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.

Did ya miss me?

I haven’t blogged for a little over a month, so I have a lot of catching up to do. Honestly? What with the insanity around the midterms, mass shootings, displays of antisemitism, and lately, the horrendous fires in my state (still burning), I haven’t really felt the kink mojo. It’s hard to be lighthearted and funny and flippant when it feels like everything around you is devolving into a massive sinkhole of shit. This has been me:


(OK, my boobs aren’t that big. But whatever.)

However, life goes on and I need to remind myself of that. So here I am.

And I got to play again last week, thank you very much! Much needed stress release! Mr. Woodland paid me another visit, last Thursday (you know, after the Thousand Oaks shooting, but before the Woolsey fire exploded). This time he showed up with his toy bag. Uh-oh.

But never fear, the good Mr. W. started me off with a proper warm-up. At some point, this exchange happened:

Him: Do you prefer your underwear up or down?
Me: That’s up to you.

Although it was more like “That’s up to y—,” because I didn’t even have the word “you” out of my mouth when my panties were unceremoniously yanked to my thighs.

“Well, that was an easy decision,” he said. Humph.

Warm-up passed in the blink of an eye, it seemed. “Time for some implements,” he announced. “Get up, please.”

Well, at least he said please.

We moved to my ottoman, and he said, “Set this up the way you want it.” I protested, “Why me? You set it up last time, so you’d have room to swing.” “Fine,” he said, and nudged it a few inches with his foot — which then sent the cushions askew. “Well, now it’s crooked!” I huffed, leaning down to straighten it.

“I have a belt in my hand,” he said. “Is this really a good time to be a smart-ass?” (What better time is there?)

And so the strapping ensued. At a good breaking point, he went to get his bag. “Let’s see what I’ve got for you in this bag of treats,” he grinned.

I sweetly requested a Snickers bar. He didn’t have any.

I then got to meet several of the items in his bag, including a tawse, some sort of leather thing, and a very thin, light wooden paddle. “This is a sting-y little bastard,” he commented about the latter. “Kind of like you?” I commented in return. He sighed. “That wasn’t smart.”

It was worth it, though. πŸ˜€

More chit-chat:

Him: Well, that’s about all I can use for now. The rest [of the bag’s contents] is wood.
Me: (sighing) What’s wrong with you?
Him: I like wood!
Me: That’s what she said.

Damn, did we play hard. I could feel the strength he was putting into it, and I was drinking it in like a freaking desert in a rainstorm. I just wanted more, more, and more. Even the tawse. Normally, I’m leery about those suckers. I have had experiences in the past where one of those skinny little tails snaps into nooks and crannies that I really, really don’t want getting snapped — and I damn near go through the ceiling. But then I took a deep breath and remembered.

He knows what he’s doing.

So much so that when he seemed to be wrapping things up, I blurted, “Are you done??”

“You want more?” he asked.

“Um… maybe?”

He laughed. “Be careful what you wish for…”

Holy crap. That last round pushed my endurance, for sure. I quickly realized my error of not tossing a pillow on the carpet before we started. First, because I was scraping my elbows along the carpet as I leaned over the ottoman. Not my choice of pain. And second, because I didn’t have anything to scream into. And sometimes, you know, I just have to scream. So I ended up clamping both hands over my mouth and screaming into my palms. And all the while, I could feel the stress flowing out my pores, out of my limbs, out of my head. Magic. So lovely when I can just put myself into a man’s hands and know I’m safe. As Mr. W. says on his Fet profile, he might hurt, but he doesn’t harm. Knowing that makes such a difference.

He was impressed. “You can take one hell of a spanking, Erica,” he said. Despite the fact that I was limp as a dishrag and so sub-spacey I could barely think, I managed to croak out, “You know, this is all your fault.”

“Really? How’s that?”

“Because,” I squeaked, “if you hadn’t made me wait three weeks for this, I wouldn’t have been so fucking needy!!

I wish I could have seen the look on his face at that. “Ah… well, I think we’ll have to address that next time.” Yeah, you think?

(I was kidding, of course. I am responsible for my own stress management; no one else. But a helping hand — or strap, paddle, etc. — is most welcome.)

And so we wound down. Then, I heard the two words that always melt me into the final oblivion:

“Good girl.”Β Of all the sweet phrases we love to hear, I think that’s one of the sweetest. Right up there with “That’s my girl.” πŸ™‚

He hung out with me for a while, but had to get going before the traffic got bad (or worse, really, since L.A. traffic is pretty much always bad now). Have no idea what our schedules will bring over the upcoming holiday weeks… but I hope I get to see him again before 2018 is over.

As soon as he was gone, I thought, “Oh, damn! Pictures!” So, since I was still in living color, I grabbed my phone and tried to take a mirror selfie in the bathroom. I’m embarrassed to admit how many attempts it took to get this:


I still didn’t like it, but all the physical cogitations were making my back and neck ache worse than my butt. So I broke out the old-school digital camera and timer, and tried a different angle in the living room. Unfortunately, the lighting there didn’t show the red very well. But you get the idea.


I slept well that night. Sadly, the next day brought all new stress when the damned Woolsey fire blew up and I was worried about my stepmother in Thousand Oaks (all turned out well for her, thank goodness — she was without power for a couple of days, but didn’t have to evacuate). But such is life.

