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, 2011”

It’s that time of year again!

Yup, those of you who know me, know what I’m talking about. Time to break out this little guy, once again:

Today in the dentist’s office, I heard Johnny Mathis’s “Silver Bells.” I wanted to barf.

Tonight on the phone, John was talking about Thanksgiving. Oh, goody. He asked, “On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about our going to [his sister’s] house? And no, you can’t use negative numbers.” Damn. He read my mind.

I am so not in the mood for the annual turkey-fa-la-ho-ho shit. But then again… when am I? Every year in November, I wish for an IV drip that will put me peacefully to sleep and leave me there until January 2.

This sentiment seems to worsen as I get older. Really, I don’t know what happened. Would you believe I actually used to bake cookies as gifts? From scratch, too. Those pain-in-the-butt sugar cookies where you have to mix the dough, chill it, roll it, cut out the cookies one by one and painstakingly decorate them.

Got a little older, and switched to mini quick breads from a mix. Few years later — ah, screw baking. Cards. That’s the ticket.

Now, I don’t even feel like sending those.

I had to laugh. In my blog’s keyword search phrases today, I found “grinch spanking.” Grinch = Erica. Nahhh… I don’t really want to take away everyone else’s holidays. I just wish I could go somewhere and avoid them. Preferably into a coma.

At least this year, John isn’t sick. I am very grateful for that. The only thing that kept me sane last year was knowing I had my Connecticut adventure coming in January, when I went to shoot with Sarah and Paul. I have no such adventures to look forward to this time.

Someone, very well meaning, suggested that I could distract myself and make a few bucks by doing some seasonal work in retail. I appreciate that they were caring enough to try to come up with something for me. But, to quote Weird Al, I’d rather dine on shards of glass for all eternity than deal with a teeming mass of harried holiday harridans.

Thank goodness for ST. He’ll be here. I wish I could bring him with John and me to the family dinners. We joked about how he could grab my butt in front of John’s horndog brother-in-law. But you know, I like ST too much. I wouldn’t subject him to that. I’m sure he’ll have a better time with his dog.

It’s stinking thinking to say, “If I just had something special and fun to look forward to, I’ll get through.” I know this. I need to cope without having carrots dangled in front of me.

So herein begins the countdown. Tonight is November 15th. Forty-six days until January 1.

I hope y’all don’t hate my crabby guts by then. 🙂  Bear with me.

Rough

Warning: Some of you might not like what I describe below.

But please believe me…. I sure did.

You guys pretty much have my number by now, right? You know what kinds of scenes I like — I like to be playful, I’m sassy, I love the banter and push-pull. Overall, I am a feisty and spirited bottom.

But sometimes… I really, really like the damsel-in-distress scenario. I don’t know why. It so completely goes against my personality. But damn, it’s so hot.

I like the fear factor. It isn’t real fear… I know real fear. I’m afraid of many things. No, it’s the good kind of fear… the trepidation, the not knowing, but trusting that ultimately, you’ll be all right because you’re in the best of hands. It’s the thrill and terror of free-falling, and yet knowing someone is there to catch you. It’s knowing that he could do some terrible things to you if he wanted to… but he won’t. He’ll just make you think he will. For those moments, you believe.

I didn’t know we were going there tonight. I don’t think ST did either. It just sort of happened.

Our scene started like most others — OTK warmup, me running my mouth. When he said, “You need a good spanking, don’t you,” I snarked, “What was your first clue, Einstein?” He then whaled so hard and fast with his tawse, I squeaked, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!!”

“Yeah, you will be,” he said, fishing around in his bag. I thought he was going for a heavier implement. Then I felt him pull my arms back behind me. Then I felt the ropes. He tied my feet, too.

“Now you don’t know WHAT kind of nasty things I’m going to do to you,” he said coolly. “And there’s nothing you can do about it, either. Is there!”

I went from smartass to shaking in a matter of seconds.

What happened after that is a blur of sensation and emotion. He used a lot of implements, I know that. Hard. But more than that, he teased me. He made me look at him. He leaned down and hissed in my ear. He tightened his fist in my hair. I was wearing a strappy sundress and he yanked the dress down past my shoulders.

He never raised his voice. I hate raised voices. But his smooth and steely tones made me tremble and put tears in my eyes.

It wasn’t the same kind of crying as last week. Last week was pure emotional release. This was… I don’t know what this was. Just feeling wound up, hyper-stimulated, beyond excited. I strained against the ropes and scrubbed my face into the bedspread, praying he wouldn’t make me scream.

While I appreciate the intensity of tears during a scene, I am self-conscious about mine. As our beloved Pixie likes to say: “Tears are hot — snot is not.” In bondage, I couldn’t wipe my face or my nose. When he leaned down to look into my face, I turned away.

