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 “marks”

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. ♥

How hard IS it?

(Oh, get your minds out of the gutter.)

A few years ago, I shot a video with Lily Starr called The Secret Life of the Kinky Wife. In it, Robert Wolf plays my new husband who discovers I have a spanking fetish and that I’ve been secretly seeing another man for spanking sessions. He is understandably upset, and I try to make him understand that I’m not having sex with the guy, that it’s purely spanking, and I’d already been seeing him for years and he was so good at it that I didn’t want to give him up. Robert then scoffs, “How hard is it to give a spanking?”

(We’ve all heard this one, haven’t we? In other words, what’s the big deal? You have a lap, a hand and a butt, and the hand hits the butt. It’s not rocket science.) I hasten to protest that it’s harder than it seems, that there’s an art to it, a technique, a lot of nuance, its own language, and trying to teach someone how to do it is like training a puppy. (Yeah, that didn’t go over well.)

In the video, of course, hubby turns out to be a naturally great spanker right out of the gate and we live happily ever after. Ah, fantasy.

In reality, if someone doesn’t have this je ne sais quoi thing we seem to have wired into our DNA, a natural flair and instinct for it, it is damn hard to give a proper spanking. And it seems there are more ways to do it wrong than correctly.

I haven’t been writing about this, but I will now. Recently, I met a man from Alt and we hit it off beautifully in writing. He was smart, funny, we had a lot in common in the vanilla realm, and he seemed to know his way around kink. He said he hadn’t done a whole lot of spanking, but he had done some, and he found it all very intriguing. He was local, and unlike so many men I’ve played with, he could actually host in his own home. So I thought, let’s do this.

Well…

I won’t drag this out with too many details. We played a total of four times. I really liked him as a person, and I kept hoping that he’d improve technique-wise, so I kept giving him more chances. The first time should have been the red flag — he hit so high, I had bruises along the tops of both cheeks, and a substantial mark from where he wrapped me with the belt. I took a picture, showed it to him, and told him which places to avoid.

But something was off each time. He’d still hit too high on occasion, which would snap me out of scene space. He overcompensated and hit way too low. He was uneven; after the third session, I was marked and bruised all down my right leg, while the left side was completely pristine. And then came the fourth session… the one where my skin got broken.

My skin does not break easily. Not even after four days of a party and a lot of spanking. I’ve been playing for over 25 years and I can count the times I’ve had broken skin on one hand and have digits left over. This was it — I’d reached my limit.

He was apologetic. He checked in with me the next day. It’s not that he didn’t care. But for whatever reason, he just wasn’t grasping the fine points. The more we played, the more I realized he really wasn’t familiar with this at all. Besides the technique flaws, the little nuances were missing. He didn’t take me OTK; just put me over the edge of the couch or bed. He didn’t work over layers, just stripped me from the waist down at the outset. All those little things add up. He was a very nice host; always made sure I had water and gave me fresh fruit after each scene to help me through the dip. He made me laugh. He was sweet and complimentary. But the spanking wasn’t going to work, no matter how much I wanted it to. And broken skin is completely unacceptable for me. It took me two weeks to heal.

Last week, I worked up my courage and wrote to him. I said I really liked him, but that the spanking part of our relationship wasn’t working. I said I hoped we could remain friends. I was so concerned, so worried that I’d hurt his feelings. I really didn’t want to. The next day, he wrote back — said he agreed, that it had been “interesting,” but that he “really didn’t get the whole spanko thing.”

Well. Geez. That left me feeling… deflated. I wish he had told me that a whole lot earlier. So what was I, an experiment? A curiosity? Something new and fun to try?

Kids, I’m too old for this shit. At this stage in life, I don’t want to be something new that you try because you think it sounds fun. I want to be able to put myself in your hands and relax, knowing that I am safe and will have an experience that hurts in the right way, not harms. I do not want to have to give an indoctrination. I don’t want to top from the bottom. Granted, there are always little tweaks to be made when you have a new partner. When I played with D a couple of years back, in our first session, he thudded a bit, hitting flat-handed. I suggested that he cup his hand a bit more to the butt cheek so that he’d get that satisfying smack instead of the dull thud. And guess what — no more thudding.

