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 category “aftercare”

Consider me reset

And so it’s 2022. Sadly, 2021 ended with tears. But what goes down must come up. Eventually. And yesterday, this picture captured my moment of spacey, giddy serenity.

Spending New Year’s Day with John lightened my spirits. Then yesterday, I got to see Chris, who braved snow and a rental car and a long-ass drive to come see me.

It was a perfect visit, start to finish. Just so comfortable. It was chilly outside, but his hotel room was warm and cozy, and we sat and talked for about an hour when I first arrived. And then, of course, we began our play.

What a sheer joy it was to settle in, rest my head on the bed, and know with every fiber of my being that I was in the best of hands. No worries about being injured, of too high/too low/too whatever strikes yanking me out of the zone. You simply don’t know how crappy and unfulfilling it can be until you experience a bad player. And then, a good one is like the sweetest of treats.

I felt a little concerned about him, as he’d taken a bad slip on an escalator and pretty much tore his knee open (it shredded the jeans he was wearing). As I was going across his lap, I was afraid of hitting that area, and I said, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He answered, “Well… I can’t say the same!” Okay then. And we were off.

Nice, long, slow warm-up with his hand. He varied it so much that I never knew what he was going to do, which added that extra edge. And he didn’t spare my upper thighs at all. When he announced that it was time to move on to implements, I blurted, “What for? Your hand is a fucking meat mallet!” But I really didn’t mind at all. I enjoy implements, if I can trust the hand wielding them. I know they will hurt, but not harm. Such an important differentiation.

We played hard. He knew I needed it, and so did he. We’d both had a crummy time of it recently, so this was really a reset for both of us. He pushed me right to the edge, even using a few wooden implements, which I normally say NO to but with him, I knew I’d be okay. I went from clenching my fists and groaning to burying my face in the bedspread and screaming. And then I dissolved into tears. Cleansing, healing tears.

(Warning: some might find my marks a bit extreme. It’s all relative. There was no broken skin whatsoever, and much of this had faded already.)

We took a break. For me to calm down (and cool down), and for him to go take care of his poor knee, which had broken open again and bled right through the bandage and onto his jeans. For a long time, I didn’t want to talk, just wanted to float, and he held me in his arms and let me be. I felt… safe.

After a long rest, with cuddlings, talking, and almond oil, we had a brief Round Two, but it was just with his hand this time. I knew he’d stop when it was time. And sure enough, he announced, “Well, it looks like this bottom has taken all that it can for today.” “Sorry to disappoint you,” I quipped. “Not in the least!” he assured me.

He was annoyed with himself that I was uneven. But didn’t want to do what he’d need to do to make the right cheek match the left. For this, I said a most heartfelt thank you.

I said goodbye and left around 3:45. The floatiness remained with me for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I’m surprised I was able to get some work done, but even in my mush-mind state, I had focus.

He checked in with me a couple of hours later, and first thing this morning. Of course he did. Because that’s who he is.

Today, a lot of this faded, but daaaaaaamn, I’m sore. And tired. But calm. I’m even going to attempt a workout, although my butt might protest. And I lost a half-day of work yesterday, so I need to get back into it full speed.

So. Friends are good things. And good tops are worth their weight in gold. Appreciate yours always. I do. Last night, I said thank you to John for being so supportive of my needs, And thank you, Chris, for making the long trip to see me. And thank you for loving it as much I did… that’s half my joy. ♥

Sweet relief

It had been a while, but last Thursday, I got to have a delicious fix. You know, that special cocktail of pain and pleasure and endorphins and firing synapses and all that hot sweetness that we spankos understand. And damn, did I need it.

I hadn’t seen D since our first play time a month ago, and I wanted to very much, but I’m not the one with two jobs and crappy commutes. I knew I had to wait and be patient. In the meantime, things have been crazy stressful this month. John was dealing with a hearing at work concerning his ongoing issues with them (yes, the saga continues), and I think the stress of it weakened him and he got sick with some sort of intestinal bug. All he wanted to do was sleep, and he’d stopped eating. The last time that happened, he ended up in the hospital with a strep infection that nearly killed him, so of course I was in a state of near-panic for days, until he went to the doctor. Sure enough, he’d contracted a secondary bacterial infection and they put him on antibiotics, which helped right away. But between worrying about him, trying to focus on my work, dealing with my feelings about skipping Shadow Lane and why, and the ongoing bad news every freaking day, I was in a state. And working out only goes so far, you know?

Soooooo… on Thursday morning when I heard from D, asking if I was available later that afternoon, I considered it — for about three and a half seconds. You guys know me; I’m all about plans and schedules and spontaneity makes me break out in hives. But damned if I was going to say no to this! I wanted to see him. I wanted to play. I wanted to forget about everything for a couple of hours.

