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 “April, 2013”

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 4/12

Look out, kids. I am in a MOOD. People have been annoying me left and right and sideways this week. So I thought I’d do a combination CHoS and rant, just to blow off some steam.

I would love to come over and whoop your ass. Iโ€™m local.

Well, good for you. Don’t forget to paste the L on your forehead so I’ll recognize you if I run into you at the local dry cleaner.

No CHoS is complete without one of these…

thereโ€™s no way your 55โ€ฆyou are in amazing shape

(sigh) Yes, way. It’s called diet and exercise. I realize your only form of the latter is with your right hand, so this may be a foreign concept.

Ki..

I am a ass and tit man, love spanking and suking. But.. like you have someone for sex, so I just enjoy the BDSM part of this culture.

So if ya would like to try my style, lets talk..

Who the hell is Ki? I’ll pass on your style, hon. It suks.

you are right spanking and whipping a women is a reward onto it self

Yup. Especially when a men does it him self.

A couple of nights ago, I got a comment on one of my FetLife photos that was so inane and offensive, I deleted it in disgust without saving it. But the gist of it was this:

You look just like my flat-chested girlfriend from 20 years ago, ‘cept with tits.

WTF?? This doesn’t happen very often, but I have absolutely no comeback for this; that’s how flabbergasted I am. What does one say to this? What is going through a man’s mind when he writes crap like this?

Now we come to the rant portion. On FetLife, I’ve grown used to the same damn topics being posted again and again — this time, it was the age-old controversy about paying for spanking. For the first couple of pages, the conversation was actually civil and pleasant. But of course, some moron had to toss in the “pro spanking is prostitution” pipe bomb. And things rapidly deteriorated from there.

I stayed out of it for a long time. Then the flamethrower came back (after being appropriately shot down) and said he was going to pray for all our souls when it came to judgment day, and may God have mercy on us.

That’s when I lost it.

As I said on FL, I don’t know what’s more offensive — seeing my friends judged and likened to prostitutes (not that there’s anything wrong with prostitution either, dammit!), or having some proselytizing pinhead praying for us. We don’t want your freaking prayers, buddy. Save them for yourself; you need them more than we do.

Take a peek at how he writes:

i will make this last post then im leaving it alone im not judgeing any one but to call you all hipocrites isnts judgeing any one it is stating truth you all passed judgement on me before any of you got to know me as a person in person so there for you all have sinned so have i but im not the one that cast the first stone im not the one that was rude disrespectfull close minded cruel or baligurant first so there for for those that have cast that first stone on me even though you sinned punishment from god will be worse and thats why i said i pray for al your souls that god will have mercy on you all nad that he will forgive all your sins i was trying to be nice and respectfull but none of you can do it in return and show a little bit of compassion you all are acting like imature children you all need to grow up !! and as far as spankings being a sexual act and payhing for it makes it a crime alone with prostituation period !!

Well, you know, I couldn’t stand it anymore. This is what I commented:

To our personal judge, I have a suggestion. In your next life (because I’m sure you believe you’ll have one), spend a little less time in church and a little more time in school. Because you are a @#$%ing ignoramus.

Arrggh. I fear for our future, I really do. There are way too many stupid, clueless people. This week, I was proofreading a job in which Tourette’s syndrome was referred to as “turrets syndrome.” (slamming head to desk)

And speaking of proofreading, I got a message from a former co-worker this week on LinkedIn. He said he had a possible job for me, with regular and consistent work, and I should call him if interested. Wow! Just what I’ve been seeking! So I called him Wednesday and we talked for about a half-hour, and I felt the air go out of my sails.

For one thing, it was in-house work, and every day. I don’t want to go back to an office. He openly stated that it was a very dysfunctional and disorganized company — swell! However, on the plus side, they were well established (been around for 35 years), very large (500 employees) and paid very well. However… the company was Doc Johnson Enterprises.

Yeah. Sex toys.

I am not a prude. But I really don’t want to sit around proofreading copy about dildos, butt plugs and lubes all day. And yes, while regular part-time work is my dream (to supplement the clients who are just periodic), I just can’t see myself doing this. I worked with this guy 20 years ago, and I don’t have fond memories of it. Just hearing him talk about this current company, gossiping and saying stuff about this supervisor and that manager, brought all the unpleasant crap about office work back fresh into my mind. I don’t want to go back there. I need the money, but I need my sanity too. He also told me that they’d want me to be a copywriter as well, writing packaging copy. “You could do it, I know you could,” he said. “It’s easy. I could do it.” Then you do it, I thought. It would be bad enough to read that crap; I don’t want to write it.

