Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

Welcome

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Welcome to my blog! 🙂

Change of plans…

I was considering posting a Correspondence Hall of Shame today, but then I got this, part of a barrage of teasing emails I’ve been getting all day, and thought I’d rather focus on a future positive. How far in the future, I have no idea.

Nice long warm-up, bare bottom, over my knee, just enough to get you kicking and wiggling a bit. Red and warm. Then the strap or belt until you find your very happy place. Finally back over my knee for a nice cool down hand spanking.   You will feel it for days…

Oh, my. Yes yes yes, please. And now, if you’ll pardon me while I very briefly slip into a rant….

I want this SO FUCKING BADLY I could scream! UGH! Damn Covid! Damn vaccines! Damn California! Damn damn damn, I’d had it with not playing!! ARGGHHHHHH!!!

(deep breath….)

(sigh) Okay. I’m done. We now return to gratitude for home and work and John and good health and blah blah blah.

So close now… just have to hang on a little longer.

Have a great weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥

On my mind

Been thinking lately about the effect words and phrases have to those of us in the kink persuasion. How certain terms can push all kinds of buttons — positive and negative. How a word or set of words can mean something to one person, and something altogether to another. Many of these have been discussed again and again and I’m not here right now to discuss the psychology of what turns whom on or off. Just thinking about a couple of terms I take exception with, and why.

I was emailing with a top last week, one I hope to meet up with when we can finally get our vaccinations and life can return. I made an offhand comment about how I was concerned that I’ve lost my tolerance, not having played now for over a year. He wrote back, “Nah, it’s like riding a bicycle. Once a pain slut, always a pain slut.”

I don’t have a problem with the word “slut” when it’s used in this sort of context. As long as it isn’t slut shaming, I’m okay with it. However, I don’t think I’m a pain slut.

I’m a spanking slut. When it comes to that specific fetish and everything around it, I am insatiable. But do I crave pain?

No. Not really.

Is “pain slut” synonymous with “masochist”? I don’t consider myself a masochist. Maybe others do, because within the realm of spanking play, I play hard. But even despite that, I have plenty of limits.

When examining the various posts/tweets/etc. of fellow spankos, I see so many other things being discussed, everything from nipple play to bastinado. Face slapping to leg caning. It seems that many people who share my fetish also have a taste for other flavors of pain.

I don’t. Honestly, I hate pain. I have no tolerance for it, except on my bottom. Somehow, pain inflicted on my butt is wired into my endorphins and sexual feelings. But it’s shocking how little pain I can take anywhere else. When I read about nipple torture, for example, I practically fold in on myself. I can’t even stand to have mine touched, let alone struck, pinched or clamped.

My kink, my fetish, my love of pain has a sharp and singular focus. How many others can say this? I wish I knew more people like me. So many things I can’t relate to. I wish I could, but I can’t. And then, of course, people aren’t comfortable discussing their own predilections with me, because they know I’m not relating.

Regarding the gentleman’s comment, I wrote back and explained my preferred term and why. He understood. He also said that he hoped I hadn’t inferred any desire on his part to cause me any pain over and above what I want, and then when we play, it will be safe, sane and consensual always. I appreciated that more than you can imagine… and in particular, I loved that he said when, not if.

Moving on — in 2018, I chose to retire from shooting spanking content. It was time, I thought, and I don’t regret it. I don’t think I ever publicized what led to that decision. It was a lot of things… but it boils down to an essential two.

One, I no longer enjoyed the way I looked on camera. I used to. But in the last couple of productions I watched, I saw changes in my body and my skin that I found unflattering. Simple as that. And if I wasn’t enjoying this anymore, there was no reason to do it. It had always been about fun and self-expression to me.

And two… I saw a hateful person refer to me still doing videos as “granny porn.”

I’d never heard or seen that term before. It made me sick. MILF and cougar are bad enough. But this term was so unflattering, so mean, it really shook me up. I instantly envisioned those awful cartoons of the old Playboy magazines, with the horny, predatory old woman and her saggy boobs.

I then learned that was a real term, a real thing, a genre within porn. I started seeing women using the term. And that made me even sicker.

It’s bad enough living in a world where women aren’t supposed to age. But when some of us buck the trend and exhibit our sexuality past society’s cutoff age, we shouldn’t have to tolerate such degrading terms. And we sure as hell shouldn’t be perpetuating them.

