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 “implements”

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?

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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?

You know what’s weird?

(Can you be more specific, Erica? A lot of things are weird, including you.)

OK… I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t cook. About the only time I’ll use a pot or a pan is to scramble some Egg Beaters or heat up soup. The rest of the time when I’m home, it’s cans, packages, and the microwave.

So why do I have a drawer filled with kitchen utensils?? I mean, what’s the point? Especially when Steve knows where that drawer is and uses it to nefarious intent.

Last Tuesday, two of those utensils came out of hiding. And the only thing they cooked was my butt.

spatulas

You can tell that metal one has seen better days, no? Look at that 70s floral pattern. And the end is chipped off. I don’t think it’s been used since the Nixon administration. The white one comes out periodically when I’m baking brownies for John.

Anyway… after we caught up with our weekends and latest doings, it was play time. I went to shut the windows, and Steve was sitting on the couch, beckoning to me. I ignored him and went to check the thermostat (it was a bit chilly and I wanted to see if I should turn the heater on). “Excuse me?” he said. “I’m waiting over here.”

To which I replied, “You can wait a little longer.” Then I wandered into the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

“WHAT did you say?”

“I said, you can wait a little longer. Patience is a virtue.” (A virtue I don’t possess, but I digress.) I sipped my water, smiling sweetly.

He got up. “OK, I think I need something from the kitchen too.” Uh oh. As I walked back into the living room, I saw him shuffling around in the drawer, but he wouldn’t let me see what he was retrieving.

Usually for Round One, he uses just his hand, which is formidable enough as it is. But this time, he alternated it with the white rubber spatula. (I’m quite familiar with the feel of that thing; it’s unmistakable.) He kept me guessing, back and forth, ramping up, slowing down, doing that rapid-fire thing he does that gets me squirming and gritting my teeth. Oh, and because of my keeping him waiting, I also got one mighty slap on each mid-thigh, when I least expected it. The pink from those two slaps lasted for hours, long after the rest of it had faded away.

Round Two, I didn’t know what he was using, because he wouldn’t let me see. He added in some other toys as well, to keep me guessing. It wasn’t until we were done that he grinned and held up the metal spatula. Really interesting feel to that! Stinging, biting, but not too heavy. Of course, after a while, my mind goes to mush and everything blurs into an indecipherable sensation. (Except for the cane. That one, I can still discern. :-/)

Poor Steve; I think I wore him out. Shortly after we wound down, he fell asleep. I had work to do, so I covered him up and went back to work. He slept for nearly two hours! “Did you get any sleep during the holiday weekend?” I asked. “Um… no,” was his sheepish answer.

We’ve gotten out of the habit of taking pictures recently, but you know, it all gets kinda redundant after a while. Hopefully, we will have another fun outdoor adventure soon, and then we’ll take lots of shots. Meanwhile, wanna see bruises??

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Hey, I just asked if you wanted to see them; I didn’t specify where they were. 🙂 Last Sunday, stepping into John’s shower, my one foot slid inside the tub, and the other leg slammed into the metal shower track. Yes, I am a klutz. This was bad pain.

But the good pain was on Tuesday night, as I sat at the computer working. That warm, tingly, slightly scratchy, squirmy pain. So good. So centering for me. Because I’m just sorta wired that way.

Still… it might be time to clean out those kitchen drawers.

Well, what do you know

Tops can be fair every now and then!

When ST showed up tonight, he said, “So, I read your blog.” Uh oh. But then he continued with, “I’m not going to spank you for defending yourself, or your friends. You’re perfectly within your right to do that.”

Hot damn!

And then he added, “I’ll just have to spank you for something else, or make something up.”

So much for that brief moment of fairness. Humph.

I told him that John had groused about the efficacy of his spankings. I quote, “Tell ST that whatever he’s doing, it’s not working! He’s been there every week for well over a year and you’re as big a brat as you ever were.”

“There’s no pleasing him,” I grumbled during the warmup. “And there’s no pleasing you either!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, running his hand over my bottom, still with leggings on. “This is a very pleasing backside.”

“Thank you.”

“It will be even more pleasing after your pants come down. Yes, this pleases me very much.”

“Well, if you’re so pleased, then why the @#$% are you spanking me?”

I never know when I’m ahead.

