Tonight's Lesson: Watch My @#$%ing Language

New Guy showed up on the dot of 6:30 (have I mentioned lately that I love how on-time and utterly reliable this man is?), and although we did make with some small-talk about the Oscars (gawd, didn't James Franco suck?), it wasn't long before I was horizontal and face down.

You know how sometimes you're more sensitive than other times to pain? Tonight was my night. At least that's how it started out; it took me longer than usual to warm up and adjust. Unfortunately, he felt the warmup should be short. Short? Try practically non-existent! :-Þ

So can you blame a girl for blurting out a couple of cuss words? I mean, come on. It hurts, for God's sake. But he thought it was very unladylike of me and we soon dispensed with the OTK and went right for the ottoman. Once I'm moved onto there, I know he means business.

Ow. Paddle, strap, flogger and this nasty biting thing I later found out was a quirt with three tails. He switched up the count thing -- this time, I had to count AND spell. Spell what, you ask? I'd said the f-bomb once and damn twice. So the count went along these lines: "One, f, two, u, three, c, four, k, five, d, six, a..." and so on.

(but no, I didn't have to say I was sore-y. Snicker)

You'd think with all those implements and my seemingly reduced tolerance, I would have been eager to have it done, right? But when he leaned down and asked, "Is it time for me to get the lotion?" I hesitated. I didn't want to say anything sassy; I was past that. But I didn't want him to stop, either. I turned my head and looked up at him, and he waited patiently, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

"I think... I... um... I think I..."

"Yes?"

"I think I need a little bit more," I whispered. (Why is it so hard for me to do that? Ah well, it just is. I did it anyway.)

So he finished me with a hard strapping, and then I was done. Well, for the moment, anyway. Aftercare was sweet, as always.

After I recovered, we moved to the couch and I put on a DVD. I have so many of them he hasn't seen, and he loves Samantha Woodley (who doesn't, really?), so I chose Sting Operation, Part 2. She was at her absolute bratty best in this one, playing a student who cheated by downloading a paper off the Internet and then got caught by her teacher. She kicked, she fussed, she was defiant, and of course, I was cheering for her. New Guy? Eh, notsomuch.

We'd been sitting side by side, but when Samantha pinched the teacher's leg, I laughed and said, "Hey, I'll have to remember that!" -- and whoooooosh, over I went again. And there I stayed for the rest of the freaking DVD. When she got smacked, I got smacked. When she got the paddle, I got the paddle. And guess what?? I had totally forgotten about this, because I haven't seen this DVD for a while, but... She calls him a bastard, and he makes her spell it out to him while he whacks her with the paddle. How funny, considering that NG had made me do the exact same thing earlier.

I pointed out to NG that she said bastard, I didn't say bastard. But he didn't care. Argggghhhh. OK, fine! I figured I get it whether I cuss or I don't cuss, so what's the difference? Soooooo... when she said my favorite line in the whole DVD: "I said I was sorry! So forgive and forget, and f*** off!"...yup,  I said it along with her. :-D

Professor Lance finally let Samantha up -- however, NG said, "You stay right where you are." So much for following the video. The second spanking of the evening continued long past the end of the DVD, and after one hard flurry, I breathed, "Jesus!"

I felt him freeze, and I screeched, "That's not cussing, that's not cussing!" He said, "Yes, it is." I got so frustrated, I lost my head. Again.

"It is NOT! It would be one thing if I'd said 'Jesus f***ing Christ,' but I didn't!"

I am such an idiot. Yes, I had to spell out all three words, 18 whacks.

Someday, I'll learn. Or not.

But you know that edgy, crabby, unsettled mood I mentioned last Friday? No sign of it now. Whaddaya know. Who needs Xanax when you have a spanker extraordinaire?

T - h - a - n - k    y - o - u. :-)

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 2/25

Yippee! It's Chross and CHoS day! :-D


WHAT did you just say to me?





















First up:

well it nice coming accross your profile and i think it really intresting... You want to be treated right. You want to be valued and understood. You want to be free to express yourself and you understand the world around you. You are strong and pasionate, intense and gentle. You are attracted to a man I will like to know more about you.here is my e-mail adres

(yawn) And how many women did we send this to today?

i cant beleave how hot and sexy you are in your photo i love it so much.nothing is as nice as you nothing.you are like so hot.the pleasure in you is so feels beautyful .....you seem like such a cool lady ,i know im maybe not your typ but i had to say this anyways either way.

(wrestling open the Advil bottle) Maybe not my typ? Honey, you're definitely not my typ.

This one's from a guy who noticed I have pictures of broken implements:

As a hobby I make paddles of different types and different materials. If you look at my pictures is a small sample of what I do. I makes some of birch plywood that won't break, even on the hardest ass....

You makes? Good for you, Popeye. But I yam not interested.

I think you have a great smile and a perfect - - - thought I was going to say "ass" didn't you, great bottom. Would love to be able to caress and feel both, before spanking the ladder.

Ouch! Better sand that ladder first or you'll get splinters.

And if I didn't think I was going to hell before, I sure do now:

wat a desperate look all of u sinful funky its shall all fall oneday for u all are plagues of moral distruction

(laughing) Ah, yes, I am a plague. Every time I open my mouth, locusts fly out. My dear, if you think my li'l old spanking fetish is the cause of moral distruction [sic], you need to get off your knees and get out more. And your first stop should be night school to take Remedial English.

