Not a very good idea

Girl, I like the attitude but sorry to say, it was rather a bad idea...


Practising the "Spank me not" look

I have been practising very hard lately...
I want to perfect a look of hurt innocence, 
my big eyes pleading whilst silently saying
"I am really, really sorry, and I trust you, I know you will do nothing to hurt me"...
very similar to what this girl is doing...

I am sure after staring into her eyes, even the hardest of hearts will melt
...and paddles, canes, and whatever nots will miraculously disappear....


Wordless Wednesdays: Reflections as I wait

...on that which restricts the beauty of me

... on how blind I had become

... on who I really am

... on knowing that you will set me free


Spanking Rapture?

I am so VERY relieved that there was no rapture thingy on Saturday,
 for I am not quite ready yet for paradise...

Or for that matter, my halo...

Spanking Psychic?

Somehow I sense that trouble is brewing...


A Pure Hypothetical Birching Story

The hypothetical spanking scene opens on a wintery Thursday afternoon in the near future, round about 6pm, somewhere in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg. In an office park, a clearly unimpressed woman can be seen wandering through the gardens, staring intently at trees, and if an observer listens closely, he might be able to hear words being uttered that polite girls will never say publically.

As she finally shrugs and start destroying a tree by removing some of its branches, it would be prudent for the observer to note that any approach to offer assistance would not be appreciated, and any questions that might be asked about what she is exactly doing, could possibly be classified as reckless behaviour. In the event that he chose to ignore all the warning signs, it is most likely that a  (very one sided) conversation will follow.
(Please note: sensitive readers - full censorship has been applied with regards to language use)

“Eh...Lady...what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I am busy destroying a tree”


“This is apparently a Cabbage tree. Did you know that this was a Cabbage tree?”


“No, do not answer. It was a rhetorical question. I did not know that this was a Cabbage tree, but apart from that, who in their right mind will name a defenceless tree after a vegetable that stinks to high heaven?”

“Yes, but...why are you ripping off its branches?”

“You are quite right about the butt part. I am destroying Mother Nature’s creation for I am supposedly to make a birch from said Cabbage tree."

Said Cabbage Tree...


 That frown and blank look indicates that you have no idea what I am talking about. Apparently you take a bunch of twigs, bundle them together, call it a birch and then you proceed to use them on the bottom of some poor defenceless woman...”


“Birches belong in the UK...and I think in the USA...and where am I? In South Africa, the bloody rainbow nation in the southern tip of Africa. What do I know about birches? And yet, here I am, destroying a tree, a Cabbage tree, because MY bottom must suffer under the application of said, alien cabbage-impersonation  implement...”


“Oh, sorry, is the spanking bit freaking you out? Does it make you feel better if I say that I am not particularly looking forward to it as well? And do you know WHY I am going to be spanked, wait! Correction (sarcasm dripping) - birched?”


“Me neither! Words such as "outbursts" were mentioned...do I really look like someone that suffers from outbursts?”


“Do NOT answer that! Do you know what the worst is? Tomorrow morning I have to board a flight, with most likely a sore and red bottom, and I cannot even skip the not wearing panties thing, because with my damn luck I will be the one and only passenger to go through a body scanner! Hey! Where are you going?”

As he disappears in a haste, clearly convinced that he has met one delusional individual, the muttering woman continues in her quest to destroy a tree to the best of her ability, while voicing her opinion about the observer’s limited vocabulary...


Bottom obsessed

Out of pure curiosity, I googled "designs with bottom theme"...which was a mistake. Bottom rather gives you quite a bit of results - but replacing it with butt or ass...well...

Personally, I would add a couple of red lines across those...

Not quite sure whether I would like these...I can use my mirror to see a red bottom...

You pinch the bottom to turn it on? Eh...rather will stick to the spanking thing...

Not designed by a spankee for sure...WAY to thin, need a couple of extra layers there...

Hmm...somebody that KNOWS that bottoms come in different sizes and shapes....

Different angle - still have no idea where this was taken...

Now THIS, is just plain wrong...


