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 “trust”

The more I experience…

…the less I know, it seems. Specifically, about implements.

implements

The above photo contains but a mere sampling of what’s out there to use on a spanking bottom. I’ve probably felt them all at some point or another. You’d think after 20+ years, I’d be an expert on implements and how they feel. But, aside from some general knowledge, I remain woefully in the dark. Which doesn’t help my ass any.

This post was precipitated by my getting together with an old FetLife friend for coffee last week, someone I haven’t seen in seven years. We chatted it up for a couple of hours and of course the subject of implements came up. He showed me a picture on his phone of his “punishment paddle” and I immediately said that would be a hard limit for me.

I’ve often said I don’t like wood and I prefer leather. However, “wood” is ridiculously general — it doesn’t account for the myriad types, thicknesses, etc. All wooden implements are not created equal. All woods are not created equal. I have heard many times that some are lighter, some are dense, some are quite tolerable and others are practically unbearable. But damned if I know which is which.

I do know that thick, heavy frat-style wooden paddles are a hard limit. When I said nay to my friend’s photo, he asked why. I said it’s just pure pain to me, no pleasure whatsoever, and the pain is BAD. I can’t absorb the impact; it thuds me down to the bone. “Even if it’s lower on the butt? Maybe people are hitting you too high with it,” he suggested. Nope. Even if it’s on the fleshiest part of my sit spots, I feel this horrible, heavy thud deep within my sit bones, and it’s wretched. I’m a tad more willing about other wood, like lighter paddles, hairbrushes and spoons, but even those are hard for me to take. I will take them on video a lot more willingly than in a private scene that’s for mutual pleasure, because they really don’t pleasure me.

So, generally, one would think leather is the ticket for me, right? Not necessarily. Because all leather implements aren’t created equal either, damn them. Thickness comes into play again, as well as wear. A buttery soft, well worn flexible strap feels entirely different from a stiff brand new one. Straps can run the gamut from a sensual snap to sheer agony. And I can’t tell just from looking at them which it’s going to be. I have made godawful mistakes in choosing implements at parties before: sometimes the most innocent looking items can be utter torture. Conversely, sometime the items that look the meanest can be fairly innocuous.

I like leather implements in general. But one of the worst things I ever felt was a double razor strap. Yeah, it was flexible. It was also thick, very heavy and very thuddy. I have made many people laugh by saying it felt like being hit with a side of beef.

And speaking of flexibility — if the give of leather feels so much more acceptable to me, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that other materials with give would also work?

Again, not necessarily.

I recall a scene at a party, many years ago, when I was playing with a top I knew well, and I knew the feel of his implements. He had a strap I loved to hate, and he wielded it with precision and evil intent. After I’d played a prank on him, he put a blindfold on me and then proceeded to strap the bejesus out of me. From the start, it hurt like hell, like nothing I remembered. I screamed and squawked and fussed, and he laughed at me. “What’s wrong?” he taunted. “It’s just my strap! You’ve felt it before! What’s the matter, are you losing your tolerance?” I gritted my teeth and bore it, took all he gave, even though my mind was screaming, “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I take this? Why is this hurting so much?? Aaaaaaaagh!” Perhaps I was having an off night? A really off night?

It wasn’t until the next day that I found out from his girlfriend that the strap was NOT leather — it was rubber. Hence the blindfold, so I couldn’t see it. Grrrrr. I was marked like crazy, too. Deep bruises.

So now rubber is pretty much a hard limit as well. Although I guess Delrin is a sort of rubber, or similar? I will take a Delrin cane, although they hurt like a bitch.

Even canes don’t all feel the same. If I say in a general statement that canes are OK to use on me, what am I letting myself in for? I’ve never experienced a Singapore-style cane, nor do I want to. But a proper rattan caning, with a thin whippy one, in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing? Intense, but in the right head space, amazing.

I have felt everything, I think. From canes to belts to brushes to carpet beaters to tawses to crops to paddles to whips. I used to pride myself on what I could take. Nowadays, I find my desires changing. I still like to play hard… but only, ONLY if it’s someone whom I know is going to be measured, even, and careful. I no longer have any tolerance for stray shots–too high, too low, wrapping to the sides. I don’t like unevenness in cheekage. These days, I appreciate accurate and skilled players more than ever. The types I can trust with anything in their hands, no matter what it is, and know I’ll be safe and given just the right amount of pain. It’s a rarity, I’m afraid. Tops can be wonderful and kind and sensitive and skillful and many wonderful things, but still not adept with all the toys.

Perhaps now that I’m older, now that I’ve been doing this for a while, I don’t feel like I have to prove myself? (And to whom… to the scene, or to my own self?) I no longer have to show the world that I can get my ass beat all to hell with everything but the weed whacker. Or maybe I just don’t want that much pain and damage anymore? I really don’t know. But it does make me wish I understood the makings, the physics of implements better, so I could make the best choices for my play. Because, like everything else, I want quality over quantity.

