PLEASE NOTE: This blog contains adult subjects and content, and because of Google/Blogger's recent nonsense, I HAVE MOVED TO WORDPRESS. For my enlightened friends who wish to visit me in my new home, it's https://ericalscott.wordpress.com. Please bookmark it!

The rest of you? Please take your judge-y selves somewhere more wholesome, like here: www.wonderbread.com

Go on.... shoo!



Thursday, March 31, 2011

The remaining clips

Second half of my punishment clips. There is only one thing I would change in any of them, and that's the final clip where our aftercare, his comforting me, went out of the frame. But you can still hear everything, and it's... well, you'll see.

video


The final paddling... and some very lovely words from NG that really broke the dam.

video

The end...

video

The real me, for my readers and my top/special friend, with love.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Let the clips begin

New Guy started sending me our scene in clips this evening. He asked me if I was OK, how I was doing today and how I felt watching the clips. I told him I was better than OK, and the clips make me very proud of both of us.

I thought about waiting until I had all the clips and then posting them all at once so I wouldn't leave people hanging, but guess what -- I can't wait. So I'm posting the first three tonight.

It doesn't get any more real than this, folks. This is a side of myself I normally don't show, and now I'm baring it for the masses. It's not my usual fun and sassy stuff. So if you choose not to watch, it's all right. But if you do, I hope it pushes the right buttons for you. You're not going to see anything gross or extreme, I promise. Just strict.

The first scene is the pre-spanking lecture:

video


And the spanking begins...

video


Spanking and scolding continue...

video

More soon -- stay tuned.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Punished

He left a little earlier than usual tonight, but he'd arrived earlier as well. I guess some of you are waiting, huh?

No sass tonight. Sassy Erica has left the building (well, temporarily). Don't worry; she'll be back. Tonight, I'm in a quieter place. A very, very good, quieter place. I feel like curling up into a ball in my bed, letting the dark and quiet envelop me. But first, I need to write.

New Guy usually sends me email on Monday mornings, in a teasing "oh are you gonna get it" mode. So imagine how I felt this morning when I received this:

I expect you to meet me at your door wearing a short skirt or dress, no stockings and no panties, you won't be needing them. After letting me in you will turn and march directly into the bedroom. You will have the heart shaped paddle, and I believe you have a cane, lying on the bed.

You know what you did was wrong and you deserve to be punished. You can expect to be severely disciplined.

I'd already eaten breakfast, and felt my cereal lurching around in my stomach. Ohhhh my.

He'd forgotten that my cane had gotten broken the last time he used it. I wrote back and reminded him of this, suggesting he may want to bring one. I offered no argument or plea otherwise.

When he arrived and I opened the door, I was so taken aback, I started giggling from sheer nerves. First of all, his usual attire is jeans and a t-shirt -- tonight, he was all GQed out in dress slacks, collared shirt and a jacket, plus he had very attractive new frames on his glasses. And second, he was pointing a videocamera at me. Holy crap... my discipline was going to be filmed.

So... I will not give away what happened. Because you will all see it, as soon as he edits and sends it to me. I will tell you that it was the most intense scene he and I have ever had. Certainly not the longest or the hardest, but definitely the strictest. No warmup. And I cried. On camera. I have never shed tears on camera before. And they were quite real.

Not from the spanking. From the things he said. He scolded me so thoroughly and effectively, I would have cried without any spanking at all. He wasn't mean, he didn't berate me. But he let me know how he felt. 

I do not feel diminished or broken. I didn't have to be beaten into a grotesque pulp for it to be effective. What I feel is deeply cared for.

After it was over, he was gentle and kind, as he always is. All was normal once again, after just a few minutes.

He took a couple of pictures after the fact; I'd faded some by then, but you can see that I'm marked. What a difference a warmup makes.























He'd used only his belt and the paddle. But just before he left and was packing everything up, he picked up his strap and said, "I never got to this one!" Uh oh. Yes, of course, he had to give me five licks with it, for the road.





















Big meanie.

OK, not really. :-)  He is wonderful, and I am a very lucky woman.

I need to eat something. Here's hoping in my semi-stunned and soporific state, I don't burn the building down.

Video to come soon -- stay tuned.

Thank you, my dear, sweet not-so-New-Guy.

EDIT: You can watch the video clips here (part 1) and here (part 2).

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Comfortable for now

Well, it seems that it's up to New Guy to address my "risky" behavior from last Thursday. Poor John was wiped out this weekend. He still struggles a lot with tiredness... both Friday and Saturday nights, he fell asleep on the couch while we were watching TV. And he napped all Saturday afternoon too. Oh, we had flurries of swats here and there, but nothing substantial. Mind you, John knows me. He knows I'm normally a very cautious person and I don't take unnecessary chances; he also knows I have very good instincts about people and I'm generally on the money about them. But of course, he couldn't resist giving me a bit of a hard time about the situation anyway.

"You'd never met him before, not even for coffee, and you gave him your address? You're nuts, sweetie."

"Oh come on, honey, he's known. He's a public figure."

"So was Jeffrey Dahmer."

Har har. But regardless of that, he was quite fine with my play activity and even asked if I was going to play with The Villain again. Ah, bless my open-minded boyfriend.

However, there's still tomorrow. (gulp) Oh well, I'll think about that then.

I heard from Spanking Court again this weekend. The woman seems very nice and quite flexible about crimes/cases. Apparently, they shoot the first weekend of every month and April is already booked, but there's room for another case in the May shoot. She said I could shoot more than one scene if I like, and if New Guy wanted to be involved, he could be as well. The possibilities are endless. It's not definite yet, but it's looking good. So stay tuned for more on that.

