Blushing at Both Ends (9 page)

‘Oh no,' she breathed, but continued to lie submissively over my lap as I peeled the skimpy black garment halfway down her thighs. Then, after pushing her dress well back above her waist, I surveyed the prospect.

It was a ravishing sight. The sweet tender mounds of Luci's bare bottom swelled upwards over my thighs, begging to be spanked. I stroked the luscious globes; they felt cool and deliciously soft. She squirmed apprehensively at my touch, making her bottom-flesh quiver in anticipation.

‘Oh please, Leo,' she whispered, ‘not too hard?'

‘No harder than you deserve, my girl, for screwing up my shoot and playing merry hell with the schedule. In fact, think yourself lucky I don't take a hairbrush to you. Next time, maybe I will. But, for now, I think you'll find my hand can make quite an impression – especially on a spoilt young bottom like yours.'

So saying, I raised the hand in question and brought it down hard on those ripe young curves. Luci yelped with pain and surprise, and her long legs kicked wildly as I proceeded to deliver a couple of dozen more swats, hard and fast, to her bouncing cushions. Her pale, delicate skin coloured readily, and a pretty pink blush soon suffused every inch of the sweet target area, rendering it even more beautiful. I paused to admire the results.

‘Oww!' gasped Luci, wriggling. ‘Leo, that really hurt! I won't be late again, I promise!' She made as if to get up, but I held her firmly in position.

‘Oh no you don't, young lady,' I told her. ‘You don't think you get off that lightly, do you? We've barely started yet. This is going to be a spanking to remember.'

‘Oh please, no!' she wailed, but her appeal was in vain. I'd taken quite enough crap from this conceited young beauty, and I intended to make sure she got all she deserved . . . and then some. Besides, spanking Luci was proving even more enjoyable than I'd imagined. Her soft bare bottom, bouncing and wriggling beneath my palm, felt utterly delicious, and her gasps and yelps were music to my ears.

So I resumed her punishment, steadily increasing the force of my strokes until each one, laid on full force, rang out like a pistol shot. From the way they stung my palm, I knew they must be stinging Luci's sensitive rear far more sharply; and her squeals and tearful pleas for mercy were ample testimony to the effectiveness of what, I strongly suspected, was the first real spanking of her young life.

I wasn't keeping count, but by the time I finished she must have had well over a couple of hundred spanks and that glorious bottom was blushing like a peony. I lifted her to her feet and she clung to me, sobbing and shuddering, as I stroked her hair and gently caressed her burning curves. ‘OK, Luci,' I murmured, ‘it's all over. But remember – if you're late again . . .'

She detached herself and gave me a tremulous smile. ‘I know – even harder, and with a hairbrush. I bet you would too, you rotten bastard.' She leant forwards and kissed me. ‘But thanks, Leo, I deserved that. It hurt like hell, but I think it's what I needed.'

I left her alone for ten minutes to compose herself, then we resumed shooting. It was a good day, the best we'd had yet.

Not that the rest of the shoot was problem-free, of course. What film shoot ever is? And Lucinda didn't reform overnight, either. She was late once or twice more – and each time, as promised, she found herself back across my knee for a double dose: a good hard hand-spanking by way of warm-up, followed by the application of a wooden-backed hairbrush to her already rosy and very tender bare bottom. It made her yelp and wriggle beautifully. It seemed to work, too. By the time we wrapped, Luci's time-keeping had improved out of all recognition.

Now and then she started in on the prima donna stuff again, throwing tantrums, demanding to know what her motivation was. But that never lasted long. I'd lean over and whisper in her ear, ‘Your motivation, young lady, is that if you don't cut out this shit I'll turn you over my knee right here and now in front of everyone.'

She'd blush and grin, and play the scene as good as gold.

We finished on time and under budget, and celebrated with a party. Afterwards, Luci and I enjoyed our own private celebration. On principle, I never sleep with
actresses
I'm working with; I find it makes direction damn near impossible. But once the movie's over, that's another matter. I suspect Luci felt the same way, because as we left the party she whispered, ‘Honey, I think we've been good long enough. Your place or mine?'

‘Mine's closer,' I said, treating her to a sound smack on the bottom. ‘And when we get there I think I'll put you straight over my knee for being such a forward little minx.'