But of course, there’s always hands. 🙂

Speaking of everything but the weed whacker — remember this?

dscf4121

Anyone else find they have been fooled by implements before? Or that something they used to like is no longer acceptable? Vice versa? Has anyone’s tolerance levels changed?

My answer to my question

Last week, I tossed out a mini-poll to readers — rather than restate, I will paste what I wrote:

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?”

Something I probably should have clarified: I’m aware that A and B don’t represent the wide variety of possible answers. If I’d wanted to broaden the scope of the poll, I could have added more, like:

C: Neither. I don’t care for roleplay/scene banter.

D: Neither. I would choose to comply right away without resistance.

E: Neither. We play for fun only, so there is nothing done that pushes limits.

And so on. However, I had a specific purpose in mind — narrowing the choice down to those two, because I was curious about the knee-jerk reaction to them and what readers thought.

So what’s my choice? Mine is A.

I can hear some of you out there. “What?? Since when? No one tells Erica what to do.” Ah, but remember the context. This is within scene with a trusted top. I have already chosen to give my choices over to him. And within that frame, him asserting his will is hot as hell.

But what about B? Isn’t that preferable because it makes it clear that the choice is mine? Not as I see it. In fact, I think A and B are the same — they both take my choice away (so to speak, because, as mentioned, I’ve chosen to give it away). How is B taking my choice away, rather than giving it back to me? Because, if I were in submissive mode, or if I were a submissive player, a lot of my scene well-being would hinge upon pleasing my top. So, when he says, “No, of course you don’t have to, but if you want to please me, you will,” then that’s my answer. Implied is the continuation: “And if you don’t, I won’t be pleased with you.” Which is passive-aggressive and manipulative, IMO. Screw that. The top is saying it’s the bottom’s choice, but it really isn’t. I’d much rather be flat-out “ordered” to do something than be psychologically coerced into it by the implied threat of disapproval/disappointment.

Thoughts?

By the way, does anyone know if Chross is OK? He hasn’t posted since April 30.

50 Freaks 2016, Part 2

Upon further communications in social media, I’ve discovered there was indeed some sort of plague going around Vegas. With John and myself included, so far I’ve numbered seventeen people who are sick. Fascinating.

Friday morning, I got a text from SC, asking if we’d like to join her group for breakfast. She was rooming with her guy (I’ll refer to him as E for Englishman), Alex, another Alex (known as The Bad Alex), and one more woman whose scene name I don’t know so I will call her A, and the five of them had gone to a nearby restaurant. John Googled the address, but it was still hard to find, not knowing the area, and we took a while to get there. But once we did, it was definitely worth the effort! I love shared meals at these gatherings, where people are relaxed, happy, not in play mode, just kicking back and enjoying with friends. E & SC had to leave early because they were scheduled to do a straight-razor shaving demo (and no, we aren’t talking about E’s face), so A left with them while John and I lingered with the two Alexes. We caught the end of the demo, but discreetly positioned ourselves in back of SC so we couldn’t see anything. We adore our friend, but didn’t find it necessary to view her quite so intimately!! (I think she appreciated that. When John commented afterward that we’d seated ourselves out of the line of vision, she cracked something along the lines of, “Good, so I don’t have to avoid looking you in the eye for the rest of the weekend?”)

We hung out in the suite into the afternoon, and I did a scene with Tom from Chicago. After a lot of chatting and mingling, it was nap time. On Friday evening, a portion of our group was going to Caesar’s Palace to ride on the giant Ferris Wheel that overlooks the city, in a pod that Joe had rented for a half hour. Spanking was allowed, but skirts were to remain down and panties were to remain up, Joe was firmly informed. Afterward, people were going to hang out on the strip, have dinner, whatever. So John and I knew that Friday night we’d be on our own. I think that’s where I first had that disconnected feeling. In fact, I ended going back to our room for a while, feeling teary-eyed and at loose ends, wanting to play but not wanting to ask people, wanting to chat and yet not feeling like it. So silly, and such a waste of perfectly good party time. But it happens. Emotions run high at these events.

With John’s help, I picked myself back up and went back to the suite, and when people started coming back from the Caesar’s event, the party livened back up. I sat at the bar talking with R — I’d taken my glasses off and had them perched on my leg. He picked them up and began cleaning them, lecturing me on how dirty they were. Well! One thing led to another and we ended up doing our second scene. This one was quite lively — he then complained because he could see the tag in my panties. “You don’t like my glasses! You don’t like the tag in my pantie! Anything else?” I snarked. “Why don’t you just rip it out with your teeth if it bothers you so much?” “I would if I could!” he retorted. When he thought we were done, he said, “OK, up you go, kiddo.” No way! “What, that’s it?” I blurted for the second time that weekend. “Lightweight!” Accepting the challenge, he gave me more. Good.

