Another visit from Oregon

What happens when you apply makeup, but then end up haplessly screaming and smashing your face in a pillow?

Well, this…

… and then this, an utterly derpy but blissful face, surrounded by walk-of-shame hair.

Yes, it was another delicious spanking session. A wonderful time was had by all.

I arrived at C’s hotel room at 11:30 last Friday morning. We sat and talked for a while, catching up with everything. And then it was time to play. He hadn’t brought many implements this time, just two London Tanner straps. Oh, and a thick wooden brush of some kind, but I took one look at it and just said, “No.” With the way I’d marked the week before, I didn’t think I could take that. (Plus, I didn’t want to.)

C thought it would be fun to take pictures throughout the various stages, rather than just at the end. So this was the “before” picture:

Then a nice, long, thorough OTK warm-up commenced. He brought me up so slowly, I really couldn’t tell when he started ramping things up. I was pleasantly warm and squirmy when he took this:

Just a bit of color. Then things got a bit more serious. His hand is a force to be reckoned with on its own, and when he goes full bore, it’s not for the faint-hearted. (Or the faint-assed.) He was concerned because I was starting to mark already (!!), so he spread it around, moving onto my thighs more. “Little more sensitive there,” he mused. Gee, ya think? Oy vey.

I had no concept of how much time passed, but by the time the OTK/hand portion was done, I was already quite toasty. But I still had the two straps coming…

I realized later that this angle makes my legs look weird — like two drumsticks! Oh well. And yes, we did take a final picture after the straps, but… I think some people were a little squeamish about my marks last week, so I’ll just stop here, photo-wise. 🙂

We then transitioned onto a pile of pillows under my belly and moved onto the strap phase. I don’t know how long that went; it seemed to simply flow into an escalation of sensation, pain and pleasure. My noises escalate too — I start out with small grunts, which grow louder, and when I am reaching my peak, where the pain is almost unbearable but not quite, when my body and mind are challenged and pushed and exhilarated, the grunts morph into a continuous guttural scream, which is when I have to bury my face in the pillow so the cops won’t get called.

I love that point. I love how I feel extreme power in that moment, if that makes any sense. My body is strong and resilient, but I am soft and trusting enough to give myself over in this fashion. It’s my choice, I want it, and a trusted partner is giving it to me, while feeling his own pleasure and power in our connection. Is there anything better?

When I get to my tipping point, I start babbling. Mostly I say “Please” over and over. It’s not “Please stop” or “Please don’t stop.” It’s just “Please,” and I can’t explain it. But that’s my tell. And around that time is when I break down in tears. That is exactly what happened on Friday. I didn’t know where they came from; I hadn’t been feeling particularly weepy that week. But there they were.

And then it was over. In my haze of tears and endorphins, I felt his hands rubbing lotion on me. I was aware of tissues pressed into my hand. It was a long time before I raised my head and spoke again, and he didn’t rush me. He simply curled up next to me and held me close. Let me come down at my own pace. And then we just hung out, cuddling, talking, relaxing. Returning to Earth.

I think I left around 3:30. I had arranged for the day off work, but I still wanted to get a little bit of it done just to stay on top of things. C, with his usual thoughtfulness, checked in with me later that evening, and then again the next morning. My reply:

“Feeling spacey this morning, sleepy, sore, tender. In other words, great! As always, thank you.”

Of course, what goes up, must come down. I’ve been feeling very droppy the past couple of days. But then I hear C saying, “It’s such a joy to come see you,” and I smile.

Thank you, my friend. You are a joy. ♥

Consider me reset

And so it’s 2022. Sadly, 2021 ended with tears. But what goes down must come up. Eventually. And yesterday, this picture captured my moment of spacey, giddy serenity.

Spending New Year’s Day with John lightened my spirits. Then yesterday, I got to see Chris, who braved snow and a rental car and a long-ass drive to come see me.

It was a perfect visit, start to finish. Just so comfortable. It was chilly outside, but his hotel room was warm and cozy, and we sat and talked for about an hour when I first arrived. And then, of course, we began our play.

What a sheer joy it was to settle in, rest my head on the bed, and know with every fiber of my being that I was in the best of hands. No worries about being injured, of too high/too low/too whatever strikes yanking me out of the zone. You simply don’t know how crappy and unfulfilling it can be until you experience a bad player. And then, a good one is like the sweetest of treats.

I felt a little concerned about him, as he’d taken a bad slip on an escalator and pretty much tore his knee open (it shredded the jeans he was wearing). As I was going across his lap, I was afraid of hitting that area, and I said, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He answered, “Well… I can’t say the same!” Okay then. And we were off.

