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 “February, 2013”

Heading off for a few days

Tomorrow morning, John and I are heading for Las Vegas. A small group of friends will be convening at a Vegas hotel and hanging out/spanking Thursday through Monday. It’s not a public event so there hasn’t been social media buzz about it — I think we’ll end up with around 50-60 people.

I feel sad about having to miss BBW, but this will help make up for it a bit. I’ll still get to see some of my favorite people, and have lots of great play! This party is definitely going to be quality spanko time, and face time too for seeing friends, catching up and getting lots of hugs and snuggles.

John and I need this getaway; I think it will be relaxing and fun, and without the urgency of cram-a-week’s-worth-of-activity-and-greet-200+-friends-in-three-days that comes with the big events. 

I’ll still be checking in, reading email and comments, etc. (With all the @#$%ing spam that’s been getting through on Blogger lately, one has to remain diligent!) But I don’t think I’ll be posting anything of substance until after we come back.

Oh, and here’s the one photo Mr. D took the other evening. It’s a happy pic, so I thought I’d end on that note. Have a great rest of your week and weekend, y’all. 🙂

The sign of a good play partnership…

…and friendship: When you can recover from a scene gone south and come out even better connected.

It’s been a rough couple of months for Mr. D. First the illness and passing of his dear friend and neighbor, and then his mother. For the past month while his mom was in end stage, he has been dealing with family (and he has a lot of it), hospitals, funeral homes, legalities. We saw each other once in a month and it was a snatched few hours. Then last week, he had to cancel.

I have been out of sorts too. I was sick for a lot of the past month (and John has been too), so we weren’t really having much fun together. I’m still having stomach issues and I have no clue what’s going on. I need to see my primary doctor, not let them stick me with whomever’s on call that day, and insist that I want tests, not just throwing pills at me that are going to screw up my system even more. But for now, all I wanted was some good quality time with Mr. D. I was feeling selfish and needy, reminding myself over and over how much he had on his plate, but I still wanted what I wanted.

Yesterday was a long wait. He was due at 6:00, but it ended up being 7:30. He’d called me in the afternoon; he’d reached into a box that, unbeknownst to him, had a sheet of glass in it. And he’d sheared the skin off two of his knuckles. It was on his left hand, so he could play, but still… the pain and the blood were intense. By the time he arrived, I was in tears. I felt like an idiot, but I couldn’t help it. It had been too long, I guess — I was feeling disconnected.

We talked. He filled me in on everything that’s been going on, assured me that I was as important to him as ever, and he promised things would get back to normal, now that he could have his life back. I could see the exhaustion and pain in his eyes and maybe, just maybe, I should have said at that point, “Hey, you know what? We don’t have to play. You don’t have to do a thing but relax with me. We’ll watch some TV, go to dinner, talk, hang out.” But I didn’t. I needed to feel that connection, and I know he needed to also.

The OTK hand spanking was lovely, as always. I was tender from the start, since it had been a couple of weeks, but I welcomed it. His sliced fingers were wrapped with gauze and tape, so they were protected, and I think his own endorphins took over — he said he didn’t feel them. But when we moved to implements, it went wrong, somehow.

Everything hurt. I couldn’t suck it up, couldn’t absorb it. Blows felt off — too high up on the cheeks, too close to my hips. I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t want to orchestrate the scene, or make him feel like he wasn’t pleasing me. I figured I’d muscle through and share my struggle with him later. 

We were almost done. I was tearing up the bedspread with my fists, keening into the mattress, gasping for breath. Almost, almost… then it happened. A stray shot with the wooden paddle, striking hard on the side of my left cheek. And I lost it.

He knew. I heard him mutter, “Oh no… oh @#$%,” and he stopped immediately, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Oh Christ, it hurt. I cried and cried, shaking all over, my limbs jerking. It was a release, and yet it wasn’t, because I felt distress. “You’re OK, you’re OK, I’m here,” he crooned to me, rubbing my back, smoothing my hair, But I didn’t feel OK. I hurt, but it wasn’t a good hurt this time.

He used an ice-pack on me, which cooled down the heat and the ferocious biting sting, and I calmed down a bit. But as soon as he stopped and I curled onto my side, I blurted, “I’m sorry… but that wasn’t good for me.” And started bawling again.

“What are you apologizing for?” he asked, holding me close. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was me, it was all me. I was off. I don’t know why; maybe it was all the stuff that’s been going on. Maybe I was overzealous because it had been so long. But it was me. I’m so sorry. I promise you, things will get back to the way they were. I don’t want to lose you — please forgive me.”

Anyone can have an off night. Tops are human, even though sometimes we expect them to be super-human. But it takes a big, big man and the best kind of top to know when he’s a little off his game, and to acknowledge it. And I don’t have to forgive him; there is nothing to forgive. He’s a good man, and a good top. My top.

We went for a late dinner. And he gave me another hand spanking, just to reconnect in our most intimate manner. All was well.

