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”

Lights, camera…

…sore bottom! Guess who brought a video camera along with his toy bag tonight?

Since it had been two weeks (and I was in big trouble for my “helpful hints”), I decided to welcome him sweetly and got all dressed up — black dress (one I can’t wear in public, but it’s great for play), garters, stockings, the whole bit. How timely, as it turned out I was going to be on camera. He’d asked me a couple of visits ago if I’d like to shoot one of our sessions sometime; I said sure and then forgot all about it.

You know, for an amateur, first-time thing, we got something fairly decent, I think. I should have turned off the stereo in the background; you can barely hear our dialogue as it is. But live and learn. We turned on every light in the room, and it seems the brightness was sufficient. And ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first: New Guy is a ham!! He was totally playing to the camera, ramping things up, making clever comebacks to my sassy comments.

Him: I think it’s time to bring out the paddle.
Me: No-o-o-o-o….
Him: No? Who are you to tell me yes or no?
Me: Hey, I still have a voice!
Him: You may have a voice, but you don’t have a choice.


The final 20 with the paddle reallllllly pushed my limits. Ow, ow, ow. Had to count them, too. He cut me a little break — earlier in the scene, with 20 of the big strap, I had to count them and say “thank you” after each one. But for the finale, I just had to count, nothing else. Whatta guy, huh? (I didn’t help my case any by saying “fuck you” instead of “thank you” at first. We had a few do-overs.)

He did the last four strokes in rapid succession, and #20 made me thrash around so hard, I rolled off the side of the ottoman and tumbled onto the floor. No, I did not do that on purpose. Came out looking pretty funny, though.

Nothing funny about this, though:

Yikes. Yes, it’s as sore as it looks. But amazingly, despite this outrageous manhandling, I’m feeling quite relaxed and in my happy place. 🙂

See, don’t I look blissful?
Night night…

Nice restful weekend — NOT!

So there I was, looking forward to going to John’s on Friday. I was already feeling kind of tired and blech, due to an unfortunate blowout with one friend and worries over another one who has been very ill, so I just wanted to hang out on this rainy, cloudy weekend with my sweetie and relax. Ha!

When I got to his house, despite the fact that it was rainy and cold out and I was all bundled up, I noticed when I entered that his place was as cold as a morgue, the windows were all open and fans were blowing. WTF? John was ironing some shirts and thrust a Yellow Pages at me. “Please look up refrigerator repair and start making some calls. My refrigerator is broken.” He said he’d come home that afternoon after having been gone all week (he stays in Orange County during the week, in a motel that is walking distance from his work, rather than make a huge commute every day), and everything in his freezer had melted into a big mess and all the food in the fridge was rotting. He’d spent the last few hours cleaning and now he was trying to catch up with his laundry.

This was bad enough, but what would normally be an aggravation and inconvenience was an emergency. John has IV medicines that must be kept refrigerated. Getting this thing fixed pronto was crucial.

So I got on the phone and started calling repair companies. The best I could find was one who said they’d come the following morning between 9:00 and noon. We took his meds and drove them over to his mother’s house, then went to dinner — it was after 9:00 and we were both starved, but figured OK, the fridge will get fixed in the morning.

We waited for three hours next morning… no show from the repair people. John called around 11:30 and was told the guy was on his way, and would be here by noon. Noon came and went. At 12:15, I called, and they said the tech was stuck in traffic and would be here within an hour. We were stuck there, couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t get lunch, and we were getting on each other’s nerves. The place was freezing, since turning on the heat made John’s itching worse. I got back into his bed with all my clothes on and piled on the comforters, and read.

When 1:30 came, I got on the phone yet again, and when they told me the tech would be there within a half-hour, I lost it. “Don’t tell me that; you keep saying that and he doesn’t show up. I’m telling you this is an emergency — my boyfriend has medications that MUST be kept cold and we need to get this fixed. You promised us between 9:00 and noon, then 1:00, and now it’s 1:30. We could have gone with someone else, but now it’s too late; we’re depending on you.” He said he’d have the tech himself give us a call from the road. I asked him if I had his word on that and he said yes. (Not that his word meant that much, really. But I think I sounded convincingly urgent and he realized I wasn’t going to stop haranguing him until he made good with his promises.)

