The Blushing Prima Donna - a true story

[sternlydunn]

THE BLUSHING PRIMA DONNA – a true story

By “Sternly Dunn”

Since I began directing plays in college, I had always taken pride in the fact that I never kissed one of my actors. I even use the generic term "actor" for both men and women in an effort to further avoid sexual bias in my work, positive or negative. In this business there are scores upon scores of people, of all sexual orientations, who take advantage of their various charms for whatever clout it will give them in getting jobs, and just as many who abuse their position of power and those earnestly willing to do whatever it takes to land a job, or that big break. I am just not that kind of guy.

In graduate school all the young directors were swept up in a series of brief, project based affairs; hopping from the bed of one "leading lady" to another (or leading man.) Actors, real actors, go through serious emotional vulnerability throughout the rehearsal process, and they often become emotionally volatile and very sensitive. So they hook up, even if they end up losing interest after a project ends. But when it comes to directors, well, armature or professional production, that is a Pandora ’s Box of psychology.

From an artistic and business collaboration standpoint, I am sometimes viewed as the father of the family to be pleased or rebelled against, the professor to learn from or in spite of, the Boss to fear or suck up to, the enemy, the collaborator, you name it, all within the same company, and sometimes within the same actor. Also, I never thought it was worth the complications which came with such soap opera-style philandering. Even if there is genuine affection involved, it is far too stressful and often comes back to haunt one. Besides, I am monogamous by nature, but even when single I never came close to giving into the temptations that fill most every project or production.

Upon my arrival in New York, I began to direct for a variety of small, off-off Broadway companies. Each contained a wealth of desirable, young women. But I always kept my professional blinders on. Even though I have several mutual admirers around town, I am even more respected for not acting upon such impulses.

Then along came Carla.

I had been referred for the job by another director. I met Carla and her associate, Nancy at a diner in the Astor Place to interview with them. They had a backer for a new, two character play and were hoping to use it as a springboard to forming their own company. They seemed ambitious and business like; this was especially true of Carla. She said they had a healthy production budget and after reviewing my credits and references, offered me a flat fee plus expenses. I happily took the job as the amount was higher than anything I had seen before.

I have never had a worse experience in the theater. The script was awful. It was static and dismally depressing. The playwright was overseas and never did get involved at all. Nancy was very green and far too inexperienced for such problematic work. The only good thing about it was the design team who provided very nice costumes and a lavish set.

As for Carla, well, I can only say she is one piece of work herself! Not only was she one of the most difficult "actresses" I have ever encountered, she also was responsible for my one and only fall from professional propriety. But I will admit that it was not without its benefits.

Carla had studied with one of the legendary New York acting teachers about ten years before, which only inflated her ego further. She had been on her way to a successful, man-eating career when she fell victim to an out of control cocaine habit and the sort of severe eating disorder which sadly plagues so many young women who become obsessed with their appearance.

Now, several years of therapy later, she was back to try it again. She was still obsessed with her appearance, only in the opposite direction. Instead of starving herself she worked out constantly, ate organic foods and exerted great effort toward staying as healthy and potently attractive as possible.

She was somewhere just over thirty years of age, but looked close to ten years younger. She had the sprightly appearance and hair of a young Natalie Wood, with the devastating bod of a Jessica Simpson. The most unique thing about this abnormally attractive woman was the fact that she stood barely 5 feet tall, if that! She was almost like a miniature person, since her features were ideally proportioned. From the corner of one’s eye she could have been a child, and she certainly acted like it.

Carla was a raven haired, fair skinned, miniature goddess who never let anyone forget it, half of the time. The other half of the time she showed just how insecure she was about returning to the stage after such a long time and always thinking she was too old, too short, to flat-chested, when she was nowhere near that, etc. etc. She was continually overcome by the fear of exposing her body in the skimpy, cocktail waitress costume she would be wearing. Such feelings of unattractiveness were left over from the eating disorder and looked to prove a major psychological obstacle for her.

And a problem for me was her pert little bottom that kinked to and fro like a natural man-magnet whenever she walked. It was almost more than I could bare! (sic.)

Since the play was set in the early Seventies, at the height of the mini-skirt era, it was agreed that she would start dressing accordingly for rehearsals in hope that she would become more comfortable in such revealing apparel. It helped that the stage managers were women, and so was the other actor. With the exception of the set designer, who rarely saw rehearsals, I was the only man who would be watching this little fox go through her paces, and I expected to maintain my look but don’t touch policy.

