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”

It’s parody time again, kids…

xmasornament

What, you were expecting something sentimental and Yuletide-y? Do you know me?

Anyway… it will surprise no one to read that I’m not feeling the holiday spirit this year. I’m actually working on Christmas Day, by choice. 1. I’m a Grinch, and a Jewish Grinch at that. 2. John is invited to his sister’s house for Christmas dinner. He made an excuse for me without even double-checking if there was a ghost of a chance I might want to go. Good man. I am so done with those people. So he and I will exchange our gifts this weekend.

However, even though I haven’t done this for the past couple of years, I felt the need to carry on my past tradition of writing spanking Christmas carol parodies. This year’s offering is to the tune of “Sleigh Ride.”

Just hear those paddles paddling, crack-crack-crackling too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you
You know the hands are falling with miscreants calling “Boo hoo!”
Oh yes, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you

Pull ‘em down, pull ‘em down, pull ‘em way down, go
Right down to your toes
We’re starting with a bottom white as snow
Smack it up, smack it up, smack it harder, pow!
It’s getting red now
We’re spanking along with a song
Of a bratty girl’s dressing down

Our buns are red and rosy and sore and toasty are we
We’re planning pranks together like brats of a feather we’ll be
They’ll say “Oh, you’re in trouble!” and spank our bubble butts too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you

There’s a Red Room party at the home of Christian Grey,
He’s a poser but oh well we’re going anyway,
We’ll be writhing on laps of tops we love, and hoping they won’t stop
At the gathering while we watch the paddles pop: Pop! Pop! Pop!
There’s a stinging feeling nothing in the world can buy
When they pass around the spoons and straps and belts, oh my!
It’ll nearly be like a photograph in Janus Magazine
These wonderful toys that abound we’ll remember when we sit down!

Just hear those paddles paddling, crack-crack-crackling too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you
You know the hands are falling with miscreants calling “Boo hoo!”
Oh yes, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with you

Pull ‘em down, pull ‘em down, pull ‘em way down, go
Right down to your toes
We’re starting with a bottom white as snow
Smack it up, smack it up, smack it harder, pow!
It’s getting red now
We’re spanking along with a song
Of a bratty girl’s dressing down

Our buns are red and rosy and sore and toasty are we
We’re planning pranks together like brats of a feather we’ll be
They’ll say “Oh, you’re in trouble!” and spank our bubble butts too
Come on, it’s wood or leather, for a spanking together with youuuu!

I should throw in a disclaimer that never have I ever heard anyone actually say “Boo hoo!” But you know, artistic license. And I made myself laugh when I transformed the line “There’s a birthday party at the home of Farmer Gray.”

In closing, remember, Grumpy Cat sings,

“Deck the halls with clumps of furballs
Fa la la la la, go elf yourself!”

grumpycat8

Have a great weekend, y’all. And all snark aside… I hope your holidays, whatever you celebrate, are happy. We could all use some cheer, I think. ♥

We’re the same, and yet we’re different, part 952

Warning: Controversy and opinions ahead.

Since there are so many photo sites out there in the spankosphere, one is exposed to an infinite amount of spanking pictures on any given day. I happen to belong to a private spanking group on Facebook, of all places, and the group leader makes a point of posting all different types of pictures, for the widest variety of appeal. Recently, within a week of each other, two photos were posted, and they elicited fully opposite reactions from me, quite extreme ones. One, I loved. I couldn’t stop looking at it. I reposted it on FetLife and asked where it was from. I looked at it again. And again. I squirmed in my chair and couldn’t concentrate on my work. Yes, it was that intense. The second one, I hated. Passionately. Everything about it. It made me angry.

So I got to thinking about how different we all are, and how these pictures touch things in some of us and trigger things in others. And how one person can love a photo and the next person will loathe it.

I’m going to post both pictures and explain why I feel the way I do about them.
This is not, repeat, not a post claiming that my likes are better than your likes, that so-and-so’s scenes are wrong and my preferences are the correct ones, etc. Because I invite anyone who wishes to comment to tell me honestly about how you feel. I’m curious what makes people tick. It’s part of my never-ending fascination with This Thing We Do.

