ON THE SET

Wearing her light purple pyjamas, Emma stood by the door to Alan’s study. True, it was Saturday night, but it was past the time that she usually went to bed, so she wasn’t sure if she would be scolded or not for being still up, but this was too important to be delayed, even to the morning after. So the young girl, now only one month short of turning fourteen, took a deep breath and knocked.

Surprised to hear the knock on the door, Alan sprung up his head and called: "Come in." Why on Earth was she up this time of the evening? Many things could be said of Emma, but not that she was troublesome on bedtimes like many teenagers. She loved to sleep and though energetic, she longed for the time when she could close her eyes and slip into Morpheus’s arms

Emma stuck her head just inside the door. "Don’t scold me dad, please, there’s no school tomorrow, so don’t tell me I need sleep." Her tone was teasing and she winked, but it was obvious from the look on her face that she wished to talk.

Alan smiled with irony, then shook his head. He got up from his desk – his collection of stamps sprawled all over it – but stood behind it, hands on the desktop, looking at her. "Of course, Saturday night... I’m surprised you even went to bed so early," he said, sarcastic. "So, what’s up?"

"We need rules dad," she announced. "We’ve been going at this all wrong lately, and it’s confusing and I don’t like it. Not your fault, you’re new," she smiled as she plopped into a chair and patted the seat next to hers, "but we have to get more organised."

He quirked an eyebrow, not understanding, but still walked to the chair next to the one where she was sitting. "Well, first of all... all this what? The house? School? Bedtimes?... Life? What? And then, whatever I’m ‘new’ at, you are too, since we’ve been living here for three months only."

Emma giggled. "Don’t you raise those eyebrows at me!" she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You’re silly dad. But to be serious: we need rules about spankings. What certain things deserve, and which don’t. You know, so I won’t like freak out if you use the brush, because I know it will be coming if I do whatever is listed for that, instead of just it being sprung on me. Does that make sense? Aww, this sounded so much better when I was rehearsing it in my room," she pouted.

To say that Alan was taken aback would be the understatement of the century. He exhaled, looking away from her, then looking back. All the events of not three days earlier came back into his mind in a rush, and he remember how upset Emma had been at those few lashes with the belt. He knew she was thinking this through, and still hadn’t accepted professional counselling, but apparently things had been working in her mind, and this was the result.

"Yes," he just said, "it does make sense, but... tell me why."

Emma noticed his look and frowned a concerned little frown and got up, helping herself to his lap. "Daddy, are you angry? Or upset?"

"I’m not angry and I’m not upset and I love you like I never loved you before," he said right away, as to make sure she didn’t get ideas about him hating her or something. "I’m just surprised."

She looked relieved, and mentally kicked herself for needing to be spoken to like a four-year-old, sometimes – she did realise but she just couldn’t help it.

"Well, you know," she started. "It’s kinda scary not to know sometimes. Like I know if I do something, I’ll get spanked for it, but it’s always such a surprise when you get the brush, or just use your hand. It’s confusing that I never know what to expect. You know like for example at school, they have rules and you know what happens if it gets broken. Three tardies and you’re kept after. You physically fight, you get suspended. You don’t bring a note from a parent after a long absence, they send you back home. You know what I mean?" She nestled in his lap, one of her favourite spots in the world, leaning her head against his broad chest.

Keeping her close and kissing her freshly-washed and soft hair, Alan listened to her every word with attention, thinking it through, and he had to admit that the girl had a major point there. She was supposed to trust his judgement for what concerned the severity of the spanking, and also to know, by now, what would earn her the hairbrush... but he also considered that this was totally new to her as well, and that it might sound confusing, at times. It was even for him, go figure.

So he looked at her and said: "Well, you have a point there. Maybe if we set down some ground rules, it would be better, but once we do that and we agree, then there’s no arguing."