I saw a performer I have always admired use that term about her work, and I begged her to please, please, please don’t refer to her good work that way. She replied that it was a standard term in the industry and she saw no reason to sugarcoat it.

No, don’t sugarcoat it. How about fucking eliminating it?

I am proud of the fact that I started shooting spanking content at an age where most bottoms have retired, and that I continued it for 18 years. But I didn’t want to become a joke, an object of ridicule. And to me, the terminology around older women doing fetish film is degrading. We’re made to look like fools.

On Twitter, there’s a guy who does nothing but post spanking pictures from other people’s work and then captions them with insulting and embarrassing descriptions. “Fat MILF gets her ass spanked.” “Grandpa teaches a lesson.” One time, he posted a photo of me with Danny Chrighton… and captioned it, “Erica Scott plays with her son.” Really?? For fuck’s sake, Danny’s eleven years younger than I am. Is it really that outrageous? Men shoot with women one half to one third their age, but a woman can’t shoot with a man who is a few years younger without evoking that kind of ageist crap? I really didn’t want any more of that, and I could see the writing on the wall: it wasn’t going to go away. As time passed, it would only increase. The bad would outweigh the good. The compliments would dwindle while the mean-spirited critiques would escalate. Time to stop.

What’s my point? Women out there in the industry, particularly those of you who are no longer in your twenties and thirties — please don’t perpetuate this terminology. We can’t change society, but maybe we can change a few minds. Maybe if we don’t condone degrading terms, fewer people will use them. One can hope.

I’d love to hear what people think about either of these terms I’ve mentioned, even those who disagree. I miss spanko chats, truly I do. I feel like play and enjoying this thing I love is so tantalizingly within reach. Maybe another month or two? Fingers crossed.

The Seinfeld of Spanko Blogs… a post about nothing

Blech. Every day, I look at how long it’s been since I posted something, and I think I really should come up with an entry. And then every day, I got nothing. I really admire people who are faithfully coming up with regular entries in this time of Covid. I don’t seem to be able to. All I can do is toss in a brief update or two and essentially restate the same crap over and over. It’s now been a year since I last played. You can’t really keep up a spanking blog when there’s no spanking.

All we have right now is correspondence. And lest you all think everything I receive is CHoS material, fortunately, that’s not the case. It’s amazing how a well timed email can perk up my day. Like this one, out of nowhere, from my friend in Oregon who wants to come here when it’s safe. Who the hell knows when that will be… but at least it’s on his mind.

So… I want you over my knee! Nice slow warm-up…then hard hand, leather, wood, maybe cane.

Oh, yeah? I wrote back, “Wood belongs in the fireplace.”

To which he replied: Wood belongs across your bare bottom.

Oh, my. And then last week I woke up to this:

I think that an early morning, good hard spanking would be the best way to start your day!  Hard hand spanking, then a morning of no panties or pants allowed.

(sigh) I said that coffee and cereal sounded so mundane after that. However, I’ll pass on that last part — it’s too cold! Yes, even in CA, it’s too cold to sit around half naked.

From another periodic correspondent, a local one:

So when you get your vaccine, may I beat you?

Why yes, yes, you may. (Oh, and before people complain about the word choice, he and I established long ago that “beat” is his preferred word for “spank” and he would refrain from using it if it bothered me. I told him it didn’t.) This man remains one of my biggest frustrations. We met for coffee at the end of 2019, hit it off, thought something really good was going to come of it. But as timing would have it, he had a family situation come up at the holidays and went back East to stay for a couple of months… and then Covid hit, pretty much putting the kibosh on everything.

So it seems that the future holds some play for me. But how far in the future, who the hell knows. I am not high on any of the priority lists for vaccination. And since I’ve come this far being able to stay well due to diligent observation of safety precautions, I don’t want to get careless now. So far this year, the national parties are being canceled once again. I’m wondering what kind of long-term effects Covid is going to have on these gatherings. Therefore, it’s looking more and more like I need to find a local partner or two, because I don’t think I’m going to be able to see my scene friends again anytime soon. I’m kind of out of the loop these days anyway… have lost touch with many of them.