So, without further blathering on my part, here’s the first shot, the one I loved.

hotspankingpic

Yes, it’s clearly posed. Someone on FetLife thought it was from a commercial (and vanilla) photo shoot for lingerie or something like that. Yeah… if the person who conceived of this photo setup is vanilla, I’m a virgin.

What do I love? Everything. The lighting. The attractiveness of both participants. The blissful smile on the woman’s face, the sweet curve of her bottom, the sweep of her hair. His open shirt, his hand on her butt cheek, and the sexy, hungry way he’s gazing down at her. To me, this photo is art. This is something I would actually want framed and hanging on my wall. It’s gorgeous. And it’s so damned sexy, it gives me goosebumps. And other bodily reactions.

Next, the second shot.

grosshorriblespankingpic

Obviously, this is from RGE Films. I hadn’t heard of them, so I looked them up. They specialize in extreme pain and humiliation. OK, fine, to each their own. But that notwithstanding, this picture really pisses me off.

First: how much torture is one body supposed to withstand? Is it really necessary to have extreme caning, figging, soaping, AND kneeling naked on a hard floor all at once? One, maybe two, but not all four. Overkill.

Second, and one of my big pet peeves in the scene: Terrible technique. On both women, the right ass cheek is torn all to hell, way more than the left. Why do tops do this? I get it, I know it happens by accident sometimes in a session. But come on. They can see everything that’s happening to the bottom’s body. They can see that way more damage is being incurred on one side. If they can’t see it, then they shouldn’t be spanking without glasses. If they can see it and don’t care… well. I will censor my thoughts there. Besides being excruciating, I find the asymmetry to be aesthetically displeasing. But that could just be my OCD talking.

And finally, I freaking loathe this creep hovering over them, with his scruffy bald head in the viewers’ faces. He’s probably sneering at them. He just seems… mean. I don’t mind strict tops. I don’t mind tough tops. But I don’t like mean ones.

So, here’s where it gets interesting. Because I know very well that someone else will look at this pair of pictures and see the opposite. They’ll think the first picture is sissified, romanticized, fake, too pretty. Spanking Lite. Kink viewed through rose-colored glasses. And that the second photo is raw, real, and powerful. That it appeals to the dark side, to those who crave real punishment, real pain.

I like darkness too. I just think this photo is a poor example of it.

What do you think, readers? How do these two pictures make you feel? I am genuinely interested in varied viewpoints, because, like I said at the beginning, I find this utterly fascinating.

Did ya miss me?

I haven’t blogged for a little over a month, so I have a lot of catching up to do. Honestly? What with the insanity around the midterms, mass shootings, displays of antisemitism, and lately, the horrendous fires in my state (still burning), I haven’t really felt the kink mojo. It’s hard to be lighthearted and funny and flippant when it feels like everything around you is devolving into a massive sinkhole of shit. This has been me:

stressedwoman

(OK, my boobs aren’t that big. But whatever.)

However, life goes on and I need to remind myself of that. So here I am.

And I got to play again last week, thank you very much! Much needed stress release! Mr. Woodland paid me another visit, last Thursday (you know, after the Thousand Oaks shooting, but before the Woolsey fire exploded). This time he showed up with his toy bag. Uh-oh.

But never fear, the good Mr. W. started me off with a proper warm-up. At some point, this exchange happened:

Him: Do you prefer your underwear up or down?
Me: That’s up to you.

Although it was more like “That’s up to y—,” because I didn’t even have the word “you” out of my mouth when my panties were unceremoniously yanked to my thighs.

“Well, that was an easy decision,” he said. Humph.

Warm-up passed in the blink of an eye, it seemed. “Time for some implements,” he announced. “Get up, please.”

Well, at least he said please.

We moved to my ottoman, and he said, “Set this up the way you want it.” I protested, “Why me? You set it up last time, so you’d have room to swing.” “Fine,” he said, and nudged it a few inches with his foot — which then sent the cushions askew. “Well, now it’s crooked!” I huffed, leaning down to straighten it.

“I have a belt in my hand,” he said. “Is this really a good time to be a smart-ass?” (What better time is there?)

And so the strapping ensued. At a good breaking point, he went to get his bag. “Let’s see what I’ve got for you in this bag of treats,” he grinned.

