broke the embrace and looked at each other.

“Do you feel better?” Susan asked the starlet.

Zahra nodded, still wiping at her eyes.

“But we’re not done yet, are we?”

Zahra shook her head and said in a little girl voice, “No, Mommy.”


Susan let out a sigh of relief, this was going much better than she had any right to hope for. Zahra had recognized what was going wrong and was willing to take steps to correct it. She knew she had to follow through, though. If Zahra got let off now she’d never remediate the behaviour, just thinking that all she had to do was say the right words and turn on the waterworks. She had to leave this room with a glowing red hot backside under that tight too short skirt that she was wearing.

“Okay I need you to stand up, sweetie.”

Zahra’s eyes had questions in them, but she didn’t say anything before getting to her feet.

Susan hooked her fingers into the waistband of the skimpy mini skirt and told Zahra, “A proper spanking is administered on the bare bottom, so I need to take this off and lower your panties.”

Zahra’s eyes widened and she squirmed a little, but she allowed Susan to slide the skirt down to her ankles and then stepped out of it.

“The shoes too, darling,” Susan prompted, seeing the high heels the girl had on.

“Why?” Zahra asked. “You’re not going to spank my feet too, are you?”

“No, sweetie I’m not,” Susan said with a smile, she was pleased that the girl had retained her sense of humour. “However once you’re over my knee, and I start spanking, you are going to kick your legs, and I’d really rather one of those not fly off and hit me.”

“Oh okay,” Zahra said, as it made perfect sense and removed the shoes.

“Do you want to get over my lap before I take your panties down?” Susan asked Zahra.

“That’s okay, Susan. It’s just us here.”

Susan lowered the panties, and said, “I think until this is done you may want to start calling me Mom.”

Standing in front of Susan nude from the waist down, blushing furiously, Zahra nodded and replied, “Yes Mom.”

“Good girl,” Susan said softly, and remembering how her own mother tipped her over the lap for a spanking, guided the girl over her knees.


Dangling over her on screen mother’s knees, Zahra regarded the floor and tried to mentally prepare for the expected spanking. Susan let her lay there and gently smoothed her hand over the pert, tender buttocks. The stroking made Zahra relax the tensed cheeks, and that was when Susan struck. That had been advice from Florence, spank on a relaxed set of buns when possible.

A loud crack sounded, and then Zahra’s head shot up as a sting registered on her backside. “Wait!” she yelped. “I’m having second thoughts.”

“No, honey, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Susan said, administering firm, deliberate slaps to the girl’s rolling, reddening hams.

“It hurts!” Zahra wailed, feeling herself start to cry.

“It is meant to. That’s why it’s a punishment. I want you to remember this the next time you’re tempted to drink or take something harmful and illegal.”

“Yes, Mom, I will!” Zahra promised. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, and she could taste that her nose was running too. Snot and tears were getting in her hair as she whipped her head from side to side. Gross!

“Now they’re simmering nicely,” Susan said, her mother had said the same thing once she got her daughter’s backside nice and warm with her hand. She put the back of her hand on the girl’s bottom to see how hot it was. “Oh yes, perfectly prepared.”

“Prepared?” Zahra asked. “For what, Mom?”

‘The hairbrush of course.”

“Hairbrush? You want to hit me with a hairbrush?”

‘Zahra, you’re a seventeen year old girl, who has been causing problems for nearly everyone in your life for close on a year now. Do you think a simple little smacked bottom with my hand is sufficient for that?”

Zahra was tempted to say that yes it was, but part of her knew that it wasn’t. She sniffled miserably.

“I thought so,” Susan said, then she smacked the glowing bottom over her lap smartly. “Up you get. Mommy’s hairbrush is on her dressing table.”


Zahra picked up the hairbrush gingerly and weighed it in her hand. There was nothing really unusual about Susan’s hairbrush, but knowing that it was going to be used on her stinging rear end seemed to give it more weight somehow.

“Thank you, darling,” Susan said, accepting the brush from the girl. “Back over Mommy’s lap, please.”

Feeling her cheeks catch fire at the childish form of address, Zahra lay herself back over Susan’s lap.

The brush was poised above the steaming cheeks and there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Susan answered it.