Long story short, the tech finally got there at 2:45. Traffic, he said. Rain. Accidents. The operators overbook and promise people the moon. Whatever! He then told John that his compressor was broken and he could either replace it ($700) or put an “accelator” on it that would get it working again, but there was no guarantee on how long that would last — could be five years, could be two weeks. Swell! John figured $700 plus a few hundred more could buy him a new fridge, so he went with the accelator (for $200). Beggars can’t be choosers.

We ate for the first time around 3:30, then had to run a bunch of errands, buying food, going back to John’s mom’s to get his meds, etc. Would have been nice to have a peaceful evening at home after all that, right? Nahhhh. His next-door neighbor had a party. No peace and quiet for us.

Sleep would have been elusive, anyway. Poor John is still going nuts with night-time itching from his meds. When he had his dressing changed on Friday, the doctor gave him some Zyrtec (allergy medication) and told him to try that, and if that didn’t work, try Benadryl. So John tried the Zyrtec that night; didn’t help. He was tossing and turning and I finally had to leave to go sleep on the couch. The next day we bought him Benadryl; guess what? That didn’t work either. So I slept on the couch Saturday night too.

By today, we were a pair of exposed nerves. Fortunately, before I left, we talked it out, agreed to write off all the sniping and arguing as an incredibly bad weekend and we’d be OK next time. But folks, this is why I’ve never married. I was so, so glad to come home to my own quiet little place. I need space where I can withdraw and regroup. I would lose my mind if I didn’t have my own place to come back to. (Yes, I know I’m ending a sentence with a preposition. I don’t care.)

After I settled back in, I checked email and found a proclamation from you-know-who that I should enjoy sitting while I can, because I wasn’t going to do so for a week after he was done with me. Really? Be still, my heart. 🙂 Finally. It’s been two weeks and it feels like two months.

Onward. Ahead is lots and lots of sleep and some very special attention. Just what this girl needs.

Hope everyone had a much more peaceful and fun weekend!

Erica’s Helpful Hints #3

Sisters, you all know this moment. When you can sense an instant sea change, when you’ve taken that One Step Beyond and you’re in big trouble. You see the telltale color rising in his neck, his eyes stopping you dead in your tracks, the pulse jumping along his tightened jawline.

When your butt is on the line, remember this: Tops have very short attention spans and are easily distractible. Try disarming him with your sweetest, most innocent smile.

His poor little mind will cloud over. He’ll remember how angelic you can be, even though you were the devil incarnate mere minutes ago. Chances are, he’ll completely forget why he was piqued with you in the first place.

There are bottoms who take the pouting/pleading route, but I don’t recommend it. Granted, some girls look irresistibly adorable when they pout…

From Shadow Lane’s “Keith’s Girl Friday.”

…However, others (raising hand) can’t quite pull it off. Also, pouting can backfire. (“I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re pulling that face? I’ll give you something to pout about!”)

But practice and perfect your best “Who, me?” face, and you may very well hear him say, “Aww, you’re so cute. I just can’t bring myself to punish you.”

Or not.

Hey, it’s worth a try.

**Bonus hint to the tops: If your spankee is anything like me, giving her that Keith Jones-esque Steel-Eye with the fingerpoint (or its companion, the solemnly beckoning finger, commanding her to come hither to her fate) will make her melt like chocolate in the sun.

I’ll like two of those, please

Ever feel like this? And ever feel like you don’t have any right to complain about it, because everyone else is dealing with their own troubles and they don’t want to hear you whine?

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me lately, but I’m all over the map. Could be the ongoing emotional fallout from all the weeks of worrying about John. Could be worry about John’s future. Could be the onset of the holidays. Could be hormones. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Today, I started out sleepy and dragging. Later, as I sat working, one of those melodramatic weepy songs came on the oldies station… and I promptly and unexpectedly burst into tears. After that, I went into my bedroom, pulled the shades and closed the door, and burrowed for an hour. When I got up, I had this crazy urge to go to the self-service yogurt bar and gorge myself silly with creamy caloric sweetness. Waited that out, thank goodness. Then I went on FetLife and saw a disgusting photo, and felt incredibly, righteously pissed off. Now I feel like I want to jump out of my skin, but I need to compose myself, because I’m not going to endear anyone in this sort of mood. And John’s going to call shortly and I don’t want to worry him.

