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 “December, 2014”

Goodbye, 2014

So, let’s review, shall we?

In the past two weeks, we had two family deaths, two days apart. John and I are now both sick, so that’s two colds. We’ve had to deal with his two sisters behaving like animals. And, due to the stress of it all, we’ve had two arguments.

Is it safe to say that the end of 2014 has been a great big pile of Number Two???


I am going to his house tonight, where we’ll have a quiet night in. He’s sick as hell right now (I’m getting over mine), so no festivities, except for some champagne. But it’s OK. We’ll be together. 

I was able to see Steve for a bit of stress relief yesterday, but only for a short while, because he had work obligations. We didn’t play long, but we played hard. I didn’t weep while he was here, but I broke down after he left. I wish he could have stayed longer. I needed his strength.

We didn’t take any photos, and we didn’t last week, either. I miss that. When this whole mess is over, we want to get back to fun scenes and lots of pictures. But yesterday, I was in a melancholy yet hopeful mood, and I wanted to try to capture that in a picture by myself.

So, here I am at the end of 2014. Things seem very bleak and colorless right now, and I feel beaten down and vulnerable. But I keep telling myself this all will pass, and some vibrancy and color will come back into my days soon. I am curled up and have gone within, withdrawn into shadow… but with the cheeriness of the flowers Steve brought for me providing a small, bright beacon.

Readers, friends, wishing you all the best for 2015. Be safe tonight, whatever you’re doing. 

The good, the bad, and the @#$%ing insane

I’ve been quiet for a few days; haven’t had much to say, really. Christmas came and went, I had a cold, things were quiet. I’m feeling a bit better and am heading back to the gym this morning for the first time in a week. Planning on seeing Steve tomorrow. All good stuff.

I could write for the next hour about what went down in the past four days, but I’ll encapsulate the “bad and the @#$%ing insane” into two words: John’s sisters.

The madness that I predicted over the tangible goods in John’s mother’s estate erupted in a big way this week, with a series of events and fights that were ugly and melodramatic. I can’t go into the details, because once I do, it will spiral into a bigger and bigger mess of details, and I really don’t want to do that here. Suffice it to say that it’s come down to a sharp and deep chasm, with John’s sisters, his brother-in-law, and his niece and her husband on one side, and John, his brother and sister-in-law on the other. 

It’s as if removing the mother from the picture, took away the last bastion of pseudo-civility with this family; specifically, the sisters. Now it’s become a free-for-all and all the hostilities are out in the open. As well as the greed and the selfishness. True colors were seen, and cannot be unseen.

“Family” should be a four-letter word.

Who knows… maybe this will all blow over, and they’ll go back to pretending. But I think John’s eyes have been forever forced open. And if anything good can come of this mess, it will be that we can finally be rid of his sisters, and he will grow closer with his brother and sis-in-law, who have turned out to be the only other sane ones in the bunch. After 18 1/2 years of my putting up with the whole effed-up bunch, it would be sweet relief to finally have it pared down to one manageable couple.

Poor John. However, don’t feel too bad. Underneath all the stress and pain, I do believe he’s feeling a sense of relief. He told me at one point this weekend: “I feel like I’m just starting to wake up from a nightmare.” And on Saturday night, for the first time in I don’t know how long, he slept straight through the night. 

And last night on the phone, in the midst of the insanity, his brother told me that when it comes time for John’s surgery, he and his wife will be there for us for support and whatever else we need. Far cry from John’s eldest sister, who said, “I don’t believe Johnny has a heart condition. He’s making it up.”

Fucking bitch.

Anyway. I hope to get back to some fun soon, kids. It’s been a really messed-up couple of weeks. I hope to have some fun on-topic stuff soon. But in the meantime, thanks for sticking around. For everyone whose holiday season wasn’t all sugarplums, hang in there. And for those who did have fun, who were with loved ones who treated you well, awesome. Because life really is too short to waste even a minute with people who suck the very marrow out of your bones.

So, this is Christmas…

… and what have I done? Not a blessed thing. I have been felled with a cold. It started on Tuesday night and was in full bloom by yesterday. So today, as I did yesterday, I’m going to burrow in blankets, cough and sneeze, watch a lot of TV and be very quiet. Which is exactly what I wanted to do anyway (minus the coughing and sneezing part). I will probably push myself out the door to make a quick run to the pharmacy; last night when I dug through the bathroom drawer to find nasal spray, I discovered that mine had expired in 2012.

And guess what? Sure enough, John did receive a last-minute invitation (yesterday) for Xmas dinner with his family tonight. Big of them. Too bad, so sad, I’m too sick to join him. 🙂

Things have settled down a bit after all the upheaval last week. My stepsister was driving me nuts, calling me once or twice every day, but now she hasn’t called for the past two and I’m relieved. My stepdad had a will, and she said that I’m in it (which surprises me, considering I’m not his child, but that’s the kind of guy he was) but I doubt he had much of anything left after all the years of my mother’s care and then his own. It’s OK. As for John’s mother, that will be a lot more complicated, what with all her stuff and the money and so forth. I guess there will be a memorial sometime soon, but we’ll deal with that when it happens. 

