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.

Archive for the month “November, 2010”

Sharing another clip

This one is from later in the scene, where we’d moved from OTK to my ottoman and he’d broken out the heavy artillery — his belt, a big black strap and that godawful paddle.

For those who have always wanted to see/hear me count and say “Thank you,” (arrgggh) here you go. Twenty with the black strap. Watch out for #16; apparently, that one “got through to me.”

P.S.: Remember, everyone, I really do like this. 🙂


Who named it the “sweet spot,” anyway? There’s nothing @#$%ing sweet about it. Not feeling very sweet at this moment, lemme tell you.

I don’t know what he was so tweaked about. OK, so I didn’t get all dressed up for him this time. It was cold and I wanted to dress a little more warmly. But I thought what I had on was rather cute and cheery. It was a sweatshirt, but such a pretty color! And don’t you think the design on the front is darling?

Check out that post-spanking hair; what a mess! LOL

See, he’s saying “Don’t Wanna” — isn’t that precious? I thought it was most inappropriate that I had to remove it. (sulk) I swear, there’s no pleasing that man. And to have to assume this undignified pose, to boot. Most unflattering too. Look at it now, ’cause you’ll never see it again!

Why does it feel like he ramps it up every single week? I don’t know how he does it. When he commented on my sassiness for perhaps the umpteenth time, I said in what I thought was a beseeching tone: “But that’s what you like about me!” He laughed. Briefly. Then replied, “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to give you a good spanking for it. Because that’s what you like about me. Isn’t it!”

Yes, dammit…

I wanted it to burn and sting. I wanted that sweet release. And finally, I got it.

Guess what? Remember that three-pack of spoons he brought a few weeks ago — I’d broken two of them, but the third one held up? Well, now that sucker is toast too, three for three.

He hung out for about an hour and a half afterward, and of course, couldn’t leave without Round Two on the couch. After that, I was so blissed out, I just wanted to stay across his lap, snuggle into him and go to sleep. But alas, I had to let him up; his dog was waiting for him at home, after all.

Mmmmmm… of course, since it’s the freaking holidays, I’m going to need this therapy on a regular basis. Yeah, yeah, shut up, Erica… you need it on a regular basis year-round, you insatiable wench. 🙂

Fortunately, it seems he’s rather insatiable himself…

A two-fer: a clip AND a rant

I’m home… and I promised more clips, didn’t I. New Guy posted a bunch of them on FetLife, but on there, only the people who “support” (read: donate money to) FetLife get to watch the videos, so many won’t be able to see them.

This little clip is my favorite. I love his reactions to my big mouth. 😀

So, Thanksgiving is over. One down, one to go. Er… I mean, wasn’t Thanksgiving lovely?? Oh, whatever. I’ll tell you when I’ll give thanks — when John gets that @#$%ing PICC out of his arm and he doesn’t have to inject those @#$%ing antibiotics any more. Just a couple more weeks… he’s so miserable. 😦

You all have heard me bitch and moan and rant about the holiday season; I have nothing new to say at this point. So for those who are new to my blog, I’m reposting a rant from December 2007, just for grins. Remember all that fuss about whether you should say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”? Here’s my take on that life-or-death decision. Enjoy.

Warning — the following rant is sacrilegious. If that sort of thing offends you, please stop reading here!

I don’t know where any of you stand with the dumbass controversy about whether one should say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. Personally, I don’t give a damn either way. I happen to say Happy Holidays, simply because it’s generic and covers everything. But it doesn’t bother me if someone says Merry Christmas to me. I mean, it’s just a phrase. At this time of year, it’s the same as saying hello and goodbye. But people make such a freaking fuss about what to say. Good grief, do people really have nothing better to whine about? I’m sure the homeless people on skid row don’t care whether or not someone says Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays to them.

I was watching the news the other night, and they had one of those “human interest” stories they tack on at the end of the war and the rapes and the natural disasters, just for a little feel-good moment. Apparently, some little podunk town somewhere in South Bumf**k decided they’ve had enough of Happy Holidays, and they’re going to reclaim Merry Christmas. One merchant in this town has big signs up in the store, reading “It’s OK to say Merry Christmas!” All the employees wear buttons that read, “Merry Christmas.” Yes, the Christ is in red.

They interviewed the owner of this establishment, looking very righteous in her button and her loud, cheery Xmas sweater from Bobbie Sue’s House of Dreck, and saying, “We need to remember what Christmas is about — it’s about Christ.” She went on to say that any customer in her store who says “Merry Christmas” gets a 5% discount.

Give me a break! So now, every greedy so-and-so in that town is going to flock to that store and cheerfully say the designated phrase, just to get the discount! Some Christmas spirit, that is. Hell, I’d say Merry Christmas, or Happy Kwanzaa, or Joyous Toenail Clipping Day or whatever the hell you want me to say, for a discount.

I wonder how the owner would react if a customer came in, piled up the counter with half the store’s merchandise, then said, “Merry Christmas — now give me my damn discount.”

