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 “pain tolerance”

The more I experience…

…the less I know, it seems. Specifically, about implements.

implements

The above photo contains but a mere sampling of what’s out there to use on a spanking bottom. I’ve probably felt them all at some point or another. You’d think after 20+ years, I’d be an expert on implements and how they feel. But, aside from some general knowledge, I remain woefully in the dark. Which doesn’t help my ass any.

This post was precipitated by my getting together with an old FetLife friend for coffee last week, someone I haven’t seen in seven years. We chatted it up for a couple of hours and of course the subject of implements came up. He showed me a picture on his phone of his “punishment paddle” and I immediately said that would be a hard limit for me.

I’ve often said I don’t like wood and I prefer leather. However, “wood” is ridiculously general — it doesn’t account for the myriad types, thicknesses, etc. All wooden implements are not created equal. All woods are not created equal. I have heard many times that some are lighter, some are dense, some are quite tolerable and others are practically unbearable. But damned if I know which is which.

I do know that thick, heavy frat-style wooden paddles are a hard limit. When I said nay to my friend’s photo, he asked why. I said it’s just pure pain to me, no pleasure whatsoever, and the pain is BAD. I can’t absorb the impact; it thuds me down to the bone. “Even if it’s lower on the butt? Maybe people are hitting you too high with it,” he suggested. Nope. Even if it’s on the fleshiest part of my sit spots, I feel this horrible, heavy thud deep within my sit bones, and it’s wretched. I’m a tad more willing about other wood, like lighter paddles, hairbrushes and spoons, but even those are hard for me to take. I will take them on video a lot more willingly than in a private scene that’s for mutual pleasure, because they really don’t pleasure me.

So, generally, one would think leather is the ticket for me, right? Not necessarily. Because all leather implements aren’t created equal either, damn them. Thickness comes into play again, as well as wear. A buttery soft, well worn flexible strap feels entirely different from a stiff brand new one. Straps can run the gamut from a sensual snap to sheer agony. And I can’t tell just from looking at them which it’s going to be. I have made godawful mistakes in choosing implements at parties before: sometimes the most innocent looking items can be utter torture. Conversely, sometime the items that look the meanest can be fairly innocuous.

I like leather implements in general. But one of the worst things I ever felt was a double razor strap. Yeah, it was flexible. It was also thick, very heavy and very thuddy. I have made many people laugh by saying it felt like being hit with a side of beef.

And speaking of flexibility — if the give of leather feels so much more acceptable to me, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that other materials with give would also work?

Again, not necessarily.

I recall a scene at a party, many years ago, when I was playing with a top I knew well, and I knew the feel of his implements. He had a strap I loved to hate, and he wielded it with precision and evil intent. After I’d played a prank on him, he put a blindfold on me and then proceeded to strap the bejesus out of me. From the start, it hurt like hell, like nothing I remembered. I screamed and squawked and fussed, and he laughed at me. “What’s wrong?” he taunted. “It’s just my strap! You’ve felt it before! What’s the matter, are you losing your tolerance?” I gritted my teeth and bore it, took all he gave, even though my mind was screaming, “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I take this? Why is this hurting so much?? Aaaaaaaagh!” Perhaps I was having an off night? A really off night?

It wasn’t until the next day that I found out from his girlfriend that the strap was NOT leather — it was rubber. Hence the blindfold, so I couldn’t see it. Grrrrr. I was marked like crazy, too. Deep bruises.

So now rubber is pretty much a hard limit as well. Although I guess Delrin is a sort of rubber, or similar? I will take a Delrin cane, although they hurt like a bitch.

Even canes don’t all feel the same. If I say in a general statement that canes are OK to use on me, what am I letting myself in for? I’ve never experienced a Singapore-style cane, nor do I want to. But a proper rattan caning, with a thin whippy one, in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing? Intense, but in the right head space, amazing.