Looks like my nose-thumbing at a youth-obsessed industry continues. :-D  I'm going to enjoy the ride as long as possible, with much gratitude.

Anyway... hope everyone had a good weekend.

Friday, March 25, 2011

I am well and truly screwed :-)

Several things happened after yesterday's adventure. It seems that I am in big trouble, with both John and New Guy. :-O

First, when I spoke with John last night and told him of my scene after the fact, his reaction was, "You did not have my permission, young lady." Mind you, John hasn't been toppy in months, due to his illness. Plus, he knows I am in very capable hands with NG. So I was quite taken aback when he refused to listen to my wheedling and said we needed to "brush up" on the rules. Oh my. OK, it could be just talk.

And then I received this message from New Guy:

Well, well, well....... Allowing strangers into your apartment. Strangers with names like "The Villain." Strangers you have not properly vetted. This sort of reckless behavior could get you into some serious trouble. I will see you Monday at 5pm.

My heart, which had finally settled down from the afternoon, resumed its banging and leapfrogging. I noticed the earlier hour and asked him if he had the day off. He said yes, because even Cesar Chavez thinks I need a good spanking. Damn... I didn't even know he had his own holiday.

I might as well just kiss my butt goodbye right now.

Oh, but wait. I'm going to need it. Because this morning I heard from Alpine Sierra Studios, the Spanking Court company. They'd seen yesterday's blog, and they are interested. :-) 

Villain posted on my FetLife wall that he was getting emails from my blog, that his hand stings and his girlfriend was giggling at him. I decided to write her a little note to thank her; I don't take it lightly when another woman is OK with her man playing with me, having been seriously burned by jealousy in the past. She wrote me back a lovely reply, saying he was grinning like a Cheshire cat when he came home, that I could count on his coming back, and they'd probably see me in Spanking Court soon (she works for them, too).

My head is exploding.

Stay tuned, folks. I think I'm going to have stories. You know, this week, my blog hits and comments were wayyyy down. Perhaps now they will kick back into gear a bit. :-)

I didn't go to the gym yesterday, so I'm going to work out this afternoon and then head for John's. Last weekend of cloudy weather before we switch things up and head back in the high 70s and low 80s next week. Damn...

Oh, and congratulations to all my fellow Chrosslings today! Have a great weekend, y'all.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Be careful what you wish for

Some of you may recall a blog I wrote early February; you can refresh your memory here. Scroll down past the initial text and look at the pictures. Remember him?

He was in my apartment spanking me this afternoon.

After I wrote that blog, I got the occasional teasing message from him on FetLife, hinting around about playing, but never coming right out and suggesting we do so. As you know, I don't have an abundance of patience. So I messaged him back, saying, "So, are you going to tease me indefinitely? Yes, I know I'm a pushy vixen."

Pushy, yes. But it worked.

Not right away. He's a busy man, he was traveling, he was shooting. For a while, I thought perhaps I'd been blown off, but I waited. I was rewarded by his writing and saying he appreciated my patience. (Patience? what patience??) And suggested a date and time.

OK, here's where I know I'm going to get scolded by some of you. And I suppose I deserve it. But I observed absolutely NO protocols this time. I did not meet him for coffee beforehand. I got a first name only, no phone, no email (we kept our messaging to FetLife). I gave him my home address. Why? Because on a gut level, I felt safe. My instincts told me that, despite his menacing image (he does call himself The Villain on Fet, after all), he was safe and sane. He is in the public eye, he does videos, he has a beautiful girlfriend. He's certainly not going to mess with that.

Today, I found a message from him in my Fet inbox when I got up and logged on. My first thought was, "Oh noooo, he's cancelling." I opened the message and read:

"I will have my hands on you in roughly five hours."

I thought I was having a heart attack. I swear, if you'd looked at my chest just then, you probably could have seen my heart banging away, like in the cartoons.

He showed up right on time; always a good thing. I brought him inside from the lobby, and once the door was closed behind us, he took off his jacket. But instead of throwing it over a chair, he handed it to me. "Would you mind?"

I walked to my hall closet and reached for a hanger. Mr. Villain came up behind me and gently but firmly grabbed the back of my neck. "I do believe this is a case of 'be careful what you wish for,'" he whispered.

Hmmm... where had I heard that before? Oh yeah. Here.

"I get the feeling you're not going to run away," he said. I shook my head. My two hands were frozen in mid-air, holding his jacket and the hanger.

"Go on... hang it up." I did. He turned me around, headed me toward my bedroom. "You're not going to scream, are you?"

"No."

"Good girl. Come here." He sat on my bed and laid me across his lap.

"So, I've been reading all about you."

"Really?"

"Well, there's just so much to see. You're everywhere."

I grinned into my bedspread. "So what have you learned?"

"For one thing, you're a very good writer. And for another, you're quite the impertinent little brat."

OK, so he's observant.

His hands were strong, wonderfully smacky and non-thuddy. There was no initial awkwardness; it was like he knew exactly what to do, just like in the stories. Then again, if he'd been reading what I write, I suppose he had some idea of what goes on inside my head.

He was verbal. He did not scold; rather, he crooned. That's the best word I can think of. He switched up his spanking techniques a great deal, did some things I found unique, like vigorously slapping with both hands, alternating. Now, you guys know I HATE the wrong-hand crossover thing. But this wasn't it -- it was like he was playing bongos on my butt, very rapidly. He'd start softly and build and build and build steadily in intensity. And just I was reaching a point where my brain screamed and my body thrashed, he'd stop. Soothe a bit. Start again.