“Are you trying to hide from me?” he asked. “Yes,” I murmured.

“You can’t hide from me. Maybe I should just put you in position so I can look at you,” he said, grabbing my shoulder and rolling me onto my back.


I twisted my head to look away, rolled my eyes back. No, no, don’t look at me. But I could still feel his eyes on me, his hands. Enjoying himself. Enjoying my discomfort.
Only with someone I trust so completely could I do this. He knew that. And he knew just what he could do, and what would violate me. The latter wouldn’t happen. I knew that logically. But still… when he’s in Dr. Hyde mode, he knows how to make me wonder.
Finally, he rolled me back over onto my belly and finished me off with the strap. “If I let you go, will you be a good girl?” I nodded vigorously. He untied me.
And just like that, the sweet and gentle ST reappeared.
Several minutes later, he asked how I was feeling.
“Very relaxed,” I replied. After a moment, I added, “And absolutely amazed at the places I can go with you.”
“Me too.”
I suppose I could analyze and overanalyze why I want to go to this edgy territory sometimes. But I’d rather not. I’m just grateful I have the perfect companion who goes there with me. And when I go over the edge, he’s my net.

When Worlds Collide

Vanilla and kink worlds, that is. That happened to me this week. Bear with me while I set up the story.

A couple of months ago, I received email from a friend who knows who my father was. He wrote, “Did you know that your dad is mentioned in [name deleted for discretion]’s autobiography?”

I was confused. I knew who the author is; she’s an actress and comic, around my age, and she has a disability which she often pokes fun at in her standup act. “Do you mean my cousin is mentioned?” I wrote back. I know she worked on one of my cousin’s TV shows in the 70s-80s.

“No, your dad,” he replied. He went on to explain that in the early 80s, my dad pitched a TV pilot for her and they had several meetings. The pilot didn’t sell, but they became good friends. And he gave her a very special gift, one she never forgot.

Wow. Yet another story I didn’t know about my father. Now that he mentioned it, I remembered Dad talking about that pilot. I remembered the name.

I Googled the actress, whom I will call G, and found that she has her own website, which I searched until I found a contact email. I then wrote to her, introducing myself (with my real name, of course) and thanking her for the kind mention of my dad in her book.

Her email back to me was lovely, bubbling with enthusiasm about how delighted she was to hear from me, that she’d always hoped that somehow we could connect but she had no idea how to find me, how much she’d loved my dad, etc.

She also sent me a friend request for Facebook. I’d written to her with the address that’s connected to my Facebook account, and she found me that way.

Except on Facebook, I’m Erica Scott. Oops.

I really don’t know why I’m even on Facebook. It’s so relentlessly vanilla and boring, and even though a lot of fellow spankos are on there, they’re on with their real names, family and work connections, etc. I have no interest in apps and games, and I couldn’t care less about Farmville, Zooville or any other ville. If you look at my profile, it’s not readily obvious what I’m into; I have no spanky pictures, and in my description, all I say is, “There is more to me than meets the eye, and let’s just leave it at that.” However, my friend list has a lot of kinky-sounding names in it. And I list my blog under Website. So anyone with even a modicum of curiosity could figure it out with a couple of mouse clicks.

I accepted her friendship invite. She wrote me a couple of messages on there, but all she commented on was my love for Dark Shadows, which she shared. On my birthday, she posted a greeting on my wall and said that when her schedule freed up, she’d love to meet for coffee/dinner.

Very long story somewhat shortened, we met this past Wednesday at a local deli halfway between us (turns out she lives about 10 miles from me). I felt instantly like I’d known her for years.

We talked and talked and talked. She’d brought me a copy of her book, and told me about a lot of the stuff in it, how she’d revealed a lot of secrets (about herself, about Hollywood, etc.), bluntly discussed her disability and what it was like growing up with that, and so on. She talked about my dad and cousin, and shared stories of them. I ate it all up.

And then G said, “So, what about you?” “What about me?” I hedged. “Tell me about you,” she said, picking up her sandwich. Clearly, it was my turn to talk.

So I told her the usual boring stuff. Never married, no kids. Lived alone since I was 17. With the same man for 15 years, but we don’t live together. College grad, work as a proofreader/copyeditor. Blah blah blah.

“And? What else?” she asked. Her gaze was calm and direct. I wondered how much she’d figured out. If she had questions, she wasn’t asking them. She was letting me decide what to tell.

I don’t understand why, but this woman, whom I’d known for about an hour, suddenly seemed like an old, dear friend and I wanted to tell her. I knew so much about her, and I wanted her to know about me. And my instincts told me I could trust her and she wouldn’t judge.