It was flattering in a way — he is their art director, and when they started talking about hiring a proofreader, he said I was the first one he thought of, because I’m the best proofreader he knows. OK, that’s nice. But I’m still going to tell him sorry, but no.

So that has me out of sorts as well. Really had my hopes up.

And everyone is talking nonstop about BBW goddammit!!!!! (sob)

All right, enough. One good thing happened; I posted a couple of mini-videos of Mr. D and myself on FetLife, and… we made it onto the Kinky & Popular page!! I know it’s just a stupid popularity contest, but I was annoyed that I never made it onto that damn page and had included that in my spanko bucket list. Now I can cross it off. ๐Ÿ™‚ By the way, I tried to post the same videos on here, but kept getting error messages.

I’m going to take my baligurant self to John’s and try to relax. Have a great weekend, y’all.

May I have a word (or three) with you?

I’m a little late chiming in with this, but I figured I’d participate in the three-word meme that’s been circulating in the past week or so, starting with Hermione. Each question must be answered with exactly three words.

1. Where is your cell phone?  In my purse
2. Boyfriend/girlfriend?  My sweetie John
3. Hair?  High maintenance mop
4. Your mother?  Passed last year
5. Your father?  Still miss him
6. Your favorite item(s)?  Computer, vintage watches
7. Your dream last night?  I can’t remember
8. Your favorite drink?  Diet Coke, champagne
9. Your dream guy/girl?  Dark Shadows’ Quentin
10. The room you are in?  My living room
11. Your fear?  Fire, blood, dementia
12. What do you want to be in 10 years?  Ten years younger
13. Who did you hang out with last night?  Me, myself, I
14. What are you not?  Spontaneous and flexible
15. What’s outside your window?  Alley between apartments
16. One of your wish list items?  A face lift 
17. What time is it?  Five past noon
18. The last thing you did?  Posted on FetLife
19. What are you wearing?  Shorts, tee shirt
20. Your favorite book?  I can’t choose
21. The last thing you ate?  Bowl of cereal
22. Your life?  Read my book  ๐Ÿ™‚
23. Your mood?  Positive (yes, really)
24. Your car?  Silver Toyota Corolla
25. What are you doing at this moment?  Writing my answers
26. Your summer?  Hot as hell
27. Travel plans?  Don’t like travel
28. What is on your TV screen?  TV is off
29. Last time you cried?  Two days ago
30. School?  Life is school


In other news: I have a very bizarre cane welt on my left sweet spot. For the past two days, I could feel it (it’s slightly raised), but couldn’t see anything. Now it’s still slightly raised (and sore to the touch), and a bruise is blooming. Why is it taking so long, I wonder. By Friday, it will probably look like I just got it.

Back to work for me. (Yes, I have some work — YAYYYY!)

Thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you

It’s 10:30 PM and I am finally winding down. Long day — Mr. D in the morning, then the gym, then came home to work! Kind of a backwards day, no? But it worked nicely.

Mr. D got here a little after 10 AM, and we just talked for nearly two hours. Some of it was about play, technique, etc. — he agreed we would continue to ramp things up a bit, incorporate some discipline, push a few limits. I trust him more now, and my willingness increases with my trust. I also told him I’d really, really like it if he’d bring his belt and use that more. I know he’s concerned about wrapping and so forth, but practice makes perfect, no? Plus, I soooo love the belt.

We had the usual nice long warm-up on the couch, but he was a lot stricter about how I moved and when. Up until recently, I’ve been kicking and flailing my legs at will, but now, it’s “Don’t_you_move. No flinching.” I flinched anyway, and was rewarded with extra hard, extra fast flurries. “Hold still, baby.” I did. I grit my teeth, I whined and groaned, but I kept still. “Good girl.”

Then we moved to the ottoman, where I piled up cushions and settled onto them while he went to retrieve some toys. To my surprise, he also picked out one of my own belts. Mine are kind of lame (not too thick, well worn), but certainly good for a start. He also had chosen my senior rattan cane (shudder). 