“Are you going to be long, Mrs Rourke, Miss Summer?” one of the crew asked through the door.

“No, we’re almost done. Zahra certainly is anyway.”

“We’re going to need you out on set, soon.”

“We’ll be there.”

Susan then commenced her onslaught with the brush. The woman’s hand had been hard, but it felt like a feather compared with the brush. Zahra didn’t know where or how Susan had learned to spank, but she knew what she was doing. She moved that brush competently and quickly from Zahra’s upper thighs, over the crease between legs and buttocks – oh God that hurt – and then all over the bottom itself, where her hand had already started spot fires.

By the time the brush was halfway done, Zahra was bawling and blubbering incoherently, apologizing for everything and her legs were scissor kicking blurs.

Susan took her past that point to where she simply lay limply over the lap, sobbing softly, trying to catch her breath, her tight round bottom a blazing ball of fiery pain, wondering if she was ever going to be able to sit comfortably again.


“Ordinarily I’d put you in the corner for a little cool down and think time, but we’re needed on set,” Susan said to Zahra.

Standing in front of Susan, tears still trickling down her cheeks Zahra nodded contritely.

“I need to get you to make up and hair as well, Zahra. Do you want Mommy’s help getting dressed again?”

“Yes, please,” Zahra asked, and she whimpered a little as her panties were pulled back on and scraped over the abused flesh of her buttocks. The skirt was even worse, it was tight and it compacted her freshly spanked flesh and held all the heat from the spanking in.

Susan marveled at how contrite the girl now was. She wouldn’t have been like that before the spanking.

As they made their way to wardrobe, Susan had her arm around Zahra’s slender shoulders and spoke to her softly. “I’ve worked it so that you won’t have to sit down for any of your scenes today.”

Zahra wiped her nose on a tissue and husked, ‘Thanks, Mom. Could we do that corner time thing after shooting?”

“Of course we can, sweetie. Your Mom will always be there for you whenever you need her.”

As they walked Susan raised her eyes and gave a prayer of thanks for her four Mom mentors.

Tuesday, 25 November 2014

Five strong ladies

Yes, Aunty is late again with her SotM. I am sorry, I just never seem to have the time and energy that I once did.

If you can remember I asked for female spankers this month, some of my loyal followers answered the call, and we have five strong ladies, who are also strong contenders for the title. I can imagine many of you would regard going over these ladies laps with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Without further ado November's nominees are:

Little Brat nominated Jennifer Garner because she is a 'strong woman', and I agree. The shot above is both sexy and strong. She also once played a whip wielding leather clad dominatrix in Alias, the show that shot her to fame. A worthy contender.

Richard suggested a countrywoman of mine: Nicole Kidman. She has the look, and this picture displays that, a sort of icy cool that sends a shiver down the spine. She also once administered a spanking on screen, in the film Dogtown.

Stephanie asked for tennis player Ana Ivanovic to be included. She's a powerful lady, both on and off court, she's also super model attractive and this picture displays both qualities.

Barbara double dipped and made two nominations. One is Sheryl Crow, largely over an admission that she was spanked by an athletics coach growing up. She's certainly radiating attitude in the above shot. I wouldn't want to be that microphone. The second was Madonna, and given her profile, I am surprised she hasn't been nominated more often. She has admitted in song that she likes being spanked (although she did later recant that) and she's been a dominatrix in more than one film clip. I quite like the above picture, although it's definitely been touched up, but those hot eyes just promise retribution.

So there we have it. Five ladies, all strong, all powerful and successful. The choice is now yours. I'd like to have them all to be honest.

Aunty Andrea

Tuesday, 11 November 2014

'The Spank Shop 49 - You'

Kim promised a new Seegee Spank Shop story in her last update (speaking of that still waiting for nominations for November's SotM, looking for a determined lady spanker this time), and here it is. It's a little different, hence the title. The intention is I believe to put the reader into the shoes of the prospective client.

It's also number 49. I can't wait to see what Seegee has planned for the half century milestone.

This could be the sort of chart visitors to The Spank Shop may see when they enter one of the parlours.

Andrea goes to work, delivering the hand warm up.

One of what clients may see when Andrea opens her feared 'war chest'.

