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Happy Friday, kids. Don’t know about any of you, but I had a rotten week and I feel like blowing off a little steam. So I thought I’d share the latest crop (or crock, if you will) of inappropriate missives.
This first one is a little different. It actually starts out okay… but then shows how quickly these things can go so far sideways it makes your head spin. It’s from Spanking Tube, which I’m not on that often, but every now and then I get a notice of a friend request or message. This guy sent one message, asking if I’d ever be interested in sessioning with him, and could we have an online dialogue. Sure, what the hell, I said okay, let’s talk.
His second message (mind you, I didn’t even know his name yet) began as follows:
If you really wanted to get together for an on or off camera spanking session I do offer room accommodations as well as some spending money as a reward for your cooperation with the session. I know meeting up with a big 6 foot 4 man with muscles like me can be intimidating for you. So if you wanted to build some trust beforehand that is great. But was thinking we could arrange something based on what you want as well.
Sounds okay so far, right? Yeah. Read on.
Like if you are alright with having your rectum spread wide open with inspection gloves for rectal thermometer readings / enemas, receiving seated hand strappings with a large heavy duty rough leather strap, etc. I am quite stern when in a session and can really command authority with an authoritative voice and no nonsense style of dishing out pure discipline.
blinking Um… what’s that now?
Talk about 0 to 360. Ye gods. Is it just me, or is that a mighty big assumption, figuring a session would naturally segue from a simple spanking into… all that? Mind you, I know some people would enjoy it. However, introducing major anal at the gate before you’ve even told a woman your name is… disconcerting, to say the least. No, thank you. I like the stern bit and the authoritative voice (although “command authority with an authoritative voice” is redundant), but leave my rectum out of it, please.
Back to the usual dreck:
I love the blood and scars on your beaten ass …You’re so pretty …I want to fuck you up and hurt you
The what on my what? Okay, clearly this wasn’t intended for me. I may very well have hundreds of pictures out there, but there isn’t a single one with blood and scars. It’s not my play style. Soooo… NO. Thanks for saying I’m pretty, but no.
I love to spank a nice ass then eat it and finish with a robust fucking. <Smile>
You want a side of fava beans with that? You are not eating any part of me, sorry.
Nothing like reddening a sweet looking ass and spreading it wide to slide into. Lol
(sigh) Are you sensing a theme here? And oh, did I mention that the above two entries came with, uh, illustrations? Yup. As if I needed a picture drawn, both had graphic depictions of the described activity. Good grief.
From a complete stranger:
You are long overdue a long spanking … you are fiesty and unruly and playful and need to be manhandled… over my knee… your panties yanked down and your arms firmly pushed into the small of your back and spanked hard.. long and hard. and I will feel you up to see how wet you get.
Oh, you will, huh? Presumptuous much? By the way, you might want to rephrase this, cookie. It reads like you want to spank my arms. And FFS, learn how to spell fEIsty.
And finally, this one isn’t just obnoxious, it also seems to be a victim of Autocorrect.
Love a sassy little b**** the lights are ass reddened before she gets f*****
The asterisks are not mine, BTW; this is exactly how it was typed. So… HUH?? Took me a minute, but I figured “the lights are” was intended to read “that likes her.” At least that would make sense. Still rude, though.
The fun never stops, does it. I am so ready to kiss this week goodbye. Thanks for helping me laugh at this nonsense! Have a great weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥
There are two types of spankos who exist on Facebook: people who use their real names and keep their FB pages and posts vanilla, or people who are open about their kink and often (but not always) use a fetish-y name. I got a friend request there from a guy with a regular name, but he had spanking pictures all over his page, so I figured okay, we’re kindred spirits and I accepted the request.
I then had access to his full page and when I scanned down it, I saw this:
Jesus, Murray and Jehoshaphat — before I could ponder that, first I had to scrape myself off the floor and the walls and go take a cold shower. What is it about a handsome man in a suit?? (BTW, no, this isn’t the FB guy.) After that, just for grins, I posted the picture on both FetLife and Twitter to see what others might have to say about it.
One FetLife friend commented: “This is easy. ‘You’ll wrinkle your suit, Sir.’ ” That one cracked me up.
