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 “ST”

The ephemeral nature of kink intimacy: Can it be real?

And if it can, how do you know when it is?

ephemeral

[ ih-fem-er-uhl ]SHOW IPA

adjective

lasting a very short time; short-lived; transitory:

the ephemeral joys of childhood.

 

lasting but one day:
an ephemeral flower.

 

(Why do you show off so damn much with your million-dollar words, Erica?) I can’t help it. I like them. But you can’t complain if I provide the definition, right?

37k83l

Note: I’m aware that many of my readers are married to or monogamously involved with their spankers, and don’t play with others. This post is more for those who do play with others, whether or not they have a primary relationship… a situation that can be a lot more confusing. Leave it to me to choose the more complicated route.

According to general societal patterns (you know, those “normal” people), here’s the blueprint: Couples meet, however they meet. They exchange names. They talk, share basic information. In the course of a few hours, a few phone calls, a few dates, whatever, they learn more about one another. Preferences of all kinds. Music/book/movie tastes. Political leanings. Fears. Hopes. Dreams. Failures. The jigsaw puzzle of personality gets filled in, a piece at a time. In the course of this time, there are physical exchanges, often starting with kisses. Then a little more, and a little more, until we have full-on sexual intimacy.

Now we kinksters, we do everything ass backwards (word play intended). Oftentimes, basic vetting aside, we play first and ask questions later. We have physical intimacy first. Instead of that slow burn of growing attracted to one another as we learn more, we burn hot from the get-go, act on chemistry over personal knowledge, invite others into our homes, our beds, our bodies, our playrooms, etc. before we’ve even begun to invite them into our hearts or our day-to-day lives. Oftentimes, that last part doesn’t happen.

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. It’s kind of hot. If I wanted to go the traditional route, I would have. I tried it for many years. It’s overrated.

Funny and perfect case in point: When D came over a few weeks ago, we’d met only once, and briefly. Essentially, I brought a strange man into my home, my space. I felt completely okay with that. We played. We had intense and close-up contact. I laid myself out, physically and emotionally. He inflicted both pain and pleasure. He saw me raw and open, exposed.

Afterward, when I was lying on the couch bare-ass naked with him massaging lotion into me, I dreamily turned my head and asked, “What’s your last name?”

He told me. I told him mine. And the massage continued.

I’ve been doing this for so long, this feels perfectly normal. But I know there are tons of people out there who would be shocked at the idea of someone seeing their bare ass (not to mention exposed genitalia) before said someone learns their full, real name.

This is what I call “pseudo-intimacy.” It’s an intimacy quickly forged out of a strong cocktail of physical attraction and a shared desire, a common bond of kink. But is it real intimacy — whatever the hell that is? And if it isn’t, can it become so? When does a play partnership cross over into a real friendship, a relationship of sorts, where people care about one another?

Most of you know the story of how John and I met. I placed an ad; he answered it. We chatted once on the phone. And then we met for coffee. We talked at Starbucks until they closed, then went for a walk. He ended up pulling me over his leg in the alley behind Starbucks and spanking me, until we heard the telltale jingle of a leash and a man appeared, walking his dog (and getting quite the eyeful). We then proceeded to John’s vehicle where he spanked me some more, gave me an orgasm, and he took my panties, claiming I’d have to see him again if I wanted them back.

This is not your typical “first date.” We were both seeing other people at the time.

Cut to the present — on August 30, we’ll be together 23 years. Somehow, that initial pseudo-intimacy became real, blossomed into something much fuller. It can happen.

But it’s complicated. Because of the nature of what we do, it’s easy to confuse pseudo-intimacy for something real. It’s easy to fall for the actions, thinking you’re falling for the person. When in fact you really don’t know them at all.

I remember my very first spanker. Saw him a total of three times, played twice. Paul. I never did learn his last name. But he changed my life. In one afternoon, in the time span of no more than an hour, he put me on a path of no return, opened me to a vast new world to explore and experience. That first spanking meant more to me than losing my virginity did.

