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.

Dare I say…


Yup… eleven days past the actual event, finally got my birthday spanking. πŸ˜€

Wednesday I got email from D. He was trying to move some things around at work, and he could come over the next morning — was I available?

Was I available? Is Donald Trump orange?? I mean, yeah, I had work and stuff, but everything was flexible. So I answered, very simply, “Yes, please.” Especially to the part where he mentioned “bare-assed punishment.”

I’ve come to realize something: my views on the word “ass” have definitely changed. Years ago in my book, I wrote that I didn’t care for it, I thought it was crass, and that I preferred “bottom.” But now, it seems that my feelings about the word are dependent upon who is saying it. From a stranger on, it’s still kind of overly familiar and icky. But from someone I know and like, in the right context? It’s pretty damned hot.

Anyway — we set it up for 10:30. I got up at 8:00, made some coffee, but declined to eat breakfast for obvious reasons. Once I was ready, I worked until he arrived, looking handsome as always in his suit. This time, he had a backpack with him and had brought a pair of board shorts, so he could change out of the hot and heavy suit. Good idea (although I missed watching him roll up his sleeves). He went into my bathroom to change, and came out wearing the shorts and an undershirt. Fortunately, it was much cooler here than it had been the last time he visited.

Oh, and he came with some chocolate. πŸ™‚ I don’t remember this, but I guess at some point I’d mentioned that I love peanut M&M’s, and he brought me some of those. Happy me! But that was for later. We had other things to attend to.

(I didn’t put out any implements this time. Hey, he didn’t tell me to. Yeah… bad idea, Erica. It’s a hell of a lot easier to just put the damn things out beforehand, than to have to stagger into the bedroom half-dressed mid-scene — TWICE — to retrieve them.)

As before, we made use of nearly every area in my living/dining room area — the couch, the recliner, the dining room chair, my desk. On the latter, I tried to move everything aside, but as we progressed, I could hear things crashing onto the floor — my WiFi modem, a small framed picture, my mouse. Oh well. Wreck the place, I didn’t care at the moment. I’d deal with it later.

Our play gets a little bit better each time, I think. He is more familiar with me, has more confidence in knowing what I like. And I am more relaxed, letting go immediately and feeling the endorphins soar. Every time I feel his fingers snaking up the back of my neck, I know that fist is going to tighten in my hair and mmmmmmmmmpphhhh… He has incredible hands. Way, way back when I wrote my very first spanking ad, I included the question: “Do you have hands that can both caress and chastise?” D definitely does.

I wanted to play hard yesterday. It had been six weeks since I’d seen him, I didn’t know how long it would be until I see him again, and I wanted to make our time count. I felt very connected to him and trusting. When we’d been at it for a while, I noticed he wasn’t ramping it up quite as much as he had before. I waited, hoping he would, but it wasn’t happening. I really hate topping from the bottom — I know it seems like that’s something I do a lot, with bratting, but truth be told, I’d rather not once the scene is to the point where I just want to shut up and feel. But I couldn’t help it; at one point, during a flurry with my wooden paddle, I blurted, “Oh, please, harder!” He obliged readily, and that did it — I felt that push, that challenge, dancing on the line between pleasure and pain, between just enough and too much. “Thank you,” I breathed.

He must have heard the change in my voice, the wavering, the sounds more pained. “Almost done,” he murmured. The last bout was back over my desk with my leather paddle, fast and hard, my back bowed, my hand over my mouth to stifle the reactions. I did not cry this time, but I shook all over. My legs would barely hold me up. He dropped the paddle with a decisive thud and gathered me into his arms, where I trembled and clung. So good. So. Damn. Good.

He hung out a while, gave me a nice massage with lotion, we chatted a bit, but unfortunately, he had a 1:15 conference call waiting for him back at work and had to get going. (sigh) I’m grateful he was able to carve out some time. It sounds like all he’s been doing lately is working, and working some more. I reluctantly said goodbye to him. Thank you, D. β™₯

After he left, I thought, oh, damn. We forgot pictures again. Since I still had plenty of color, I once again tried the bathroom mirror selfie thing. My first try was somewhat decent, but not great:


So I tried again. And again. And a few more times. Until I finally got this one and said okay, good enough.


I realized I was ravenously hungry, so I inhaled a bowl of cereal and then attempted to settle down into work, but I was feeling so spacey and blissful, it was hard to concentrate. How many times have I expressed that I wish I could capture that bliss, that euphoria, and keep it a while? I need to remember how it feels. So, putting work aside once again, I attempted to capture my mood in another selfie. I think I did pretty well.


This is pure joy. This is peace. This is a fulfilled and happy woman. When my old buddy depression stomps into the picture again, I can look at this and remember — yes, I can feel good too. No matter how weepy/droppy/utterly blech I get, to the point where I can’t remember feeling any other way, I can look at this.