Actually Carla was more cat than fox. She seemed to feed off the power of being "producer" at the same time as "leading lady" and was difficult and unpleasant with everyone "under" her. But I must say she was a savvy and hard-nosed business woman when it came to dealing with the publicists and the various contractual negotiations. She even talked the New York Times advertising department down in price! This side of her was due in part to her several years as a department manager in a major investment bank. It raised my respect for her immensely and, for the most part, balanced the obstreperous, bratty behavior she exhibited in rehearsal.

However, after a time it became clear to her that I would not be intimidated by her as a person and showed no outward signs of succumbing to her feminine charms. This seemed to make her only try harder. She had been flirting with me since the first few meetings but eventually gave up on that angle and simply grew more difficult and rebellious in rehearsals. Eventually she went too far.

Actually neither of these women was very good at their jobs. They were very late learning their lines and carried on like gabbling high school girls most of the time. At least Nancy was a novice. Carla had no excuse for such irresponsible behavior. On more than one occasion I would half-seriously threaten them with a trip to the woodshed.

"You two will have your lines down for this section on Wednesday, or the whippings will begin!" I would bellow at the end of an evening's rehearsal.

Such threats would make Nancy's eyes big as saucers and she would blush before scooting out the door in a hurry. Carla would say things like "Hmmm. Sounds interesting. Too bad you don't have the nerve." And then strut unbothered out to a cab. Whereas Nancy always got those lines down after such a threat, Carla would come in for scene work and call out "line!" to the prompter just enough to irritate me.

Not long after she had given up seducing me, she became an insufferable shrew to everyone around her. It finally came to a head when she reduced the Assistant Stage Manager to tears. I walked past the Lady's Room and the young girl came out, looked at me and then cried "She's such a bitch! Why does she hate me!?!" and ran out of the rehearsal hall. Carla came out a moment later, looked at me and smugly said "What's the matter with her?"

"You know what the matter is!" I snapped. "You have been a self-centered, horrible b… BRAT for the past week. And now you take it out on a cute kid like that? How the hell am I supposed to get work done with this kind of stuff going on?!"

Being a soft spoken and extremely patient man, this was the first time I had ever seriously raised my voice to her. It startled her for a moment. But she soon regained her royal continence and said "Fine. Then we won't work." She then walked back to the room where the Stage Manager and Nancy were finishing their break and said "Rehearsal's over."

They were bewildered and asked why. "Because I said so. See you tomorrow." came her reply as she picked up her bag and coat and walked out past me and through the door.

I caught up with her as she headed up Broadway by 44th Street. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" I said as I stepped in front of here.

She moved around me and walked on, saying, "You said we couldn't work. So, I'm going home."

I walked up in front of her again and replied, "I said we couldn't work because you are being impossible to everyone around you!"

"We've already had this talk, haven't we?" she said, as she turned to walk the other way.

"Well I'm about through talking." I said.

"Look!" she piped and then turned to face me. "If they aren't professional enough to..."

"You look!!" I interrupted.

"You want to talk about professional? Those people are working too hard for you to behave like this! You go ahead and go home, but this is going to be the last rehearsal you are going to ruin. You are going to be there on time tomorrow. You are not going to give me or anyone any crap! And you are going to work that bouncy, little butt off every day until we get this thing open!"

"You have no right to talk to me that way." She said, taking overly obvious offense to my sexist remark.

"I said I was through talking." came my rebuttal.

"If you even think about pulling such childish, unprofessional crap like this again, you are going to make me roll my sleeves up and show you that my previous threats are not idle ones!"

With that I walked past her, back toward the rehearsal building.

She called out after me "Promise?"

I turned around and she was standing there glaring at me with her hands on her waist and one hip cocked to the side. There was the oddest glint in her eye. It made me want to take a closer look. But that would have been doing exactly what she wanted. Since we had already put on enough of a side show even for Times Square, I just turned back and walked on.

The next day she breezed in five minutes early and seemed in spirits almost as high as the hem of her pleated skirt. Still on her star's high horse, she loudly proclaimed how bad she felt about yesterday and even went so far as to call up and apologize to that "poor thing" she had yelled at.

