Correspondence Hall of Shame, Post #500 Edition

Yup, this is Post #500! (Well, here on Blogger, anyway. Lots more back in the MySpace blog days, but thank goodness, I finally moved on from there!)

I tried to think of something different and original for this post, but you know what? CHoS is my signature piece. If I kept trying to come up with something I deemed special, it would probably end up sounding forced. So I'm going with an old favorite. Plus, this CHoS has an extra-special entry.

But first...

Hi my dear,

Love your beautiful body. I'm a lusty single guy with an absurdly strong libido & a desire to explore our wildest fantasy's. My work making your body quiver & reach your sexual peak comes from years of experience.. Wanna make it happen?

Thank you so much for the naked photo. I was particularly impressed with how your big soft belly hangs over your absurdly small dick.

Love the pixtures and if I could read I would know what to wright about.....
Please pick me!

It would make the world we live in all-right and all that is good would reappear.

Please understand I have not a clue what to say here....

And I like to LOL around....hence the rambling.

Call me

[name and phone number deleted]

Ps I am much better o. The phone and even betted live and in person. LoL

(groan) Well, at least he's spot on about being clueless. Ah, if only things were that simple, if picking him would make the entire universe all-right...er, all wright...I mean... Oh, forget it.

And now, here's a twist. This landed in my mailbox on Alt last week; a top writing with the express purpose of telling me off.

Wow. Your profile has been up and repulsivd for so long, I must respond. I'm a Dom. I don't need you. I teach and find hour disinterest in my work an insult. You "advertise" relentlessly. I find your consistancy and repetitve requests annoying. Things must just be going great for you since you're still here. I can meet your need and send you off, but damn, you need to expand ylur interests. Respond if interested.

So, I guess you won't be joining the Erica Scott Fan Club anytime soon?

I had questions, of course. My disinterest in his work? I don't know this guy; how would I have disinterest in his work?? So I checked out his profile. As one would expect, he's heavy into D/s and protocol, and claims to specialize in "teaching and training subs and fledglings" and helping them fully realize their desire to serve. Ah, now I get it. In my profile, I stress that I am a bottom, not a sub, and while I love confident and toppy men, I have no interest in masters, daddies, teachers or trainers. The poor dear egomaniac took that personally, it seems.

And after that mini-tirade, he tells me to respond if interested? Right. Because I'm that masochistic; I want to play with someone who thinks I'm repulsive and annoying.

John suggested that I write back to him, being unfailingly polite, which would completely bamboozle him. I agree that could be fun, but it's just not my style. I did absolutely nothing; I didn't respond at all. I figured that would piss him off the most. :-)

HOWEVER...

Here's what I would love to write back to him:

Dear Uber-Dom Fathead,

Yup, I'm still here. I met my current play partner, and my last partner before him, on here. So yes, things really are going great for me, thanks.

I guess things are going equally great for you, since you took the time in your busy training schedule to write to someone you find so repulsive.

Expand my interests? To what, may I ask? Being a human doormat? Nah. My interests are just fine as they are. I figure if they annoy the likes of you, I must be on the right track.

Honey, you couldn't meet my need on your best day. You wouldn't have any idea how to deal with a woman with a brain and a voice. Go back to your fledglings and rule your pathetic little roost, your mindless masses. And really, if you find my profile so offensive, please stop viewing it. I know you have better things to do. :-)

Think I made my point?

I still can't believe I've written 500 posts on here already. To all my friends and readers, thank you. You guys keep me going; without you, I'd just be typing into cyberspace, the 21st-century of talking to myself. Thanks for cheering on my adventures and joys, and for putting up with all my cranky commentary. Here's to the next 500!

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Insert Clever Title Here

It's 12:30 a.m., I'm steeped in euphoria and my mind is mush. Damned if I can think of a blog title. I consider it nothing short of miraculous that I can think of my own name at the moment.

Maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning to write. Oh, wait -- it IS tomorrow morning. Never mind.

OK, so this blog will be somewhat incoherent. I guess I'll have to put myself in my own Correspondence Hall of Shame. (Speaking of which, I have some real winners for the next one.)

Mr. D and I spent nearly two hours catching up before even one swat landed. I wanted to hear all about his Thanksgiving, his visit from his kids, etc. So when we finally settled down to play, I was beyond ready.

I just adore this man's hand. The rest of him isn't too shabby either.

He poked a little fun at me as I squirmed. "You feeling that, baby?"

"Maybe," I grumbled.

WHACK! "Is that still a maybe?"