At the time, I remember feeling like I’d fallen in love with Paul. But even then, in my haze of hormones and endorphins and wonder, I knew that wasn’t it. Of course I wasn’t in love with him. I was in love with what he gave me. But of course, sometimes, when your emotions get involved, it’s hard to compartmentalize it like that. The boundaries blur. Your mind says one thing, your body says another, and your heart says yet another.

No wonder so many scene relationships go sideways.

I have been thinking back on some of my play partnerships over the years, many of which have been chronicled in my blogs. All the time I’ve been with John, I’ve played with other men, all with his blessing. I am lucky that way. A lot of these partnerships simply faded away, due to various life circumstances. A couple, I really regret losing. Two come to mind that did indeed blossom into real friendship, much more than just the physical act of getting together to play.

Danny Chrighton and I were play partners for over three years. But we were also the best of friends. We didn’t just play. We hung out. We did stuff together. He and John were buddies. Our play chemistry was awesome, but beyond that, our closeness was true. He knew me, and I knew him. There was mutual trust and respect. And the only thing that ended it was distance, when he moved out of state. I loved him. I still do. I miss what we had, to this day, even though I haven’t seen him in years.

Then there was ST. Same deal, we met through an online ad, got together to play. From the beginning, we were consistent; he came over every Monday evening. We hung out and talked after playing. Our play was sometimes edgy, dancing on the boundaries and limits, maybe at times a little scary… because I trusted him. I knew within that he would never really hurt me. And on the flip side, we had our silly times, like when he showed up at my place on Halloween, masked and dressed as “Super Spanko.” I knew all kinds of odds and ends about him; the farming community, population 350, he’d grown up in; the names of all his siblings; how much he adored his dog.

We were friends/play partners for over two years. And… then he met someone. There was a mutual attraction, a couple of dates. He told her about me. She said, “I don’t think I like that.”

And just like that, we were done. The last time we played, I wept. I told him I loved him. He said he loved me too, and he always would. But then I never saw him again.

Does that mean that what we had wasn’t real? Is something real when it can be tossed aside so easily? Or is that simply just another sad fact about the nature of relationships? I don’t know.

I bear him no resentment. I did hear from him briefly once, via email. He’d bought a house. I hope he found happiness. He was a good guy; he deserved it.

I suppose the point of all this rambling is — damn. I’ve been doing this for over twenty-three years, and I still get muddled and mixed up emotionally over what’s real and what’s simply born of the intense, instant intimacy and vulnerability. And if I still get taken in by it, how the hell do scene newbies handle it?? How do they navigate the sea of feelings that can be stirred up when you put yourself into someone else’s hands? When they cut through layers and layers of outer bullshit and go straight to your core? When you gift each other with trust and vulnerability, and then it’s gone as quickly as it came?

In a perfect world, pseudo-intimacy would indeed develop into something more real, and more lasting. We could keep those wonderful feelings and experience them again and again. Where real life wouldn’t take them away. Where no matter what relationships go in and out of each person’s life, the core friendships and caring remain.

Is that too much to ask for? I know some say that I don’t have a right to expect this: that I have a relationship, so I shouldn’t want for this too. Well, guess what. I do anyway. I guess I will never stop yearning for it. Because I know it’s possible. And don’t ask me what the man is getting out of it, if he’s not my primary relationship. I sure hope to hell that all the men who have been my play partners over the years got something out of it.

Because I sure did, and I don’t think we could have connected as deeply if they didn’t.

Anyway. I should be working. But sometimes, I just have to ramble. And hope that it resonates with someone out there. Thoughts, anyone? Your own experiences with this?

Ode to our stress relievers (AKA spankers)

OK, without going into an abundance of detail, let’s just say this past weekend sucked eggs. Saturday was a whole lot of stress and aggravation and heat and traffic, culminating in a horrible fight between John and me. In the car, on the freeway. Fortunately, I’m sane enough to keep my head while behind the wheel and I didn’t crash us into a divider (or another car). But it was highly unpleasant. Many apologies (both of ours) and a million tears (mine) later, we are OK. But it left me feeling shell-shocked, fatigued and tense. I hate fighting. I hate confrontation. And I go into emotional overload.

So I was more than ready for ST today, and guess what? He was more than willing to help me with my stress problem. Whatta guy, huh? So, to the tune of the Rolling Stones’ “Mother’s Little Helper” (embedded below), I have penned “Stress Releasing Helper.”