I sweetly requested a Snickers bar. He didn’t have any.

I then got to meet several of the items in his bag, including a tawse, some sort of leather thing, and a very thin, light wooden paddle. “This is a sting-y little bastard,” he commented about the latter. “Kind of like you?” I commented in return. He sighed. “That wasn’t smart.”

It was worth it, though. 😀

More chit-chat:

Him: Well, that’s about all I can use for now. The rest [of the bag’s contents] is wood.
Me: (sighing) What’s wrong with you?
Him: I like wood!
Me: That’s what she said.

Damn, did we play hard. I could feel the strength he was putting into it, and I was drinking it in like a freaking desert in a rainstorm. I just wanted more, more, and more. Even the tawse. Normally, I’m leery about those suckers. I have had experiences in the past where one of those skinny little tails snaps into nooks and crannies that I really, really don’t want getting snapped — and I damn near go through the ceiling. But then I took a deep breath and remembered.

He knows what he’s doing.

So much so that when he seemed to be wrapping things up, I blurted, “Are you done??”

“You want more?” he asked.

“Um… maybe?”

He laughed. “Be careful what you wish for…”

Holy crap. That last round pushed my endurance, for sure. I quickly realized my error of not tossing a pillow on the carpet before we started. First, because I was scraping my elbows along the carpet as I leaned over the ottoman. Not my choice of pain. And second, because I didn’t have anything to scream into. And sometimes, you know, I just have to scream. So I ended up clamping both hands over my mouth and screaming into my palms. And all the while, I could feel the stress flowing out my pores, out of my limbs, out of my head. Magic. So lovely when I can just put myself into a man’s hands and know I’m safe. As Mr. W. says on his Fet profile, he might hurt, but he doesn’t harm. Knowing that makes such a difference.

He was impressed. “You can take one hell of a spanking, Erica,” he said. Despite the fact that I was limp as a dishrag and so sub-spacey I could barely think, I managed to croak out, “You know, this is all your fault.”

“Really? How’s that?”

“Because,” I squeaked, “if you hadn’t made me wait three weeks for this, I wouldn’t have been so fucking needy!!

I wish I could have seen the look on his face at that. “Ah… well, I think we’ll have to address that next time.” Yeah, you think?

(I was kidding, of course. I am responsible for my own stress management; no one else. But a helping hand — or strap, paddle, etc. — is most welcome.)

And so we wound down. Then, I heard the two words that always melt me into the final oblivion:

“Good girl.” Of all the sweet phrases we love to hear, I think that’s one of the sweetest. Right up there with “That’s my girl.” 🙂

He hung out with me for a while, but had to get going before the traffic got bad (or worse, really, since L.A. traffic is pretty much always bad now). Have no idea what our schedules will bring over the upcoming holiday weeks… but I hope I get to see him again before 2018 is over.

As soon as he was gone, I thought, “Oh, damn! Pictures!” So, since I was still in living color, I grabbed my phone and tried to take a mirror selfie in the bathroom. I’m embarrassed to admit how many attempts it took to get this:

20181108_165341

I still didn’t like it, but all the physical cogitations were making my back and neck ache worse than my butt. So I broke out the old-school digital camera and timer, and tried a different angle in the living room. Unfortunately, the lighting there didn’t show the red very well. But you get the idea.

DSC00005

I slept well that night. Sadly, the next day brought all new stress when the damned Woolsey fire blew up and I was worried about my stepmother in Thousand Oaks (all turned out well for her, thank goodness — she was without power for a couple of days, but didn’t have to evacuate). But such is life.

What else is going on… oh, yeah. Did I mention that my Twitter account was frozen for a week? “But, Erica,” I can hear you all crying, “what horrible, egregious, terrible thing did you tweet to earn this extreme penalty??” I called Tomi Lahren a bimbo.

(Never heard of Tomi Lahren? All you need to know about her is that she’s the millennial version of Ann Coulter. And if perchance you don’t know who Ann Coulter is — consider yourself fortunate.)

Let’s review. I’ve been insulted on Twitter over everything from my age (“granny porn”) to my body (“a poor man’s Olive Oyl”) to my face (I was likened to the character “Hatchet-face” from the movie Cry-Baby. Google her) to my background (“stupid @#$%ing Hollywood Jew). I’ve been threatened (“I’d love to watch you getting gang-raped”). But my saying “bimbo” is “hateful conduct”?? Yeah, Twitter. Bite me.