Haven’t lost touch with Jillian Keenan though — she included me in another one of her multi-part group videos! I love participating in these. This time, she asked several people to talk about their favorite implements. Part 1 is Jillian herself, then the incomparable Ariel Andersen, talking about about leather belts (yum), and then yours truly. If you’re so inclined, you can see it here.

In other news… there isn’t any. I had a bit of a scare a couple of weeks ago when I got a callback on a routine mammogram. I had to go back for a second mammogram and an ultrasound; that’s never happened before. I was told repeatedly that this was common, but guess what… I was still scared out of my mind. And I had to wait a week between the time I got the call to when I could get an appointment for the repeat procedures. However, the good news was that I got the results immediately — tiny cyst. That’s it. I made it back to my car and then broke down and cried, I was so relieved. After that, hell, I’ll take dullness and routine, y’all.

How is everyone doing? ♥

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 2/5

First CHoS of 2021, and it’s a special one. Most often I do a collection of these, but every now and then, I get a single one that is so outrageous, it merits its own column. Today’s entry is one of those.

To refresh your memories, one of my peeviest peeves is The Form Letter. You know the kind I mean; the ones that are so clearly sent to multiple women, probably at random, just to see if anyone takes the bait. They’re overly long, way too detailed, and completely impersonal. Usually what the guy is talking about has nothing to do with what I seek.

Last week, I got one of those. As far as the writing goes, aside from a few typos, it’s not the usual misspelled gobbledy-gook. But wait till you read it. It’s mind-boggling.

I only contact the slave that I am seriously interested in. And I am very, very interested in you.

I am exceptional, direct, and decisive. I used to be good enough and never take a position. Now, in life and everywhere, I dwell in the ultimate. Private homes, yachts, aircraft, vacations, parties are the fruit of the exceptional. And as the exceptional does, I am always on great adventures that is only made possible by living life with NO Limits.

By definition the ultimate has No Limits. Limits are for the masses and fake masters, not the Masters of the Universe.

By the way, speaking of limits, those with planes and yachts live in the entire world with no limits, hence living life to the fullest, while those without live in their box (apartment) and waste their lives. Yes, having multiple homes “going home” and “safer at home” means travel and freedom. And yes, yachts and planes are homes.

You want a master with No Limits. And a master with no limits with life, must have no limits with you. A slave must be a Master’s great possession.

I seek my permanent slave to match. Sexually, physically, domestically, loyalty, and to sacrifice all unconditionally and with 100% NO Limits. TPE Total Power Exchange and Total Slavery.

Most slaves, even before 2020, waste their lives. Live a rut, partial existence in a coma. Most masters as fake. Most Masters truly are not the master of even their own lives. Screaming masters at night and employee slaves by day, weighing limited options caused by limited finances and limited time that persists through their lives enslaving them, directly due to their lack of vision of abundance and life of No Limits. And now, with closures and the online future here, most masters are “masters” of their apartment, not their balcony, as long as they are quiet as a mouse, follow the government, apartment complex, noise and behavior rules. Yes, they are masters of the universe in the hallucinations of their mind, as they age away in their monthly rented apartment box. OMG.

Issues, age, looks, absolutely takes a back seat to attitude and 100% unlimited unconditional loyalty and self-sacrifice. With the right attitude anything can be overcome and I always overcome everything.

I am driven to live the Ultimate Life. The ultimate of anything is Unlimited with No Limits. Only an idiot would consciously choose a wasted rut life in a coma as most do.

1) Read my profile
2) Look over my albums and pics
3) Tell me if you have the right attitude
4) What is your name and cell # to talk to move forward?

Holy crap.

Well, first, because I’m a non-paying member, I can’t read his damn profile, nor can I look at his pictures. However, I can see how many he has. Most guys on Alt, if they have a picture at all, have one or two, maybe three. At the most, a half dozen. This guy has twenty-four.

Second… Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Really? Am I supposed to believe this is real? Is any woman out there stupid enough to buy any of this?

I get fantasy, truly I do. But reality is always firmly in the picture. Real life has limits. Life has responsibilities. So, I’m seeing one of two scenarios here. Either this guy is a rich trust fund baby who’s never had to work a day in his life and thinks he can buy someone, or he actually lives in one of those “boxes” he bangs on and on about and he’s completely full of it.