The ASM showed up a few minutes later and said she was sorry for running out. I said not to be, and then found out that Carla's apology consisted of a five second message on the girl's answering machine. But I thought it was at least a start.

I was very disappointed to find that she had not given in to my wishes. She turned to guerrilla warfare instead.

Talk about bad acting. It was painful to watch her pretend she couldn't remember lines from scenes which had gone flawlessly before. I was determined not to let it ruffle me as it became obvious that was her aim. She even lit a cigarette in the middle of rehearsal. That was verboten and when confronted by the Stage Manager she pretended absent mindedness.

As the day wore on she grew openly difficult. But still I would do no more than give her a scolding glance. I knew just when to let her have what was coming to her.

In a way, it was a tactical victory for both of us. She was able to play prima donna for another day and get away without a public scolding. I was able to withstand another bout with her brattiness and seemingly ignored her attempts to arouse me sexually. But as we were packing things in and someone asked me what I was doing that night I replied "After I'm finished at Carla's I think I will be too exhausted for much more than sleep."

"What do you mean?" she said, she said with obvious concern.

The answer came to her a moment before the stage manager said, "You guys have the conference call with Tim in a half and hour."

The so-called playwright was phoning from England where he had been hiding his head in a sitcom. He knew we had a turkey on our hands but was happy that someone was dumb enough to finally put it on stage.

"Oh, I better run home first and straighten up and change." she stammered.

"For a conference call? Don't bother." I said, "Lets go get these unpleasant but necessary items out of the way." It was now my turn to take care of business.

We said hardly a word on the way there. She seemed relieved that the phone was ringing as we came through the door. Twenty minutes later we had the rewrites secure and were securely away from prying eyes.

"Well, I guess we're both tired." She said as if to prompt my exit. The delicate nature of her voice and her petite form seemed even more tiny and vulnerable, now that she was alone with me in her nice, but small mid-town apartment.

"What I had said was I thought I would be exhausted when I finally left here. I think you will be too." I remarked as I looked around the living room and kitchenette for anything which might serve as a decent paddle.

"Look." she said hurriedly "I don't think this is the time to..."

I cut her short by saying "Do you really want me to quit?"

"What?" she said.

"Do you really want me to quit this project and leave you and your backer with a half-baked clam on your hands?"

"I, uh..No!" she stammered, "I never meant to make you..."

"You never meant to make me anything but miserable since we started this thing!" I said with rising temper.

"You have wasted a lot of people’s time and money; including your own. You insisted on this ill-written script because you knew it would showcase you in a role with lots of lines, at the expense of everything else, and now you are going to go out there and fall flat in front of everyone you know or whose opinion you care about. You are better than that, damn it! But you have dragged yourself and everyone else down to mediocrity with your petty, prima donna bullshit! I'm sorry for them. And I am sorry for you because I have just had enough!!"

She was stunned by this controlled but stern tirade. Her eyes grew wide with the thought of being a public failure. It seemed to really sink in just how much she had been sabotaging her own dreams of success with her shortsighted desire to dominate me and the rest of the company.

Of course, I always knew such bombast came from insecurity and the need to convince her own self that she deserves to be treated like a great actress. She hoped that it would help her believe she really could pull it off and not embarrass herself in front of her peers. Well, I knew one thing she did deserve and I was determined to see that she got it.

"No, please! You can't." she said with growing fear, "I'll try. I really will. You know I don't know what I'm doing half the time! You can't leave!!"

"I'm sorry, Carla." I snapped. "But this is my official notice that I am not going to leave the play."

She seemed confused at what I had just said.

"Of course" I added, "after tonight you may want to fire me, or have me arrested. But I am sorry for you, because I am not going to quit."

This woke her up to her immediate situation as I stood towering over her. She backed up a step or two, but before she could say a word I continued.

"You thought you could seduce me and mistreat me and then keep pulling me back into the palm of your hand. And when that didn't work you decided to take it out on everyone else. Well I'm coming back, all right. But the terms are going to be dictated much more from the palm of my hand then yours."

She clasped her hands behind her and backed up against the door of her living room coat closet. She was now truly concerned for her well-being. "What are you going to do!?" she said in a surprisingly small voice.

"What am I going to do?" I replied.

"You have been openly flirting with a trip to the woodshed for weeks. Don't you dare look surprised! Carla, you were the one who yelled out 'Promise?' when I said any more problems would result in my rolling up my sleeves and taking you to task."