Spanking dedications (Raven's way)

Again, it is a bright sunny winter’s day...and I am quite in a wonderful mood. So much so, that I thought I will dedicate this post to some of the men that I know (directly and indirectly).

To the love of my life, Uncle Nick, that when presented with a glimpse of a bottom in a public place, can be awarded the Statue of the Year Imitator (pigeons and all) price...
To the man who always seems to take sides with Uncle Nick, and for whom I will definitely not be coming back from my trip bearing spanking gifts again (whisper - I have not told HH yet that I want to try to see the workshop of the London Tanners...)
Then for the famous MarQe - who has been so tolerant of my comments - only now and again letting go with a slight threat or a "Grrr". Very domesticated as well, he often tells me how he is polishing some wooden object or another. He also has impeccable taste in panties...and apparently coffee shops that serves cake.
To a master of words, wit and humour, although he thoroughly dislikes being compared to fairy tale characters, but has such a love for Victoria's Secret, that he is currently sending his resume to every store in the world for a shop assistant position. Wishing you the best, Wordsmith!

Then to the man that makes me feel that I am back at school, anxiously awaiting those exam results that are (well most of the time) put up for everyone to see if you made the grade or not. Chross is a man of few words - he rather does remind me of a teacher I had...
For Paolo in Dublin that sometimes asks questions that forces me to think before I reply - one can never be too careful. It seems that questions from spankers always have a right and wrong answer and mine somehow falls in the latter group. I mean, why ask if I need a spanking if you think the answer should be yes?

Ball obsessed

I am not sure whether it is only me that has noticed how men are obsessed about balls. Every Saturday you will find them with eyes fixed on the television, watching other men hitting, chasing, throwing and fighting for balls. They will inform you with zealous fervour that they could manage this ball thing better than the guy on television could, that some of the people should have NEVER been chosen to play with balls...blah blah blah. Some of these ball "games" in my opinion reflects nothing more than some deep-rooted fixation with things that has nothing to do, with what they refer to as sport. Golf is a good example.

The ultimate goal is to get a very small ball into a hole, and the winner is to make sure that his ball reaches the final hole with the least strokes performed. For this he uses implements refer to as woods and irons. He gets very excited if he can manage a Birdie or an Eagle. It is rather amazing that, there is no direct reference to "Chicks" I might add. If he manages a hole in one, well, his day is made, and it pretty much ensures that fellow golfers are in awe of him. He might use terms as rimmed, shagging, sweet spot, kitty litter, shaft, twosome, foursome, whipping and worm burner.

Now imagine if girls changed the rules of these ball-obsessed sports a bit? Let say, soccer...eh football - a minor change in sportswear, perhaps? Will men then admit why they are actually so obsessed with balls?

Oh, and if anyone is wondering about my bottom that is most definitely going to be in trouble after this post, well...

I was informed by HH that my little exchange of wit with Uncle Nick on Facebook was regarded as an "outburst", and that I clearly have not learned my lesson from my last paddling. Seeing that I am already in trouble, I really am from the opinion that I am only changing the depth. I am applying the principle of while the going is good...?


She really was a naughty girl

And have quite a bit of attitude...wonder if she is related?

Changed my mind...

It is a typical winter's day this morning. Not to cold, bright and sunny and I was seriously contemplating to go for a quiet walk. After the chaos of yesterday, it is the best way to clear my mind and find some balance again; however, after seeing what happened to girls only wanting to enjoy the benefits of nature...I think I have changed my mind...


Spanked comics (again?)

I definitely missed these sections in the Archie's I have read...

Last picture? Seems so oddly familiar...


Fear (not) the Spanking paddle

There are a couple of things in life that I actually do fear. Spiders tend to send me scrambling very, very far away, and then unique to South Africa, the most awful (they say harmless) insect of them all - a Parktown Prawn which normally results in me becoming a pillar of salt, reducing me to nothing more than a mumbling fool, pleading for anyone to remove it. However, my fear for both of these ominous looking insects pale in comparison to my fear for a paddle, well specifically, HH's paddle.