Every time I reread this thing, I notice something else. My favorite part? The last sentence: “What is your name?” There it is, solid proof that he doesn’t bother reading profiles, that he just sends this out at random. My name is right there; it is my profile name. Crystal clear.

How sad to go through life so completely pickled in contempt for mere mortals and how we live. Can you imagine how someone with this level of arrogance and superiority would actually treat a woman?

I almost never answer any of these, as you know. But this time, I couldn’t resist. So I send back one word. “Seriously???” And attached this picture.

I didn’t expect to get an answer. But two days later, he replied. “Yes, seriously. 100%”

Wow. Okay. I’m done. Carry on, Your Majesty. And good luck to you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit here in my coma until tomorrow, when I go to visit my boring and mundane beloved who owns only two residences, no planes, no yachts. I can live with that, though. I get seasick. And overinflated egos tend to nauseate me as well.

Have a good weekend, y’all. Be safe.

Missing a clip — Chross? Anyone?

I never saw a single episode of “Saved By the Bell.”

And now you’re probably thinking I’ve finally lost my mind, wondering what the hell that has to do with anything. Follow my train of thought. All roads lead to spanking.

On Monday, I read about the unfortunate passing of Dustin Diamond (cancer, not Covid) at 44 — he played “Screech” on SBTB. And in the write-ups about him, he was often mentioned alongside co-star Mark-Paul Gosselaar.

MPG played the preppy, bleached blond high-schooler Zack Morris in SBTB. These days, he’s virtually unrecognizable, playing the derpy New Age dad on “Mixed-ish.” But somewhere between the two roles, MPG was quite the hunk of sexy beast.

And it was during that period that he guest-starred in a 2010 episode of “Weeds,” and participated in possibly the hottest scene in that show’s history. When most people think of “Weeds” and spanking, they recall the OTK scene between Mary-Louise Parker and Demian Bichir in the back of a limo. IMO, the scene between MPG and MLP made the limo spanking look like child’s play.

The actual spanking portion of the scene is brief; actually a bare-bottom belting. But the whole thing is so freaking hot, with the most perfect buildup ever, the most perfect dialogue. The chemistry between the two of them sizzles the screen. I think I blogged about it way back when. Used to be you could find the entire scene online, including on Chross’s Movies and TV Database. I watched it many times.

So, the other day I had a hankering to watch it once again. Went to Chross’s database, found it, clicked View. “This video has been flagged.” Whaaaat??

Okay. Maybe it was somewhere else. I remembered the name of the episode was “Gentle Puppies.” I Googled everything I could think of. “Weeds Gentle Puppies bar scene Mark-Paul Gosselaar.” I found articles about that scene; apparently a lot of people agreed that it was steamy. I found a few pictures and a couple of gifs. But I could not find the clip at all, not even part of it, not anywhere.

What happened?? Have we gotten so damned puritanical that the clip was deemed too pornographic or something to leave online? Ugh!

For those who don’t recall the scene, I’ll do the next best thing — I’ll describe it. Perhaps it will jog some pleasant memories. To the best of my recollection (remember, I watched this a hell of a lot of times), Nancy (Parker’s character) winds up in an empty dive bar in the middle of the day. She makes herself at home, walking behind the counter and helping herself to a beer. The owner (MPG) then comes out and doesn’t look too pleased. She proceeds to sit at the bar, helping herself to peanuts and being thoroughly obnoxious to him. Another man comes in, sits down and starts watching the game on the overhead TV.

Nancy then pulls out a cigarette and starts to light it. MPG tells her there’s no smoking in this bar. She protests that there’s no one there, and he insists she can’t smoke. She then gestures at the sole customer sitting at the bar, “You mind?” He shakes his head. So she lights up anyway. MPG looks pissed. Then, abruptly, he turns off the TV and tells the other guy “We’re closed.” The man leaves, and MPG locks the door after him. Meanwhile, Nancy still sits at the bar, looking a bit apprehensive.

MPG slowly walks over to her, comes up right next to her. With one hand, he takes her cigarette and stubs it out, and with the other he roughly fists her hair. Oh. My. God.

Look at her face. She knows she’s in trouble.

