A Quick note

For this past week, things have been going so wrong, that I am convinced that there is a sign posted on my forehead: "Trouble is welcome here – no need to apply". I have not read any of my favourite blogs, nor can I seem to find the time to write a post of my own. I have received a couple of emails asking me whether I am okay which I deeply appreciate. Uncle Nick refers to me as being out of sorts...eh, that is putting it mildly. Therefore, this is just a quick post to say that I hope that by this weekend I will be able to catch up with some reading, leave some comments and find some things to write about...


You were saying?

Wonder if it is only me...but it does rather seems that the above "gentlemen" like the spanking thing...


I do not want to do this

I do not want to write this, because I know that it is going to make me cry, and I do not want to cry. I want to put on my happy face and pretend that nothing is wrong. I do not want to think of how afraid I was this weekend, but now that the anger is gone, all I can remember is how lonely and scared I felt. I am trying so hard not to despair, but with every reality check of what has become of my country once with so much hope, another piece of my soul is dying.

I do not want to remember that when I walked to my hotel room that night, that I was pinching myself not to cry - I did not want anyone to see. I was hungry and tired, all the restaurant kitchens were closed already, and after what had just transpired, I could not face pleading and explaining to a stranger why I want food so late at night, with tears on my face.

I do not want to think about my longing in the midst of all the chaos and the hostility directed at me for doing what I am being paid for, how all I wanted to do was hear his voice, the calmness in it, to tell me that I will be okay. I do not want to remember how sore my feet was and how I stood on the cold tiles, feeling the relief as the coldness eased the physical pain, but at the same time how my heart was breaking because I heard his laughter at the South African girl that does not like shoes.

I do not want to remember the absolute despair and loneliness that settled over me when I was in my warm and humid hotel room, and that after a day and night of longing and missing him, when I finally did manage to speak to him, I was miserable and moody. I do not want to think about his text message warning me that I sooner or later I am going to get hurt in what I do for a living, because then I have to think about my fear. I do not want to remember that when the rain started, how I stepped out onto the balcony, and cried as the raindrops hit my face, trying to rid myself of the sadness.

I will then have to think about how I faced the aggression and taunts, loosely wondering if they might have some sort of weapon concealed on their bodies. I will have to remember that I deliberately closed the space between us, with my heart beating so fast and hard, and how I thought that I am going to get my bottom smacked for this - I am putting myself in direct danger once again.

I will then have to think about how badly I do want to be able to go home to him, telling him of my fears, and my actions that I know he hates. I will have to think about him pulling me over his lap, his voice deep whilst lecturing me about the consequences of not obeying. I will have to think that even though I might not be able to sit down for a while, and with a bottom sore and red, how safe, loved and wanted I will then be. I will have to think about my deep desire that I would love nothing more than only just that.

But I do not want to think about it, because it is making me cry, for all I want on this Tuesday morning, is his strong arms around me, holding me and telling me that I will be okay.


Visit to the Beach

We have decided to spend a day at the beach during my next visit to the UK in August.
What Uncle Nick will most likely be looking at...


Trip Advisory

I left Johannesburg behind on Thursday afternoon for a business trip to Natal. It was rather an uncomfortable trip I might add, not only did I have to cope with driving two hours of the total six in darkness, rain and thick fog, but had to deal with a bottom that was not feeling too well. (Thanks HH!)

Now he can can smack my bottom any day!

I had to add another little advisory to my travelling notes though, once we all arrived safe at the hotel. "Warning: Blood rushing back to rear end after being sufficiently numbed by hours of only being in a sitting position, can be rather painful - be prepared. It is NOT advisable to grab bottom in front of three bemused looking co-passengers, while muttering beneath your breath about damn canes!"

Part of Durban beach

Today was the return trip back to Johannesburg, and I am happy to report that my bottom seemed to have coped slightly better. I am least now able to sit down without an instinctive urge to be jumping up again, but then I did have an ocean to my disposal. It is quite true what they say about salt's healing properties

Not me, but the same principle applied



So what do you get when two very dominant males are together in one room, discussing the inner and outer workings of the spanking world? A very quiet, meek and mild Raven Red. Let no one say that my self-preservation skills are not finely honed! Okay, but to be honest, my curiosity is my downfall, and before long, I did forget about making sure that an escape route is open at all times, and became totally engrossed in the conversation going on between the two men.

