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”

The more I experience…

…the less I know, it seems. Specifically, about implements.

implements

The above photo contains but a mere sampling of what’s out there to use on a spanking bottom. I’ve probably felt them all at some point or another. You’d think after 20+ years, I’d be an expert on implements and how they feel. But, aside from some general knowledge, I remain woefully in the dark. Which doesn’t help my ass any.

This post was precipitated by my getting together with an old FetLife friend for coffee last week, someone I haven’t seen in seven years. We chatted it up for a couple of hours and of course the subject of implements came up. He showed me a picture on his phone of his “punishment paddle” and I immediately said that would be a hard limit for me.

I’ve often said I don’t like wood and I prefer leather. However, “wood” is ridiculously general — it doesn’t account for the myriad types, thicknesses, etc. All wooden implements are not created equal. All woods are not created equal. I have heard many times that some are lighter, some are dense, some are quite tolerable and others are practically unbearable. But damned if I know which is which.

I do know that thick, heavy frat-style wooden paddles are a hard limit. When I said nay to my friend’s photo, he asked why. I said it’s just pure pain to me, no pleasure whatsoever, and the pain is BAD. I can’t absorb the impact; it thuds me down to the bone. “Even if it’s lower on the butt? Maybe people are hitting you too high with it,” he suggested. Nope. Even if it’s on the fleshiest part of my sit spots, I feel this horrible, heavy thud deep within my sit bones, and it’s wretched. I’m a tad more willing about other wood, like lighter paddles, hairbrushes and spoons, but even those are hard for me to take. I will take them on video a lot more willingly than in a private scene that’s for mutual pleasure, because they really don’t pleasure me.

So, generally, one would think leather is the ticket for me, right? Not necessarily. Because all leather implements aren’t created equal either, damn them. Thickness comes into play again, as well as wear. A buttery soft, well worn flexible strap feels entirely different from a stiff brand new one. Straps can run the gamut from a sensual snap to sheer agony. And I can’t tell just from looking at them which it’s going to be. I have made godawful mistakes in choosing implements at parties before: sometimes the most innocent looking items can be utter torture. Conversely, sometime the items that look the meanest can be fairly innocuous.

I like leather implements in general. But one of the worst things I ever felt was a double razor strap. Yeah, it was flexible. It was also thick, very heavy and very thuddy. I have made many people laugh by saying it felt like being hit with a side of beef.

And speaking of flexibility — if the give of leather feels so much more acceptable to me, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that other materials with give would also work?

Again, not necessarily.

I recall a scene at a party, many years ago, when I was playing with a top I knew well, and I knew the feel of his implements. He had a strap I loved to hate, and he wielded it with precision and evil intent. After I’d played a prank on him, he put a blindfold on me and then proceeded to strap the bejesus out of me. From the start, it hurt like hell, like nothing I remembered. I screamed and squawked and fussed, and he laughed at me. “What’s wrong?” he taunted. “It’s just my strap! You’ve felt it before! What’s the matter, are you losing your tolerance?” I gritted my teeth and bore it, took all he gave, even though my mind was screaming, “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I take this? Why is this hurting so much?? Aaaaaaaagh!” Perhaps I was having an off night? A really off night?

It wasn’t until the next day that I found out from his girlfriend that the strap was NOT leather — it was rubber. Hence the blindfold, so I couldn’t see it. Grrrrr. I was marked like crazy, too. Deep bruises.

So now rubber is pretty much a hard limit as well. Although I guess Delrin is a sort of rubber, or similar? I will take a Delrin cane, although they hurt like a bitch.

Even canes don’t all feel the same. If I say in a general statement that canes are OK to use on me, what am I letting myself in for? I’ve never experienced a Singapore-style cane, nor do I want to. But a proper rattan caning, with a thin whippy one, in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing? Intense, but in the right head space, amazing.