But then a Twitter friend reminded me about this recent post regarding my awkward incident with a top’s dress pants. So of course, now I had my own answer.
“Well, sir, you may have a very uncomfortable encounter with your dry cleaner after I spooge your slacks.”
Of course, then he’d probably still spank me and then order me to take the damn pants to the dry cleaner myself.
Which, by the way, I would do. Because there’s just something about a handsome man in a suit… wait, I already said that. Dammit.
On a completely different note, this FB guy I friended sent me a message, saying hello, thanks for accepting the friend request, and was I into spanking as well. I said yes, I was, but I tend to be very subtle about it on FB out of respect for vanilla friends.
He then replied, “Cool. Are you trans?”
Okay, maybe I’m out of touch. Is this a standard “getting to know you” question now?? Or was this wildly inappropriate to ask right out of the gate? I am truly baffled. It’s not the question that bothers me; it’s the timing of it. “Hi, nice to meet you, are you trans?” Jeeez.
After sitting in stunned silence for a moment, I wrote back that I am a cisgender female, and that’s a very odd question to spring on a perfect stranger. He replied that he meant no offense and then dropped the conversation. Good grief.
Sometimes, I just can’t with people.
(sigh) Have a great weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥
…what’s a woman to do when a bit of post-scene drop comes to call?
I recommend exercise, masturbation, and chocolate. Not necessarily in that order.
Oh, and reading nice things. I got an out-of-the-blue message last night from someone I don’t know, who just finished my book. (Jeeez, has it really been ten freaking years already since I published that?) He was lovely, articulate and complimentary. I’ll share the first paragraph.
I’ve just finished reading Late Bloomer and want you to know how extraordinary it is. You write beautifully, with an eye for the vivid detail and a tone that is never self-pitying even when you describe the terrible times you’ve been through.
The kindness of strangers can never be overrated. Thank you, sir.
Have a great weekend, y’all. Be safe.
No, it isn’t July 4th. And no, it’s not raining. California is in another damn drought. Still, this wonderful caricature Dave Wolfe did of me years ago suits the mood.
After over a year of pandemic isolation, I finally got to play on Monday. And it was glorious.
As many of you know, I had been corresponding for months with a friend I knew from way back, whom I hadn’t seen in many years. He came to a couple of Shadow Lane parties and we’d played, and then he dropped out of the scene to move out of state and start a family. When he first suggested driving here to visit me and play, my first thought was, “Why would you want to do that? It’s one hell of a long drive!” Personally, I detest road trips and even the 4-5 hour drive to Vegas makes me nuts.
Luckily for me, C doesn’t share my distaste for long drives. He figured what with the pandemic still going on, it was safer than flying. And he enjoys books on tape. So… this was going to happen. He was already fully vaxed, so he asked me to let him know when I was. When that finally happened and I told him, we made a date. He booked a hotel. And we were on.
As I’d mentioned earlier, I was really, really nervous. Not about him. Even not having seen him for, what, 15 years, I knew I would be in very good hands. I knew he was a heavy player, but also a kind and caring one. No, my worry was about myself. I mean, aside from quickie impromptu scenes with John, and one really godawful attempt at self-spanking, I hadn’t been spanked since February 2020. I felt like my tolerance was shot to hell.
Also, let’s be real. Aside from going to John’s on the weekend, and the occasional necessary errands, I’d basically been sitting around my apartment in sloppy clothes and no makeup for over a year. I didn’t feel presentable, let alone sexy or spankable. I felt… unattractive.
So, the fact that someone was willing to go to all that effort in order to spend some time with me was a good antidote to all those damn negative voices in my head. ♥ I jumped in, said let’s do this, and didn’t look back.
He teased me with emails: “Two weeks and counting!” “Almost here!” “Getting nervous?” Each message got the intended result; I squirmed and grinned and felt all the butterflies. On FetLife, I had said something or another to a top and he’d replied that he thought I “needed a reminder.” C saw this and posted, “I believe Erica will be getting a reminder very soon.” Oh, gawd…
Finally, Monday arrived. I got up early, and for the first time in I’ve forgotten how long, I put makeup on. I’d thrown out a lot of the old stuff since it had been sitting for over a year and bought fresh. I had asked him if he had any particular requests for what he’d like me to wear. He suggested I dress comfortably and lightly. I could do that.