Emma nodded. "Exactly. You can, you know, write up whatever will make that icky brush come... and the belt too..." she added the last with a whisper, "and what gets that spoon or just your hand. That way I won’t be confused. We can always add or change our minds, but then I won’t get scared, does that sound good, daddy?" she looked up at him with her innocent eyes, which always betrayed every emotion she was feeling.

"Yes..." said Alan, quite hesitant. "I’m not exactly sure, though, how this is going to work. Are you sure you want this to be done, Emmy? There is no way out of that if we’re resolute: once we make a "chart" of what you can and can’t do and of what will or won’t grant you this or that implement, we stick to it. Thing number one: hand. Thing number two: brush. Thing number three: belt," he added, he too in a whispered voice, to respect her (healthy) fear for it.

Emma nodded. "My thoughts exactly, you got that right! I think it would be a good idea." Her lower lip trembled a bit, but her eyes shone with the excitement of it all.

Alan tried to smile at her, but found it difficult. He still did anyway. Gosh, he loved her so much, and he hoped she realised, somehow. "In that case, we’ll get to work on that right now, hmm? Then we’ll sign it both, and stick to that and that only."

Emma nodded and hugged him tight. "Daddy, you’re the greatest and I love you so much! And I’m not afraid of YOU," she wanted to clarify this, "I am just afraid of the things you use because they hurt like the dickens!!" she added, giving a rather impish little smile. But then she sighed. "Oh well, that’s probably the whole point anyway," she admitted.

This time, smiling proved to be much easier for Alan, and he gave quite a broad one, and kissed Emma on her cheek. "You’re a good girl, sweetie. It takes some courage to even come down here and ask what you’re asking. It means you do understand why I’m spanking you. But yeah, enough talking, let’s get to work, okay?" he winked back.

Emma nodded and waited while Alan grabbed a blank sheet of white paper and a pen, then watched as he wrote, still nestled on his lap, her little arms around his neck. Alan lay the sheet on the desk, moving most of the stamps away.

"So... I think that ‘that darn hairbrush’, as you put it, should be kept for the worst things, dontcha think?"

Emma nodded. "Yep. Would... would you use the belt again, for the very worst things?" Her voice squeaked at the thought, but she knew he’d never ever injure her.

Alan nodded, while he wrote the words: ‘Lying openly, Stealing, Suspension from school’ and, aside them, the word ‘Belt’. "How does that sound to you, Emmy?"

Emma nodded, squirming slightly in his lap. "Um, yep."

"Um, yep," he mimicked. "You need to be sure. Let’s talk about it. I’ve never seen you lie or steal, but you got suspended once... this will keep you from doing that again, I suppose?"

Emma nodded, still squirming a bit. "Most definitely."

Alan kissed her cheek near her ear. "Scary thought?"

She just nodded. "One word: ouchy."

He kissed her again. "A healthy kind of scare, do you think you can handle it? It should be a deterrent, you know, not frighten you out of your pants."

"Well, I am afraid of getting it, because it hurt so much last time. I guess it’ll keep me really good, huh?" One hand went to rub her bottom.

"Yes, and that’s exactly what it’s meant to do," he explained, speaking softly. "Okay, this part seems well defined... so, you agree that if you lie and try to get away with it, or steal and are caught or turn yourself in for whatever reason, or get another suspension from school, you will get, say, ten lashes of the belt on your bare bottom after the warm-up?"

With that, he placed the pen on the sheet, ready to check that entry.

Emma cringed at the lengthy description of what would happen to her poor bummy, but nodded. "Yes, I agree," she whispered.

"Good girl," he said, kissing her head again, and he wrote a big "V" aside that line. "Now, there are some other things we need to see... what would you say your worst problem is, sweetie?"

"Like the thing I struggle the most with?"

Alan nodded, keeping her close, rubbing her back soothingly. "Take your time. Think about it."

Emma pondered it for several minutes. "Being, well, not physical fighting, but verbal fighting with Melissa and others, and saying bad words," she admitted.

