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 “belt”

Oasis party in Vegas, 2022

I think I’m finally ready to attempt writing this. Sorry for the long delay! I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important in all the craziness of work and COVID that ensued after I came home. But better late than never. Settle in. Get a refreshing beverage. This is long.

It was a great party, I had fun, and I have zero regrets. COVID be damned. I needed to do this, and I’m glad I did. But of course, I’m also glad we chose to leave John out of this one. I would have been beside myself had he caught this. Me? I’ll live. He might not have.

Of course, it was a strange weekend without him. I missed him a lot. I had a lot of different moods throughout the three days there, and spent more time by myself than I normally would have. But I had prepared myself for this well in advance and was determined to go forward with it, with all the confidence I could muster. I tried to replace my nervousness with a calm curiosity — what would it be like? New party, new hotel, a lot of new people, flying for the first time rather than driving. I wanted to be open to the new experiences and feelings. And also… be prepared in case it simply was no longer the same. That was a very real possibility. Things are different. I’m different. It’s been a long time. But I’d never know unless I tried.

Friday: I woke up at 5:00 a.m. showered, washed my hair, blew it out, drank coffee, and finished packing. My flight was at 9:00, but I wanted to get to the airport two hours early, so I was on the road by 6:15. That felt weird — it was still dark out, and the roads were nearly empty. I made it to Burbank in plenty of time, found the Economy parking lot, and shuttled to the Southwest entry, where I checked one of my bags. I hadn’t flown since 2019, but the whole rigmarole came back to me and it passed without incident. I found my gate and then bought a bottle of water ($6 and change? Are you @#$%ing kidding me??), and settled in to charge my phone and people watch. A couple nearby had brought their dog! You know me and dogs… of course, I had to go over there and ask if it was okay to say hello. They were very nice, and I hunkered down to pet a very sweet, mellow dog with the softest coat (a Jindo, which is a Korean breed).

Flight was brief, which was merciful, since I could only find a middle seat and it was tightly packed. Plus, the young woman on my right kept falling asleep and laying her head on my shoulder. (Actually, that was kind of sweet. I tried hard to keep still and not disturb her. At least she was wearing a mask!)

I’ve never been to Las Vegas Airport. Holy crap, what a zoo! It was hot as hell, my bags were heavy, and I couldn’t find the Uber area to save my life. I ended up in the shuttle/taxi area, but then they told me I was in the wrong place and I needed to backtrack and go in another direction. (groan) When I found the Uber/Lyft area, it was mobbed with people, but I called for my Uber and they were able to find me. Thank goodness it took only about ten minutes, because I was dying of the heat. The driver was very sweet, helped load my stuff, and I collapsed into the back seat. “Do you need anything?” he asked. “Just air conditioning,” I gasped.

We arrived at the Tuscany Suites in ten minutes, and I went in. It was only 11:30 and check-in time was 3:00, but I had called beforehand to ask if I could have early check-in and they said it shouldn’t be a problem. After I got checked in, they directed me to my building. This was a very neat hotel, made up of separate, lettered buildings they called villas. Our party had three villas — C, F and G. The party suites were in building G, and my room was in C. Huffing and puffing, I managed to shlep my increasingly heavy bags to the building and to my room. Damn, did John spoil me — he never, ever let me help with the bags. I was lucky if I got to carry my own purse.

And of course, because I am a dork, I couldn’t figure out how to open the hotel room door. I had a card, but where was the key card slot you slide it into? (To be fair, there were key card slots in 2020, when I last attended a party.) I finally had to ask a maid, and she showed me where you tap the card. Oh. Duh. Finally straggled into my suite and closed the door, put the stuff down and turned around… and here’s the first thing I saw.

Wait… what? At first my addled brain thought they came with the room, but then I realized of course they didn’t. Somehow, John had arranged for me to arrive to these. Damn, I love that man. ♥ ♥ ♥ I texted him immediately, fighting tears, and thanked him. He, of course, denied doing it. (“Was there a card?” “No.” “Then how did you know it’s me?” “Because you never provide a card!”)

I then took stock of the room. In this hotel, all the rooms are suites, so this was much bigger than we were used to. It had a little living room area, a dinette and kitchenette along with two beds and the typical bathroom area. One thing I did notice right away — despite the wall unit AC blasting away, the room was warm. Uh oh. What was up with that? I did some scoping around, and figured out the problem. First, the AC temp was set too high. Second, it was on low instead of high. And third, there were two large windows in the room with blackout shades, but the shades were wide open and allowing the Vegas sun to bake the room. So I made all the necessary adjustments, and unpacked. (Yes, I unpack in a hotel room.) By the time I was done, it was around 1:00, and the ice-breaker/registration event I wanted to attend wasn’t until 4:00. So I figured, perfect time for a nap, right? Nope. Yeah, I was tired, but I was also keyed up and excited and overheated, and I just couldn’t come down enough to fall asleep. Oh well. Onward.

I found the room where they were having some ice-breaker games and registration, got my badge (which would be worn the rest of the weekend), and found a few familiar faces. Let the hugs begin! The party had actually been going since Thursday, but a lot of people came on Friday like me. I had heard there would be hors d’oeuvres, which there were, but I didn’t realize there would be a cash bar, and I didn’t bring my purse. I needed water, and a very lovely person offered to buy me a bottle. Thank you! ♥ Did some mingling, and enjoyed watching the ice-breakers — a spanking version of Musical Chairs, and then a truly demented scavenger hunt where we all got into teams and were asked to come up with the craziest things (your best drawing rendition of the Last Supper? Three different colored socks tied together end to end??). My team came in dead last — boooooo! But we gave it our best try.

This gathering was over a little after six, and the party suites would be open at eight, so I decided to go back to my room to chill out a bit. They had asked for volunteers to help during the party, and one of the requests was taking shifts as door guards, making sure only those of our party came in. (The security at this event was amazing! They were so thorough — there was no chance of party-crashers.) I had signed up to do the 9:00-10:00 shift, in front of the elevator. I figured it would be the perfect way to get to see everyone.

I changed my clothes, put on makeup, and headed to the G suites. The entire G building was ours and ours alone, so we could make all the noise we wanted. They had two party suites directly across the hall from one another, and so the guests meandered back and forth (and also hung out in the hallway when the rooms got too crowded).

What can I tell you about the first day/night? You already know it — greetings, greetings, and more greetings! A million hugs! Oh, that felt so good. There were faces I didn’t recognize, but also plenty of the ones I knew, and it was so good to see everyone again. I grabbed a spot on one of the couches while I could, and just observed things for a while until I had to go take my guard post. Each of the two rooms had bins filled with ice and water/drinks, plus other bins of snacks. All were portion controlled, individual packages, which made it a lot healthier than having communal dishes of candy and what have you. I think (?) they had beers, but the huge spread of all kinds of liquor was no longer. Which is for the best, I believe.

Anyway, I ended up next to a man who looked familiar — that happens a lot at these weekends — but I don’t recall meeting before. His name was Matt; he seemed to know me, and chatted with me a bit. He asked if I’d played yet, I said no, and then mentioned that I was due to do a guard shift in about fifteen minutes. “Well,” he said, “would you like a warm-up scene, first of the weekend?” He seemed nice — why not? I almost never do my first and last scenes with people I don’t know, but what the hell, I was doing everything differently this time. He took me into one of the bedroom and gave me a lovely hand spanking. And what was I thinking the whole time? (“Why have I not played with this man before??”) He was awesome! Perfect technique, and not super hard, which was just what I needed at the outset of things. Great start!

Then I was off to sit by the elevator. I was joined by JC, who was one of the security people for this party, and he and I chatted and caught up. I was right; sitting there was the perfect place to see everyone as they came and went. The halls were clamorous, with rambunctious bottoms striding up and down, singing 90s songs (Friday night was “90s night,” although I didn’t dress for it because I had no clue what to wear) and announcing that they could do whatever the hell they wanted. I got to greet lots of people, everyone who came by had their badge, and I enjoyed my shift, even when it extended past an hour because no one showed up to relieve us! JC went to find out what had happened, and it turned out that the shift change person was at the elevator downstairs! Oh well… no problem. I had been approached by a gentleman named Andy, with whom I’d played at the party in 2020 and enjoyed thoroughly. He asked when I would be sprung from my post, and he had that evil glint in his eye — what could he have in mind…

When I went back to the rooms and freshened up, he was waiting for me, and we went into one of the bedrooms to play. Oh, that was fun. He was playing with my skirt, slightly lifting it, yanking it back down, inching it up again, then down again… I said, “You know, you can lift that, it’s okay!” I mean, really, being spanked over clothes is so tedious. He just kept on teasing and I finally blurted, “Just lift the damn thing already!” (Oh, Erica, you’re so demure and ladylike.) And he did. A wonderful spanking ensued, and then, after he smoothed everything back in place, just like he’d done the last time, he swooped me up in his arms and twirled me around and around. I love that!

That was it for my play on Friday night, just two scenes. I was a little disappointed at the slow start, but figured I had to be patient. The weekend had just begun. Also, even though I knew the party was going to go long into the night, the long day finally crashed in on me and I started fading around 12:30. The FOMO part of me said, “Noooo, it’s too early, you can’t go, you’ll miss stuff!” But the reasonable adult part said, “There are two more days and nights. You’re exhausted. If you push to stay up later, you’ll just feel lousy.” So, I picked myself up and left, meandering back to my room. I think it was somewhere between 12:30-1:00 a.m. when I went to bed.

Saturday: Before I get into that, I should do a brief review of the strange nether region I found myself in at this party. I mean, for years, I knew where I stood at these things. People knew me. Or they knew of me. I had a solid group of regulars to hang with. I knew the drill of the events. I knew the hotel. Blah blah blah.

Now… all new territory. I was by myself. The venue and events were unfamiliar. And as for the group, that was a mix. A percentage of the people knew me. Another percentage knew of me. And yet another percentage knew neither — I was a stranger. And the weird part was that I didn’t know how those percentages fell. So every single time I walked into a room this weekend, I didn’t really know where I stood. And — I can’t keep emphasizing this enough — I didn’t have John to fall back on.

