Sexy Star STILL Spanked!
An "it could/should/may just be true" yarn by Michael C.

I can almost see the tabloid headlines now if they ever got wind of my story. Imagine the copies they'd sell, especially if one of their pesty paparazzi could catch me howling and kicking over Mom's knee while she spanks me to tears. They would have paid a lot 15 years ago for a picture like that, but now, since I'm 27 and a "star", they'd pay millions.

As it is, they already follow me and Mom like a pack of hungry dogs, writing mostly lies and exaggerations about everything from my love life to Mom's managing hand in my career, but if they only knew!

Being a child actress was fun. Being a child star was a dream come true. How many kids get to be the center of everyone's attention, have grown-ups fawn over you and hang on your every whim, and get to go and play at exotic locations around the world?

And the money! I really didn't care all that much back then, but I knew enough to know I could buy almost anything I wanted. That caused some problems, naturally, because like most kids, I wanted everything and anything that I desired. Unlike most kids though, some of my demands were a little outrageous, like the time I decided I wanted my own ice cream store!

Mom was always patient and understanding, so she let me fantasize while explaining the reasons my own store wasn't such a good idea, but I didn't care. I wanted my own store, I was a star, and if she wouldn't get one for me I'd find someone who could!

I didn't get the store. I got a spanking instead. And by the time Mom let me off her knee, the only thing I wanted ice cream for was to sit in! Celebrity backside maybe, but scalding hot heinie certainly! I didn't feel so privileged and pampered then, I can tell you.

That incident sort of sums up my childhood. Mom did most of the work to make me a star and keep me down to earth at the same time. A very difficult balancing act as you might imagine, and I love Mom for doing it so well.

The only thing that's unusual is that she's still doing it. And using the same methods: old-fashioned, over the knee spankings! And on my bare, celebrity bottom!

Here come the headlines again...

The tabloids have been ruthlessly speculating on Mom's control over me for years. My mother has been and still is my business manager, agent, and best friend. We're together as much as possible because we want to be, I'm still single because I want to be, and I really am in control of my own life. Period.

As a one person corporation, I have plenty of lawyers telling me what's what, plenty of agents propositioning to make me an even bigger star, and accountants telling me what I should do to make even more money. I listen, but I rarely make a decision before talking to Mom. Not because she has some mystical hold over me, but because she's the most intelligent, common sensible, and caring person I know. In my crazy life, she's the only one I trust, love, and respect without question. Even when she decides I need a spanking!

I wasn't spanked between the ages of 14 to 19.

At 14, Mom decided I was mature enough to understand and accept responsibility for my actions. She had told me for years that I was certainly smart enough - you grow up pretty fast intellectually when you're an actress - but that I wasn't emotionally ready to be treated like a little lady. She was right.

So, on those occasions when I'd let my temper or stubbornness prevent Mom's wisdom from changing my mind, she'd turn me over her knee and spank me until I saw the light. To my credit - and good fortune! - Mom didn't have to spank all that frequently, but I went over her knee enough times to realize I didn't like being spanked at all but it did me a lot of good. Don't misunderstand, I didn't come to that insightful conclusion easily or at an early age, it was just that since Mom always explained why and how when she spanked, I saw a therapeutic pattern eventually. I guess I inherited her common sense.

I'll admit there were more than a few times during those 5 years when I should have been spanked, but Mom never even threatened me. Instead, she let me flounder through adolescence, knowing I had to be my own worst enemy at times. She was always there for me: listening to my troubles and giving wise advice, but I didn't always take it. When she thought I needed discipline, she'd ground me, take away my allowance, and try other things that didn't really work too well. How could they with a kid who had millions in the bank, was on the cover of every major magazine, and was chased after by other kids like the second coming? Not an easy time for Mom, or for me.

At 19, I decided I wanted my own place to live. It wasn't so much because there were problems living with Mom as much as my own feeling that it was embarrassing to live with her at that adult age. Peer pressure, you know? Mom wasn't happy, but she let me go. We found a beach house not far from home and I moved in. And that's when the trouble started.

In no time, the tabloids were calling it my party palace, complete with pictures of people hanging off the deck and stories of wild parties lasting for days. They were exaggerating, of course, but I did get a little carried away with my new found independence. Mom saw the stories, but she didn't say much except to be careful. At first. It was only when a couple of months had passed and the stories continued that she had enough.

She came over one morning after one of my parties. It wasn't a pretty sight. The house was practically wrecked and I was hung over. I've never been much of a drinker, but that day I was regretting trying to be the life of last night's party and promising the Lord to never do it again if I could only stop the world from spinning.