I started out with my hands behind my back; probably not the smartest idea. Because when I started to relax them back to my sides, he said, “Nooooo, no, leave them there. I like them there.” Oy. (Eventually, though, he let me put them back down.)



And yes, there was some spreading of legs. But he was good to me — he did that with panties ON. ๐Ÿ˜€




I did not want to wear those stupid socks. He insisted, saying my feet were cold. (sigh)

He alternated between fast-and-hard volleys with his hand, and implements. “I want you to say ‘thank you’ after every swat,” he said. Yeah, y’all know how I love that. Still, I muttered a few “thank-yous.” Until that first sharp and surprising stroke with the cane.

“FUCK you!” I hollered, and curled my feet up. “ExCUSE me??” he said. “Put those down!” He nudged my legs back into place with the cane, then warningly let it lie across my calves. “Now what was that? Was that ‘fuck you’ or ‘thank you’?” “Thank you,” I grumbled. “That’s better.” He then continued.

Trouble was, he was hitting faster than I could say the damn thank yous. “Come on,” he teased. “I know you can talk faster than that.” So I did.

“Pleasepleasepleaseslowdownslowdown!!!!”

He laughed. But he did slow down. A little. Until he went back to the hand, and gave me another fast volley.

After catching my breath, I mumbled, “Was I supposed to say ‘thank you’ after all those, too?” “No, I’ll cut you a break when they’re fast.” Oh, the man is a prince.

I completely zoned. I didn’t stop feeling it, of course. In fact, I reached the point where I was screaming full-bore into the cushions. But I didn’t want him to stop. I was going to take it well and please him. And I did. ๐Ÿ™‚

He rewarded me with kindness, TLC, and ice.



Actually, he should have saved some for himself. Lookit! Evidence of hand assing!!




That’s from last week, but you can see it there in the crease. Poor dear could use some hand lotion, too.

After we said goodbye, I took my sorry beaten arse to the gym. Oh. My. God. I’d been on the elliptical trainer about 20 minutes when I felt it — a surging of warmth and burning sting, especially in the sweet spot. And then, going from machine to machine and sitting on those hard leather seats, I was making faces and even muttering “Owwww, dammit,” a couple of times. This working out aprรฉs spanking is for the birds.

But I had lots of endorphins to get me through. And still plenty of energy after I got home, enough so I could tackle a second job from a new client. Now it’s 11:00 PM, and I figure I’m about due for a crash. Bring it… I’m all done. And I feel great.

Mr. D, did I say “thank you” enough? โ™ฅ

Relativity: Defining a hard player

(Please note: The following is not a judgment post about how hard some people play, about marks or damage, etc. It is simply an observation, and me wondering where I fall on the spectrum. So please, no negativity/judgment — don’t want any flame wars erupting!)

I used to call myself a hard player. People told me I have a high tolerance. The one and only Keith Jones bestowed upon me the nickname of “Bionic Bottom.” I broke implements, I made hands look worse than my bottom. So I figured, OK, I’m a hard player.

These days, I’m not so sure. Like everything else, “hard” is relative.

It’s quite the pictorial world online now, thanks to FetLife photo albums and the countless spanking photo blogs out there. I don’t have time to look at all of them, but there are some I view regularly (admittedly, to see if any of my pictures turn up on them). I see an amazing range of spanking evidence, shades varying from pink to red to purple. I see marks that go from surface streaks to deep bruises and welts that look like they will take a long time to heal. Occasionally, I see broken skin and blood.

Has it always been this way? Or is there a newer trend, a sort of competition to see who can take the most, who can get marked the most? Is pink now considered wimpy? Is there so much content out there now, that players feel the need to up their game in order to stand out?

I can take a fair amount of spanking. But lately, as I read and observe, it seems my tolerance has many limits. There are implements out there that go so far beyond your usual paddles and hairbrushes. The sjambok, for example — I don’t even know what that is or how it’s pronounced, but apparently, it’s nasty. Wood and leather? Meh… old school. Make way for the rubber, the lexan, the Delrin. Unbreakable, unshatterable, formidable. For every implement I can take, these days there seems to be another I can’t. And yes, sometimes I feel like a wuss.