I shook my head. "Now it's a 'no'; is that better?"

It wasn't, apparently. Well, I figured I had a 50/50 chance.

He's also fond of saying, "Who's in charge here?" To which I'm fond of answering, "I am." That, too, is always the wrong answer, but I keep forgetting.

I can't fool him, though. I might sass and complain and be flippant, but my panties don't lie. "Really, is that all for me?" he teased.

Oh, for @#$%'s sake. What is it with tops asking the same damn questions all the time? "No, it's for Justin Bieber," I snapped.

"Go ahead, say that again," he said as he laid into me. I chose not to.

I have bad news for the panties-down aficionados. We shot pictures of both up and down, honest. But I guess those didn't come out, or he overlooked them, because he didn't send those to me. Sorreeeeee! Next time, I promise.

Tonight was a first of sorts. Besides the leather strap and lexan paddle, Mr. D caned me. It was a first for both us and for him; he'd never used one before. We took a short time-out so I could briefly tell him about caning technique, and then I bowed out and he took over. I've broken most of my rattan canes, so we used Delrin. OUCH. I'd forgotten how much that damn thing hurts; it had been a while. He was good with it, but after a few minutes with that biting sting, I was at the edge. When he picked up the lexan again, that put me over.

He knows when I'm done. He hears the difference in my sounds, how I go from muffled screeches to gasps and whimpers. He sees how my feet stop twisting together and go limp. "All right, honey," he whispers. "Relax."

I immediately curled onto my side.

After he put the camera down, he lay next to me and gathered me up. My hands clutched fistfuls of his shirt as I wept sweet, cleansing tears.

There is that perfect moment, right after I've calmed down, but before reality sets back in. Where I'm wrapped up in strong arms, my bottom is stinging but my mind is quiet. And the sense of peace and bliss is so overwhelming, I'm nearly beside myself. Who needs alcohol? Screw pot. Mr. D is my wonder drug.

Sadly, while my nether regions stayed warm, my feet were freezing. So Mr. D put my socks back on. Let it not be said that I can't be photographed looking like a nerd. :-)

Jeeez, faded already!

Good night, kids. If I stay up one more minute, my head is going to crash down on the keyboard and m,ikkkku7hy6uy7hj~

Love Me or Lieb Me

The lovely SpankCake nominated me for the Liebster Award that's been making the blogosphere rounds. Her post title was a pun (A Lieb of Faith). She also nominated Secret Spanko, who posted with his own punny title (Can't Lieb Her Hangin'). I couldn't be outdone, pun-wise, could I? Of course not.

Anyway, I do believe SC was right when she said pretty much everyone has been included already, so, even though I'm supposed to nominate 11 other bloggers, I'm going to pass on that. However, I'm more than happy to answer SC's 11 questions.

1. What inspired your first step into the spanking world?
Reading about Shadow Lane in the back of Cosmopolitan magazine.

2. What scene defines your ultimate fantasy?
Because I love the damsel-in-distress fantasy as well as spanking, it would have to be the handsome, sinister stranger showing up, putting me in restraints and having his spanking way with me.

3. Do you enjoy spanking/being spanked anywhere other than a/your bottom?
Well, since you asked -- IMNSHO, spanking is spanking when it's on the bottom (or uppermost upper thighs), and anywhere else, it's hitting. I love (almost) full-body deerskin flogging, but strike my feet, hands, boobies or private bits and I can't be held responsible for my reflexive reaction.

4. How do you feel about tears and spanking?
When I'm with someone I trust and I can fully let go and cry tears of emotional catharsis, it is nirvana.

5. Does anything intimidate you? Spanking related or not?
Actually, many things intimidate me. But to name one -- cops. I don't find cops sexy. Too many of them are corrupt (I do live in Los Angeles; I'm sure you've heard the stories of the LAPD). Plus, there's just something a wee bit scary about a man who has the legal right to blow my head off with a gun.

EDIT: To the good cops out there, please don't take offense. Bad experiences, and ugly stories in the local news, are behind my feelings, not the police in general. :-)

6. What gets your blood flowing? Spanking related or not?
Spanking related: The look and sound of a man's belt being removed. A raised eyebrow and beckoning finger. Watching sleeves being rolled up. Non-spanking related: Passionate kissing. A man's mouth anywhere on my neck. A deep, sexy, desire-roughened voice.

7. Name three things off your bucket list.
Like SS, I was confused as to whether this meant three things on the list, or three things I took off the list due to accomplishing them. I'll go the opposite way he did and assume it's three things still on.

a. Meeting and playing with this guy:

b. Writing another book.

c. Winning the lottery.