I suppose there are some thinking, “What’s the BFD?” That’s okay. I know I’m sounding a bit melodramatic. But those who know me, and know these parties, get it. It was weird. Not bad, not good, just… different and strange.

Anyway… I slept in on Saturday. This party had a lot of events scheduled all throughout the days. However, many of them were based on role play, age play, or both, and while those are hugely popular, that’s not a good fit for me. One event was for POC — I didn’t qualify for that. Another was FF — nope. So you get the picture. I didn’t attend too many things, so I had a lot of free time on my hands.

After showering and dressing, I realized that the day before, I hadn’t had a single proper meal. All I did was graze all day on snacks I brought to my room (peanuts, grapes, pretzels) a couple of hors d’oeuvres, and a Nutri-Grain bar in the party suite. I needed fuel. But… I didn’t have anyone to go to lunch with.

So what, Erica? You want lunch? Go take yourself to lunch.

The hotel had a very nice diner called Marilyn’s Café, and I meandered over there, getting a table by myself in the corner. There I sat, catching up with everything on my phone and enjoying a healthy breakfast. I’m not usually one to take pictures of my food, but I thought my breakfast was unusually picturesque. Egg white omelet with veggies, fruit cup, multi-grain toast with jam, and really good coffee. Great service, too!

Almost forgot — before lunch, I ran into M in the hallway. I had discovered a blister forming on my toe, which I didn’t want to get worse, so I had called the hotel to see if they had Band-Aids. They did not. But when I found M and mentioned needing a Band-Aid, she said she had some, so we went back to her room to get one for me. And then of course I realized I hadn’t put my badge on, so we traipsed back to my room to get it! (There was a lot of walking this weekend. Which is fine by me, since that’s the only working out I did.) Then I went with her to the gift shop so she could buy a bottle of water, and we parted company.

There was a vendor fair starting at 3:00 in the suites, so I went back to my room after I ate and got ready to attend that. Upon leaving my room, I saw Madame Samantha lingering in the hallway. She was waiting for assistance, having locked herself out of her room. I ended up hanging out with her until she was let in, and then went into her room and we spent the next hour chatting and catching up. She then headed to shoot with Sarah Gregory, and I headed down to the vendor fair. That was pretty low-key. But the main event of the day was ahead. On my way back to my room, I ran into my friends K and Adalia from Jillian’s Discord group in the lobby — they had come on a one-day pass so they could attend the Saturday night festivities. Enthusiastic hugs ensued.

The return of the ballroom dinner/dance! Dressing up! The Vegas parties had not done this for many years, so it was like a throwback to another time. They had a very cool backdrop set up so people could take pictures, and we were all encouraged to dress our finest. Soooo… I pulled out a dress I had buried in my closet, one I’d only worn once, and that was to a BDSM dungeon event. Over the top? You bet. Perfect for this? Yup. When it was time, I got dressed, put on full makeup, primped and fussed with my hair, and then I was ready to go. First, of course, I took a selfie for John, so he could be the first to see me.

Yes, it was covered with sequins. And you can’t see it, but it had a tie-up, corset-style back. How did I get myself into it without someone to tie it for me? It wasn’t easy. I had pre-tied it perfectly before putting it on, and then I just struggled into it. When there’s a will, there’s a way.

I made my way to the main building and then upstairs to our ballroom — gorgeous! People were milling around inside and in the hallway, and I greeted several friends. We all looked so good! Men in suits, women in gorgeous dresses — festive and fun! Here’s a shot with three friends — Jada on the left OKed showing her face, while M and S preferred to remain anonymous. Aren’t we spiffy?

There was a lot of oohing and aahing over each other’s outfits, and pretty soon, people were lining up to take pictures in front of the backdrop. My friend K was in a stunning, off the shoulder white sequined dress, and with me in a black sequined dress, I just had to get a shot with her. Can’t show her pretty face, but trust me, she is such a cutie! ♥

I also took a picture with one of my favorite tops, who I’ve mentioned in several party blogs — Roy. Soooo good to see him again! But he said, “Don’t put this on the internet,” and I must respect that. More on him later.

I wandered about a little, saying hello to people and exclaiming over their clothes. The stunning Snow Mercy was there — with her dog! A poodle puppy. Of course I had to pet her, and she chewed on my hand and gave me kisses. I saw Sarah G and her new hubby John Osborne — we talked briefly, and she said something unexpected that touched me. If I ever changed my mind about shooting again, they’d have me back in a heartbeat — she said no one plays the bratty wife quite like me. Damn. I’m not going to take her up on it — there is no going back — but that was sweet to hear. ♥ John took a picture of Sarah and me — she was in purple sequins — but I haven’t gotten that.

We chose our tables/seats and sat, watching people mill about the backdrop, greeting one another. I sat between Jada and TallAndStrict (AKA the artist formerly known as Ralph Marvell). I should mention that we hadn’t seen Jada in many years and it was such a treat catching up with her and hanging out. We first met her in 2009. Some things never change — these parties are such a whirlwind of faces, past and present, and they all come at you so quickly. I hope I’m remembering everyone.

The buffet dinner was very nice, with something for everyone, including vegetarian and healthy choices. And for dessert, they had an assortment of mini-pastries, all kinds of goodies, each one about two-three bites (yours truly took three of them, thank you very much). There was a cash bar, but I just drank water. I usually like to have a glass of champagne at some point at these parties, but I eschewed that this weekend, being alone. John always watches out for me when I get a little tipsy.

And speaking of John… in the spirit of honest reporting, the bad with the good, I had my first droppy moment after dinner. The music and dancing started, and people filled the dance floor. Not everyone went up there — in fact, it was the same small group of people who danced nearly every dance. Because the music was nearly all the same style. In the past, the dance selections have been a mix, with current blending with classics for those of us of the AARP persuasion. Not so this time. So I sat at the table, thinking okay, I’ll just talk with people, but it was too loud with the music to hear yourself talk. At that moment, I missed John fiercely. I wanted him there with me. And I could feel my mood plunging.

Okay, Erica. What now? You could stay here and be miserable, hoping for a different outcome, or you can exit, go back to your room, and get ready for the party suites. What’s it going to be?

I chose to leave. It was getting near the end of the ballroom time anyway. I’d made my appearances, had my dinner, gotten my pictures. Time to keep moving on. And to get some play in already!

I changed into a more casual dress, traded in my pumps for flat sandals, and went to the party suites, which were hopping. The night is a blur now, but I know I played three more times. The first time was with T&S, who I have not played with in many years. We had some fun reminiscing about when we first met, and how he’d autographed my butt with a Sharpie. I said I should have never washed my butt again, which cracked up the entire room around us. After that, I watched a beautiful double-team scene with Zoey on a massage table (they had a couple of tables set up in each suite, for flogging/caning/strapping scenes), and when I complimented John O. afterwards, he said, “Wanna be next? Hop up.” Sure! Hadn’t played with him for a long time either. It was a fun, floaty scene, lots of different implements and sensations, finishing with some caning (not hard, though — more sensual, which was perfect). Yum!

And then there was Roy. I was chatting away with a few people when I saw him come in. He caught my eye and winked at me, but didn’t approach yet. But I knew he would. Sure enough, soon, he walked behind me, brushing my shoulder on the way, peeked into one of the bedrooms, then gestured for me to follow him in there. “Excuse me,” I cheerfully told my friends as I exited the conversation.

As always, he was worth the wait. So good. Not a complicated scene, just a good long OTK hand spanking, but our chemistry is amazing. He could have gone on for hours and I wouldn’t have complained. Every time I thought the scene was winding down, he’d say, “Few more?” I’d say “Yes, please,” and it would continue. It was interspersed with caresses and snippets of conversation, easy, comfortable. I love love LOVE when a scene comes together so perfectly.

Sadly, I didn’t get to play with him again. The poor guy woke up the next day feeling sick to his stomach and he took an early flight home. (No, it wasn’t COVID; I checked on him later.) Maybe he had a touch of food poisoning. But at least we had one wonderful scene.

After that, I figured that was my high note for the night, so I didn’t play anymore. I did stay in the suites for a while longer, though. Piper plopped down on the couch next to me at some point and we had a bit of catch-up talk — she and JC are two of my favorite people. But then she was unceremoniously hauled away by Mistress Josephine for a caning, which she bratted all the way through. It was hilarious.

And there it was, that moment where you realize you’re tired AF, you’re running on fumes, but you don’t want to leave because you’re having fun and you might miss something. That hit me about 2:30 a.m., sitting around with a group of friends who all looked as exhausted as I was, but no one was making a move to leave. (“Lightweight! Sleep is overrated! The party is still going!”) But. I couldn’t sleep super late, because there was Strict Dave’s Spanking Court the next morning. I still had one more full day. So once again, Adult Erica took charge, and I bid everyone goodnight.

damn, this is long…

Sunday: After finally getting to sleep at nearly 4:00 a.m., the alarm the next morning was particularly rude. But Dave’s Court is a no-miss, a party staple. So I straggled out of bed, showered and dressed, and went to the hotel coffee shop for some caffeine fortification. Unfortunately, everyone else had the same idea, and the line was long. (groan) So I stood there, semi-comatose, and waited my turn, finally getting some coffee and making my way to the room where Court was taking place. I needn’t have worried about being late, though — there was a hiccup, a missing power cord. One of the party organizers had to hunt one down, which took a while, and we started 40 minutes late. But of course, it was well worth the wait. The usual assortment of funny, bizarre cases, and Dave was his brilliant, dry-witted self.

In the past, I have often been taken to Court for various bratty things, and always had fun pleading my case. This year, I was not. I didn’t expect to be, of course, but it still felt a little sad. It was also kind of sad to me to realize that, watching all the cases ensue, I did not know most of the participants. Ch-ch-changes…

After Court ended, the strange feelings remained. Once again, I felt at a loss for what to do next. Usually, this would be the time John and I went to a late lunch with our friend M or whoever else happened to be going. I tried mingling a bit, but it seemed that every conversation I tried to enter fell flat. No matter what I did, this was how I felt at the moment.

(Perfect image, no?)