“Well,” I said, fiddling with my coffee cup. “Did you wonder why I’m Erica Scott on Facebook?” “Yup, that thought crossed my mind,” she answered.

“And did you happen to look at my friends list?” I went on. She nodded. “I did… interesting collection of names,” she said, smiling. Oh, screw it, Erica. Tell her.

So I did. I told her who Erica Scott is and what she’s into. Not in detail; she didn’t need to hear all that right off the bat. Just a brief outline — the kink, the wiring since childhood, “coming out” later in life, finding John, getting into videos. I said that in a small circle, I was well known. I also told her that no one in my family knew.

Her gaze never wavered, she didn’t bat an eye. She got it. She may not be kinky, but she knows what it’s like to feel different.

I told G about my book and shared my own process of writing it. She said she wanted to read it. I hesitated. “I hope it won’t offend you,” I said. “There’s some pretty explicit stuff in there.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “Don’t you get it? I’m a comedian. Nothing offends me!”

Three hours flew by. I was so overjoyed to meet her, to talk with her. She was a connection to my past, to my father. Pretty much everyone in his world has died, but here was someone my age, full of stories and memories. She told me things my father had said to her and I could practically hear him saying them.

And it felt SO good to hang out with a new friend and to be able to be both Erica Scott AND Erica [real name], not just one or the other.

Before we left, she autographed her book for me, signing it “Your new old friend, G.” I got her mailing address and the next day, I arranged to have one of my books shipped to her. I also got a sweet message from her, saying what a pleasure it was to meet me and she looked forward to getting to know me better. And that she honored my trust.

How about that, huh?

In other news: Looks like LOL Day #6 was a success. I feel like I spent most of my day yesterday reading all the LOL blogs, reading comments and adding my own to others. For everyone who dropped by and said hello, thank you!

My third Spanking Court clip may go up this Monday. I hope. Stay tuned. Cali said the remaining three will go up one per month (December, January, February). I can’t wait! Meanwhile, she sent me some fun pictures to tide me over. I posted this one on FetLife, so I’ll put it up here too. It’s from Scene #4, when I dragged the Disciplinarian into court with me, complaining about him to the Judge. Check out the look on V’s face!

This makes me snicker every time I look at it.

Have a great weekend, y’all. And to our vets: THANK YOU.

Love Our Lurkers Day, #6

Welcome to the sixth annual Love Our Lurkers (LOL) Day. Spearheaded once again by our brilliant blogging queen Bonnie, it’s time to say how much we appreciate our readers, quiet ones included, and invite them to say hello.

OK, so technically, LOL Day is supposed to be Thursday and it’s still Wednesday. I was going to be a proper OCD Virgo and wait until after midnight to blog. But then I saw that several of my fellow bloggers had already posted, so I thought, ah, screw it. Ooh, I’m posting three hours early! Watch me run with scissors next! 🙂

So anyway… you guys know the drill. Bloggers love their viewers, and we love comments too. If we didn’t want readers and comments, we’d write a private journal. Or we’d just talk to ourselves. We want to know who you are.

C’mon, it’s easy. You don’t have to recite a Shakespearean soliloquy. You don’t have to explain particle physics. You don’t have to hand over your credit card number, your social security number, or even your name. Just say something. Hi, Erica. Love your blog, Erica. Up yours, Erica.

Here, how about a multiple choice, and then all you have to do is post a letter?

a) I read this blog for the scintillating spanking adventures
b) I like the acerbic humor (oh, for Christ’s sake, look it up)
c) I’m just here to see pictures of your butt
d) Other

Whatever you choose to say (or even if you don’t), thanks for visiting my little corner of the blogosphere. Smooches to you all!

See Me, Feel Me, Spank Me, Heal Me

(with all apologies to The Who)

I’m definitely in a strange place as of late. Offhand, I can’t remember when I last had a day that didn’t include shedding tears. Why? Doesn’t matter. It just is. I ride these peaks and valleys and accept them. They pass.

It’s annoying, though. In this place, it takes very little to start the waterworks. A kind gesture or some sweet words will set them off. Today, I got email from Cali, thanking me for the “wonderful grand finale.” And there they went again.

Still, I pulled myself together, ran errands, straightened up the place, changed my clothes. ST was coming over, after all. And by the time he arrived, I was in quite the good and chipper humor.

We bantered a little as the scene started. I told him about the particularly dastardly move from V on Saturday — 50 paddle swats in a row on the right cheek only. So of course, ST thought it was only proper to give the left cheek a lot of focus. Said he wanted me to be well-balanced. (Me? Not in this lifetime, toots.)