Our meeting time was noon and I showed up at his hotel at 11:53. I had to call him from the lobby, since their elevators were key card operated. He came down to get me and enveloped me in a huge bear hug. I have missed soooo many hugs the past year! We went to his room and fell into chatting and catching up immediately. But after about 45 minutes, it was time to play.
I had plugged my phone in to charge and I checked it one last time before we started. And of course, John had sent me a text:
So, what kind of slutty trouble are you getting into — or are going to get into — today? Names, places, and what you did wrong. Now, young lady. … Have a nice day. Hi C!
Knowing that was John-speak for “I give you my blessing,” I laughed and we began. I assumed the position across his lap on the bed.
This is hard to describe, but I’ll try… from the first moment, the first smack, the feel of it, the sound of it, I felt a burst of euphoria. I’m home. I’m in the right place. This is where I belong. And as the sensations slowly built up and intensified, those feelings escalated until I wanted to laugh with sheer joy.
My yoga pants didn’t stay up for more than a minute. My panties soon followed. And I remembered just how spot on and amazing C’s hand was. How he switched things up and kept me guessing. How he knew exactly when was the point to stop for a second and when to continue. He checked in with me just enough. At one point he asked if I wanted water, but I said no thank you.
He took this picture after warm-up. (!)
After that, we changed positions and I laid over pillows on the bed. He had brought a backpack filled with implements, but he let me choose. I said nix to the wooden paddles and yes to a couple of different leather straps and a hairbrush. Honestly, he doesn’t need implements. His hand is a mighty force, and it never seems to tire or get sore. I told him about the times I’d made men’s hands blister and bleed, and he just chuckled. I don’t think he’ll experience that in his lifetime.
I felt so connected to him. At one point, my hand was flexing on the bed near my face, my fist opening and closing. Then I felt him reach over and squeeze my hand, holding onto it. I see you. I care about you.
So we kept going, and going, and going. I lost track of time. It was starting to hurt, but the pain intertwined with the pleasure and joy and I just wanted more more more. I could feel the power and energy behind his swats and I rejoiced. I can still do this. I’ll still got it! Oh my god, he’s amazing… Can I stop time and just stay here?
By the time we’d come to the end, I was drumming my feet on the bed and hollering into a pillow. My carefully applied makeup was smeared down my face and on the linens (sorry, Marriott) and my breath was coming in deep gasps. And I couldn’t. Be. Happier.
Ow. Been a while since I’ve looked like this. I missed it.
He asked how I feel about lotion, and I said it was very welcome. So he went to get some… and it turned out he didn’t have any. Oops! I giggled and gave him a hard time about it, but it was fine — I had some in my purse. I’m sure my skin must have sucked it right up.
We both had a drink and came back down, lying on the bed, snuggling, talking. So much to talk about, so many things to catch up on. I asked him how long the drive was — he said 10 hours. He was going to stay overnight and then drive back the next day. I didn’t want to go, and yet I figured after a while I should get on back home, let him relax. I had people waiting for check-in texts from me. ♥
I had parked in the hotel parking garage, but when we went down to the front desk and I asked about validation, the man said that lot was for guests, not guests of guests. Oh, dear. He took the card I’d gotten, checked how long I’d been there (4 1/2 hours), futzed at his computer for a minute, then said, “You know what, forget it. You got free parking. When you drive up to the gate, just press the call button and I’ll let you out.” Thank you, kind sir!
So C walked me to my car, we exchanged another warm hug, and I was off.
I felt kind of loopy and wound up for the rest of the evening. He’d sent me the pictures he’d taken, so I posted a couple of them on FetLife. Been a long time since I’ve had any pictures to put up there. The reactions were gratifying.
So, remember when I was crowing “I’ve still got it!”?? Yeah. I woke up yesterday morning and groaned, “The hell I don’t.” Wow. Sitting hurt. Walking hurt. I felt like I’d been playing for four straight days at a party instead of doing just one scene. When I attempted to do a workout, my body was yelling and swearing at me through the whole thing, especially during the lower body exercises.
And I enjoyed all that, too. Although it was very hard to focus on work, I admit. I finally had to take a break, because of course I needed a “day after” picture.