I had one interesting encounter — the day before, a very nice man had approached me, looked at me quizzically, and said, “You’re kinda famous, aren’t you?” I laughed and made the “so-so” gesture with my hand. I guess he figured it out, because then he came up with me with a couple of young women in tow and enthusiastically introduced them to me, saying I was a “famous spanking model” and that I had been “immortalized” in caricature. He then pulled up a picture on his phone to show them — aaaaand there I was, in all my Dave Wolfe glory, from one of his birthday toons for me:

That was flattering… but also kind of awkward. I mean, that picture is fourteen years old. Shortly after that, someone accidentally bumped me and splashed a cup of water down the front of my sundress. (No biggie; it was only water.) And as I looked around, figuring that was my cue to leave, I didn’t see anyone I knew — people had dispersed. And I really, really didn’t want to go to lunch alone once again.

It seems every party has a moment of emotional meltdown. This was mine. All the insecurities, missing John, feeling old, wondering where I fit in, etc., etc., ad nauseam came rolling in waves… and I went back to my room and cried. Here it was Sunday afternoon and I’d only played five times, didn’t have a mark on me — that was unheard of. I texted John, saying it was a good party, but I was lonely and missed him and was struggling at the moment. At least I didn’t lose it in front of anyone. He texted back and then I settled down a bit.

Okay, Erica. Two things left — the afternoon pool party, and the Sunday night party blowout. You can sit in the room and feel sorry for yourself, or you can take a few deep breaths, shake it off, rest, and then get ready for the pool.

I had some snacks, then briefly napped. The pool party was from 4:00 to 7:00, so that was a nice break time and one in which I pulled myself together and was determined to make the most of what was left. In yet another burst of courage, I donned a bikini that I haven’t worn in twenty years, put my sundress over it, and went to the lap pool, which had been reserved just for our party.

Well. Things turned around after that. That pool party was so. Much. Fun. Of course, since it was an outdoor pool on hotel grounds, we couldn’t play. But we could make all the noise we wanted, be silly, say whatever wanted without being overheard. I’m not sure how many of us ended up at this gathering, but we all splashed around, playing water volleyball and riding around on inflatable pool toys. It was about 110 degrees, and the pool water felt exquisite.

And speaking of pool toys, our good friend IMLX had brought what is apparently the mascot of the Seattle spanking group — Sea Chad, the Wonder Whale. Sea Chad is gender fluid and has their own account on FetLife. I got to ride SC twice, once by myself, and once with two other women behind me on SC’s back. I do have a picture of that, but the other women in the picture wished not to be publicized, and they look so damn cute that I didn’t want to blur their faces, so I think I’ll just keep that private. But here’s a shot of me on a pink flamingo, with Sea Chad photo-bombing behind me. (Photo by IMLX)

Side note about Sea Chad: When I was riding SC, IMLX was pushing me around the pool, and he was going to back me up to get me away from the volleyball players. As he did so, he bellowed, “Backing up the whale!” To which I yelled, “Hey! I resent that!” (Yup, he’s never going to live that one down…)

I wandered about in the water, striking up conversations, and had several very nice ones. Saw one of the veteran members, Amy, and we had a sweet chat, sharing memories of Tony Elka. Got to catch up with my video hubby Stephen Lewis a bit. I also introduced myself to one of the party organizers (FetLife name Melville) and we had a great talk. She told me all about how this venue came to be, and how instrumental Eve Howard had been in helping them snag it. After we were banned from the Suncoast (and I still don’t know exactly why), finding a new, kink-friendly venue was a challenge. So this was a huge coup, and they worked hard for it, this new Oasis team. Kudos to them. I told her how impressed I was with how well organized everything was, and she was grateful to hear that.

I stayed in the pool until 6:45 and my fingers looked like prunes. Got out, dried off, put my sundress and shoes back on, and made my way back to my room. There had been hot dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches from Shake Shack provided at the pool, but I had passed on that. So once again, I didn’t eat a proper meal on Sunday. But it was okay. I had KIND bars and peanuts for protein, grapes for energy, and chocolate, so I had all the important food groups.

Here’s a bit of weirdness: right before the party, I had a fresh pedicure. (My polish was called Lucky Red; perfect for Vegas!) I went into that pool with ten perfect toenails. Nearly three hours later, I looked down and saw that the polish on two of my nails was completely gone. Not chipped — I mean gone. WTF? Did the chlorine eat off my polish? That’s a little scary. And so much for keeping the pedicure nice for a while! *grumble*

I showered and washed my hair, got into a casual Sunday night outfit, and headed for the final party later that evening. I had decided I was going to play through, and not go to bed. I needed to call for an Uber around 4:00 a.m., and there was no point in trying to get a couple of hours’ sleep. I’d just stay up until it was time to leave, go pack and check out, and go straight to the airport and home. I could sleep once I got there. That decided, I stopped by the gift shop on my way there for a 20-oz. bottle of Diet Coke, for the caffeine.

I’d made another decision. Throughout the weekend, I’d felt off and uncomfortable because I wasn’t getting a lot of requests to play. There were a lot of handsome young men, new to me, who I would have loved to play with, but there was no way I was going to ask them. And a lot of my old favorite familiars weren’t there. But by Sunday night, I thought, screw it. You want to play? Ask, dammit. The men are as intimidated as you are, especially in the party climate now, post #MeToo and the huge and devastating uproar that blew through our scene last year.

With that in mind, I found a comfy couch spot in one of the suites and struck up a chat with the man sitting next to me (FetLife name: Joker10). He was not new, but hadn’t been to the parties for a while. I had watched him doing a Florentine flogging the night before and was impressed with his technique. He was a lot of fun to talk with and we covered a lot of topics. He asked me if I liked flogging, and I said yes, very much, but it’s hard to find people who can do it well. He said he would be getting his toy bag later, and I thought, there you go, Erica. There’s your Sunday night end-the-party flogging. Lovely. I told him I’d see him later, and he said, “Okay. Behave yourself.” To which I said, “What for??” I mean, really? Was there any other answer?

IMLX and I had been chatting on and off all weekend and he made a point of telling me, “Find me on Sunday night so we can play!” He knows how distracted he gets and he didn’t want the opportunity to pass. So when I was sitting and chatting with Jada, I saw him come in, and beckoned him over. “So are we going to play, or what?” He assured me that we were, but first, he was being called upon to take a picture of someone’s scene, and then he was all mine! Okay… I waited for that, and then he approached once again, rambling about how busy he’d been and how time had gotten away from him as usual and so on and on… “Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah, let’s go!” I interrupted. (You have to understand my relationship with IMLX — it’s much the same as a lot of the other bottoms. He is a great guy, a great player, and one hell of a great sport, because we all give him shit like you wouldn’t believe. But he knows we love him.) T&S overheard that, burst out laughing and said, “You never change, do you!” “NO!” I hurled back on my way into the bedroom.

Oh, damn, that was such a fun scene. It’s been a long time since the two of us played, and I have to say, his hand is wayyyyyy stronger! Years ago, we played at Boardwalk Badness and I very slightly assed his hand. (You’d think it was blistered and bleeding beyond recognition, the way the poor dear was carrying on.) No such occurrence now! But of course, variety is the spice of scenes, so he took off his belt too. Delicious. Wonderful long scene, loud and exuberant and filled with laughs. I felt that unmitigated joy once again. There is nothing like it.

After that, I wandered about the suites, had a bit more chit-chat, and then saw Paul Kennedy. You all know how much I love playing with Paul. I don’t know why I was being so reticent, waiting for him to ask — probably because he usually does. He has a way of just coming up to me in a crowded room and spiriting me away with a beckoning finger. However, when that didn’t happen, I thought, well, you wanna wait passively and see if it does, or do you wanna be proactive? Since the theme of the weekend was the latter, I asked him. And of course, he said yes, no hesitation. *beaming*

We chose a bedroom, I took down my cropped jeans, and settled in for a long OTK hand spanking. He built me up slowly, lighter at first, then adding in flurries of fast and hard, going down onto the upper thighs as well. After a nice long while of that, I heard him murmuring to me to get up, so I pushed myself up, and saw that he had laid out pillows on the bed for me to lie on. Then he showed me a wicked-looking two-tongue tawse. Gulp.

Without preamble, he calmly asked me a simple question: “Do you want marks?” I didn’t have to think about it. My answer was: “From you? Yes.”

Oh my. Ow ow ow. That thing really had a fierce bite. Especially on my thighs. I called forth all my fortitude for the last set of strokes, delivered evenly, measured, perfect. As Paul always is. ♥

Another side note, speaking of Paul: Have I mentioned how freaking adorable Alex Reynolds looked every time I saw her? I haven’t? Well, she did. It seems she is living her very best life these days, happily married and in love, a loving stepmom, a beautiful new home (filled with cats!), all the good things. It made me happy to see. It brought back memories of being at their wedding, which had been a complete joy for both John and me.

And finallyyyyyyy (Jesus, it’s about time, Erica) — I floated out of the bedroom, where I saw Joker10 wrapping up a flogging scene, so I plunked myself down on the carpet nearby and waited my turn. I didn’t have to wait long. After stripping down to my underwear, I laid on the massage table. He took one look and said, “Wow, you’ve been a bad girl.” Why, yes, yes I have! He asked some questions about limits, and showed me a pair of gloves with long silver claws at each finger, asked if some sensual play was okay with those. You know, I don’t usually like sharp things. They scare me. But there was something about this guy that made me instantly trust him. I can’t explain it; it’s just one of those things that happens, and I went with it. So I said yes.

WOWWWWW. My instincts did not fail me. J10 was wonderful with the floggers, and then, he ran the claws carefully over me — up and down my back, into my hair, down my legs, and yes, on my tender butt. It felt shivery and sensual and a little tickle-y and a lot very good. Perfect, perfect end-of-party scene. “What planet are you on?” he asked as he wrapped it up. “Mars,” I mumbled. He brought me a piece of chocolate for my blood sugar, and I took my time savoring it before I finally got up and put my clothes back on.

But wait, there’s more. (Whaaat? Oh, FFS… Sorry, readers. Just a little longer.)

