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 “spanking”

Know your audience

Yes, I know I’ve talked about this before. But it seems that in these days of isolation and boredom, where people are itching for titillation and entertainment, it could use a refresher course.

This isn’t exactly CHoS material, which is why I’m keeping it separate. But it’s equally annoying. I like a fantasy scenario as much as the next spanko. I’ve read many and I’ve written quite a few. BUT. When you write and publish a spanking story, whether it be in a book or on a blog or wherever, you leave people the choice whether or not to read it. Generally, people pick and choose what they read according to what particulars float their boat. Sounds about right, no?

Until you get the guys (and yes, in my case, it’s always guys) who don’t know you, who have never corresponded with you (let alone played with you), who just feel like getting their rocks off by directly presenting their fantasy to you under the guise of “Hey, I wrote this just for you,” when you know damn well they probably dashed it off to a hundred women just to see who took the bait.

And, lucky me, these scenarios are almost always cringe-worthy on every level.

Here’s an example I received recently on FetLife. I had never had any contact with this man, other than a brief exchange of “hellos” on the site, but then he presented me with the following, completely unsolicited.

I am a huge role play, daddy daughter top too. If I may beg your indulgence (and I know you’ve probably played the little girl in your videos a lot and maybe even this same exact scenario) … So, my favorite scenario is scolding the lady for her indiscretions before the spanking (make her feel like a little naughty girl) and telling her that she needs and deserves a good ole fashion OTK bare bottom spanking. Telling her that’s long over due and much deserved, etc. I would then tell her to go upstairs to our room and prepare for her spanking (she would know the drill; all her clothes off, but her panties) and wait for me in the corner sitting on the ‘spanking chair.’ I would make her wait for 10 or 15 minutes before entering our room to give her the scolding and OTK. I would then enter the room and say, ‘it’s spanking time, young lady and you’re going to get a good one.” And, ”you won’t be sitting comfortably for quite a while after I am done with you, young lady.” I would ask her does she know why she’s getting spanking and ask her what happens to naughty girls under my roof, etc. And, then scold her some more before putting her over my knee and pulling her panties down and spanking her bottom rosy red as she bawls loudly (hopefully; if not, she may want the brush). When done, I would tell her to go back to her corner with her panties still down and lecture her on why she got the spanking, and that next time it will be harder and longer, etc. I then would come back in the room and comfort her. PS: The ‘spanking chair’ will always be in the corner of our room so she would be reminded each and every time she see’s it of what the consequences will be if she misbehaves again. What do you think? What would you add here in this scenario? I am just curious coming from a professional spanko bottom as you. I really respect and cheris your sage knowledge of the spanking kink!

Good lord. Pass me the barf bag.

So what’s the problem? I mean, besides the fact that it is horribly written and crammed with cheesy, clichéd corn? Well… in the very beginning, he says he knows I have probably often played the little girl in my videos. In what universe? Anyone who has known me, or known of me, for more than five minutes in the scene knows that I have never played a little girl, that I am not a little in private, that I’ve never participated in a scene like this in all my 24 years in the spanking scene. It. Is. Not. My. Thing. When you have a specific kink such as age play, know who you’re writing to before you dash off an elaborate scenario such as this. (And FFS, try proofreading it first.)

In case you’re wondering, since he did ask for feedback, I answered briefly.

“Never once have I played a little girl. I am not into the DD/lg dynamic in the least.
Know your audience.”

He didn’t answer. Buh-bye. I checked him out on FetLife again after a couple of weeks and saw that he was posting overly personal and cheesy comments all over the freaking place on many women’s pictures. (sigh) Some people just don’t learn.

And while I’m on the subject of clichés… Look, y’all. I like a well placed “young lady” or “you won’t sit down for a week” or what have you as much as the next bottom. But notice I said “well placed.” Some tops know when the time is right for these phrases, when they are hottest, when they are effective. Others spew them like rote Spanking 101 phrases, almost like there’s a checklist they have to tick off. Hint: Less is more. Subtlety and timing are key.

Okay, Erica, I hear people thinking. Since you’re such an expert, give us an example of well placed, what you consider hot.

All right.

End of last year, I met a man for coffee. We stood in line, ordered, and then I went to reach for my wallet. I always offer to pay my share; I never assume.

Now, he could have said: “Young lady, you even think about touching that wallet and I’ll take you outside to the car, bare your little bottom and give you a spanking you’ll never forget.” Oooh, yeah, that would tick off about four of those check boxes.

He didn’t. Because he knew that would have been a bit much right out of the gate.