She caught her breath and dropped her shocked, wide eyes to the floor. For the first time since I met her she was speechless.

"I know you did not mean it..." I began. But then it occurred to me, like I was shot with a diamond, she had been going out of her way for days on end to show just how badly she did need to be taken in hand, held accountable, SPANKED.

I stunned myself with that revelation and thought about the look she gave me on the street the day before. I looked hard at her and said "Or did you?"

She stood with her back against the closet door, unable to answer.

"Very well." I said and pulled a straight backed chair from under her desk. I placed it a few feet from her.

She could not find the nerve to look at me. Her eyes were cast downward and seemed painfully aware that having her hands clasped behind her in such a fashion made her firm little breasts stand up and out even more than usual. In the past, whenever she got flustered or visibly upset her nipples would make an appearance through her clothing, like two steel rivets impossible for anyone to ignore. As if entering right on cue, there they were again, casting small shadows on the taught white cotton of her blouse. This only added further to her embarrassment and she buried her chin deeply into her neck as her ears flushed red as pomegranates.

She looked soooo good in her pristine blouse and super short, black pleated skirt. It was a dancer’s skirt; thin enough to form to her bare legs whenever she walked or sat down. As she stood there against the door the pleats clung to her thighs and dipped down in between them. Draped beneath the flimsy material, the downward slope of her trim belly and pubic mound were prominent and unnerving to look upon.

"Well?" I said, not giving her more time to think up something clever to say.

She only peeped the same question back at me in an attempt at further insolence. But it was empty of the confidence she had paraded earlier in the evening. I stepped toward her, she straightened with an intake of breath and I reached out to grab her by her left arm.

In two steps I had taken her in front of the chair. I sat down with her still in tow. Making sure she could see my eyes, I deliberately looked up at her face for a moment and then directly at her breasts. Her nipples were now blatant and straining through her blouse. Blushing like a school girl, she instinctively raised her right arm to cover them. Before she could, I pulled her down.

With a gasp, she toppled over across my lap. Being such a petite woman, what resistance she offered only made me use just enough force so that her feet left the ground. I raised my right knee slightly to make sure they remained thus.

I am not sure if it was shock, but she made no further attempt to stop the proceedings. There was a tension noticeable throughout her whole form, but she remained still.

I lifted her short, pleated skirt slowly. Once the hem had reached well up past her waist I stopped for a moment to let the effect sink in. She whispered a high pitched "Oh!" and clasped her hands to her face. I was surprised she wasn’t even wearing those Danskin underpants.

I slipped my fingers into the elastic waist band of her white, cotton bikini panties and slid them down just enough to expose her naked behind. Still defiant even in her submission, she reached around with her right hand and pulled them back up.

I let her do that just so it would harden my resolve even more. I then took her little wrist in my left hand and pulled it firmly to the center of her back. And with my right hand I clutched hold of the thin, white cotton which pulled bunched in the center and tugged the leg holes taught against her breathtaking little behind.

I then forcefully yanked her panties down to her knees.

A stunned second followed with an intake of air, but just then, and in the sternest voice I could muster, I said, "You're a BAD GIRL!"

The "Oh!" that came from her this time was considerably more anguished. But before she could react further, I raised my right hand and brought it down with a loud SMACK! right in the center of the downward slope of her ivory bottom. It resounded off the walls but was soon outdone by the next one and the one after that.

Hers was one of those bottoms that is peach-like in its roundness and firm enough that hardly a surrounding quiver was raised from the smack of my hand. Before she finished her first gasp of shock my hand fell a second and a third time with growing intensity. Each was timed about a second apart. By the time I the fourth, fifth and sixth fell on her naked bottom I had built up quite a head of steam. From the way her breath caught and her head rose back just a little bit more each time, I am sure they were more than she ever expected.

She reacted to each slap with a reflexive gasp. On the seventh, she managed to let out the most anguished "Oh!!" yet. This stopped my hand for about another couple of seconds. I then commenced spanking her on alternate cheeks, with varying degrees of severity, to the measured cadence of "How DARE you waste EVERYONE'S time with your SELF - INDULGENT - CHILDISH - BEHAVIOR!"