I have been depressed and frustrated over this. It was like trying to force a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and I invested too much time and too much of my body in it. If I haven’t liked him so much, the first scene would have been our last. But… lesson learned. From now on, I will have radar up strongly. Unless someone identifies as a spanko and has a fair amount of experience, I will not meet with them. Because there is no faking this. It’s either there or it isn’t.

Fortunately, my friend Chris is driving down from Oregon to see me again; we have a date on January 3. It will be so lovely, being able to hand myself over to him, close my eyes and blissfully absorb, knowing each and every strike will be spot on, all will be precise and even, and I will hurt so good in all the right places. I need this so, so much. Especially since it doesn’t seem like parties are ever going to be a reality for me anymore. Covid is exploding once again, all over the place, and breakthrough cases are happening with people who took the vaccines. Shadow Lodge will be in February, but I can already see that it won’t happen for us. It doesn’t matter that we are vaxxed and boostered; John still feels it’s irresponsible and risky to gather in large indoor crowds, to travel. And I’m not going without him. So, my scene life has ground to a halt. And thanks to the FUCKING ANTI-VAXXERS, indefinitely. Yes, I’m using all caps. I detest these selfish, ignorant, awful people. (No, I’m not talking about the small percentage who have allergies or other medical reasons to not be vaxxed, so don’t jump on me.) Therefore, finding a local and available play partner is still my Holy Grail.

So, yeah. Next time someone says, “How hard is it to give a spanking?” you can answer, not hard at all. But to give a proper spanking, a good spanking, a satisfying, safe and fulfilling spanking? That’s a whole different story.

The face of fulfillment

Right here. This woman.

Why do I take a selfie every time I play? Simple. I want to remember how good I felt.

It was a bit late, but I finally got my birthday spanking yesterday. I still can’t believe that C drove 10 hours from Oregon, played with me for a couple of hours, and then turned around and drove back. I feel… special. ♥

We met at the same hotel he’d stayed at last time, around 10 a.m. Because he was leaving that same day to head back, we didn’t have a long preamble, just got right into our play. I saw that he had laid out several implements — two straps, a hairbrush, a cane, and… what?? A skinny wooden paddle?? I squawked at that, and he said that there had to be just a taste of wood. (Who says?? Humph.)

This room had a couch, so we made immediate use of it, with a nice long warm-up OTK. C warms up so slowly and gradually, I’m never fully aware of just how hard it ends up being. By the time he is going full bore, I’m so zoned out, I’m absorbing it like a sponge. Soon, it was time to move to the bed, lie over pillows, and feel the implements, along with a lot more of his hand.

I felt the magic happening from the start. All the stress and anxiety of recent weeks slipped away, and I was in the moment, soaking up the sensations. Because I have trained myself (for the most part, anyway) not to scream and yell (video was one thing; playing in my apartment is another), I heard my telltale sounds slipping out into the pillow — the groans, the yips, the squeaks, the gritted-teeth growls. I could tell he ramped things up a bit from last time; I had to hunker down, breathe deep and concentrate through some of the flurries. So damned intense.

I vaguely remember the two straps. One of them felt completely sublime; the other had a real bite to it. I meant to ask him which was which, but of course, I forgot.

He went up and down my thighs, even a little bit on the insides of them. He’s a big fan of the sit spots. Holy crap… by the time we got to the cane, I was feeling tenderized. He stood at my left hip, tapping the cane up and down, throwing in hard strikes, mixing it up, surprising me every time. It was delicious. At one point, he stopped and walked around to the other side of the bed, so he was now striking from my right. My bleary mind went “Huh??” but I waited to see what he had in mind. I felt the tip of the cane tap-tap-tap on my left upper thigh, and then swat, a stinging cut hit me there, making me rear up and screech a bit. “Ah, there it is,” he mused, and then went on to explain that I had a cane stripe on my right thigh, and he had to create a matching one on the left so I wouldn’t be lopsided.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. What do I harp on and on about? Uneven coverage! (Although I think it was Ten who trademarked the phrase “Make it even.”) It’s true… I hate it. You’ve all seen them — the pictures where the bottom’s left cheek is pink and red, and the right cheek looks like it was run over by a tractor and thrown on a barbecue grill. Blech! So, of course my words and sentiments were coming back to bite me. In the best way, of course.

I do look nice and even, no? See, one stripe on each thigh.

“Do you remember when I said this was going to be challenging,” he asked, back at my left side, hunkering close to me. “Ye-e-e-s?” I answered. “Take a deep breath,” he said.