Throughout the evening, I’d been running into Piper, who said that JC wanted to play with me (to which I said most emphatically yes), but he was working security and we kept missing one another. Now it was quarter to three and I was walking around saying my goodbyes. JC thought I was just saying goodnight — he didn’t know I was leaving for the airport. “Can we do a quick scene before you go to bed?” he asked. I said I wasn’t going to bed, this was it, I was on my way to the airport after I packed. “Oh, then we have to do a quick scene! I won’t make you late!” Sure. Let’s do it.

What a great little scene — did I mention I really love JC and Piper? He then announced, “I’m making this quick because I know your time is limited and you have to get going, so I don’t want to read anything on your blog about how JC sucks, that I end scenes too early!” I laughed… yeah, like I’d ever say that. You reading this, JC? You rock!

And then that was it, the final round of goodbyes. Went back to my room, where I had already piled everything up neatly, ready to throw into my bags. But of course, I had to get a selfie of my butt first! I mean, I hadn’t gotten any butt shots all weekend, and it’s not a spanking party without that.

Nine scenes in three days. Not as much as usual. But then again, I don’t know if I could have taken a whole lot more. And they were all good scenes. I’m not complaining.

Had to leave the flowers, sadly. Checked out, and then sat outside at 4:00 a.m., the air hot and thick and muggy, and called my Uber. They dropped me right off at the Southwest entrance, I checked my bag, did the TSA check-in, and went to my gate. What did I see right in front of it? A 24-hour Einstein’s Bagels kiosk. At that moment, at that ungodly hour, not having eaten and existing on fumes, nothing sounded more exquisite than a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with jam and a cup of hot coffee. So I waited in line, bought my treat, then sat down, plugged in my phone, and wolfed down the bagel. After that, I just relaxed, too tired to read anything, until my flight at 6:30. This time, I got an aisle seat. Good thing, because that half-hour squeezed into that tiny seat with my sore butt and my aching exhausted body was one of the most uncomfortable half hours I could imagine! Christ, how did I manage to fly home from shoots back East?? But then it was over, I got my bag, and shuttled to my car. When I staggered in my front door, it was 8:30. I sent a few “I’m home!” texts, and then I went straight to bed, where I slept six hours.

Aaaaand you know the rest. That was Monday. Tuesday and Wednesday I was slam-jammed with work, Wednesday night I started feeling bad, and Thursday morning I tested positive. I have been home for the past several days — no John this past weekend. I had a couple of really uncomfortable days, slept a lot, and then it dissipated into feeling like a mild flu or cold. I’ve been able to work, which was very good, because I was so busy. Now I’m caught up. And as of this moment, I’ve had no fever all day, I still have a deep cough but it’s not out of control, and I haven’t taken any Advil or Tylenol all day (whereas I took it around the clock before). So I’d say I had a mild case. Thank goodness for vaccinations and boosters. Oh — and if a positive spin can possibly be put on COVID? I’ve been too damn sick to feel any post-party drop!

It was a weekend of myriad experiences, old and new, happy and sad. Many emotions. But again, absolutely no regrets. I’d do it all over again.

I am damn proud of myself.

Thank you, Oasis. See you in February. ♥

Life got you down??

Got the Delta blues? Worried about the planet frying to a crisp? Fed up with politics? Up to here with ignorance, selfishness, flakiness, irresponsibility? Tired of the endless stream of negativity in the news? Pissed off about the new Jeopardy! host? Are you unpopular? Do you poop out at parties? Do you suffer from the heartbreak of psoriasis??

Are you just fucking sick to death of everything??

Well, get your ass beat and forget about it for a little while. I did.

Yes, I had a visit from Mr. Woodland again last night. And was damn grateful for it, especially after worrying about how it might fall through. He was running late with work, and then mid-afternoon, my AC decided to spring a leak and start dripping all over my carpet. Auggh! I was afraid I’d have to turn it off, and it was nearly 100 degrees outside — no way could we play with no AC. However, my manager dropped over, took a look, said there was a clog that was causing backup and told me the AC people would come the next day — and meanwhile, I could keep running it (he put a bucket under the leak). Whew!!

Mr. W arrived about 6:30-ish — I was ready with chilled water and cookies and we sat and talked for a little while, catching up. I shared about what’s been going on with me, the frustration and anger and powerlessness of it all, and he announced that he was going to spank all that stress right out of me. Well, okay then, have at it, please!

As you might remember from our last scene, we had to cut it short because I was marking so heavily. I’m happy to report that this time, that wasn’t an issue. Early on, the conversation went something like this:

Him: “Hmm… looks like you’ll have a mark right here.”
Me: “I can live with that.”
Him: “Looks like you’re gonna have to.”
Me: “Oooh… yes, SIR.”
Him: “Good girl!”
Me: “Oh, fuck off. Don’t you know sarcasm when you hear it?”

And we were off.

The whole scene is one big blur of fun for me. I remember a lot of laughter — both mine and his. (I love making tops laugh!) We did a good long hand warm-up on my couch, with plenty of banter, and then he had me move to the ottoman. Aaaand then s**t got real, as the kids say. He broke out the heavy artillery from his toy bag — he knows my preference is leather and he had quite the assortment of goodies, including a brand-new strap. He gleefully announced that he’d been thinking about me when he bought it… oh, joy. :-Þ

Before I knew it, the best part happened — the transition. When I start to go into my zone, stop talking, stop sassing, and just sink into the feelings. It’s around that time that animal sounds start coming out of me. I could kinda sorta hear his voice floating above me, saying things like, “Yeah.” “That’s it.” “There it is.” “Wow.” “Ah, it’s just like music.”

Toward the end, he leaned over me, smoothed my hair with his hand and murmured, “How’re you doing, killer?” Harrumph! I beg your pardon? Who are you calling “killer”? Then he teasingly asked me, “Still like leather?” Somehow, I managed to pant, “Yes… I’m just not sure I still like you.”

He had me come back to the couch over his lap to finish me off. By then I was so far gone that everything felt like a caress. After that, I tucked into the circle of his arm and we talked a while longer, winding down. He took off a bit after 9:00, both of us agreeing that this had been a wonderful time. The energy was amazing.

And of course, once again I forgot all about pictures. (He did say next time he’ll be sure to take some.) So I went old school again and set up my camera with the timer. I was already faded a bit by now, but you can still see what a good job he did.

Today, I’m sleepy, spacey, and wishing for the quazillionth time that I could bottle post-spanking euphoria.

Thank you once again, Mr. W. And now, reality intervenes too soon — just got some work emailed to me, so back I go. Hope everyone is staying safe and well. ♥

Missing a clip — Chross? Anyone?

I never saw a single episode of “Saved By the Bell.”

And now you’re probably thinking I’ve finally lost my mind, wondering what the hell that has to do with anything. Follow my train of thought. All roads lead to spanking.

On Monday, I read about the unfortunate passing of Dustin Diamond (cancer, not Covid) at 44 — he played “Screech” on SBTB. And in the write-ups about him, he was often mentioned alongside co-star Mark-Paul Gosselaar.

MPG played the preppy, bleached blond high-schooler Zack Morris in SBTB. These days, he’s virtually unrecognizable, playing the derpy New Age dad on “Mixed-ish.” But somewhere between the two roles, MPG was quite the hunk of sexy beast.

And it was during that period that he guest-starred in a 2010 episode of “Weeds,” and participated in possibly the hottest scene in that show’s history. When most people think of “Weeds” and spanking, they recall the OTK scene between Mary-Louise Parker and Demian Bichir in the back of a limo. IMO, the scene between MPG and MLP made the limo spanking look like child’s play.

The actual spanking portion of the scene is brief; actually a bare-bottom belting. But the whole thing is so freaking hot, with the most perfect buildup ever, the most perfect dialogue. The chemistry between the two of them sizzles the screen. I think I blogged about it way back when. Used to be you could find the entire scene online, including on Chross’s Movies and TV Database. I watched it many times.

So, the other day I had a hankering to watch it once again. Went to Chross’s database, found it, clicked View. “This video has been flagged.” Whaaaat??

Okay. Maybe it was somewhere else. I remembered the name of the episode was “Gentle Puppies.” I Googled everything I could think of. “Weeds Gentle Puppies bar scene Mark-Paul Gosselaar.” I found articles about that scene; apparently a lot of people agreed that it was steamy. I found a few pictures and a couple of gifs. But I could not find the clip at all, not even part of it, not anywhere.

What happened?? Have we gotten so damned puritanical that the clip was deemed too pornographic or something to leave online? Ugh!

For those who don’t recall the scene, I’ll do the next best thing — I’ll describe it. Perhaps it will jog some pleasant memories. To the best of my recollection (remember, I watched this a hell of a lot of times), Nancy (Parker’s character) winds up in an empty dive bar in the middle of the day. She makes herself at home, walking behind the counter and helping herself to a beer. The owner (MPG) then comes out and doesn’t look too pleased. She proceeds to sit at the bar, helping herself to peanuts and being thoroughly obnoxious to him. Another man comes in, sits down and starts watching the game on the overhead TV.

Nancy then pulls out a cigarette and starts to light it. MPG tells her there’s no smoking in this bar. She protests that there’s no one there, and he insists she can’t smoke. She then gestures at the sole customer sitting at the bar, “You mind?” He shakes his head. So she lights up anyway. MPG looks pissed. Then, abruptly, he turns off the TV and tells the other guy “We’re closed.” The man leaves, and MPG locks the door after him. Meanwhile, Nancy still sits at the bar, looking a bit apprehensive.

MPG slowly walks over to her, comes up right next to her. With one hand, he takes her cigarette and stubs it out, and with the other he roughly fists her hair. Oh. My. God.

Look at her face. She knows she’s in trouble.

And then the following dialogue happens:

MPG: I said no smoking. You don’t listen.
Nancy: No… no, I don’t.
MPG: Do you need someone to make you?
Nancy: Mmmhmmm…

Holy crap. Not since “You’re going to grow up, all the way, right now” has a bit of spanko dialogue made me so weak in the knees. Then the scene jumps to Nancy’s bare bottom bent over the bar, and MPG is thrashing it with his belt.