8. What is your favorite film? Favorite book?
Can't name just one of either, so I'll go with a few. Movies: A Hard Day's Night, Singin' in the Rain, Sound of Music, Shawshank Redemption, Edward Scissorhands, A Night at the Opera. Books: The Lovely Bones, Gone With the Wind, To Kill a Mockingbird, My Sister's Keeper. Special mention to my favorite childhood book: The Phantom Tollbooth.

9. What will be written on your epitaph?
Couldn't sing, couldn't dance, didn't cook. Had a nice ass.

10. Marcia, Jan and Cindy... which one do you fuck, marry and kill?
ROFL!! Are you kidding me?!?
OK, let me put it this way. Even if I did decide to join the other team, it wouldn't be for one of these twits. So, regarding the prom queen, the whiner and the annoying little twitlet, I say death to 'em all.

11. What would be your Groundhog's Day... a day to be lived over and over again?
Such a great question, and so many choices. The first two that jump to mind: 1. the night I first met John, which changed my life, and 2. the first time he took me out for my birthday, which was possibly the most romantic date of my life.

Thanks, SpankCake! :-D

By the way, I'm still at post #498. I deleted one post from October that was pretty dull and had very few comments. That way, my play with Mr. D tomorrow can be #499, and I can still save #500 for something unique. The floor is still open for suggestions!

Weekend recap

So how was your holiday weekend? (Or, for those not in the U.S., your weekend, period?) Who ate their brains out? (I didn't.) Who braved Black Friday? (I didn't. But if they ever have a Black-and-Blue Friday, I'm in.) Who saw a movie? (I did!)

I capped off my perfect Thursday by watching "The Artist." We never got around to seeing it in the theater. Now I know why it won Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor last year. Holy moly, what a movie. If you by some chance still haven't seen it, by any means, do. It's fabulous.

Friday mid-afternoon, I headed for John's and we hung out that night, went out for sushi.

Yesterday, we went to a matinee of "Lincoln." I was shocked when we walked into the theater -- it was completely packed! I figured it would be crowded, but not overly so. We couldn't even sit together -- there was nothing but single seats left. Oh well. It was a well-done movie, brilliantly acted, but I confess, I'm not a history buff and I didn't know who was whom and what was going on half the time. OK, I know who Abraham Lincoln was (duh), that he abolished slavery and he was assassinated. Other than that, I think I slept through my history classes in school. John, however, knew everything about it and said everything was remarkably accurate. He knew all the little inside stories and was able to explain it all to me when we went to dinner after the movie. It's an excellent film, but if you're expecting a lot of action, a lot of Civil War footage, etc., you won't get that. Although there was one scene of a gigantic pit filled with severed limbs that made me turn my head.

I was sad to hear that Larry Hagman had died; another childhood icon gone. He was best known for playing J.R. Ewing on "Dallas," but I'll always remember him most fondly as Major Nelson on "I Dream of Jeannie." (And no, he never did spank Jeannie, even though she gave him fits on a regular basis. But he did threaten her once.)

"Dallas" was one hell of a show, though, even though I got tired of it and stopped watching after a few years. The "Who Shot J.R.?" episode is the second-most watched TV episode in all of television history. (Who knows what #1 is?)

Today we went to brunch as usual. Since I'd passed on Thanksgiving dinner, I felt absolutely no compunction about stuffing my face with pancakes. :-)

It's that time of year again! (no, not all that Xmas s***. Way more important!) It's time for Spanking Spot's annual spanko awards. He's been collecting nominations for the past couple of weeks, and now the voting has begun. First up is the category "Best Facial Expression During a Spanking," and all the other categories will be put up, one by one, over the coming days.

This year, he's doing something a little different. Before, there was only one "Best Spanking Blogger" category, and of course, Chross easily won every year, his votes far and above all the others. This time, there are two categories: "Best Spanking Blog -- News" and "Best Spanking Blog -- Creative." Chross will win in News (deservedly so!), but now we can have a competition among the rest of us in Creative.

I was nominated last year, but don't know if I made the cut this year. Guess I'll find out soon enough, huh?

And speaking of my blog -- this post is #498. What shall I write about for #500?

Back to the gym tomorrow. Sadly, no Mr. D, but I will see him on Tuesday instead. Can't wait! I need my fix!