Nothing like a good snark to start off the weekend! I admit, I'm a little out of sorts today, feeling prickly and hard-edged. John was supposed to have today off... not only does he not have today off, but he is working tomorrow morning as well. So I'm not going to his place tonight. It's not that I'm upset about staying home this evening -- it's going to be rainy and cold anyway. But I'm worried about him. All that stuff he said about turning over a new leaf and not working so hard seems to have fallen by the wayside. I guess once a workaholic, always a workaholic? (sigh) I know that fretting over him changes nothing and just annoys him, so I need to stop.

So I try to distract myself and go on FetLife last night, attempting to have some fun, and all I see on the activity feed are graphic, gross and extreme photos, with severely thrashed bottoms, tops bragging about having made them that way, and other bottoms oohing and ahhing over how pretty they are. You know... I wish I could understand this. I wish I knew why it offends me so. I mean, these are clearly consensual scenes and the bottoms aren't upset about them. So why should I be? Ack. Perhaps I should stay off FL for a little while and clear my head. When I'm in judgment mode, I know I'm a bit off and I need to be quiet until it passes.

Tomorrow will be fine -- John and I will be seeing an old friend for dinner and catching up, so that should be fun. And then before I know it, it will be Monday again. :-)

I leave you with a baffling search keyword phrase I found in my stats this morning:

a.full.epasoad.of,spankings

Say it with me, kids -- WTF??????

Have a great weekend, y'all. :-)

Wednesday potpourri

Today, I'd like to call your attention to one of the funniest blogs I've ever read, and that is not hyperbole. (Oh, look it up. :-Þ) Our friend Zelle has outdone herself, writing her tale of woe over two weeks of, er, a certain privilege denied. The pictures alone will have you falling off your chair. If you haven't read this yet, hunker down, go check it out and prepare to howl. Avoid sipping liquids or eating solid food during this time, unless you have someone nearby to apply the Heimlich maneuver.

Second, a few clips from The Wife and the Prostitute, one of the vignettes I shot with Paul and Sarah, is up on Sarah Gregory Spanking, which is her video pay site. I watched the first three mini-clips yesterday. You know, when you're in the midst of shooting these things and they're unscripted, you don't remember what was said until you see it later. Damn, but it's funny! Sarah is hilarious as the hooker -- I laughed my butt off watching her protest as Paul spanks me, "Yo! I am not getting paid to watch this kinky s*** go down!"

Usually by Wednesday, I'm fully recovered by Monday night's activities. Today, however, I find myself still quite tender, deep into the muscle. Now I don't know if that's because of working out the past two days or that other workout, but it's quite pleasing. :-)

Countdown to the Oscars on Sunday! Who's watching them? Who's seen what? John and I are not big moviegoers, so we've seen a whopping two of the nominated flicks, but they were the biggies: The King's Speech and The Social Network. I'm casting my vote for Colin Firth. Holy moly, that man is yummy. Oh... and yeah, he gave a good performance too. :-D

I'm scattered today. Can you tell? Spending way too much time on FetCrack... er, Life, getting into controversies over icky photos, arguing with asshats and perving on hot pictures... BAD! Focus, Erica. Time to stop babbling and go do something productive.

Monday, Monday....

I'll have you all know that I am totally squirming in my chair as I write this. All I want to do is go get horizontal in front of my TV and stop sitting. My bottom feels like I sat on a beehive. But I have a blog to write. People want to read about Erica getting her a$& beat. Would I let you guys down?

Feel sorry for me? Didn't think so. Pffffffttttttttttt.

New Guy was able to come over a bit earlier (around 5:00) because he had the day off. We sat on my couch chatting for a bit, but then he got up, pulled a chair away from the dining room table, plunked it down in the living room and sat on it, looking at me expectantly. I feigned ignorance. "You want to sit over there?"

"Yes, I do. And I think you should come join me."

I didn't agree and stayed right where I was.

"Are you going to make me come and get you?" Damn right I was. And he did.

Turned out he had some issues with my "proper behavior during a spanking" blog. Gee, there's a surprise. And when he gave me a hard whack with the tawse and I blurted out a four-letter word, he didn't approve of that either. Then, after I screeched, "Jesus Christ!", he said I was taking the Lord's name in vain.

"Geeeez... when I say something right, will you let me know??" I snapped. Pick, pick, pick.

He told me I deserved this; I protested and said I did not. To which he'd replied, "Well then, what do you think you deserve? A cupcake??"

(Yeah! Sounds good to me! Chocolate, please.)

He didn't agree and said I should say I was sorry.

I looked up at him thoughtfully. "You know, you say 'sorry' funny."

Well, he does! I pronounce it sahr-y, and that's the way I hear everyone else say it too. He, however, pronounces it sore-y. Freaking Minnesotans.

After that comment, he stopped talking and commenced walloping. After a looooong stretch of his hand, tawse and one of his leather straps, he asked, "Well, are you sorry?"

I paused, took a deep breath, turned my head and looked at him, smiling down at me. "Not... in... the... least," I hissed.

In response, he picked me up as if I weighed nothing, hauled me across the room and dumped me on the ottoman. The heavy strap and the paddle came out. "I don't want any more smart remarks from you, do you hear me?"

"Yeah," I answered. "From now on, I'll make stupid remarks."

Sheesh, you try to be agreeable...

But soon, I began to weaken and my sharp tongue dulled. And soon after that, I was muffling my screams in the cushion. I tried to be stubborn, tried to resist, but of course, I ended up hollering, "OK, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

He knelt down next to me, gently rubbling my bottom and back. "Shall I go get the lotion?" he asked.