Aaaaand then the next thing we know, they’re both naked and he’s going at her like a wild stallion. Glasses are crashing and smashing and no one cares.

The scene ends with him clinging to her from behind, and Nancy, ever the grifter and opportunist, is slipping an expensive-looking watch from his wrist onto hers.

Ring any bells, kids? Any ideas where this scene could be found? Hell, I’ll purchase the entire episode if I have to. This one is a keeper. Weeds, Gentle Puppies, 2010. Anyone?

Repost (I think?): The Editor’s Correction

Well, kids… I’ve really wanted to post something new here. But I’ve got nothing right now. So I thought I’d dig into the archives and repost some fiction.

I don’t remember whether I posted this story or not. I never published it in anything. And as you’ll see, I wrote it several years ago so it’s a little dated in some aspects.

  1. Obviously, everything is digital now. But not too long ago, I was still marking up bulky manuscripts with a red pen and marks like these. And yes, they did fall on the floor and get mixed up, get things spilled on them, etc.proofreadmarks
  2. Craigslist no longer has personal ads.
  3. And finally — does anyone under [insert old age of your choice] wear pantyhose to the office anymore??

But despite these minor issues, I still like this story a lot. Hope you will too. 🙂

And no, I don’t advocate pranks like this. But they’re fun to write about, and make for great spanking scenarios.

The Editor’s Correction

“Aaaaagggh! Damn it!” Maggie Bailey blurted without thinking, as she brushed against her glass of juice and knocked it over, the stain instantly spreading into the piles of manuscripts on her desk. She snatched up the papers, but the liquid had already soaked into several pages. She’d have to print them again. For the umpteenth time, she cursed her tiny desk in her tiny office.

“Maggie? Are you OK?” The voice of Greg Watkins in the corner office next to hers came through the wall. Maggie clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Damned flimsy walls! She made an effort to calm her voice and called back, “I’m fine; I just spilled something.” And it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you, she added silently.

Maggie had been working at H&L Publications for ten years. She started as an editorial assistant and worked her way up to being one of the fiction editors, earning her own small office. For a long time, this thrilled her to no end. However, the office was indeed very small, her desk was also small by necessity, and her work area constantly frustrated her. Things piled up all over and she had no room. Manuscripts often got knocked off her desk, papers strewn everywhere. It was difficult to keep things separated and collated with so little surface area. She could have used a long worktable, but there was no place to put it. Her desk, chair, filing cabinets and small couch took up most of the space. She often banged her shin or thigh on the desk corner or on a file drawer sticking out.

She’d borne these inconveniences patiently, working diligently and hard, putting in long hours. Her eye had long been on the Senior Editor position; she knew she was in line and qualified for it, and with the position being vacated soon, she hoped it would soon be hers. Not just for the pay increase, but for the coveted corner office—more room, a bigger desk and a window. Perhaps in some cases, honest effort paid off after all.

So it was much to her chagrin when Joe Hanford—the H of H&L—called her into his office three weeks ago and explained, somewhat uncomfortably, that the position had been given to a new employee, Greg Watkins. Maggie was certainly qualified for it, Joe hastened to add, but Greg had more experience (twenty years to her ten). And he’s male, Maggie thought privately. Although she never voiced it, she suspected that H&L was a bit of a good ol’ boys’ outfit, and if the choice came down between a qualified man or woman, the man was likely to be the winner. And she hated Greg Watkins even before she met him.

To add insult to injury, Greg turned out to be a pleasant, well-liked guy. Not her type, of course; he was the sort she sneeringly referred to as metrosexual. Impeccably dressed in tailored suits, hair perfectly styled, well shined designer shoes. He wore an understated but expensive watch; his fingernails were neatly clipped and very clean. He was smart, funny and knew the publishing industry well, and both the men and women in the company took to him immediately. All except Maggie. She resented his presence and wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed by his friendly overtures, even though he was right next door. She made sure she was never rude to him, but she was coolly polite and nothing more. When he spoke to her, she answered, but never initiated conversation. He often gave her puzzled looks, but she ignored them.

Seething with fresh resentment, Maggie stormed out of her office and into the kitchen, snatching up a sponge and several paper towels and hurrying back to her desk to wipe up the sticky spill. Looking up the numbers of the pages that had been soaked, she tapped them in the Print section to reprint. Finally, order was restored and she settled back down to work. It was lunchtime, but Maggie often ate at her desk.

“Hey, Maggie?” She looked up, and quickly stifled her annoyance at seeing Greg in her doorway, smiling at her. “Yes, Greg?”

He walked in and over to her desk, holding a stack of paper rubber-banded into a neat bundle. “I have a new author effort here; can you give it a look?”

She glanced at the manuscript after he laid it on her desk; the author was female and the story was clearly some sort of romance novel. Before she could stop herself, she looked pointedly at the various stacks of paper on her crowded desk and muttered, “Sure, why not—it’s not like I have anything else to do.”

Greg’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dump more on you. It’s just that—”

“It’s just that it’s chick lit, and I’m a chick, so you figured it was right up my alley, right?” she interrupted. She felt a slight sense of satisfaction when he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

Greg hesitated, picking up the manuscript. “Maggie…do you have a problem with me? Have I done something to offend you?”

Maggie cursed herself. Dammit, she had tried so hard to remain completely professional and polite, and give him no ammunition. She forced a tight little smile onto her lips and lied through her teeth. “No, nothing like that. I’m just busy, and I’m rattled because I spilled juice all over everything. Put it down; I’ll look at it later.”

“OK,” Greg said, placing it once again at the corner of her desk, but he didn’t move away, just stood there looking at her. Unnerved, Maggie dropped her eyes back to the computer. “If you’ll excuse me…” she murmured. Greg looked at her for another moment, then turned and left her office.

Jerk, she thought, letting her face settle into a disgusted frown. Sighing, she sat back in her chair and stretched, and saw Matt Weiss, the associate publisher, pass her door. Then she heard his voice; obviously he had stopped at Greg’s office. “Hey, Greg, a few of us are going to the corner to grab a sandwich and some brews. You up for taking a break?”

“Sounds good,” she heard Greg answer. “Only I’ll have to skip the brews. I have a meeting with both H and L this afternoon and I need to be on my toes.”

“OK, Nancy,” Matt teased. “We’ll make sure to order some tea for you.”

Maggie heard Greg’s chair squeak as he pushed away from his desk. “Never mind that Nancy crap,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “I can drink your sorry ass under the table any day of the week, and you know it.” The men laughed as their voices faded down the hall.

She rolled her eyes. Stupid macho idiots, she said to herself, her fingers beating an angry staccato on the keyboard. Times like these, she wished she could send an IM or an email to her friend Lynn in the advertising department; Lynn often served as her sounding board and she knew all of Maggie’s secret feelings. She was such a good listener, Maggie forgave her for thinking Greg was cute. But that was out of the question; H&L had a bit of a “big brother” policy where their computers were concerned. Emails were monitored, and any incoming or outgoing messages other than business-oriented ones were forbidden. So she sat and seethed a bit, fantasizing about bringing Greg Watkins down and grabbing the position that was rightly hers.

As she tried to focus on her work, a wicked germ of an idea took hold and began spreading. The more she tried not to think about it, the more it consumed her. Maggie found herself sitting at her desk giggling, and realized she had read the same page three times and still didn’t know what was on it. Her reasonable and professional self battled with her childish urge.

I couldn’t do it.
But I want to.
I can’t.
Damn right I can.

After a few minutes of this, she got up and with her heart pounding, walked out of her office, looked up and down the hall, then slipped into Greg’s office and shut the door quietly. Going over to his desk, she tapped on a key to disrupt the screensaver—yes! He was still logged into the system. She sat down (noticing with disgust that his desk chair was far more comfortable than hers) and since Greg was already online, she went directly to Craigslist, clicked on Personals and then on Create Ad.

She specified that it was to go into the Casual Encounters area, m4m (male for male). For the email, she typed in Greg’s business address. And then there was the content area. Grinning wickedly, she wrote:

My name is Greg, but you can call me Nancy. I’m a very bad boy, because I like to wear my mother’s underwear. I need a big mean daddy to spank me until I’m crying like a little girl.

Oops, Mom is coming, gotta go! No time to post a picture, but I promise you, you won’t be disappointed!

Her hands had been trembling, and she made several typos. After going through and fixing them, Maggie hesitated for a few seconds, then hit Publish. She waited until the confirmation email popped into Greg’s inbox, opened it and clicked on the supplied link to finalize and post the ad. It was done. Giggling nervously, she closed down Craigslist. After making sure she left the desk exactly how she had found it and peeking out the door to make sure no one could see her, she scuttled back to her office and closed the door. Her heart still raced and her hands still shook. She couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.

It took a while for the adrenaline to dissipate, but Maggie finally relaxed, ate a sandwich at her desk and continued with her work. She was so absorbed, she barely registered Greg’s return as he chatted with his coworkers in the hall and then went into his office. A few minutes later, her concentration was broken by a muffled but very loud “What the hell?” She jumped, her heart banging in her chest once again. Now she could hear Greg in the next room muttering to himself. Obviously, he’d checked his email and found a reply or two to his (her) ad. Maggie clamped both hands over her mouth, stifling laughter. Greg was going to have some explaining to do once word of this breach of email etiquette reached HR. Bending her head back down over her papers, she forced herself to focus and stayed in her office the rest of the afternoon, long after she heard Greg’s door slam and his footsteps thunder down the hall.

* * * *

When Maggie arrived at work the next morning, Greg’s door was closed. She went to the kitchen, selected a bagel from the bag on the counter, toasted it, poured a cup of coffee. While she was spreading cream cheese on her bagel, Greg came into the kitchen with his mug. But instead of his usual friendly greeting, he merely nodded at her with a set face, got some coffee and walked back out. She gathered up her plate and cup to head back to her office, hoping her blush hadn’t given her away. Of course he couldn’t know it had been her doing. He could suspect all he wanted, but he couldn’t know for sure.

It was an unusually busy day, and Maggie remained sequestered in her office, keeping a low profile. When Lynn popped by to invite her to lunch, she declined. She did not see Greg again, although she heard him coming and going.