And then the following dialogue happens:

MPG: I said no smoking. You don’t listen.
Nancy: No… no, I don’t.
MPG: Do you need someone to make you?
Nancy: Mmmhmmm…

Holy crap. Not since “You’re going to grow up, all the way, right now” has a bit of spanko dialogue made me so weak in the knees. Then the scene jumps to Nancy’s bare bottom bent over the bar, and MPG is thrashing it with his belt.

Aaaaand then the next thing we know, they’re both naked and he’s going at her like a wild stallion. Glasses are crashing and smashing and no one cares.

The scene ends with him clinging to her from behind, and Nancy, ever the grifter and opportunist, is slipping an expensive-looking watch from his wrist onto hers.

Ring any bells, kids? Any ideas where this scene could be found? Hell, I’ll purchase the entire episode if I have to. This one is a keeper. Weeds, Gentle Puppies, 2010. Anyone?

A failed experiment

This is one of those entries that’s going to be embarrassing. I am confessing something that makes me feel ridiculous. But because I’ve always tried to be honest here and share the bad with the good, here goes.

I don’t have to tell you guys that things have been stressful for a while. Covid goes on and on. I haven’t seen any friends or played since March of last year. I can’t even get a damn haircut, let alone a spanking. John has been my only physical human contact in a very long time. Things in CA are dire; I read somewhere that one in four people in L.A. has Covid. The vaccine situation is completely fucked up; way too much demand and not enough supply. We are still on Phase 1A, and I am in the Phase 1C group. It could be a long time.

I’ve said this many times over these months — the one thing that’s kept me somewhat sane and distracted from all the bad news is work. I’ve had plenty of it and I’ve been able to pay my bills; so many can’t say that and I’ve been grateful. But for the past two months, my freelance work has been very slow, with all clients. I’m starting to feel the bite, and it’s scary. I’m not sure what’s going on or if things will pick back up. I need communication, and right now, it seems that is hard to come by. Everyone is busy and stressed out and preoccupied. I ask questions that are not answered. Along with the work issue, my laptop has a problem and I wrote to my computer tech friend for some help… haven’t heard back from them either. Fortunately, my desktop still works.

I’ve been chatting with a spanko friend who lives in Oregon; I met him many years ago at a party. He wants to come visit and play when it’s safe, but that will be a while. I had said that I thought self-spanking was lame and frustrating, and he suggested that I give it another try. He detailed some positions that would make it a little easier, dexterity-wise, and said if I could do it long enough and hard enough, perhaps I could achieve some release and enjoy the physical feelings afterward — the tenderness/soreness, the twinges when sitting, etc.

This morning, everything sort of crashed on me. I had no work to do. It had been a weird weekend; I chipped my front tooth and I lost my car keys (minor chip, and I finally found the damn keys, but I had a complete meltdown before I did). So I thought, what the hell, I’ll try self-spanking one more time. Purely as a release, nothing more.

Live and learn. I tried. It was a major fail. Instead of making me feel better, I felt worse.

The physicality of it was easier than it had been when I’d tried it before, thanks to his suggestions about angles and so forth. I had three different implements to use that made for good coverage. I checked in the mirror periodically to see if I was even.

But emotionally, it was a disaster.

As the pain built up and the emotions broke free, I didn’t feel relief. Instead, I felt such a wave of grief, I could hardly stand it. I kept going and going and going, and I sobbed while doing it. Every time I stopped, I craved a hug, some comfort, some human contact and warmth so badly, I’d start up again just so I wouldn’t have to think about it. In short, I made a freaking mess of myself, but I didn’t stop unless I was shaking so hard I didn’t think I could do it safely anymore.

And then I cried for another hour. I’m still crying. Yeah, I feel the tingles and soreness. I may even feel it tomorrow. But without the emotional connection, without a top there to hold me afterward, without a strong pair of arms to crawl into, it’s a masochistic and unsatisfying experience. I feel worse than I did before I started.

Not a damn thing I can do about it except ride it out. Cry as long as I need to. And then pull myself together and go work out. Maybe that’s the only way I can release stress right now. At least I have that.

Goddammit.

For those of you out there who are able to achieve satisfaction and release from self-spanking, I salute you. I envy you. I can’t. I know that now without a doubt. I feel sore, but I feel none of the endorphin high, none of the blissful oblivion. I just want to go back to bed and cry until I can sleep for about 48 hours.

Back to the drawing board. People keep telling me things are going to get better, for all of us. I wish I had some inkling when.

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