Hard, long, fast flurries followed. He did this two or three times, I forget which. Once for sure with his hand and once with the hairbrush. He held me tight so I could barely squirm as I screamed into the pillow. And then we were done. I collapsed into the pillows, breathing hard, dimly aware of him moving around, putting lotion on me, rubbing my back, lifting my hair and wiping the back of my neck with a towel (we had the AC on, yet somehow, things got very warm).

We wound down a bit and talked, but he needed to get on the road, so I put myself to rights and he walked me to my car. He said next time, he’ll plan to stay longer, so we can hang out a bit more. I would like that. But I know how very busy his life is. I was beyond grateful for what he gave me.

When I got home, I was wired. I felt no pain. I felt nothing but the fizzing in my veins. So I worked, I worked out, I was a machine, cranking things out. Because I knew the crash was coming. Sure enough… this morning when I woke up, I felt like I’d been hit by a bus (again, in the best possible way). Somehow, with the help of caffeine and Tylenol, I got moving. But all day so far, my brain has felt like oatmeal. Ah, for the luxury of hunkering down under a comforter all day. Adulting blows.

But I wouldn’t change a thing.

Thank you, C. ♥

Mr. Woodland Returns

And he was well worth waiting for. beaming

It had been, what, two years? Longer? I lost track. But it was so lovely to see him again. He had come straight from a work meeting, so he was in a coat and tie and looked spiffy as ever. We had a lot of catching up to do, so I broke out the cookies and Reese’s and we sat and chatted for an hour or more. Then at an appropriate ending point, he said, “Okay, let’s get you spanked!” Yes, let’s, shall we?

It had been a busy day, work and working out and getting ready. And of course, since I almost never wear makeup these days, and was feeling especially joyous, I wanted a picture. Once again, I’m reminded of just how much spanking takes me to my happiest place. Not just the act of it, but everything about it — the rituals, the anticipation, the camaraderie, the endorphin surges, the stress release, and so on. When I have dark times and depression, I need to remember that sometimes I feel like this.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

We began on the couch with me OTK. He’d brought a toy bag this time — this was new! On previous visits, he’d just used his hand and his belt (and he’s wonderfully proficient with both). He said he’d bought some new things and wanted to try them out/break them in. (Thanks a lot…)

Even before we got to the implements, Mr. W commented that I was marking already, to which I scoffed. Please! He asked how I felt about being marked, was I okay with it, etc. I said I was — he asked how much marking was acceptable. I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but I trust him, so… “I’m all yours.” “Okay, remember you said that!” he teased.

He remembered that I’m not fond of wood and prefer leather, so he brought out this very nifty little strap that I liked immediately. There were a few more things, I don’t remember the order, some I enjoyed more than others. “I need to put you over that ottoman,” he mused. “You can do that,” I answered. “Oh? Can I?” Oh, dear. “What — should I have said ‘you may do that’?” He laughed. “Yup, there she is!”

It was fun — I was giggling my head off. He was bantering with me, complimenting me (“I remember this ass! Ah, I could slap this all day long!”). We slipped right back into our comfortable groove. Once again, he mentioned that I was marking, and once again, I pooh-poohed it.

We moved to my ottoman, so he could “get a better swing.” gulp Once I was situated, he used the leather strap again and a few other things, and I was at that point where I was teetering between pain and the beautiful abyss of the sub zone. Then, reluctantly, he stopped.

“You are really marking,” he said. Nooo! Surely he’s exaggerating! I can’t be marking! I don’t mark! Not this soon, anyway! But he took my phone and snapped a picture, and showed it to me. Oh… my. (please forgive the extreme close-up)

But no way did I want to stop, so I told him it was okay and we continued for a little longer. And then… he said, “You know, I think you’re done.” While I didn’t want the scene to end, I fully appreciated how conscientious and caring he was. He didn’t want to cause harm. Every top needs to take a page from this man’s playbook. I asked if he would finish me off with his hand, and he happily did so.

He’d worked up a sweat, and I wanted to do something nice for him, so I sat in my recliner, had him sit on a pillow at my feet and I gave him a head and neck massage. I’ve been told I’m good at those, and I know he enjoys them. Then we relaxed on the couch for a while to talk and wind down. He asked if I was okay, did I need him to stay longer, and I said no, no, I’m fine, I feel great. And I did.

