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 “July, 2013”

Celebrating Year One with Steve in Boot Camp

I can’t believe it’s been a whole year since Steve and I met for the first time. I was floundering around, feeling left adrift after things ended with ST, and Steve quietly slipped in and offered me a lifeboat. Granted, it was a lifeboat filled with all kinds of nasty oars, but still. 😉

Yesterday was the day we’d designated as our celebration. He showed up, surprising me with pretty flowers and a card… and a new toy. Apparently, he’d been shopping around on Sunday, and happened to come across a large, thin wooden paddle, with one side covered with a rubber tread that looked exactly like the bottom of a man’s boot. It was marked half-price, because they said it wasn’t selling. Gee, I wonder why! Horrible @#$%ing thing that is! He told me I was going to be the first to experience it. Lucky, lucky me. OK, technically, the second, because he tested it on himself. Just a couple of strokes, though.

So we started the evening with a long OTK hand warm-up. Despite my joy over our special date, I was also dealing with a lot of vulnerable feelings and some insecurity issues, which I won’t go into here. So I broke down and cried, just from the hand spanking. He paused briefly, but I wept, “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop.” I wanted to feel. I wanted that sweet, cleansing pain, given with kindness and compassion. He delivered.

We decided to break there and go to dinner, since it was around 9:00. “And then,” he said ominously, “we’re going to Boot Camp.” (gulp)

Dinner was lovely; we went to a local Japanese restaurant and had some nice treats. We were yapping so much that Steve got distracted. He was animatedly describing something, and as he did, he reached for the soy sauce to pour more into his dipping dish — and he poured it into his glass of beer instead. I laughed so hard, the sushi chef across the room was looking over at us and grinning. (I do not have an indoor laugh, I’m afraid.) Our server got into it too, saying that’s what happens when you drink too much. I said, “No, he’s like this when he’s sober, too.” All through dinner, he kept giving me The Look and growling how he couldn’t wait until Boot Camp. 

Back at my place, it was time. We agreed that, in the interest of getting a good picture of the paddle treads, we were going to do something similar to “thigh turkeys” — one hard swat on each cheek, straight away. I thought, OK. It will be measured, it will be slow. I’ll be prepared. I can do this.

“Let’s take a before picture,” he suggested, so here’s that:




“Ready?” he said. I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Oh, @#$%ing ouch.




But of course, it didn’t end with just two swats. Hardly. He alternated the sides, striking with the wooden side as well as the tread side. Because the paddle was thin, it didn’t feel thuddy like those heavy frat paddles I hate, but man, did it sting and burn. He didn’t do too much of it, going back to his hand for a while, then picking it up again for brief periods. That’s all he used — his hand and the Boot Camp. That was enough. I was literally biting the pillow at the end. But again, I welcomed it. I needed it.

He got a little artistic with a Sharpie, too:




 And here I am, messy haired and blissful, with my beautiful flowers:




Thank you, my wonderful top. Thank you for the emotional balance you bring to me, for the firm hand and the loving heart. For putting up with the yo-yo that is a spanking bottom sometimes. For having what’s best for me at the center of all you do.

For not going away.

OT: An update on John

For those who have been kindly inquiring about John’s health and about the latest with his heart issues, I thought I’d post an update. I haven’t mentioned things with him lately, because I don’t want to bog my readers down with too many details, or make this blog too dreary. So I will update now and then, just to catch y’all up. That sound OK?


I’ll try to make a long and complicated story somewhat short. Essentially, John has three choices when it comes to his malfunctioning mitral valve: 

1. He can have it replaced with a hetero graft, better known as a pig valve. The plus on those is that they aren’t rejected as often. The minus — they don’t last a lifetime. In another 12 years or so, John would need another transplant.

2. An artificial valve. The plus? They last forever. Minus? They are rejected more often, and the patient has to take blood thinners for the rest of his/her life. Which essentially turns them into a bleeder. Not ideal.

3. Mitral valve repair, in which a highly skilled doctor goes in and repairs/rebuilds the valve, instead of replacing it. Plus? No new part for the body to adjust to. Minus? Depending on the extent of the damage, they don’t last as long as a replacement. For minor damage, they’re ideal. But there are five levels of heart valve damage.

John is a four-and-a-half.