I do not know whether it was because my first adult "spanking" was with a cane and that most of the punishments thereafter were canings, but I know the feel of the cane intimately. Although it does not diminished by hate/love that I do have for it, I know that the "kiss of the cane" as Uncle Nick puts it so eloquently, creates very specific lines of fire that streaks across my bottom, which after the initial couple of seconds of nothingness, causes a burn to the centre of my soul. It creates its own song as it whispers through the air, before biting into my bared bottom with a searing sting, raising the protesting flesh of my bottom in welts, the pain drilling down deep sending shudders through my entire body.

Not being HH's favourite implement (thank yea gods), I was eventually introduced to his paddle. It is an innocent-looking miniature cricket bat, proudly displayed in his office. From the top of the handle to the bottom of the blade the measurement is 45cm (about 18 inches), but the part that concerns my bottom the most, is the blade. Most likely crafted from willow wood, it measures 27.7cm (11 inches) long, and 6.5 cm (2.55 inches) wide. The width ranges from 1.5cm (0.59 inches) at the edges to 2.8cm (1.10 inches) at the ridge.

This past Wednesday, I was reacquainted to it again, to the unfeeling hardness of it, being punished for not reaching a goal. I was to receive twelve strokes that thankfully were reduced from the original eighteen, due to meeting the new target that was set down on late Friday. When he rested the cold wood against my bared skin, coldness overtook my heart. I knew that apart from the light tapping, I would not be hearing the paddle descending on my bottom. It took every bit of self-control to stay in position, to keep my hands where they were, while at the same time trying to listen to his movements in an attempt to know when the strike will be. However, fear has an odd way to reduce hearing abilities, and I only heard was my heart racing in my ears, and all I could do was press my face into the pillow I was holding.

When the first thud resounded in the room, an immediate deep, bruising burn descended on my bottom that kept on echoing in my body. Unlike the cane, that carves its song so delicately and specifically, the roughness of the paddle engulfed my whole bottom in pain. Shame, humiliation and a great degree of stubbornness will normally have me whisper about the agony of enduring the cane, but with the paddle, that is all strewn to the wind. From the first impact against my defenceless flesh, I started voicing my objections. At the third whack, all I could think of was how many was left, whilst trying to control the urge to move my bottom away even though I could not predict when the next stroke would be. Common sense prevailed, knowing that movement can cause greater harm, but dear gods, I so badly wanted to move my bottom away from that bruising burn that was descending relentlessly.


At the fifth stroke, I was desperately wondering what he would do if I jumped up, whilst my right hand was clutching at the pillow as I was trying to control the desire to put my hand in front of my bottom. As the strokes continued, the pain I felt was white hot, and I could feel the perspiration running down my back. It was with a feeling of relief when he announced that it was the last stroke, but after it was delivered, even with the overwhelming urge that I had to move away, to remove myself from a position of vulnerability, I remained in position, unable to move, fighting for composure. Tears were stinging the back of my eyes, my breathing was erratic and oh gods, how my bottom was burning.

I remember him rubbing my bottom, and I was idly wondering how my skin can feel so numb, whilst that deep pain was continuing to burn. My bottom was shaded in an angry red, swollen and the touch of my panties covering it, made me wince. I also knew that for the next couple of days, the burn would remain; my skin will be stinging as if it was exposed to a nest of wasps, and that I will be battling to remain seated for long periods. I was once asked if I find the paddle worse than the cane. My immediate response was "Yes!" but thinking about it a bit more, that was not quite true.

Between these two implements, I am normally overcome with an intense desire to build the hugest fire and making sure that they are the first sacrifices to the god of Fire, although I am not sure whether Vulcan would be impressed by my offerings. The pain and discomfort both these implements yield are different to each other, but I do know that my fear for the paddle definitely outweighs my fear for the cane. I am due to report in this morning again and I have thousands of butterflies in my stomach – for I can still feel the consequences of giving the incorrect response, burning away on my bottom.


Spanking pains

I am SO sorry but I do NOT agree.

I can remember plenty of this...

Okay, was not so much the dress than the broken bottle of perfume....

This I would rather want to forget about...the similarity is scary...

And for this, I must be honest - I was never spanked...

So, thank you very much.
I had quite a bit of it when I was a child.
But eh...carry on...

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