After he left, I wanted to get some more pictures while I still had color. My phone wouldn’t cut it, so I set up my trusty old digital camera with the timer.

It had faded a little, but you can still see the whitish spots in the center. (And for those of you who notice other things, that Beatles tumbler was a gift from my dear friend Jay.)

Of course, we can’t have Erica pictures without the Erica smirk.

Once done with that, I settled down to relax for the evening. I was deliciously sore and blissful.

Okay, so what’s with this marking nonsense? Pshaw… it would all be gone today, right?

Wrong. This is twenty-four hours later.

Well, kids… I hate to say it, but I think we need a moment of silence. The Bionic Bottom is no more. My once impervious flesh that faded immediately and self-healed is merely a memory. sniff Damn. Shocking, I know. I suppose if I went back to regular and constant play, I might toughen back up. But damned if I don’t have newbie butt again. Oh well… if this is my sole casualty from the pandemic, I should just shut up and deal.

Anyway — I received expression permission from Mr. W to post this; if any of you are on FetLife and would like to check him out, you can find him here. My friend, you are a gem and a gentleman. Thank you. Don’t be a stranger. ♥

Finally!!!!

No, it isn’t July 4th. And no, it’s not raining. California is in another damn drought. Still, this wonderful caricature Dave Wolfe did of me years ago suits the mood.

After over a year of pandemic isolation, I finally got to play on Monday. And it was glorious.

As many of you know, I had been corresponding for months with a friend I knew from way back, whom I hadn’t seen in many years. He came to a couple of Shadow Lane parties and we’d played, and then he dropped out of the scene to move out of state and start a family. When he first suggested driving here to visit me and play, my first thought was, “Why would you want to do that? It’s one hell of a long drive!” Personally, I detest road trips and even the 4-5 hour drive to Vegas makes me nuts.

Luckily for me, C doesn’t share my distaste for long drives. He figured what with the pandemic still going on, it was safer than flying. And he enjoys books on tape. So… this was going to happen. He was already fully vaxed, so he asked me to let him know when I was. When that finally happened and I told him, we made a date. He booked a hotel. And we were on.

Holy crap.

As I’d mentioned earlier, I was really, really nervous. Not about him. Even not having seen him for, what, 15 years, I knew I would be in very good hands. I knew he was a heavy player, but also a kind and caring one. No, my worry was about myself. I mean, aside from quickie impromptu scenes with John, and one really godawful attempt at self-spanking, I hadn’t been spanked since February 2020. I felt like my tolerance was shot to hell.

Also, let’s be real. Aside from going to John’s on the weekend, and the occasional necessary errands, I’d basically been sitting around my apartment in sloppy clothes and no makeup for over a year. I didn’t feel presentable, let alone sexy or spankable. I felt… unattractive.

So, the fact that someone was willing to go to all that effort in order to spend some time with me was a good antidote to all those damn negative voices in my head. ♥ I jumped in, said let’s do this, and didn’t look back.

He teased me with emails: “Two weeks and counting!” “Almost here!” “Getting nervous?” Each message got the intended result; I squirmed and grinned and felt all the butterflies. On FetLife, I had said something or another to a top and he’d replied that he thought I “needed a reminder.” C saw this and posted, “I believe Erica will be getting a reminder very soon.” Oh, gawd…

Finally, Monday arrived. I got up early, and for the first time in I’ve forgotten how long, I put makeup on. I’d thrown out a lot of the old stuff since it had been sitting for over a year and bought fresh. I had asked him if he had any particular requests for what he’d like me to wear. He suggested I dress comfortably and lightly. I could do that.

Our meeting time was noon and I showed up at his hotel at 11:53. I had to call him from the lobby, since their elevators were key card operated. He came down to get me and enveloped me in a huge bear hug. I have missed soooo many hugs the past year! We went to his room and fell into chatting and catching up immediately. But after about 45 minutes, it was time to play.

I had plugged my phone in to charge and I checked it one last time before we started. And of course, John had sent me a text:

So, what kind of slutty trouble are you getting into — or are going to get into — today? Names, places, and what you did wrong. Now, young lady. … Have a nice day. Hi C!

Knowing that was John-speak for “I give you my blessing,” I laughed and we began. I assumed the position across his lap on the bed.