Before I got sick, I got to see Steve for some much-needed stress release. Even though I’d apologetically told him that I wasn’t doing gifts this year, he still showed up with some chocolate cake and a gift card for Target. On the card, he’d written “To: TBBITW  From: YLT.” Can you figure out what that means? It took me less than a minute. We had a wonderful session and he held me for a long time afterward. I crave the nurturing as much as the spanking, maybe even more so now. Then again, for me, spanking is part of the nurturing. Perverse creature that I am.

Oh, and another gift this week. After nine weeks of my right eyebrow being completely frozen, I have movement!! Not a whole lot, and nowhere near as much mobility as the left one, but it’s coming back. What a relief! My doctor had told me repeatedly that it would come back eventually, that nerves take a long time to regenerate, and I believed him… but it was still unnerving, having a part of my face that didn’t move. So now I really do feel like I’m on the road to recovery. The sides of my face and my ears are still semi-numb, but they also hurt, if that makes any sense. There’s still a lot of healing going on. But I am so, so much better, my smile is fully back, and I no longer feel like the bride of Frankenstein. 🙂 Last night, John sang to me on the phone: “On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Two working eyebrows!” Hey, I’ll take those over the freaking turtledoves. What the hell is a turtledove, anyway? A dove that flies really, really slowly?

This year, Spank Chief John Osbourne took over the annual spanking awards that The Spanking Spot used to do. I had been nominated for best Creative Blogger, but because of everything that was going on with me, I didn’t bother posting about it. I never win these things, nor do I expect to. Being nominated feels nice, though. Yesterday, he put up the first results with three of the categories. In Creative Blog, Alex won first place! 🙂 Second place was Pandora, another great choice. And third place? Yours truly. I couldn’t be happier, honestly. It’s lovely to be in such good company.

I don’t know how long I will be cooped up here, because I don’t want to expose John to my cold, so I may have to forego heading there tomorrow night. He is in such a weakened condition right now, and any illness, even a cold, would knock him down hard. But hopefully, we can have some fun soon. Meanwhile, I’m reflecting on friends and loved ones, and hoping everyone is enjoying their holiday, whatever they may be doing.

I don’t have a current photo for you, so here’s a festive one from last year. 🙂

Thank you to everyone who reached out to me this past week. I wish you happy times and peace. Be good to one another. ♥

Just when I thought I couldn’t hate the upcoming "Fifty Shades" film more…

… I read an article about Jamie Dornan (Christian Grey) on

(Yes, this is a rant. But that’s a good thing. If I’m pissed off, that means I’m feeling something again. I’ll take righteous indignation over the depths of depression any day.)

According to this article, Dornan did an interview for Elle UK magazine, for the upcoming February issue. In it, he talked about how he “researched” for his role by visiting a BDSM dungeon. The way he talked about the experience made it sound like he had done something extremely distasteful. And he topped it off by saying that afterward, he went home to his wife and baby, and that he had to take a long shower before he would touch either one of them.

So, our culture made you feel unclean, Jamie? Fuck. You.

I wonder if, now that the piece of dreck’s release is imminent, this is a last-ditch attempt to distance himself from the role. (“I’m not one of those people, really!”) Interesting. He’s too good to hang out in a dungeon without having to go home and de-louse himself, but he can still play the sickest of sick fucks and take a heap of money for it. What a hypocrite.

Twitter buzzed a bit about this today. I tweeted, “HE NEEDED A SHOWER??” Yeah, all caps shout-speak. And Jillian Keenan herself tweeted back to me, “We have cooties, Erica. COOTIES.” Then she tweeted directly to Dornan himself: “You’ve hurt our feelings, @JamieDornan.”

Oooh, Mr. Big Shot himself is on Twitter? I couldn’t resist my own tweet to him. He’d mentioned in the article that when he got there, they offered him a beer. So I tweeted: “‘They offered me a beer.’ Sure it was beer, Jamie? You know how twisted and disgusting we are. :-)”

What a little piss-ant. Please, people. If you have any regard for our community whatsoever, boycott this film. Granted, it’s going to make gazillions of dollars anyway. But it shouldn’t make any money from us — The Great Unwashed Sickies. The real people behind the exploitation books and movies.

Wanna read the Jezebel piece? Here you go.

Blech. Now I need a shower.

EDIT: By the way, since I’ve been kind of out of it for the past week, this may very well be old news that people already wrote about. If so, my apologies for the redundancy.

Not the best of weeks

Last Wednesday afternoon, my stepfather passed away. That same night, John’s mother went into the hospital with a pulmonary embolism. In layman’s terms, that’s a blood clot in the lung. She died Friday morning. The two of them, less than 48 hours apart. The week before Christmas.