What a drag it is, being stressed

Life is oh-so-hard today,
I hear every bottom say,
Baby needs something today to calm her down
And though she’s not really ill
When she’s acting like a pill
She goes running for the shelter
Of her Stress Releasing Helper
And he puts her OTK
Spanks her till she feels okay

Feeling like a shrew today
I hear every bottom say,
She just can’t stop acting out, it’s such a drag
So she eats a frozen cake
Till she gets a stomach ache
And goes running for the shelter
Of her Stress Releasing Helper
And he knows just what to do
Spanks her bottom black and blue

Spanker please, lots more of these,
I’m still not sane, I need more pain!
What a drag it is, being stressed

Jobs are such a bitch today,
I hear every bottom say,
Bosses think you’re there to work, how fucked is that?
Now they want her to stay late,
She says “NO, I’ve got a date!”
And goes running for the shelter
Of her Stress Releasing Helper
She forgets about the rut
While he’s whaling on her butt

Spanker please, I’m o’er your knees
I’m full of steam, please make me scream!
What a drag it is, being stressed

Life will piss you off today
I hear every bottom say
Plain vanilla every day is just a bore
It’s a spanking that she’ll need
Not the pills and not the weed
She goes running for the shelter
Of her Stress Releasing Helper
He will spank her backside bright
And she’ll sleep in peace tonight

Feeling so much better. Thank you, darlin’. You’re so much better than any drug (cuter, too). 🙂

My "sweet 16" celebration

Yeah, yeah. Chronologically, I’m a whole lot older than 16. But today, in spanko years, I am 16. On Memorial Day 1996, a handsome, dominant man came into my apartment and introduced me to spanking, and my world was never the same again.

I wanted to forget about all the stress and heartache and just have fun. I fleetingly thought about buying some champagne, but ran out of time. On Friday, we’d had a brief power outage, not much longer than an hour. When it came back on, one of my cable boxes had blown out. So today, the cable guy was coming over between 3 and 5. Fortunately, he was here by 3:40 and out of here by 4:05. So I had plenty enough time to get ready for ST, but not enough to nip back out to get champagne. Oh well.

When he showed up bearing his toy bag as usual, I thought nothing of it. Until he sat on my couch, unzipped it and pulled out a greeting card. I was so tickled! It was a “blank inside” card with SWEET! written on the front, and he’d filled in a “Happy Sweet 16” message inside. That alone would have delighted me, but then he reached into his bag again, and pulled out… you guessed it. A bottle of ice-cold champagne. 😀  How wonderful is this man!!

I practically danced into the kitchen, getting the glasses while he opened it. We decided that we’d have one glass now, and then another after playing. And then HE decided we were going to combine some of my implements with his to total 16, and he’d give me 16 swats with each one. Of course, his hand wouldn’t count.

I had barely eaten anything all day — I don’t usually like to eat before scenes, so my stomach was empty. And that first glass of champagne slammed into me, full force. Delightfully so. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before I was giggling and talking funny and acting like a, well, a 16-year-old.

I know the spanking with 16 implements + hand must have hurt. But damned if I remember any of it.

I do recall that I obliterated another cane…

OK, so maybe it did hurt a little.

But hey! It was time for more champagne!

Uh oh! My glass foameth over!

We got a bit rambunctious in the kitchen, with ST determined to find every single pervertable I had in my kitchen drawers. I took smacks from wooden spoons, spatulas, a frosting spreader, a frying pan he plucked out of the dish drainer, a pair of chopsticks, a cake slicer (NOT serrated, no worries). And of course, one of my spoons bit the dust.

That second glass took me from tipsy to slightly woozy (yes, really — that’s all it takes with me), so I drank about 2/3 of it and then lay on the couch with my head in ST’s lap. I felt blissfully content, singing along with the iTunes radio playing on my computer, and we stayed there for a long time, chatting and relaxing. My head cleared, and when I told him the effects had worn off, he took that as a green light for us to play again. No complaints here! ST seemed unaffected by the champagne; I guess it’s a guy thing (they’re bigger and they can absorb more??). I’ve never seen John so much as tipsy either.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, after Round #3, I finished that second glass of champagne.