What else is going on… oh, yeah. Did I mention that my Twitter account was frozen for a week? “But, Erica,” I can hear you all crying, “what horrible, egregious, terrible thing did you tweet to earn this extreme penalty??” I called Tomi Lahren a bimbo.

(Never heard of Tomi Lahren? All you need to know about her is that she’s the millennial version of Ann Coulter. And if perchance you don’t know who Ann Coulter is — consider yourself fortunate.)

Let’s review. I’ve been insulted on Twitter over everything from my age (“granny porn”) to my body (“a poor man’s Olive Oyl”) to my face (I was likened to the character “Hatchet-face” from the movie Cry-Baby. Google her) to my background (“stupid @#$%ing Hollywood Jew). I’ve been threatened (“I’d love to watch you getting gang-raped”). But my saying “bimbo” is “hateful conduct”?? Yeah, Twitter. Bite me.

So, when my time in Twitter Jail was up, I put on my prison-stripe panties, brought out the trusty digital camera again, and took this, which I posted the day I came back:


I hash-tagged it #FuckCensorship. πŸ™‚ Interestingly, I did not get reported and penalized for it. Imagine that.

(whew) Anyway. Work continues to be busy, for which I am grateful, not only for the bill paying but for the distraction. Crazy times, y’all.

Final thought — I wish I could hug every single firefighter in California right now. β™₯ β™₯ β™₯

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20 thoughts on “Did ya miss me?

  1. Oh gosh……. Ann Coulter……. she is a fruitcake. Laughing you called the other lady a bimbo and got censored. I don’t know of her, but the AC (not Anderson Cooper) reference made it crystal clear. Also laughed at Twitter Jail !! Glad you got some stress relief even though it was short lived. Be safe out there in your state. Windy


  2. Anonymous on said:

    Good grief Erica. What a spanking. I’m jealous, I could use one of those right now.

    Needy? Yes. No shame in that.



  3. Erica, I have been thinking of you this week and am glad that you and those you love are not in any danger. What’s this world coming to? Isn’t it wonderful to be able to escape for a little while during a spanking!



  4. Sounds like the smart-ass got a smarting ass πŸ˜€


  5. Windy — I’m trying! I feel like I’m living in some sort of purgatory right now. (sigh)

    Yorkie — oh, I know. I AM needy. But I just don’t like to project that onto someone else, you know? It’s not their responsibility to take care of my needs; it is my own and I need to be proactive (which I was, in this case!).

    Hermione — it’s been… terrifying. And so sad. Yes… the escape was sublime. One can only go to the gym so often. And I have a drink roughly half a dozen times a year, so that’s not an option either.

    QBuzz — that’s what he said!


  6. Erica, Great to hear from you.
    I must say, that this Mr W is precisely what you need & deserve: a proper balance between kindly asking and firmly giving.


  7. You’re still on my bucket list, sweet Erica… and I also know what I’m doing!! LOL
    Be safe, my friend!!


  8. MrJ — that is a very good description.

    Dale — I am trying my best, believe me! Sometimes I feel like I should just stay home and never come out. It’s crazy out there.


  9. Excellent account of a classic spanking session. Just enough detail to help us form a picture in our minds. He knew what he was doing, and you are a willing accomplice. Great combination! Thankyou.


  10. Erica, good to hear from you and so happy you are safe.

    Sounds like you had a good session. I hate the tawse.



  11. Joseoh — thank you so much!

    Ronnie — thanks. Yeah, it’s not my favorite either. But I think the trick is striking horizontally across the cheeks, not vertically. Vertical strikes do that nasty nooks and crannies thing that I hate.


  12. Jade Mathias on said:

    Hi Erica ❀ I am so glad that you and your step Mom are ok, stay safe my beautiful friend those fires are so devastating and so very scary πŸ˜’πŸ’” I am happy that you had a session with Mr.W, you still have a very tough butt the pics show that you have some marking but not much and it’s red, that was funny when you called that woman a bimbo Lol πŸ˜‚ the pic of you giving the finger is hilarious Lol πŸ˜‚ I am happy that you are back I missed you, much Love and hugs always πŸ’•


  13. Hi Erica – Coincidentally I was wondering where you had disappeared to, but my guess was fairly accurate.

    I cant’ believe Twitter seriously suspended you for calling Tomi Lahren a bimbo. That is crazy. That can’t be the harshest thing she has been called or the strongest word ever used on twitter. Suspended, really?
    As far as Tomi herself; yeah… well let’s just leave it at I’m too much of a gentleman to say what that girl really needs.



  14. Jade — thanks, hon.

    Enzo — Hi! Yup, really. For a whole week. And yes, we both know what she needs!


  15. A. Lurker on said:

    As a lurker I just want to say Hi


  16. Anonymous on said:

    Hi Erica, that is crazy you were censored for that measly comment! I never understand how those that censor make the distinction between appropriate versus out of line!
    One heck of a spanking! Good for you! Loved your sassy smart a** comments!


  17. Great pics Erica. I’m happy you and your step mom made it through the fire ok.

    If you are ever in Twitmo again (and I can see that happening) you need some black and white striped PJ’s or an orange jumpsuit with a drop seat in back so Mr.W can show you the error of your ways.

    I agree about the Firefighters. They put their lives on the line every day.


  18. Anonymous — I know, right? No rhyme or reason to it.

    Chibob — Trust me when I tell you this — I detest orange (and you know why) and I’ll never, ever wear it.


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