Also, his HMO is fighting him tooth and nail, because they’d much rather do the easier replacement job than the trickier (and more expensive) repair job. 

So John is in the middle of tests, consultations, second opinions, and dealing with the bureaucracy that is his HMO. It’s a lengthy and stressful process. As it happens, he can’t have heart surgery right now anyway. He is also in the middle of some necessary dental procedures, and his heart doctors have told him to have all dental work done before he even thinks about scheduling anything heart-wise. Tooth infections are notorious for spreading to heart patients. And John is infection prone. Always has been. Even a small growth he had cut off his ankle a couple of weeks ago got infected.

How is he? Holding up amazingly well, all things considered. He still exercises more than most people half his age. He still bikes on the weekends, albeit not the distances he used to. His arteries are as clear as a newborn’s, his blood pressure is low. 

Of course, he is chronically tired. That’s pretty much his state of being these days, because his heart has to work so hard to compensate for the valve, and it exhausts him. Last night after a nice dinner out, he fell asleep on the couch at 9:30 while we were watching TV, and stayed asleep until after midnight, when I shut off the TV and woke him so that he could get ready for bed. Yup… we’re like a very old couple, these days. But that’s just the way it has to be.

He still makes me laugh until I’m doubled over. He’s still beautiful to look at. He frets about the scar he’ll have from the surgery; I won’t care a bit. I just want him to be well, to feel good.

At the end of next month, we will be together for 17 years. This weekend in the car, I had classical music on and he was humming along with the piece. Then he said, “Sweetie, did you ever think you’d have a boyfriend who appreciates classical music?” I answered, “I never thought I’d have a boyfriend, period.” It’s true. I never thought I’d have anyone in my life this long. 

Relationships can be tricky, and people can fool you sometimes. Especially in the kinky realm, where there’s a lot of instant intimacy, and mistaking intensity of play for love. I am definitely not the most secure person in the world, but I know this much is true: When John leaves me, it will not be because his heart stopped loving me. It will be because his heart stopped beating. For this reason, I want to keep him very much alive.

Perhaps I reveal too much. Perhaps I lay my own heart bare too openly. But I don’t know how to be any other way. I don’t think I’m going to develop a heavy armor at this stage of my life. Some may think my sarcasm serves as my armor. It does in a way… but trust me, that only goes so far. So people can choose to exploit my vulnerability, or they can choose to be kind. Please be kind.

That’s all, kids. I promise I’ll be back on topic soon.

In the meme time…



Because I can’t seem to resist these things, I’m snitching this meme from Ronnie:

1. What do you wear to bed?  When by myself — PJs in cold weather, a short nightie or just panties in hot weather.

2. What’s your favorite pet name for your SO?  Bunny.

3. What’s your favorite thing to do on a rainy day? Curl up with a warm blanket and watch a movie, or put on classical music and read a good book.

4. Your favorite snack food? Many things chocolate, popcorn. 

5. Do you cry at sad movies? Like a baby.

6. What’s your favorite implement to be spanked with? Besides a man’s hand, a nice leather belt or short strap.

7. Is your hair long or short?  Shoulder-length.

8. What size is your bed?  Full.

9. Do you have sex with the lights on or off? It varies.

10. What’s your favorite ‘around the house’ outfit? Sloppy stuff I wouldn’t go out wearing — old sweats, worn-out shorts & tank top, things like that.

11. How do you drink your coffee or tea?  Coffee with a little bit of nonfat milk and Sweet & Low. Tea with lemon and Sweet & Low or honey.

12. Are you a bargain hunter?  Absolutely. I hate to pay top price for something if I don’t have to.

13. Do you think bald men are sexy?  Ummmm… no. Sorry.

14. Are you a good driver?  I really am. Even John says so.

15. In a 24-hour period, how many hours do you spend watching TV? I have it on as background in the evenings, maybe for about five hours. But I’d say I’m actively watching it for around two or three.

16. Name the last book you read? Nanny Returns (a sequel to The Nanny Diaries) 

17. Would you rather be hot or cold? I have no tolerance for either extreme. But if I have to choose, I’d rather be cold. Heat makes me absolutely miserable.


18. How many hours a day do you spend on the Internet? Hah… waaaaaay too damn many. I’ve never calculated it and I’d be embarrassed to do so.