I wasn't ready. Don't know why, but I needed just a little more. "No," I said, "you'll just use it and then start up again so it'll hurt more!"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes, Mr. Fink, you would!"

(Mr. Fink?? Where the hell did I come up with that?)

He shook his head. "And here I thought I was done. Go get that heart-shaped paddle." Remember, folks, I'm not stupid. This was not the time to say "Get it yourself." I retrieved it and handed it to him, resisting the urge to drop it at his feet. I was in enough trouble for pulling my pants and panties back up after I left the room. "You leave those down until I tell you it's OK to pull them back up, do you understand?"

Yup... I asked for it. I brought that paddling on myself. But holy gawd, did it hurt.

He was sweet, then. After I'd returned to Earth and asked, "What would you like to do now?", he smiled at me and said, "I wanna buy you a cupcake!" :-D

I laughed and asked if he'd make it a bowl of soup instead; I was starving. We decided to go to dinner. I first took him to a Thai place near my place, but it turned out they were closed on Mondays. So we went back to the deli where we'd gone before, and I happily chowed down on comfort food -- a big bowl of chicken matzo ball soup. He had a pizza.

Was I well-behaved during dinner?

When we got back to my place, he put me over a chair and strapped me with his belt. Does that answer your question?

Ah, don't worry, I wasn't really mad. We watched a DVD (Shadow Lane's At Your Service), got into a tickle fight (have you ever heard of anyone being ticklish around their knees? He is!) and of course I ended up back over his knee. I got away from him and he was chasing me around the room with my pants down -- and that looked so funny, he had to get a picture of it. Yes, I'm wearing my glasses.

I really don't think he was showing the proper gratitude. After all, he was yawning and I was concerned about his drive home, so I was just trying to wake him up. It worked, didn't it? Well?

Ah, I'm done now. I can go put on some soft jammies and sprawl out, watch the Tonight show, eat some chocolate. The heater is on -- warm body, warm bottom. Happy, happy Monday. :-)

Repost: By Special Request!

Over a year ago, I posted the following entry on my old MySpace blog. (Jeeez, now that I've been here for a while, I can't believe I blogged on that site for so long. Blech!) I also put it on FetLife, but my buddy Zelle has requested that I repost this on here, for those who aren't Fet members and for my new readers who didn't see it the first time. Sooooo... if you're already seen this, my apologies, and you can blame it on Zelle! ;-)  (Kidding, honey!) And if it's new to you, hope you enjoy it.

So, without further ado, here is a repost of Proper Behavior During a Spanking: Erica Style. You can consider it another installment of Erica's Helpful Hints.

I've been reading more blogs lately. A while ago, a snippet from a DD (Domestic Discipline) blog was posted in a blog entry called This and That, a collection of snippets from several blogs. Following are five rules, according to DD/HoH (Head of Household) practitioners, for proper behavior during a spanking:

1. One must lie still during chastisement, and not attempt to wiggle out of the way of the spanking.

2. One must not try to block with her hands. This is so dangerous, especially if an implement is being used.

3. Unless you are asked a question you should remain silent, other than repentant tears and sobs.

4. Do not attempt to fight a punishment. If you are told to lie over your HOH's knee so he may begin, just do it.

5. For HOH's: lecture, lecture, lecture. This is one of the most critical things in DD. A lecture can make a difference between tears and stoic behavior.

Mind you, I am not posting these to ridicule them. Clearly, there are folks who follow these rules and believe in them. Whatever works. However, for those of us who are on the not-so-submissive side, these rules are not applicable. Therefore, as a public service, I hereby offer my own version of How To Behave During a Spanking.

1. You are not a sack of potatoes. Kick those legs. Pound the carpet/bed/couch. Squirm. Wriggle. You're going to get spanked anyway, so why make it so damned easy for the top?

2. Reaching back with your hands is not a good idea. Not because it annoys the top, but your hand might get clobbered and that really hurts. So keep them in front of you. Of course, if a wayward elbow or fist happens to connect with the top's shin, that's OK.

3. This is a spanking, not a visit to the library. You don't have to be quiet. Use your voice. Scream and yell. Fuss, cuss and whine. The only exception to this is if your top asks you to repeat some ridiculous phrase, like "Thank you, Sir." Then you should remain silent. Or improvise. If you're clever, you can make "Fuck you, Sir" sound sort of like "Thank you, Sir." They're both one-syllable words that end with k.

4. Put up a little resistance beforehand. Why should you accept your fate with such stoicism? It's going to hurt either way; at least you'll have the pride of knowing you tried to avoid it. Argue, reason, plead, refuse to cooperate. Don't remove your own clothing. If he wants anything up/down/off, he can do it himself.

5. Tops: Scold all you like. Just bear one thing in mind -- no matter what you say, all we hear is blah blah blah.

6. Bonus tip: Implements are wretched things and deserve no respect whatsoever. If one is placed within your reach, fling it across the room. If one is broken on you, gloat and cheer. If your top asks you to kiss one, blow raspberries on it.

So, what did we learn? How about a little pop quiz?

1. When a top asks you, "Why am I spanking you?", you answer: a. Because I was a bad girl, Sir. b. I don't know. c. Because you're an ass.

2. If a top says, "Stop kicking!" you: a. Stop kicking immediately. b. Tearfully plead, "But it hurts, Sir, I can't help it." c. Snap, "Stop spanking!"