Luci pulled me close for an ardent kiss. ‘Is that a promise?' she breathed.

She was a sweet lover, tender and passionate. We were together for the best part of two years – during which time she got spanked a lot. She always protested eloquently while across my knee, and afterwards would pout reproachfully and call me a ‘rotten sadistic beast'. But, oddly enough, she never failed to give me a good excuse to spank her again very soon.

That debut movie of hers performed pretty well and established her as an actress. Her next one did only so-so and then – as you know – came
To Hell with Heaven
. It was the smash-hit British rom-com of the year, went down huge in the States, and suddenly Lucinda was the hot new young Brit actress. Inevitably, Hollywood beckoned. Tearful parting, promises of staying close that neither of us believed, and off Luci went to become a megastar in the Tinseltown firmament.

I watched her glittering career from a distance, with affection and fond memories. We'd had great times together, and the past was past. Or so I thought . . .

Until now, and this phone call to the Marmont. As I waited for Luci to arrive, I wondered if I'd dozed off in the jacuzzi and dreamt the whole thing. Hollywood does strange things to your sense of reality – and, anyway,
Luci
had been on my mind. How could she not be, when I saw that lovely face and fabulous figure displayed twenty-times-lifesize on every other billboard in town?

The phone warbled. ‘Mr Winton?' said the desk clerk. ‘Miss Lucinda Lee is here to see you.' It takes a lot to impress the staff at the Marmont, but I thought I could detect a faint note of awe in his voice.

‘Oh fine,' I drawled, cool as you like. ‘Have her come over, would you?'

A few moments later there came a gentle rap at the door.

‘It's open,' I called. ‘Come on in.'

And there she was – as beautiful as ever, or maybe even more so. Somehow the legs seemed just a little longer, the curves a touch more voluptuous, the smile a hint more bewitching. But then Hollywood can do that too – even without plastic surgery.

‘Oh, Leo,' she said, and then we were in each other's arms. I kissed her passionately while reaching down to fondle that glorious bottom. It felt just as soft and spankable as ever, maybe even –
gracias
, Hollywood! – a tad more so. I lifted my hand and administered a crisp swat. ‘Oooh-mmm,' said Luci, growling deep in her throat, and ground her loins into mine. ‘Sweetheart, can I stay?' she murmured in my ear.

‘Stay for breakfast, my sweet,' I responded. ‘If you're eating breakfast these days, that is.'

She gave me a wicked grin. ‘Oh, I'm sure I can find something to nibble. But before you take me to bed, honey, you know what I need, don't you?'

‘Sure,' I said. Taking her by the hand, I led her over to the couch. ‘Come here, you bad girl, and get yourself across my knee. You've been acting altogether too sassy, young lady, and you're way overdue. What you need is some old-fashioned strict discipline – on your bare bottom.'

She gave a little shiver. ‘Hey, that made my stomach drop. You know no one's talked to me like that for three years?'

‘High time they did, then.' Sitting down on the couch, I drew her gently down to lie gracefully over my lap, the lush ripe contours of her bottom curved invitingly upwards, imploring my attention. She was wearing loose-cut silver-grey shantung slacks that slipped down easily, revealing the briefest of black silk thongs bisecting that peachy
derrière
. At the sight my heart missed a beat. Of all the girls I'd had the pleasure of putting over my knee, none had ever been quite such a sweet delight to spank as Luci.

Gently I stroked the soft cool mounds. At my touch Luci trembled, then twisted round to grin at me over her shoulder. ‘OK, my favourite director,' she said, ‘motivate me. Motivate me good and hard.'

‘It'll be a pleasure,' I said, raising my hand high in the air with a sense of fierce erotic joy. ‘Lights – camera – and . . . action!'

6

Gone with the Wind
– The Lost
Spanking Scene

NO ONE KNOWS
just what treasures lie hidden away in the vaults of the great Hollywood studios. Dusty, long-forgotten scripts for brilliant films that never got made; piles of rusty cans, dented and mislabelled, spewing out reels of rotting celluloid that never saw the light of a public movie-house; suppressed scenes, or even whole lost movies, dating back to the fabled silent era. Somewhere in those cobwebby corners may lurk all ten hours of Erich von Stroheim's towering melodrama
Greed
, as it was before a panicky MGM chopped it down by 75 per cent; or the original director's cut of Orson Welles's masterpiece
The Magnificent Ambersons
, so crassly mutilated by RKO.