Sheesh! What’s it like to be an even-keeled person?

A friend on Fet suggested that perhaps I need a spanking. Well, duh. That’s a given. I always need that. 🙂  But it’s a Band-Aid, a temporary distraction. It calms me down and centers me for a while, until the effect fades and then I’m back into bitchiness and angst. Damn — I’m addicted! That’s it! I’m suffering withdrawal this week!

OK, I’m being silly. But I wish I knew what the hell is going on with me. Last Friday, I remember feeling quite serene, like all was well with my world. Nothing has changed since then; where did that good feeling go?

And yes, I do feel like I don’t have the right to grouse. Everyone I know is dealing with something or another. Everyone has pain and anxiety to some degree. Everyone has stress. So what does one do? Air and share? Shut the hell up and deal with it? Admit one’s humanity, self-centerness and imperfection, one’s struggles, or go do something else until the mood passes? Some people ignore their own needs and give to others… but then who gives to them? Where’s the right balance?

I often use humor to deflect my struggles; I suppose that is a tool I inherited from my father. Someone recently described me as brave. I don’t feel brave. I feel like a loony tune with precious little coping skills. But hey, I’m a damn funny loony tune.

I may very well regret the vulnerability and “me-ness” of this post. But sometimes, folks, this is where I am. I apologize.

So where are my pills? And can you give me enough to get me through until January 2?

Erica’s Helpful Hints #2

When your top, due to vanilla obligations, can’t come over to give you that special attention that you both love so much, it’s a nice gesture to send him a little note, telling him that you look forward to seeing him again.

For that extra touch, you could personalize your note with a photo. One option is to attach a sweet and playful picture of yourself and your white behind, and say that you can’t wait until he can put some color back into your cheeks again.


You could take the “Ha ha, I’m here and you’re there and you can’t do a damn thing about it” approach:

Either way, your top is sure to have a nice warm feeling. The “warm fuzzies” type from the former photo, or the simmering “wait ’til I get my hands on her” variety from the latter.

And of course, once he finally comes over, you’ll have a nice warm feeling yourself. 😉 Win-win, I’d say.

Guess which approach I’d take?

The weekend

It was a mixed bag. John saw the cardiologist on Friday. They said the expected, that his heart valve is damaged. But they couldn’t say whether or not this was exacerbated by the recent infection or that extent of damage had been there all along, since he’s been living with mitral valve prolapse for years. They want to see him again in three months for a follow-up and to discuss surgery.

Many decisions to make, eventually. For example — does he go with the pig valve or the artificial valve? The former lasts about 15 years and the latter can last forever; however, with the artificial, he’ll have to take blood-thinning medication for the rest of his life, and that stuff comes with its own hazards.


I can’t think about it now. I just can’t.

This weekend, John was very much like his old self. Unfortunately, he is dealing with a side effect of the antibiotics — he itches. All over, mercilessly, and it’s the worst at night. Parts of his legs broke out in a rash. So he was a bit irritable and restless, snapped at me a few times. We bought him some Eucerin and he said it helped somewhat. But other than that, he was doing quite well. His color was good, he wasn’t overly fatigued and was able to get a lot of odds and ends done. He finally opened his birthday presents; he hadn’t felt like it before, so they’d been sitting on his coffee table since the beginning of October.

We went to dinner at one of our favorite places. I watched, beaming, as he cleaned his plate, cleaned mine, ate three rolls and then washed it all down with a glass of Cabernet. Seeing him enjoy food again is such a pleasure.

And for the first time in what, six weeks? seven? he kissed me. 🙂 We’ve hugged, snuggled, held hands. But he hadn’t given me a real kiss since he got sick.

It’s the little things.

I don’t get to see New Guy tomorrow. He has family visiting from out of town. (sigh) Amazing how spoiled I’ve become in such a short time. I didn’t play for months, didn’t even feel like playing. Now the thought of skipping a week makes me cranky.

Oh well. At least I have some work to do.

You know, I’ve been so distracted, I’ve completely forgotten to bitch about how it’s another freaking holiday season again. I need to get on that.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

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