Mom took one look at me sprawled amongst the rubble and took charge. She ignored my exclamations of portending death if I was moved and almost carried me upstairs, helped me undress, and shoved me in the shower where I half dozed until she knocked on the glass door and told me to come out. When I stepped out, she handed me a concoction she had made, ordered me to drink it, and then put me to bed. I hadn't slept much the night before so I went out like a light.

It was evening when I woke up and went downstairs to find Mom sitting on the couch, my house amazingly restored, and the delicious odors of a home cooked meal filling the air. While I slept, Mom had called a cleaning service, gone shopping to fill my empty pantry, and made a decision I would soon regret.

I was embarrassed as I came down the stairs in my nightie, feeling Mom's disapproving regard follow my every step. Having her find me like she did wasn't something I intended. I was always neat, cheerful, and scrubbed when I knew she was coming. I wanted Mom to be proud of me, but that was out of the question tonight. Still, being an actress, I slipped into my dignified pose and tried to sell it as I slowly made my way toward the couch.

"Thank you, Mom. The house looks wonderful and dinner smells delicious." I think I said, hoping to avoid any mention of this morning. I'm really a very good actress, but I could never get away with it with Mom. Tonight wasn't any different. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous sign of simmering anger, as she saw right through me and my charade.

"Would you like to explain what went on here last night, Beverly?" she asked, using my real name, another dangerous sign, and with a tone of voice that I hadn't heard in years: concerned, angry, caring, disappointed, and determined. It was her voice that triggered an instant recollection of my last spanking and a certainty that I deserved one right now. I didn't want one, or even really think I was going to get one at that moment. It was just a case of deja vu that washed over me as I hung my head in shame just as I had then.

"I don't know." or something like that was all I could think to say..

"Does having wild parties, being hung over, and acting irresponsibly make you feel grown up, Beverly? Is that it? Is that why I have to hear what a 'party animal' you are from every gossip in this town?" she asked in that same scolding tone of voice.

"No, Mom." I answered as if decreed by fate. I wasn't just remembering a scene from years ago - a common occurrence for an actress - I was reliving it. Maybe it was some sort of mother/daughter telepathy, but despite the fact that I was a fully mature woman lusted after by men around the world, I felt like a naughty awkward girl again as Mom got up, sighed, and began berating me until my ears were burning. A few years ago, her scolding would have been followed by another part of my anatomy burning as well. Then, I'd feel forgiven, loved, cared for, and refreshed.

But I was 19 now, I thought miserably, wondering how I could redeem myself in Mom's eyes, how I could regain her trust, and close the distance between us that had been troubling me for weeks. It was my fault, and I knew it, but I didn't know how to fix it. I felt out of control and I didn't like it.

"Are you going to spank me?" I surprised myself by asking, voicing my thoughts and feelings without really knowing why. My chin was pressed against my chest so I couldn't see Mom's reaction - I didn't anyway - but she hardly paused.

"Perhaps that is exactly what I should do, Beverly." she said, belying her words slightly as she went into action with no "perhaps" in sight!

My wrist was gently pinned between strong fingers as I was led back up to my bedroom, then released, then taken in hand again after my vanity stool was moved clear of obstructions.

As it had downstairs, the familiarity of what was happening was overwhelming as Mom sat down on the stool and firmly pulled me down across her knees. It may have been five years since I'd been there, but it felt like yesterday as the full memory and realization flooded my brain! I was 19, a star, and I was about to be spanked over my mother's lap. And I had asked her to do it. I had to have been temporarily insane!

"I didn't mean it, Mom. I'm too old to be spanked." I tried to explain even though I knew it was too late. No acting now, I was truly afraid as the previously missing middle of my recollection made me squirm. Downstairs, I had remembered the scolding before and the comfort afterward, but somehow I'd forgotten the tortuous spanking itself. I'd been betrayed by my own memory!

There wasn't anything wrong with Mom's memory, though. She's bigger and stronger than I am, and as if she'd been spanking me all along she easily moved my wriggling form between her knees, and caught my legs between, reaching around me to catch my wrist and overpower my resistance as she pinned it in up between my shoulder blades.

Being so positioned, and absolutely helpless, wasn't new to me, and neither was the next step that I tried to prevent with the only means left: my voice.

"You can't spank my bare bottom, Mom. I never meant that! I'm 19 now. That's too humiliating!" I pleaded, reasoning further that a little logic might help, "I asked for a spanking, Mom, and I deserve one, but not on the bare bottom!"

