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 “chiropractor chronicles”

Toppy chiropractors and birthday wishes

Yes, I’m still seeing my Uber-bossy chiropractor. When I saw him a few weeks ago, I was in the throes of my cold and my body was a mess of knots. Everything he touched hurt. So when I went in last Monday for a tune-up, he asked how I was doing. “Much better than last time,” I replied.

“OK, so just a mild beating today, as opposed to the extreme beating.”


I think I’ve mentioned how he has a penchant for putting me in various positions and then commanding, “Don’t you move.” Which drives me crazy. So this last time, I challenged a bit. “You do realize that every time you say ‘don’t you move,’ that makes me want to move, right?”

“Yes, absolutely, because you can’t stand anyone else being in charge.” How does he know?

“Well, it’s just that when someone says ‘don’t you’ do something, that implies that there is a consequence for doing that thing,” I persisted.

“Nope, none at all,” he said cheerfully. While digging his fingers into my left hip and practically making me writhe off the table. “Oooh, yes, hello, that sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Sadistic bastard,” I grumbled. Oh, this guy would be such a formidable top.

“Far be it from me to actually try to tell you to do something,” he went on. And then, for the rest of the appointment, he made a point of politely asking me for everything. “Please roll onto your back.” “Please, may I stretch you now?” “Please hold that position.” “Please allow me to lift you to sitting.” And finally, when he put me on the rolling massage table with ice, he said, “Relax. Or don’t, if you don’t want to! Whatever you want.”

He still refers to me as “little girl” and “tiny person.” I don’t get it; I’m really not that tiny. Although I suppose it’s all relative, since he’s 6′ 3″+ and built like a linebacker.

All titillation aside, I really am glad I found this guy. He doesn’t BS me and tell me there’s a million things wrong with me and that I have to come back every week. As he put it: “I don’t want to see you that often.” Thanks, I love you too. And since I’ve been seeing him, the sciatica that had been plaguing me, shooting down my left leg into my foot, has cleared up. OK, so it’s his elbow on my butt, not his hand. Such is life.

Moving right along — today is the wonderful, talented Dave Wolfe’s birthday! AKA Wolfie, of WolfieToons, Dave has created countless delightful spanking toons over the years, and has made countless people smile and laugh. Besides being a great artist, he’s also one of the sweetest men ever. We have never met in person, but have corresponded online for many a year. He’s compassionate, caring, witty, and an incorrigible punster (do not incorrige him!). I have been lucky enough to be immortalized, Wolfie-style,  as he has created several toons for my various birthdays. But since it’s his birthday, not mine, I’ll post one of my favorite non-birthday creations (and interestingly, it’s non-spanking too). Dave knows I am a bit of an oddball and derive the same joy from rainy days as most people do from sunny ones. So here is his image of me dancing in the rain.


Do check out his blog, and his immense catalog of drawings, if you haven’t already. Happy birthday, Wolfie! We love you! ♥ ♥ ♥

And happy hump day, y’all.

My doppelganger?


Greetings — I trust everyone had a safe and happy New Year.

Last week, I got a private message on Twitter from a friend/follower, who attached a picture with the question, “This is you, isn’t it?” I took a look, and even though I knew it wasn’t, it still took me aback.


Similar body type, and that’s a classic Erica face. I’ve been pulling that open-mouthed expression since my very first video, as is evidenced by this photo with Keith:


“It’s not me — you know how you can tell?” I told my friend. “I never bottom to women.” Also, I am not a big fan of naked spanking on video — I’ve only done it once in seventeen years — so that’s another giveaway.

So the question remains — anyone know who this is and where it’s from? I’ll bet Chross would know.

In case anyone was wondering what became of the Chiropractor Chronicles, since I haven’t mentioned him in a while, he’s still very much in the picture. Still says things that give me pause. In November, I had an appointment with on the very same day I had learned about the death of our friend, and I was already a basket case over you-know-what, so I was a wretched mess by the time I dragged myself into his office. After the opening chit-chat and finding out how I was, he said, “OK, belly down, and forget about everything except for the discomfort I’m about to inflict on you.”

If every bit of liquid in my body hadn’t already flowed out my eyes, I may very well have dampened myself over that one.

As he worked me over, he chatted up a storm, trying to get me to engage a bit. Daylight Savings had just switched over, so he commented, “Don’t you hate it when it gets dark at 5:00?” Yes, I know I’m the only one on the planet who feels this way — I answered, “No, I love it. I wish it would last longer.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he said. “You’re not a vampire!” “No, but I’m a very dark person,” I snapped back.

He scoffed. “You’re not dark. You’re very bright, you’re witty, and you can light up a room when you choose to. You’re just kind of a pain in the ass right now.”

(he should only know just how much of a pain in the ass I am)

I couldn’t see his face, as I was face down, but I could hear the gentle affection in the blunt words, and felt the brief accompanying pat on my shoulder. Funny how I can fully accept that sort of thing from someone when I know there’s no malice in it.

Back to work with me — busy busy busy. Have a great weekend, y’all.

My top is diabolical

Yeah, I know. This is not news. Just the latest installment in the Book of Steve.

Yesterday, after Steve had been here for a while, we’d caught up and then I’d assumed the position, he asked what I had going on later in the day. I giggled a bit, then admitted, “I’m working… and then I have a chiropractor appointment.”

I wasn’t facing him, but I could hear the wheels spinning.

“Are you going to be wearing this?” he asked. I was in a short white skirt.

“No! I’m going to change into a pair of shorts.” (It’s summer in So. CA. I’m wearing as little as possible for the next few months.)