Yeah, I know, I’m bad. Tell me something I don’t know. 🙂

A couple of teaser clips! :-)

New Guy was busy today on his day off, pulling clips from our Monday night footage. And he has given me the OK to post some here.

Because I’m such a brat, I’m going to leave you with a couple of teasers, some more light-hearted stuff, and save the ouchie clips until after the weekend.

For the first one, I didn’t even know the camera was on yet — we were prepping for the scene. Very impromptu, but fun, I thought!

The radio was on in the background. Makes me giggle that the song playing in this clip was Sexy Sadie. (“Sexy Sadie, you broke the rules, you laid it down for all to see…”)

Oh, and check out Mr. Hammy looking into the camera!  LOL

In this quickie, I had made a smart-ass remark (fancy that) and he’d reached in his bag for a paddle. After one swat, he realized that he’d grabbed the wrong one — one that I’d given a hard NO. Oops! In his eagerness to get rid of it, he… well, you’ll see. 🙂

I hope everyone had a pleasant and peaceful Thanksgiving! Have a great weekend, y’all.

Thanksgiving thoughts

Happy Turkey Day, everyone. No, I’m not posting a holiday rant. Not yet, anyway. Just having a quiet and reflective morning and wanted to share some thoughts.

Some of you may know this — Thanksgiving was actually my favorite holiday for many years. No religious overtones, no gifts to buy, no cards to send… just a day where you got together with loved ones, had wonderful food and if you were of a mind to, counted your blessings.

I loved going to my mother and stepfather’s for Thanksgiving. My mother and I have always had our ups and downs, but on Thanksgiving, all that was put aside. I looked forward to arriving at their place; it would be warm and cozy, filled with mouth-watering smells and festively decorated. There was usually an eclectic bunch present; Mom had always been one to take in the people who were by themselves, at loose ends, on holidays. Over the years, I’d brought my share of friends who had no other place to go, and they were warmly welcomed.

No one cooked like my mother. Her turkeys were always tender and juicy, even the white meat. She’d collect all the drippings and juices, put them in the freezer until all the fat rose to the top, then skim it off. I don’t know how she thickened the gravy, but she didn’t use flour and it was never lumpy or pasty. She always put in plenty of cooked fresh mushrooms, because she knew I loved them. Oh, and her stuffing… I could have made a meal of that alone, mountains of it. I hate yams, and you can have mashed potatoes anytime. Pass on that disgusting Thanksgiving staple, the goopy green bean/mushroom soup casserole with canned fried onions on top. (Not that she ever made that!) But my mom’s stuffing — starchy Nirvana.

She and my stepdad and their friends were partial to a lemon cheesecake from Baker’s Square pies for dessert. However, I thought cheesecake after all that rich food was utterly gross, and besides, you have to have pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. So I always brought one.

Even cleanup was fun, as we’d crowd into the kitchen, wrapping leftovers, washing dishes, laughing, sated and giddy with carb/tryptophan overload. I figured since I didn’t do the cooking, the least I could do was help with the mess afterward and I enjoyed doing so. I’d spend the next couple of nights there. After John came into my life, I’d come home Saturday morning and spend the rest of the weekend with him. He’d be with his own family on Thanksgiving; we’d mutually agreed that he’d see his, I’d see mine, and we’d get together afterwards.

It was a lovely place to be. I felt like a kid again, or at least how a kid should feel… comfortable, loved, well fed and cared for. Safe.

Then my mother began her slow descent into dementia, and everything changed.

Thanksgiving went from warm and pleasant to not-so-pleasant, then uncomfortable, then spectacularly awful. There were tears and fights and ruined food. And finally, it was over. My mother went into an assisted-care facility, and that was the end of Thanksgiving as we knew it.

For the past two years, I have refused to acknowledge Thanksgiving. I have treated it like just another Thursday, staying home and watching DVDs, reading, whatever I felt like doing. John continued to do his own thing with whichever family member was in town; I was always welcome and I knew that, but I didn’t want to go and begged off. He understood and didn’t pressure me, although I know he was disappointed. I couldn’t help it. It was too damn depressing for me and I preferred to withdraw and ignore the whole thing.

This year is different. This year, for better or worse, I think I’m ready to rejoin the living.

We are invited to John’s sister’s house later this afternoon; most of his family will be there. I have many mixed feelings about going, but above everything else, I want to be with John. I know he wants me there and I want to be there for him. It’s one meal, it’s a few hours. I could have lost him in recent weeks. On this day, I want to be with the person in my life for whom I’m the most thankful.

And hey, there are bright sides. John has two sisters: one prepares food that is tasty and reasonably healthy; the other one’s cooking makes me feel like all the blood in my body has been replaced by butterfat. Fortunately, the former is doing the cooking today, not the latter. 🙂

All right — time to do some laundry, get some other things done and then prepare to head out. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, whatever you’re doing. I wish you peace, happiness and a thankful heart this day.

Erica’s Helpful Hints #4

Just tell him that you were scratching the bridge of your nose. You’re allowed to have an itch, aren’t you? Well, aren’t you?

That’s your story and you stick to it. 🙂

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