My thanks

I wasn't planning on blogging today. But then I logged on, started reading all the Thanksgiving posts from friends and bloggers, and felt my own gratitude bubbling up. I'm usually so full of cynicism and snark, but now and then, it feels good to share my softer side.

Sitting here in comfy sweats and warm socks, classical music in the background, drinking coffee, and so, SO very grateful I don't have to do a blessed social thing today. My introversion is in high gear, and solitude feels right. It's so quiet here and I love it. I don't have to put on makeup, blow out my hair, dress up. There will be other times in the future when I choose to go the social route. Today, I am deliriously happy on my own.

I'm so grateful for my friends -- fellow bloggers, friends on FetLife and Twitter (and yes, even Facebook), party pals, tops, bottoms, switches -- all of you! You feed my soul in ways you can't imagine. You have given me a place where I belong, validation, acceptance and love. Thank you.

I'm so grateful for this wonderful, loving, giving, smart, complicated, goofy, maddening and adorable man:

And yes, even after 16+ years, I still can't take my eyes off of him. :-) Love you, sweetheart, so very much.

Last but definitely not least, I am grateful for Mr. D. He hasn't been in my life very long, but his entrance couldn't have been more timely, helping me to heal from the loss of ST. But a replacement he is not; he's his own man, a special top and friend to me in his own right, and I feel very lucky to know him.

I love this picture, and I wish I could show his handsome face, but I must respect his wishes. So, because I love having my neck sucked on, I chose this mask for him. :-D

All rightie then -- the laundry isn't going to do itself, and the pile of papers on my table isn't going to proof itself. I'm off.

Love to you all and hope you're having a happy holiday. Or, if you're not in the U.S., happy Thursday.

It's Thanksgiving Eve, so...

... I guess it's about that time of year to trot out this little guy, huh?

Ah, the holidays, where family dysfunction blooms like the everpresent poinsettias. John's siblings, being no exception, have all bailed on their mother for Thanksgiving, and John, being the Good Son, is the only one who cared about whether or not she had a place to be. So he called her facility and found out they are having a TG dinner, but residents had to have their place reserved. He did so, and made a reservation for himself as well so he could join her.

He asked me, perfunctorily, if I'd like to go with him, even though he knew the answer. Just to illustrate how much I don't want to be there, here's a partial list of things I'd rather do:

1. Chew on tin foil for a couple of hours.

2. Eat my way through a room full of cottage cheese.

3. Smear myself with honey and poke a beehive.

4. Watch a Three Stooges marathon.

5. Get figged.

I think y'all get my point.

I just can't do it anymore. A couple of weeks ago, I went with John to visit his mom. From the moment we walked in to the moment we left, she complained, and then begged us not to leave. I managed to hold on until we were out of there, and then I had a meltdown of epic proportions, crying so hysterically that I shook from head to foot. I told John I couldn't deal with this with my own mother, and I can't deal with it with his.

He finally got the message. Last weekend, he went to visit her without me.

Anyway, Thanksgiving. I do have a lovely invitation from Mr. D. He is having a big gathering at his house, 18 people, all family (mother, siblings and their kids, cousins, his own two teenagers, etc.). He said I was welcome to drop by anytime if I'd like to.

That's very sweet of him and I appreciate it. But I told him no, thank you. How is he going to explain my presence? "This is my... um... friend." How do we answer the inevitable barrage of "How do you two know one another?" And let's not forget how I don't do too well in throngs of people I don't know. I suck at small talk. I'd probably do the typical Erica thing, go within and just sit and smile. And eat way too much to keep occupied. All the while, I'd be wishing Mr. D and I could abandon the whole crowd, go off by ourselves and play.

Teenagers are quite worldly these days. His kids will take one look at me and as soon as I leave, it'll be a chorus of "OK, Dad, so who is she, hmmm?" They'll probably think I'm some sort of FWB. If only they knew!

It's nice to have choices, though. So tomorrow, when I spend the day quietly by myself, it's because I choose to. I have some work to do. I have The Artist on Netflix and To Kill a Mockingbird recorded from TCM. I will avoid the traffic, the pre-Black Friday idiots making their pilgrimages to Walmart. It will be peaceful and quiet here, and I can reflect on things I'm thankful for. And when I wake up Friday, it won't be with a food hangover.

So, all cynicism aside -- to my American friends, have a wonderful Thanksgiving, whatever you do. I hope you will be exactly where you want to be, doing what your heart desires. And if you're not... hold on tight, breathe deep and think about an intense, soul-melting spanking. You'll smile, and your grumpy relatives will wonder what that's all about.

