Spare the bare and spoil the spanking?

OK, you all know I'm all about spanko purism and following all the lovely little rituals involved with classic spanking. And of course, to a great many of us, tradition dictates that a spanking may start over clothes, or over panties, but eventually, those babies have got to come down. I get that, truly I do. And there is a certain thrill associated with the ceremony of peeling (or yanking) the panties down/off, even though I grumble and protest when it happens.

But is it really that much of a deal if the panties stay up? Particularly when they are thong style and pretty much everything is bare anyway? Or what if the panties are wedged between the cheeks, baring most of the flesh? Is that a deal-breaker?

You see, Mr. D is a bit different. Along with enjoying spanking, he also happens to have a thing for panties, as many do. Sooooo... he likes mine to stay on for the entire time, to absorb my... reactions. Because, you see, he takes them home with him afterward. TMI? No, TMI would be detailing what he does with them. ;-) However, suffice it to say, that's part of the experience for him. And personally, I'm just as happy leaving them on, especially when we're taking pictures. Then I don't have to worry about my bits hanging out all over the place.

We have fun with it. He likes to tease me about how, er, damp my underwear gets. "Is that for me?" he'll say. Depending on my mood, I may give him a sarcastic answer. "Do you see anyone else here?" or "No, I'm fantasizing about someone else." But other times, I'll just nod, speechless in my subspace.

John is totally OK with this; I told him all about it. Of course, he made jokes. ("He's got a panty fetish? What kind of sick fuck is he??")

However, since I've been posting some of the photos on FetLife, I've been getting comments like: "Why are those panties still up?" "What's with the panties still being on?" "Why weren't your panties pulled down?" The gist being, it's not a REAL spanking unless the bottom is completely bare.

Oh, good grief.

OK, folks. I aim to please, after all. So tonight's blog has something for everyone. For those who like panties, behold:

Gotta be bare? Here you go:

Let it not be said that Erica Scott is inflexible. (I am, but don't say it.) :-)

First scene tonight was quite intense, with a lot of his hand, plus some leather (my strap and his belt). I went through many emotions, most of them deeply pleasurable. But at the very end, one final snap of the strap shocked me with the sharpness and pain, and I went to a dark place for a while. Mr. D tried to find out what was going on, but I retreated, curling into a ball and shaking as I cried. So he waited patiently, holding me close and soothing me. Eventually, I calmed down enough to be able to talk, and we discussed what had happened, how I'd gone within. My body loosened and unfolded, my fists uncurled. He was so kind to me, so completely understanding. He listened. He reassured. He cared.

The closeness of a top/bottom relationship is not necessarily measured in the perfection of the scenes. It's often measured in the imperfections and how you handle them, together. How you communicate. I love what's happening here.

Later, another round broke out, this one much more playful. I guess I may have called him a name. (shrugging) Really, he can't prove it. But whatever he thinks he heard me say, he took exception to it, and I was rolled back onto my belly.

"Go ahead, call me that again." I was only too happy to oblige. Several times. I even spelled it for him.

"That's it," he said, getting up and going to my vanity drawer. Oh, crap. The wooden stuff is in there. I looked over to see what he was getting. "You turn around!" he ordered. "Look the other way." I didn't.

He came back, and a wooden paddle cracked down on one cheek. "That's for looking," he said. Another crack, the other cheek. "So is that." Two more whacks. "And those also."

I turned and gave him my most plaintive look. "Can I help it if I like looking at you?"

CRACK! again. "And that's for B.S.ing me." Sheesh. Can't pull anything over on this guy.

Ah well. It was certainly worth it. :-D

I had another treat in store; he'd brought his guitar. It had been in his car and he didn't want to leave it there. "Do you want me to play?" he asked. Oh, yes, please! I put my PJs on and curled up on my living room carpet, while he played and sang me a song. "White Shadows" by Coldplay. I'd never heard it before. It's beautiful.

He left me there, dreamily content on the carpet, and let himself out.

I am sleepy and sore. I cried myself out and giggled like a child. For another week, I am sated.

He says he is a lucky man. But I'm the lucky one.