This is hard to describe, but I’ll try… from the first moment, the first smack, the feel of it, the sound of it, I felt a burst of euphoria. I’m home. I’m in the right place. This is where I belong. And as the sensations slowly built up and intensified, those feelings escalated until I wanted to laugh with sheer joy.

My yoga pants didn’t stay up for more than a minute. My panties soon followed. And I remembered just how spot on and amazing C’s hand was. How he switched things up and kept me guessing. How he knew exactly when was the point to stop for a second and when to continue. He checked in with me just enough. At one point he asked if I wanted water, but I said no thank you.

He took this picture after warm-up. (!)

After that, we changed positions and I laid over pillows on the bed. He had brought a backpack filled with implements, but he let me choose. I said nix to the wooden paddles and yes to a couple of different leather straps and a hairbrush. Honestly, he doesn’t need implements. His hand is a mighty force, and it never seems to tire or get sore. I told him about the times I’d made men’s hands blister and bleed, and he just chuckled. I don’t think he’ll experience that in his lifetime.

I felt so connected to him. At one point, my hand was flexing on the bed near my face, my fist opening and closing. Then I felt him reach over and squeeze my hand, holding onto it. I see you. I care about you.

So we kept going, and going, and going. I lost track of time. It was starting to hurt, but the pain intertwined with the pleasure and joy and I just wanted more more more. I could feel the power and energy behind his swats and I rejoiced. I can still do this. I’ll still got it! Oh my god, he’s amazing… Can I stop time and just stay here?

By the time we’d come to the end, I was drumming my feet on the bed and hollering into a pillow. My carefully applied makeup was smeared down my face and on the linens (sorry, Marriott) and my breath was coming in deep gasps. And I couldn’t. Be. Happier.

Ow. Been a while since I’ve looked like this. I missed it.

He asked how I feel about lotion, and I said it was very welcome. So he went to get some… and it turned out he didn’t have any. Oops! I giggled and gave him a hard time about it, but it was fine — I had some in my purse. I’m sure my skin must have sucked it right up.

We both had a drink and came back down, lying on the bed, snuggling, talking. So much to talk about, so many things to catch up on. I asked him how long the drive was — he said 10 hours. He was going to stay overnight and then drive back the next day. I didn’t want to go, and yet I figured after a while I should get on back home, let him relax. I had people waiting for check-in texts from me. ♥

I had parked in the hotel parking garage, but when we went down to the front desk and I asked about validation, the man said that lot was for guests, not guests of guests. Oh, dear. He took the card I’d gotten, checked how long I’d been there (4 1/2 hours), futzed at his computer for a minute, then said, “You know what, forget it. You got free parking. When you drive up to the gate, just press the call button and I’ll let you out.” Thank you, kind sir!

So C walked me to my car, we exchanged another warm hug, and I was off.

I felt kind of loopy and wound up for the rest of the evening. He’d sent me the pictures he’d taken, so I posted a couple of them on FetLife. Been a long time since I’ve had any pictures to put up there. The reactions were gratifying.

So, remember when I was crowing “I’ve still got it!”?? Yeah. I woke up yesterday morning and groaned, “The hell I don’t.” Wow. Sitting hurt. Walking hurt. I felt like I’d been playing for four straight days at a party instead of doing just one scene. When I attempted to do a workout, my body was yelling and swearing at me through the whole thing, especially during the lower body exercises.

And I enjoyed all that, too. Although it was very hard to focus on work, I admit. I finally had to take a break, because of course I needed a “day after” picture.

C checked in Monday evening, then let me know when he’d gotten home yesterday. He checked in this morning as well. So important. I wish more tops knew that.

And in anticipation that I might get droppy, my sweet SIS Jay sent me a box of See’s chocolate. ♥ Chocolate and depression are mutually incompatible, you know.

So… when the euphoria fades, when the marks and soreness disappear, I suppose I am in for some drop. A sense of, okay, now what? Where do I go from here? How do I bring regular play back into my life, and with whom? But for now, I’m not going to think about that. I’m just going to bask in the feels and smile. And be grateful.

Thank you, C. You gave me more of a gift than you know.

Good things DO come to those who wait

And thank you to a dear friend who just told me that and gave me my blog title. ♥

The waiting ended up delivering; I heard from both B and D on Tuesday morning. First, I am in possession of a flight reservation up north next Wednesday to see B. Now that all the travel unknowns are knowns (yeah, I know that’s not a word, too bad), I know I will still have butterflies, but more of the good kind, as opposed to the “how many different ways can I eff this up” kind.