Today, at last, I feel at peace. The rough edges, like overgrown hangnails, have been smoothed once again. I feel clean and connected and cared for. My left cheek is marked, but it will be fine by the time we head for our special weekend on Thursday. More on that later. For now, I have much to do. But I wanted to get this out first.

I don’t have any pictures this time. He did take one photo before we started with the implements, but I don’t know if it came out. If it did and he sends it to me, I’ll post it. I was smiling in it. As I am now.

In today’s "ewwwww" file…

How many times have we seen a spanking video or clip where a flaky tenant doesn’t make rent, and the landlord handles the situation with a spanking? Apparently in Bumfu–er, Waynesville, Ohio, this happened for real.

Check it out:

(Sorry — for whatever reason, I can’t get this to post as a link. Copy and paste it into your browser.)

In short, a 29-year-old male tenant was behind in his rent $2800, so the 58-year-old landlord told him, “If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.” And then subjected him to four swats with his belt. (It doesn’t say so in this article, but I read elsewhere that it was bare bottom.) The tenant complied because he said he was scared and “just wanted to get it over with.” Now he’s taking the landlord to court.

OK, I’m having two separate reactions here. As a spanko, I admit I couldn’t help thinking, “Jeez — four measly belt strikes in exchange for a $2800 debt? Bring it! Where do I sign on?” That’s nearly three months’ rent for me.

However, what’s hot in fantasy isn’t necessarily so in reality. Aside from the bit of spanko titillation, my reaction is “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww, gross!”

And no, before any accusations of such come my way, it’s not because it’s M/M. I’d be equally skeeved had the tenant been a woman. 

Granted, in the videos, this type of scenario is hot as hell. But in reality? Blech. If a tenant is irresponsible, a landlord should handle it legally. Warnings, written notice to pay or quit, eviction. You don’t degrade a grown man or woman because they owe you money. And really, is this landlord so wealthy that he can afford to let $2800 go in exchange for a few swats at a young man’s bare butt? What a perv!

I wonder how much more skeeved I am by this because I’m a spanko. I suppose the average vanilla might find this story mildly shocking, but somewhat amusing. Me? I’m outraged that what I love is being used so improperly.

What do you guys think? I’m interested in hearing.

Have a good weekend, y’all.

Warning: Cussing and Fussing Ahead

So, let’s review the pre-Mr. D visit list:

Schedule cleared? Check.

Hair washed? Check.

Legs shaved? Check.

Outfit (and panties) chosen? Check.

Apartment tidied? Check.

Anticipation/excitement built to the point that I can feel my blood thrumming in my veins? Check.

Mr. D? Can’t make it.


It’s not his fault. It couldn’t be helped. This afternoon, there is a family memorial for his mom, and it’s right here in the Valley. He was going to come straight over after that. It was going to be a nice long visit, dinner and everything. We were both looking forward to it. But then his sister, who is from out of state, asked him if she could go home with him after the gathering and stay the night, and then would he please take her to the airport in the morning?

What’s he supposed to say? “Sorry, sis, I have a date with my spanking partner”? Right. Not in the real world.

Yes, I know this is what’s known as a First World Problem. Don’t tell me I’m whining; I know I’m whining. But goddammit, I was really, really geared up for this visit, this session.

Fellow bottoms: You know what it’s like to be really looking forward to a spanking session with a beloved top, only to have it yanked away at the last minute. For those of you who don’t know how it feels, I’ll endeavor to explain.

It feels kinda like this:

It feels like craving your favorite treat so much, you get in your car and drive to the bakery, all the while anticipating your treat. By the time you get there, you want it so badly, you can practically taste it. And then you find out it’s sold out.

I’m not a man, but I would imagine it kinda feels like that condition guys get (or they say they get) when they were expecting sex and then don’t get it. Perhaps the spanko equivalent to blue balls is white butt.

It’s like the olden days before TiVo and Hulu and everything on TV being available everywhere, when you used to look forward every week to your favorite program. The time would finally come, you’d sit down in front of the TV all excited… only to hear “Tonight’s episode of blah blah blah will not be seen tonight, so we can bring you…” NOOOOOOO!

It’s like planning a weekend getaway, down to the last detail, eagerly anticipating how much fun you’re going to have and all the cool things you’re going to do. The car is finally packed, you do a last-minute check of everything and then you jump behind the wheel — and the car doesn’t start.

It makes you want to scream, “Fuck life! Fuck reality! I don’t care! I want what I want NOW!” And of course, you can’t. Because you’re a Grown Up, not a child. Because you have to be mature and reasonable. 

Oh, fuck that, too.

Yeah, yeah, I know. There’s always next week. (sigh)  The day will go on; I’ll fill it with something else. But you can’t blame a girl for cussing a bit and shedding a disappointed tear.

OK, maybe a few tears. GodDAMMIT. 😦

Valentine weekend!