No rants tonight :-)

It's late. I'm so sleepy. But I must blog before I crawl into bed. My night won't be complete without it.

I had a lovely, peaceful, rainy weekend with John, with lot of cloudy-weather snuggling and relaxing. And today, I was so looking forward to seeing Mr. D. Not because I needed stress release -- not this time. Simply because I wanted to see him. Because I wanted those wonderful hands on me.

Of course, he'd read Friday's rant, including what I'd said about the critiques regarding his techniques, the panties staying up, etc. This guy doesn't seem to be fazed by anything; he just laughed. I'm glad this nonsense doesn't bug him -- one of us getting freaked out is enough! "Is there a rulebook I don't know about?" he asked. "Who said the panties always need to be down?" I shrugged. "It's not a rule; it's just sorta traditional, I guess."

"OK then, tonight, they're coming down," he said. "We have to keep the masses happy, after all."

Then he snickered. "I ought to take a Sharpie and write something on your butt when we're done." I sat upright, giggling my head off. "Do it! Go for it!"

"Really??" "Yes!"

"All right, then. Come here, you."

I have grown very fond of the phrase "Come here, you." :-)

Warmup was long and thorough and lovely. I didn't feel like being a smartass tonight; I just melted into it from the get-go. I was already zoned out when we moved to the bedroom (and to the implements). Tonight's selection was his riding crop, my Cane-iac strap and lexan paddle.

Everything is a blur, as I try to recall the special moments. I guess I just loved it all, even at the end when I was struggling.

Oh, I do remember one moment: I kicked him in the head.

It was an accident! He was leaning over me on the bed, and my errant left foot, the one that always kicks the hardest, shot up and I felt my heel clunk his head. Aagggh! Good thing I was barefoot, or I would have concussed him!

He took it in stride, though. Didn't miss a beat. Not a single one of many, many beats. Until I was whimpering "please." Then he stopped, and sat by my head, stroking my hair and neck. I crawled closer and put my head on his thigh.

I wasn't crying, and didn't think I was going to this time. But then he started saying the words I never tire of hearing, the ones that reach right inside and tug on my heart. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you; you're safe, I'll take care of you." Then my tears flowed and dampened the leg of his jeans. I so need that reassurance. I wish I didn't, but I do.

I told him I feel, before I see him, like I'm all sharp corners and brittle exterior, shot through with tension. Then he breaks me... breaks me down, breaks apart all the hardness. And then his aftercare puts me back together again. Softer, more pliant, calmer, blissful.

It's a good kind of breaking. Exquisitely painful and pleasurable breaking.

Oh! Almost forgot about the Sharpie.



Well, are you? :-D

I know I am.

It's now 1:40. I'm practically comatose. But, like an excited child, I don't want to go to sleep. I don't want the evening to end.

I can practically feel the warm hand smoothing back my hair, and the calm voice whispering, "Sleep, honey. There will be so many more wonderful evenings."

And so I will listen. Good night...

RANT: OK, I have @#$%ing had it

Look out, blogosphere. Erica is pissed off.

Earlier this week, Alex wrote a brilliant post about obnoxious comments (click to read). Yes, it's a topic that comes up again and again, but you know what? Sometimes, we get fed up. Sometimes, the cluelessness, cruelty and stupidity of random strangers gets to us. One of her commenters said that she needed to develop a thicker skin. That's not the issue. It's not about hurt feelings, although they certainly do get hurt. It's about anger. It's about utter bewilderment that people seem to think we need to hear/read this crap. That they don't stop to consider there's a real person, not a video character, reading these critiques and insults.

On FetLife, a young woman posted a photo from a spanking party, of herself and another woman kissing. It's a closeup of their faces, an exquisite and tasteful shot, with perfect lighting and angles. Hell, I'm not into F/F in any way, and even I thought it was stunning. It got a stream of compliments and loves. Then some asshat stepped in and said to the poster:

You could find/get a hotter girl. Just saying.

What. The. FUCK.

Of course, this elicited a string of angry rebuttals, including from yours truly. I looked at his profile and saw that he had a slew of cock shots. So I commented:

(looking at [his name's] dick pics) Yep, we could find/get a bigger guy.

Mean? Oh yeah, you bet. And I don't care. Random unkindness like this unleashes my inner bitch like nothing else.

Did he have any clue about how he just ruined a woman's day, peed on her ego? Or did he know, and simply not care?