Another observation I’ve made, and please correct me if I’m mistaken: Has spanking territory (skin-wise) expanded in recent times? I admit to being old school about spanking — for me, it’s on the behind, and directly underneath it (the sweet spot). Not too high, not too low, concentrated thoroughly on the cheeks. But now, I’m noticing that many include the thighs. And I don’t mean the upper-upper thighs, just in the vicinity of the sweet spot — I’m talking all the way down the back of the thighs. And sometimes on the front of the thighs as well, or the inner thighs. I used to see this extension of punished flesh only in the BDSM realm. Now, it seems more and more spankos are venturing into it too. I saw a lot of thigh bruising in the recent party I attended.

Now I don’t mind the occasional hand slap to the thigh, as an attention-getter. I even volunteered to take a “thigh turkey” (hard hand slap to the inside of the thigh, creating a hand print), because I was curious about how it felt. But implements on my thighs?? AAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH! I don’t know how people take that pain. I bow to them. I cannot.

I’m also concerned about damage, honestly. The bottom, fleshy as it is, is made for quite a bit of pummeling. The backs of the legs, though, have underlying bone and muscle. The skin is more prone to broken capillaries and spider veins. And those don’t go away — you have to have them zapped with a laser, and that costs $$$. Also, the sciatic nerves run down the backs of the legs.

Let me reiterate — I can take some thigh attention. One of my favorite scenes last year at BBW was with the lovely gentleman who had a collection of implements and was giving me 12 with each one. I had to count, and he had a firm rule: NO kicking. If I kicked at any time, he would give me 12 punitive smacks with his hand… on my legs. Guess what? I kicked… once. Those 12 slaps were measured, not super hard, but they stung fiercely. I did not kick for the rest of the scene (and he tried damn hard to get me to do so, too!).

That was fine. Like I said, attention-getters. Something off the beaten path (har!) to make a point. But then we have the guy I played with a few years ago, who went to town on me with a wooden spoon. All over my thighs and hips as well as my bottom. I’ll let you guys be the judge. I thought this was ugly. But some might think it’s neat, I don’t know.



He contacted me a while after that and asked if I wanted to play again; he was genuinely surprised when I said no. He thought this level of marking was just fine. Don’t get me wrong — it’s not the marks themselves I objected to. On the bottom, they would have been fine. Not all over my legs and hips, though.

So I’ll ask again — is it just me, some isolated incidences, or is the spanking area broadening in general?

Let’s review, as Jules from BBW would say. I can’t take heavy wooden paddles and I can’t take rubber. I am fine with deep redness and some marking, but I don’t want to look like I was hit by a car walking across the street, sent flying and then skidding for two city blocks on my ass. I am a thigh/leg wuss. I don’t want anal play in any way, shape or form, and don’t even think about parting my cheeks to slap in the tender areas there. Hard player? I don’t think so. I think I’m going to have to reclassify myself as a medium player. 

Then again, for some, my “medium” is beyond the pale (so to speak). So really, how does one define play levels?

Things I ponder when I should be working. Your thoughts?

EDIT: Would like to hear from the folks who do like the broader range of spanking area as well; interested in hearing what you like about that. Makes for a well-rounded discourse, getting various opinions!

Have a great weekend, y’all. ๐Ÿ™‚

Defy or not defy?

Ta-da! First post on my brand-new computer! It’s going to be a learning curve; everything looks different and all the stuff I used to do by rote isn’t quite the same. I’m fumbling with this new keyboard, too, but my fingers will get used to it, I’m sure. I still don’t have my Office 2010 set up yet. I decided to download it, since you can’t buy the damn disks anymore in the stores and I didn’t want Office 2013, because that’s supposedly upgraded to be more user-friendly with Windows 8, which I did NOT get (I got 7). However, when I bought the download, I was informed that I will be sent an activation key — within 3 to 24 hours. (groan) I was hoping to get it set up with my tech guy was still here to make sure I didn’t screw it up, but I’ll do my best. Meanwhile, people teased me for having a tech come over and set everything up, but it turned out to be quite a bit of work, what with the file transfers, downloading the programs I lost (WinZip, Picasa, Panda Cloud, MalWareBytes, etc.), connecting everything, reloading the printer drivers, and so on. He was here for nearly three hours, but only charged me for 2 1/2. I would have happily paid more.

So! Everything is super fast, my new flat screen looks fabulous, and I’m enjoying the simple luxuries (like speakers that actually work, instead of cutting out, then cutting back and forth between the two). I ran a quick scan for Malware, just to see how long it would take. On my old computer, the “quick” version took over an hour. On this system, it took about a minute and a half. Hallelujah!