3. When a top tells you to pull down your panties, you: a. Immediately pull them down, and take off your dress for good measure. b. Look at him pleadingly and say, "Please, not my panties!" c. Snap, "Pull them down yourself! Is your hand broken?"

4. If a top asks, mid-spanking, if you have anything to say, you reply: a. I'm sorry, Sir. b. Please, no more, it hurts. c. Yes. Go f*** yourself.

5. If a top bruises/blisters his hand spanking you, you: a. Kiss his hand, then promptly fetch him an implement to finish the job. b. Promise you'll be better, so next time he won't have to spank so hard. c. Laugh your head off and call him Edward Sissyhands.

I don't think I need to post an answer key -- y'all know me well enough to know what the right answers are.

No need to thank me for this PSA, folks. I am here for you.

Friday mash-up

I'm all over the place today. First, to wrap up my Gym Rant post from earlier this week -- I swear, the Gym Gods read it and punished me. On Wednesday, when I was in my usual class, a man came in late and 1) stood right in front of me, blocking my view of the instructor; 2) proceeded to do nearly everything incorrectly and with horrible form, and 3) was out of sync with the rest of the class. Can't people tell when 30 people are moving a different way than they are?? Then yesterday, in another class, the microphone wasn't working and the instructor didn't like having to shout, so she was off her game. She still blasted the music so you couldn't hear her, and since I'm blind as a bat and don't wear my glasses when working out, I couldn't see what she was doing either. Arrrrgghhhh! I give up. The things I go through to beat back the ravages of Father Time. Some days, I wish my vanity would take a hike.

On to more positive things: Happy Chross Friday! And congratulations to all the co-bloggers who were listed today as well. Is it my imagination, or is Chross's list growing longer? So many great choices!

You know, some might get sick of my exultations every time I make this illustrious list. But I can't help it -- it's fun! It's flattering. And it's such a kick to watch my hits soar. Yes, I am an attention whore. I admit it. I joke about it. I invite people to giggle at it. It is what it is. But I know I'm not alone. :-)

Checking my stats yesterday, I notice I was getting hundreds of hits from a bondage blog. Huh? I went to look, and sure enough, my "Stranger" entry had been quoted in a blog about various aspects of bondage. Interesting note: The blog author had set up the entry by saying that I'd posted my blog about Abduction Guy's pictures to put ideas into New Guy's head. Actually, I didn't. Not consciously, anyway. I was genuinely bewildered and rattled about my reactions to those photos, and I wanted to talk about it. But I sure am glad it turned out the way it did. (beaming)

And finally -- anyone want a giggle? Go check out the mischief that Poppy is up to. Apparently the Princesses are in revolt. Feel free to join in throwing me under the bus (or under the moat, as the case may be). (And yes, I was consulted beforehand and heartily gave my approval.)

Another weekend upon us... off to John's later, and then will be celebrating a spanking good President's Day on Monday. Happy, happy me. :-)

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Off-Topic Rant: The Gym Edition

Oh, come on -- you didn't think this hearts and flowers business was going to last forever, did you? :-)  Besides, I haven't done one of these for a long time.

It's no secret that, while I adore certain individuals, people en masse generally get on my nerves. I really do need to discover Erica Island one of these days. But until then, I will continue to have my space invaded by people who annoy me. And what better place to find an eclectic collection of bothersome folks than at one's gym?

I may be a novelty, but I don't go to the gym to socialize and hang out. I want to get in, do my thing and go home. But even though I may seem to be in my own little world, plugged into my iPod, I am always aware and observing. And several obnoxious types cross my path on any given day. Here are just a few.

The Multitaskers (AKA "I'm too damned important to unplug for an hour")

You know the type. They have their cell phone with them all through their workouts. They're yammering away while on the treadmill. They sit and text while on a piece of equipment you're waiting to use. They're shouting in the locker room. I've got news for you guys: You are not the @#$%ing President of the United States. You're not so indispensable that you can't shut off your damn phone for an hour or so.

The Sweathogs

Self-explanatory. They can't be bothered to bring a towel, and they are oblivious to the paper towel dispensers throughout the gym. Folks, I commend you for working hard, truly I do. But that doesn't mean I want to use equipment that's glistening with your drippings.

The Muscleheads

Ah yes -- how can we miss these guys? The big macho bruisers with biceps the size of Volkswagen Beetles, spewing testosterone all over everything within ten feet of them. If you want to use a particular piece of equipment and they're on it, you might as well forget about it and move on to something else -- they're probably only up to the 15th of their 50 sets.

Muscleheads often fall into one or both of the following subgroups:

1. The Weight Slammers. You know, the men who feel the need to SLAM the weights or the machines with a loud CRASH when they're done. If they're on the second floor, the ceiling of the story below them cracks. And they often do their thing directly below the posted sign that reads: "Please do not drop the weights."

2. The Screamers/Grunters/Groaners. No doubt you've heard them. "Hear me roar -- I am strong and I am EXERTING MYSELF!!" Some of them sound like they're being tortured; others sound like they're having an orgasm. And yet others sound like they need more fiber in their diet. Oh, shut the hell up. You're lifting a weight, not giving birth.

The Bored Housewives

These tend to be a morning/early afternoon feature. They come to the gym, ostensibly to work out, but end up standing around in clusters, exercising nothing but their jaws. Loudly. And they often block things you want to use, so you have to interrupt their yammering to get past them and suffer their glares of indignation.

Oh, pardon me, ladies. If I bring you some coffee and pastries, will you move your yappy asses somewhere else so I can get to the leg press?

