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 “June, 2012”

BAD doll!

(My fellow Twilight Zone fans will recognize the evil Talky Tina from the “Living Doll” episode.)

On FetLife the other night, a friend commented about how she’d love to get an Erica Scott doll for Christmas, so she could pull her string and anticipate the smart-ass comments that would come out of her. Now there’s an idea, i thought. We have Chatty Cathy; why not Bratty Erica?

Picture it — a doll in my likeness, programmed with some of my signature phrases. She’d have to be brunette, of course (why are so damn many dolls blondes?), and no pigtails or ruffly baby-doll dress, thankyouverymuch. Maybe a short skirt and a tank top with some pithy saying on it. She could have my smirky face. And when you pull her string, you hear a selection from a large repertoire. For example:

1. “I have TWO cheeks, dammit!”
2. “You want me to say I’m sorry? OK. I’m sorry you’re such an ass.”
3. “Masters are for genies, and I don’t live in a bottle.”

And so on. First 100 orders get a bonus: a selection of miniature broken implements!

If you had your own signature doll, what would he/she say?

Uh oh! What happened??

Well, let’s see. I’m either:
1. Dead
2. Asleep, or
3. Spanked into oblivion

You guys figure it out. 🙂

It took a lot to get me there tonight. I was definitely in feisty mode, but ST was in fine form himself. Would you believe he accused me of being a Drama Queen? Humph! Just because I was talking about the latest drama on FetLife, and he said I liked that drama, that I enjoyed joining in the fray a bit.

“I do NOT!” “Yes, you do!”

“No, I don’t! I only commented once on that thread and otherwise, I stayed out of it.”

“Maybe so, but you got all wound up with it in that little mind of yours.”

“ExCUSE me,” I huffed. “I do not have a little mind. I have a fine, big mind.”

“Yes, you do,” he admitted. “It matches your mouth.”


Oh, and some warm-up! He started with the freaking Spanking Buddy! What’s that about? I protested that he was going full-bore from the outset, and he said it was my mouth going full-bore, not him. “I guess I should go full-bore now, shouldn’t I?”

I thought of a reply, but stifled it. Still, I couldn’t help giggling over it, and he whaled on me. “I didn’t SAY anything!” I screeched.

“Yeah, but you were thinking something bad!”

Well, screw it. If I’m going to get in trouble just for thinking something, I might as well say it and get some fun out of it, right? So I snapped, “I was just going to say that I think you’re a full bore already!”

That did not go over too well. Did I learn from it? Hell, no.

“You must have done something wrong,” he insisted, and I kept insisting that I hadn’t. “Then why are you over my knee getting spanked?”

“I dunno… because you’re an ass?”

Wrong answer. After a few persuasive minutes, he asked, “Would you like to rephrase that?”

“Ass you’re an!” Hey, that’s “you’re an ass” rephrased, isn’t it?

On and on and on we went. And sure enough, after a while, I stopped giggling. I stopped sassing. I just sort stopped everything except making guttural sounds. Which he loved. Things switched from playful to primal when he grabbed my hair, and really laid into me. And I wanted it. More, more, more. Yes.

And when it was all over, could I lie there in boneless oblivion? Nope. I had to get up on my wobbly legs and go stand in the corner.

But not for too long, don’t worry. 🙂  After that, I got to relax and enjoy lotion and some snuggle time. We chatted for over an hour. I love when he stays for a while, love winding down with him.

Now if I could just figure out how to make this peaceful mood last a full week. I’ve been noticing that by about Thursday, I’m back in cranky, uppity, go-ahead-try-screwing-with-me mode again. (sigh) It’s a damn good thing that this addiction is so much fun, because it needs frequent satisfaction!

Friday’s fun finds

I wanted to thank everyone who stopped by to add their comments/thoughts on Wednesday’s blog. It is possible to discuss a potentially volatile topic civilly, agree to disagree and share different viewpoints without devolving into schoolyard tactics, and y’all proved it this week.

Nothing of import today, so I thought I’d end the week on a lighter note and share some finds.

Zelle sent this to me (yes, she’s still alive, just extremely busy! Damn, I miss that woman); for those of you who are sick to death of that book, this is for you:

Gotta love Maxine!

I saw this on Facebook, and it made me laugh out loud. One doesn’t expect to see this sort of thing there!