She peeped and piped in turn like a dainty calliope being played for all she was worth. Before the full effect of these last six soaked in, I followed them with another volley of "Now you're GOING to get exACTLY what YOU have been ASKING for, for a LONG, LONG, TIME young lady!"

With that, I let go of her wrist and reached around her torso to hug the squirming little miss up against me. When she collided with my trunk, my hand slid under her and on top of her right breast, which I squeezed firmly as I proceeded to bring down some dozen smacks as fast and hard as I could, each aimed where her legs and bottom met; although, I must say more than a couple found her plump, little thighs.

WHACK, WHACK, SMACK, WHACK, THWACK, THWACK, THWACK!!! I increased the intensity a bit for each one. On the final two, I really slapped her with the full extent of my strict displeasure to let her know I wasn't kidding around, and to let her know that I could have made every one of them that hard but chose not to for her sake.

The last of these ended with my hand firmly pasted to her flaming bottom as she peeped a final time. I could feel her whole being quiver outward from the very place my palm grasped. My hand remained there for several moments longer as she bucked her hips up and around in an effort to ease the intense sting still spreading through her delightfully blushing cheeks.

Her hand flew back, but I caught it and forced it down, followed with a reflexive, “You may NOT!” After her writhing subsided and then her heaving breath, I took my hand away from her flaming bottom. Carla instantly made an effort to get up and reached back to pull her panties back up. I grabbed her wrist again and commenced a further volley of smart and lighting fast smacks.

"You will get UP when you’re GIVEN PERMISSION!! DO YOU underSTAND that, MISS!?! And you WILL NOT cover YOUR BOTTOM until I SAY YOU CAN!! DO (whap) YOU (Whap) UNDERSTAND (Whap) THAT!?!! (whap, Whap, WHAP!!!)

Although the air had been pierced with the ringing whacks and slaps, she was surprisingly quiet throughout the last part of the ordeal.

I was afraid I might have gone too far. But still I continued in a commanding tone of voice.

“I said, Do you understand me?"

"Yes." came a soft, tearful reply.

"And you are going to behave yourself from now on aren't you?"

Again she said "Yes." in a clipped gasp.

"You know now that I mean what I say, don't you" I said.

For a third time she just said "Yes."

"And you are going to get this every time you misbehave from now on. Aren't you?" I added.

She moved as if to speak but only exhaled an immense sigh and went limp across my knee. She began to cry. That sudden, moving flood that only the fairer sex manages to do so beautifully, it can pierce the sternest heart. And there I let her cry, with her long, dark hair hanging to the floor over her flushed and tear streaked face.

I raised my now stinging hand high in the air and brought it down on her with a crisp clear WHAP! She jerked, but said nothing. Again I let my hand remain plastered to her.

Eventually, I eased the weight of my hand on her crimson, little behind. It was hot to the touch and had a variety of pinks and reds mixed together, blotchy in some places. The lower center of each cheek was highlighted with tiny specks of dark red that showed just how real her very first spanking had been. I then loosened my grip on her and began to hoist her up. I thought she would stand. Instead, she immediately slipped to the ground and knelt with the hair continuing to cover her face.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as I loomed over what appeared to be a thoroughly cowed and traumatized, little imp. An hour before she had been an insufferable hellcat. What a difference a little special attention can make. But I must admit at the time I did not know whether or not she was going to have me arrested.

I eventually helped her to her feet but she continued to keep her face hidden. I took her over to the couch with her panties loosely tripping up her ankles. As I sat down, her foot snagged on the garment and she ended up back over my knee with her pliant and petite form draped lengthwise on the cushions. She was obviously confused and thought she was about to get more of the same; especially when I threw up her skirt, baring her instantly. This time, however, I began to barely stroke the crown of her cheeks, and then gently to caress her bottom. It was blatantly sensual and quickly turned sexual. The areas which took the greatest amount of spanking began to show up as a deepening red at the same time that the outer areas were fading into a light pink.

She was silent and tense – seemingly stricken from the physical effects and the mixed messages they must have been sending to her brain and body. With the softest of caresses I began to coax deeper and deeper breathing. She lay with her face buried in a pillow. But soon, as my touch grew bolder in its attempt to counter balance the genuine spanking she had just received, she began to emit out a series "Ohs" which grew in intensity and abandon, and of an entirely different kind than those before or during the shanking.