Nice, long, slow warm-up with his hand. He varied it so much that I never knew what he was going to do, which added that extra edge. And he didn’t spare my upper thighs at all. When he announced that it was time to move on to implements, I blurted, “What for? Your hand is a fucking meat mallet!” But I really didn’t mind at all. I enjoy implements, if I can trust the hand wielding them. I know they will hurt, but not harm. Such an important differentiation.

We played hard. He knew I needed it, and so did he. We’d both had a crummy time of it recently, so this was really a reset for both of us. He pushed me right to the edge, even using a few wooden implements, which I normally say NO to but with him, I knew I’d be okay. I went from clenching my fists and groaning to burying my face in the bedspread and screaming. And then I dissolved into tears. Cleansing, healing tears.

(Warning: some might find my marks a bit extreme. It’s all relative. There was no broken skin whatsoever, and much of this had faded already.)

We took a break. For me to calm down (and cool down), and for him to go take care of his poor knee, which had broken open again and bled right through the bandage and onto his jeans. For a long time, I didn’t want to talk, just wanted to float, and he held me in his arms and let me be. I felt… safe.

After a long rest, with cuddlings, talking, and almond oil, we had a brief Round Two, but it was just with his hand this time. I knew he’d stop when it was time. And sure enough, he announced, “Well, it looks like this bottom has taken all that it can for today.” “Sorry to disappoint you,” I quipped. “Not in the least!” he assured me.

He was annoyed with himself that I was uneven. But didn’t want to do what he’d need to do to make the right cheek match the left. For this, I said a most heartfelt thank you.

I said goodbye and left around 3:45. The floatiness remained with me for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I’m surprised I was able to get some work done, but even in my mush-mind state, I had focus.

He checked in with me a couple of hours later, and first thing this morning. Of course he did. Because that’s who he is.

Today, a lot of this faded, but daaaaaaamn, I’m sore. And tired. But calm. I’m even going to attempt a workout, although my butt might protest. And I lost a half-day of work yesterday, so I need to get back into it full speed.

So. Friends are good things. And good tops are worth their weight in gold. Appreciate yours always. I do. Last night, I said thank you to John for being so supportive of my needs, And thank you, Chris, for making the long trip to see me. And thank you for loving it as much I did… that’s half my joy. ♥

Another Curious Cat question (plus some Spanking 101)

I enjoy the Curious Cat app where people can anonymously ask others questions. Sometimes, I get some really interesting, thought-provoking stuff. (Other times, not so much. But I digress.) Last week, I received this question:

When my husband paddles my bottom, he likes to constantly change the speed, location, and hardness of the whacks. He says he does that to hold my attention. I say no fair. What do you think?

Wellllllllll… you’re gonna hate me for this, honey. And I’ll agree, it’s not fair. But count your blessings with this one. At least your husband is trying to keep it stimulating and varied. Do you really need to know everything that’s coming, down to every last swat? (Honestly, I don’t. I like the element of surprise in my play — keeps it interesting.) I mean, would you really want what I call a “metronome spanking”?

For those who never had endless music lessons, a metronome is a device that keeps time and tempo. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Therefore, a metronome spanking is repetitive. Back and forth. Back and forth. Right. Left. Right. Left. Over and over and over. Same spot. Same tempo. Same intensity. Same…. Zzzzzzz.

If you ever find yourself on the receiving end of one of these, I suggest you grab the nearest reading material. Perhaps mentally plan your grocery list. Or find a patch of wet paint and watch it dry. Because a metronome spanking is a total. Fucking. BORE.

And there’s really no excuse for a spanking to be boring. All it takes is a little imagination. Change it up a bit. It’s not that difficult. Use different speeds and strengths. Maybe a flurry on one side, then the other, instead of the usual back and forth. And for heaven’s sake, don’t hit the same central spot on each cheek over and over. Move it around.

Yeah, I know — that part gets a bit scary. There are many spots to avoid. You don’t want to hit too high, and you don’t want to wrap out to the sides. But the butt has plenty of real estate, even ones on the smaller side like mine. You can vary the coverage greatly and keep your bottom guessing.

And yes, there is the territory directly under the butt — the sweet spot, AKA the sit spot. The place you feel when you sit the next day. How far down that goes is up to the individual players. Some people keep it to just an inch or so, the juncture where ass connects to thigh. Others wander down a bit, covering upper thighs. This is where it gets tricky. Generally, this hurts a lot more, and you can probably use a lighter smack there. And the lower you go, the more painful it tends to be. I daresay that if you strike someone’s mid-thigh as hard as you strike their bottom, you might get your eardrums blown out with their scream. So do use some common sense.