19. Do you like facial hair on a man?  On some, it’s very sexy and suits them. On others, not so much. John looks very handsome with it.

20. Are you a smoker? Smoked cigarettes in high school; not since then. Haven’t smoked pot since my 20s.


Question #16 reminds me — speaking of reading books. What would be the ideal client for a proofreader who also happens to be a spanko? A publisher of spanking romance/erotica, of course. For the past few months, I’ve been fortunate enough to get regular work from Stormy Night Publications, run by James and Korey Mae Johnson. So far, I’ve proofread 14 of their books, including three by Natasha Knight and two by Renee Rose, along with several other talented authors. It’s impressive, the plots that these authors come up with, fresh and new ways to write on a subject that’s been written about so many times. Period pieces, incorporation of sci-fi elements, all kinds of neat stuff. So I get to read all these cool and sexy books, and get paid for it. How great is that? 🙂

Off to start another one!

Weird red dots

Very strange goings-on with my right butt cheek. After an intense warm-up hand spanking, it develops this bizarre speckle pattern.


It looks like blood, or broken skin. But it isn’t. It’s just red dots. And they fade after a little while. 

I’m a freak. Everyone else gets a nice solid shade of red; I look like I have butt measles.



Connect the dots, anyone? 

Of course, once Steve starts laying on the implements, the color evens out. He asked me last night what I wanted. (What did I do to deserve that treat?) I said, “No wood.” He complied. So it was a lot of my favorite Cane-iac leather strap — and the Delrin cane. (sigh)

I thought I would cry last night during our scene, but I did not. Instead, I wept later, when he was told me I was beautiful. I’m not sure why… maybe because I haven’t felt beautiful lately. 

Next week, Steve and I will have known each other for a year. We’ve come a long way, the two of us. We’re in excellent sync in our top/bottom relationship, our special friendship. And yet, I still can’t seem to break him of the habit of taking pictures straight on instead of shooting at an angle. Hummmpph. So I had to do some doctoring.

Hey, if you’re going to stare, I’m going to stare right back. :-Þ




Working today. Feeling relaxed, a bit sleepy, my mind is quiet. As always, I wish I could bottle this tranquility.

A play partnership is not some generic thing

Last Friday, Alex wrote what I considered a brilliant post about compatibility with spanking partners. She likened our special type of relationship to puzzle pieces (with visual aids, even!) and made the point that you can’t just cram any piece to fit with another. Well, you can, I guess, if you insist, and they may interlock somewhat, but not well enough to say that they really fit properly and comfortably.

In other words, it’s not all that easy finding a compatible spanking partner. (Go read Alex’s blog; I’ll wait.)

I would like to build upon her metaphor — if finding the right partner is as complex as finding a correct puzzle-piece fit among hundreds of others, wouldn’t it stand to reason that said partner would not be easily replaceable? Or interchangeable?

Perhaps some spankos aren’t as picky as I am. More power to them; they have more choices! But it’s not easy for me to find a man I can really feel close to, can trust thoroughly, can submit to. (Yes, I said the S word.) Who gets me, whose play desires run along the same lines as mine, who respects John’s presence in my life…so many factors. So when I do, it really ticks me off when people suggest that someone else could take easily take over for him when he’s not available. 

Because Alex already covered the puzzle metaphor beautifully, I’m going in another direction. Something that everyone can certainly relate to: chocolate.

Who doesn’t love brownies, right? They’re delicious. But they come in so many different varieties; no two from two different sources are quite alike. And everyone has their preferences.

Me? My ideal brownie is as follows: Moist and fudge-y, but not super gooey like fudge. Very chocolate-y, not cloyingly sweet, but not bittersweet, either. Walnuts or pecans are a must, in just the right measure, and mixed into the batter, not just sprinkled on the top. No frosting. And should there happen to be chocolate chips thrown in there, I’m in Brownie Nirvana.

Now say I find this perfect brownie at XYZ Bakery. Always fresh, always good, always satisfying. So I make regular trips to XYZ Bakery to feed my craving.

One day, I go to XYZ and they tell me that they’re out of brownies, and are not sure when they’ll have more. Granted, it’s not a necessity like food, water and air, but it’s something I love. And I’m going to be quite put off if I tell my friends about how I’m missing my XYZ brownies and they say things like, “What’s the big deal? Just go to the QRS Bakery,” or “Go buy some at the market.” Or, even worse, “Bake some yourself.” No. That’s too much work and nowhere near as satisfying. (Yes, that comparison with self-spanking is intentional.)