He said he’d know for sure if he could make it by 2:30. So I swung into action, doing two loads of laundry, working, getting a workout in, showering, done with everything by 2:30. I figured if he could make it, I’d cleared away the immediate responsibilities. And if he couldn’t, then I’d just be freed up to do some more work. Win-win. But of course, it was so much better that he confirmed yes. 🙂

He was at my door by 4:15, looking sharp as ever in his business suit. It was nearly 100 degrees outside, and I had the A/C and ceiling fan going full blast, but I knew he’d still be uncomfortably warm so encouraged him to take off his jacket and tie. He’d requested that I put out the “attitude adjustment tools” again; this time, I very sweetly laid them out on the bar instead of putting them in the trash can. I did say that there’s nothing wrong with my attitude, however. We sat on the couch, and he started unbuttoning his cuffs. This time, I had the presence of mind to stop him and take a picture. Because, really, isn’t this one of the hottest fucking sights there is for us bottoms?

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While he was rolling up his sleeves, he was calmly regaling me with some story about why men’s shirts have two buttons side by side on the cuffs. Mind you, normally I enjoy trivia like this, but considering I was glazing over watching those forearms make an appearance, I honestly couldn’t care less at the moment if his cuffs had one button or two, snaps, or freaking safety pins. So I murmured, “Wow, that’s… fascinating.”

“Oooh, condescending! Ohhhkay,” he grinned. I tried to backpedal a bit, saying, “Well, it is interesting… I didn’t know that.” (Pause.) And then I added, “Nor did I care.”

(Just had a memory of Danny from long ago — one of his favorite scold-y phrases. “Oh, Erica. When will you learn??” To which I always answered, “How about never? Does never work for you?” Clearly, I still haven’t learned.)

Our scene was a long one, with multiple parts. We started with me OTK on my couch, with his hand. Moved to me bending over my desk, with his hand and (I think) my leather paddle. Break for a hug with him sitting in my recliner and me on my knees before him, and then he lifted me up and over the arm of the recliner and continued spanking. And finally, just like our first time, he brought me over to the dining room chair and put me back OTK there, picking up my heart-shaped paddle.

He was toppier this time, I noticed. “Come on, stick that butt out. Arch your back, up on those toes.” I may or may not have called him a “fucking taskmaster” at some point. However, whenever I got into the right position, he’d croon, “Just like that. Good girl.” (What is it about the phrases “good girl” and “bad girl” that push so damn many buttons in equal measure?)

Oh, and while we’re on the subject of hot buttons — along with the aforementioned sleeve rolling, is there anything more delicious than a hand that wanders up the back of your neck, fingers slowly crawling, caressing, then swiftly tightening at the base of your skull? Never pulling, just a firm grip that lets you know you’re going nowhere. D has that down as well.

While I was over my desk, he stopped for a moment, saying he wanted to take a picture so that I could see how I was already marking. I appreciated how conscientious he was. He quickly snapped the shot, showed me, and I said, “It’s fine.” “You sure?” “Yes, D. Please don’t stop.” “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not done,” he assured me. Thank goodness.

(Sorry, kids, this picture’s a little rude, even though I’ve doctored it a bit):

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The final scene in the dining room chair was what broke through all the crap. I had felt myself softening and transitioning as we moved through each step, feeling like a knot inside was being gently and persistently worked open. As the pain and intensity escalated and I reached my threshold, I remember thinking, “I need this so much. Thank you. Thank you.” There are few things more sublime than when you reach that pinnacle of vulnerability and you feel like you can just fall and strong hands will catch you. Toward the end, my feet were twisting and flying, my groans were coming right up from my gut, and I was out of my head, off the hamster wheel. My voice broke and the tears began. There wasn’t one bit of tension left in my body.

He took me to the couch and held me, soothing me, and I buried my face and wept. As I started to calm, the usual bit of self-consciousness slipped back. Some women look very pretty when they cry. I’m not one of them. And I can’t help remember what Amber “Pixie” Wells used to say about the dilemma of crying after a scene: “Tears are hot, but snot is not.” Oh, and my mascara wasn’t waterproof. So sexy. But, oh well. He didn’t seem to mind.

After I’d recovered a bit, he gave me another wonderful massage with lotion. I could really get used to this, y’all. Then we chatted for a while, heart rates calming, skin cooling, returning to normal. And well, of course, I couldn’t stay well behaved for very long, could I? I swear, I really never do learn. Sooner or later, I’m always going to revert back to mischief and sass. It usually doesn’t take very long, even after the most intense of scenes. Still, I don’t think D is quite used to me, because he was incredulous.