"That’s about right, honey. I’d say that is definitely the thing you have the biggest issue with," he said, in a calm voice. "Not like months ago, but you still do. And also generally not thinking about the things you do. You act out of impulse, sometimes, you know?"

Emma nodded, sighing. "Yeah I know. And forgetting important things," she added. "Like I forgot to call you that time I went to Sammie’s after school."

"Yes," he nodded with her, "that’s another side of the same planet, so to speak. You – need – to – think – a bit – more," he said while giving soft pecks with the pen to her forehead.

Emma nodded, and gave a soft giggle at that, then shooed his hand away and pretended to bite it, which made him smile too. "So many you should call that, being irresponsible?" she offered

"Not exactly ‘irresponsible’..." he wondered for a minute, "more like ‘inexperienced’. You’re young, and enjoying life, but sometimes you need to sit down and think: ‘Am I doing the right thing? Is this what I am supposed to do for my and others’ good, for my and others’ ethics, or is it not?’. So I think that you need a deterrent for this too."

Emma nodded and squirmed again. "My bum is not happy," she said with a nervous little giggle. "I do try really hard daddy, I hope you know that," she said honestly. "I don’t try to be a screw-up."

"That’s good... but," he said, stressing that word, "terms such as screw-up will not be tolerated, and not because it’s a bad word." Without adding anything, he easily flipped Emma face-down over his lap and spanked her pj-clad bottom a dozen times or so with his hand, not hard but still firmly.

Emma squeaked and wriggled as he gave her bottom a slight warming up. "Daddy! That wasn’t a rule yet!" she exclaimed. It didn’t really sting that much, just was a shock and slightly sharp.

Alan cocked his eyebrows. "It is now," he said, smiling with sarcasm, "and you don’t have a choice about that. Every time you say something bad about yourself, you get one of these... umm... ‘reminders’, shall we say?"

Still over his lap, Emma nodded quickly, not wanting to earn the swats that would actually sting. "Okay!" she squirmed, a hand going back to rub the warmth away.

"Good. Remember this: you’re too precious to let yourself down with words such as ‘screw-up’ and ‘horrible’ and ‘mess’ and so on," he said, then got his pen again and wrote that all down on the paper, and checked it. "On to the bad words, now. What do you think you deserve for that?"

"Can I sit up yet?" Emma asked, still dangling over his knees. "Kinda hard to think like this, you know, the whole impending doom thing," she gave a little giggle.

"Oh yes," he said, having forgotten to release her, and helped her up and back sitting on his lap, kissing her nose as he did so. "I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s such a natural position that I... oh well." He couldn’t help but smirk at that.

Despite giving him a vigorous eye roll, Emma still giggled and hugged him. "You’re silly." She cuddled close. "Uh, well, you seem to like washing my mouth out for that... the bad words, I mean. And it’s so very gross. Or as Sammie would say: uber gross."

"Well you know what, she’s right, it is, err... uber gross," he grimaced at that rape of the English language, "and that’s just the point. Here’s my suggestion: you get a mouth-washing and a hand-spanking, OR a hand-spanking and a few swats of you-know-what, how’s that sound?"

"Put both down, so I can chose. Is that okay? ‘Cuz there may be times when I’ll take one over the other," she admitted. "And don’t look like you’re dying when you say that, it’s a funny saying!"

"Funny if you’re thirteen, Emmy," he said, rolling his eyes, but smiling. "But yes, you’ve got that right. I’ll write them both," he did so as he spoke, in his oh-so-British untidy scribble, – Shakespeare’s calligraphy was that of a child, after all – "and you’ll choose from time to time."

She nodded. "Uh, what else? Are we forgetting anything?"

"Oh no, nothing," he said, again with sarcasm. "Just General attitude, Back-talking, Bad grades, Breaking curfew, Notes from school, Fighting, Bad report card, Smoking..." he said.

"All notes from school?" Emma asked, suddenly nervous.

"Yes, all notes from school, that they’re about fighting, or a failed test, or anything bad... why?" he asked, frowning.