What brought on this rant, you might ask. My last gym visit, that's what.

I chose my elliptical trainer carefully, avoiding the cell-phone users. One-third of the way into my workout, a woman I recognized as The Hip-Hop Queen took the elliptical next to mine. Oh, crap.

She is a big woman, loaded down with stuff (her water bottle, cell phone, iPod, book). Her warmup is fine, non-obtrusive. But once she's into it, she really gets into it. She starts doing a whole routine on the elliptical, complete with head rolls and snaky arms wildly waving about. She sings. She snaps her fingers and claps her hands.

It is @#$%ing obnoxious.

I turn my head to the side so all her gesticulating doesn't enter my peripheral vision, and I'm OK for a little while. But then the loud fingersnapping and popping starts up, and I think I must go mad.

It's just a few minutes out of your life, Erica. Ignore it. Focus on what you're doing.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Live and let live, Erica. She's not bothering you.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Oh yes, she damn well is. No! Stoppit. Tune her out. Think about nice things. Think positive, benevolent thoughts...

Snap. Snap. Snap.

OK, if she snaps those fingers one more time, I'm going to break them.

Clap. Clap.

Ugh. Go back to the snapping.

Are people really that oblivious? Do they not realize that others can actually hear and see them? I mean, I like my music too. But I enjoy it silently. The most I'll do when I'm really into a song is mouth along to the words. I do not sing. Why? Because I'm fully aware that, while I'm hearing thumping drums, wailing guitars and harmonizing voices, others around me will only hear my disembodied and off-key singing, and I wouldn't be that inconsiderate.

It's no wonder why, on certain gym days when I'm simply not in the mood for any of this, I haul the free weights out of my closet and work out in my living room. Thank goodness for the anti-socialite's options.

Rant over. I feel much better . Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get ready... to go to the gym. :-)

Oh my... you SHOULDN'T have...

Being that today was Valentine's Day and I was getting my Valentine spanking, I dressed up for New Guy, with stockings and red garter belt, and another red dress (I have three of them. Just like LBDs, you can't have too many LRDs, either.) He showed up on at my door, all smiles, bearing a sweet bouquet of white daisies and red carnations.

And a heart-shaped paddle. A wooden heart-shaped paddle. Which he made himself, just for me.

Talk about confusing. On the one hand, I was quite tickled and touched at his efforts on my behalf. But on the other hand, the phrase, "Oh my, you shouldn't have" was quite apropos!

Guaranteed not to break, he crowed. Oh, joy. Wouldn't want that little @#$%er breaking, would we?

So here's the "before" picture, happy me with my flowers and my, er, special gift:

He was hoping he could get a perfect red heart on one of my butt cheeks. But alas, the paddle was too large (or my butt is too small) to get that imprint. He tried his best, though. Oh, did he try. But he settled for overall RED. Big of him. :-)

He used his other old faithful paddle too, and two straps. I was in feisty mode tonight and I couldn't seem to stop giggling or being snide. When he referred to himself as an evil genius, I said he was half-right.

Ouch.

When he stopped, I tried to catch my breath, and he knelt down and smiled into my face. Or was it a smirk? I couldn't tell. I glared back at him, then, very quietly and deliberately, said, "You bastard."

That was good for another round, until I said I was sorry. Then he piled all four implements onto the coffee table, saying he'd leave them within reach in case I needed a refresher later.

After we relaxed and chatted for a while, he left to use the restroom. I immediately whisked the implements off the table and shoved them under the couch.

Hey, I thought it was funny. But my glee was short-lived, as he put me back over the ottoman and fished another weapon of a#$ destruction out of his bag. "Where are they?" he asked.

"They got bored and left!" I hollered.

"You better get 'em back, then," he said, and laid into me with whatever the hell that thing was, until I gave up and crawled over to the couch, retrieving the four hidden toys.

I got ten hard ones with all four, rapidly, no break in between each one. Holy moly.

"You going to hide my implements ever again?" "NO!" "I guess that wasn't the best idea, huh?"

Guess not.

OK, so I sorta kinda maybe asked for that. But really. Tops can be so damned mean, giving us consequences for our actions. Humpph.

I did get some sweet aftercare with lotion and snuggles, though.

And remember the "before" picture? Usually when you see a "before" picture, you know an "after" picture is coming, right?

Here ya go.

Did I have a happy Valentine's Day? You be the judge. :-)

Valentine weekend

It's Sunday night and I am back home. Hard for me to believe that it isn't Valentine's Day proper yet, as we've been celebrating it all weekend and my heart is already full to bursting. :-)

I went to John's Friday night, bearing Valentine treats. There were the homemade brownies (and balloon!):

The card with just the right words:

And of course, these:

He presented me with a one-pound satin-heart box of See's chocolate, which is my favorite chocolate on the planet. We happily tore into it later that evening. I still remember all too well the many weeks where I could barely get John to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, so it gave me joy to see him scarfing brownies and chocolate.

Saturday we took his mother to lunch; I was comfortably dressed down in black jeans and a plaid shirt, but underneath I had on my sexy kiss-print panties and a bright red bra. Once we got the filial duties out of the way, the rest of the afternoon and evening was ours. Driving back to John's place, on the winding canyon road, we saw two deer grazing off to the side. There was no one behind us, so we stopped right in the middle of the road and watched them. They didn't get spooked, just looked back at us with those huge eyes. Wish I'd had my camera then! John said he arranged for them to be there, as part of Valentine weekend (sure, honey). And that it was damn hard to get deer to cooperate, because, well, they're deer.