They were not expletives of shock; but rather of overwhelming shame. They voiced her humiliation at being so intimately prodded, and found to be so wet. But clearly, her voice said she wished she were anywhere but over my lap. Her body said the opposite.

After a time, I took her panties from around her ankles, stood her up and made her carry them as I lead her into her bedroom. I began to unbutton her blouse. Still unable to look me in the eye, she buried her chin in her throat and asked me in a breathless voice what I was doing. I kept right on with the unbuttoning and told her that it was time she began to make up for being such a horrid, little girl by showing me just how good she could be as a woman.

There was a tense pause as she took in those words and I took it as the perfect moment to drop her skirt to the floor with a single tug. Before she could react I slid my hands in around her silky, bare waist.

Her chest heaved with an inrush of air as I did so, forcing the sides of her blouse up and off of her lofted breasts, imprisoned beautifully in a petite bra, underwired with the clasp in the front, and faintly sheer lace across the top half of each cup. Draped and elevated by the lingerie, they seemed even more naked then if they had been bare. I caught my breath for a moment and clicked my tongue in an almost prudish manner as we both took in how shamelessly displayed her stark, pink nipples were. And then, as if at the same instant we became aware that this bit of wire and fabric were the remaining bit of modesty left to her pale nudity. She quickly drew her hands up to her throat and said "Please turn off the light!"

I reached up and took her wrists into one of my hands. But then, I remembered how sadly uncomfortable she was with her body. “OK.” is all I said. I flicked off the light and slid the blouse off of her shoulders, before taking hold of them.

There are no words to adequately describe the softness of the softest of women. The natural silk of her shoulders spoke volumes of what lay in store for me that night. A shudder ran through me and then through her as I told her that we would have the light off – tonight. From the tone of my voice there was no doubt in her mind that I meant it when I added that she would stand openly exposed and naked before me, if she ever caused such problems again. Before she could reply I kissed her very deeply and kept right on doing so.

They next morning the conversation turned to my experience with spanking and her new found appreciation for it as attitude adjustment and erotic stimulation. I told her that I was quite proficient with a hairbrush. Her eyes widened with each example of my exploits and she squirmed uncomfortably more than once with the thought of her own naked bottom being subjected to such treatment. At the time I did not realize how affected she was by my saying that once when I was in graduate school, I lived with a woman who found herself dancing to the percussive rhythm of a belt whenever she was caught practicing her unquenchable habit of wearing skirts or dresses in public without anything on underneath. But I guess it got Carla's devious little wheels turning. Within a fortnight's time that became nakedly apparent.

END OF PART 1

This story is entirely true, and happened pretty much exactly as written when it comes to the important spanking related things.

But it has been rewritten from the version that appeared in the magazine Strictly Speaking, many years ago. This is partly due to the fact my writing has evolved, as has my editing, and partly because the owner of that magazine at the time wanted me to suggest this was a big time Broadway production. It wasn’t. It wasn’t even an Off-Broadway contract. But all the important details other than the names of the people involved are factual.

Also, he wanted me to be descriptive and make the most out of how sexually attractive the woman was.
I left most of that in for the sake of telling a good story.

There was a Part II – which tells another totally true tale about my spanking and then taking a belt to her tail, as well as the intimate moments that followed as she remained over the park bench, which sat center stage on the set of a play that was staged on 45th Street in New York’s Time Square. The events took place after the cast and crew had gone home, following a long technical rehearsal.

Unfortunately, I lost Part II in a computer crash many years ago. If anyone remembers this story, and happens to have a copy of Part II, I would dearly love to have it back, so even a scan of the published version would be helpful.

[PAmansfirmhand]

A screenwriter learns early on that a scene is best when you enter into it at the last possible moment and let an educated audience presume what came before. While your true life tale centers on a play rather than a film, it would have benefited if you had left much of the back-story out.

A strong but caring man taming the inconsiderate brat always will register great interest among a collection of spanking stories, and you clearly are a good writer. In its present form, however, I felt your story was like a screening of The Wolf of Wall Street...so long that the gist of it all was lost.

I hope to read more of what you choose to share and appreciate that you do.

[larose]

Despite what the previous poster mentioned, it is exactly the back story that I felt made the story so rich. It was a good story, regardless of the spanking (which was also good). That is sometimes hard to find on the board. You write in a way that makes the reader quickly buy into and care for the characters. Well done!