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”

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.

20190718_232646

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.

About party drop, Steve, and selfies

I didn’t have the usual post-party drop this time, not right after the fact, anyway. Because I got so sick immediately after I got home, I felt too lousy to think about much more than getting through it, and getting work done. But this week? Hello. It was waiting for me.

I know it’s a common phenomenon among party-goers, and we’re just kinky adult versions of little kids at Christmas. We get all wound up and excited for the event, fully immerse ourselves in it, and then when it’s over and reality sets back in, we feel cranky and weepy and let down. Some people don’t experience it; they simply move forward into anticipating the next event. For me, because it’s only twice a year, it feels like a huge gap of time where I’m missing out. FOMO. Thus the drop.

So I was very happy that Steve was coming over yesterday. We hadn’t seen each other in, what, five weeks? Six? I’d lost count. What with his illness (which lasted a long time), mine, plus 50 Freaks, plus his birthday ski trip, week after week went by where we had to skip our time together. Life happens… I was grateful that we’ve come so far in our relationship that a time-out like this didn’t endanger it. He’s still true to his word from nearly four years ago — he’s not going anywhere. And it was so good to welcome him back yesterday, and settle right back into our pattern. He didn’t bring his camera, though. And we didn’t bother to dig up my phone or his to take any shots afterward. But the spankings were lovely, even though I did have a coughing fit during one of them. Nothing puts a damper on a hot scene faster than the bottom wheezing like an old steam engine. But I drank some water, stuck a Ricola drop in my cheek and soldiered on.

Later last night, I took a look and was amazed to see some faint marking — I guess 50 Freaks really re-sensitized my skin! I wanted to get a picture or two, but my camera’s battery was dead. This is when I once again ran up against my complete inability to take a decent butt selfie in the mirror. (By the way, butt selfies are called “belfies.” Personally, I think something like buttfies or bummies would have been cuter. But whatever.)

How do these young whippersnappers with their iPhones take such damn good mirror shots? Granted, their camera phones are much better than mine. My phone’s camera is pretty decent when taking pictures the normal way, but when I switch it to selfie mode, the quality diminishes greatly, with lousy resolution. And for another thing, I lack the manual dexterity to snake my arm and fingers into position and hold steady to do a one-handed shot while striking a pose. But last night, I was determined. So I practiced, and practiced some more. I felt like the lost, older Kardashian aunt or something, wasting my time with all these stupid selfies that I ended up deleting. However, I saved a couple that almost captured what I wanted. Almost. Sorta.

I did like the front and back effect of this one.

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And while this one is cut off, I liked the effect of my lips and hair off in the corner.

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Oh well. By the time I’d finished with all this nonsense, my camera’s battery was charged and I was able to capture a clearer image.

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See those itty bitty marks? I wonder if those were actually remnants of the ones from last week, brought to the surface again.

Anyway. This exercise in vanity was brought to you by a boring Hump Day. 🙂 Off to the gym with me.

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