"Wouldn't your fans be shocked if they could see you now, Beverly?" Mom asked, increasing my embarrassment even as my eyes fixed on the mortifying reflection of the mirror wall across the room. I didn't much resemble the rich, famous, 19 year old starlet my press agent was proud of selling.

Instead, I was an attractive young lady pinned over her mother's knee about to be spanked. I saw Mom's expression and knew I was in for a sound spanking. Her face was set in determined lines that only increased my apprehension. Satisfied with my position, she nodded in satisfaction and then looked up, saw me watching in the mirror, and caught my eyes.

"So, you think you're too old to have your bare bottom spanked, do you? Well, I don't, Beverly. It's been a long time since I've warmed your heine for you. Too long, obviously, but I'm going to make up for that mistake right now." she promised. And I believed her. Since there was no sense in responding, I only hid my eyes and groaned at the knowledge that I was going to be regretting my recklessness with all my heart before Mom finished.

I was wearing a sheer, jade green nightie that wasn't very modest, but even so, when her hand flipped the short nightie out of the way and her fingers lifted the elastic of my panties, I felt tears start to well in my eyes. I was so embarrassed. I wanted Mom to be proud of me, to rely on me, not have to spank me like a thoughtless kid.

In short order, my skimpy panties were dragged down to Mom's confining thigh, leaving me bare from the small of my back to below my knees. With morbid curiosity, I couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek in the mirror, then gasp in regretful humiliation as the specter of my nudity struck full force. My backside gleamed white in the glare of the lights, accentuated obscenely by my now rearranged lingerie.

"You've filled out since your last spanking, Beverly," Mom remarked, "but I don't think I'll have a problem getting the same result."

"Ohhh, nooo." I whimpered miserably, recalling all too well that the 'result' of my last spanking had had me sobbing and howling like a banshee and sore for two days!

"Owww!" My shocked body rebelled as Mom's first stinging slap flattened my right cheek.

"Lord, it's not supposed to hurt that much!" my mind screamed. My memory, as fresh as I thought it was, had not prepared me for the electric effect of that first impact. Bravery be damned! I howled from the first to the last crack as Mom set my famous fanny aflame!

"Owww! Owww! Owww!" I chorused to every stinging crack of Mom's still capable hand, again questioning my sanity and wondering how I escape any more. I couldn't. I tried bowing my back, flailing my free arm, wriggling my hips, and gritting my teeth, but nothing helped to ease the scorching waves of distress washing over my bouncing buns.

Within 20 slaps, I would've sworn I had sat on a hot stove and no lie detector in the world would have disagreed. Gosh, spankings hurt!

"I'm sorry Mom! I really am, really, really, really," I pleaded pridelessly, trying to catch Mom's eye in the mirror to add credence to my words, then gasping at the bright pink shade my normally snowy bottom cheeks blazed back.

Mom's expression was still determined, and though I didn't want to see, I couldn't tear my eyes away as her hand swooped down again and I saw my mouth open again in a frozen plea for mercy and I burst into tears.

I sobbed my heart out in shame, in pain, in relief, and in surrender. My bottom danced under Mom's hand to the tune of 100 spanks or so and by the time she stopped, I was beyond caring if the world came beating at the door. I only cared about escaping the searing, stinging hell that had descended on my roasted rump and then cried some more in frustration because I couldn't.

I had learned a lesson, I assure you, by the time my spanking ended. I may have been a star to those who needed that side of me, but I was a regular person and a cherished daughter to my mother. I'd gotten caught up in it all for a while there, but I was back down to earth now. Was I ever.

"You'll get exactly the same thing if you get too big for your britches again, Beverly." Mom quoted her midwestern upbringing, "I don't care how old or famous you may be, you'll go over my knee for another spanking." she promised when I'd stopped crying and squirming. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do! I do!" I responded quickly, remembering all too well Mom's method of prompting. My backside was hot enough, thank you, and although I sincerely hoped there'd never be a next time, I wasn't about to argue.

I was still pinned in position, though now my wrist was free and I was trying my best to sooth my sensitized flesh with my palm. It doesn't work too well with one hand, though, because as you sooth one spot, another cries out for attention and then the first flares up again.

"Look in the mirror, please, Beverly." Mom insisted. I groaned - I was afraid to look! - but I did as told and, sure enough, saw a distressing affirmation of what I expected: a tear stained, bright red face framed by tousled hair and an even redder set of bottom cheeks obscenely thrust up in the air. God, I felt miserable and small.

