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 “sass”

Stress relief, and a runaway bus

OK, kids — no matter what side you’re on, I think we can all agree that this godawful Presidential election, fraught with anger and ugliness, could send anyone in this country to the loony bin. I know that if I’m going to survive, I need stress release, and I need to laugh. Fortunately, I’ve had opportunities for both this week.

First, for the past three days, I’ve been engaging in a war of bratty tweets on Twitter. It started out with Ulf Sayer, Kajira Bound and me, and then it expanded to include Alex Reynolds, Paul Kennedy and Nuna Starks. Ulf had claimed that, because of me, the hashtag #SpankOnSight has become an international necessity. And sometime yesterday, I’ve lost track of who started it, but the hashtag #BlameEricaScott became a thing.

So, I tweeted a photo of myself with a very innocent face, and said, “Who, meeee?” And late last night, Alex tweeted, “YES YOU!!!”

Humph! I then replied to all, “Did anyone get the license plate of that bus I just got thrown under?”

And Miss Alex came back with, “I did! Here you go!” Accompanied by this:

licensees

Well, I never! I am flabbergasted! I am verklempt! Or, to employ my beloved boyfriend’s goyishe interpretation, I am kermufft!

Today, Kajira posted a picture of herself about to be spanked by Ulf, and tweeted that this is what happens every time she talks with or quotes me. To which I said, “You’re welcome.” 😀

But back to stress relief. Steve and I were able to get together for a couple of hours yesterday, and we made good use of it. And finally got some new pictures. For this one, he called out, “Give me your best ‘WTF are you doing??’ face!” Which translated into my signature “righteous indignation” face:

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And then, of course, there’s my “Is that all you’ve got?” face:

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Apparently, it wasn’t all he had.

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Notice that my thighs got a bit of attention too.

All good. I certainly felt a lot more relaxed afterward. And the laughter certainly felt wonderful.

Friends are good things. ♥ Bus tracks on my ass notwithstanding.

Hopping on the Meme Train

Memes — we’ve all seen them, and love them or hate them, they’re here to stay. You know, those ubiquitous pictures with funny, pithy captions that make their way across the Interwebs. You’ve seen the more common themes: Grumpy Cat. The Most Interesting Man. Batman slapping Robin. Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka. That scruffy looking guy from The Walking Dead (or is it Game of Thrones? Whatever). Some people take personal photos and create their own original memes. The possibilities are endless.

I have a major peeve about memes. (Gee, there’s a big surprise, huh?) I’ll see one that is clever and funny… and then there’s a blatant typo or grammatical error. And it ruins the meme for me. I can’t unsee the mistake, and I don’t want to forward what could have been a work of comic genius because of some glaringly stupid mistake.

The other day on Twitter, some guy I don’t know had posted a meme that was quite original. He had posted the letters T R U M P vertically, then spelled out a word corresponding with each initial. I can’t remember what the first three letters stood for, but the MP? Maniacal Putz. Pretty funny.

Except he spelled it “Manicial.” Arrggh.

Still, it was funny, so I clicked Like. Then I tweeted: “This would have been even funnier if maniacal had been spelled correctly.”

A minute later, I went to look at the meme again. All I saw was “Tweet is no longer available.” I clicked on the guy’s name. He’d blocked me.

Sheesh! Hypersensitive, much? I had to laugh. People have tissue paper for skin these days, it seems. Yeah, I know, I’m pedantic and some people find that to be a pain in the ass. Too bad, so sad. I wasn’t mean. I did “Like” it. But I guess pointing out the spelling error embarrassed him. Or he just didn’t give a damn and didn’t want to take a chance of hearing from me again. Oh well!

I know what you’re thinking. “Well, Erica, let’s see you do a better job creating memes!”

Challenge accepted.

I found a Meme Generator site, where you can take an existing template, or upload a picture of your own, and caption it. Instant meme! I figured out how to work it, and then my devious little mind was unleashed. So now I’ll share a few of my efforts. 😀

We all know this guy, don’t we?

interestingman\

And while I’m on the grammar bandwagon, of course I had to make this meme, highlighting one of my biggest peeves:

youandme

I can still hear you — “What, no spanking meme?” Really, you should know better. 🙂 Here’s one with one of my favorite signature phrases:

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Aaaaand finally, I felt the need to make a statement to people who aren’t fond of my particular brand of sarcastic wit. I chose the following photo, which you’ve all seen before — it’s about ten years old, but it still works:

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I posted that last one on Twitter. It got sixteen Likes and two Retweets. 😀 Yes, the meme generator has generated a Frankenstein. I have seen the future and it is Erica memes.

All right, back to work for me, and then on to John’s. Have a great weekend, y’all.

A reader’s question & a question for my readers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great weekend, y’all.

You know what’s weird?

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

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

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

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

spatulas

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

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

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

“WHAT did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry/not sorry for having a voice

Yesterday, I reactivated my FetLife account. For the most part, it was a positive experience; got a lot of welcome back comments and messages, and some new friend requests. But of course, the peanut gallery had to pipe up as well.

Before the 50 Freaks party in February, I had posted a video on FL of Steve giving me a pre-party “warm-up.” I was in full sass mode for this one (what a surprise), and we had a lot of banter. I got mostly positive feedback on it, with the exception of these two comments:

gag her. she’s annoying

and

What a nice ass! But I agree about gagging her.

Well, nuts to both of you. At the time, I posted this in reply:

Some people, including my beloved top, like me just the way I am, mouth and all. So, with all due respect, up yours.

Then yesterday, the same video got this gem:

Vids have great potential, however, the chit-chat is very annoying. Hard to watch!

Then don’t watch, stupid. It’s really that simple.

Checked out this commenter’s profile. He identifies as an “alpha male” — in other words, he has a small dick. 🙂 And just before commenting on my video, he had clicked “Love” on a video posted by a guy who’s well known for beating the ever-loving sh*t out of women’s bottoms. Figures!

Oooh, he thinks my videos have great potential! Maybe I should try doing them professionally. huh? Oh, wait. I’ve been doing that for fifteen years.

Geez, people. I get it that my style isn’t everyone’s cup of kink. I know some people think I talk too much, sass too much, interact with the top too much. You’re certainly entitled to your preferences. As am I. I would prefer that if you don’t like my stuff, you move on and watch something you do like. Because I’m not interested in your critiques.

I have a rep that precedes me; people pretty much know what they’re going to get when they watch me. And some people enjoy my feistiness. They like a little challenge from a bottom. They know I can take what I dish out. They appreciate the dynamics between me and my top(s). For these folks, I am very grateful, and I will continue to entertain you for as long as you want me to. 🙂

As for the critics who wish to silence me:

Erica's Helpful Hints -- the Monday edition

(OK, so this is an old photo, as evidenced by the old-time monitor, the fax machine, and the fact that I’m hiding the lower portion of my face. But the message remains current!)

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Don’t try this at home

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I tell you to lay down?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought you were done!”

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

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

Sheeeesh! Try to be helpful!

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

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

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

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

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