I have felt everything, I think. From canes to belts to brushes to carpet beaters to tawses to crops to paddles to whips. I used to pride myself on what I could take. Nowadays, I find my desires changing. I still like to play hard… but only, ONLY if it’s someone whom I know is going to be measured, even, and careful. I no longer have any tolerance for stray shots–too high, too low, wrapping to the sides. I don’t like unevenness in cheekage. These days, I appreciate accurate and skilled players more than ever. The types I can trust with anything in their hands, no matter what it is, and know I’ll be safe and given just the right amount of pain. It’s a rarity, I’m afraid. Tops can be wonderful and kind and sensitive and skillful and many wonderful things, but still not adept with all the toys.

Perhaps now that I’m older, now that I’ve been doing this for a while, I don’t feel like I have to prove myself? (And to whom… to the scene, or to my own self?) I no longer have to show the world that I can get my ass beat all to hell with everything but the weed whacker. Or maybe I just don’t want that much pain and damage anymore? I really don’t know. But it does make me wish I understood the makings, the physics of implements better, so I could make the best choices for my play. Because, like everything else, I want quality over quantity.

But of course, there’s always hands. 🙂

Speaking of everything but the weed whacker — remember this?

dscf4121

Anyone else find they have been fooled by implements before? Or that something they used to like is no longer acceptable? Vice versa? Has anyone’s tolerance levels changed?

First spanking of the year!

Actually, he called and said he couldn’t make it; he had to work late.

KIDDING!!! 

Sorry, couldn’t resist. My bad. 😀

I was in the mood to be pushed. Not sure why, because I wasn’t stressed out or anything. I didn’t feel the need for an emotional release, for tears. But I wanted intensity. I wanted a challenge. I wanted… strict.

We started out OTK, as we usually do. He seemed to pick up on my need and his hand was fairly heavy from the start. But of course, I had to push. So when he said, “I don’t want any of your smart remarks,” I snapped back, “OK, I’ll take a page from your book and make stupid remarks instead.”

Hair grab. “What did you say?” A little nervous but still nervy, I squeaked, “Was I not speaking English?”

Not quite sure how I went from OTK in the dining room to on my feet and bent over the recliner in the living room; it happened in a split second. I didn’t even have time to move the damn gym bag.

To quote my blogging buddy, I’m barely pink here. Not to worry. Once he got me situated over the ottoman, he hunkered down and really let me have it. But not with the wooden paddle! How about that? Nope, it was an all-leather night. Plenty hard, though.

Midway through, he commented about how Zelle had said he should use lotion on me. Of course, she meant to soothe me during aftercare! But he chose to take something lovely and comforting and create evil from it. “I’ll bet if I used some now and then started again, it would hurt more, huh?” “How the hell should I know?” “Let’s find out. Go get some.”

I was already screwed, so I wisely resisted the urge to say, “Get it yourself.” I fetched the bottle of lotion from my bathroom and gave it to him, and he rubbed in a generous amount. That felt wonderful… for about two minutes. And then it was back to the heavy straps and his belt. And yes, it hurt more. Aggggggghhhhhh.

Oh, he was so proud of himself and his little discovery. He couldn’t stop crowing about it. When he gleefully said, “And my hands are going to be so nice and soft!”, I’d had it. “It’ll match your head,” I muttered.

Everything after that is a blur….

Well, I’d asked for it.

But he did use the lotion for goodness instead of rottenness afterward. 🙂 Aftercare was very soothing and sweet. For a while. Then I shot my mouth off again as soon as I’d come back down a bit.

(sigh)  I never learn.

He pinned me to the carpet with my hands behind my back and his legs trapping my own. I could not move… and he let me know quite persuasively that it’s not a good idea to recover and revert to smart-assed-ism right away. No, not a good idea at all.

But damn, was it ever hot.

Thus begins a sizzling new year. Oww. And yummmmmmmmm. 😉


Big ol’ meanie….



I know this will sound sick, but…

… I love Mondays. 🙂

Mind you, I haven’t always. Used to groan at the thought of them, like everyone else, until just recently. Ever since I met New Guy and Monday became SpankDay. Now I feel like I have a three-day weekend every week.