I had to get him a paddle. I chose a plain hairbrush-style one I have; I did not give him the paddle New Guy made for me. That is his and his alone. I was a little apprehensive -- putting wood in the hands of a stranger can be a disaster. But I somehow knew it wouldn't be.

He didn't use it super hard. Just hard enough to make me squirm, to make me feel tender. And then he tossed it on the carpet and went back to his hand.

Oh good, I thought. So much for that. But a few minutes later...

"Hand me the paddle."

Mischievously, I looked at him over my shoulder. "You didn't say please."

As I thought he might, he smiled. "Please."

I picked it up and handed it to him, and then he gave me a staccato flurry of swats with it, chanting, "Please, please, please, please, please..." with each one.

Freaking overachiever. Once would have been fine!

"I think the pushy vixen should get exactly what she wants and needs." Damn. He remembered I'd said that. I really need to watch what I say. (Yeah, that'll happen.)

Our scene lasted about an hour and ten minutes. When we'd begun, my apartment was on the chilly side, as I hadn't run any heat and it's a cold rainy day. By the time we were done, both my A/C and bedroom fan were on and he was shirtless.

But a perfect gentleman. He didn't even take down my panties.

I mentioned how I'd love to do a Spanking Court video, since he's done those. He said he thought I'd be perfect for one and that he'd put in a good word for me with the woman who runs the production.

"But," he added, "you'll have to take one heck of a spanking."

"As opposed to what I just took now??"

"That," he murmured, leaning down to me, "was an introduction."

Holy crap.

I've mentioned before how spacy I am post-scene. Never has that been more evident than today. When I went to retrieve his jacket, I stood at the closet door and stared stupidly at the line of coats. I could not find his. Seriously. It was black, and I have several black jackets myself. All I saw was a sea of black. I had to call him over and tell him to find it himself. He found that very amusing.

Sorry, I have no pictures of today's activities. But here's another photo of The Villain, at his dangerous best:




















(Not sure why it's blurry, but you get the idea.)

I really am insatiable, it seems. It took me two full days to recover from NG's spanking this time, and now I'm all tenderized anew. Oh, gawd... I am going to get such a hard time from John over this... :-)

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Oblivion

They are replacing the carpet in the apartment above me.

For the past 2 1/2 hours, there has been loud hammering, thudding and banging, so hard that it rattles my windows and echoes throughout my rooms. It sounds at times like the ceiling is going to cave in on me.

Any other day, I would be climbing the walls. I hate loud noises. I detest intrusions from the outside world into my peaceful abode. I'd be edgy, nervous, and angry.

But today is Tuesday. Today, I passively listen to it, let it roll off me, think "This too shall pass." The pleasant sting and burn in my hindquarters and the slow, syrupy flow of my blood keeps me in a calmer, accepting place.

Shortly, I will go out and run errands. When I come back, it will be blissfully quiet once again.

Forgot to mention this from last night: Throughout our session, NG kept asking me if this was doing me any good. Stubbornly, I refused to give him the answer he wanted.

But when it was over, when I could finally speak again, I looked into his face and said, "Yes." To his puzzled look, I added, "Yes, you do me lots and LOTS of good."

And see, it's lasting, too. :-)

Monday, March 21, 2011

What...Me, Worry?


















Y'all know Alfred E. Neuman, this cute little gap-toothed guy, don't you? Well, at least all my fellow Baby Boomers do. This is one of my favorite sweatshirts, very warm and comfy for this chilly weather, and I figured the sentiment was perfect for tonight -- Me, worry? Whatever for? What could I possibly have to worry about, right?

Uh...

My butt, maybe??















OK, not really worried. Because I knew I was in the best of hands, of course. But ouch. Look at all those damned implements on the left side there. And that was only some of them.

You know, everything is kind of a blur tonight. I was deeply into feeling it all, my senses heightened and razor sharp. I quickly reached a point where, every time he touched or brushed me lightly with something, I'd twitch and tremble involuntarily with anticipation.

"You're shaking," he said. "Are you scared?"

I was damned if I was going to admit that to him, so I mulishly kept silent.

Several swats later... "I asked you a question."

"I don't want to answer it!" I hollered.

"I don't care if you want to answer it or not. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Do you understand?"

(sigh) I knew I'd better freaking well understand. "Yes."

After that, I was gone. I know I'm on another plain when I stop using actual words and just utter sounds.

I wish I could keep this level of relaxation with me forever. That boneless, rag-doll feeling, not a care in the world, blissfully warm and throbbing and mindless.

We watched all three parts of "Nutless" (yes, Zelle, part 3 is up! :-D) and then, on the couch, Round Two across his lap. Lots and lots and LOTS with his hand... and then: "I think you should reach over and get that slapper on the carpet."

"I should?"

"You should if you know what's good for you."

Oy. That slapper was @#$%ing murder on my tenderized cheeks. But I suppose I would have gotten a lot more of it had I not handed it to him so quickly. I know when resistance is futile.

No worries here... but uh oh... am I crying?













Nah...... see? :-)














Just another Magic Monday...


P.S...... Happy birthday to my buddy Wolfie!

On my mind

I am not going to get into the politics of what's going on in Libya. You can hear/read about that just about anywhere and I don't intend to delve into that insanity. However, regarding the ruler of Libya, I have one simple question:

Why the hell can't the media collaborate and come up with a consensus on how to spell the idiot's name???

I am a proofreader. I like accuracy and consistency; these things bring peace to my little world. And yet, I have seen, in no particular order:

Kadafi
Kaddafi
Qaddafi
Qaddafy
Khadafi
Gadafi
Ghadafi
Kadafy
Qhadafi
Khaddafy
Gadhafi

It's one person, people. How can one person have so damn many spellings of the same name? No wonder the guy's a megalomaniac.