From what I hear, after he got me, R went on to spank both SC and Alex in succession. I’d been telling them how much fun he was to play with, and this was the first time for them both. I didn’t see Alex afterward, but I watched as SC came staggering out of the bedroom with her hair disheveled (he likes to run his hand through hair, it seems), and the look on her face was one I will forever think of as “the after-R face.” Yes, she was pleased.

Soon after that, there was quite the free-for-all scene going on in one of the bedrooms with Alex, Adriana (Evans) and Fun Allowed. Adriana was sprawled face down on the bed, with FA whaling on her bare bottom, while Alex knelt on the carpet at her side, wielding a ginormous Hitachi wand. R and I joined in, sort of — he held down one of her legs, and I sat on the bed at her head, acting as a bumper to keep her from sliding forward as she writhed around. I stroked her hair while she reacted most vociferously to the Hitachi, over and over again. And if I had one picture, it would be of Alex’s face as she gleefully tortured Adriana — how does such a sweet girl look so diabolical?? 😀 I know there were pictures taken of this, but I haven’t seen any turn up yet. Oh, and a side note: While all this extreme hotness was exploding, what did R notice? That the Hitachi wand cord had a knot in it. LOL! Is someone just a wee bit OCD?

The night went on, and at 2:20 a.m., I was deep in conversation with The Artist Formerly Known As Ralph Marvell (AKA Tall & Strict on FetLife). As we chatted, Joe approached and said, “Erica! We had a 2:20 appointment!” I blinked, at a loss for words temporarily, and John chimed in with, “Yeah, honey! I told you about that!” Oh, sure he did. Well, who was I to argue — it was two against one, after all. “To be continued?” I said to T&S, and he agreed.

As it had been in the past few parties, the St. Andrew’s cross was up against the wall. I played on it last Shadow Lane, in an attempt to dispel the bad memory I had of a cross scene many years ago, and it helped. So when Joe suggested we switch things up a bit and try the cross, I was game. I needed to do something bold and different, get out of my head, with a trusted partner. This was it.

I took off my dress and stood at the cross in a brief thong and my bra, my hands gripping the upper part of the X, my back arched. I didn’t know what Joe was going to use, and I didn’t care. If I may, I need to stop for a moment and express just how much of a pleasure it is to know that a top is so good, so conscientious, that I can trust him with anything in his hands and know I can relax, carefree, fully into the scene. Only a select few can go there with me. Once we started, I closed my eyes and hunkered down for the ride.

The scene is a blur. All I remember is Joe’s hard hand, then a very hard strap, and some guttural moaning coming from somewhere. Oh, wait. That was me. More. More. Give me more. I want this. I didn’t care that it was only Friday night. It was Joe. It was OK. All was good. I felt him checking in, testing my skin, pressing his hand into me. I gave myself over to him. I think he ended the scene when he saw that my legs had begun to shake and was concerned that they might buckle.

He gently took me out of position, sat down with me in a nearby chair and held me in his lap while I shook all over and gasped for breath. I made him laugh when my first coherent words were “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“I’ve never heard you growl before,” he grinned. Somehow, with his help, I managed to stumble over to the couch and collapse on top of both John and T&S, and Joe brought me a blanket and a bottle of water. I was toast. Friday was done.

When I went to the bathroom to take a look, I did a double take. That couldn’t be me. I was marked. Not in weird spot off to the side or down below, but on my butt proper, both cheeks, fully marked. Holy crap. I couldn’t believe it. I had John take a picture, back in our room. For those who don’t like seeing marked bottoms, you might want to scan past this.

scenewithJoe

I know. It was Friday night, with two more nights ahead. How do I explain that I was OK with this? I can’t. I just know that because it was Joe, and because I love him and trust him, that this was good. I wanted it. From a casual play partner, no. From a stranger playing with me for the first time? Hell no! But from a friend, a top of Joe’s caliber? Yes. I told him, “Joe, I don’t care if I don’t play for the rest of the party; this is the weekend scene for me.” And I meant it. My head space had been all in turmoil; now I was calm. Now I was fully invested in the party. (And of course, I did play again over the next couple of days. What am I, an amateur? 😉 )

Even if you don’t like marks, you have to give credit to his flawless precision. Not one stroke out of bounds — nothing too high or too how, no wrapping. Equal attention to both cheeks. It doesn’t get any more perfect, kids. And no, I’m not talking about my butt. I’m talking about a top’s handiwork.

John put me to bed with ice packs and we went to sleep around 4:00, I think? And now I’m fading again. Damn this illness. But I should get some work done anyway, before my brain completely disintegrates for the day.

Part 3 coming soon.

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