"Well ‘cuz I sorta have one and I just remembered....." she mumbled.

"Oh you do," he said. "Em, what kind of note is that?" he asked, now quite nervous himself.

"Dunno, I’m not supposed to open it, ya know. They don’t like it when we do that."

Alan looked in Emma’s eyes from upside down. "Come on, go get it and we’ll open it together."

Emma slid off his lap and went to riffle through her school bag for several minutes, then returned with the letter. "You can’t spank me until you read it, it might be good or something," Emma said seriously.

Taking the envelope from her hand, he rolled his eyes. "As if I would spank you without knowing why!, come on." He motioned for her to sit again on his lap, then unfolded the note and read. It was simply a letter about the upcoming school recital, informing parents of its whereabouts and some minor details. "Oh yes, very bad indeed, Emma Charlotte," he said, ironically.

Emma gulped, not realising he was joking. "But I didn’t even DO anything!"

Alan sighed and kissed her cheek hard, then hissed. "I’m kidding, you silly girl. It’s a note about the recital, c’mon, read it. Your bummy is safe for now."

She gave a huge sigh and pushed him playfully. "Meanie," she rolled her eyes and read the letter. "Ah yes the oh-so-dreaded recital. And my bum is very happy to be safe, thank you very much."

"Good, keep it like that," he said, winking. "And why dreaded? Aren’t you Juliet?... go figure, you’re an actress," he mimicked, rolling his eyes.

She stuck her tongue out. "I get graded for it, silly, and I don’t like the boy that plays Romeo. He’s annoying as heck!"

Alan smiled, shaking his head, remembering his own school recitals, when he had already enrolled in the Royal Academy and made fun of his oh-so-childish classmates. "Well, then I hope you get good grades. And try and get along with that boy, you’re going to have to kiss him ya know?" he kept teasing.

Emma gagged. "Yuck, believe me I know!"

"Yeah yeah like I’m believing that..." he smirked. "But anyway, let’s get back to this, umm, chart... we’re not quite finished yet."

"Um, what else is left?" she asked, trying to think.

"Well, I’m not really one for hierarchy, you know," he said, "but I still hate it when you talk rude to me... let alone when you use bad words."

Emma nodded. "Well, it’s not nice to be rude to anybody," she commented. "That should get a spanking?" she offered.

"Right," he nodded back. "If you’re rude it’s a good hand-spanking. If I’m going to use the hairbrush or not, well, depends on what you said."

Emma sighed. "Okay, I can live with that I guess. Um, well, I don’t stay out really late, but in case I might think about it, we should write it down, huh?"

Alan smiled softly. "Yes I noticed you can regulate your own curfew... which is still at 10pm, by the way... and if you happen to break it, well, what do you think you should do if you stay out late?"

"Well, first call and explain why, like if the buses aren’t around or the tube’s not working or something, you know. Things like that aren’t my fault. And I know it’s big trouble if I don’t call."

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, kissing her head. "First of all: call home. If there is a reason, I will not punish you. And if you just want to stay out late, still do ask for permission. I will spank you if you come home late without having called or informed me beforehand, whatever the reason," he added.

Emma beamed, knowing he was proud of her. "Thanks dad. I won’t be naughty like that, or at least I will try hard not to be! But that would be really naughty, so maybe the spoon?" she asked with a slight whisper, afraid of the word herself. Sometimes she wondered if she wasn’t signing her own death warrant, but she needed those rules: better to have scary rules than being totally clueless.

Alan thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Well yes, something like that should grant you something more than the hand... but perhaps the belt or the hairbrush is too harsh."

Emma nodded as he jotted down that rule and wrote ‘wooden spoon’ aside it, then marked it. "What else? You’re not gonna spank me if my room is messy, are you? I like it messy, I can find everything."

Upon hearing that, Alan rolled his eyes. "Yes but *I* don’t like it messy, and dust is unhealthy," he sighed. "Okay, compromise: keep your room the way you want, but once a week, I want it tidied with clothes in the closet and books on the shelves and carpet clean. Deal?"