Instead, he didn’t even look up from his own wallet, but very quietly said, “That stops right now.”

My hand, poised over my wallet, froze. And with those four words, so subtly delivered, I needed a change of underwear.

Spanko talk is a lot like humor. If you’re too heavy-handed with it (if you’ll pardon the expression), it does the opposite of what it’s meant to do.

And that concludes today’s installment of Erica’s Helpful Hints. By the way, if I sound grumpy, it’s because I fucking well am. Back to work with me. Hope everyone is staying safe and well.

 

Bittersweet

It’s Memorial Day. Technically for me, being a freelancer, it’s Monday. I’m working today. But really, what else is there to do anyway? I’m not in any hurry to go to the beach. I never wanted to go to the beach before the damn pandemic.

Today we honor the fallen. And in that vein, an extra moment of silence for the nearly 100,000 people in the U.S., and many more globally, who have died from Covid-19. These are scary, uncertain times. Today, I’m grateful to be well and working, even though I feel like there’s a specter over my head, over John’s, over the heads of everyone I love.

Today is also a day of entirely different memories for me. On Memorial Day 1996, I got my very first adult consensual spanking. That one action changed my life. Lifelong fantasies became a reality that was so much better than I could have imagined. I started a new journey that took me to the most amazing places, to meet so many incredible people and have experiences I didn’t even dream of. All from a tall, handsome gentleman, whose last name I never knew, who came briefly into my life and turned my world upside down and inside out. Wherever you are, Paul, thank you. Again. I hope you found what you needed and wanted.

Today I remind everyone out there who is still ashamed, closeted, embarrassed, feeling like there’s something wrong with them — there isn’t. Societal dictates about relationships, sexual activities and fetishes are highly overrated. As long as you are hurting no one, as long as you are safe, sane, consensual and respectful, your desires are part of who you are. Embrace them, and dare I say, enjoy them. Because life is too fucking short not to.

Today, I can’t help comparing Memorial Day twenty-four years ago, when I brought an almost perfect stranger into my home and engaged in highly physical activity, with today, when I can’t even meet someone for a cup of coffee. Recently, a correspondent wrote, “It seems the days of meeting for coffee are behind us.” Oh my god, I hope he’s wrong. Because that is a truly depressing prospect.

Today, I’m dealing with a whole lot of powerlessness. A lot of feelings. Fear, anger, nervousness, sadness, uncertainty. Yesterday, John wasn’t feeling well, and of course, my mind has gone to all the worst possible places, even though it’s probably just a damn headache and perfectly innocuous. This year’s taxes have been postponed, but they are due soon and I owe a ton of money, because my quarterly taxes were underestimated last year and I ended up making more than my accountant and I thought I would. Trying to stay in the moment — it’s hot outside, but my place is nice and cool, I have plenty to eat, I am feeling okay. I can’t think past this moment in time or I’ll drive myself crazy. I’m not alone in this, I know. So in the midst of the craziness, there is gratitude.

Today, I’m grateful for friends, for people who have stayed the course, who are still with me and haven’t disappeared. I hope I get to see some of you in the future when all this is behind us, whenever that may be. ♥

Please take care of yourselves, and be kind. We are all on edge right now. The slightest gesture from another can pull someone back from the ledge… or push them over it. Which one do you want to do?

If you can, go play. And revel in it 100%. Celebrate your kinky wonderful self. Remember those who have gone, and honor them by living your truest life.

Kink in the time of Covid-19

Before I get to the subject of this post, an update on my friend with the virus. She is in the middle of Week #3. Still having fevers, still having O2 drops, and her exercise for the day is taking a shower. She has made two trips to the ER. However, her lungs are clear and unaffected, so the hope is that her body is simply exhausted and will rally after a time.

I remind you — she is fit, strong, and only 31 years old. You guys do not want this virus.

Anyway, enough of that.

In these days of social distancing and quarantining, if you’re a spanko and you’re fortunate enough to live with a spanking partner, more power to you. If you don’t… then as far as getting these needs met, you’re essentially screwed. No parties. No play dates. Not even small get-togethers, because even if you do have a limited gathering, you have to maintain distance. Anything tactile is off the table for now. Which cuts out… well, everything.

So what are people doing in efforts for some satisfaction? Seems you can do one of two things. You can either satisfy the physical craving and self-spank, or you can forgo the impact and focus on the head space part of things, by either FaceTiming/Zooming or talking on the phone. In other words, virtual scenes.