Late in the afternoon, she sat back and stretched, looked at her watch. Five o’clock. It was Friday and she suspected everyone had already gone home. Not her, though, not diligent worker bee Maggie. Sighing, she got up, walked to the door and opened it, cautiously looking out into the hall. Sure enough, all the office doors were open, with no sounds emanating from within. She went into the kitchen, hoping for some coffee, but the machine was shut off and the two pots were soaking in the sink. Instead, Maggie grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator. She planned to stay another couple of hours and thought a jolt of caffeine would help.

Back in her office, she left the door open and settled back at her desk, popping the top of the soda and picking up the manuscript Greg had left with her the day before, making a face. Might as well get this done and out of her hair.

The story turned out to be surprisingly well written and as she scanned it, she found herself getting more absorbed. So absorbed that when a deep voice said, “Working late again, I see,” she nearly jumped out of her skin and let out a little scream.

Greg was standing in her doorway. “Jesus Christ,” Maggie breathed, putting her hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me, Greg! I didn’t think anyone was here.”

He slowly walked in. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Maggie, I apologize.” His words were cordial, but something about his stare made her feel very uncomfortable. She was suddenly aware that the two of them were the only ones left in the building. She tried to force a casual tone into her voice. “It’s OK; I’m just not used to seeing you here this late, that’s all.”

Greg leaned up against her desk. “I’m usually not, you’re right. But I had some unusual circumstances today that needed a fair amount of my time.”

“Oh?” Maggie feigned nonchalance, took a sip of her Diet Coke, and discreetly balled up her other hand into a fist in her lap so Greg wouldn’t see it shaking.

“Yeah, you could say I had to do some damage control,” Greg continued, pushing some papers over and sitting casually on the corner of her desk. His eyes never left hers.

“Sorry to hear that,” Maggie murmured, dropping her eyes to her computer screen. “What happened?”

Greg shifted, picked up a manuscript, shuffled the papers in his hands. “Well, it seems that someone hacked into my computer, and placed a, shall we say, inappropriate personal ad on my behalf on Craigslist.”

Maggie opened her eyes wide in shock. “You’re kidding! How? Who? Do you know?”

“I have some ideas, but nothing for sure,” he said calmly, placing the papers back down and continuing to level his unwavering gaze at her. “I had one hell of a day, though. I had to keep erasing answers from a bunch of perverts out there. Fortunately, the ad finally got flagged and removed. And then HR got wind of it through the IT people. That’s where I’ve been for the past hour, trying to explain myself to them, convince them that I had nothing to do with this.”

Maggie shook her head, hoping she looked properly indignant. “That’s terrible! Did you manage to convince them?”

Greg sighed, briefly looking away from her, and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, fortunately, I finally did. Joe went to bat for me, saying I’d never pull anything like this, and it had to be an office prank. Of course, now everyone wants to know who did it; if they find out, that person is history here.”

Maggie swallowed hard. “So… did you share your ideas with them?”

“No,” Greg replied, turning back to stare at her. “I thought I’d go straight to the source instead, see what I could figure out on my own.”

His look unnerved her. “Why are you staring at me?” she finally blurted, shifting in her seat.

“Am I?” Greg asked, smiling slightly. “Or is your guilt making you imagine things?”

“Guilt? What guilt? What are you talking about?” Maggie cried, her voice overly shrill. She cleared her throat, took a breath. “What are you implying, Greg?”

Greg stood and slammed his palms down onto her desk, making her jump. “Oh, come on, Maggie. I know it was you. You might as well stop this pretense. I know you’ve disliked me since the minute I came here, but I never thought you’d stoop to something like this.”

She felt her face burn, but she forced herself to meet his angry eyes. “What makes you think I did it?” she said defensively.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Greg snapped. “I don’t know anyone else here who has that big an axe to grind with me. You work right next to me; you know when I’m there and when I’m not. You could hear when I left for lunch. And you no doubt overheard Matt call me Nancy.”

Maggie’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I heard that part. I thought it was pretty damn funny. Your friends know you well, apparently.”

Greg leaned closer, his face stony. “You know, somebody really should spank you until you’re crying like a little girl,” he hissed.

His words sent a lurch through Maggie’s stomach, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was scaring her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sneered, “but it certainly wouldn’t be you, Metro Man. You’d ruin your manicure.”

Greg closed his eyes for a moment, and his fists clenched and unclenched. Maggie looked away, fighting down her butterflies. Manicured or not, Greg had mighty large hands.

“You are a piece of work, you know that?” he said. “What did I ever do to you, anyway? What is your problem?”

Maggie shrugged and made a face, turning back to her work. “Nothing,” she said, her tone snippy. “You’re the one whose mother’s underwear is in knots.” She giggled at her own comment. Then she looked up to see Greg’s triumphant look and instantly felt sick.

A smile slowly crept across Greg’s face. “Well now,” he said, his voice low and silky. “How did you know the bit about my mother’s underwear? I didn’t mention that.”

Maggie’s throat closed and she knew she was blushing scarlet. She was completely busted and there wasn’t a thing she could do to extricate herself. “I… I… um…” she stammered. He continued to smile at her, waiting, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. “OK! Fine! I did it. Are you happy now?”

“No, actually, I’m not,” Greg replied, his smile fading. “Do you have any kind of explanation? Why would you do something so childish? Do you realize that you could have cost me my job?”

She couldn’t look at him; her eyes dropped to her lap, and she fiddled with a thread on her jacket. She opened her mouth several times to speak, and stopped. Finally, she shrugged.

“All right, Maggie, since you won’t answer my questions, I’ll try another one. Do you realize I could cost you your job? All I have to do is tell HR I know who did it, and that’s it. You know that, right?”

Her head jerked up and she looked into his face, which was angry and uncompromising. Suddenly, the full weight of what she had done crashed down on her. All she could think of was her bills and debts—the mortgage on her townhouse, her car payments, her credit cards. If she lost her job, how could she pay for them? And how on earth would she be able to afford her own health insurance? H&L might not have advanced her to her liking, but they paid her a decent salary and provided excellent benefits. She stood to lose all that right now, and all because of her petty attitude. Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip, willing them away. “Yes,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse and meek. “So… are you going to tell HR?”

Greg sighed. “I should, but I’d rather not. I don’t know if I could live with myself, causing anyone to lose their job in this economy.” His eyes narrowed. “But you do need to be punished for what you did.”

Maggie winced at the childish word, punished. She swallowed around the huge lump in her throat and clasped her shaking hands in her lap. “So what are you going to do?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms, his lips curling into a smile that chilled her to the bone. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

Maggie stared at him, speechless. She couldn’t believe she was in this position; she’d read about it so many times in books, seen it in movies, but she didn’t think it actually happened. Cold anger replaced her fear and she slowly stood. “You bastard,” she hissed. “OK, let’s get this over with.” Adrenaline coursing, she took off her jacket and threw it over her chair. Then she reached up and began to unbutton her blouse. Greg’s expression went from smug triumph to confusion.

“Maggie, what the hell are you doing?”

His tone was so honestly bewildered, it made her hands freeze mid-button. “I’m… I… didn’t you…?” she sputtered. To her complete mortification, Greg burst out laughing.

She stamped her foot. “Stop laughing, damn you!” she shrieked.

He didn’t stop, and she wanted to crawl under the desk and curl up into a ball. “Ah, Maggie,” he said, trying to contain his mirth. “Don’t flatter yourself. That’s not what I had in mind.”

Now she was the confused one. “Then what did you have in mind?”

He smiled, clearly relishing her discomfort. “I’m going to do exactly what you suggested in that little ad of yours. I’m going to spank you. Hard.”

Maggie’s stomach lurched once again. This was even worse than she thought. “The hell you are!”

“The hell I’m not!

“You arrogant prick! There is no way I’m letting you do that!” she shouted. “Get out of here!”

Greg took a deep breath and blew it out hard. “OK, Maggie,” he said calmly. “But if I leave this office without giving you a sound spanking first, then I’m going to HR first thing Monday morning. Your choice—pay now, or pay later.”

Maggie put her head in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. She’d never hated anyone so much in all her life.

“Come on, Maggie,” Greg said, his voice gentle. “Take the first choice, and it will hurt for a little while and then be over. Take the second choice, and you’ll have a whole world of hurt that won’t end anytime soon.” As she stood there staring, he took off his jacket, neatly folded it and put it over the arm of the couch. Then he sat down, patted his lap and looked at her expectantly.

Maggie’s head spun. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.

“Nice try, Maggie,” Greg smiled. “Come here.”

She went to him, her legs leaden. “God, I hate you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” he said, taking her forearm and firmly pulling her down across his lap. She shuffled and squirmed, situating herself. “Comfy?” he said mockingly.

Maggie pounded her fist on the couch. “God damn you, just get on with it.”

Greg laughed, and she felt his hand pull her tweed skirt up to her waist. “Hey!” she hollered. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Please… do you really think you’d feel anything through that heavy skirt?” He snapped the waistband of her pantyhose. “Besides, you have plenty of protection with these… for now.”

“What do you mean, for… ow!” Maggie yelped as his hand firmly cracked onto her right bottom cheek. Before she could catch her breath, he delivered a similar stinging slap to the left. “That hurts!”

“Gee, it does?” Greg said sarcastically. “Maybe I should rethink that ‘big mean daddy’ thing, huh?” He smacked her right cheek again, harder than before.

“Dammit, Greg, stop it!” she howled, struggling against him. “I changed my mind! Do what you want, get me fired, I don’t care! Just let me up!”

Greg pinned her more firmly. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’m enjoying this too much. Might as well settle down, Maggie, you’re here to stay. You’ve got this coming.”

He got into a pattern of solid swats, alternating cheeks, his big hand coming down again and again. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to bear it stoically, but it hurt like hell and soon she was thrashing and kicking, screaming in pain.

Finally, he paused and Maggie struggled to catch her breath. “So,” he said, laying his hand on her bottom, making her flinch. “You care to tell me why you hate me so much? Enough to pull such a stupid stunt?” When she didn’t reply, he sighed. “Never mind, I already know. I know you wanted the Senior Editor position, and you were pissed off that I got it. Joe told me when he hired me.”