So I’m listening to an oldies station on iTunes radio, and a song comes on that I don’t recognize, but I liked it. Then I listened to the lyrics and thought, “Whoa! Are they singing about what I think they’re singing about?” I Googled the song, “Sweet Cream Ladies” by the Box Tops, from 1968, and sure enough. It’s a song singing the praises of prostitutes! Pretty damned risqué for 1968, no?

My favorite verse:

Tell the socialites to look the other way
It’s instinctive stimulation you convey
It’s a necessary function
Made for those without compunction
Who are tired of vanilla every day

Damn! People said “vanilla” back then, too? Here’s the song, for those who’d like to listen:

And finally, for a few more laughs, check out Hermione’s Friday FAIL photos. The tunnel one is especially outrageous! 😀

Have a great weekend, y’all.

"I’d rather fight than switch"

I am so dating myself with that title. Anyone remember those Tareyton cigarette ads/commercials from the 1960s? The premise was that Tareyton smokers would rather get in a fight than switch to another brand, and each ad was accompanied by a man or woman with an extremely fake black eye.

For those who never saw these ads, here’s a slice of the past:

And by the way, Madison Avenue — that should have been “We,” not “Us.” @#$%&*!!!!!

But I digress. This is going to be a blog about the always controversial topic of switching. A couple of notes before I start:

1. I’m opening it up for healthy, respectful debate. This is NOT going to devolve into an attack-fest. People can agree to disagree civilly.

2. There are no rights or wrongs in this discussion, only opinions. My opinions are just that — opinions. I don’t state them as facts.

3. The two comments I’m going to cite came from people I like. A lot. So this is not about pointing fingers and saying, “Look what that idiot said.” It is about a difference of opinion. Period.

In recent weeks, through my various readings, I encountered a couple of statements. The first one was about bottoms, and suggested that in order to be the best bottom one could be, one should try topping a few times. And the second one was about male tops, stating that a man who tops, but won’t try bottoming, is a… well, a kitty-cat. (OK, I don’t like the word. Figure it out.)

AGAIN — I like both these people, very much. It’s just those sentiments that got my brain percolating and I knew I was going to have to blog about it.

One of the never-ending debates in the world of spankdom is about switches — do they make better tops/bottoms, or don’t they? If a bottom has never topped, or a top has never bottomed, how can they possibly know what they’re doing and what it feels like? Should (and I hate “shoulds”) a spanko experience both sides, at some point? Or is that a myth?

In this (admittedly pure bottom) woman’s opinion, what makes a good top (or bottom) has a lot less to do with what they’ve experienced, and a lot more to do with (here it is again) common sense, sensitivity, and empathy. A good top reads the bottom, and while he doesn’t feel her pain, he knows it’s there and is vigilant. A good bottom appreciates the top and, despite teasing/bratting, respects him and gifts him with her trust.

(Yes, I know the above was M/F oriented. Sorry… it’s just easier than all the him/her, his/her stuff.)

Here’s my deal. Some bottoms are switch-averse; I am not one of them. I mean, come on. The two men dearest and closest to me are switches. I have had countless wonderful scenes with switches. However, I’ve also had countless wonderful scenes with pure tops (Keith Jones, Steve Fuller, Danny Chrighton, to name a few). AND… I’ve had wretched, godawful scenes with both switches and pure tops.

Bottom line? It seems to me that good men/women tend to make the effort to be good at whatever they do, scenewise. And assholes often remain assholes, despite whether or not they’ve experienced both sides. Clueless people remain clueless.

Case in point: Most of you know about the uber-traumatic scene I had several years ago with a friend’s boyfriend. His way of giving me a half-assed apology was to say, “Well, when I bottom, I like having that done to me.” I wanted to scream, “I’m not YOU, stupid!!” Actually, I did say “I’m not you,” but I said it quietly and left off the “stupid.” But come on. That’s cookie-cutter thinking. This guy could be beaten until he takes his last breath, and he still wouldn’t learn a thing about how to be a good top.

On Twitter recently, a friend tweeted that saying a top has to experience bottoming (and vice versa) is like saying a surgeon needs to undergo several surgeries himself before he can be a really good one. I like that. Granted, like most analogies, it can be picked apart. But at face value, it works for me.

If a man or woman wants to try switching, more power to them! I’m all for that. But the key word is WANT. It should be their choice, their urge, their curiosity. It shouldn’t be because someone told them they should. That switching is the Only True Way to be a good bottom or top.

