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 “discipline”

A reader’s question & a question for my readers

After my last post, I got a thought-provoking comment regarding the thigh slaps from Steve. Reader Mark commented that it’s clear that Steve doesn’t do anything to me that I don’t really want, so why exactly do I like having my thighs spanked, and why did I want it this time?

It’s not really that I like having my thighs spanked. That is what I’d call a soft limit; it’s not something I crave, and I certainly don’t want every top I play with to do that. But it’s not an absolute NO either. It’s a bit of edge play, a little boundary testing. I do have fun pushing my tops a bit, with teasing and provocative comments. But I like them to push back a little too. If they don’t react, then it isn’t any fun.

While I don’t get into spanking for true punishment, I do get off on a disciplinary side to it — more of a head space than physical discomfort. In the stories I read, tops have all sorts of secondary activity aside from spanking to send the bottom a message — things like butt plugs, ginger, capsaicin cream or mouth-soaping. All of which come under the heading of NO FUCKING WAY for me. So, the smacks to the thighs are Steve’s go-to for when I push him too far. He doesn’t hit that hard, never uses anything but his hand… he doesn’t need to. That area is so very sensitive, it doesn’t take much. But those few strikes will put me in a different head space. I hate the pain, I feel angry at first, then I shift into a more compliant state, my body relaxes, I move into acceptance. I stop fighting. My edginess softens. I give myself over.

What can I say — it’s all part of these oh so fun and twisted games we play.

And while we’re on the subject of soft limits and kink things we’re not all that crazy about, I have an informal poll for my bottom/sub/DD or D/s practicing readers, whatever you choose to call yourselves.

Say there’s something kink-wise that you don’t really care for, but your top/dom/whatever loves it. Say it’s not one of your hard limits, and the next time you’re scening, he says he’d like you to do X. (As I always do, for simplicity’s sake, I’m assuming the M/F orientation. Feel free to switch it up in your mind.) You groan and say, “Oh, do I have to?”

Which of the following two answers would you prefer to hear? (in a calm, deliberate tone, of course)

A: “You know better than to ask me that. Yes, you have to, because I said so.”

B: “No, you don’t have to; this is about consent. Use your safeword if you need to. But it would please me if you did it — do you want to please me?”

Think about it. I would love to hear from my readers on this, before I reveal my own preference and why. I don’t want people to agree with me; I want their real opinion.

It’s Friday. It’s dark and cloudy and raining. I have a clean apartment, clean laundry and freshly shampooed carpets. I’m heading for John’s tonight. For the moment, I am feeling somewhat peaceful.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Punished

He left a little earlier than usual tonight, but he’d arrived earlier as well. I guess some of you are waiting, huh?

No sass tonight. Sassy Erica has left the building (well, temporarily). Don’t worry; she’ll be back. Tonight, I’m in a quieter place. A very, very good, quieter place. I feel like curling up into a ball in my bed, letting the dark and quiet envelop me. But first, I need to write.

New Guy usually sends me email on Monday mornings, in a teasing “oh are you gonna get it” mode. So imagine how I felt this morning when I received this:

I expect you to meet me at your door wearing a short skirt or dress, no stockings and no panties, you won’t be needing them. After letting me in you will turn and march directly into the bedroom. You will have the heart shaped paddle, and I believe you have a cane, lying on the bed.

You know what you did was wrong and you deserve to be punished. You can expect to be severely disciplined.

I’d already eaten breakfast, and felt my cereal lurching around in my stomach. Ohhhh my.

He’d forgotten that my cane had gotten broken the last time he used it. I wrote back and reminded him of this, suggesting he may want to bring one. I offered no argument or plea otherwise.

When he arrived and I opened the door, I was so taken aback, I started giggling from sheer nerves. First of all, his usual attire is jeans and a t-shirt — tonight, he was all GQed out in dress slacks, collared shirt and a jacket, plus he had very attractive new frames on his glasses. And second, he was pointing a videocamera at me. Holy crap… my discipline was going to be filmed.

So… I will not give away what happened. Because you will all see it, as soon as he edits and sends it to me. I will tell you that it was the most intense scene he and I have ever had. Certainly not the longest or the hardest, but definitely the strictest. No warmup. And I cried. On camera. I have never shed tears on camera before. And they were quite real.

Not from the spanking. From the things he said. He scolded me so thoroughly and effectively, I would have cried without any spanking at all. He wasn’t mean, he didn’t berate me. But he let me know how he felt. 

I do not feel diminished or broken. I didn’t have to be beaten into a grotesque pulp for it to be effective. What I feel is deeply cared for.

After it was over, he was gentle and kind, as he always is. All was normal once again, after just a few minutes.

He took a couple of pictures after the fact; I’d faded some by then, but you can see that I’m marked. What a difference a warmup makes.

He’d used only his belt and the paddle. But just before he left and was packing everything up, he picked up his strap and said, “I never got to this one!” Uh oh. Yes, of course, he had to give me five licks with it, for the road.