Yeah, I know. I'm not going to change the world. Freedom of speech still exists in this country and people are going to say/write stupid crap, no matter how much I rant or anyone else rants. Most of the time, I can focus on the overwhelming majority of kind, complimentary and beautiful messages/comments I receive. But sometimes, I just have to get the anger off my chest.

And while I'm on a roll: You know what? It's my damn blog and my damn pictures, and my choice about with whom I play. I'm sick to death of unsolicited critiques from people who don't know me OR my tops. First I got noise about ST's caning techniques -- that the only reason he kept breaking them was because he was doing it wrong and he needed to practice more on pillows. Or that he shouldn't have filmed the punishment spanking he did last year, because that was too personal. Now I'm getting noise about Mr. D and how he's not measured/caring enough and how badly he's marking me. Or how he leaves my panties up instead of taking them down. Good Christ -- can anyone do anything right, with some of you? Are YOU playing regularly? Do YOU know how to use every implement with perfect aplomb? Do YOU leave your bottoms in absolute euphoria each time?

EDIT: Please note -- the above paragraph is not intended for any of my regular commenters. Don't want my friends reading this and thinking, "Is she talking about me?"

If I want your opinions and critiques, I will request them. If you don't like what you see, go look at something/someone else. God knows there's plenty of material out there for your viewing/wanking pleasure. Knock yourself out, and please, please, for me, for my fellow spankettes who post pictures, videos and blogs: Think twice before you hit Send. And if you're incapable of thinking, then just STFU.

(deep breath) OK. I feel better now. Sorry, guys. Happy Friday, happy Chross Day. Go be nice to each other. And have a great weekend, y'all.

Lassitude

noun

1. weariness of body or mind; lack of energy, listlessness.

2. a condition of indolent indifference.

3. the state of Erica the day after an intense spanking session.

I'm not telling you anything new here. For about 24 hours after I have a typical session, one where I run the gamut of emotions and end up drained and blissful, I am practically useless. Sleepy, addle-brained, limbs heavy, wanting quiet and solitude. This is why Monday sessions work so well for me; on Tuesday, I know to plan little. I do my work if I have any (although it taxes my mushy mind), maybe run a few errands or do some simple chores around my place, but little else. So I can bask in the heightened state of relaxation and let my body and mind return to normal at their pace.

But sometimes, we have to switch the sessions to Tuesday, like this week. And then the next day is Wednesday: a gym day. With one of my favorite classes to boot.

Ugh.

Yesterday, I scraped myself out of bed, went through all the proper motions (dressed, brushed my teeth, had breakfast and coffee), all the while wanting to crawl back into the warmth and darkness of my bedroom and keep the outside world at bay a bit longer. No, it's not like depression -- just the opposite. It's a bubble of dreaminess I know will break and dissipate soon enough, and I wish to stay within it a while longer. But alas, I am above all a responsible adult.

So I fire up the computer and, after checking email and blog comments and FetLife posts and so forth (priorities, you know?), I get to work. But everything confuses me. One file in particular is riddled with so many technical issues, I give up and email a list of questions to the client, and move on to something else. My mind drifts; I read the same paragraph over and over. Focus, Erica.

Before I know it, it's 3:00. I need to leave for the gym at 4:15. And all I want to do is drop my head onto the keyboard and go to sleep. So the bargaining begins. Come on, Erica. Wake up. You can do this. You know you have to get going. Find that energy.

Perhaps an extra jolt of caffeine will help. So I brew a large mug of strong coffee and down it quickly, only to remember after the fact that extra caffeine doesn't usually perk me up, it just makes me feel nauseated, and now I'm sleepy and queasy. Swell. Fake it till you make it, Erica. Go suit up.

I put the workout clothes on, eat an orange, splash some water on my face, put a bit of concealer on the dark shadows under my eyes. Out the door I go. Come on, energy. You can kick in any time. But it doesn't.

Arrive at the gym. Hey, most of the battle is getting there, right? I can do this now! Yeah, right. Drag myself into the locker room, sit down to change my shoes. Uh oh. I put my socked foot on the floor and discover it's wet from mopping. Oh no. I can't work out with a wet sock, can I? Perhaps I should just go home.

Nice try, Erica. Put your damn shoe on and get moving.

On the night of a spanking, my skin stings and burns for hours afterward. But by the next day, the surface pain has given way to a deeper one, settled within the gluteal muscles; a feeling like someone has pummelled my backside with boxing gloves. On Tuesdays, I have an awareness of this pain, but it doesn't really invade my consciousness.