So, when my time in Twitter Jail was up, I put on my prison-stripe panties, brought out the trusty digital camera again, and took this, which I posted the day I came back:

DSC00038

I hash-tagged it #FuckCensorship. 🙂 Interestingly, I did not get reported and penalized for it. Imagine that.

(whew) Anyway. Work continues to be busy, for which I am grateful, not only for the bill paying but for the distraction. Crazy times, y’all.

Final thought — I wish I could hug every single firefighter in California right now. ♥ ♥ ♥

A pet peeve about a pet peeve

What’s our pet peeve when it comes to scene pictures, kids? People who cut off the watermark of professional photos and repost them without providing any kind of credit for where they came from. This, of course, is rampant in the Tumblr blogs, on FetLife, and yes, even on Twitter.

But what really annoys the bejesus out of me? When people steal a photo, post it like it’s their own, and then make up some stupid, cheesy caption to go with it — one that has absolutely nothing to do with the original picture. They make up names, scenarios, etc. Really, do they think they’re fooling anyone? (sigh) I guess they are, when the viewers aren’t in the industry. But anyone who has even a passing familiarity with spanking videos knows when a picture is from a professional shoot.

Last week, one of my friends on FetLife alerted all of us to a Twitter poster whose entire feed was stolen pictures with cheeseball captions. She asked us all to tell him to knock it off and if he didn’t, to report him. So I went to look at this guy’s feed. Sure enough, nothing but pictures taken from various video productions, all with captions hashtagged #SpankingFamily. Scrolled down and voila! There I was, with Alex and Paul. So I commented to the guy, told him that if he wanted to make up scenarios, he should do it with his own damn pictures and stop stealing them. Several other people jumped on him as well. And then? Next time I checked, not only were the photos gone, but the guy’s page was gone too. Good riddance. If only all the others were that easily vanquished.

Those captions really irk me. I mean, for one thing, they’re usually corny to the point of being vomit-worthy. But also, it irks me that the poster thinks the viewers are that stupid.

I especially like some of the captions I’ve seen with stolen pictures of me. One read something along the lines of, “MILF Betty Sue thought she was too old for a spanking. She soon realized the error of her ways!”

Oh, go fuck yourself sideways with a 2 x 4.

My favorite was one from years ago, on FetLife. This guy had posted a picture of Sierra Salem from when she was living with Dallas, standing in front of the fireplace mantel with a bright red backside. Then the clown captioned it with something like, “Barbara learned that bad grades at school would earn her a dose of Daddy’s strap.” Oh, FFS…

I commented on the picture, “This is Sierra Salem, not Barbara. She’s not in school, and this is Dallas’s photo. I don’t think he’d appreciate you appropriating it.”

You’d think the guy would take it down, right? No… he comes back with this: “I know it’s Sierra. Her real name is Barbara and Dallas gave me special permission to spank her.”

Are you kidding me?? How stupid do you think I am, fool? I shot with Sierra. I traveled with her, sat next to her on long plane flights. I shared a hotel room with her. Do you really think I don’t know what her real name is? It ain’t Barbara.

So I did the only thing I could do — I wrote to Dallas and alerted him to the photo and its comments. You can bet that joker took it down after Dallas had a few words with him. :-Þ

Look, I know there are tons of photos floating around out there that have long since had their credits cut off and people who are new may see them and have no clue where they’re from, so they just repost them. That can’t be helped. But please, y’all. If you have any sort of idea where a picture is from, who is in it, etc., credit it properly. Do not cut the identifying watermarks off. And for the love of God, don’t make up those stupid captions. Here’s a thought — take your own freaking pictures, and then you can caption them any cornball way your little heart desires. Fair?

**rant over**

Play at last! Play at last!

Fireworks-pastel-colors-jpg

And it’s about damn time! How long has it been, a year? Okay, okay, just a month and a half. (I’m not counting the double session I had with Alex a couple of weeks ago, because that was so light and playful.) But it feels like forever. Steve used to say that I needed spanking like I need oxygen. A bit of an exaggeration, but you know, sometimes…

I have Mr. Woodland’s permission to link to his FetLife page, so if any of you are members, you can read about him here. Our first time together one on one was fabulous, I thought.