Ho ho ho.

It’s difficult enough dealing with this sort of thing any other time of the year. But during the holidays, it’s almost grotesque. The grief, juxtaposed with endless streams of Christmas carols, decorations, holiday ads and specials and Madison-Avenue cheer, seems to have nowhere to go; it doesn’t belong. So you bury it within, because you don’t want to rain on everyone’s parade, put a damper on their festivities. And because everyone seems to have their own brand of holiday stress, so you don’t want to add to it.

John and I took care of each other this weekend. Aside from his sister on Saturday, when we went to her little restaurant for lunch, we didn’t see any of his family. I suppose some sort of memorial will be ahead, along with the inevitable battles over inheritances and what to do with his mother’s antiques, her Waterford crystal, her old-fashioned grandfather clock. I really don’t care about any of this, other than that I don’t want it to be stressful for John. And I hope he gets his just share and proper acknowledgment. He was the only one of his siblings who gave money and things to his parents after he was grown, instead of taking them. He went to visit his mother and take her to lunch nearly every single weekend for the past 9 1/2 years, since she was widowed. I went with him for seven of those years, until my own mother died and I couldn’t take it anymore.

My stepfather will be cremated and scattered at sea, as fishing was one of his life’s loves. There will be no memorial, as far as I know. 

I just want to sleep for a while. Like two weeks. I have no work, and probably won’t until after the holidays. I wish I could go away somewhere, with a laptop, a TV and a ton of books, and be left alone, except to be brought meals and maybe get a few massages. And sleep. 

And while I’m in wishing mode, I’d like to wave my hand and have John’s heart valve replaced, his sleep apnea cured, and his energy and vitality restored. Then we could face anything together. 

But for now, all I can do is my best, one day at a time. It could be a lot worse, in so many ways. I just have to move through.

I don’t like thinking about a world without my stepdad in it. He was a very good man, one I didn’t always appreciate. I didn’t want any part of him for a long time when I was a kid, because he wasn’t my father. But he was the best thing that ever happened to my mother, all the way to the end, through all her terrible years of dementia, when a lesser man would have walked away. He was funny, good-natured, smart, and well liked by everyone. Unfortunately, he outlived his wife and all his friends, and ended up mostly alone. 

Still, he had good times. He had hobbies he loved; he adored his fishing, his music, travel, sports. He saw much of the world, had many adventures. He had a career that paid him a good pension and took care of him in his later years. He laughed a lot, and made others laugh, with his dry wit and his spot-on delivery of jokes and one-liners. I will miss his twinkling look at me and his deadpan, “So, do you think you’ll ever amount to anything, Erica?”

I did amount to something, M. Just not exactly what you and Mom had in mind. 🙂 It’s best that you never found out.

Anyway. Onward. Watching The Sound of Music, which I’ve always loved. Although I could have done without reading about how much Christopher Plummer (Captain Von Trapp) actually hated the movie, called it “The Sound of Mucus” and said working with Julie Andrews was like being hit over the head with a Valentine’s Day card every day. (sigh)

Hope everyone had a good weekend. 

Once bitten, twice… bitten

What is it about spankers who like to bite their bottom’s bottoms?

Apparently, this is a thing. At least with the men in my life. 

John has always liked biting me on the butt. He says it’s irresistible. When he helps dry me off after a shower (not that I can’t dry myself off, you understand, but it’s more fun his way), he’ll suddenly lean in and bite one of my cheeks. And then, because he’s OCD, he has to do the other one. He calls these “bun bites.” Clearly he has me confused with a Big Mac. (Or a McVeggie burger, in his case.)

Steve is also fond of biting on my butt during a spanking. He says the bright red cheeks are just too inviting. I wouldn’t know, since I can’t see them. But I was wondering how many bun-biters there are out there.

I’m normally not a fan of being bitten. Light nibbling, yes. Hard sucking that raises hickeys, yes. However, the sensation of teeth sinking in me hard enough to leave bite marks doesn’t turn me on.

Except when I’m in that zone, when my bottom is aflame, when all the nerve endings are hypersensitive, when pain commingles with pleasure. Then, that slow, slow bite, increasing the pressure incrementally until it’s almost unbearable, is delicious.

Here I am in anticipatory mode, with an almost pristine canvas:

And of course, the “I am @#$%ing DONE” mode:

However, in the above shot, you can’t see Steve’s dental artwork.

Of course, he chose the more tender spots closer to the center. Beast.

As usual, these pictures don’t do the redness justice. But trust me, it was there.

I needed intensity yesterday, after last weekend. So much pent-up tension had to be released, and it was. And yes, afterward, I had a mini-session with my little purple rocket while he quietly watched. Damn near screamed the walls down, as it went on and on. 

I wish people wouldn’t drink and use drugs as escape. There are much healthier and lovelier ways to escape from life’s trials for a little while.

So, bottoms, a word of caution: Be careful about to whom you say “Bite me.” They just might.

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