If it weren’t for the sign outside and the fact that occasionally when passing the big open window of the shop glowing red bottoms can be seen decorating the corners of reception from the street, The Spank Shop could be easily ignored. It is situated incongruously between a hair and beauty salon and a pleasant well patronized patisserie.

Fortunately the street was empty this sunny, but cool autumn day, with no one around to see clients enter the notorious shop, where the owners of disobedient bottoms go to have them smacked.


A bell above the door chimes merrily as clients enter, which is at odds with how most of them must be feeling. A teenager with clouds of meticulously brushed and combed honey blonde hair is seated behind a large desk, she offers clients a dazzling smile and the cheerful greeting, “Welcome to the Spank Shop! I’m Kimberley.”

The shops clients are either returning customers, in which case their details are on file as well as agreement to accept bare bottomed discipline from the shop’s proprietress; Andrea Mahony, or one of her capable lieutenants: Kimberley’s mother Gabrielle Kennedy, the maternal Italian Maria Sculiatta or in some cases Kimberley herself. New customers, first timers, or ‘virgins’, as ‘Aunty’ Andrea often refers to them are required to fill out a form with their details and sign a release or have it signed by a guardian if they’re not of age.

Kimberley hands over a clipboard with a pen and form attached and directs the first timers into a chair in reception to fill it out, while she informs one of the ladies she refers to as ‘discipline consultants’ that their appointment has arrived.


Overall the questionnaire is quite standard, sort of what one expects when they first attend a new doctor, except for questions like if they’ve ever been spanked, and others relating to that punitive experience. Filling it out when the shop is busy can be a surreal experience with glowing bottoms and sobbing clients dressed in the childish and humiliating spanking aprons filling the corners.

This particular afternoon reception is deserted and the only sounds are the gentle crackling of the fire, and Kimberley’s fingers tapping on the keys of her computer keyboard, as she updates the shop’s records and makes appointments.

A door opens out to reception and a woman with curly brown hair - possibly in her mid to late twenties - stumbles out of the room. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail with a scarlet ribbon, tears trickle from her eyes down her cheeks, and there’s a pained expression on her face. One hand is busy rubbing the seat of her snug, well filled out denim slacks.

“I do hope that I’ve cured that habit of yours, young lady!” says a stern voice, and framed in the doorway stands a tall, slender, icily attractive blonde woman. One hand is on her hip and the other holds a rectangular paddle made of a clear plastic material.

The brunette sobs a, “Yes, Miss Gabrielle,” at her.

“Can you look after our naughty little wife, please Kimberley?” Gabrielle asks the receptionist, who very much resembles a younger, shorter version of her mother.

“Yes, Mum,” the teenager says and rises from her chair.

She puts an arm around the crying woman and leads her to a chair on which a large, soft looking pillow has been placed. “You just sit here Susie,” she tells the lady, easing her obviously sore rear end onto the pillow. “I’ll give hubby a call and tell him that he can pick you up, and get you a nice hot cup of tea while you wait for him, okay?”

The girl makes a quick call, speaks to ‘Susie’s’ husband briefly, accepts the filled out form, then disappears into the kitchen. She reappears shortly with a steaming cup of tea, which she hands to ‘Susie’, now wiping her eyes and still sniffling, and announces, “Aunty Andrea is ready to see her next client.”


‘Aunty’ Andrea Mahony is seated by the fire in her parlour, or ‘spanking room’, as many of its occupants refer to it. She is dressed in a dark skirt and a fluffy red sweater, it’s a tight fit and shows off her generous breasts to their best advantage. Her mane of luxurious chestnut curls cascade past her shoulders. One long, shapely, nylon clad leg is draped over the other, and the foot in a shiny black pump swings from side to side. A tea service for one is set up on a small table next to her armchair by the fire, a steaming cup sits on it. The woman herself is reading a magazine, a pair of fashionable, thin rimmed, rectangular reading glasses are perched on her nose. She initially seems unaware that anyone else is in the room.

She reaches for her teacup and looks up. A slow smile spreads across her face, she sips tea daintily and places the cup back on its saucer. She closes the magazine and puts it down next to the teapot, she removes her glasses and places them lenses up on top of the magazine.