But Wednesday, on the elliptical trainer, it comes screeching to the forefront. Every single revolution (all 5,216 of them) on that damn thing over the course of 35 minutes delivers a sharp shock through that area. My mind explodes with curses as my body struggles to get into a rhythm, into a workout zone, get those pain-masking endorphins going.

At long last, the torture is over. Sweaty, I step off the elliptical, drink some water, test my shaky legs. Part 1 is done. Now for Part 2: A one-hour muscle conditioning class. Including... guess what? Lots and lots of squats and lunges.

@#$%&*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Most of the time, by now, my energy and endorphins have fully kicked in and I zip through the class, enjoying the feeling of my muscles working and knowing it's nearly over and I can go home and enjoy Modern Family and Suburgatory. But last night, the languor never left. It was like the blissful, boneless state didn't want to relinquish its dominance before its time.

And then there was that damned muscular soreness again. We do a lot of squats in these classes, folks. This instructor doesn't put up with half-assed squats, either. "Get down low! Sit your butt back!" She even walks around the class, checking form, and gently chides those of us who aren't going deep enough. I normally love this woman and the way she teaches. Last night, I wanted to kick her perky ass.

But finally, after about five dozen glances at the clock that doesn't seem to move, the class is over. The workout is over. I did it, Yay, me. Still, if my workouts were this much of a struggle every time, I don't know how I could do them. Then again, I suppose my everpresent vanity would get me through somehow.

Yes, I know. I'm a woman of schedules and rituals. But they work. Throw them off and my world goes askew. Who knew that postponing a spanking for a mere day could cause such cataclysm?

I also know all of the above is what's known as "first-world problems" and this was very much tongue-in-cheek. :-)

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.

Various thanks

In no particular order:

1. Thanks to everyone who participated in Bonnie's Love Our Lurker Day #7, and especially to those who came by here and said hello. I appreciate you all, both familiar commenters and my new ones. Without readers and commenters, we all might as well be keeping an old-fashioned paper journal that we stick in a drawer after writing.

2. I'd like to extend a heartfelt thanks to Jillian Keenan. Her name may not ring a bell, but if you've been online at all since Friday, you've no doubt read (or heard about) her brilliant article in the New York Times online about "coming out" as a spanko to a loved one, effectively outing herself to all her readers. She is on Twitter (@jilliankeenan), and on Friday, several of us (including me) tweeted to her to say thank you for her pitch-perfect representation of who we are. She retweeted us all, and wrote a response to each individual. Class act! When I first looked her up on Friday, I noticed she had 70 followers. As of tonight, she's up to 185. I hope she gets many more!

If by some chance you haven't read it yet, please check it out here. In my not-so-humble opinion, Ms. Keenan has done more to represent our community in a single article than you-know-who did with that ridiculous trilogy. The article also appeared in the paper version of the NY Times today.

3. Finally, to all our military veterans, thank you for your service to us and to our country. We honor you today.

No blog tomorrow evening, as Mr. D is coming by on Tuesday instead. So please look for my weekly session blog on Tuesday night. :-)

Hope everyone had a nice weekend.

Time for Love Our Lurkers #7!

(Sorry for any confusion -- I put this up this morning, then realized I had the wrong day and took it down! If you tried to comment earlier, please try again.)

Welcome to LOL7! (Not to be confused with "L7," which is a very old term for someone considered "square." Geeez, I'm dating myself here.) Started in 2006 by our brilliant blogster Bonnie, Love Our Lurkers Day sends a special greeting to the shy readers, the ones who follow our blatherings faithfully but prefer not to comment.

We appreciate you! You keep our stats up and give us incentive to keep writing, because we know you're out there reading, and hopefully enjoying what you read. On this day we invite you to take a deep breath, click on Post Comment and introduce yourselves.

Like I've said in previous LOLs, it doesn't have to be an epic posting. It can be a simple hello, or whatever your comfort level dictates. You can give your name or remain anonymous. But I'd love to know who some of you are.

Of course, all non-lurkers are welcome to comment too. :-)

Let's make this the best LOL Day yet -- all my fellow bloggers, please join in! See how many lurkers you can get to come out of the shadows.

Blowing my readers a kiss!

I have only one thing to say today...

...and it's this:

If you enjoy F/F and F/M spanking content, delivered by a gorgeous, sassy and funny but formidable top, then please check out my pal Dana Kane's website, right here.

That's all. (What did you think I was going to say?) ;-)

The Electoral College Spanking

Yes, it's the night before the @#$%ing election. And I'm so sick of it all, I could explode into a million tiny pieces. Mr. D picked up on my tension this afternoon and couldn't resist razzing me about it.

