Free Blushing at Both Ends by Philip Kemp

tawses he had spoken of – would soon be brought into play. They would
hurt
– hurt like hell! Sitting down in comfort would become a distant memory. A vision arose of herself pinioned face-down over Matthew’s broad lap, kicking and squirming, her all-too-plump and spankable bare bottom blushing scarlet beneath his merciless spanks. She must leave this house
tomorrow
, first thing, insisted Susie’s rational mind.
    But its protests became a faint squeak and then faded out altogether. For an older, deeper, more powerful part of her told her that this was where she truly belonged – in this house, across Matthew’s knee. This, or something very like it, was what she had been unconsciously seeking all her life. Tomorrow, she told herself as she drifted away, I’ll be spanked again. And the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. Every day, without fail. And if I’m naughty (and somehow I think I shall be), then I’ll be spanked some more. Lots more. And that’s right. That’s the way it should be.
    And, with a contented smile on her face, Susie slept.

5
    Motivation
    IF ANYONE STARTS telling you how glamorous Hollywood is, it’s a fair bet they’ve never worked there. Because, believe me, Hollywood is mostly frustration, bullshit and hard graft – especially if you’re trying to get a movie project off the ground. And all the more so these days, when most of the studio ‘executives’ are jumped-up, slick-suited young know-nothings who think movie history began with
Star Wars
. OK, maybe one or two of them – the brighter ones – have just about heard of Hitchcock. But mention Hawks, Lubitsch or Capra, and watch their eyes glaze over with ignorance and indifference.
    You’ll have gathered I don’t much like Tinseltown. In fact, if it was up to me I’d never set foot in the place. As a Brit film director, I’ve enjoyed a fair-to-moderate career making movies my side of the pond where the bullshit level – though still high – is at least tolerable most of the time. But this latest project I was working on needed a bigger budget – some $35 million or so. And to raise that kind of money, you generally have to get into bed with one of the major Hollywood studios.
    So here were Don, my producer, and I in La-La Land, pitching our project and hoping for a break. We’d been in LA a week, and things weren’t going too badly; both Universal and Miramax seemed tempted to bite . But it would need at least another couple of weeks pitching, and already I was nauseous from the crap I was having to talk. With my last meeting of the day over, I headed thankfully back to my bungalow at the Château Marmont (hell, if you have to do LA, you might as well do it in style), looking forward to a quiet evening. There was a cocktail party up Laurel Canyon where some good contacts might be made, but I decided to leave that to Don. He’s far more of a party animal than I’ve ever been, and schmoozing comes naturally to him. Anyway, what else are producers for?
    I’d just settled into the jacuzzi with a long cool drink when the phone rang. That’ll be Don, I thought, telling me what a great party it is and how I
must
come right over; so I let it ring. But then I heard the answering machine kick in, and a soft husky voice said, ‘Leo? Pick up if you’re there, sweet friend and mentor. It’s Luci.’
    Dripping, I lunged for the phone. ‘Luci! How did you know I was in town?’
    â€˜Oh, word gets around, my love – you know how it is here. But how come
you
haven’t called
me
? Darling, I’m deeply hurt.’
    I gave a short laugh. ‘Honey, take a reality check. A lot’s changed in three years. You’re now stratospheric; Keira snarls at the mention of your name. Me, I’m still a hack Brit director. I wouldn’t get past your assistant PA’s assistant