"Okay. Like a specific day, right? You can’t just surprise me with a day," she giggled. "And if I’m sick, YOU get to clean it!" she gave a mischievous smile and winked.

Again he rolled his eyes. "Madam, give me an occupation or I shall run mad..." he quoted. "Alright, if you’re sick, I do it, but if you’re not, Sunday evening is the deadline. Forget that, and it’s a hand-spanking... and you tidy it with your bottom still BARE!" he added, faking a stern look.

"WHAT?" she shrieked, looking mortified.

He smirked. "I shall grant you the privilege of waiting outside."

"Daddy, that is so not... like... right!" her lower lip trembled as she started a pout.

Alan tightened his hug on her, keeping her close. "Then tell me why not, sweetie."

"‘Cuz it’s embarrassing," she whispered. "Even if you wait outside the door, I will still be all bare and I don’t wanna be."

"That’s exactly the point," he replied, he too in an undertone. "It’s very embarrassing, and it’ll help you remember that it’s a punishment."

"You promise to always wait outside? And I can get my clothes back when it’s clean, right?"

Alan thought he should assure her a bit more. "When you get up from my lap, I’ll walk right out of the room until you’re finished, and then you can get all your clothes back."

"Okay, if you promise..." she muttered, hugging him tight, but wasn’t at all thrilled with the idea.

"I promise, yes," and he hugged her back. "Now, honey... another important thing to discuss is corner time. How do you feel about that?"

Emma sighed. "I don’t like it very much. Actually I hate it... it makes me feel like I’m really, really horrible," she said slowly, with honesty, "especially after I’ve got spanked. It’s not too bad before, I just cry a lot, but afterwards, all bare and everything, I feel awful."

"I understand," he nodded. "In fact, I’ve seen you put yourself in the corner more than once, but I remember how much it hurt you afterwards... well, I was thinking. How about if you get it sometimes instead of the spanking? For minor things, I mean."

"Like for what? And for how long? And would I have to be bare?" she asked a quick salvo of questions, the thought rolling around and being analysed in her mind.

"Like for talking back, or snapping at me, or like a time-out when I see you’re about to lose your temper – that should spare you a spanking in the near future," he said, smiling a bit. "And no, you wouldn’t have to be bare. I think ten or fifteen minutes is a good deal."

"Hmm I don’t know... can we write it down and see how it goes? If it makes me really upset, can we maybe think of something else? You know, like a trial period."

Alan smiled at Emma’s attitude to want to at least try it, instead of just refusing it right away. Sometimes she was more mature than he himself gave her credit for. "That sounds good," he said, writing it all down. "Let’s try till the end of this month, and then we’ll see, agreed?"

"Agreed. Thanks for understanding Daddy. I’ll try it at least. Have we missed anything?"

"You’re welcome, honey," he replied, kissing her forehead again. "Yes, only one. Grades."

"Oooooh. Will it go by grade, or just all grades get the same thing?" she squirmed slightly on his lap. She was a good student, a very good one sometimes, but still had her moments.

Alan smiled at her squirming, knowing that even though Emmy was usually good, she did have a problem here and there: "Well, listen, here’s my suggestion: I’ll go for Cs, but anything lower than that will get you a warning. If it’s repeated, it’s a hand-spanking, and if repeated again in the same subject, it’s a hairbrush spanking. Ds, Es or Fs on a report card, well, we’ll deal with them separately. And of course I’ll always help you studying if you want me to. Tell me what you think..."

Emma nodded. "Okay, I think that’s alright. I do try and I think I do pretty good in most classes. And Sammie and I, we don’t cheat anymore, so that is REALLY good!"

"Heh, yes, it is really good," Alan agreed, nodding and giving a small smile. "That’s also another issue: since it has been solved already, cheating ever again will get you the belt, Emmy."

She stiffened a little, but nodded. "I know, and I won’t ever again."