I would say this picture represents good full bottom coverage. Notice it doesn’t go too far out to the sides, no wrapping around the hip. And how even it is.

And if it goes a bit further below the butt, that’s acceptable too. Again, know your play partner.

I’m not going to get into hitting other places. Because — to me — that isn’t spanking. Slapping breasts and genitals? Not spanking. Caning calves? Not spanking. I don’t like being struck anywhere but on the butt and upper-upper thighs, but to each their own. Many years ago, I was in the middle of a scene with a partner who usually could read my body like a book. But for whatever reason that night, he had a brain freeze and decided to strike the soles of my bare feet with something or another. Yeah… I came this close to ending the scene. I also came this close to kicking backward and launching his sinuses out the back of his head. Don’t hit stuff that usually isn’t hit unless you have a partner’s consent! I’m not saying “No edge play.” I’m just saying don’t spring it on someone unless you know they welcome that sort of thing. Or are at least open to it.

I have a love/hate thing with upper thigh spanking. Being spanked on the sweet spot is intense and I do like the feeling of it when I’m sitting later. But going further down can mark like hell and I am ambivalent about it. Sometimes I think it’s hot and other times the marks horrify me. I suppose, for me, a little of it goes a long way.

Perhaps it’s summed up best to say I don’t always want to look like this. Maybe once in a while, from someone I trust. And with a lot of aftercare.

(The second picture was taken two days after a thigh-intensive spanking. Note that my bottom is completely pristine, while my thighs retained the impression a lot longer.)

So to my anonymous Curious Cat friend, forgive me. But please do go give your husband a hug and a kiss. Because as dastardly as he is, trust me — a spanking that keeps you guessing is much better than one that puts you to sleep. 😉

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.

I called it “constructive input”…

However, Steve the sadistic fuck big meanie called it “getting mouthy.” Which, apparently, called for thigh abuse attention.

I took this about two hours after he left. You’ll notice that the butt color is completely gone, whereas the thigh color remains. Humph.

In other news, my order came from Amazon:

Yes, Jillian’s first book is out! (That’s Jillian Keenan, of course. Apologies for my wayward finger blocking part of her name.) Jillian is a brilliant and bold voice for us and I highly encourage supporting any and all of her writing efforts. You can read more about it (and order it!) here. I confess, my Shakespearean literacy leaves much to be desired. But I suspect I’ll know much more by the time I’m done reading.

And finally, in today’s potpourri, here are a couple more inane search phrases I discovered:

“erica scott” and mature

Yeah. I’ve got your mature right here.

And then there was this one:

does erica scott do enema movies

No, she @#$%ing well does not.

Really? Isn’t there enough shit online already?

Happy Hump Day.

Top logic revisited

So it seems I’m stuck with that damned weak spot, under my right butt cheek in the “sit zone.” Every time I play, it rises to the surface and every now and then it breaks. The last time it broke was a couple of weeks ago and it was a mess, and hurt like hell for a few days. I am trying to work on letting it heal.

Therefore, yesterday before Steve came over, I put a Band-Aid right on the spot, to indicate where it was and to avoid it. I figured, since it’s not really on the butt but just below it, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Steve agreed and thought it was a good idea.

Until I was actually OTK and he was in top mode, and he sighed, “Topping from the bottom now?”

“Huh??”

“Well,” he continued, “you’re telling me where I can and can’t hit, aren’t you? Blocking me with Band-Aids?”

Oh, please. “Come on,” I said, “You thought it was a good idea a few minutes ago. Besides, it’s just a tiny little place to avoid.”

“Yes, but it’s my favorite,” he insisted. It really is. For whatever reason, Steve is endlessly drawn to the sit spots. Then he added, “I think that if I can’t go there, it’s only fair that I go here.” And he put his hand on the back of my mid-thigh.

“What? Noooo!” I screeched.

“Excuse me? Am I getting attitude here?”

“No, but…”

“No buts, then. Fair is fair.”

Right. Since when is anything to do with a top fair??

So, I received four thigh swats, two on each leg. But were they in succession? Oh, noooo. I had to wait for them. They were paced far apart, sprung on me each time, no rhyme or reason, striking when I least expected them. The first one made me shriek out loud, so I got smart. From that point on, I put my mouth to the pillow, so that if any further reactionary utterances burst forth, they’d be muffled.

The good news is, at least my weak spot was left unsullied. But I did have subtle red streaks on the backs of my thighs, just from those lousy four swats.

Sometimes, tops can be such a-holes. 😉