Of course, later, we got pictures. Me, being Ms. Cheesecake:

Then after dressing for dinner, I was sitting on the bed buckling my shoe, and John said, "Don't move!" (He did, however, adjust my skirt, lifting it up higher on my leg... humph!) :-)

He looked quite spiffy himself:

We went to one of our favorite restaurants, a place called the California Canteen. Wonderful food, lovely atmosphere (not too loud!) and great service. Our table was directly beneath this sign:

We were seated at a rounded corner booth, so we could sit together. After we ordered, John told me to close my eyes. ??? Roses, chocolates and this beautiful dinner... there was more?

I love watches. I know that people don't wear them much anymore, now that they have the ubiquitous cell phone with the time handy, but I love to wear them. John got me into vintage collectible watches a few years ago; he's given me several different ones since then. Each one has been unique and goes with different colors/styles. Sure enough, when I opened my eyes, there was a jewelry box in front of me.

The accompanying card read: "You are the best and the most beautiful; you deserve the same."

When I was young, I dreamed of nights like this. I thought they existed only in commercials and fantasy stories. Or perhaps for other people, but never for me.

Damn, but I love this man.

(many thanks to Zelle for "doctoring" this pic for me a bit. John had an obtrusively glaring light over his head.)

After dinner, we went to another favorite place, the Aroma Café, and shared a ginormous piece of German chocolate cake. Stuffed and happy, we headed home. No... no Valentine spanking. His energy level is still low. BUT... he's finally starting to exercise again, which he hasn't felt like doing in months. The itch is still with him sometimes, but it's slowly fading away and he's sleeping better. As for future heart surgery... not going to think about that now. I'm staying in the moment.

And tomorrow, on actual Valentine's Day, I get to have a Valentine-red bottom from New Guy. Am I spoiled all to hell, or what?

Thanks for bearing with my mush, folks. I promise my bitchy, cynical self will return. For now... she's quite overwhelmed.

Hope everyone has a beautiful Valentine's Day. :-)

Happy Friday blathering

It's Friday of what John has been calling "Valentine Week." I know, I know, we're nauseating. But please bear with me. This is the one time a year where I throw my customary cynicism out the window and indulge in sheer romantic mush. Yeah, yeah... it's a date on the calendar, we should be like this all year round and not just one day, it's too commercial, blah blah freaking blah. I don't care. No one's gonna rain on my little giddy parade. :-)

And of course, what's my favorite thing these days about Fridays? Getting Chrossed! My incredible scene with New Guy this week landed me not only on the Chross list, but on PaddleMePink's and Kaelah's blogs as well. Thank you, one and all. When I write about a wonderful experience, I get to relive it... and then when others enjoy, comment on and cite it, I relive it yet again. Such a lovely cycle.

While perusing Chross's choices this week, I ran across something that made me cheer. (Yes, I do get excited over the damndest things.)

You guys have listened to me babble on and on for years about my favorite mainstream spanking scene, the Robert Horton/Susan Oliver spanking in the Wagon Train episode, "The Maggie Hamilton Story." I first saw it on my Cinema Swats VHS tape and I dissolved into a puddle of girl goo, as Danny used to say.

However, much to my frustration, the scene was nowhere to be found in its entirety online. There was a clip of it, but it was severely truncated. Instead of showing the delicious buildup to their confrontation, it started right in the middle of it. And then it cut out abruptly after the spanking, without showing the sweet moments afterward. I could describe the full scene until I was blue in the face, but nothing was like seeing it.

So I was delighted to see that Le Monde De La Fessee found that full clip and has posted it! The blog is in French, but don't pay any mind to that, just look at the pictures and then the video. Susan Oliver is the perfect impossible brat ("If I kill you, it will be your fault!"). And ladies, if you have never seen this clip in its entirety, go, go watch. I guarantee you that the last few seconds alone will make you melt. And while you may never have heard of Robert Horton prior to this, you will have a crush on him forevermore. ("You're going to grow up. All the way. Right now.") Swooooooooooooooooooooooon... McLintock and his stooooopid coal shovel -- Meh! Flint McCullough (Horton's character) is my epitome of a spanking man. :-D

Anyway (fanning myself), on to the weekend. I've already received my Valentine's Day roses... last Tuesday. John likes to send them early, mixing it up, so I'll be surprised. Not red, but peach. And not a dozen, but fifteen. I'm not sure why he chose that number, but this is our 15th Valentine's Day together, so that could be it. It would be very much like him to remember a detail like that.

I have a large Tupperware filled with brownies from scratch, a heart-shaped balloon and a nice card (not too flowery/mushy, just right). And I will bring something pretty to wear tomorrow night when he takes me to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, including some new panties. ;-)

Have a great weekend, y'all.

My heartthrob is... How old???

OK, anyone who's known me for five minutes knows that my (almost) lifelong actor crush is on David Selby, who played the roguish Quentin Collins on Dark Shadows. I was 12 years old when I first laid eyes on him, and his handsome, 6' 4" presence rocked my pre-adolescent little world.

His birthday was this past weekend. He turned 70.

SEVENTY???????

No way. It can't be. He is not 70.