The vaults are guarded jealously: who knows what skeletons might emerge? But now and then a film historian or movie buff, more persistent than the rest, may bribe or cajole a way in and prowl around, with luck to emerge with some revelatory gem of lost movie history clutched in grimy fingers. And it seems to have been on one such unofficial trawl that a dog-eared file was found, containing letters and a few pages of script that throw unexpected light on one of the most famous films ever made: David O Selznick's great Civil War drama
Gone with the Wind
.

It's well known that even Selznick, foremost of the independent Hollywood producers, had to struggle to make
GWTW
the way he wanted. For at that time there was one man in Hollywood more powerful than Selznick, more powerful even than Louis B Mayer, the boss of MGM; and his name was Joseph Ignatius Breen. Ultra-conservative and ultra-Catholic, Breen was the head of the Production Code Administration (often called the Hays Office), and it was his task to ensure that no film shown in the USA ‘should lower the moral standards of those who see it'. Which, most of the time, meant no onscreen sex – or precious little.

Scripts had to be submitted to Breen's blue pencil in advance. Out went profanity, innuendo, overt (and often even covert) eroticism.
GWTW
, despite being a big-budget, prestige production with the weight of Selznick and MGM behind it, was subjected to the same process. Breen objected to Rhett Butler's dalliance at the local brothel, to his colourful language, and even to the famous ‘Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn'. Above all, he objected to the notorious ‘husbandly rape' scene when Rhett, driven beyond endurance by Scarlett keeping him at arm's length, sweeps her up bodily and carries her upstairs. Cut to Scarlett the next morning, luxuriating in bed, a satisfied smile on her face.

But now, the contents of the recovered file reveal, it seems there was even more to that scene than any of us guessed . . .

Joseph Breen to Val Lewton (Selznick's story editor), 9 January 1939: ‘
Spanking in itself, as a form of marital discipline, we do not object to, providing it not be overly prolonged. But it must be very carefully handled to avoid any hint that the man, and still less the woman, is deriving sexual enjoyment from the process of chastisement. In particular it would be unacceptable and morally suspect to suggest, as seems to be the case
here
, that the spanking is serving as an erotic prelude to sexual intercourse
.

‘
I need scarcely add that Scarlett must remain chastely attired throughout. Spanking on the bare buttocks, or even on light underwear, is wholly contrary to the principles of the Code, especially in the context of a bedroom
.'

Breen to Lewton, 12 January 1939: ‘
Your suggestion that the spanking should take place downstairs in the dining room, prior to Rhett carrying Scarlett upstairs, fails to meet our objections. Indeed, it could make things worse, as the inference might be drawn that Scarlett finds herself so aroused by being spanked that she submits to being carried to the marital bed
.

‘
As an alternative, could I suggest that you have Rhett spank Scarlett in the dining room, then stride out into the night, leaving her chastened and penitent? Their reconciliation could then follow the next day. This would have the further advantage of avoiding the whole ‘‘husbandly rape'' episode, about which as you know this office has always harbored severe misgivings
.'

Breen to Lewton, 17 January 1939: ‘
I can only repeat that the spanking scene, as outlined in the latest version of your script, is completely unacceptable to this office. We find it lewd, gratuitous and verging on the sexually perverse. I should add that our research staff can find no such corresponding episode in Miss Mitchell's novel
.

‘
Of course, if Mr Selznick wishes to shoot the scene in any case, purely as a dramatic exercise within the context of the production, he is at perfect liberty to do so. And, as ever, this office will be happy to view any footage that you care to submit to it. But I must emphasise that no such scene may be permitted to appear in the film as shown to the public
.'

From which it seems that not only was a spanking scene originally included in the
GWTW
script, but that it may even have been shot – if only for private consumption. So who knows: some day another searcher in those dusty vaults may strike it lucky, and we'll be treated to the delicious spectacle of Clark Gable putting the lovely and eminently spankable Vivien Leigh across his knee for well-deserved discipline. (Judging from accounts of Gable's exasperation with Leigh's on-set behaviour, there's no doubt he'd have made a thorough job of it.) But until then, at least we have the script – and our imaginations . . .