Yes, these are the sorts of things I ponder on an extremely rainy Monday morning. I guess I'm stalling, as I don't want to go to the gym and drive in the downpour. Yesterday, driving home from John's, the rain was coming down so hard, my windshield wipers on full speed couldn't keep up with it. The streets were flooded and I started to hydroplane more than once. Then on the freeway, I felt myself going into a skid, and the panic went buzzing up my arms and legs. Fortunately, I regained control.

I love rain. But I love it indoors where I'm safe and warm.

Oh, and here you go:
















Thought I'd toss in another "Nutless" photo, just for the heck of it. This is a spanking-oriented blog, after all.

Friday, March 18, 2011

The best of intentions...

I had plans for today, I really did. I was going to take a test a potential client sent me, do some editing, some odds and ends around here before I left for the weekend, etc. Yesterday I'd been a busy bee, not stopping until 11:00 PM, so I figured I'd continue the trend today.

Then the most profound fatigue struck me.

I was so drowsy, I couldn't think. I couldn't move. I didn't even want to sit up at the computer. So I went to lie down. And of course, I fell asleep.

So much for my productive afternoon. Meh. I hate it when that happens.

Oh well. Still managed to get the most important things done today and I got Chrossed to boot, so it wasn't a complete waste. :-)  Congratulations to everyone who was listed today.

On my mind... y'know, I'm well aware that anything posted on the Internet is available for the taking. I know people assume that risk anytime they hit "Submit" with their photo files. But I'd still like to think (perhaps naive on my part?) that there's enough mutual respect out there that if you "borrow" a picture of someone else, you'll credit them. Personally, I find it flattering if anyone likes my pictures enough to use them. But I like them to say where they found it.

Just today, I discovered a guy's profile on FetLife with 50-odd pictures of women's red/spanked bottoms. He didn't credit any of them, just captioned them with stuff like, "Want this? Contact me!" One of the photos was mine. I don't know this man from a hole in the wall.

Then, I saw a beautiful photo on a blog site, with a woman describing the adventure she had that led to said photo. Only... that's not her. I know it isn't. Because it's a photo of a good friend of mine, from a few years back -- she's no longer in the industry. It's quite the stunning picture and I've seen it posted around in several places. But I've never seen anyone else claim it as their own. That upsets me. But no, I'm not going to say anything. It's not my picture, and it's not my place.

Come on, people. We all know better than to do stuff like this, right? :-( 

Enough of that. On the positive side, Part 2 of "Nutless" is up on the Northern Spanking site. Oh, and it's going to rain this weekend! (Yes, I know, I'm certifiable. But you know how I love rain.)

Have a great weekend, y'all!

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Happy St. Patrick's Day

BUT... much more important... Happy birthday, Devlin O'Neill! Everyone go wish him a good one. Many happy returns, Devlin. :-)

Remember the video I shot with Northern Spanking last September? It's up on their site as of yesterday. Well, part 1 of 3, anyway, with the other two parts to follow shortly. As you may recall, I played an obnoxious diva actress to Stephen's long-suffering agent, and among other offenses, I bitched about how the M&Ms the "fleabag hotel" supplied for me were plain, not peanut as I'd wanted. I claimed they were nutless, just like my agent. :-D  Anyway, with their typical cheeky humor, they named the video "Nutless." LOL

I know one has to be a member of their site in order to view the film or the picture gallery. But I'll post one photo here; I'm sure they won't mind:
















Stephen looks mad, doesn't he! I guess you would be too, if you'd just had a dish of M&Ms dumped over your head.

By the way, I realized I'm not wearing anything green at the moment. But you'll notice my dress in the picture has some green in the print; can I count that as my St. Paddy's Day outfit?

Monday, March 14, 2011

Madame Sophia was right

Who the hell is Madame Sophia? Beats me (no pun intended). All I know is I got email from New Guy this morning, saying that Madame Sophia looked into her crystal ball and saw my future -- a lot of red, many tears, and retribution for naughtiness. Oh, and I owed her $50.

Oh, puh-leeeze. Why should I pay $50 for information I already knew? :-)

But... tears? Was I going to go there? I didn't feel like I needed to, really. Nothing was weighing heavily on me. But I knew I wanted to play hard.

So I dressed in clothing that fairly screamed "SPANK ME!": cherry-red capris and red-and-white panties with red lace trim. Red clothing to tops is like a red flag to a bull. They feel challenged by it, driven to match the color (or at least come close).

I don't know why I bother, though. With NG, my bottom doesn't stay clothed very long. But at least he noticed my sartorial selections and complimented them.

I didn't stay OTK very long, either. He kept talking about getting his point across -- what point, I asked. He said he didn't know, but he had one. (oh, brother) A few minutes later, he asked, "So, am I getting my non-existent point across?" I giggled.

"Oh, you have a point, all right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's on top of your head."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, it was off to the ottoman.

Still didn't feel any tears coming, though. He pulled out all the usual artillery (although I noticed he was wearing a different belt this time, and that one stung much more fiercely than the one he's used before), and slowly ramped things up, building up to harder and faster flurries. Spankees, ever find yourself shrieking in protest, and yet raising your bottom up for more even as you scream? That was me. And he delivered. Until he stopped.

Something happened that has occurred a couple of times before with other tops, and I have no idea how. There was no cut, no break in my skin. And yet, a drop of blood welled up, in the right-hand sweet spot. He blotted it off and commented on it.

Oh nooooo, I thought. Is he going to stop? I don't want him to stop!