Even though we were still both coughing, John and I had a lovely Valentine’s dinner out last night. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, so I got dressed up and got in the car (and found a pound of See’s chocolate sitting on the seat). After we’d driven a while, I knew we were going to one of our favorite places, near where John used to live, called the California Canteen.

We all have our quirks, and one of John’s is that he hates valet parking. If it’s reasonably possible to park elsewhere, that’s what we do. The Canteen has neighborhood parking in the streets behind it, but sometimes a space is hard to find. Last night, we drove up the canyon road and I was dismayed to see the curb lined with cars. There was one space — but it was a tiny one, between a Cadillac and an SUV. And I can’t parallel park worth a damn. Soooo… John got out of the car and directed me, back and forth, back and forth, as I inched myself into that freaking space. I was a nervous wreck, but John was having a grand old time. Because this was his view:

Hummmmpppph. Anyway, I finally got in there and we went to have a wonderful meal (vegetable risotto for me, goat cheese salad for him). John had to finish my rice. We exchanged cards; he’d written me a lovely little poem, as he does every year. ♥ And then it was off to Aroma Café, home of the world’s best cakes (and our favorite, German chocolate).

John was his usual mischievous self. We had parked a couple of blocks away, and the walk down the dark streets toward the boulevard was especially fun with John reaching up my skirt as we walked. 😀  And once we got in the café and were waiting in line for the counter, John kept asking, “Where’s the cake? Where’s the cake?” “It’s right there,” I said, pointing to the bottom shelf in the large case. “I can’t see it, can you get up closer to it?” Of course… he wanted me to lean over in my tight dress. OK, fine. I glanced around to make sure the people behind us were looking elsewhere, and I bent way over, poking my finger against the glass. “See it now?” I teased. “Sweetie!” he exclaimed, stepping up behind me. “I can’t take you anywhere!”

Uh huh. I’M the troublemaker. 

I don’t know if you can tell from the photo just how ginormous that slice was, but we completely devoured it.

Smooching my Valentine:

Not the best picture. I look like my face is squished up against a fishbowl! But I like it anyway. 🙂

And of course, my See’s!

My cell phone camera is weird. If I’m using the regular view (looking outward), I can make different adjustments before taking the picture (flash, etc.). But if I switch modes and I’m taking a picture of myself, then I can’t adjust anything, and the picture quality is fair at best. But I didn’t have my regular camera with me. Oh well.

This was our 16th Valentine’s Day together and it was romantic and sweet as ever. I am a lucky woman.

No Mr. D tomorrow, but he will be here on Tuesday. And in a couple of weeks, I’m going to have all the spanking I can handle and then some. Stay tuned!

Valentine’s Day, Kinko Style

In less than an hour, it will be February 14. A day that a lot of people consider lovely and romantic, and that a lot of other people consider to be commercialized and a drag. Some say it’s a woman’s holiday, and men prefer Steak and Blowjob Day. Hmmm. I don’t know — I know a lot of romantic men, including my sweetheart. Lucky me, huh? But for those of us of the kink persuasion, Valentine’s Day isn’t necessarily just about hearts and flowers.

(I have to digress here for a moment, being the obsessively literal person that I am — how the hell is she going to scream that loud if she’s gagged?)

You get my point, though. Don’t get me wrong — I love the traditional Valentine’s Day trappings. I love red dresses, and pretty red hearts decorating everything. But I like red bottoms, too. I love flowers. I love chocolates (well, except for those crappy drug store chocolates that practically scream “Last minute!!”). And Cupid is a cute little guy. But I was happily struck by one of his arrows over 16 years ago; I really don’t need his services anymore. Now, I’d rather be struck by this.

Valentine cards everywhere you look, filled with sweet sentiments and poems.  Sure, I love those too. And how could we forget those cute little sugar pellets (AKA candy message hearts), with their own (really) sweet sentiments: “I LUV U.” “BE MINE” “UR CUTE.”

Personally, I’m drawn to this one:

Valentine’s dinners out are fun, but can be hectic. The restaurants are packed and the meals tend to be overpriced. You could, of course, have a nice romantic dinner at home; one of the advantages to that is you can dress down rather than dress up. In other words, we girls can wear our lingerie and forget about putting a dress on over it.

But if you see and hear something like this, you might want to save dinner for later:

Yes, kisses are wonderful; I recommend them wholeheartedly. (WholeHEARTedly, har! Get it?) But the kiss of a leather belt on an upturned backside can be especially heartwarming. Or warming of something. Whatever. 

So, for those who complain that Valentine’s Day is too sentimental and mushy, I say nonsense. Mushy? She looks rather firm to me.

And guys, sure, there are women who expect all the roses and the candy and the bling. Which is a shame, because they’re missing the whole point of the day. Sure, I love that stuff, too. But the day really should be a lot more simple than it is.

It’s about love, not stuff. Love, and for those of us of the kink persuasion, a damn good spanking.

And for those who are uncoupled, not to worry! That’s the beauty of spanking; it can be shared among friends, too. And you can split a box of See’s afterward. ♥

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