“Ahhhh so our naughty little peeper has come to pay Aunty a visit,” she purrs in a voice like warm honey.

Cheeks heat with embarrassment and feet shuffle nervously.

“Do you know what happened to the curious cat, darling?”

“No, Aunty.”

“It unfortunately lost one of its lives, but I don’t approve of cruelty to animals. If it had been up to me it would have had its tail lifted and its fluffy little bottom spanked.”

A hard swallow and an almost unbearable tingle in the hindquarters starts.


“Young Sierra did not appreciate having an audience for her hiding, nor did her parents, especially after they were advised of how the Spank Shop values and protects the privacy of its clients. If even Miss Kimberley speaks about what goes on here out of turn, then she’s over my knee in short order, her bare bottom having a lengthy discussion with the back of a sturdy wooden hairbrush.”

Sierra Mason. If she weren’t such a prim, prissy, little goody two shoes tattler then no one would have wanted to see her being spanked. Even though the price was going to be high, it was almost worth it for those few minutes of seeing the high and mighty, ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth’, ‘my Mummy and Daddy make more money than your Mummy and Daddy’ Miss Mason wailing bare bottomed over Andrea’s stern lap, tears streaming down her cheeks, nose dripping like a tap, backside turning the same colour as the mane of fiery red hair she was so proud of, while Andrea vigorously applied the unforgiving back of her much feared hairbrush Mrs Ebony to those pampered, once snowy white cheeks.

“Think it’s amusing?” Andrea barks.

“No, Miss Andrea.”

“No, it is not. Neither I or my good friend Mrs Ebony,” jade eyes flick to a broad backed, oval hairbrush, made of a jet black wood, sitting innocently on the coffee table in front of the three seater couch across from the fireplace, “found anything about the entire regrettable incident the least bit funny. Just as well Kimberley was vigilant and happened to see that someone had entered the backyard, and was looking where they shouldn’t have been.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Come here.”


In a matter of moments those long, nimble tapering fingers with the perfectly manicured, scarlet lacquered nails, have unsnapped buttons and undone zips, and there’s a very vulnerable very bare bottom in front of Andrea.

“Go to the corner,” she directs, pointing at a corner of the room near the fireplace. “Hands on head, nose on the wall, do not move so much as a muscle until I say so.”

It is an odd experience to stand staring at the featureless wall, nose pressed against it, slowly going numb from the pressure, hearing preparations, but not actually being able to see anything.

The fire crackles gently, and there’s the soft whisper and rustle of material as Andrea moves about the room. A click that sounds like a teacup on a saucer breaks the silence, then another noise of wood on wood rings out, impossibly loud in the still air of the parlour. That has to be the hairbrush, the cutely named Mrs Ebony, whose reputation precedes her, and sends a shiver of fear down the spine of anyone who knows what she’s really used for. Despite being a hairbrush, that implement has never been used on so much as a strand of hair.

“Turn,” the smooth, cultured voice orders imperiously.

The icy finger of fear sends a visible shiver through the spine.

“Cold?” she asks.

“No, Aunty.”

“The fire does keep the room nice and toasty, but I wager it’s going to become a lot hotter very soon. Hands off head and stand by my knee.”


“The questionnaire indicates a state of virginity as regards the shop and corporal punishment?”

“Yes, Aunty.”

Andrea smiles again. It’s a rather predatory expression, not dissimilar to that seen on the face of a cartoon cat when it encounters a mouse. However this time the cat is going to win the battle and the mouse doesn’t have the same turn of speed that Speedy Gonzales enjoyed.

“I do confess to rather liking ‘virgins’, it’s so much fun to teach them things. Lessons like why one does not creep into a fenced in backyard and spy through windows on others being spanked over Aunty’s lap. That particular incident was between Sierra, myself and her parents, no one else was involved or had any right to know about it unless Sierra herself wanted to inform them. Over my knee.”

The soberly skirted lap is surprisingly comfortable, firm, without being too hard or soft, and it, in combination with the couch that Andrea had seated herself in the middle of provided a good deal of support for even the tallest occupant of that lap.