However, it must be noted, that any interjection from my side was done very carefully and VERY respectfully. In the room was Uncle Nick and GH, and between the two of them they had eh...quite a bit of years experience of this spanking world that I was still so new to. They were discussing the Moonglow Magazine, with GH being the publisher and Uncle Nick the editor. Somewhere along the line, I forgot my resolution to ensure that my bottom remained firmly seated (and out of reach - you never know with Uncle Nick!) and soon I was engrossed on what I was seeing on the computer.

The two men obviously very patient with me eventually passed me a disk to "have a look at and give us your opinion". The hint was quite obvious - my curiosity, and the ooh and ah sounds leaving my mouth every minute or so was most probably getting to both of them, but for once no threats were directed at a certain part of my anatomy, and I quite happily settled back to enjoy the spanking magazine that was put together. Okay, I nearly did land up in trouble, because we were supposed to be getting ready to go out for supper, and once my nose is stuck into something to read and look at, I do tend to forget about the world around me. However, it is with quite a bit of relief that I can state, the hottest part of my anatomy that night was my mouth - it was truly the best curry ever!

I must have done the batting of the eyelids and “if I do not have this, I am going to die" look perfectly, because I could keep the disk to enjoy the magazine to my heart's content. Which I did, and still do. Not only was there written content covering topics such as female spanking bloggers, some spanking memories, the story of a spanking model and spanking scandals that made newspaper headlines, it had so many spanking clips contained within it, I did not quite know what to read or look at first.

They have now decided to make the Moonglow Magazine available online, for a once of payment, allowing unlimited access for up to a period of three months. So, for anyone as curious as me, and wanting some good erm...reading material, click here.


Basic Spanking rules: Chairs

Chairs should not be used for storage space,

Nor should any girl be made to wait on a hard chair.

Whilst she is on a chair, the use of a tawse should not be allowed,

And there should definitely be no caning of any kind.

For if these these little rules are not followed by all

A bottom surely will suffer...

Like mine did, last night.


Scheduling a Spanking

Although I have quite a bit of reports to write at work, I had envisaged a mild week with no upheavals or emergencies. This suited me just fine as I knew that the moment yesterday's post was out on the blog, I was inadvertently making an appointment with HH. I wanted it to be in a calm week with no added stresses, I wanted no problems or issues that could send my temper or my defences spiking heavenwards. As far as I am concerned, I am in quite a bit of hot water already, and there is no need to be adding to my troubles, which I created in the first place anyway.

However, before I had a sip of my first cup of morning coffee, my cell phone literally vibrated itself right off my bedside table. I again forgot that I am directly related to Mr Murphy, and for my absolute insolence in believing that I am entitled to a peaceful week, every day of this coming week, up and until Sunday, became fully booked – all urgent work related queries. In the interim time, as was expected, a certain blog was read this morning, and once I showed online, my Yahoo messenger was running its little yellow feet off delivering messages between HH and myself.

First, the spanking appointment was set for late this afternoon, which resulted in a stomach feeling as if thousands of frantic butterflies were desperately trying to escape. Not a mere ten minutes later, I had to cancel as I an urgent work related work issue came up, and the appointment was moved to tomorrow afternoon. The butterflies settled down, but those little wings kept on moving the whole day, which every so often sent a shiver down my back resulting that my bottom would clench itself in pre-emptive self-pity. Trying to find all the relevant people I would need for this work exercise, after just having had a long weekend due to a Public Holiday, turned out to be hopeless and said issue was moved to tomorrow.

Instant re-organising of everything had to happen again. Back again on Yahoo messenger, with the little yellow man staring at me balefully as if I had lost my head, but the appointment was moved back to this afternoon. I got into the car, with all butterflies trying to bite their way through my stomach wall, and I was on my way. An half an hour later, I made the call, there was going to be no way that I would be able to reach him on the scheduled time as the traffic was an absolute mess. I am out of town from Thursday until next Monday, so eventually we settled on a final meeting for tomorrow afternoon.