"I'll make sure to avoid this spot," he said, as if he'd read my mind. "But I'm not going to avoid all the others. Am I?" I knew he was checking in for my OK to continue. "No, you are not," I assured him.



















My attitude shifted after that; I was in a more vulnerable state. He picked up on it, and his demeanor changed as well -- he went right into strict mode. He scolded more, struck harder. And suddenly, there they were... tears. I was weeping out loud, and I still didn't want him to stop. "You're getting just what you need and deserve. Aren't you!" he said. "Yes," I sobbed, "yes, yes, yes!"

I cried all the way through the rest of the strapping and the 15 final strokes with the paddle. It took me a long time to come down this time, and he was patient and kind, soothing me with lotion and bringing me tissues. Whispering that I did really well. I felt light and clean and very, very safe.

Finally, I was ready to get up, so I pushed myself backwards onto my feet. I started to stand... "Don't move! Hold that."


















Fortunately, he did let me stand back up after he got the shot. Such benevolence. :-)

When it was time for him to leave, I looked around; my living room looked like a war zone with all his implements strewn everywhere. And of course, as he picked up his weaponry, he said he had to make sure, before he packed them away, that they were "still working."

!!!!!!!!!

Resigned, I leaned up against the counter and he yanked my panties back down. One by one as he put each toy away, he gave me a few smacks with it. "Yup, that still works." "Yeah, that seems to be in order." "OK, still functioning."

You can tell what I thought of this.



















But I kept my lip zipped. I'd already earned a quick but ferocious Round Two earlier by calling him a moron. I may be a brat, but I ain't no stupid brat. :-)

I really didn't know I needed to cry. But I guess Madame Sophia knew.

Amazing how it just keeps getting better...

Sunday, March 13, 2011

I'm weird

Yeah, there's a news flash. :-) Can you be a little more specific, Erica? OK... I freaking hate "spring forward." I'm the only one I know who feels that way. Why? Because, personally, I don't see what's so great about having daylight linger on and on until 8:00 P.M. It's nighttime, for God's sake. It should be dark.

I am a creature of the night; I have always preferred the darkness. I have a blackout shade on my bedroom window. When I'm at John's, I always close his bedroom blinds. Get that glaring hot fireball out of my face... bring me the dark. Perhaps I was a vampire in another existence. Not that I believe in that nonsense (vampirism or other lives).

When darkness falls, quiet settles in (well, it should, anyway). Kids cease their outdoor squalling and go indoors. The din of traffic dies down. It gets cooler and people want to be inside to get warm. But when it stays light until after 8:00, the nighttime peace is postponed.

I suppose this is all part and parcel of my personality, my natural inclination to withdraw and go within. I don't like being too aware of the world around me; it encroaches upon my fragile peace. The news has been tragic lately; all the reports of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear meltdown threats in Japan. The adjectives describing it have been dire: catastrophic, cataclysmic, apocalyptic. John and I are polar opposites when it comes to bad news -- he immerses himself in it, as so many others seem to do. He has CNN or some other news channel on every minute that we're home, watching endless footage of destruction and misery and growing death counts. My mother used to be the same way. She'd watch bad news, crying and railing on about how bad things were, literally making herself sick.

Me? I can't stand to watch it. I want to turn it off and put music on, or a movie, or something, anything but the news. When we had the L.A. riots here years ago and we were all trapped in our homes with an after-dark curfew, most people I knew were glued to their TV sets, watching the riots play out. I turned them off and played records (I didn't have a CD player yet; it was 1992). And I channeled my nerves into action and cleaned out my closets.

I ask John how he can stand watching that stuff for hours. He says we should stay informed. OK, I'll go along with that up to a point. I'll turn on the news at 11:00 and watch it for a half-hour. But after that, I'm done. And what good does it do? Is my watching every last sordid detail going to help anyone in Japan?

And here's more of my weirdness -- everyone feels sorry for those who were killed. I don't... I feel sorry for the ones who remain, who have to deal with their lives being torn asunder, their homes gone, their futures in ruins.

So... forgive me, but I'm going to remain in the dark. I clung to John a great deal this weekend, made sure to tell him I loved him often. Now I'm going to sit here in my quiet, intact apartment, feel VERY grateful indeed for it, and listen to music. I will think about the fun I'll have tomorrow night, focus on things to look forward to and appreciate, and do my best to think of little else. Denial? Maybe. For me, it's self-preservation.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 3/11

Here we are again with a fresh crop of shameful tidbits for your amusement.

What do I love, guys? Haven't gotten one of these for a while; long, incoherent rambles from a man seeking love and the meaning of life. Just a reminder -- I am not poking fun at this because it's written by someone for whom English is his second language. It's all the blithering and blathering that lands these types of posts in the CHoS; I mean, what are these guys thinking??

Enjoy...

I'm hardworking Man ,Single , 46 years old , hazel eyes . I love reading ,music ,politics, roses, traveling & computers. You can say that books , music & computer are my real friends . I'm lonely open-minded guy who knows how to care & respect privacies. I need to have a real friend to share thoughts, dreams, fantasies, fetishes, even hard times & as we came to fetishes & fantasies, I have to say that I like some fetishes. I also like 1on1 calls, but I like more romantic nights that full of intimate moments, candles, talking....anything to enjoy my partner doing whatever she wants as long as she can also obey ........... I for myself has been betrayed by a woman & also men but never lost may faith in people , it is not that wise but just because we cannot live alone or only chose from kind of sex or another ... also I think on the other hand there are lots of faithful & good friends in life .. but it is how & when we meet them or find them .... I'm a man who has that codes which make me suffer in this cruel life, But I will never surrender & I will keep on.
well, For all my life I'm looking for real love, I found it but she traveled forever in a way no one can follow but to die... It is ok....... ..... Still thought that Love is like a rainbow, beautiful, yet misty.I'm here now just to share & more who knows as I told you I'm still believe that we can be human mirrors so what a luck lady you are you have a mirror for your own ( opps) that is only if you accept me with promises of care & understanding going deep inside our souls & mind to see more ... I dream of a woman who can fill my life with her aroma & knows how to serve & to please.So, if you are really someone special who needs a real relation based on , respect , caring & specially passionate .. I'm all yours., just drop some lines telling me more about you