Maggie buried her face in the couch cushion, feeling her humiliation from head to foot. “If you already knew, why did you ask?” she mumbled.

“Look, Maggie, I know you wanted that job and you worked really hard for it. Joe felt bad; it’s not that you’re not qualified. It’s just that I have more experience than you. It’s not your fault, but it’s not mine, either. Can’t we get along?”

No, Maggie thought. Stubbornly, she remained silent. When Greg spoke again, his voice had hardened once more. “OK, have it your way. I think that, considering the gravity of your crime, your spanking should continue on the bare bottom, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t!” she screamed, rearing up, but he pushed her back down, and she felt his fingers snaking into the waistband of her pantyhose. “Lift your hips,” he said. She balled up her fists and stayed still. Smack! His hand cracked down on the very top of her upper thigh, hard. “Owwwww!

“Lift. Your. Hips.”

She complied this time, and he yanked her pantyhose down below her bottom, then did the same with her panties. Without another word, he began spanking her again. If she thought the pain was bad over layers of underwear, it was nothing compared to this. She tried desperately to squirm away, but he held her fast. She dug her nails into her palms, grit her teeth, but finally the burning pain overtook her and she howled until her throat hurt. Still, he continued. She didn’t know which was stronger—her pain, her humiliation or her rage.

At long last, Greg paused again and Maggie collapsed against him, panting. “Maggie,” he said quietly. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

Tears stung her eyes and the pain was unbearable, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize to him. She was still too angry and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she bit out, “Yes, I do. Go fuck yourself.”

She felt his entire body tense under her, and she cringed in horror at her own words, terrified of what might come next. He didn’t give her any time to ponder on it. “Get up,” he snapped, roughly grabbing her shoulders and pulling her upright. Her pantyhose were bunched up around her knees and she nearly fell, but he yanked her up, then strode to her desk, dragging her along with him. With one long sweep of his arm, he sent all the papers flying and cleared the desk. She gasped, but didn’t dare comment on the mess he’d just made.

“Get over the desk, Maggie. Now,” he growled, glaring murderously at her.

She looked at his red face, fearfully. But she still couldn’t give in to him. “W-why?” she stammered, with a bravado she didn’t feel. “What—what are you going to do, you pervert?”

Greg put his head in his hand for a moment, then rolled his eyes heavenward. “I repeat, Maggie—don’t flatter yourself.” He then reached down and began to unbuckle his belt.

Maggie nearly fainted, she was so terrified. “Greg, no!” she burst out. “You can’t! Please! I can’t take that!”

“You should have thought of that before you started this whole mess, Maggie,” he said, pulling his belt out of the loops. “And especially before you told me to go fuck myself.” He snapped the belt, then doubled it over. “Over. Belly down on the desk. Now.”

Trembling, Maggie slowly turned toward the desk and put her palms on it. But before she could lower her belly down onto it, Greg said, “Wait!” She froze. Silently, she watched him go retrieve his jacket from the couch arm and bring it over. She gaped in surprise as he patted it into a soft bundle, then placed it on the desk. “OK, now,” he said, his voice marginally gentler.

She leaned down and laid her body onto his jacket, grateful for the comfort, although she knew that wouldn’t last. Once in position, she stretched out her arms and grabbed the edge of the desk, lay her head down and shut her eyes tight. “Please, Greg…”

He didn’t reply. Snap! She felt his belt impart a burning stripe across her behind. She jumped and shrieked, and his hand pressed into the small of her back. “Hold still, Maggie. I don’t want to miss, and you don’t want me to either.”

Gritting her teeth, she did her best to remain in place as the belt struck again and again, all over her bottom. Her feet involuntarily stamped and her fists pounded on the desk, but somehow, she stayed in position. But the pain nearly drove her crazy.

“I know it hurts,” she heard him say. “But it will be over soon, and then we’re done.”

“No, we’re not!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I won’t be able to work here anymore, regardless! You’ll tell everyone and I won’t be able to look anyone in the face again!”

Greg paused and walked around to her side. “Maggie, look at me,” he commanded. Slowly, she turned her head to look up and meet his eyes.

“I am not, repeat, not going tell anyone about this. I told you I wanted to keep this between you and me, and I meant it. After we leave here today, we won’t speak of this again. I promise.”

Maggie’s eyes searched his face; she saw no trace of malice. “You mean it? You—you won’t make fun of me? You won’t tease me about this?”

“No, I will not.”

She believed him, and her tense body relaxed a fraction. At all once, she felt profoundly ashamed. It was ridiculous that she should be in this position, and she had no one to blame but herself. She turned her face away, blinking back an onrush of tears. It dawned on her once again how close she’d come to losing her job. A job that, she now realized, really wasn’t that bad after all.

Greg stepped back. “OK, Maggie. I’m going to give you one more long set, and you’re going to hold still and take it. After that, we’re even.” Maggie took a deep breath and steeled herself.

Whack! Crack! The belt struck all over her bottom repeatedly as he moved around her, the blows more rapid than before. Finally, Maggie’s pride shattered; she gave in and burst in tears. “Owwwwww,” she sobbed. “Oh God, Greg, please stop, please! I’m sorry!”

He stopped immediately. “That’s all I wanted to hear, Maggie,” he said.

Feeling broken, Maggie remained lying over the desk, crying her eyes out. She wanted to die then and there, rather than stand up and face Greg. He put his hand tentatively on her back. “You OK?”

She gulped and nodded, unable to speak. When she made no move, he hesitated, then gently ran his fingers over her sore behind. His touch mortified her, but she said nothing.

“Maggie, listen,” he said. “This is the last word I’m going to say on this subject, I promise. But it looks like you’re going to have some bruises. When you get home, I would suggest sitting on an icepack for a while; that should reduce some of the swelling. OK?”

Her voice still paralyzed, she nodded her head once more. Then Greg, with his fingers still lightly caressing her bottom, added, “And you’ll probably want to use some lotion as this heals, so your skin won’t get rough.”

It was too much. Lashing out, she blurted, “You sound like you’ve done this before!” Then she cringed. Oh, shit, why did I say that? There was silence behind her for a moment, then Greg cleared his throat. “Well, tell you what—I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine, OK?”

Oh my God. “Yes, OK. Please…” she choked out, “may I have a few minutes by myself?”

“Of course,” he said, and she heard him slip out the door and close it. She clung to the desk and sobbed, releasing all the tension, and then reached back to rub her backside. It felt hot to her touch, and she could feel raised welts. Wincing, she carefully stood. Her legs shook so hard, she could barely stand on them, and she had to brace herself against the desk. Painfully and slowly, she pulled her panties back up, then her pantyhose, and smoothed down her skirt. Grabbing the Diet Coke can on her desk, she took the last swallow of flat soda. Then she got a mirror out of her purse and attempted to wipe away her smeared makeup with a tissue, blowing her nose vigorously.

There was a gentle knock at her door. “Maggie? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she croaked out, looking away awkwardly as Greg opened the door and walked back in. Her eyes dropped to his jacket on the desk, wrinkled and disheveled from all her squirming. Sheepishly, she picked it up and handed it to him. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled.

“It’s OK,” he said, taking it from her and putting it back on, running his hands over the wrinkles. He smiled at her and somehow, she managed a wobbly smile back.

“Look, Maggie,” he said, his voice kind. “I can’t do anything about getting your position in the company changed. But I know this office sucks. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I know a couple of people are leaving soon and there will be vacant offices, bigger ones. I’ll have a talk with Joe about moving you into one of them. All right?”

She felt tears coming on again, but she blinked hard against them. “You’d do that for me? After what I did?”

“I told you, we’re even now. And you do deserve a bigger office.”

Embarrassed, Maggie looked away again, then knelt down and started picking up the strewn papers. “Leave that,” Greg said, touching her arm. “I’ll get them.”

Wordlessly, Maggie went to the couch and gingerly sat, biting back a groan of pain, and watched Greg pick up the papers, put them back in order and place them in neat piles on her desk. Then he stood, turned to her and grinned. “There… friends?”

Despite herself, she grinned back. “Friends,” she replied.

“OK, I guess it’s time I head out of here,” he said, going to the door. “You coming?”

Maggie shook her head. “No…I think I’ll stay a while and get a little more work done.”

Greg made a face at her. “Maggie, you don’t need to work so damn hard. Really, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly, pointing to her desk. “Look at all that. If I don’t do it, who will?”

Greg hesitated, then sighed. “Well…maybe I’ll try having a word with Joe about getting you an assistant. Not promising anything, though.”

Maggie’s heart lifted, and she felt the last of the tension melt from her limbs. At last, from a very unexpected place, she might have an ally in this office of good ol’ boys. Despite the burning throb in her backside, she felt better than she had in weeks. “Thank you, Greg,” she said, getting up and walking over to him. “Have a nice weekend.”

“You too,” he said, then stuck out his hand. Smiling, she shook it. “Night, Maggie.”

She had a sudden mischievous urge. As he turned to walk out, she replied, “Night, Nancy.” And then slammed the door on his surprised face.

On the other side of the door, she heard him chuckle. “Just remember, Maggie—I know where you work!”

Sometimes, life’s timing is perverse

Thanks to everyone who dropped in to say hello during LOL Days. I know this event isn’t as well attended as it used to be, but it’s still fun to see the people who stop by.

So, about last week. I need to back up a bit to last Tuesday.

You know how you can know in your gut that something bad is coming, but in your head and heart, you still hang on to a bit of hope that it won’t? Therefore, when the inevitable happens, even though you knew it was coming, it still knocks you sideways and hurts like hell? Yeah, that was my last Tuesday. I really don’t want to go into any more detail than that. It doesn’t matter.

I bawled, on and off, all day long and into the evening. I felt like hell, my eyes swelled nearly shut, my face burned from the constant tears. But I had to keep going, keep working. First, I had a lot of work to do and several things committed. And second, the next day, I’d be on my way up north for another visit with B. So I quite literally didn’t have time for pain or emotional fallout.