“How much do they cover? Do they go to here–” he touched my upper thigh “–or here?” tapping my mid-thigh.

Oh, good grief. I could see where this was going. He wanted to know what was going to be covered — and what wasn’t. Impatiently, I scrambled up, went to get the shorts, pulled them on under the skirt, and flopped back down, so he could get a visual. “Got it,” he said, and tugged them back off.

I tried to relax into the spanking, sink into the pleasure-pain and ride it, but in the back of my mind, there was a tiny tense part, knowing the thigh strike was coming, sooner or later. Prepared as I was, when the two strikes on each mid-thigh came, I still buried my face in the pillow and screamed.

Later, he ran his fingers over my right thigh. “You’ll have some ‘splaining to do,” he teased. I was too busy trying to catch my breath to answer.

“So,” he said. “If he asks what happened, what are you going to say?”

“Ummm…” I gasped. “I dunno — that I ran into someone’s hand?” He burst out laughing. “Perfect answer.”

After he left, I worked for a while and then got ready to leave. I checked out my thighs in the mirror — nothing on the left, but on the right one, square in the middle, was a bright red streak. Not a hand print, though, so not obvious as to what it was. But still.

It all turned out to be much ado about nothing. My chiro didn’t ask. I’m sure he noticed it, because he notices everything. The first time we met, he asked about the scar on my forearm. But he didn’t say a word about my leg, just asked how my 4th was and said my neck and shoulder muscles felt like a linebacker’s with all the tension in them. (sigh) The good news is that my lower back/hip/hamstring has been improving, and I’ll be seeing him in three weeks instead of two.

Steve said next time he’ll leave a more definitive mark. No way, pal! There won’t be a next time. I’m never scheduling a chiro appointment on a Steve day again! 😛

Last night, I was wrangling about with my new phone trying to get a selfie of my thigh. I am not coordinated or selfie-proficient enough to get the mirror images people capture so well, so I put my leg up on a chair, bent down over it and stuck the phone under me. Yes, it looks stupid (check out that crazy hair!). But you can see the mark! Do you think it looks suspicious, or just like I bumped into something clumsily?


Anyway. What’s my point? Steve is evil. End of story.

Back to work. Happy Hump Day.

Look up in the sky!

It’s the Summer Solstice! If you go outside, you can see the rare Strawberry Moon!

Or, you can just look in my living room.



Yeah, it’s cheesy. I suck at photo effects. But it’s the first thing I thought of when I heard the term “strawberry moon.” I’m sure I’m not the only spanko who did.

In other news… today, my chiropractor was saying how well trained his dog is, how she never has an accident in the house, no matter what. He doesn’t have a doggie door, and he comes home periodically during the workday to relieve her; she always waits. I was properly impressed, and he said, “Yeah, that’s what beating with a belt will do.” I calmly replied, “You don’t do that,” and he said, “Of course I don’t.” I then added, “Belts are for consenting adults, not dogs.”

He laughed. I wish I could have seen his face, but I was face down at the time.

Yes, I’m going to hell. Wait, scratch that. It was 112 #$%&ing degrees today. I am in hell.

Steve tomorrow. Not a moment too soon, I’d say.

Friday odds and ends

Who’s ready for the weekend? How about some inane search word phrases to propel you into it?

little emily spanked and naked around town

Who the hell is little emily, why is she running around town naked, and, most important, what does this have to do with me?

erica qcoot

OK, that’s not even close. And leave my coot out of this.

spanking pepper oily bottom

Ew. Don’t be putting pepper and oil on my bottom. It’s not a freaking salad.

gay jewish spanking

I think you may be a little farmischt — try J-Date, perhaps?

And finally…

Spanking is woderful

Why yes, it is. But you might want to do something about that cold.


In other news… this week in the Chiropractor Chronicles (who came up with that name? I forget. It’s brilliant), he had me in some sort of pretzel position trying to get something or another to shift, and I instinctively tensed up before relaxing and letting him do his thing. I can’t help it. It’s what I do. “You need to learn how not to be in charge for two minutes,” he said. “Look who’s talking,” I snapped back. “Touché!” he laughed. Later, when he said “Lay on your right side,” I couldn’t help saying, “Lie.” “OK, Ms. Editor. Pardon me while I dig my thumb in a little harder.” Oh, yes, please, hurt me.

I do have a legitimate concern that’s been hamster-wheeling about in my fevered little brain lately. There’s no denying that I’ve got some sort of weird soft-tissue thing going on in my left cheek/hip/hamstring. I’ve been massaging and stretching and icing, and it’s not affecting my workouts or my day-to-day activities, but it’s tedious. It’s annoying. It may be arthritis — I’m certainly at the age where that could be so. X-rays show nothing, so perhaps an MRI might, but getting one of those from my HMO is a major ordeal. Bottom line (pun not intended) — I can live with this, but I can’t help wondering — does it have anything to do with basically getting my butt pounded for the past 20 years? And is it something I should tell a doctor? I know they’re professionals, they’ve heard it all… but good grief, how embarrassing! And then what — they’d probably tell me that perhaps I should stop doing that, and that’s not about to happen. Meh. Ageing blows! 😦

It’s something to consider, though. What does happen to ageing spanko bottoms? Do we get some sort of syndrome back there akin to what boxers get after years of beatings? Good thing our brains aren’t in our backsides. (Although a lot of people do have their heads up their asses, so… never mind.)

On that cheery note, I’m back to work. Have a great weekend, y’all.

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