He came by around 2:30. I’d been working since 8:00 on my various projects, so it was a good time to take a break. We slipped easily into conversation and I think close to two hours went by before we even mentioned playing. I like him; we seem to be on the same page about a lot of things, both scene-wise and everything else-wise. Because we’d played before, there wasn’t that first-time awkwardness, that shy dance of wonder and anxiety (Is this going to be great? Or is this gonna suck??). Finally, we began.

I had told him I hadn’t had any sort of intense play since Shadow Lane, so he very kindly and considerately started with a light warm-up. Of course, I appreciated that… but I wasn’t about to let him know that. 😀 So when he paused and asked how I was doing, I said, “I’m sorry… did I give you the impression that I enjoy tickling?”

“What was that? Excuse me?” And there it was, he went right into sputtering incredulous top mode. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, giving you a warm-up because you haven’t played for a while, and you tell me I’m tickling you??”

Yup. Game on, honey. I couldn’t answer him, as I was giggling too hard.

So much for warm-up, and things escalated quickly. But you know what? I soaked it all up like a sponge. A happy, eager, thirsty sponge. My skin, my body, my psyche craved it, couldn’t get enough of it. Gimme gimme gimme. At one point, he paused again, blew out a breath and said, “Wow. I just gave you ten of my hardest and all I’m getting from you is a purr.”

That’s me — happy kitty.

happycat

He said he was going to have to bring some of his toys next time (Next time? YES!), and then I had to open my big stupid yap and say, “I have some toys!”

“Well, go get some!”

(Damn, I missed my opportunity to answer, “Make me.”)

I scrambled up, went into the bedroom, collected two OTK implements — my Lexan paddle and a small leather one — and brought them to him. Aaaaand that’s when I realized that I had been plenty tenderized by his hand and now these damn things hurt like a mother.

“Still tickling?” he taunted. Uh… no. But I was still enjoying it. He said he was going to dub the Lexan paddle the “tickle monster.” Har har har.

I had mentioned earlier that I loved strappings with a man’s belt over my ottoman, and while we were in the middle of hurts-so-good hell, I said “We can do that next time, maybe?”

“Hell, no!” was his answer. “Let’s do it now!”

Oy. Again, me and my big mouth.

I’m always a tad leery when I’m about to be strapped by a top for the first time. I love, love, love a leather belt. I love the feel, I love the sound, I love the imagery. However… a lot of people can’t do it right. They can’t control the strap — they’re too high, they’re too low, they wrap, they hit the right cheek over and over and not the left, etc. And it ends up being rather unpleasant. I get so tense, wondering when the misfires are going to hit, I can’t relax and sink into it.

Not so this time.

Holy crap. This man is magic with a belt. Spot on every single strike. Even knows the trick of switching sides so each cheek gets equal brunt. I forgot about bratting and blurted, “You’re so good at this!!” For a brief while, my whole world shut down and focused on his belt and nothing else. Gone was the stress, the work, the political quagmire, the losses I’ve endured lately, the money worries, all of it. Just the bliss of impact, of endorphins, of pleasureful pain. I seem to recall murmuring at some point, “You are making me so happy right now.” He has joined the ranks, in my mind, of the top strappers I know — Dr. Lectr, Paul Kennedy, InspectHerHide, and a few others.

But of course, my true colors never fully disappear. He had decided I was getting forty more, twenty on each side. When he was finished with the first twenty and switched sides, once again he teased, “How’s that tickling feel now?”

To which I replied, “Oh, fuck off.”

“Oooh, bad idea,” he said. “You just got ten more.” And he delivered; no breaks for an excited utterance. :-Þ  First the original twenty more planned, and then an additional five on each side. Can I take a moment and admit how utterly fucking hot that was?? (sigh)

This picture does not do the redness justice, at all. But y’all get the idea.