Mom let me up, took me in her arms, and held me close. The whispered words of comforting love, the care, and the feeling of being protected that had driven me to ask for her discipline all came back. My bottom was still too sore to make it all seem worthwhile at the moment, but as the sting subsided and the love remained, I knew everything was going to be all right.

After I'd soothed myself, I joined Mom downstairs for a delicious dinner, some genuine laughs, and a feeling that we'd regained our friendship. The fact that I sat on a down pillow as I ate coupled with Mom's reminder that she had meant what she said about future spankings only made me feel even luckier to have her.

It was my decision a few days later to move back home. Mom was positively elated and I was, too. I'd tried flying solo and was glad I'd tried it, but coming home felt so comfortable I knew I'd never try it again until I was ready to start my own family.

That was 9 years ago and I'm still living with Mom. My career has progressed nicely, I'm now considered a 'serious actress' as well as a glamorous star, and Mom and I have started our own production company. We've both come a long way since then, but - I won't keep you in suspense - some things haven't changed.

Yes, I still get spanked. Just like I did then: bottom up, panties down, and until I'm one sorry lady. I'm glad to say the necessity has lessened as I've gotten wiser, but that doesn't mean to say I don't still need Mom's help from time to time.

I sometimes let my temper carry me away and say and do some very unladylike things. That can be a big problem when you're in the public eye all the time. If Mom is with me, she usually intercedes to protect me and whomever I'm angry with, but its those times she's not there that I have to be careful of.

I was in Rome doing a movie three years ago with a director that was an egotistical incompetent. He kept insisting I do scenes in the worst possible way from the first day of shooting and, eventually, my patience ran out. I haven't gotten this far without realizing my talents and flaws, and this little ?1*% - sorry, I still get mad just thinking about it - kept insisting I do the scene in a very unflattering way.

My mother was meeting with the producer over our objections and so wasn't there to calm me down when, during the 12th take, I exploded. I knew I should just walk off the set calmly and wait for word from the producer, but instead I screamed my head off, bared my claws, and threw a fit they're still talking about in Hollywood lore.

I finally did stalk off to my trailer, but not before kicking holes in the set and telling them all to go to hell. Either he went or I did, I didn't much care. They could finish the damn picture without me.

I sat fuming and complaining to my maid - a matronly Italian lady who didn't understand half of what I was saying - until my mother and the producer showed up. The production assistant had interrupted their lunch, panic stricken, and they'd hurried back.

Shooting was closed for the rest of the day since I'd destroyed the set and we three discussed my complaints. Actually, Mom's cool head prevailed and we reached an agreement that the producer would talk to the director and stay around to make sure everything went smoothly from then on.

The rest of the shoot didn't go all that smoothly, but it was livable. The rest of that day, however, didn't go smoothly at all. At least, not in my opinion.

After the producer left, Mom let me have it. Being labeled "difficult" in this business has meant death to careers, so I knew she was right when she scolded me for my tantrum. I probably should say this wasn't the first tantrum I'd had on a set and, although I was right every time, I knew better. My temper had overwhelmed judgement and gotten me in trouble again. And I knew I'd regret it.

My maid returned after the producer left and I was embarrassed as she overheard my tongue lashing. We were seated in the living room area but I knew she could hear well enough from the bedroom where she was busy putting away my clothes.

Finally, my ears burning as usual, Mom ordered me to go take off my costume and wait in the bedroom. I was going to get a spanking. She didn't say it. She didn't have to. The tone of her voice and the look in her eye made my nether cheeks clench in dread anticipation as I muttered, "Oh, no." under my breath and headed toward my certain fate.

As Gina helped me undress and hung up the costume, I heard Mom leave the trailer and wondered if she was letting me off the hook. She'd never let me off the hook before, but there can always be a first time, can't there? I wondered if she'd wait until later, after all, even though the trailers are custom made and soundproof. No such luck.

She was back in about ten minutes. I had donned just a robe over bra and panties since I knew what was coming. My behind would be bared anyway. It always was. At Mom's call, I very slowly inched my way to the living room.

"You did a splendid job of kicking holes in the set, Beverly." Mom stated, again reverting to my real, full name as she always did when I was in for it.

"Did you stop to admire your handiwork before stomping off?" she asked.

"No." I mumbled, thinking all I saw was red anger and a red bottom would be my reward.

"Come then," she said as my head snapped up and my wide eyes imploringly sought to understand if she intended to...

She did. Without further ado, she took hold of my arm, told Gina to come along, and escorted my protesting self outside, across the road, and into the little farmhouse we'd been using for the film.