"That’s my girl," he said, smiling and feeling quite proud – she had indeed learnt her lesson on that one.

"That it? Now I feel horrible, like I’ve done all these things all at once," she squirmed

Alan smiled and held her closer. "Aww... you did in the past, to some degree, but not all at once, they were isolated accidents. And that doesn’t mean you need to feel horrible. Hey, you have no idea how many stupid things I did at your age, way worse than you."

"Ooh, really?" she smirked. "I like stories, ya know!" she hugged him very tight.

"Alright, I’m gonna tell you one or two sometimes," he conceded, then smiled again and kissed her again, rocking her small body as they sat there, the paper with the new rules on the desk in front of them. "I’m very proud of you, Emmy... never forget that, okay?"

"I promise, I won’t. Are we done? Can we have ice-cream? You *did* remember to get more ice-cream, right?" Emma questioned, an inspecting, suspicious look on her face.

With that, he rolled his eyes. "Of course I did. *I* still remember my chores, you know?" he said with irony. "But no, we’re not done yet. One more thing to do..." and he handed her the pen, and tapped with his finger at the bottom of the paper sheet.

"What? Ooh, you want me to sign it. Huh, maybe I should consult my lawyer first?" she winked and pecked his cheek and scribbled ‘Emma Charlotte Rickman’ in her own unique handwriting.

"Yeah, and he’ll have you pay a thousand pounds at least," he winked back, then took the pen from her hand and wrote ‘Alan Sidney Patrick Rickman’ right below her signature, then looked back at her and smiled. "That seals it. We’ll keep it in a drawer of this desk. We will edit, update it or check things off as time goes by, alright?"

Emma nodded and snuggled against him. "Okay, sounds good."

Enjoying the cuddling, they sat there rocking for a few minutes still, then eventually Alan got up and smiled at his beautiful, courageous little daughter. "So, still want that ice-cream?"

Emma nodded. "Duh! But daddy, are you *really* gonna spank me when I say bad things about myself...." she bit her lip a little. "I have a problem with that, you know."

He circled her shoulders with his arm as they walked out of his study. "You know, have I ever told you of Sheila Carter?" Emmy shook her head no. "Well, she is a nice woman and a good friend, a psychologist specialising in adolescence and youth issues, and I’m sure she’d be of great help."

"Oh," Emma whispered. Alan expected another outburst and a total refusal, but she surprised him again, for the Nth time that night, by just shrugging and saying: "I guess it’s okay... if you want to book a visit... maybe... dunno..." her voice trailed off, but to Alan, it was already way more than he would hope for.

He smiled as he made a mental note to call Sheila first thing in the morning. "And by the way, yes, I’m really going to give you a little reminder every time you do that, sweetheart. You need to raise your self-esteem, Emmy, because if you don’t believe in yourself, who will?"

"You," she pointed out honestly. "But that means I might get spanked like every day!"

Alan stopped and looked in her eye, raising his eyebrows: "Then prepare a pillow to sit upon."

Emma gulped. "Yikes, I guess I better like myself better! But you won’t read my diary or anything, right? Can I write my stuff in there? And my e-mails? And my chats? And my blog? Hey, you better not stuff your nose in there because..."

"Oh trust me, I couldn’t be less interested in what you write in there – and no offence meant by that," he said with a smirk.

Exhaling, she giggled. "None taken... and you can’t take me!" she yelled taking off down the stairs and making a beeline for the kitchen.

"I used to be fast in the 100 yards in high school, little girl!" he yelled after her, and chased her into the kitchen laughing, finally circling her waist with his arms by the refrigerator. He playfully smacked her behind and kissed her cheek.

She squeaked with the whack, and punched his arm in the same manner, still giggling.

Alan smiled and faked an "oww" in protest, then opened the freezer and got themselves two big bowls of ice-cream, thinking that maybe the worst of their problems, at least spank-wise, had been solved that night.

click here for pictures of Emma and Alan