20181016_170206

He stayed for a while longer, we talked some more, but then reluctantly I had to get back to work (and he had to get on the freeway at rush hour, which sucked, but he seemed to take it in stride). The rest of my evening, it was hard to focus on work, but I had to force myself to, even though I was feeling blissed out and giddy. Slept like a baby. And sang in the car today on my way to get a hair cut. I haven’t done that for a long-ass time. Funny how kinky people are. Most people get like this after they get laid; I do after an ass-whooping.

Our consensus was, “Why did we wait so long to do this, and let’s not wait too long to do it again!” I hope he had as good a time as I did. 🙂 Thank you, Mr. W.

If at first you don’t succeed…

… fuck it up one more time. Oh wait, that’s not how it goes. Well, something like that. Keep trying, in other words. Eventually, hopefully, something will happen.

So earlier this week, I got a message from a guy on FetLife. Local, wrote a nice note, interesting in spanking. Also tickling, which is not my thing. But I figured since he was polite, I’d be polite back, and wrote my own nice note in return. Figured that was it, but he kept writing, so we exchanged a few messages.

I thought, maybe? Who knows. He seemed smart and interesting. But a couple of things were bothering me. One, he had no profile filled out, only a lot of different quotes. He had no pictures of himself, only one of his arm. And he wrote in slash/speak.

For those who aren’t familiar, it’s a D/s protocol. The dominants refer to themselves in upper case, and the subs in lower case. The dominant will write Me and My and so forth capitalized, whereas the sub writes their name in lower case, “i” in lower case, etc. And if they are talking about both people? Slashes. W/we. O/our. Etc.

If, and I mean IF, you are in a relationship with that dynamic, and both parties are good with it, it’s fine. But if you’re talking to a stranger who doesn’t necessarily subscribe to that protocol, you shouldn’t assume to use it. It’s annoying and distracting, and comes off as arrogant and pretentious to someone like me who isn’t into it.

So I kidded him about it. He said I was bratting (which I was). Meanwhile, we had established that our schedules were opposite, we lived far from each other, I hate phone calls and he hates texting. It wasn’t looking good. But you know, desperate times. I tried one more time. I said that I’m a writer/editor, and it offends my sensibilities to see otherwise good writing hacked up with a bunch of slashes and unnecessary capitalizations, or improper lower casing. That I don’t respect capital letters; I respect people. And I added a smiley face to soften it.

On Thursday night, he wrote back. One portion read, “I don’t care what you think about capitalization, little one. Deal with it.” He added a winky face. It didn’t help. All that resonated was “I don’t care what you think.” And at this point, I was a stranger. I was not his “little one.” I was done.

I wrote a polite note back, saying that I didn’t think we were compatible, there were too many differences in what we seek, but I wished him luck and thanked him for the outreach.

His last communication to me read: “Very well, young lady. I’m not one to jump through hoops nor am I one to change My ways just to get into a lovely woman’s panties. Be good.” Sheesh. At least he didn’t call me a girl.

However, this mini-saga has a good ending. I was so damn frustrated after three days of wasting time with this exchange, and left at square one once again. I was sick to death of all work and no play. So I got up my nerve, and contacted someone I’ve known for some time, who is local, but so far we have only played with each other at 50 Freaks and Shadow Lane. And every time we do, we have a great time, and say “We should get together in L.A.!” and then promptly forget about it until the next party. I decided to put myself out there and ask him if he wanted to play.

I wrote a nice message, saying that I was dealing with a dearth of play lately, and while I didn’t have the time or desire to go through the whole vetting process of finding a new play partner, it sure would be fun if I had a local friend with whom I could get together, hang out and play when it suited our busy schedules. I said that he and I had already played, we knew we had good chemistry, the trust factor had already been established, so this could be mutually beneficial. What were his thoughts on making this happen?

Within minutes, he replied. “My thoughts? Count me in! When are you available?”

So, long story short, he’s coming over this Tuesday afternoon. I am slam-jammed with work and truth be told, I am not available, but screw it. I need this. My mental and emotional health need this. I’ll get the work done somehow, and if I skip the gym, screw that too. My body needs a different kind of workout right now. 😀

I guess I should thank Mr. Slash/Speak. If I hadn’t had the encounter with him, I don’t think I would have had the frustration-fueled nerve to put myself out to this other man.

Fingers crossed that it doesn’t fall through. Wish me luck.

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