Sunday, 13 December 2015

Sunday, December 13, 2015 -

Spanking the Little Diva

by Rose St. Andrews
Published: Oct 08, 2015
Words: 30,641
Category: ageplay, romance
Orientation: M/F
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Chapter One

Gwyneth reclined on the couch, her head on a pillow, and her hand buried deep in a bag of cookies. Nick droned on about something, but she didn't pay much attention. It had to do with money and some bad press she'd gotten recently, which meant it wasn't important. After all, there was no such thing as bad press.

Why couldn't he ever figure that out?

"Gwen, are you listening to me?" he snapped.

"No," she said simply and rolled her head toward him.

He sighed and shook his head. "Gwyneth Elaine Parson, this is serious!"

"Yeah-yeah, I know, you want me to review my latest damage report and the cost. Who the fuck cares?"

"You should, you little twit," he said, rising from his desk and waving the pages at her. "Look at this: damage to the hotel, damage to your car - your new car - the neighbor's hedge and front porch, and then there's that tiny 'incident' at the mall."

"Nick, the little bitch wouldn't leave me alone."

"She was a fan, Gwen, was being the operative word, and all she wanted was a picture. Not only did you smash her phone, but you pushed her into a fountain, and did it in full view of the media. The video has already gone viral."

She perked up, sitting up straight on the sofa. "Really? How many hits has it gotten?"

"Gwen, this is serious!"

"Oh, what of it? Shit, toss some money at her like everyone else and she'll be happy."

"You don't have that much money."

She rolled over, bit another cookie, and opened another teen fan magazine to look for articles about herself. "Please, I've got more than enough money to buy anyone I want, and I'll have even more once my new album comes out."

Nick rubbed his temples and grunted. "Yeah, right, the new album. And, just where are you on the songs for that?"

"It's a... a work in progress, Nick. Chill out, I'll be ready by the time we head to the studio next month."

"Week," he said simply.


"Next week, Gwen, we're scheduled to lay down the tracks in seven days. So, how far along are you in writing them?"

She swallowed hard. "They're... coming along. I need to... stretch my legs."

She got up, tugged her snug little hot pants down as much as she could, which wasn't much, and sauntered off to her suite. Gwen really loved her house. Not only was it decked out just the way she wanted, but it truly was hers and hers alone. Years ago, when she was a child star on that silly TV show that she couldn't even remember the title of now, she'd essentially bought her freedom from her parents.

It had only cost her a house and two cars for them, and they didn't even want fancy cars.