Here’s an interesting discovery from this evening — do you know that even a leather spanking buddy, when used with a very powerful hand, can feel like a club? I had no idea. But I’d swear that thing was a meat mallet, not a strip of leather, by the time he went full force with it. I was actually grateful when he switched to canes!

Still not all that red, is it? There was a lot more ahead.

No tears tonight; I was in a better frame of mind. But I had so much pent-up tension after dealing with the various asshats, I could feel it coming off me in waves. I struggled very hard not to scream, but a couple of yelps slipped out before I finally mashed my mouth into the bedspread.

Will you look at all these freaking implements?

But at last, it was the final ten with the wooden paddle. And then I curled up into a ball on the bed, bunching up the bedspread in my fists. He went to get the lotion; it stung, but felt cool as well. After a while, he got onto the bed and spooned with me from behind. We didn’t speak for a long time.

I love aftercare. I love that connection, that time to transition back, slowly. I so adore how gentle he can be, after being so harsh.

Now, ready for something scary?

Here I am, still kind of in subspace, sprawled out on the bed among the toys. Check out my bottom. This is about 20-25 minutes after we stopped.

Looks like he hasn’t even started yet, right? WTF?

Well, I can guaran-damn-tee you that it sure feels like he started, and finished too. But of course, to look at me, no one would believe it.

(sigh)

I can honestly say that at the moment, I couldn’t give a rat’s aspirator about whatever nonsense is happening on FetLife. 🙂 That should last me, oh, until tomorrow.

Oh! One more thing. Spanking Court put up another promo clip of that preview, and this one is much longer than the one on SpankingTube last week. You see more of the spanking, and get to hear more of my smart-ass lines. Also, watch for the moment in court when I temporarily crack up the Disciplinarian; I say something snotty and he abruptly turns his face to the wall. 😀  Check it out here.

(Note: For whatever reason, the link above to the SC promo works in Google Chrome, but not IE. Don’t know if it works in Firefox or not, since I don’t have that browser loaded.)

Blissfully sleepy. Sweet dreams, ST.

Don’t try this at home

A bit of silliness from last night. You know, being spanked in this position is very awkward. The blood doesn’t know where to go — to my head or to my bottom.

Tops are evil. I know, I’m not telling you anything new. But I thought it was worth reiterating. New Guy comes over here with his toy bag stuffed with implements, plus a case with two canes in it. Oh, and wearing his belt. You’d think that would be plenty of instruments of correction, right? But nooooooo. On the way, he actually stopped the car, got out and cut a fresh green switch. @#$%!!!!!!

“I think you need a good switching, young lady.” Whatever. I think you need a lobotomy. (No, I didn’t say that out loud. I should have; had nothing to lose!)

Last night was quite different from our play last Monday. Whereas last week I’d been strung out with tension and was ready for a good cry, this time I couldn’t stop giggling. I felt like my blood had been infused with champagne bubbles and everything tickled me (well, except for those damned implements). Fortunately, he has a good sense of humor and played along.

After a long OTK warmup (I swear, I can feel his hand getting stronger each week), he stood me up and then piled a couple of pillows on the side of the bed. I started to lie on them.

“Did I tell you to lay down?”

“No,” I replied. “And you didn’t tell me to lie down, either.” Oh, the glee. Y’all know how much I love correcting a top’s grammar. Naturally, he didn’t love it one bit. I swear, you try to educate some people…

I had to bend over and put my hands on the pillows, but eventually he let me lie on them. (Rather, he picked me up and plunked me down on them.) After a healthy dose of his paddles and straps, it was switch time. It didn’t last very long, though. It broke.

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He was unfazed, though. He still had plenty left to work with. And it was able to impart quite an impression before it met its demise.

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Usually I wind down after a while, settle into my zone and shut up, but last night, I simply couldn’t; I was sassy to the end. I’m glad it’s not always like that, because that would get tiresome for both of us, but sometimes, it’s fun to be silly and light-hearted. However, his spanking/switching/strapping wasn’t light anything.

Still haven’t broken him of asking stupid questions, though. At the end: “Hmmmmmm… how many should I give you with these?”

“How the @#$% should I know?” I snapped.

“Well, that’s good for at least ten,” he said, laying ten hard ones on me. Then he stopped. I thought he was done, so I started to get up.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought you were done!”

“No, I said at least ten, for saying… oh, now I forgot what you said.”