I finally finished the work I’d promised before taking off Wednesday/Thursday, and went to bed. I didn’t sleep well. When I woke up Wednesday morning, I wondered how I was going to switch gears. I looked awful. And while I was no longer sobbing, my eyes still kept dripping like a broken faucet. In the car on the way to the airport. At the airport. In the plane. In the Uber. Blech. When I arrived at our meeting place, I had an hour before B got off work, so I went into the bathroom and put on some makeup. Time to put all this crap on hold and be in the moment. I was here to have some fun. It was a brief escape and distraction. I could continue to hurt after I got home. But for now, I was going to shelve it and enjoy myself — and be a guest who was a pleasure, not a drag.

After B came to get me and we went back to his place, he put on some music and we chatted a bit. Despite the mood I’d been in for the past day and a half, I felt my spirits perk up and knew my emotions were under control. Whew. I can do this. I can forget about all this crap for a while and be present.

A couple of weeks ago, B had emailed me and asked if we could speak on the phone later, regarding our plans for my visit. As it happened, I was on a deadline that night and I was all stressed out about it, and so I asked if this could be handled by email. You guys know I have a thing about the phone; email and voicemail and texts are my friend. About the only person I talk to on the phone these days is John. So I truly wasn’t trying to be offensive… but I guess I should have been more flexible and agreed to a brief call. We did settle things by email — he wanted to know my choice between November 6 and November 13. I chose November 13 and all was well; he booked it for me and sent me the confirmation. And then told me I was going to be punished for not taking his phone call. Oh, dear.

Soooooo… not long after I arrived, it was time to address that. Upstairs we went. The scene that followed had a lighter tone; B was a bit more playful, and he used his belt for the first time, which I loved. There was the requisite cane, but just twelve this time. And then he did something new; he put a small digital clock (one that counts off seconds) in front of my face on the bed and said he was going to use the tawse very quickly in flurries all over for three minutes. Which sounded like a lot, but I was actually a bit disappointed when it was over — I liked it!

“Was that like I said it would be?” he asked. “Very fast and spread out over a large area?”

“Hey,” I blurted. “Watch it with that ‘large area’ business!”

“Excuse me?”

Oh, crap. “I mean, uh, please refrain from saying ‘large area’ when you’re talking to a woman’s butt… sir!” I think he just replied with “ExCUSE me??” again, so I just broke down and started giggling hysterically, and buried my face in the spread, preparing for an onslaught. But he let it pass. 🙂

“I think you need two more minutes.” Well, okay then. I think two minutes turned into another three and then some more after that — I lost track.

“You enjoyed that too much,” he observed. Guilty.

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This scene left me pleasantly warm and stinging, and relaxed. We then meandered back downstairs and he prepared an omelet for dinner, which was delicious. And then, more music, plus a selection of artisan truffles and Moet Chandon. It’s not all pain and strictness, y’all. B is the consummate host. 🙂

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The picture doesn’t do them justice — his champagne flutes are gorgeous. Can you see the gold rim at the top? And the chocolates were insanely good. The silver ones were my favorite.

It was a cool evening, so we went out to his building’s courtyard and he lit the gas fireplace there, and we sat outside talking for a while. I told him stories about some of my shoots and the people I worked with — he thought Sierra Salem was lovely, and I had spent lots of time with her. I also mentioned about how Keith Jones had nicknamed me “Bionic Bottom” way back when. It’s fun to reminisce; I really have had some amazing times.

Back inside, somehow we got on the subject of the Marx Brothers (!?), and B actually had the temerity to say that “the one who didn’t talk was useless.” Sacrilege! Harpo was brilliant! But what does he know — he’d never even heard of Zeppo, the fourth brother! So one minute we were bickering about this, and the next minute I was OTK, feeling this nasty little strap he has. It’s leather, but it’s very stiff and narrow and it has rivets on both sides, so it really bites.

“Bragging about your video exploits?” he huffed.

“You enjoyed that!” I protested.

“And your, what… your bipolar butt?”

I damn near lost it, laughing so hard. (Yes, it is possible to laugh hysterically and shriek in pain at the same time.) “Bionic! Not bipolar!”

On that note, it was near midnight, so we said good night and I went to the guest suite. By the time I showered, caught up on my phone and settled down, it was about 12:30. I think I was somewhere past exhausted. Nearly three glasses of champagne had taken its effects as well.

And so, 6:45 a.m. arrived swiftly and rudely. I dragged myself out of bed, dressed, sent the requisite “Hi sweetie, I’m okay” text to John, and wandered downstairs, where B was in the kitchen making coffee. He gave me a shot of espresso first, then made a beautiful latte with the swirls on top and everything. And he had multi-grain toast with black cherry jam. It’s the little things in life — give me some caffeine, some carbs and a bit of sugar, and I’m a happy woman.

I was already packed up, and we had about an hour before we had to leave. After he cleaned up, he came and took my hand, saying it was time to go upstairs once more. Okay, I thought, I know the drill — we always play once in the morning. But once there, instead of having me immediately assume the position over the foot of the bed, he kept me standing and looked into my eyes.

“You’ve been very self-reflective lately,” he said without preamble.

Oh, crap. He knew. I’m not sure how; perhaps he read that damned “Catch and Release” post from a couple of weeks ago (one I probably should have taken down). Or perhaps he saw my tweet on Wednesday, talking about the perverse dichotomy of crying all day one day and then flying up north to play the next.

I said yes, I have. And he added, “You’re falling into yourself.”

Never heard it put quite that way, but it works. I often refer to depression as the abyss. Perhaps the abyss is me. I nodded, feeling my throat start to close. He said I needed some therapy; well, that’s for damn sure, so I agreed.

“What do you think would be the proper therapy?” he asked. I looked away. “Pain?” I replied.

“Strapping. To tears,” he answered. My heart started to pound. “You look nervous; are you nervous?” I said yes, I am. “Why?” he asked. “You’ve been spanked by lots of men before.”

Strange question. Kind of a non-sequitur, really. I mean, the nerves and anticipation beforehand are all part of it. If I didn’t feel any butterflies, wouldn’t that mean I’d become jaded and blasé about all this? And what fun would that be? I answered something lame about how toppy he is.

I settled into the bed, and he told me he’d be using two tawses, twelve with a lighter one and then twelve with a heavy one, and we’d go from there. No warm-up, I was already sore from the night before, so I was really going to feel this. Of that I had no doubt.

It didn’t take long. He’d already gotten into my head before giving me a single stroke. The first twelve with the lighter tawse felt like hell. During the next twelve with the heavier one, I broke. After a pause, he gave me six more. The fucking dam cracked yet again; the walls I’d put up the day before crumbled.

He let me cry, gave me a hug. Said he wanted me to be a good girl, to get outside of myself. Yeah. I want that too.

I lay back down and he sat in front of me, and we talked a few minutes. He asked how I was feeling. I said, quite honestly, that I wanted to sleep for a week. Shortly after that, it was time to pull myself together and get ready to go.

I asked him how he’d known what I needed. He declined to answer.

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He drove me to the train station, and we said goodbye once again. “Thank you” seemed inadequate, but it was all I had.

I was so tired, I damn near felt delirious. Just physically and emotionally wiped out. I made my first train, no problem. But then at BART, trying to catch the shuttle to the airport, I hit a snag. First ticket machine I came to had a long line, and when I finally got to the front, two women were struggling with it. I tried to help them, and then we gave up and went to the guy in the booth. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, “that machine is malfunctioning and will only take Clipper cards.” [whatever the fuck those are] “Walk to your right, take the elevator up one floor and there are more ticket dispensers there.”

So we went to an antique elevator that looked like it had been in operation since 1922, that took forever to open and then forever again to go up one freaking floor. Once there, I dashed out, saw the nearest ticket machine — and the “out of order” sign. Arrrggh! I ran around and found another — but directly in front of it were two security guards in some sort of altercation with a guy who was arguing with them, and they wouldn’t move. So I rushed over to a third machine, finally got my damn ticket… and by then I’d missed the train. However, I got the next one in a half hour, made it to SFO and got checked in with a half hour to spare. All was well. All I wanted now was to go home and collapse, and I finally arrived at around 2:30. Sent a few “I made it home” texts, unpacked, and went straight to bed for a 2 1/2-hour nap.

No rest for the wicked; I had a huge deadline for the next day and I didn’t have time to think, let alone blog or reminisce or talk to friends about my visit. I just swung right into work mode and hit it hard. When I finally sent the finished document to my client at 5:00 Friday, I was so relieved and so pleased with myself, I was beaming. And now it really was time to relax. Time to head for John’s, have a quiet weekend, catch up with sleep, come back to earth. Between work, emotional insanity and the brief whirlwind of travel and adventure, I was toast.

Strange how we get what we need, no matter how fucked up things can feel. Thank you, B. I hope you know how much I appreciate your care.

Just a word to people who have expressed that they’re concerned about me — here’s the deal. Yeah, I’m depressed. This has been a crap year for many reasons and I’m looking forward to kissing it goodbye. There have been losses, hurts, uncomfortable transitions and painful things to accept. Plus for several months I had shoulder impingement syndrome, so I had physical pain thrown into the mix. (Fortunately, that has mostly resolved.) But, to paraphrase the old Kinks’ song “Destroyer,” I’m not going crazy, I’m just a little sad. I don’t need to be avoided or treated with kid gloves. Support means the world to me. Disappearances break my heart. I need little, as I’m a loner by nature. I don’t need constant reassurance. But knowing people are out there caring makes a huge difference and brings bright spots to the darkest days. So for those who are still with me, thank you. ♥

Okay, time for me to adult and get work done. And get back to working out after taking most of last week off. Hopefully, I will be too busy to overthink things. I really didn’t have the time to be writing this blog, but you know, sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. Now I can work with a clear head. (Well… as clear as my head gets, which isn’t ever that clear, but you get my drift. Later, kids)

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:

stressedwoman

(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. 😀

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.” 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.” 🙂

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:

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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.

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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:

DSC00038

I hash-tagged it #FuckCensorship. 🙂 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. ♥ ♥ ♥

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