But then we settled into a rhythm and fell silent. I wasn’t sure whether or not my new neighbor was home, and I wanted to be cautious. So I clamped my hands over my mouth, buried my face. Still, I arched my back and thrust up for more. He couldn’t see my face or hear my voice. But he read my body language, sensed my need. He laid into me harder and faster. My feet flailed, but I held my position.

The tears came early, and they came fast. Good tears. Cleansing and sweet. And the harder I cried, the harder he spanked, strapped and paddled. How does one explain the bizarre dichotomy of feeling pain and relishing it so thoroughly?

His voice, normally so gentle, took on that rough edge. He grabbed my hair. “You need this, don’t you,” he growled. Oh yes. Yes, I certainly do. More, please. More.

He had me count the final 20 with the strap, 10 with his belt and 10 with the paddle. I barely whispered the numbers, but he heard me. Then held me close as I sobbed and sobbed for a long time afterward. It took quite a while before I was able to raise my face and look at him.

No face pictures tonight. He didn’t even try to take any. I was grateful for that.

The first thing I said, when I could speak, was, “So, what’s it like playing with a basket case?” “You’re not a basket case,” he said, stroking my hair. “What makes you say that?”

“Because,” I sighed, “it’s always something with me. I’m either angry about something or sad about something else.”

“Well… so are a lot of people.”

Sadly, I guess that’s true. But not all of them have the magical pressure valve that we do.

He’d come over earlier than usual, and asked me if I’d like to go to dinner. I had to decline. All I wanted to do was lie in a boneless heap on the bed… the thought of getting up and going out sounded as impossible as flying to the moon. So we talked about odds and ends.

He said there should be an Erica Scott doll, one with a string you could pull and she’d say bratty things. I could dress up like a doll for Halloween next year! “I’m too old to dress like a doll,” I muttered, and he said, “You look like a doll to me.” Goddammit. Nearly set me off again.

Time for a shower and then perhaps a little something to eat. I believe I will sleep like the dead tonight.

And guess what? I have a small mark — on my left cheek. 🙂

Thank you, ST. ♥

Spanking Court weekend

Yesterday, I went once again to Spanking Court, this time to wrap up the story line of my seeking spanking therapy as an aid to depression. As y’all know if you’ve been following along, my initial goal sort of morphed into a battle of wills with the Court Disciplinarian, which culminated in a showdown with the Judge last time.

I figured since the scenes I did last month were a turning point, this last time would bring it all back around and I would come clean, explain why I got so far off the rails and apologize to the Court. Then I would request of the Judge that he let me have one final session with the Disciplinarian, so I could apologize to him as well.

So, that’s what I presented to the Judge, and he granted me the final session, saying it would be good for both of us to have some closure. Once the court scene was shot, it was time for me to get into the scrubs and face my nemesis, who was waiting for me in the sentencing room, his eyes shooting darts at me.

My apology was sincere. I told him I’d specifically requested one more session not just so that I could tell him in person that I was sorry, but so he could have his moment of payback, as it were. He could choose the implement(s), the positioning, say and do whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted, and I would take it gracefully and without any of my former defiance or rudeness. “I’m all yours,” I said.

So what did the Court Disciplinarian decide to do to me, for my final punishment and to settle the score between us? I’m not telling. 🙂

Come on. Did you really think I was going to give away all the details? I will tell you that we shot a great scene, fun and real and deliciously intense. You’ll just have to wait and see!

This story line ended up being six separate scenes. So far, two of them are up on the site, and I believe Cali said the third one will be up this week or next. Plus, I asked her if she would please send me pictures, so I can share some of them.

Oh, and she and Heinz are putting a limited amount of my books on sale at their “Paddles and Panties” site! I autographed them all and they’ll promote them. These people are so good to me. 🙂

After we wrapped my scene, I got dressed, but didn’t leave for a while, opting instead to hang out with them in the conference room while they waited for their next “defendant” to show up. I didn’t want to go! Once she arrived and had her makeup on, though, it was time for me to head out. They all hugged me in turn: Heinz, Cali, Dana and V. “We love you!” Dana said as she hugged me, and I damn near lost it. But I managed to keep myself together until I’d left the building and got to my car, where I started to bawl.

I will see them again. Can’t go into the details of this either, but they will be shooting additional types of content next year and they’ll hopefully work me into that. But it’s going to be a while. And certainly won’t be a regular monthly gig again. I’ll miss that; it’s been a great joy.

John was so sweet. He insisted on taking me to one of our favorite restaurants, lavished attention on me. Made me laugh with all his silliness. And you’ll be happy to know that today, our brunch was completely undisrupted and everyone surrounding us was adult. Hallelujah.

I’m not seeing ST tomorrow, but I will see him Tuesday. It’s for the best, I think. I’m sore. 😉

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. Stay tuned; I’ll put up some SC pictures when I get them.

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