My brain just exploded. I'm at quite a loss for words with this one. So I'll let you all have at it and move on.

hi erica not only do I have a spanking fetish but also woman wear slips very hard to find both together. Maybe naughty girl  wearing skirt/slip over a woman's knee also wearing a dress and slip thanks
 
(running this through my Moron to English dictionary) Does anyone wear slips anymore?? I don't own any. Too bad, because this guy sounds like quite the prize.
 
I live in Honolulu. I have a very good job, you must be willing to move in with me in Hawaii. I am 44 years old 5,10 175lbs, work out three times a week at 24 hour fitness. Like your profile. Single and looking for a wife .you sound perfect. if you are willing to relocate reply back at we can get toknow each oter better.
 
Oooh, a marriage proposal! And I'm perfect for him -- oh, except for that pesky boyfriend of mine. Oh, and the fact that I have no intention of relocating anywhere (I don't see him offering up the money for me to do that, either). Oh, and I have no desire to ever marry. But other than that, it's a match made in heaven! :-D
 
hey whats goin on! Ive really never tried full out spanking and would love to try it out hit me up if ur up for it

I'm sorry... did someone drug me and then tattoo "Guinea Pig" on my butt while I was unconscious?

I didn't reply, of course... and then I got this, same guy:

hey a lot of people wont respond cause i dont have a pic! i hope u do cause im not looking for the sex so much as im lookin for my first time really spanking some one! i dont have a pic cause i get on here on my phone and cant upload off my phone! i hope u hit me up soon

News flash, honey -- no one cares about your pic. They're not responding because you're an idiot. Learn how to use apostrophes, for God's sake.

All rightie then. I'm headed for John's later, so I can fill his weekend with my aroma and misty rainbows. :-D

All kidding aside, my thoughts are with those whose lives have been turned upside down by the earthquake and subsequent tsunami. Feeling gratitude for the peace around me today.

Have a great weekend, y'all.
 
 
 

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

For those who were wondering...

...why I was taking boudoir photos -- the answer is on Devlin O'Neill's current blog, right here. Yes, my friend and one-time co-star has written another book, and he asked yours truly to model for the cover art.

No sarcasm here -- I was truly honored. I mean, let's be honest, shall we? It is not every day that a 53-year-old woman is asked to pose for the cover of an erotic novel. Considering that his novel before this one (I think?) had a cover photo of this gorgeous girl we all know, I took his request as a high compliment indeed and told him I'd do my very best to create what he envisioned. I also told him that if what I sent him didn't quite fill the bill, then please, please go with someone else; I would take no offense. It was his book and he had the right to have it exactly the way he wanted. Devlin graciously assured me that I'd be perfect. (blushing)

So I recruited both John and New Guy to help me. When I was at John's last weekend, we took some shots in his bedroom in front of the window. As NG and I had done on Monday, John and I experimented with lighting, flash, candles, etc. We took it seriously, but had fun with it too.

Then last Monday, as you already know, I had NG shoot some photos in my own bedroom. I figured it would be a good idea to have two different scenarios and two different nighties. After I had a nice set from each shoot, I sent Devlin everything and hoped for the best. He and Poppy both wrote to me, full of lovely compliments, and he said it was down to a choice between one of John's and one of NG's. Ultimately, they went with John's. Blogger isn't letting me upload the cover file (it's a .tif file and they only allow .jpg, .gif and .png), so here's the original photo:
























By the way, John really enjoyed doing the shoot... especially after I did this:

























Oh, come on. Can't a girl flash her own boyfriend? The fact that he chose to snap a photo of it is his bad, certainly not mine. :-D

(Isn't that sticker a hoot? I found it in a photo-enhancing program called Picnik.)

So thank you, Devlin. And thank you, Poppy, for the beautiful cover design. I am really so tickled by this! I wish you smashing success with the book sales.

And of course, thanks to John and NG for all their help. You guys are the bestest! :-)

Monday, March 7, 2011

Belting in the boudoir

New Guy's visit this evening had two purposes. Besides the usual, I had recruited him for a favor: to take some artsy, shadowy boudoir photos with me in a filmy nightie. Why? I'm not telling -- it's a surprise. :-)  You'll find out soon.

So we experimented with the lights, candles, flash, no flash, and he snapped away.














Kinda neat, huh? When we were done, I was ready to put my regular clothes back on, but for some reason, he said nooooo, I was fine just the way I was. And since I wasn't wearing any panties, warmup sort of fell by the wayside.

Remember how a couple of weeks ago, I had no pain tolerance? Tonight was just the opposite -- I was insatiable. Fortunately, he never seems to get tired of spanking me, so when I'm in that mode, things work out very well.

He was strict, though. I could not get away with anything tonight. Even sounds. "What was that??" "Nothing! I just grumbled." "Well, don't. No grumbling allowed."

So I tried to stay quiet, but another sound escaped after he started up with the strap. "That sounded like whining! No whining either; that's as bad as grumbling!"

Oh, come on. I started to protest, but he cut me off. "No grumbling, no whining, and no complaining!"

I couldn't help myself. "And no breathing, and no thinking..."