Those competent fingers gently stroke, knead and caress the bottom in her lap. Nails are scraped teasingly down the white, trembling mounds, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Then without warning a loud crack rings out in the room.

The sounds hits the air before the sting of the blow registers, as the next one falls it is joined by a lusty full throated yell of both surprise and alarm. It doesn’t take long before the fire builds and the surface of the globes nestled into that firm lap takes on a soft pink flush.

Andrea takes her time and picks her spots carefully. The spanking seems random, but there is a method to the disciplinarian’s madness. She prides herself on what she does and how well she does it.

Before the buttocks are released from their not entirely uncomfortable prison situated atop those muscular toned thighs they’ll be glowing crimson and almost hot enough to rival the logs in the fireplace.

To do that Andrea has to spank all them. From the top of the buttocks right down to the tender upper thighs. Each and every area needs to match in colour and heat. To do that she attacks them one after the other, constantly varying her rhythm and changing direction at will. Maybe a concentrated volley on the sit spot, that area where thighs and buttocks meet, right where someone sits. A few ringing blows on the crowns, followed by a scorching set on the upper thighs. She may linger on the one area smacking it over and over again until her victim is begging for mercy and pleading her to smack somewhere else. A request that she only obliges if she feels like it.

“Ahhhh there we are,” she coos. “Tears. Not quite so clever now, are we?”

“No, Miss Andrea.”

“No, we are not! However Mrs Ebony also seems to like some tears before she goes to work. Let’s get a good steady flow going. Break down those proud dam walls.”

The tears only seem to urge her on to greater heights and lend strength to that already powerful arm and very hard hand. The intensity of the spanking increases and encourages kicking legs, a squirming bottom, and a flood of tears combined with some desperate pleading for the ordeal to be over.


“Over? Oh my goodness no, darling! That’s just the warmup.”

“Please Aunty.”

“It’s always amazing how the pleases start once the miscreant is over my knee,” the beautiful chestnut haired woman muses to the room. “Why they don’t think of the consequences of their actions before it gets to this point I will never know. My ears are deaf to pleas until I think my hand and hairbrush have done their job, and I don’t think they’ve done what I want then I have an entire cupboard full of things that most definitely will.”

Ah yes the cupboard. Andrea’s arsenal, her so called war chest, what many of the visitors to her parlour have christened the ‘chamber of horrors’. Behind those innocuous looking wooden doors all sorts of things lurked.

Paddles of all size and types, made of wood, leather and a dense plastic called lexan, some with holes and others without. Straps, everything from an old fashioned razor strop to multi tailed Scottish tawses and the smaller, but highly effective ‘aunty’ strap, there were rumours that there was a small multi thonged whip from France known as a martinet in amongst the other belts. Canes, made of rattan, bamboo and willow, various sizes from the ‘nursery’ cane to the old style crook handled ones so often depicted in literature about schools, especially British ones, in days gone by. The cupboard also had assorted other things, companions to Mrs Ebony, bath brushes, slippers, wooden spoons, and other things that no one who hadn’t seen inside the cupboard could even guess at.


Andrea leaned over the steaming rump across her lap and paused there, possibly to let the heat from it emanate up to her full chest under the tight, fuzzy sweater. Her fingers curled around the handle of Mrs Ebony and she straightened up again.

Tender, hot, sore bottom cheeks tensed as the brushes broad hard back hovered in the air over them, just waiting for the inevitable onslaught.


At the same time as the brush bites into a vulnerable buttock a full throated roar hits the air. The miserable recipient howls and kicks and tears flow unabated down the cheeks, the bitter salty liquid makes a small damp patch on the arm of the couch where the tears fall, dripping off a trembling chin and combine with the drool that can’t be helped when one’s mouth is continually opening and closing with ever more desperate pleas for mercy mixed in amongst promises to never do it again and yells of sheer agony.

Andrea knows what she’s doing and she does it well. No one gets off her lap until their bottom has been well roasted and is little more than a burning ball of fire. The sit spots and thighs don’t get spared either. They are kissed by Mrs Ebony as often as their close cousins the buttocks are.

“Open your legs, please.”

That’s the command no one over Andrea’s lap wants to hear. It means she wants to spank the protected inner thighs and buttocks and those areas are tender and sting like fury when they’re smacked. Just a hand is bad enough, Mrs Ebony’s unyielding back must be positively excruciating.