"But, but, someone could come along!" I reasoned, knowing Mom had already scouted the area when she left the trailer but hoping I could convince her anyway.

"Not in front of Gina!" I gasped as I saw the maid enter the house behind us, a look of knowing and approval creasing her cheerful face. She may not have been fluent in English, but the look on her face told me she was fluent in stern mothers, naughty daughters, and the best way to make the two see eye to eye! I may have been a little short with her from time to time, but my confused brain couldn't understand why she'd want to see me spanked.

"Gina has three grown daughters, Beverly, and she's told me that she still spanks them when they need it. She's not going to see anything she hasn't seen before. Isn't that right, Gina?" Mom called out as she steered me toward a straight-backed chair.

Gina's gleeful affirmation didn't make me feel any better as Mom let go of my arm and sat down, saying, "take off the robe, Beverly, you won't need it."

I knew better than to protest. I'd tried once and knew better now. That had earned me a second spanking on the following day, and one was quite enough!

"Take a look at the result of your tantrum while you're still up there," Mom said, waving an arm to indicate the holes that I'd kicked in the false walls the crew had built. I knew they'd have them fixed quickly enough, but the damage to reputation was another matter.

"Over my knee." Mom said and over I went. My panties were gorgeous, white lace and I usually thought them sexy. Now, though, with my bottom stretching them for the appreciative gazes of Gina and Mom, they only seemed ridiculous. Going over your mother's knee for a spanking at 24 years of age is embarrassing enough, but downright humbling when you're dressed like a sexy woman.

Mom didn't seem to care much though as she quickly shucked down my ladylike panties and proceeded to give me a very unladylike spanking. I usually don't give a whit about being brave and howl from the first, but this time, with Gina watching, I did try.

I shouldn't have. Mom spanks hard right from the first spank through the last. She's very businesslike and thorough, and I've never gotten off her knee until I was bawling like a hot-bottomed, little girl. Even though I knew I'd be bawling this time, too, I thought maybe I could impress Gina with a measure of decorum.

My resolve disappeared so quickly that I shouldn't have bothered. I didn't howl with the first spank, but I didn't make it to five before I did.

Right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, "Owwww!"

Not that I'd ever want to do any comparison testing, but I'd wager my mother has one of the hardest hands in the world. At least it feels that way when it's landing scorching spanks to my bare fanny.

At five, I forgot about my pride and howled and kicked like a ten year old. At first, I didn't even consider the show I was putting on as my legs waved up and down, side to side, and drummed a beat on the floor my childhood tap teachers would have envied. Let's just say that by the time it did occur to me, I didn't care. Gina could have an eyeful, for all I cared. I only wanted to get my frustrations out as the fire in my derriere rose to blistering proportions.

Gina's presence didn't affect Mom's usual procedure one bit. She spanked from side to side, then in the same place, then up and down my sensitive crease, then side to side, and on and on.

I've been over Mom's knee enough to know better than to try and anticipate where a spank will land. She also changes the pace regularly so I can't steel myself for an impending slap. It's torture!

The little jerk who'd gotten me into this mess would have delighted to see me now. My eyes weren't flashing and imperious epithets weren't spewing from my mouth. I was crying hard and sobs were the only thing rolling off my prized tongue when Mom stopped.

Through a haze of freshly spanked distress, I vaguely heard Mom ask Gina if she thought I'd learned a lesson. Gina's reply and Mom's next statement made me want to curl up and disappear, "Si, me tink bambina learn. If not, again she do."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Gina, because I have to leave tomorrow and I may need you to help if Beverly misbehaves while I'm gone." Her words were like ice water down my spine.

"Are you crazy!" I blurted before I could think better, knowing I'd regret them even as I said it. Mom's hand came down in four quick, sharp slaps on my already smoldering seat.

"Yowww!" I screamed with true emotion, knowing that if Mom directed Gina to spank me, I would go over her knee or genuinely regret it.

Well, I didn't have to go over Gina's knee, but her presence was a constant reminder to watch my step. No one but Mom had ever spanked me and I had no intention of undergoing such an experience.

There were a couple of times when Gina gave me a stern look during the rest of the shoot, and the effect was the same as if Mom were there herself. I didn't have a doubt that a spanking from Gina would be as unpleasant as one from Mom.

I've done a few pictures since then, and fortunately, my temper has cooled down enough so I'm not considered difficult at all. Actually, most of the movie industry considers me a classy, talented lady. I owe much of it to Mom. If they only knew!