Ah, but he is. (sigh)

But in my mind, in my stacks of Dark Shadows DVDs, he will always look like this:

Oh, the fantasy mileage I've gotten from David Selby and his alter ego. I even wrote a spanking story about traveling back in time and finding myself face to face with his character in Collinwood, 1897. But wait, there's more! My good buddy Dave Wolfe immortalized us both, a couple of years ago:

Wolfie is so freaking talented, isn't he? Swisssshhhhh! Heehee...

Yet another friend paired us again, by taking a cartoon from the amazing Endart and Photoshopping "Quentin's" and my face into it:

























I know, I know... does it get any sillier? I'm way too damn old for crushes. But I've had so much fun with this one, it's hard to let it go.

So happy belated birthday, David... I still love ya! :-)

The Stranger

When my doorbell rang at 6:30, I opened it eagerly, expecting to see New Guy standing there smiling back, ready to give me a warm hug after three weeks of not seeing each other.

But the man at my door didn't smile, only stepped in silently, Feeling a bit thrown, I started to wrap my arms around his neck, and he shrugged them off. Then I felt his fist tightening in my hair.

He spun me around, pushing me toward my bedroom. I nearly stumbled on my high heels. Wordlessly, he threw me onto my bed, then flipped me over, pinning both arms behind my back. He rummaged in his bag and next thing I knew, he was tying my hands together. Once that was done, he leaned down and spoke. "Did you really think you could write something like that in your blog and no one would get ideas?"

"Ah... um... I...." I stuttered, and he yanked my hair. "Did you?"

"No..." I murmured. I thought perhaps I could reason with him. "I couldn't help it," I cried. "Those pictures... I don't know, they just did something to me."

"Yeah, well," he said, "now I'M going to do something to you." My legs were bent, my feet tightly curled up under my bottom; he pulled my legs straight, and unceremoniously yanked my leggings and panties down my thighs and off. Then he tied my ankles together.

"Now," he growled, "you are going to get exactly what you deserve."

The spanking was hard and fast and ferocious -- no warmup here. I squirmed around, but I could barely move, and the ropes bit into my wrists if I pulled too hard.

"Are you scared?"

"Ye-e-e-s...."

"You should be. Maybe you'll be more careful about what you put on your blog, won't you? Be careful what you wish for." Then he jerked the rope off my wrists. But before I could sigh in relief, he pulled my hands forward, wrapped the rope securely around my wrists once again and tied the ends to the bedframe just above the caster. He then did the same thing with my ankles, tying them down at the other end.

And then the implements came out of the bag. He brushed them against me, teasing me, tormenting me. I was on sensory overload... yes, it was scary. It was also wildly, almost unbearably arousing.

"Please," I whimpered, "please..."

"Please what?" he asked. When I didn't answer, he snapped the strap down hard once, twice, three times quickly. "Please what? he repeated.

"Please.... don't hurt me," I whispered. My usual bravado and brattiness had completely disappeared. He was someone I didn't know, and yet I did. And I was someone I didn't know, as well.

He leaned down to me once again, his mouth to my ear. "But I want to hurt you," he hissed. I moaned and steeled myself.

Strap, belt, paddle, another strap... it went on and on. He said little, and I buried my face in the comforter, trying to stifle my yelps. I started crying early on, not necessarily from the pain, but from the surges of emotion. But I couldn't wipe my nose or push my hair out of my face. I was helpless, at his mercy.

After a while, he paused and spoke again. "I like hurting you," he drawled, his voice silky. "And you like it too. Don't you!"

God help me, I did. I loved it. I nodded vigorously, even as I cried. And then he finished me off with ten rapid, heavy paddle strokes. I had to count them.

It was over. He untied me, then sat on the bed next to me, gathering me close. Suddenly, he was New Guy again... sweet, gentle and soothing. He smiled into my face, the menacing look gone. I wept and trembled and clung to him. And through it all, I kept mumbling, "Oh God. Oh my God. Wow... Wow... That was... oh my god, that was sooooo @#$%ing hot..." He laughed. Said he was glad I'd liked it, because he sure did too.

I have been tied up before. But I'd never experienced it like this, as part of a roleplay scene, sprung on me so unexpectedly. It was different. It was rougher than I usually play. But I could do it with him. I could go there. I trusted him. I knew I was safe, so I could fully immerse myself in the fantasy.

And don't anyone worry about me. Don't anyone think any of this was too harsh, because I wanted it. Does this look like an abused woman to you?

Didn't think so. :-)  I even recovered enough to sass him. Paid for it, of course.

Thank you, my friend, my evil stranger.

On my mind...

... right this moment? It's 10:35 A.M. I want it to be tonight. NOW.

I want to bypass the stupid workout and the boring folding of laundry and the paying of bills and the checking of work ads and all the other mundane nonsense that will pass the hours of this day, and go directly to the good stuff.

I am not a responsible adult. I am a greedy, wanton, spoiled adult child, wanting her treat.

But no matter how much I kick and fuss, the clock stubbornly ticks the minutes away one at a time, instead of leaping forward in large chunks of hours that bring me to this evening.

Arrgh.

Much better, thank you

As always, the down times pass. I don't quite comprehend my chemistry and what makes me go into my dark cave sometimes, but I can always see the light outside. For many years, I would stay in the abyss feeling like there was no way out. Now, my depressions are short-lived and open-ended. For this, I am grateful.

Kind and supportive friends help a great deal. Oh, and getting Chrossed today didn't hurt either. :-D  Thank you very much, Mr. Chross. And congratulations to all his other choices this week.

