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, 2012”

Correspondence Hall of Shame, Post #500 Edition

Yup, this is Post #500! (Well, here on Blogger, anyway. Lots more back in the MySpace blog days, but thank goodness, I finally moved on from there!)

I tried to think of something different and original for this post, but you know what? CHoS is my signature piece. If I kept trying to come up with something I deemed special, it would probably end up sounding forced. So I’m going with an old favorite. Plus, this CHoS has an extra-special entry.

But first…

Hi my dear,

Love your beautiful body. I’m a lusty single guy with an absurdly strong libido & a desire to explore our wildest fantasy’s. My work making your body quiver & reach your sexual peak comes from years of experience.. Wanna make it happen?

Thank you so much for the naked photo. I was particularly impressed with how your big soft belly hangs over your absurdly small dick.

Love the pixtures and if I could read I would know what to wright about…..
Please pick me!

It would make the world we live in all-right and all that is good would reappear.
Please understand I have not a clue what to say here….
And I like to LOL around….hence the rambling.
Call me
[name and phone number deleted]
Ps I am much better o. The phone and even betted live and in person. LoL

(groan) Well, at least he’s spot on about being clueless. Ah, if only things were that simple, if picking him would make the entire universe all-right…er, all wright…I mean… Oh, forget it.

And now, here’s a twist. This landed in my mailbox on Alt last week; a top writing with the express purpose of telling me off.

Wow. Your profile has been up and repulsivd for so long, I must respond. I’m a Dom. I don’t need you. I teach and find hour disinterest in my work an insult. You “advertise” relentlessly. I find your consistancy and repetitve requests annoying. Things must just be going great for you since you’re still here. I can meet your need and send you off, but damn, you need to expand ylur interests. Respond if interested.

So, I guess you won’t be joining the Erica Scott Fan Club anytime soon?

I had questions, of course. My disinterest in his work? I don’t know this guy; how would I have disinterest in his work?? So I checked out his profile. As one would expect, he’s heavy into D/s and protocol, and claims to specialize in “teaching and training subs and fledglings” and helping them fully realize their desire to serve. Ah, now I get it. In my profile, I stress that I am a bottom, not a sub, and while I love confident and toppy men, I have no interest in masters, daddies, teachers or trainers. The poor dear egomaniac took that personally, it seems.

And after that mini-tirade, he tells me to respond if interested? Right. Because I’m that masochistic; I want to play with someone who thinks I’m repulsive and annoying.

John suggested that I write back to him, being unfailingly polite, which would completely bamboozle him. I agree that could be fun, but it’s just not my style. I did absolutely nothing; I didn’t respond at all. I figured that would piss him off the most. 🙂


Here’s what I would love to write back to him:

Dear Uber-Dom Fathead,

Yup, I’m still here. I met my current play partner, and my last partner before him, on here. So yes, things really are going great for me, thanks.

I guess things are going equally great for you, since you took the time in your busy training schedule to write to someone you find so repulsive.

Expand my interests? To what, may I ask? Being a human doormat? Nah. My interests are just fine as they are. I figure if they annoy the likes of you, I must be on the right track.

Honey, you couldn’t meet my need on your best day. You wouldn’t have any idea how to deal with a woman with a brain and a voice. Go back to your fledglings and rule your pathetic little roost, your mindless masses. And really, if you find my profile so offensive, please stop viewing it. I know you have better things to do. 🙂

Think I made my point?

I still can’t believe I’ve written 500 posts on here already. To all my friends and readers, thank you. You guys keep me going; without you, I’d just be typing into cyberspace, the 21st-century of talking to myself. Thanks for cheering on my adventures and joys, and for putting up with all my cranky commentary. Here’s to the next 500!

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Insert Clever Title Here

It’s 12:30 a.m., I’m steeped in euphoria and my mind is mush. Damned if I can think of a blog title. I consider it nothing short of miraculous that I can think of my own name at the moment.

Maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning to write. Oh, wait — it IS tomorrow morning. Never mind.

OK, so this blog will be somewhat incoherent. I guess I’ll have to put myself in my own Correspondence Hall of Shame. (Speaking of which, I have some real winners for the next one.)

Mr. D and I spent nearly two hours catching up before even one swat landed. I wanted to hear all about his Thanksgiving, his visit from his kids, etc. So when we finally settled down to play, I was beyond ready.

I just adore this man’s hand. The rest of him isn’t too shabby either.

He poked a little fun at me as I squirmed. “You feeling that, baby?”

“Maybe,” I grumbled.

WHACK! “Is that still a maybe?”