There’s another reason no spankee wants to open their legs for the attentions of whatever is being used on them at time, whether it be hand, hairbrush, paddle, strap or anything else that can be used to spank with. It’s actually a three fold reason.

One is that once the legs are open it’s very hard to do anything at all to relieve the pain and the heat that any good spanking – and Andrea’s spankings are very good indeed – creates. The legs can’t kick or cross and that tends to give someone something else to think about, the effect on the burning the bottom is getting is debatable.

Then there’s the knowledge that once the legs and open and spread and allowing access to the inner buttocks and thighs, everything can be seen. Male or female it makes no difference. The apron provides no modesty in this situation. The genitals are completely on display. While Andrea will do her very best not to spank them, it doesn’t take away the knowledge that they have been seen at their most vulnerable.

Finally there’s the after effect of being spanked there. Legs and buttocks rub together when someone walks, it cannot be helped, and being spanked in between them ensures that the spanking will be felt for quite some time after the event. Not only does the spankee feel the spanking every time they sit down, they feel it when they walk, causing them to walk rather stiff legged, a little like a penguin. This means that others can tell someone’s been spanked and spanked thoroughly. It also affects the choice of dress. Jeans are an agony and it means that the only form of dress that can be born is loose pants or a skirt.

The desperate begging of, “Please Aunty, no, not there!” only draws a scornful response of, “Don’t be a baby! Begging is such an unattractive quality.”

It is an enormous relief when Andrea says calmly, “Close the legs again.”

It’s hard to hear much over the pounding of blood in the ears and while trying to catch breath, but is the disciplinarian’s voice a little breathless? Did the effort of holding a vigorously struggling recipient in place over her lap while delivering an absolutely barn burner of a spanking take it out of her? Is that a pyrrhic victory?

There’s not a lot of time to ponder this, nor is there any to celebrate a small triumph of spirit as Andrea lays on a blistering volley as the crescendo of her spanking.

“Up!” she orders shortly.

Her strong, sure hands close around the waist and ease the sobbing miscreant off her lap and onto their feet. She holds the wrists to the waist so that rubbing is out of the question. Spank Shop clients do not rub their bottoms until they are given permission from their punisher, although a short spanked cheeks dance is usually permitted.

Andrea holds a tissue up to a face stained with a mixture of tears, snot, saliva and sweat and tenderly cleans it. Then a further tissue is held to the dripping nose with a soft command of, “Blow.”

Once the nose has been noisily evacuated and the tissue disposed of and the punishee left feeling like a four year old who doesn’t know enough to blow their own nose without the help of a caring adult, they are sent to the corner to let their bottom cool off and Andrea to enjoy a hot beverage while relaxing in the afterglow.

“I certainly hope seeing Sierra get what she had coming to her was worth it,” Andrea says as she sips tea and admires her handiwork on the jiggling red bottom glowing brightly in the corner of the room.

It is a rhetorical question so no answer is needed, nor is one forthcoming.

Once allowed out of the corner one would hope that was it, but on this occasion one more command comes from the Mistress of the Spank Shop.

“I don’t think some public corner time in reception is out of the question here. Kimberley will be able to source a free corner I am sure. One that can easily be seen from the street I think. After all Sierra’s right to privacy was not respected.”

“Please Aunty…”

“Please Aunty put me in a corner in reception? Delighted. I’ll just call through to Miss Kimberley and see what she can do. Kimberley, do you have a free corner? You do? Wonderful. Make sure it’s visible from outside.”


The cheeks of the face are almost as hot and red as the ones lower down when a visitor has to stand in the corner of reception, only wearing one of the shop’s humiliating spanking aprons. The front is covered, but the bottom is bare and has clearly been quite soundly spanked recently. Knowing that passersby can see it only adds to the feeling of complete and total humiliation.

The slow and painful walk home is made more so by the feeling that everyone knows what just happened and is having a good old chuckle about it. Dinner will be eaten off the mantle tonight and the next few nights will be spent sleeping on the tummy.

Was it worth it to see Sierra humbled the way she was? You betcha it was!