So… 16 years of spanking. Millions of swats, maybe? Well, thousands, anyway. What was the difference between Memorial Day 1996 and Memorial Day 2012?

Hmmm… well, in 1996, I marked like crazy. In 1996, it was just his hand, not 16 implements plus a drawerful of kitchen utensils. In 1996, I was a clean canvas, feeling myriad new emotions and sensations, and certain that I’d fallen in love with my spanker.

But in truth, I barely knew him. I never even found out his last name. I didn’t know where he lived. He did incredible things to me and I’ll always be grateful to him, but he was a stranger nonetheless. And what I fell in love with was what he gave me.

So I suppose that’s the biggest difference, between 1996 and 2012. Today, it wasn’t a stranger. Today, it was the bestest top ever, and — even better — a great friend. And this man, I love to bits.

My chronological 16th birthday sucked, as I recall. But this 16th was indeed sweet. I’m going to treat myself to some chocolate and a few episodes of Dark Shadows, and then slip off to sleep.

Hope everyone had a good three-day weekend.

Next time, look under the bed, dumbass

Last time ST was here, we played in the bedroom and he had me get the Cane-iac Spanking Buddy out of my vanity drawer. Even though I had given it to him as a gift, he likes me to keep it here. So after he left, I looked on the bed and on the floor, but couldn’t find it. I figured he’d accidentally picked it up with all his other toys and put it in his bag.

Tonight when we were ready to play, I mentioned that he might have the SB in his bag, because I thought he took it by accident. He rummaged through everything — “Nope, I don’t have it.” Hmmmm… Oh, wait! Maybe it had traveled under the bed somehow (no, I didn’t put it there).

Off I went to the bedroom to look, and sure enough, it was way under the bed. You wouldn’t believe the noise I got from ST when I came back.

“Aha! You had it all along, and you accused me of stealing it!”

“I did not!” I protested. “I said you might have taken it by accident!”

“You were still blaming me, and all the while it was just your lousy housekeeping!”

I beg your pardon??

“You really shouldn’t accuse me of stealing,” he scolded, pulling me OTK.

“Dammit! There was nothing accusatory about what I said!” I hollered.

“Yeah, well, I’m about to get abuse-atory on your bottom.” (groan) Oh, clever man.

We were both chatty at first, him blathering some nonsense about “poor Erica” and how I get blamed for doing things I didn’t do, because I’m a perfect angel all the time. (Well, at least he’s finally seeing that.) He said we should shoot a series caled “Poor Erica,” and with each installment, I’d get some sort of unfair punishment. Sounds like Monday nights to me! (snort)

“So what scenarios should we use?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I muttered. “Some of your lame-ass flimsy reasons, I guess.”

Ouch.

“You’re really not in a position to be making comments like that, are you?” (Well, no. But when has that ever stopped me?) I insisted that it was true, that he came up with the damndest reasons.

“That’s just superior top logic in operation,” he claimed. I said that was an oxymoron. He didn’t like that either.

“NO, I’m not calling you a moron!” I screeched. “Don’t you know what an oxymoron is??”

“Yes, I know what it is,” he said. “But it still sounds like it should be the name of an infomercial or something. Doing Laundry with OxyClean for Dummies.”

Jesus. Who put a quarter in him tonight?

By the way, here I am, playing the cheerful hostess and offering up the Spanking Buddy.

He liked how my panties tangled up on my feet and legs when I kicked. Said it was a good leg toner, using my panties like an exercise band. He should start his own gym and teach his own exercises.

Yeah, right.

All this jocularity was very well and good, but when he moved me to the ottoman, things began to transition. We got quieter and more focused, and he ramped things up.

No tears tonight. I wasn’t feeling the need for emotional release. But I went so deeply into subspace, I couldn’t speak any more. I heard incoherent noises… moans, groans, sighs, whimpers. Dreamily, I wondered where they came from, and realized they were my own.

It was an all-leather night, except for the final 10, much later, with the wooden paddle. He didn’t ask me to count them, as he usually does. He knew I wouldn’t be able to. I could barely take them, they hurt so much, and I shrieked into my pillow. And when they were over, I melted bonelessly into the cushions.