I shook my head. “Now it’s a ‘no’; is that better?”

It wasn’t, apparently. Well, I figured I had a 50/50 chance.

He’s also fond of saying, “Who’s in charge here?” To which I’m fond of answering, “I am.” That, too, is always the wrong answer, but I keep forgetting.

I can’t fool him, though. I might sass and complain and be flippant, but my panties don’t lie. “Really, is that all for me?” he teased.

Oh, for @#$%’s sake. What is it with tops asking the same damn questions all the time? “No, it’s for Justin Bieber,” I snapped.

“Go ahead, say that again,” he said as he laid into me. I chose not to.

I have bad news for the panties-down aficionados. We shot pictures of both up and down, honest. But I guess those didn’t come out, or he overlooked them, because he didn’t send those to me. Sorreeeeee! Next time, I promise.

Tonight was a first of sorts. Besides the leather strap and lexan paddle, Mr. D caned me. It was a first for both us and for him; he’d never used one before. We took a short time-out so I could briefly tell him about caning technique, and then I bowed out and he took over. I’ve broken most of my rattan canes, so we used Delrin. OUCH. I’d forgotten how much that damn thing hurts; it had been a while. He was good with it, but after a few minutes with that biting sting, I was at the edge. When he picked up the lexan again, that put me over.

He knows when I’m done. He hears the difference in my sounds, how I go from muffled screeches to gasps and whimpers. He sees how my feet stop twisting together and go limp. “All right, honey,” he whispers. “Relax.”

I immediately curled onto my side.

After he put the camera down, he lay next to me and gathered me up. My hands clutched fistfuls of his shirt as I wept sweet, cleansing tears.

There is that perfect moment, right after I’ve calmed down, but before reality sets back in. Where I’m wrapped up in strong arms, my bottom is stinging but my mind is quiet. And the sense of peace and bliss is so overwhelming, I’m nearly beside myself. Who needs alcohol? Screw pot. Mr. D is my wonder drug.

Sadly, while my nether regions stayed warm, my feet were freezing. So Mr. D put my socks back on. Let it not be said that I can’t be photographed looking like a nerd. 🙂

Jeeez, faded already!

Good night, kids. If I stay up one more minute, my head is going to crash down on the keyboard and m,ikkkku7hy6uy7hj~

Love Me or Lieb Me

The lovely SpankCake nominated me for the Liebster Award that’s been making the blogosphere rounds. Her post title was a pun (A Lieb of Faith). She also nominated Secret Spanko, who posted with his own punny title (Can’t Lieb Her Hangin’). I couldn’t be outdone, pun-wise, could I? Of course not.

Anyway, I do believe SC was right when she said pretty much everyone has been included already, so, even though I’m supposed to nominate 11 other bloggers, I’m going to pass on that. However, I’m more than happy to answer SC’s 11 questions.

1. What inspired your first step into the spanking world?
Reading about Shadow Lane in the back of Cosmopolitan magazine.

2. What scene defines your ultimate fantasy?
Because I love the damsel-in-distress fantasy as well as spanking, it would have to be the handsome, sinister stranger showing up, putting me in restraints and having his spanking way with me.

3. Do you enjoy spanking/being spanked anywhere other than a/your bottom?
Well, since you asked — IMNSHO, spanking is spanking when it’s on the bottom (or uppermost upper thighs), and anywhere else, it’s hitting. I love (almost) full-body deerskin flogging, but strike my feet, hands, boobies or private bits and I can’t be held responsible for my reflexive reaction.

4. How do you feel about tears and spanking?
When I’m with someone I trust and I can fully let go and cry tears of emotional catharsis, it is nirvana.

5. Does anything intimidate you? Spanking related or not?
Actually, many things intimidate me. But to name one — cops. I don’t find cops sexy. Too many of them are corrupt (I do live in Los Angeles; I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of the LAPD). Plus, there’s just something a wee bit scary about a man who has the legal right to blow my head off with a gun.

EDIT: To the good cops out there, please don’t take offense. Bad experiences, and ugly stories in the local news, are behind my feelings, not the police in general. 🙂

6. What gets your blood flowing? Spanking related or not?
Spanking related: The look and sound of a man’s belt being removed. A raised eyebrow and beckoning finger. Watching sleeves being rolled up. Non-spanking related: Passionate kissing. A man’s mouth anywhere on my neck. A deep, sexy, desire-roughened voice.

7. Name three things off your bucket list.
Like SS, I was confused as to whether this meant three things on the list, or three things I took off the list due to accomplishing them. I’ll go the opposite way he did and assume it’s three things still on.

a. Meeting and playing with this guy:

b. Writing another book.

c. Winning the lottery.