In his effort to be bipartisan, he suggested I get a spanking of 269 swats -- per cheek! "How the hell do you arrive at that number?" I blurted.

"Simple," he explained. "A candidate needs 270 points in the electoral college to win. We'll make it a tie -- they'll each get 269 points." Oh, whatever. And of course, I had to count all of them.

The first 250 with his hand were quite manageable. I even threw in some half-numbers when his smacks were lighter. "Wow, you can count high! You're so smart!" he teased. To which I answered with two words. And they weren't "Hello Kitty."

"You know I'm doing this because I care about you, don't you?"

"Right," I sneered. "Tell me another tired cliché, like 'this is for your own good.'"

"No," he said. "That wasn't. But this is." And he gave me such a hard smack, I think stars shot out of my right sweet spot.

However, once we moved venues and he started up with implements, it became a lot more challenging. Especially when he started giving me super-fast flurries and I could barely keep up the count. At one point, around number 365, he did them so fast, my tongue tripped all over itself and I lost the count. "Oh, dear," he said. "Do we need to start all over?"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" I moaned. He took pity on me and decided to impose a small penalty instead: we dropped back to 340, so I got an extra 25.

"No, please, no extras!"

Yeah, that swayed him. Not. "I love election day!" he announced cheerfully. Oh, nuts to you.

By the time we got past 500, my voice was barely a whisper. I was willing myself to get through. He was mixing it up with his hand, two paddles and a crop and I never knew what was going to hit next. It was really hard to keep the count at the end, but I did it. (All that practice at Spanking Court paid off!)

No tears this time, but I was spaced out. It was a long time before I could do anything besides moan and mewl and mumble. Just exactly as it should be. Blessed subspace. The world simply stops and goes away for a while.

We decided to go to Jerry's Deli again, which was a lot of fun. I had mushroom barley soup this time (soooo good!) and he had a cheeseburger. We told each other old work horror stories and stuffed ourselves.

Back home, he gave me an evil look and said, "Round Two?" Of course. You know me. I'm greedy. I'm insatiable.

However, I do believe I was sated tonight. Can you tell by the look on my face?

You can't? OK, how about a closeup?



Yeah. Stick a fork in me; I'm done. :-)

I think I can get through tomorrow now. In fact, I do believe I'm going to unplug in the afternoon. Shut down the computer, and watch nothing but DVDs, MeTV or AntennaTV for the rest of the night. I've already voted, I've done my part, it's out of my hands. So you know what all the politicos and the pundits and pollsters and everyone else need to do?



That's right. Here's to Wednesday morning, when all this BS is over. And here's to a wonderful top who is helping to stay sane through it. Thank you, Mr. D. Sweet dreams. :-)

Strange days indeed

I feel like blogging today. But I'm at a loss.

There is nothing wrong here. It's a peacefully sunny day, I've had work to do this week, I have the weekend with my sweetheart and Monday with my top to look forward to. I got Chrossed today, which always pleases me. I want to post something fun and spanky.

But I can't. Everything feels kind of frivolous and unimportant, in the face of what people are enduring on the East coast.

I'm not one who dwells on the news and watches every waking moment. I can't; it's too much. But I did watch a special on Sandy's aftermath last night. I saw the wreckage, the flooding, the darkness. I watched as people wept hysterically, walking among the pilings that were once their homes. I know the human spirit is resilient, but I honestly do not know how anyone comes back from that level of complete devastation.

I wonder about friends in the area. I wonder who among the people I know from parties and social media and so forth is suffering right now. One of my clients is in Hackensack, NJ. I'm currently working on something for them and have questions, but I cannot contact them. The phone lines are unresponsive, and my emails to them bounce back to me.

It's kind of surreal, being in a state of peace and yet knowing there is chaos happening. I feel guilty, and yet not. We've gone through our own insanity with earthquakes. We face The Big One, as they keep telling us. But for now, things are calm. I am grateful for that.

Does anyone else feel weird? Like "why them, and not me?" Confused at the random patterns of life, of suffering, of joy? Perhaps if I believed in a deity, but ironically, I bear the cross of an atheist -- I have no personal answers.

Anyway, don't mean to get all heavy on you. I did enough of that last Friday. I'm not depressed, just feeling a bit strange, and wondering what others are feeling.

Go have some fun, those of you who can. Enjoy your weekend and your loved ones. And don't forget to turn your clocks back. Yay, my favorite time of year -- early darkness!