I will be working until late tomorrow night; however, I agreed that I would leave work for the appointment and then return to work afterwards. The butterflies are NOT happy. I have no idea what implement/s would be meeting my bottom tomorrow afternoon, nor does HH want to offer any information, and regarding my blog, the only thing I got out of him, was a “I am reserving my judgement”. What the...?

For those who might be wondering, I know that I rather do seem flippant about this whole thing, however, trust me, I am currently in full-on panic mode. I will be arriving there tomorrow afternoon, and will get that look that says nothing, but says everything. In addition, I am going to be nervous, what AM I saying?, I am that already, and will most likely have verbal diarrhoea, eventually stuttering into an embarrassing silence, where after, well, practical applications regarding the discussion about the various shades of red will be performed.

I will return back to work, and will be refusing to sit down to the bemusement of all...but worst of all, the following day I will be driving for about 6 hours, with three passengers with most likely a then very tender and sore bottom. If only I could turn back the clock to a month ago...


I do not want to be caned...

During the last session with HH, there was so much anger and bitterness in me, that in my resentment against the world and everyone in it, I erected a wall of pure stubbornness. As I was bending over the chair, bottom bared, he caned me hard that day, his short course in anger management eventually destroying every bit of my inner resistance to let go of the rage that was surging through me. I could not sit properly for nearly two weeks thereafter, my bottom tender, swollen and sore, stinging in protest every time I moved.

It was a constant reminder of the price I had to pay for my streak of obstinacy, and I decided that I would not be going down that path again soon. I did not want a caning again and therefore deliberately ignored the fact that I have this peculiar pattern of only managing for about fourteen days to stay in line. I isolated myself, believing foolishly that I could stay out of trouble, and when seeing the marks left by the cane in the mirror every morning, my resolve not to be caned again became stronger.

I cannot quite explain how a resolve at not being caned again turned into a very deliberate attempt to avoid any form of spanking as far as possible. I immersed myself into work, working twelve to thirteen hours a day, ensuring that nowhere along the line an opportunity might come along where I have to present myself to HH. I had very nicely put myself on a road that could only end one way, but I closed my eyes and persisted.

For the past week, the topic of presenting myself to HH has become more prominent in my conversations with Uncle Nick. Last night I closed my eyes when I finally asked him the question that had been coming for a while, a question that I knew contained my acknowledgement of a battle lost, “I need a spanking, don’t I?” Time had run out, it has been more than four weeks since my last session with HH, and I have left pure havoc in my wake. Even as I stated in a rather plaintive voice that I do not want to be caned again, I realised that my reluctance had nothing to do with the rattan cane.

It is about the desire and the reluctance of wanting and not wanting my defensive walls to remain in place and to be broken down. It is about knowing that the moment that my dress has been lifted and my knickers are lowered; my bared bottom does not only reflect my vulnerability in flesh, but that of my soul. It is about knowing that when I am bending over the chair, with my bottom awaiting the swish of a cane, the thud of the paddle or the crack of leather that I am acknowledging my submission of control, but with it, my need that the walls should go.

It is about knowing that the moment I feel the first impact against my bared flesh turning it a shade of red, the stinging burn reverberating through my body, that I will continue to hear the swish of a cane, or the thud of the paddle, until the last vestige of the walls I have built, has been removed. It is about knowing that even though I have stated that I do not want to be caned, my resistance and protests will pass, and I will remain in place, waiting and wanting the purge.

I had embarked on a new road nearly a year ago, and even with this flare of rebellion against the changes within me, I know that I have not only accepted who I have become, but that this is who I am.


Disciplined Savings?

To prevent hitting rock bottom, every girl should have a savings plan in place.
It should be designed around her, similar as when she shops for new knickers.
It should give her assurance that her bottom will never be found vulnerable and over exposed.
Nor should she ever have to worry about finding herself unexpectedly with her knickers down.
With all the money that she will save, she can buy brand spanking new things,
Without caring whether the stock market may have a smack or two during this time.
Obviously, she has to be disciplined, following the rules set down,
For the consequences could leave her more than only bare bottomed alone.