8. What is your favorite film? Favorite book?
Can’t name just one of either, so I’ll go with a few. Movies: A Hard Day’s Night, Singin’ in the Rain, Sound of Music, Shawshank Redemption, Edward Scissorhands, A Night at the Opera. Books: The Lovely Bones, Gone With the Wind, To Kill a Mockingbird, My Sister’s Keeper. Special mention to my favorite childhood book: The Phantom Tollbooth.

9. What will be written on your epitaph?
Couldn’t sing, couldn’t dance, didn’t cook. Had a nice ass.

10. Marcia, Jan and Cindy… which one do you fuck, marry and kill?
ROFL!! Are you kidding me?!?
OK, let me put it this way. Even if I did decide to join the other team, it wouldn’t be for one of these twits. So, regarding the prom queen, the whiner and the annoying little twitlet, I say death to ’em all.

11. What would be your Groundhog’s Day… a day to be lived over and over again?
Such a great question, and so many choices. The first two that jump to mind: 1. the night I first met John, which changed my life, and 2. the first time he took me out for my birthday, which was possibly the most romantic date of my life.

Thanks, SpankCake! 😀

By the way, I’m still at post #498. I deleted one post from October that was pretty dull and had very few comments. That way, my play with Mr. D tomorrow can be #499, and I can still save #500 for something unique. The floor is still open for suggestions!

Weekend recap

So how was your holiday weekend? (Or, for those not in the U.S., your weekend, period?) Who ate their brains out? (I didn’t.) Who braved Black Friday? (I didn’t. But if they ever have a Black-and-Blue Friday, I’m in.) Who saw a movie? (I did!)

I capped off my perfect Thursday by watching “The Artist.” We never got around to seeing it in the theater. Now I know why it won Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor last year. Holy moly, what a movie. If you by some chance still haven’t seen it, by any means, do. It’s fabulous.

Friday mid-afternoon, I headed for John’s and we hung out that night, went out for sushi.

Yesterday, we went to a matinee of “Lincoln.” I was shocked when we walked into the theater — it was completely packed! I figured it would be crowded, but not overly so. We couldn’t even sit together — there was nothing but single seats left. Oh well. It was a well-done movie, brilliantly acted, but I confess, I’m not a history buff and I didn’t know who was whom and what was going on half the time. OK, I know who Abraham Lincoln was (duh), that he abolished slavery and he was assassinated. Other than that, I think I slept through my history classes in school. John, however, knew everything about it and said everything was remarkably accurate. He knew all the little inside stories and was able to explain it all to me when we went to dinner after the movie. It’s an excellent film, but if you’re expecting a lot of action, a lot of Civil War footage, etc., you won’t get that. Although there was one scene of a gigantic pit filled with severed limbs that made me turn my head.

I was sad to hear that Larry Hagman had died; another childhood icon gone. He was best known for playing J.R. Ewing on “Dallas,” but I’ll always remember him most fondly as Major Nelson on “I Dream of Jeannie.” (And no, he never did spank Jeannie, even though she gave him fits on a regular basis. But he did threaten her once.)

“Dallas” was one hell of a show, though, even though I got tired of it and stopped watching after a few years. The “Who Shot J.R.?” episode is the second-most watched TV episode in all of television history. (Who knows what #1 is?)

Today we went to brunch as usual. Since I’d passed on Thanksgiving dinner, I felt absolutely no compunction about stuffing my face with pancakes. 🙂

It’s that time of year again! (no, not all that Xmas s***. Way more important!) It’s time for Spanking Spot’s annual spanko awards. He’s been collecting nominations for the past couple of weeks, and now the voting has begun. First up is the category “Best Facial Expression During a Spanking,” and all the other categories will be put up, one by one, over the coming days.

This year, he’s doing something a little different. Before, there was only one “Best Spanking Blogger” category, and of course, Chross easily won every year, his votes far and above all the others. This time, there are two categories: “Best Spanking Blog — News” and “Best Spanking Blog — Creative.” Chross will win in News (deservedly so!), but now we can have a competition among the rest of us in Creative.

I was nominated last year, but don’t know if I made the cut this year. Guess I’ll find out soon enough, huh?

And speaking of my blog — this post is #498. What shall I write about for #500?

Back to the gym tomorrow. Sadly, no Mr. D, but I will see him on Tuesday instead. Can’t wait! I need my fix!