We don’t even bother with the small talk upon his arrival anymore. He’s not in the door five minutes and I’m over his knee. Not that I’m complaining. I never was much for small talk anyway. How was your weekend? Fine. Nice haircut. Thanks. OK, that’s enough of that. Spank now, talk later.

And spank he did.

On the couch.

Over the ottoman.

And then later, long after we’d wound down, he got some bug up his butt about something or another and we had an impromptu Round #2 over the dining room table with his belt. Pardon the clutter…

Enough locations, don’t you think? Nah. He had to put me in the @#$%ing corner, too!

OK, so maybe, just maybe, I deserved a little of this. Some things have the damndest ways of slipping out at times. He was going on and on and ON with that belt of his, with a very long CCR song playing in the background. (One doesn’t usually hear the extended version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” on the radio. It goes on about seven or eight minutes, I think.) Anyway, I complained, “Aren’t you done yet?” and he replied, “Nope, this is the long version.” Har har. I shrugged and said, “Well, at least there’s something about you that’s long.”

That might not have been the most intelligent utterance on my part. Who knew. I think I screeched “I’m sorry” about six times in about as many seconds.

But I still giggled. I can’t help it. I’m insatiable.

He said I never learn. I pointed out that if one doesn’t learn, it’s usually the teacher’s fault. Funny, he took exception to that. But I do believe he’ll keep trying to impart some sort of lessons to me. And trying. And trying.

I sure hope so. 🙂

Who’s Sorry Now?

Who’s sorry now, who’s sorry now,
Whose bum is throbbing, I’m sobbing, and how,
Who’s black and blue, who’s sniffling too,
My makeup’s smeared over you…

Yeah, it’s an old song. Deal with it.

Wow. I do believe Mr. New Guy outdid himself. He knew what I needed and he delivered. No nonsense tonight.

Oh, I tried sassing. I mean, I’m still me. He thought it was disrespectful in the beginning that I was giggling. “I don’t think you’re listening. None of this is registering.”

“Say something worth registering and I’ll register it,” I tossed back blithely.

“I’ll just let my hand do the talking,” he growled. And he did. Then his belt. A lot. Fast and hard, until I was breathless. I shut up then; he meant business.

He didn’t bother with the toy bag tonight. It was just his hand and his belt, fiercely. And I had to answer his questions. I refused to at first, but I quickly realized that wasn’t going to fly. “You need this, don’t you.” Silence. THWACK! “Don’t you!” “Yes!”

He struck low in the sweet spot and I buried my face and shrieked into the cushion. “That registered, didn’t it?”

“Well, yeah!” I hollered. “That was my leg, stupid!” Oh no. I didn’t really say that out loud, did I? Yup. I’m afraid I did. Damn, I’m pretty stupid myself sometimes.

That was the last time I said anything like that. Ouch.

I had to count. I had to say thank you. I had to promise that I’d publicly say I was sorry. I was angry… but I wanted it. I loved this strict side of him. I crave that.

I was so close… but not quite done. So when he said, “Have you learned your lesson?” I whimpered, “Not yet.”

“Not yet? Do I need to paddle you?” I didn’t answer, just cringed and buried my face. He took that as a yes.

I felt that horrible thing rubbing against my inflamed skin and I knew it was going to hurt like hell. He took his time, teasing me with it, and my legs trembled. “No,” I whispered.

“Did you just say ‘no’?” I nodded. “You don’t really want me to listen to you, do you?” I shook my head.

It only took a few. My resistance shattered, all the stress of the past few weeks gushed forth and I wept. He stopped, sat down next to me, quietly rubbed my bottom and back. I cried for a long time.

My first words when I could speak? “That was so… fucking… HOT.” He laughed. “I’m so glad you feel that way… I thought the same thing.”

I couldn’t look up at him for quite some time, though. I feel so embarrassed and silly after I cry. He didn’t push me, just let me keep my face hidden. Said that my tears were beautiful.

For this moment, I am at peace. Well attended to, cared for and de-stressed. Thank you.

I had my way, then had to pay,
I’m glad that I’m sorry now…

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