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I didn’t think about anything, either. My head felt refreshingly clean and clear, the usual nattering at bay. I could have shut my eyes and drifted to sleep, as he curled up next to me and stroked my back, my hair. When I finally spoke, my first slurred words were, “Can I slip into something more comfortable…like a coma?”

Ever want to freeze a moment in time? A moment when you feel so utterly right, so blissful and and at peace, you want to capture it and lose yourself in it?

Eventually, I know I have to raise my head, open my eyes, push my hair out of my face. But I put it off as long as possible. Fortunately, ST is patient. He waits. He soothes, and he waits.

We ended the evening by watching some SNL skits on Hulu. He’d never seen their parodies of the Lawrence Welk show, which are hysterical. You can’t fully appreciate them unless you grew up with that stupid show, which we both did.

I am particularly sore tonight, squirming in my computer chair. Not complaining, however. It’s the good pain. 🙂 I’m in my happy place.

Pre-emptive Strike(s)

Many strikes. Hundreds of them. What for? Nothing I’d done. No, these were what ST thinks I’m going to do. He say I’m going to get addicted to my new Smart Phone and be on it all the time, like everyone else.

Jeeeezus. I haven’t even gotten the @#$%ing thing yet and I’m already in trouble for it.

I protested that I wouldn’t do any such thing. He didn’t believe me. He even had the nerve to suggest that I’ll be on my cell phone tweeting and texting and doing God knows what while he’s spanking me.

“That’s ridiculous! Why would I even turn on my cell in my apartment? I have a landline and a computer here!”

Makes sense, right? But of course, to a spanker, the only logic is Top Logic and anything else is null and void. Humph. I guess I’ll just have to prove it to him. He also warned me that if I ever text and drive, I’ll never sit again. Not to worry… I don’t intend to. With all the ranting and bitching I’ve done about other people doing it, I’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I did it myself!

He congratulated me for being Chrossed, to which I moaned that I hadn’t been Chrossed for two weeks in a row. “You’re Chrossed lots of times!” he said. “You don’t have to be every single week!”

“But I want to be every week!” I whined.

“Oh, so it’s all about what you want, huh?”

Duh. Well, of course it is. What else would it be about? Silly of him to even ask such a thing.

“Well then, I guess I should spank you really hard, then, so you’ll have something to write about.”

I shrugged. “You don’t have to. Even if you’re light, I can spin it.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, spin it?”

I said that I’d simply write a post about what a lame-ass he was tonight.

That did it. Me and my big mouth.

We changed things up a bit tonight, position-wise. He said we needed to make the pictures a little different. Hey, I’m all for that. But I didn’t know “different” was going to be so damned uncomfortable.

Doesn’t seem like it should be all that uncomfortable, does it? Well, it was. The top of the chair was digging into my belly and my shoulders ached from bracing with my arms.
Booo hoooooo. Yes, he felt so sorry for me. NOT.
After a while, he let me stand up and grip the chair. So nice of him, don’t you think? I wasn’t rolling my eyes, honest. I was looking skyward and thanking the deities for the kindness of this man.


Ah, finally I got to lie down. Funny, though… I didn’t find a whole lot of comfort in that either.

But finally, we had our grand finale (20 with the big strap and 10 with the paddle). I was just a tad perplexed when he put me back over his knee, but this time it was just so he could massage on some lotion. 🙂

Silly me, I thought we were done.

Nah. Later, I got up to change the channel on the stereo. Apparently, my bending over got him all hot and bothered again.

I swear, it’s like a red flag in front of a bull! Back OTK I went for Round Two.

(And yes, those are cassette tapes. Not a word out of any of you. They’re old and I don’t play them anymore; most of them have been replaced by CDs or iTunes downloads. But I am a saver.)

He kept saying, “Just a few more.” But then he got into a debate with himself about exactly what is “a few,” anyway? More than two, less than 10? A few dozen? A few hundred? All the while he was musing over this nonsense, he was spanking away.