But now I need to tear my fevered mind off this new toy and catch up with last night’s session with Mr. D. After last week, I was more than ready for play. He asked me if there was anything he could do to ramp things up a bit, make it even better for me. I thought about it for a minute. “Yes,” I said. “Scold me more. Tell me I’m a bad girl first, then a good girl later. Push me a little. Discipline me.” I do love Topspeak, as predictable as it can be sometimes. Mr. D is learning it, but doesn’t use it very often. So, since he asked, right?

He took me seriously, and did little things to challenge me. For example, I do not like to part my legs. For one thing, I’m always afraid I’m going to get struck in the parts that are more exposed if I do. But for another, I just don’t like to do it, especially not at parties with people all around gawking, or with partners I know only casually. But Mr. D and I have been together for some time now. And let’s face it — I’m pretty open anyway, even with my legs closed. I know he can see everything. I prefer not to think about it. Why I’m so modest about that, I don’t know. But I just am. Still can’t stand to watch myself on video when the camera is straight on.

Anyway, when I was OTK and had my legs firmly clamped together, he pushed them open. I clamped them back shut. “No,” he said firmly, pushing them back open. “Yes!” I snapped, slamming them shut yet again. “I know you’re self-conscious,” he said, “and I won’t take pictures when you’re exposed. But I’m your top. I get to see what I want.” “No, you don’t,” I retorted, and closed my legs again. Clearly, the battle of wills was on.

He responded with a very hard and fast flurry, then nudged them apart again. “Go ahead, defy me. I dare you.” So I did. More flurry, longer than before. Again with the nudging apart. “Go ahead, defy me.”

Now I ask you, readers. If I’m supposed to obey my top, and he tells me to defy him, then shouldn’t I defy him? I mean, if he says “defy me” and I don’t, isn’t that defiant? I decided to err on the side of caution and defied him. This went on for several more rounds, until I was so out of breath and burning, I couldn’t take any more. This time, when he opened my legs once again, I grit my teeth, but held position. “Good girl,” he crooned. And sure enough, after a minute, he let me close them. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” “No,” I grumbled. “But I still don’t like it.” “You don’t have to like it,” he smiled. “I won’t make you like it. But I do.” Arrgh.




Damned underwear tag! I really need to remember to cut those out — or remember to ask Mr. D to please tuck them in before shooting.

Once in my room, things ratcheted up with implements. I hadn’t felt the Delrin cane for quite some time. If you look at my hands clutching the bedspread, you’ll know my reaction to it.

With the implements flying, he let me keep my legs closed. I was grateful. “Don’t you move those legs,” he threatened. “The only thing you’re allowed to do is curl your toes.” It made me aware of just how much I kick, flail my feet (particularly the left one, for whatever reason) around, etc. Considering that I was trying to wrap my brain around the sensations, after a two-week gap, this extra instruction was a challenge. I think I did pretty well. But the cane did me in.

“You’re done,” he whispered, collecting up the weapons of ass destruction and putting them away. I curled up, crying, waiting for him to come tend to me.


He did. “Tell me how you feel right now,” he asked, after I’d calmed down.

Hard for me to formulate coherent thoughts afterward. But I answered, “I feel like the world has stopped. There’s nothing else but this moment, and no one else except you and me.” That’s exactly how it feels… the entire universe shrinks down to my bedroom, or my living room. For a while, I have no responsibilities. All I have to do is be with the sweet peace.

Later, we went to dinner, which we haven’t done for a while. As I was getting ready to leave, I saw him staring at his right hand. He caught my eye and grinned, holding it out. Sure enough, in one of the creases in his palm, I saw a faint mark. Not as drastic as some of the ones I’ve left, but this was his first. Guess it was all that extra whaling, what with my obeying his command to defy him and all. I took a couple of pictures, but they didn’t come out well and didn’t show the mark properly.

But I definitely assed his hand. ๐Ÿ˜€ (I do believe I can thank Ten for that term?)

“You’re pretty damn proud of yourself, aren’t you?” “Yup!” I said cheerfully. “Don’t feel bad,” I added. “It’s a rite of passage, with my tops.” He seemed to like that. At least I didn’t draw blood, right?

I’m a good girl, I am. ๐Ÿ™‚


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