But that will be a story for next week. Yesterday, I played with D for the first time.

He emailed me on Tuesday morning and asked if I could play Thursday at around five. I had some things planned, but I was able to shift stuff around and I told him yes. We exchanged some more emails — he said maybe you can pick out some implements you like and put them out on the side for me to use after I warm you up. I replied that I could, but maybe I could just leave them where they are and if he wanted them, he could get them himself. 😛 Testing the waters, you know. I still wasn’t quite sure how he feels about playful bratting; I thought perhaps he liked it, but you never know until you actually do play. He also mentioned that he’d seen some of my video pictures where I was wearing garters and stocking, and if I was comfortable doing so, would I wear some for him. That was an easy enough request, one I was happy to do. My final note to him on Tuesday evening was “*sigh* Is it Thursday yet?”

The next day (Wednesday) I was climbing the freaking walls. I had set aside the whole day to just stay home and get stuff done; laundry, some cleaning, and lots of work. But the whole damn time I was squirming in my computer chair, with this endless litany in my head… Why isn’t it Thursday. Why isn’t it Thursday. And in the midst of this, an email popped in from him, one line:

Don’t worry, Thursday is approaching fast. I shall see you soon.

OMFG. What timing. How did he know??

Yesterday arrived. I got up early, had breakfast and did a couple of hours of work. Or I tried to, at least. He was torturing me, sending me a picture of a ruler from his desk. He said that rules — and wills — are meant to be broken. I sent back that so are ruleRs, and I was notorious for breaking things, sending a pic of me with a snapped cane.

Around noon, I gave up on work and took a break to do a workout, which I would have done anyway, but I really needed it now. By the time I was done with that and had showered, it was 2:00, so I still had time to do some work before I got ready.

My friend J was texting me to tease me a bit; at 4:00, I get “Only one hour to go!” I texted back: “Do you know how hard it is to put on makeup when your hands are shaking??” It’s true. I thought I was going to put my damn eye out.

By 4:30, I was nearly ready, and I was too wound up to work, so I went to catch up with Words With Friends. When I pulled up my move, I saw my letters were E B E T H R A. I don’t believe in messages, but if I did, this surely was one. My mind instantly rearranged the letters, and I got this:

breathe

A good reminder, no? (I was able to play the word, too, tacking the second E onto the T in TALE.)

And speaking of shaking hands, I had forgotten how incredibly difficult it is to hook garters onto stockings. It occurred to me I never do this by myself — I don’t wear garters unless I’m on a shoot or all dressed up at a party, and in those cases, there’s always John or someone else around to hook them for me. So I wrestled and fumbled and cussed mightily, but finally got the damn things situated in ten minutes. Just in time, too. Once again, he was on time, texting me. My apartment is security and rather than have him fussing with the intercom, I told him I’d come down and let him in.

He brought me chocolate. Two kinds. Both milk, my favorite. I don’t know how he knew; I hadn’t told him which kind, only that I loved chocolate. ♥ I know a lot of bottoms get gifts from tops, but I never expect them, and I’m always so tickled when I get a surprise like that, much like when B showed up with that espresso pot for me.

He was still in a coat and tie from work, so I took his jacket and went to hang it up, but he stopped me for a second, and then pulled that same ruler out of the pocket. Uh oh. By the way, I had kinda sorta done what he requested. I did select four implements — but I didn’t lay them out on a table. I put them where they belonged — in the trash can by my desk. 🙂

We didn’t spend too much time with preliminaries. He stood up, taking off his tie, and proceeded to unbutton his cuffs and roll up his sleeves. Slowly. Deliberately. I damn near died right there. “I hear you’re having a problem focusing,” he said. He sat down, and over his lap I went.

First times are always a little strange, in that we don’t know each other, he doesn’t know how much I can take, I don’t know what will spur him, he doesn’t know my body language and my various “tells,” etc. As one would expect, he started out very lightly. I have no issue with that; erring on the side of caution is better than jumping right in and tearing someone’s ass apart from the get-go. He picked up the ruler after a while with his hand — and after a few swats, the thing broke. No lie. The metal guide thingie running along the edge flew out, he said. “I told you I break stuff!” I cried, laughing hysterically. Time to get serious here.