WHACK!!! "And no smart-ass remarks, either! Do you understand?" Uh... yeah, I kinda saw it his way after a while.

He pushed me off his lap. "Get on the bed, on your hands and knees." Strapping/belting position... aaaggggh. And John was watching!

















Lennon, that is. :-)

I wasn't allowed to lie on the pillows until after a long strapping, and I had to count the last 15 and say, "I will not grumble."

He asked if that got through to me -- I answered, "Well, it's starting to." Clearly, we weren't done yet.

More with the strap, his belt, the tawse, and then 10 with the paddle. Then we were done.

Well, for a little while, anyway. We had Round 2 a little later. :-) That went on for a fair amount of time, until he really let me have it, giving me a flurry that nearly sent me through the ceiling. As I struggled to regain some composure, I gasped, "That was intense!" He snuggled close to me and whispered into my neck, "Was it good intense?"

And I whispered back, "Yes, you bastard."

I never learn. Told you I was insatiable. :-D

But very, very happy.















Dramas and traumas are banished once again. I have one of the bestest tops in the world.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Brief followup and a thank you

To everyone who commented on Friday's post or wrote to me privately, thank you. I was quite touched by all the support, and I'm sorry that so many of you are dealing (or have dealt) with similar situations.

For the record: it's a complicated situation. My mother and I have always had many ups and downs with our relationship. She was not a bad person and I do believe she meant well. But her wanting for me often took the form of criticizing, comparing and belittling. She did this with others as well, and I know why -- she was always insecure herself, and she projected her own perceived failings onto others. She wanted me to have a better life than she did, and tried to influence the outcome of my personal paths with controlling behavior and nagging. My mother was always very much about appearances (physical and otherwise), and she wanted to be able to brag about me to her friends, show me off. Sadly, I never seemed to come up to the standards she set for how one should live, should look, what one should accomplish.

Perhaps for these reasons, I have the attitude I do about the care of aging parents. In many cultures, it is considered the grown child's obligation to care for the aging parent. Elders do not go into homes; they live with and are cared for by their adult children until they die. "They took care of us; therefore, we owe it to them to do the same."

I think that's a load of BS.

Sure, if you were lucky enough to have good parents who nurtured you and helped you grow to be your best self, then yes, you may very well feel the need to do everything humanly possible to keep them comfortable and happy in their later years. Why wouldn't you? But to be obligated to do so, simply because they're your parents? Baloney. I didn't ask to be born. They chose to have me, and with that choice comes a degree of responsibility. I see no reason to have that same responsibility imposed upon me or any other adult child, especially when said parent did a mediocre (or worse) job to begin with.

Selfish? Yup. Against societal dictates? Of course. Would you expect any different from me?

So anyway... I'd love to say that after writing my blog on Friday, I had a burst of willingness and charity and called my mother. But I didn't. I did, however, write a letter to my stepdad. It's something. Then I went to John's. I did not share what was going on with me at first. But Friday night I had a nightmare, in which my mother called me a failure. Saturday, I broke down and wept to John, and he comforted me. He did not tell me I was a bad person. He didn't suggest "call your mother." I love him for that. I cried myself out, napped in his arms and felt very clean and clear when I awoke.

And tomorrow, I get to see New Guy. No, this is not a topic for him and me. I wouldn't burden him with that. It is not his responsibility to alleviate my guilt; it is my own. I will work on it as best I can, and in the meantime, enjoy the good in my life, of which there is a great deal.

Hope everyone had a good weekend. We will now return to our usual spanking frivolity.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Confessions

The good folks of Strictly Spanking (the same people who bring us the wonderful SSNY parties and the Boardwalk Badness Weekend) recently started their own line of videos, Strictly Spanking Videos. They have a simple and unique premise; nothing to do with roleplays or fantasies. Real women come to them with real confessions -- things they've done, recently or way in the past, personality traits with which they struggle, bad habits they've formed, etc., and confess these to Mike Tanner, who then strictly but compassionately punishes them as he deems fit, so they can release their guilt. The scenes are intense and there are usually tears.

I admire the women who have come forth so far to do this, including the beautiful Pixie and Leia Ann Woods. It takes a lot of courage... and I couldn't do it.

Not because I couldn't take the spanking. But the issue that causes me shame, invades my thoughts on a daily basis, is not one I would want to capture on film for all posterity. I'd be showcasing the worst of myself for all to see and I'd be ashamed, not cleansed. For I don't know if even the worst thrashing would change how I feel.

But this is my blog, and I have always said I am honest here. I may focus a lot on spanking, but I'm also a flawed human and you get to see those flaws here. So I'm going to admit something to all who read, and if you think less of me, I'm truly sorry. Christ, my heart is pounding.

I haven't spoken to my mother in over two months, and I have not seen her in longer than that. The last time I spoke to her was New Year's Eve -- that was the time she asked me how my brother was, and my brother has been dead since 1972. Something snapped in me that night.

As you know, my mother has not been well for several years now. We went through some godawful times with her before finally putting her in an assisted care facility -- she was hostile and violent, bitterly nasty and delusional. She said horrible things to me and to my stepfather. Once she was in the facility and they finally got her on the right meds (it took a long time), she calmed down, became rather docile and my stepdad was able to take her home on weekends, take her out to dinner and movies, etc. John and I would go visit them every few weeks on a Saturday, hang out with them, have dinner.