Oh yes, ST was in good form tonight. (groan)

It was a fun night; a lot of laughing. Sometimes, I just need to laugh. 🙂  He certainly had his share of chuckles as well. (Have I mentioned lately that ST has the most diabolical laugh?)

And tomorrow, I plan to buy the aforementioned Smart Phone. Stay tuned for my adventures with that. I’m sure my Luddite self will be tested to the max!

What was that reason again?

Oh, that’s right, I forgot. ST never needs a reason. If he doesn’t have one, he makes one up. (put-upon eye roll)

Tonight, he was in quite the evil mood. Had a new and special way to mess with my head; he kept giving me light little taps with the implements, running them over my skin, brushing them against me, more light taps. And then when I’d least expect it, WHAM! I never knew when to brace myself, when to take a deep breath, when to hunker down. And that’s exactly what he wanted.

At one point, he took soooooo excruciatingly long, teasing me with the strap, that I finally blurted, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He laughed. “Am I boring you?

Before I could answer, he gave me several fast and hard whacks. “Was that boring?”

“I never said anything was boring!” I shrieked. Damn these tops! I can get myself into plenty of trouble without them putting words in my mouth!

Later, over the ottoman, he started up with the taps and brushes again. “Take that!” he teased. “Bet you won’t do that again… whatever that was.”

“AHA!” I yelped in triumph. “I knew it! You don’t even know what you’re spanking me for — you just make shit up!”

No more tapping. “You wanna take that back?”

“I can’t take it back! It’s said! You can’t unsay things!”

“I suggest you try. Say it backwards.”

Oh, good grief. “UP SHIT MAKE JUST YOU!” I yelled.

Thank goodness he was satisfied with that; I didn’t have to actually say the words backward. Uoy tsuj ekam tihs pu sounds like a foreign language.

He switched gears somewhere in the middle; went from playful to his more sinister side. His voice deepened, roughened; his hand fisted in my hair. When his fingernails dragged across tenderized flesh, I had to bury my face in the pillow.

“Please!” I cried. “Please, please!”

“Are you begging me?” he murmured. “I like it when you beg. I like it when you struggle, too.” And I was doing plenty of that, writhing all over the ottoman. My mind screamed, “When is he going to stop??” My body sent a clear and opposing message: “Don’t stop.”

I don’t know why tonight’s photos don’t show the red. Because it was most definitely there.

Finally, I felt cool, smooth wood moving back and forth, back and forth across my cheeks. “You know what’s next, don’t you?” I nodded.

“Ten more.” I nodded again.

“They’re going to be hard and fast.” I moaned, clutched the pillows.

“Are you ready?” One more nod. But still, he didn’t strike. More caressing, back and forth. I waited, shaking, legs twitching. “You sure you’re ready?”

“I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” I managed to say.

He delivered. So fast, I couldn’t count. But I knew after 10, he’d stop.

Several minutes later, he asked me how I was. “Spacy,” I murmured. I was bonelessly relaxed, mush-brained, and had the urge to giggle. Perfect.

We talked for a long time afterward, and it ended up being later than his usual time to leave. So guess who was in trouble for that?? Of course, he had to test all the toys before he put them away. Just to “make sure they still worked,” he said.

“This is so wrong!” I protested. “Next week I’ll remind you to leave on time, and you’ll tell me I’m throwing you out and I’m a rude hostess!”

He didn’t deny it. Rather despicable, isn’t he? And I wouldn’t have him any other way.

In other news: HotMovies.com VOD (Video on Demand) site just put up its very first clips from Spanking Court! In Spanking Court Cases Vol. 1, there are two scenes, and Scene 1 is one of mine. 🙂 It’s the one where the Court Disciplinarian and I face the judge, I have to confess to the name I called the C.D., and I get 200 wooden paddle strokes (and break down and cry). Scene 2 is with Alex Reynolds, the friend I met last week. I believe she cries in her scene as well. So this is a great clip for those who enjoy tears. (I wonder if it’s the clip of hers where she broke the C.D.’s paddle? hee hee)

Here’s a photo, speaking of red — probably the most marked you will ever see me:

That’s Judge Spanks, AKA Feenix on Fetlife. You can read all about the clip (and download it, if you so desire) here.

Two-and-a-half weeks to BBW!

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