(Newspaper clipping from the Sunday Morning Post, Hong Kong)
Unsure whether the sketch is for real, however, if it is, I am rather certain that the author was in for quite a surprise to see how his financial advice was interpreted by the newspaper artist.
And eh...how he/she explained it away...

His promise

When thinking back over the past thirty days, I want to find a far off secluded spot where no-one will ever find me, I do not want to face anyone, I want to turn my back on the world, I want to turn my back on myself – I want to go into hiding. I am out of control; I cannot hide it any longer, the facade of redirecting concern away from me by using humour and counter questions, is no longer working.

I had resorted to being defensive, edgy, sarcastic, trying to deflect any uncomfortable statements or questions  away, that I knew would have forced me to look at myself. I had become stubborn to the point of resorting to self-destructive behaviour, being reckless and throwing all caution deliberately to the wind. I rebelled, ignored requests and concerns, became angry when cornered, lashing out refusing to acknowledge that I am still loved.

My transgressions were noted and written down, but every time he would talk to me for hours on end, bringing me back to some form of calmness, allowing me to vent my hurt and anger, knowing that it is borne out of feelings of helplessness and frustration about things I cannot change. There is only one transgression we do not talk about at all. I am to ashamed to admit what I have done, but suffice to say, that the terrible cold anger I heard in his voice that night, even surpassed the time when I decided to become aggressive and argumentative with a collective taxi driver.

I have no defence, no grounds to attempt to rationalise what I did, and although I have apologised, I know that it had not changed anything. I have committed the cardinal sin, putting myself in direct danger, deliberately, and for that, my bottom will pay. I had to answer one simple question: “How did you get home?” I could have lied, made up a story, but he knows me to well. I heard the defiance in my own voice when I answered him, but when his cold angry voice that fateful Friday night told me to go to sleep, and he will call me back in three hours time, I knew I had sealed my fate.

I am not even sure whether a note was made in his notebook, but I do know that he will not forget what I have done. He has promised me that I will be over his knee, for he is going to ensure that I never forget the cost of openly defying him. He has promised me that I will not be able to sit down for a month, and as each word was clipped off coldly, I knew it was no empty threat. He has promised me that tears will be rolling that day, and I realised that even when I do start crying for what I have done, he will continue until he is satisfied that the lesson had been learned.

If there is one thing about Uncle Nick that I know more than anything else in life, is that he regards his word as his honour, and he has never broken any of his promises to me, ever.



Within this anger, I know where to go,
I am hurting and I know that I should go,
I know that I will go,
But I do not want to go,
Because I need it to be him.

I know that that he knows of my anger and my hurt.
I know that he understand that I have lost myself
But it is his voice I want to hear 
It is his hand I want to feel against my bottom
Because I need it to be him.

I want to cry in his arms when my bottom is swollen and red
I want to curl my body into his, my safe universe.
I want to listen to his calm voice, as I am holding onto him.
I want him to find me again, clear my anger and my hurt,
As only I know he can do.

But within this anger, I know where to go,
I am hurting and I know that I should go,
And I know that I will go.


Only half Irish...

From me to you on this special day...

A very warm and special wish that you will have a

But for the record, as I am only partially from Irish descent...

Only half of the above statement may apply....


I am not very good when trying to hint that I want something...
So I thought, that if I replace the mouse

And his mousepad, it might be a good starting point.

Then I will take him some tea
(I KNOW it is a coffee mug, but he consumes copious amounts anyway)

Leaving the spoon behind for him to stir the brew to his heart's content,

Whilst leaving a strategically placed coaster all ready and in place.

And for us not ever to miss precious time, I will replace the wall clock,

Not only with one, but with two new ones.

Hmm, I wonder if he will get the hint?


Postcards from a different edge

My word, your umbrella will never be the same again....

Yeah sure, if you believe that...

Are you suicidal?

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Raven Red by Raven Red is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.