C checked in Monday evening, then let me know when he’d gotten home yesterday. He checked in this morning as well. So important. I wish more tops knew that.
And in anticipation that I might get droppy, my sweet SIS Jay sent me a box of See’s chocolate. ♥ Chocolate and depression are mutually incompatible, you know.
So… when the euphoria fades, when the marks and soreness disappear, I suppose I am in for some drop. A sense of, okay, now what? Where do I go from here? How do I bring regular play back into my life, and with whom? But for now, I’m not going to think about that. I’m just going to bask in the feels and smile. And be grateful.
Thank you, C. You gave me more of a gift than you know.
Most of you guys know I edit kinky erotica. Today I was working on a book and one scene had the woman stripped naked and about to go over the man’s knee. He was still fully dressed in a good suit, and she expressed concern that she was going to make a mess of his pants. He smirked and said, “That’s what dry-cleaning is for.” He then went on to taunt her that he’d probably tell his dry-cleaner all about it and how it got there.
Art imitates life, or is it the other way around? Whatever. Reading this, I was reminded of the time a couple of years ago when I was playing with D. We only had three scenes, but holy damn, I was fiercely, unusually attracted to this man. And when we played, well, you know… bodies do what bodies do. I secrete when I’m beat. And D always came over from work, so he was in a suit.
Cut to a couple of days later — D emailed me and teasingly informed me that he’d had to take his suit pants to the cleaners because of a prominent stain. (“Did I do that?”) I got the giggles over that, but what made me guffaw was when he went on to tell me that the cleaner had asked what it was! D, not expecting the question and feeling flustered, muttered something along the lines of, “Uh… I dunno… something fell in my lap.”
He said the cleaner gave him a funny look.
Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥
Look, look! Here I am in all my bare-faced, I-haven’t-worn-makeup-in-fourteen-months glory, after receiving Moderna vaccine #2.
So hey, now besides having a chip on my shoulder, I have a chip IN my shoulder as well! (snicker) Still waiting for the 5G to kick in, though.
Side effects report: Last night was a bit rough. Woke up in the middle of the night with a fever and aching all over. But after a Tylenol/Advil combo, that settled a bit and I was able to get a little more sleep. Today… sooooo sleepy. Having a hard time focusing. But no more fever or pain. Quite worth it, I’d say.
I got lectured on Twitter for talking about the side effects, saying it would discourage people on the fence about the vaccines. Oh, please. Seems to me people should know what to expect — and to know it’s all temporary and they will be just fine. Also, the high of knowing this is done supersedes the discomfort.
I sent this picture to my friend in Oregon, saying mission accomplished, I’m vaccinated. He replied with this:
Two weeks and you get to bury your face in a pillow while I remind your bottom what a good spanking feels like!
Oh my God. This is really happening. I’m going to play for the first time since February 2020. (The light playful stuff with John doesn’t count.)
I would imagine the nerves are going to set in, big time, as it gets closer. I know I’ll be in good hands, but damn, it’s been so long! How will my body react? Will I have any tolerance? This is the longest I’ve gone without playing, by far, since I first got into spanking 25 years ago.
And even more concerning… after over a year of basically sitting on my ass and watching time tick by, what is said ass going to look like from a top’s view? Granted, I’ve never stopped exercising. But still, working out at home doesn’t replace the gym. I’m still not willing to go back to mine, though. So, along with the building’s treadmill and my weights and bands, I treated myself to a piece of exercise equipment. It’s called The DB Method, came highly rated online, and is essentially a squat machine.
DB stands for Dream Butt. One can hope.
In other play news, it looks like Shadow Lodge over Labor Day weekend in Vegas is a go. It’s being capped at 200 and Joe is asking people to be fully vaccinated. I hope people will bring their vaccination cards, because I for one will want to see them. I’m certainly bringing mine. It’s a bit scary, the thought of being around so many people in a small space after all this time of isolation, but hopefully things will feel a lot safer in four months.
Honestly? I am in no hurry to go back to being among people. My reclusive tendencies really took over in this past year. But I need to play. I need to feel those feelings again. I need that connection, that release. I’ve missed it so very much. I’m hoping that I can find someone local once again. But first things first — gotta get back in the saddle, so to speak. Less than two weeks… !!