I suppose some people out there would feel sorry for me, thinking, “Sheesh — she needs pain to feel like this??” Ah, they’ll never understand. It’s not about pain. It’s about the connection. It’s about the trust, the chemistry, the mutual attraction, the endorphins. (Okay, and about the pain, too. But that’s just part of it.)

Later in the afternoon, I felt peckish again and was going to have a protein drink. But then I looked at the package of peanut M&M’s. I noticed the calorie count was the same as a bottle of Boost. And hey, there is protein in peanuts, so… Yeah, don’t judge me. They were delicious. πŸ™‚ And besides, D told me later that he had indulged in a chocolate whoopie pie and even sent me a picture of it. So there.

(And you’ll all be glad to know that despite the distractions, I got all my work done.)

Today, I am tired and sore and still feeling the afterglow. Taking my good mood into the weekend, and looking forward to celebrating John’s birthday (tomorrow!). I have presents and treats for my sweetheart and will take him to dinner tomorrow night.

Oh, and speaking of birthdays, here’s a Flashback Friday for ya: Today is my beloved Danny Chrighton’s birthday! Those of you who have been with me since my MySpace blog days, remember this little incident we had with his birthday cake? πŸ˜€


Ah, memories.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

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12 thoughts on “Dare I say…

  1. Sending you “to stagger into the bedroom half-dressed mid-scene β€” TWICE β€” to retrieve them” actually sounds kind of hot. He could work with that.

    As for topping from the bottom, nobody and nothing is perfect in real life. Which error is better, a bit too little pain and your comment, or a bit too much that frightens and messes it all up? Sure, perfect every time is better, but this is life.

    It actually sounds great. Good for you. Good for him.


  2. Dating myself, I remember not only seeing that photo of Danny, but you chatting about it and the resultant consequences on your old site.

    I thoroughly enjoy reading of your times with D, and love the blissed out, joyful selfie you took afterward (and the light shining on the top of your head adds to the surreal, happy feel).


  3. Erica,

    Now I can wish you Happy Birthday and know that is the case! This sounds like a very lovely celebration. Well done, D.

    I would totally sign on for a “bare-assed punishment.” Yes, sir. Sign me up, please.

    I think there’s nothing at all wrong with a bottom asking for a bit more. Randy and I have been together forever and we still occasionally get out of synch. At least you were polite. I sometimes go full brat and say something snarky like, “Is that all you’ve got?” At that point, I know I deserve whatever happens next, but don’t care.

    I love your bathroom mirror selfies. You look beautiful. I’ve come to learn that the secret is taking a bunch of shots and keeping the good ones. Your face truly conveys your peace and satisfaction. I’m delighted for you.

    Happy birthday to J and happy weekend!

    I am one of your fans who can claim to have known you before MySpace! It’s been a great couple of decades. May the coming year bring you continuing joy.

    Big sisterly hugs,


    • Pam — funny you should mention consequences. Remember how Danny had those two nasty wooden paddles that he named “Conse” and “Quences”? (rolling eyes) Thank you, my friend.

      Bonnie — as I recall, it was your shout-out to my blog that first launched the general awareness of it in the community, so as always, thank you for that. (big hugs)
      Oh, believe me, I do the “Is that all you’ve got?” sort of thing as well. I think when he checked in with me about halfway through, I said that was a good warm-up. (snicker) But overall, with a relatively new partner, I try to dial my snark back a little (unless I know they’re totally comfortable with it).


  4. Dorota on said:

    I am quite envious, Erica, that you have two high quality Tops in your life at the same time.


    • Dorota — it’s a strange thing. I do have two of them, and I’m very grateful. But both are extremely occasional. One of them is over 350 miles away, and the other one might as well be with his schedule! (sigh) But I appreciate them both. I would say meeting them will end up being the two brightest spots in my 2019, which otherwise was kind of meh.


  5. I’m glad that D was able to move his work stuff around and that you were finally able to get your birthday spanking! You deserve every bit of happiness that these moments bring you. I hope you and John had some fun for his birthday weekend, too!


  6. Ooh, I always love your Play-by-Play reports, Erica!! Thank you!

    And your description of the fusion of elements that create a sexy spanking scene is perfect.

    Also, you’re absolutely right abut Peanut M&Ms! I always chuckle at the people munching Clif Bars and slugging down Naked Fruit drinks who, while ingesting three to seven times the sugar, smugly think they’re doing so much better than those poor Snickers-scarfing saps.

    I didn’t know what a “Chocolate Whoopie Pie” was, and looked it up– a relative of a Moon Pie, I guess– but for a second I was afraid the search would take me to one of the stranger categories at X- Hamster dot-com.


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