Helpfully, I reminded him, “I said, ‘How the @#$% should I know?’ “

Sheeeesh! Try to be helpful!

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At 9:30 he had to leave, but not before he gave me a sample of all his toys again. He didn’t want me to forget how they felt, you see. Plus, it tweaked him that I’d already faded. My bionicity seems to have returned. Today, except for one tiny mark off to the side where the switch wrapped a little, I am completely unmarked. Sore, though. Definitely sore.

My apologies if the pictures are a bit large. Blogger is acting up today, and after the first image, it wouldn’t let me upload any of the others. So I had to do it the old-fashioned MySpace way: upload the images to Flickr, copy the picture code and paste it into the blog. I don’t know how to resize or adjust the photos when I do it that way. But at least I got it to work! Not bad for a computer-challenged sort.

Rainy day, sore bottom… all is well in my little world at this moment.

Thanks, New Guy. (He likes that name, BTW)

I don’t need no stinkin’ Calgon…

Spanking took me away, for a little while. 🙂

New Guy read my blog about being stressed out. He appointed himself as my caretaker and prescribed extra-strength, time-release Spanksalot. He did warn me that side effects included reddening of the bottom, difficulty sitting, loss of sass and a condition known as subspace bliss. Marking may occur in some patients. I was willing to take my chances.

I will fully admit up front that I was a little snot to him at the outset. (Who, me? I know, hard to believe.) I was all edges and angles and prickly burrs, full of tension. But he knew that.

“I think I should spank you in your bedroom,” he said. “Why?” I asked.

“Because I haven’t spanked you there yet.”

“So you think a change in geographic is going to improve your technique?” I snapped. That did it.

I don’t know how long the scene was. It went on for quite some time, and his bag of tricks was fully utilized, including a brand-new hairbrush, purchased for yours truly. Somewhere about mid-scene as my emotions were bubbling up, I felt angry. Not at him, per se, just in general, and I wanted to fight and scream and cuss. Instead, I snatched the nearest implement on the bed next to me — a strap — and flung it off the bed. Unfortunately, it hit him in the legs.

“Why did you just throw that at me?” “Because I felt like it.”

Strangely enough, he then felt like whaling the tar out of me. “You will not throw things at me. I will not allow that. Do you understand?”

I’m not stupid. I nodded my head. But he kept going until I apologized. After I did, he paused to rub a little, and I thought, “Oh, damn, I hope he’s not done.”

He wasn’t.

Earlier that morning, a friend had written me and said, “It sounds like you need a good cry. Can you go there with [New Guy] yet?” I thought no, it’s too soon. It usually takes a while for me to let go to that point. But I knew she was right; I sure as hell needed to.

The implements are all blurring in my mind. I remember toward the end, he asked me, “Have you had enough, or do you need more?”

I thought I’d had enough. I really did. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a meek little, “I don’t know…”

“OK,” he said. “If you don’t know, then you’re getting more.”

Twenty hard whacks with the wide strap. I had to count them. By ten, my voice broke. By twenty, the dam broke.

It was a long time before I could raise my head. Crying as catharsis feels wonderful, but it embarrasses me as well. As Pixie likes to say, “tears are hot, snot is not.” There is nothing sexy about a red nose and smeared mascara. He didn’t rush me, just brought me Kleenex and rubbed my back. “Is that what you needed?” “Yes,” I murmured into the bedspread.

By the time he remembered that he’d brought his camera, I’d already faded a fair amount. Still, we had to have pictures, right?

Here I am, covered with his arsenal — and this wasn’t even all of it:

Later, I’d pulled my little blue shorts back on and I was sprawled on the bed, and he liked the pose so much he wanted to capture it:

However, it annoyed him that I was now merely pink, and he decided it was time to refresh the color a little:

Mission accomplished.

We hung out and talked for a couple of hours, and then he asked if I’d like something to eat before he headed home. I didn’t want dinner; what I really wanted was something sweet, and it was still warm out. So… we went for frozen yogurt. I can’t tell you how perfect that tasted. He smiled at me, watching me happily scarf my concoction with four flavors, bananas and cookie nuggets, and asked if I was happy at both ends now. Yup.

Sleepy, sore and foggy brained this morning. But no more tension. Wish it would stay away. Perhaps for today, it will. 🙂

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