My thanks

I wasn’t planning on blogging today. But then I logged on, started reading all the Thanksgiving posts from friends and bloggers, and felt my own gratitude bubbling up. I’m usually so full of cynicism and snark, but now and then, it feels good to share my softer side.

Sitting here in comfy sweats and warm socks, classical music in the background, drinking coffee, and so, SO very grateful I don’t have to do a blessed social thing today. My introversion is in high gear, and solitude feels right. It’s so quiet here and I love it. I don’t have to put on makeup, blow out my hair, dress up. There will be other times in the future when I choose to go the social route. Today, I am deliriously happy on my own.

I’m so grateful for my friends — fellow bloggers, friends on FetLife and Twitter (and yes, even Facebook), party pals, tops, bottoms, switches — all of you! You feed my soul in ways you can’t imagine. You have given me a place where I belong, validation, acceptance and love. Thank you.

I’m so grateful for this wonderful, loving, giving, smart, complicated, goofy, maddening and adorable man:

And yes, even after 16+ years, I still can’t take my eyes off of him. 🙂 Love you, sweetheart, so very much.

Last but definitely not least, I am grateful for Mr. D. He hasn’t been in my life very long, but his entrance couldn’t have been more timely, helping me to heal from the loss of ST. But a replacement he is not; he’s his own man, a special top and friend to me in his own right, and I feel very lucky to know him.

I love this picture, and I wish I could show his handsome face, but I must respect his wishes. So, because I love having my neck sucked on, I chose this mask for him. 😀

All rightie then — the laundry isn’t going to do itself, and the pile of papers on my table isn’t going to proof itself. I’m off.

Love to you all and hope you’re having a happy holiday. Or, if you’re not in the U.S., happy Thursday.

It’s Thanksgiving Eve, so…

… I guess it’s about that time of year to trot out this little guy, huh?

Ah, the holidays, where family dysfunction blooms like the everpresent poinsettias. John’s siblings, being no exception, have all bailed on their mother for Thanksgiving, and John, being the Good Son, is the only one who cared about whether or not she had a place to be. So he called her facility and found out they are having a TG dinner, but residents had to have their place reserved. He did so, and made a reservation for himself as well so he could join her.
He asked me, perfunctorily, if I’d like to go with him, even though he knew the answer. Just to illustrate how much I don’t want to be there, here’s a partial list of things I’d rather do:
1. Chew on tin foil for a couple of hours.
2. Eat my way through a room full of cottage cheese.
3. Smear myself with honey and poke a beehive.
4. Watch a Three Stooges marathon.
5. Get figged.
I think y’all get my point.
I just can’t do it anymore. A couple of weeks ago, I went with John to visit his mom. From the moment we walked in to the moment we left, she complained, and then begged us not to leave. I managed to hold on until we were out of there, and then I had a meltdown of epic proportions, crying so hysterically that I shook from head to foot. I told John I couldn’t deal with this with my own mother, and I can’t deal with it with his.
He finally got the message. Last weekend, he went to visit her without me.
Anyway, Thanksgiving. I do have a lovely invitation from Mr. D. He is having a big gathering at his house, 18 people, all family (mother, siblings and their kids, cousins, his own two teenagers, etc.). He said I was welcome to drop by anytime if I’d like to.
That’s very sweet of him and I appreciate it. But I told him no, thank you. How is he going to explain my presence? “This is my… um… friend.” How do we answer the inevitable barrage of “How do you two know one another?” And let’s not forget how I don’t do too well in throngs of people I don’t know. I suck at small talk. I’d probably do the typical Erica thing, go within and just sit and smile. And eat way too much to keep occupied. All the while, I’d be wishing Mr. D and I could abandon the whole crowd, go off by ourselves and play.
Teenagers are quite worldly these days. His kids will take one look at me and as soon as I leave, it’ll be a chorus of “OK, Dad, so who is she, hmmm?” They’ll probably think I’m some sort of FWB. If only they knew!
It’s nice to have choices, though. So tomorrow, when I spend the day quietly by myself, it’s because I choose to. I have some work to do. I have The Artist on Netflix and To Kill a Mockingbird recorded from TCM. I will avoid the traffic, the pre-Black Friday idiots making their pilgrimages to Walmart. It will be peaceful and quiet here, and I can reflect on things I’m thankful for. And when I wake up Friday, it won’t be with a food hangover.
So, all cynicism aside — to my American friends, have a wonderful Thanksgiving, whatever you do. I hope you will be exactly where you want to be, doing what your heart desires. And if you’re not… hold on tight, breathe deep and think about an intense, soul-melting spanking. You’ll smile, and your grumpy relatives will wonder what that’s all about.

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