My biggest issue? Newbies. I’m an oldie (in more ways than one!). If someone were to say to me, “You know, you could be a better bottom if you tried topping a few times,” I would simply smile and say, “No, I couldn’t.” (Or, depending on who said it, I could say, “You know, you could try minding your own @#$%ing business.”) Because I’ve been around long enough to know what works for me and what doesn’t, and I have the courage of my own convictions, based on my experiences. I can’t top. Can. Not. But I think I’m a damn good bottom, regardless.

But what if I were new? I think back to my early, nervous days, when I was a brand-new clean sponge, ready to absorb, with so very much to learn, and so many trepidations about how to get this right. The thought of bottoming was scary enough. If someone I considered a mentor had said to me, “Eventually, you’ll need to consider topping, at least a few times, just to see the other side,” I would have run screaming into the night and never looked back.

So here’s my plea, people. Many of you are revered in this scene of ours. Your words carry importance; newbies look up to you. Please please PLEASE… state your opinions (about switching, or any other important issues) as your opinions only, not as gospel. I know, I know… it should go without saying that it’s your opinion, not fact, and people ought to presume that. But new, impressionable people believe what they hear. They are like newborns, soaking up what’s told to them. They get all sorts of ideas of what’s wrong and what’s right, before they have a chance to develop their own individual footprint in the scene.

One of the many paradoxes in kink is that we are, both at once, all the same and yet all different. We are drawn by the same basic need, but the similarity ends there. The variations branch out from the core seed and what is perfect for one is horrifying for another. Switching, like everything else, is a choice. I really don’t believe it’s a necessity, nor should it be touted as such.

Your thoughts?

Someday, I’ll learn to simply ask for more

Someday. But tonight wasn’t it.

Just last week, I wrote about bratting. Once again, kids, the following is not something I’d suggest if you don’t know your top. 😉

Most of the time, I like to play hard. It’s my only spanking of the week and it has to tide me over. And ST is usually up for delivering it. However, I think he was a bit tired tonight. He was quiet when he arrived, and he told me that he’d strained his back a bit and it was sore. I asked if he was OK, if he wanted some Advil, but he said he was fine.

We commenced with our scene and he perked up a bit, getting into it and engaging in banter with me. He referred to himself as my “doctor,” and I said, “What does PhD stand for — phony doctor?” “No… Pretty Hard Discipline.” I groaned aloud.

“Some of us need to behave,” he teased. “Don’t we?”

“What’s this ‘we’ stuff? Who are you, the Queen of England?”

“Are you calling me a queen, now??” He’d give me a few harder swats after I cracked wise.

But I needed him to ramp it up. I waited for it to get edgy, to feel the challenge, to wonder if I could take it. The strap and slapper stung, but I was absorbing them fairly easily. And then, ST actually got onto the bed, lay next to me and started swatting me playfully from his lying position. Oh, please!

I bent my elbow, propped up my chin on my hand and turned to look at him. “You know, if you’re not up for this, we can just end it and call it a night!”

He laughed. “What kind of night shall we call it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I snapped. “How about Lame-Ass Top Night?”

That did it.

Of course I don’t think he’s lame. Of course I didn’t mean it. But oh, it just seemed so right to say that moment. 😀

“I guess we’d better get down to business, huh?” He didn’t wait for me to answer that, just laid it on hard with the strap and slapper.

Uh oh… he caught my eye roll.

I think that was around the time he decided to get my two canes and lexan paddle. Oh, dear. Yes, I was about to be challenged. Especially when it came down to the final 10 with all three. That was when I finally screamed inside my head, “Oh noooooo, I can’t take it!” But I knew I could. I hunkered down, breathed deep and took it. Because I wanted to. I needed to.

It hurt, of course.

Not complaining, however. 🙂

Afterward, I was spent and quiet, so we stayed on the bed for another hour or so in companionable silence. I do believe the activity might have fixed ST’s back as well as my attitude.

Not sure why I was so edgy tonight. Maybe it was all the tension lately. Maybe it was all the asshattery last week. I didn’t feel angry, just edgy. Whatever. For now, it’s vanquished.

Nap time.

Father’s Day

Oftentimes on Father’s Day, I have some sort of anecdote about my dad. Today, nothing is coming to mind, but I’m thinking about him just the same. Doubly, because tomorrow would have been his birthday.

So I’ll keep this short and uncharacteristically sweet. To all my friends out there who are fathers (Craig, Wolfie, SecretSpanko, just to name a few), I hope you’ve gotten the proper attention and appreciation today. For those who have fathers and are lucky enough to have good relationships with them, tell them you love them.

Miss you today, Dad. Love you always.

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