Sexy-girl-using-computer

Some people are blessed with wonderful imaginations. Their minds can take them into the deepest and darkest recesses, simulating what they desire. They can take a paddle to themselves while imagining that Mr. or Ms. Deliciously Toppy is doing it. Or they can use a visual on a screen or a voice on the phone and put themselves into the same head space they feel when it’s in person.

Sadly, I’m not one of those people.

I have tried self-spanking a few times. I figured if I could achieve sexual satisfaction by masturbating, I could scratch the spanking itch myself, right? Wrong. It is so not the same. First, it’s physically awkward, and very hard on the shoulder. I don’t need anymore shoulder issues after dealing with shoulder impingement syndrome all last year. Second, there is no way I can get the angle and speed and distance good enough to make a proper impact. And finally, perhaps most important, it makes me feel ridiculous. Not the feeling I’m going for.

So then we move onto the virtual stuff. Instantly, Zoom and FaceTime are out for me on my old computer. It doesn’t have a built-in mic, and my every effort to use an external mic has failed. For whatever reason, I get picture, but no audio. My tech practically took the thing apart and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. So until I get a new computer, that’s out. I suppose I could video chat on my phone, but the small screen is a hindrance.

So that leaves the phone. A disembodied voice + my imagination. Not something I’ve ever found fulfilling in the past. But in these times, needs must. We do what we can. We try things. We endeavor to broaden our horizons. Especially someone like me, whose horizons are admittedly rather narrow.

I was talking with a gentleman from Alt.com, a very interesting and bright man, good conversationalist, funny. He is local, but we had already determined that our kinks in person wouldn’t mesh properly. No one’s fault; it is what it is. However, since no one is doing anything in person right now anyway, he suggested we try a phone scene. He said he had a lot of experience weaving fantasy scenarios and all I would have to do is stay engaged and keep answering his questions, so he’d know in which direction to go (or not).

Because he was so articulate and seemed confident about his abilities, I thought, oh, what the hell. Go for it. Life is short, and fun is at a premium right now. It’s human contact, it’s kink, it’s exciting. Give it a shot.

So, last Monday, I called him at the time we’d designated, right on time. I had my cell plugged in so the battery wouldn’t die. Per his suggestion, I had water nearby and no TV or any other distractions on. We fell into easy conversation and the first hour or so was just vanilla get-to-know-you stuff.

Remember, I’m not a fan of the phone in general. I’d rather email or text people. About the only person I speak to regularly on the phone is John. That said… would you believe we were on the phone for six hours and twenty-seven minutes???

He was, as promised, very imaginative and there were no lags in the conversation. He needed a lot of feedback from me — whenever he said something or another, went in a particular direction, he’d ask me to rate how I liked it — a little, medium, a lot, extremely. Just saying “Yes” wasn’t enough. I can understand that; he had nothing else to read, not being able to see me, see my bodily reactions. A couple of times when the scenario went in a way I didn’t care for, he switched gears immediately without faltering. And he had a wonderful voice, deep and rich. A radio host voice. (And by the way, I saw his picture — he does not have a “face for radio,” as the saying goes. 😀 He’s quite the attractive man.)

I let myself feel, and to the best of my ability, I tried to imagine. My body reacted. We took breaks, used the bathroom, drank water, checked in, etc. But the action was almost continuous. Without spelling out any details, we went to some dark places, darker than I usually go, but I felt safe doing so. I came four times. When I was starting to feel rather selfish, he finally did too. Then we talked for about another 45 minutes to an hour.

Something of note happened, toward the end. After my third intense orgasm, I started to cry.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asked. “What do you want?”

Without thinking about it, I blurted, “I wish you were here! I want to feel your hands on me, your arms around me. I need impact, I need physical contact, I need I need I need…” and I kept babbling on and crying. He was very kind, and in a few minutes I calmed back down.

But there it was. I. Need. The. Real. Thing.

This was fun, and he was lovely. He worked hard to give me some pleasure. I did have an intense emotional release, and some laughs and titillation. I don’t regret doing it at all; I’m glad I did. But I don’t think I’ll be doing it again. Hell, I’d love to talk with this man again. As friends. He’s fascinating. And so damned smart. But virtual doesn’t cut it for me. It was hard for me to give the constant verbal feedback; in person, it’s not as necessary. You have breathing, you have body reactions, you have skin color. A bottom can simply sink into the space of the scene, stop talking and just feel. Is it better than nothing at all? I suppose. But I experienced a kind of rebound.