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Next, he had me lean over my desk so he’d have more swinging range, and explored the trash can’s implement contents. At first he was light with them, but then I put my hand on my mouse like I was going to open something and said, “Do you mind if I do some work while you’re busy back there?” Yeahhh… I think that did it.

He moved me around a bit, had me on all fours on my couch, kneeling at his feet while he sat in my recliner — and then he settled into a dining room chair, picked up my heart-shaped wooden paddle, the one that had been made for me years ago, and said, “Come over my knee.” The remainder of the scene took place there, and things ramped up exponentially.

You guys know when I am really starting to feel it, I can’t keep my feet still. Both my shoes flew off. He was a little concerned with how red I was turning. We took a brief time-out and he asked if I was sure I shouldn’t go look at it. No, I said. I’m okay. I get really red, and then it fades. I appreciated that he cared, and I took a chance then. I know some would say this is topping from the bottom (I hate that expression), but I thought it was more like giving someone new to me a bit of guidance. So I quietly said, “You can go harder and faster if you want to.”

He did.

His hand wandered up my neck and his fingers went into my hair… and then his fist tightened. The paddle was coming down faster. And then it slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor out of his reach, but within mine. “Would you hand that to me, please?” he asked.

Taking the chance to catch my breath, I gasped out, “Give me one good reason why I should do that.” He laughed, and answered, “So I can continue your spanking.” In reply to that, I picked up the paddle… and tossed it a few feet away.

Again, I was taking a chance. Some tops don’t like that kind of playfulness. But he responded well, powering down again with his hand. Next break, he said, “I guess I’m going to have to go get that paddle.” I was already in transition, so I murmured, “I’ll get it for you.” And I did.

We were nearing the end. My legs were trembling, my feet were twisting together, I had my hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my reactions. I suddenly reached a point of breaking, and I blurted, “Oh my God, D, please, please, PLEASE!”

He stopped. Right in time. More would have been too much. He went exactly where I needed him to go.

I slumped to the floor, and he gathered me up into his arms, where I clung to him and trembled all over until he pulled me up and guided me to the couch. There, he soothed me, caressed me, whispered to me. “You let go of all the bad stuff, didn’t you,” he murmured. Oh, yes.

After I’d calmed down a bit, he asked for some lotion, and had me stretch out on the couch so he could massage my butt and lower back. I felt very comfortable stripping off my dress, and that massage was heaven, so comforting.

“Would you like some pictures, so people can see how red your butt is?” he asked. My first thought was, “It’ll be faded by now,” but I said sure. Yeahhhhh… turns out I was quite mistaken.

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I was really surprised. And very pleased. “Remember — you asked for it!” he reminded me. I assured him I most certainly did, and I don’t regret a single swat of it. I needed that. I needed that so, so badly.

I put my dress back on, and we relaxed for a bit, eating some of the chocolate he’d brought, talking, and then he had to go. It was 7:15. I sent him off with warm hugs and thank you’s, texted John to let him know I was okay, straightened up the living room and took a shower. The rest of the night was floaty, spacey, in that surreal place. I did a little more work, answered email, and crashed in front of the TV. I was ravenously hungry and food tasted so good. And more chocolate.

This morning, I woke up to find a very sweet follow-up email, checking in on me, sharing his thoughts about our scene. I especially liked the sentence, “I thought this was a nice start.” The word “start” implies that there is going to be more, yes?

I don’t know what will happen and how we’ll work it. He lives close, but works far. He works two jobs. And I’m unavailable on weekends. So it might be challenging. But I am hoping he wants to play more as much as I do.

In a strange place today, emotionally. Still kind of floaty, but more focused. Very, very sore, but happily so. And feeling a bit of disbelief and unfamiliarity with the sense of well-being. I feel like I’ve been waiting for it for so long. What with the issues from last year, plus my shoulder and my back giving me trouble, I didn’t think I could ever feel really happy, really blissful again. I thought the two times with B were a fluke. Even yesterday, there was a niggling little part of my brain telling me that D might cancel. There’s always going to be that glass-half-empty side to my psyche, I’m afraid. I get something good and then wonder when it will go away, and how.  Enough of that for now, dammit. At this moment in time, I feel good. Some doors have closed, but finally, it seems windows are opening. John always says, “Stay in the day.” Hard to do sometimes, but he’s right. This day is all we have.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

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