Big meanie.

OK, not really. 🙂  He is wonderful, and I am a very lucky woman.

I need to eat something. Here’s hoping in my semi-stunned and soporific state, I don’t burn the building down.

Video to come soon — stay tuned.

Thank you, my dear, sweet not-so-New-Guy.

EDIT: You can watch the video clips here (part 1) and here (part 2).

Up, down, all around

Warning: I don’t think this blog is going to be especially entertaining. Certainly not humorous, not sexy, no spanky pictures. Just me, in a strange place tonight.

Need to run something by you guys, a unexpectedly strong reaction I had to a clip I watched. I found it on FetLife, and it was a young woman being punished for texting and driving with a hard strapping/paddling.

I’m not much for harsh punishment videos, really. I’m pretty squeamish. But this one had a looooong string of comments, some of my friends had watched it, and I was curious. Also, I happen to think texting and driving is irresponsible, deplorable, and a whole lot of other -ibles and -ables. As one who has lost a loved one to a car accident, I have zero tolerance for those who treat a multi-ton vehicle like a moving entertainment center. So I figured I’d side with the top on this one.

The video was about 9 1/2 minutes long, but I only made it through a little over six minutes and had to shut it off. My stomach was in knots and I literally felt nauseated. And I felt sick and shook up for a good hour after that.

I know that a lot of people are into true discipline and punishment. I also know that harsh is relative, and what’s light to one can be heavy to another and vice versa. Above all, I know this scene was 100% consensual, this woman wanted it, needed it and asked for it. It was real. But I couldn’t bear it, even knowing logically that she posted it because she was proud of it and wanted people to see it.

She started to cry practically from the first strap stroke (on a white bottom; no warmup). The crying escalated to sobbing and pleading, then screaming in pain. She put her hands back frequently; he would warn her to move them, and when she didn’t, he struck her hands. By the six-minute mark, her butt was trashed. It wasn’t just red/purple or marked; dark pools of blood were forming and spreading under the surface of her skin, and I was terrified that the next hard strike would break the skin and send that blood flying in all directions.

I have to say the top’s technique was flawless; he clearly knew what he was doing. His aim was perfect, no wrapping, etc. He was focused. But he scolded her throughout, in a loud, angry tone. No, he didn’t call her names or anything, but his voice was extremely harsh. Between her screaming and his yelling, I had to turn the sound off. And finally, I just shut it off altogether.

I then read the comments… one after another, they praised the video. “Wow, that was awesome.” “Now that’s what a punishment should look like.” “You deserved that and more.” “Poor baby, you won’t do that again, will you?” On and on it went; everyone thought it was great. What’s wrong with me? What was I missing here? Why was I so utterly horrified?

I wanted to comment that this video was so brutal, I had to stop watching 2/3 of the way through. I wanted to write to this girl, even though I don’t know her, and ask if she really was OK. I wanted to wrap her up in a big hug and protect her. Protect her? From what? She consented to it! Of course, I didn’t comment and I didn’t write to her. I knew I’d be perceived as judgmental and I didn’t want to rain on her parade.

I’m not looking for people to tell me that I was right to react the way I did, that it sounds awful, that stuff like that is too much, etc. I don’t really want validation here. I would like to understand why I reacted with such horror and revulsion, when I have taken strappings that hard. Was it her screaming and sobbing? Was it the condition of her skin? Was it that the top didn’t seem at all regretful that he had to do this, that he was relishing beating her? On the other hand, for all I know, he gave her tender aftercare at the end of the video.

We all have things we don’t like to watch. I just wish I knew why my reactions are so extreme. If I had been beaten as a child, I could understand that watching stuff like this could cause a flashback. But I was not.

Very strange and unsettling. Not sure where I’m going with this, but had to express it somewhere, and what better place than my own blog.

Not a good weekend. John has been off the antibiotics for a week now, but apparently they are taking a long time to leave his system. The itching and rash didn’t get any better and he had such a bad week, he went back to the doctor on Friday. She gave him prescription-strength allergy meds instead of OTC this time, and a prescription-strength ointment. The meds didn’t help much with the itch, but they made him hyper and even more irritable. I spent the whole weekend walking on eggshells, which backfired on me because my skittishness around him just irritated him further. I know he’s miserable, I know he doesn’t mean it. I tell myself over and over, wait it out, it will pass, he’ll feel better soon and then things will be OK again. He’ll be nicer. The man I love is still inside that angry, agitated shell.

Then other times, I wonder if it will ever be better. I feel very tired and overwhelmed sometimes. And then of course, I realize, if I’m tired, how tired is he? It’s been so @#$%ing long… he first got sick toward the end of September.

Ugh. Double ugh.

Tomorrow is Monday. I will feel better tomorrow. Thank goodness for balance in life, for fun to smooth out the rough times.

Sorry for the drama. Sometimes, things suck a bit.

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