When we got off the phone, I was delirious with tiredness. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. But I was also really hungry, and still a bit keyed up; I couldn’t just shut everything off. So I made myself something to eat, then answered a couple of emails. Then I even did a bit more work. By the time I went to sleep, it was 4:30.

I was very relaxed but exhausted the next day, and in a fog of unreality. I went through the motions of the day, worked, managed to work out, although I had to break the session in two because I hit a wall and had to stop and take a nap. I finally caught up with my sleep and by Wednesday I felt back to normal.

And extremely frustrated. The craving for play had come back with a vengeance and a ferocity.

Not his fault. Not mine either. It’s just the way it is. I need what I need, and all the facsimiles and simulations and fantasies and discussions and pictures painted with words just won’t cut it.

For those of you who have better imaginations than I do, I salute you and I envy you your ability to suspend disbelief and immerse yourself in what’s available to you. Me? I don’t know when the hell people will be able to play in person again safely, but until then, looks like I’m going to do without it.

I’m working. I’m healthy. John is well. I have a place to live and I can make rent. Life goes on, and this is not the end of the world.

It’s just kinda fucking frustrating.

Have a great weekend, y’all. Please be safe and take care.

Someone needs to vent…

screaming

So look out! (warning: fluent cussing to follow)

Before I get into this, I should say I am not sick. I’m not depressed. John is well. My apartment is fine and I have plenty of work. I still have the lovely memories of the party from a couple of weeks ago. So at this moment in time, I am all right.

I’m just overwhelmed with a feeling of unease and powerlessness, and like the whole damn world around me is in free-fall. We have a global pandemic that’s spreading every day. The stock market is crashing. People are freaking out and social media is a disaster area. The anger is off the charts. I feel like I’m not going to get through 2020 without losing my mind. And while I am well, I have several friends who are in various stages of illness and despair, and there’s not a damn thing I can do for them.

Finally, being a recluse and a misanthrope is going to be a huge plus. I’m not scared that I’m going to get COVID-19. I live alone, I work alone. I hate travel. I hate large crowds, for the most part. And I’m healthy with a strong immune system. However… John has a heart condition. And his immune system is compromised. And this is not the fucking flu.

The stock market plummeting on a daily basis scares the bejesus out of me. People hoarding stuff and acting crazy scare me. My finances worry me, especially since I just spent the last of my emergency cash on a hefty car repair. My computer is old AF, so are my TVs. My car is twelve years old. But I can’t afford to replace anything.

So what do I want to do in the midst of all this insanity? I want to play. I want to escape and forget all this crap for a while. I want an endorphin rush and a stress release. And I’m fucking frustrated with that situation as well.

This is party season — there’s a huge national spanking party next month, then in May, and then in June. Personally? I think going to airports and being among mass throngs of people from all over is insane right now, so I’m quite worried about all my friends going to these things, even though I envy them as well. I’m so very grateful we managed to get to our own party before this all blew up. But the local situation continues to suck, and sometimes it gets damn tiresome.

In particular, I am frustrated with the tops on Alt.com. Yeah, lots of them look at me. I can tell who’s looking at my profile, and it’s often the same guys over and over. But they don’t contact me, and I can’t contact them, because I’m not a paying member. What’s up with that? About once a week, I see that the man who ended things last November still looks at my profile. Why??? Every time I see that he’s looked at me, I want to write to him and say, “FFS, come on over and look at me up close and personal, why don’t you?” Argh. But I don’t. I say nothing. Because if he wanted to be in touch, he would be. Still, I really can’t comprehend why he’s still checking me out. What a useless exercise that is if you don’t follow up with anything.

Another one has been dancing around me for months. We met once for coffee and things went splendidly, but then the holidays happened, he had a family emergency and he went back East for a few months. I waited patiently, and now he’s back… and he’s dancing around me again. Writing brief emails, dropping hints, asking questions, commenting how he saw one of my clips… but not suggesting a concrete get-together. Dude! Life is short and neither one of us is getting any younger here. If we’re all gonna die, I want to go with a sore butt and a big smile on my face. Stop tiptoeing… if you want to play, then fucking tell me you want to play and tell me when!

And yet another one texts me every now and then and says let’s reconnect. I enthusiastically agree and say just tell me when. And then he disappears again until the next time.

I wish they’d freaking man up, turn my ass up and spank the hell out of me already, dammit!

(I know. I sound so fucking submissive. I’d laugh at that if I didn’t feel like screaming.)

But then I calm down, I work out, I sigh, and I pick up my work again. And hope for things to get better. But I can’t help feeling they’re going to get a whole lot worse first.