I have felt everything, I think. From canes to belts to brushes to carpet beaters to tawses to crops to paddles to whips. I used to pride myself on what I could take. Nowadays, I find my desires changing. I still like to play hard… but only, ONLY if it’s someone whom I know is going to be measured, even, and careful. I no longer have any tolerance for stray shots–too high, too low, wrapping to the sides. I don’t like unevenness in cheekage. These days, I appreciate accurate and skilled players more than ever. The types I can trust with anything in their hands, no matter what it is, and know I’ll be safe and given just the right amount of pain. It’s a rarity, I’m afraid. Tops can be wonderful and kind and sensitive and skillful and many wonderful things, but still not adept with all the toys.

Perhaps now that I’m older, now that I’ve been doing this for a while, I don’t feel like I have to prove myself? (And to whom… to the scene, or to my own self?) I no longer have to show the world that I can get my ass beat all to hell with everything but the weed whacker. Or maybe I just don’t want that much pain and damage anymore? I really don’t know. But it does make me wish I understood the makings, the physics of implements better, so I could make the best choices for my play. Because, like everything else, I want quality over quantity.

But of course, there’s always hands. 🙂

Speaking of everything but the weed whacker — remember this?

dscf4121

Anyone else find they have been fooled by implements before? Or that something they used to like is no longer acceptable? Vice versa? Has anyone’s tolerance levels changed?

Part 2 is up, and Erica is a crybaby

Some of you may have already noticed, but Part 2 of my Richard Windsor interview is now up on Spanking Tube, here. I really appreciate Rich getting these up so quickly, and I hope you guys like them! And if you do, please do take a sec and give a rating. I suppose there will be those who are disappointed because there’s no spanking, just talking, but there will be that fun little spanking clip that Rich and I did as well, coming soon.

Please excuse me, but I’m going to whine now. I went to the dentist today. Here’s what was on the docket: an old crown on the upper left was to be removed and replaced, and the tooth next to it needed a filling. Then on the lower left, an old filling was to be replaced.

The crown should have been simple; the plan was to pry it off, take the impression for the new one, then cement the old one back on as a temporary until the new one was done in a couple of weeks. However, that didn’t happen. The damned old crown would not come off.

Dr. T said he was going to try to “tap” it off. He was going to hammer at it a bit in an attempt to loosen it, but I wouldn’t feel any pain. Well, guess what… despite four shots of anesthetic (yes, four), I still felt pain up in the jawbone. Plus, the feel and sound of the impact did something to me–I could sense and hear this banging resonating loudly through my head, and it freaked me out. I guess I must have gone chalk white, and I didn’t realize I was twisting and wringing my fingers until the dental assistant laid her hand gently over mine. The doc would stop, then try again, but the @#$%ing thing still wouldn’t come off and I was clearly terrified, so he stopped.

Plan B — drill the old crown off and fit me for a new acrylic temporary, since the old one would now be history. So drill, drill, drill away, plus drilling for the new filling in the tooth next door. Granted, by now the anesthetic was fully kicked in and I felt nothing, but my jaw was wedged open and my mouth stretched wide, and I could hear the drill (plus there’s that lovely smell of your teeth disintegrating). So when he finally said, “OK, drilling is over,” I had to fight the urge to burst into tears of relief. Yes, I am a big old baby.

The crown and the one filling ended up taking 2 1/4 hours total, and they didn’t even get to the second filling. They’ll do that when I go back for the permanent crown. However, I couldn’t get an appointment for that until three weeks from today. And instead of my porcelain old crown as a temp, I have an acrylic that isn’t meant to withstand all that much stress. The last time I had a temporary crown, I chewed right through it.

God, I hate dental work. You can say what you like about my spanking tolerance, but I am not a masochist. I hate pain.

The lidocaine has worn off and a dose of Advil has beaten the flare-up of pain down into a dull ache. And I have been warned not to eat anything sticky or really hard for the next few weeks. Thank God I don’t chew gum.

OK, whining over. Thank you for listening.

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