Two things today indicate that I am over my funk: 1) I actually wanted to get out of bed this morning; and 2) I am once again craving spanking like nobody's business. Fortunately, New Guy has written to me, informing me that he is much better and I can count on seeing him this coming Monday. It's been three weeks; how spoiled I've become, because I used to go much, MUCH longer than that. But now it feels like forever. I can't wait to see him.

This afternoon, I find myself fixated on kinky photos all over the place, and not just of the spanking variety. In fact, I've been "perving" FetLife photos that have nothing to do with spanking, and this mystifies me. But they definitely have everything to do with dominance.

I have never (at least not consciously) EVER had any sort of abduction fantasies. I suppose the roleplay of being spanked against my will is a roundabout form of abduction, but the whole kidnapping thing, the damsel in distress being threatened by a menacing man? Hasn't entered my mind.

So why, on FetLife, do I keep returning to these photos, again and again? (from Anton Video):

These pictures make my heart pound. Why?

OK, duhhhh. The guy is freaking gorgeous. But besides that.

It's the look on his face, in his eyes. His absolute power. Her helplessness. He will have his way, no matter what, and there isn't a blessed thing she can do about it. Does something in me crave that as well?

Of course, in the videos from whence these pictures came, he doesn't spank her. I would lose interest as soon as he started defiling her however they portray that sort of thing in bondage/abduction/humiliation videos. But say if he broke in, snuck up on her and had his way with her, spanking-wise? "Don't you scream," he'd whisper to her. "It will only hurt for a little while." Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

I guess this all figures into the "consensual non-sensuality" phenomenon. Intellectually, I know I choose everything that happens to me, regarding spanking play. But the pretense that it's out of my hands and into his -- very powerful, and soooo damned exciting.

OK, Erica. Snap out of it. Go work out.

It's only February 4, but John is already singing goofy Valentine songs and wishing me "happy Valentine season." He knows I'm a sucker for all that romantic blather, bless his heart. Stupid commercial holiday that it is, I still love it. Can't wait to see him tonight either. :-)

Happy Stupor... er, Super Bowl weekend, y'all.

Reality crash

It was bound to happen, I guess. What goes up must come down.

I was on quite the high for a while, and understandably so. I had an exciting adventure to look forward to and prepare for, so the anticipation was great fun. Then the experience itself, and you all know how fabulous that was. And finally, all the after-fun of writing and sharing about it, the photos, the feedback, the warm fuzzies.

I don't get out much, folks. I actually lead a very quiet life. So, episodes like this go a long way for me. But when they end, like a little kid after Christmas, I crash. People have referred to "post-party drop" and "sub-drop"; perhaps this is "shoot-drop." (Even writing that makes me shake my head, because it sounds so silly.)

Nothing tragic happened. I'm not in Egypt, nor am I trapped beneath piles of ice and snow. No one died. It's just... life. It went back to normal and it felt sucky.

My financial advisor called me and admonished me that I am spending down my retirement money. Tell me something I don't know! He said I needed to stop taking annual distributions. And live on what? Does he have any clue as to how crappy the freelance market is right now? I am in competition with literally hundreds of other hungry proofreaders, and many of them have additional skills that give them an edge. My job has changed a great deal since I entered the field in 1981. It used to be that you could just be a proofreader, sit at a desk and read copy all day and be damn good at it. Nowadays, the profession is considered devalued because of Spell Check and proofreaders are hired to read plus do a lot of other job functions, and need to be savvy in several computer programs. Go back to school to learn some new things and advance my career? Again, with what money?

So yeah, I'm living on my nest egg for the most part. Me and a gazillion other people, those who even have savings. My health insurance alone is $870 a month. I know I should be thinking of the future, but I need to live now.

Of course, thinking about the future and aging makes me think about my mother, and you all know how @#$%ing depressing that is. I haven't seen her in months, not since this whole thing with John began. I simply don't have the energy to deal with it; it's all been spent worrying about John. Who, incidentally, is back to working long hours again and is tired all the time. And when he's home, sleep is a fleeting commodity, because he has a new neighbor in the house right behind his, and guess what? They have a barking dog, which is left outside a lot of the time. It's so close, it sounds like it's almost in the house with us. I swear, that man cannot catch a break with neighbors.

Then last evening, someone posted an anonymous and horrid comment on an older blog post, where I talked about my upcoming shoot. This person said I had no class, that my "giddy bragging" about all the nice things Paul was doing was "mercenary and money-grubbing in the disguise of gratitude" and that it was disrespectful to Paul, and he/she hoped I enjoyed every moment because it would never happen again.

I'm sure you can imagine the effect that had on me. I was so upset, I copied and forwarded it to Paul himself, asking if I had indeed come off this way and if so, I certainly hadn't intended it. He was so kind... not only did he write me back immediately with reassurance, but he came on and posted a polite but firm rebuttal to the comment. His compliments to me made me cry.

What is wrong with some people? Do they really not know the power of their words? And why do I allow the erstwhile negative comment to disturb me so much, when I get so many positive ones? I suppose that is human nature, but damn, it's tiresome.

I've been watching Six Feet Under on Netflix for the past few months, since I don't get HBO and didn't see it when it aired. What an incredibly brilliant show... but it could be very sad. Last night I watched the finale. Probably not a good idea to watch a show about death when you're depressed. I was bawling practically through the whole thing. OK, enough of that. Time for some comedy.

Sorry to be so relentlessly bleccchhh. I will get over this; I always do. My sense of humor will return. And to end on an up note, I'm posting yet one more picture of the dogs. :-)  Impossible to feel sad, looking at this.