I hated these visits. Granted, my mother was pleasant and sweet. But I couldn't stand seeing her like this. Conversations were painful, as she'd repeat the same things over and over. She had no short-term memory and she couldn't remember from one minute to the next what she'd just said, so she'd say it again. She'd ask me questions about myself that she'd known the answer to for years. She was frail and feeble, slow and clumsy, and her arms and legs were always covered with horrible bruises from her falling. The trip there was a hassle with the traffic (about a 65-mile drive from John's), their house always had heat blasting no matter how warm it was outside (because oftentimes old people are always cold), and we'd often end the night with me in tears on the way home and John with a migraine from the stress and discomfort of it. But we did it, because it was the least we could do.

Then John fell ill and came close to dying, and everything changed.

All my worry and capacity to care shifted over to him. What energy I had for nurturing and caring was spent on him. I am not the most giving person there is, as we all know. I'm a loner and an isolator in many ways and I don't make a good caretaker; I'm too self-centered. But whatever I could do, I did for John. And now, even though he's better, I know the future holds more difficulty for him, for both of us. He will need open-heart surgery. Sometime. I don't know when. So that hangs over my head like a specter.

My mother is 89 years old. Her life has zero quality, although the quantity stretches on and on. It has no dignity -- she is incontinent at both ends and my stepdad has to pay extra for staff to keep her cleaned up. And when she visits him, he does it. He's 93 years old this month. It's a travesty that this is how they both have to spend their remaining days. And it scares the living shit out of me, plainly speaking.

I don't want to grow old. My independence and dignity mean more to me than all else, and the way my mother's life is now is unacceptable. I look at her, listen to her, and I am revolted and terrified. And I can't find it in me to get past that and reach out to her. I don't have the energy or the will.

I have not heard from my stepdad; no doubt he's quite disgusted with me. Every day when I wake up, my first thought is "Call your mother." And I swear that I will. But I come to the end of the day and I haven't, and do a Scarlett O'Hara -- "I'll think about it tomorrow."

Sometimes I rationalize. My own shrink told me it was OK if I couldn't handle talking to/seeing my mother. That she wouldn't remember anyway, and the person I once knew was already gone. My stepdad, in a poignant moment, once said to me, "I can't really blame you, Erica. She wasn't much of a mother to you to begin with." Which is true. Perhaps I'd feel more loyalty and tolerance toward her if we'd had a better relationship. But now, I should be the grownup. I want to be, and yet I can't.

So I deny, I bury my head, I let the days go by. And each day makes me feel more ashamed. There it is -- I'm a crap daughter. Ironically, I've made my own mother's indictments come true. She often told me in younger days what a disappointment I was to her.

All right. Before I delete this whole @#$%ing thing, I should hit Publish. I still may delete it. I may come to my senses later and wonder why I exposed such a raw nerve here. But I guess, for this moment, I need to.

Have a good weekend, y'all.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

"Time out"

Discussions abound regarding safe words, the need for them, people who don't want them, what happens if they're not used (or heeded), and so forth. I'm not going to enter into that debate here. Suffice it to say that it's fairly universal in any kink: If you need the action to stop, right now, you use a safe word.

Some people use colors instead of words; red means stop, and yellow means slow down, lighten up a little -- don't stop, but modify, please. Personally, I think this method is contrived, as I'd feel kind of silly hollering out colors in the middle of a scene. But that's just me. It works for others.

But what if you don't want to stop the scene, or even slow it down? What if you just need to pause it for a moment? If you say "stop" or "wait," the top may not heed it, thinking that it's just part of your scene talk (since it's not the established safe word or phrase).

I have a bit of tendinitis in my left shoulder; common symptom of overuse/repetitive stress. I overdid it with the weights, and I've since backed off a bit. I am never going to have magnificently cut arms; my genetic makeup won't allow it, no matter how many lateral raises and military presses I do. I am destined to have old-lady arms, just like my mother. Blech.

I digress... Anyway, the shoulder thing is more of a nuisance than anything else, but if my arm is moved or pulled a certain way, it hurts. Cut to a few weeks ago, when New Guy and I engaged in our bondage play. When he first tied my hands behind my back, I found the positioning of my left arm was pulling on that bad shoulder a bit. I thought I'd settle into it, but as things progressed, the discomfort didn't pass, it escalated.

What to do? I didn't want to stop the scene. I didn't want to break the mood. But I had to, somehow. So I whispered, "Time out." Immediately, he paused, and I added, "Please adjust the rope a little -- it's pulling on my left shoulder." Quickly and quietly, he made the adjustment, and then we slipped seamlessly back into the action.

I think the phrase "Time out" would be a very useful universal phrase within TTWD. It's perfect for those times when a safe word isn't quite right. "Time out -- sorry, but this position hurts my back," "Time out -- leg cramp!" "Time out -- may I have a tissue?" (Runny noses during a scene are SO not sexy.)

I wish I'd thought of this earlier. There have been times in the past when I just needed a pause, but I didn't ask for one because I didn't want to disrupt the scene. One example comes to mind, from years ago. I was OTK in my living room, and my partner was sitting in my recliner. After a while, my head dangling over the side got uncomfortable, and I noticed that my computer chair was just within reach. So I stretched out one arm, grasped the chair and gave it a yank. It came wheeling over very quickly -- and the edge of the seat rammed right into my eye.

AGGGHH. I kept my head down and turned away from him, grit my teeth, blinked and teared, and sucked it up. Never let him know what was happening, because I didn't want him to stop. If I'd simply said, "Time out -- I just damn near put my eye out," he could have paused the action long enough for me to stop seeing stars, and then we could continue.

What do you think? I have visions of "time out" becoming as well-known as "mercy." :-) Of course, as with the safe word, "time out" should not be overused/abused. You can't just say, "Time out -- ow, that hurts." Sorry, fellow spankees... the top would then reserve the right to reply, "Time in -- it's supposed to." (sigh)