OK, I know this is silly. Human relationships are far more complex and rich than a beloved dessert. So why would people minimize them by suggesting substitutes?

I have had people say to me, “I would think someone with your connections would have spankers lining up for you.” Thank you, but 1. I really don’t, and 2. I wouldn’t want generic spankers lining up for me anyway. I want quality, not quantity. Quantity is great fun for the light-hearted spanking play during the big weekend extraganzas, but for a more intimate connection, quality is key.

I’ve had men say to me, “I’ll be happy to take over for Steve in the interim,” when he’s sick or busy. Um… what makes them think this is something I want? If I wanted just anyone, I’d place an ad on Craigslist and meet up with a different one of the 150 respondents every day. I’d go to one local group’s parties and play “Musical Laps.” I’m not making this up; they do this, ala the old kids’ game “Musical Chairs.” (I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less at a spanking party. Just fall over a random lap? ACK!) As I’d mentioned before, one man even said, “Why don’t you just go to the Top store and get a new one?” I know he was kidding, but that annoyed me to bits. That’s an insult to Steve, suggesting he’s that replaceable, and it’s an insult to me, implying that all I need is a hand and a lap and I’m good.

Many spankos play with their spouse or SO and no one else, and that’s fine. They don’t want to go outside their primary relationship and I can understand that. But for those of us who do, things can be very complicated and there’s a fine balance to maintain. And it’s not easy to maintain that with just anyone. Throw in the need to have chemistry and connection of some sort, plus at least somewhat compatible preferences, and you add a lot more hay to the elusive needle.

So please. Don’t diminish the importance of people’s spanking relationships by suggesting in any way that they are interchangeable. Steve is deeply special, as was ST before him, and others I have known. Just as John is irreplaceable in his own right, his own place in the center of my heart, so is my spanking partner.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.


OT: Further adventures with John’s new cell phone

It’s happened, people. My Luddite boyfriend has become a cell phone geek, with his new Samsung Galaxy S4. Every time I talk with him, he’s going on about something new he learned how to do with his phone. I have to say it’s pretty damned amazing what this thing can do.

But last weekend took the cake.

On Saturday, the TV had been on all day on CNN. John is fascinated with legal proceedings, and had been closely following that trial, that verdict, etc. (And NO, we are not going to discuss that trial here. No exceptions.) Anyway, once the verdict was delivered at around 7 PM our time, I figured we were done. But after we came home from dinner, CNN was back on once again and we were watching rehash, recaps and reactions.

Finally, at 9:45, I grabbed the remote and said, “Sorry, honey, but enough of this already,” and changed the channel.

John didn’t say a word. He just gave me a measured look, then reached into his pocket, withdrew his phone and started fiddling with it. “What are you doing?” I asked. He ignored me and pointed his phone at the TV.

The channel changed back to CNN.

“What???” I screeched. “How the hell….?”

Grinning, he showed me the screen. Apparently he’d found some sort of app that turned his phone into a Universal Remote. Sure enough, I looked at the screen and saw a basic remote control, with on-off button, volume, channels and mute button. I was speechless.

(And yes, he let me change the channel back to another program. He was just showing off.)

So let’s review. This little device is a phone, a computer, a TV, a music player, a still and video camera, a remote control, a GPS unit…what else? Sometimes I feel like I’m living in the middle of a sci-fi movie. I think of all the technological advances I’ve seen in my lifetime alone and it makes my brain explode. I’m old enough to remember dial telephones that did nothing but make and receive calls, and when color TV was a huge deal. It’s fascinating.

For those who have been asking, John is in the throes of the endless preparation and research necessary when one is facing heart surgery. Long, complicated story, but in a nutshell, he could probably have a much less invasive surgery to repair his existing valve, but his HMO is resistant to that and would rather go the easy route and just replace it. So he’s in the middle of second opinions and tests and outside networks, and preparing to fight his HMO. It’s not going to be pretty. But he’s hanging in there. He’s tired all the time now, but still very functional, still exercising. He’s a strong and stubborn cuss, that love of mine.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

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