“You’re being naughty!” he exclaimed. “Yup,” I agreed. And just like that, he went from zero to Top in a heartbeat. His body language, voice, everything changed instantly. “Get over my knee, now,” he commanded.

Uh… what? But… we already had aftercare and everything. But… I’m all lotioned and stuff! But… Yeah. Miss Usually Articulate, all I could do was sputter, “But… but…”

“Don’t ‘but’ me,” he said firmly, pulling me into position. The spanking wasn’t super hard or long, but after all that had gone down earlier, it stung fiercely. When he sat me back up, I sulked, “Well… that was mean!”

(No, it really wasn’t. It was fucking hot. But we don’t have to tell him that, right?) 😀

Shortly thereafter, he had to leave. I was kind of sub-spacey, goofy, and I went to get his suit jacket. Of course, when I handed it to him, I managed to hold it upside down, dumping his wallet and keys and everything else out of his pockets. Ugh. Poetry in motion, that’s me. Finally managed to get the coat back on him, and then I sat down and watched with no doubt what was a dorky, dreamy face while he put his tie and his shoes back on. And then he was off.

I forgot to ask him for more pictures after we were done. So a couple of hours later, I took a picture myself. As you can see, I had faded substantially by then.

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Interestingly, even though we played much harder this time, I wasn’t marked as when we played the first time. By Friday, there was little more than a mild blush on my skin. I was sore, though. Happily so.

The endorphin cocktail remained fizzing in my system the rest of the evening and all the next day. Funny how all the BS goes away for a while. Or maybe it’s still there and I just don’t care.

Thank you, D. Come around and see me again soon, won’t you?

 

 

The phrases that soothe

Much has been written about spanking “buzz phrases” by many, including myself. We all know about those words and phrases that electrify, that stop us dead in our tracks, set our hearts pounding and our stomachs lurching…the scolding, the threats, the warnings and promises.

I was thinking about this — words before and during the spanking are well covered. But I can’t recall if anyone has written about what we bottoms like to hear afterward.

Anyone who knows me, knows how I feel about aftercare. It is essential; as important a component of a good spanking scene as technique, chemistry, implement selection or anything else. Of course, aftercare means different things to different players. For some, it’s sexual, which is lovely. Because I tend to be a hard player and immerse myself emotionally in a scene, my particular preference in aftercare is tenderness. My hard outer shell has been cracked off and my vulnerability exposed. The treatment I receive, in those minutes right after the spanking concludes, contains tremendous power. It can either put me back together again or crush me.

Being held and caressed, tenderly soothed, doesn’t just feel good physically, it’s reassuring emotionally. It makes us feel loved and forgiven. We took what we were given and we took it well. It’s time for kindness.

What do you like to hear your top say during this time?

Perhaps some prefer silence, and that’s OK too. I like that as well. But I do love to hear my top’s voice. Quiet, kind, his words stilling my turmoil.

It doesn’t have to be much; in fact, my mind is mush for a while and cannot absorb anything detailed. If I’m crying, shaking, breathing rapidly, my fists clenching and unclenching as I ride waves of emotion and pain, then something as simple as a sweetly whispered “shhhhhhhh…” will do it.

“Good girl” is always welcome. “It’s OK.” “It’s over now.” “That’s my girl.” Such simple words, and so invaluable.

When Danny and I were play partners, a favorite thing of his to say to me afterward was, “Is my sweet Erica back now?”

“Yes,” I’d murmur, unable to look at him. I can never look up, at first. I keep my face buried.

“Good, because I love her very much,” he’d reply. I could be wickedly prickly, bitchy, sarcastic and sharp-tongued, but after he took me to task, I was forgiven. And I was always loved.

Craig always called me “baby.” That word, in the wrong context, can be unbearably condescending. But the way he said it, at just the right time, made me feel protected and warm, much like the fur blanket he wrapped around me those cold nights at the Lair.

New Guy’s aftercare? As sweet as he is, which is very, very sweet indeed. 🙂

When I hand myself over to a top, I am giving him my trust. I am, with my actions, saying, “You can inflict pain on me, and I will take it willingly. I am brave for you, because I know I am safe in your hands.” Afterward, when I’m spent, throbbing and feeling laid bare, one of the most touching, loving phrases for me is “I’m so proud of you.”

Yes. Thank you. I like it when I’ve made you proud. Hearing that, and feeling a gentle kiss on my hair, my face, a comforting hand… those are the moments where the world could end and I’d exit blissfully.

Fellow bottoms — does this resonate? What are your beloved aftercare phrases?

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