One of my old bosses, whenever people complained about stuff, had the weirdest saying: “Yeah, well, people in hell want lemonade.” I never quite understood what that meant. But I suppose the kinky version of that is “People in hell want spanking.” Because right now, besides the basics of shelter and food and good health, that’s what I want most.

I. Am. Scared. I know why people drink. I know why people smoke. I know why people do geographics. Escape. Of course, there is no escape, not really. There is postponement, though. There is temporary distraction. And sometimes, that sounds pretty damn sublime.

(sigh) Rant over. I will get back to work now.

Friends — be safe. Be careful. And if you have a chance to have some fun, do it. Because we simply don’t know what the fuck is going to happen.

Happy “birthday” to Erica Scott

No, technically, it is not my birthday, which is why I put it in quotes. January is nearly over, and I’ve been so busy with work that I completely forgot to acknowledge a passage of time. Twenty years ago, in January 2000, I shot my first video. Twenty years ago in January, “Erica Scott” was born. I had come out as a spanko in 1996, but 2000 was the beginning of my online presence, my video presence. When I decided I wanted to keep my first name, but change my last, for simplicity.

I will never forget that day… the unbelievable excitement, the nerves, the joy, the exhilaration. The huge script to memorize for what turned out to be a 90-minute video. All the costume changes. Actually working with Keith Jones, who had been my first spanko crush from afar. Shooting for 9 1/2 hours, then going out to a late dinner, then playing some more, then coming home after midnight… and being so wound up, I still couldn’t go to sleep.

So very many experiences since then. Erica Scott may only be twenty, but she’s crammed a lifetime into those years. My alter ego has served me well.

Still my favorite picture from the “Naughty Secretaries Week Part 2” shoot, although I can’t recall what the hell we were laughing at. (Apologies for the poor picture quality.)

standingduo

I never would have thought I was launching something so monumental in my life, back on that day in January 2000. The birth of my alter ego changed my life. Broadened it. Freed it. Freed me.

And now Erica [real name] must get back to work.

Yes, we’re strong, but…

Earlier this morning, a conversation on Twitter got my mind going. A friend was saying how hard it is to let go, to admit that she needs/wants to be taken care of, that her strong, independent and take-charge personality won’t allow it. How many bottoms — women and men — have struggled with this? We work. We function. We struggle and juggle. We make decisions. We pay bills and take care of others. We are responsible. And yet… for many of us, there’s that tiny inner vulnerable person who just wants to give up the control and hand it over to someone stronger.

Me too.

(For the sake of simplicity and my own viewpoint, I’m going to assume the strong female/stronger male dynamic, but please feel free to substitute whatever works for you.)

strongwoman

How do women reconcile their strength, their feminism and independence with that inner need to be taken down, spanked, held and comforted? I’ve heard that question for years and years, and I still don’t know the answer to it. I only know the need is real.

I am fiercely independent to a fault. I am a loner. I have lived alone since I was seventeen years old. And I hate needing people. That is one hell of a clash with the part of me who wants to lie over a man’s lap, feel his strong hand spanking me, and then disappear into his arms. Who wants to hear his voice in my ear, softly crooning, “Shhh. Good girl. That’s my girl. I’ve got you.” Who wants to sob until his shirt is soaked with my tears… knowing he won’t think my crying is ugly.

An old (and honestly, really sexist) song from the movie “Funny Girl” comes to mind, in particular the lyric, “You are woman, I am man. You are smaller, so I can be taller than.” I’m not a small woman; I’m 5′ 7″ flat-footed. I accepted years ago that a lot of men (and play partners) aren’t going to be taller/bigger than I am, and that’s fine. But guess what… yup. There’s still that part of me that yearns to be tiny, that loves the fact that John is 6′ 2″. When I’m barefooted and he’s hugging me, he likes to say, “What are you doing down there?” My answer is always the same: “Looking up at you.”

Does that make me weak? A traitor to the feminist cause? I don’t think so. I’m not looking for a caretaker or a protector. I don’t want to be absolved of all responsibility, to be permanently removed from adulthood. I just want the chance now and then to be vulnerable, to let go and know I have a safety net. To know that if I crack my hard exterior and let the softer, inner me show, that side will be cherished, not crushed.

This is an old picture of a former play partner. Sadly, he showed himself to be someone with whom I can no longer share my vulnerability.  But I still love this picture. And I want this — not him, but this — back in my life again regularly, in my home, in my moments of softness. So, so, so damn much.

vulnerable1

I hope I find it again.

Have a great weekend, y’all.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: