Wordless Wednesdays: The art of hinting?

Maybe the stockings will help...

Or the added touch of leather...

A touch of sunlight on the subject might get the message across.


Raven Red: A Scale, A Paddle and mid-Winter

Guest Posting by HH

As many readers of this Blog are aware, Raven has set herself a tough weight-loss goal. She has asked me to provide her with a level of motivation to achieve her weekly goal. Unfortunately, the scale has not been playing ball. It seemingly refuses to move in the right direction. Whilst I know that Raven is trying very hard and why I have given her a degree of latitude and encouragement over the past two weeks, the results leave something to be desired. Thus it was that Raven arrived at my offices last evening for a motivational session.

Raven is a stoical creature at the worst of times! I have laid into her with a Senior Cane on a number of occasions and she scarcely utters a sound. The only telltale that she is under duress is that her toes curl back under her feet. At one stage I was concerned that she may be developing “leather butt” and that even a moderately firm stroke across her bared buttocks was not having the desired effect.

I, therefore, decided that we would switch to the paddle for her weight-loss motivational sessions. My thoughts that she may be becoming immune to feeling in her rear were quickly dispelled! The application of my paddle certainly had more than her toes curling up. She suddenly became a great deal more vocal – both during and after her “motivational” sessions. She has on any number of occasions threatened to cremate my paddle in a fiery pyre. Now, I have certainly seen much more fearsome looking paddles on offer. Mine in fact is rather small and certainly pretty innocent by comparison with some of the fearsome instruments of pain that we see used on the web.

The pic below will give you some idea of the relative sizes of the two paddles – pretty harmless in my view!

In South Africa we have just passed our mid-Winter – yep, I know it sounds strange for you Northern Hemisphere types that we have mid-Winter at the same time that you have mid-Summer, but that is just the way it is. Whilst our winters are generally pretty mild, we have just had one of the coldest snaps I have ever experienced in Johannesburg. Although it has warmed up over the past two days, the temperatures drop somewhat when the sun disappears. Last night was no exception.

Having disposed of the preliminaries last night I instructed Raven to prepare herself for her “motivational session”. I was, however, feeling a little sorry for her having to bare her bottom for a spanking in the cold. I decided that instead of moving straight to the main attraction, we would have a warm up with my mini-paddle. Now this is even smaller than the paddle we normally use. It is an even smaller miniature cricket bat and measures no more than 15cms (6 inches, for those not into decimals). There was absolutely no force behind the warm-up blows. Yet within 20 seconds of starting Raven was wriggling like a fish on a hook. Her language also left a great deal to be desired!

I was not deterred! I proceeded to warm both cheeks until they both had a healthy glow. Needless to say, Raven was not a happy camper! She was even less happy when I laid the mini-paddle aside. She felt that she had enough “motivation” for one evening. Her distress when I informed her that we had just finished the warm-up was palpable.

A further 18 swats on her already warm bottom left her immune to the cold. In fact I am certain that she had no need to switch her heater on, on her journey home such was the fiery glow emanating from her glowing bottom. I can also say with a level of certainty that despite my regular ministrations, she has not developed “leather butt”!

I trust Dear Raven that your experience last night will keep you motivated through the coming week and that you will have good news when you report on Friday.


Same Difference.

We are different in so many ways.

Yet, bound together.

We are both prepare to bare that part of our soul,


Whether it is in your or my corner...

for that which we both love and hate.

We are different, but yet we are the same.


What turns you on?

"So what turns you on?"
As I sat staring at the person, multiple scenarios were racing through my mind.

The quiet voice that says "Stop it" or "Shush" that sends delicious shivers down my back?

A face with no expression, eyebrow slightly raised, waiting for you to stutter into silence with the fluttering of hundreds of butterflies in your stomach?

In a shopping mall, pulled against his body, held tight, while he softly, but slowly and clearly informs me of consequences, that my knees go week and a warmth fill my body?

Knowing that he will be pulling me over his lap, and I will feel his hand lowering my knickers, my shame and humiliation mixed with a willingness, sending my heart racing so fast, that I can barely breathe?

Being held, with a burning and sore bottom, nuzzling into his neck, and indecisive if I am still shuddering from the spanking or whether it is from the desire, the heat and moisture between my legs?

Knowing that I am his, reduced into submission, for his pleasure and mine?

Flicking through the paint samples, I eventually am able to say,
“Er...If I were you, I will go with the burgundy red"


I would rather...

even visit the dentist,
or appearing for an oral exam,
will play with spiders and scorpions,
I am quite willing to go out and conquer my fear of heights,
but I really do not want to give my weight results report to HH this morning
for I clearly see the trouble on the horizon brewing...


Something special for Father's Day?

Being Afrikaans, I understand this German Dutch
(er...blush, hanging head in shame...but NOT bending over for very small mistake made)
magazine cover's blurb fully.
"Iets besonders" (Something special??) 
I for one truly hope that they were only referring to that "special" bond between Father and Daughter...
but this I do know...I will NOT be using this as a Happy Father's day card.
Strictly applying preventative measures.
Anyway, I am off to spend some time with my dad,
who incidentally for some odd reason still at times treat me as if I am six...
er...on the other hand, he has firmly remained my hero all these years.
 Hope that everyone will have a great Father's day.


Close Encounter of a Spanking Kind

This morning, I had to report to HH, stating whether I made this past week's target with the diet. However, for some reason this past week, even with being so strict and doing the required exercises, I did not lose a gram, in fact, quite the opposite. I did not even have the energy to argue about the consequences, and in fact, was depressed, de-motivated and close to tears.  

HH that knows me very well by now must have realised that I am not trying to get out of the agreement, and that I truly was not in a very good place. So, the report-in date has been moved to Monday morning, and yes, although I then had to say, "Thank you, oh, kind and merciful Lord", it did lift my spirits a bit. 

With him knowing my remarkable ability to punish myself relentlessly and knowing my sense of humour, he sent me a piece written by Wilbur Smith. Although it has nothing to do with spanking, it was remarkably well chosen, for it relays a story of a close encounter of a another intimate kind, and it left me literally with tears in my eyes from laughter, with the black cloud of depression lifting away immediately. Therefore, for all you out there today, that did not have a good day or a good week, enjoy. 

Wilbur Smith and the Rhino. (A factual account by Wilbur Smith)

The plight of the Black Rhinoceros is, of course, due mostly to the value of its horn and the ferocious poaching that this engenders. However, a contributory factor to the declining rhino population is the animals disorganized mating habits. It seems that the female rhino only becomes receptive to the male's attentions every three years or so, while the male only becomes interested in her at the same intervals. A condition known quite appropriately as "Must". The problem is one of synchronization, for their amorous inclinations do not always coincide.

In the early Sixties, I was invited, along with a host of journalists and other luminaries, to be present at an attempt by the Rhodesian Game and Tsetse Department to solve this problem of poor timing. The idea was to capture a male rhino and induce him to deliver up that which could be stored until that day in the distant future when his mate's fancy turned lightly to thoughts of love. We departed from the Zambezi Valley in an impressive convoy of trucks and Land Rovers, counting in our midst none other than the Director of the game department in person, together with his minions, a veterinary surgeon, an electrician and sundry other technicians, all deemed necessary to make the harvest.

The local game scouts had been sent out to scout the bush for the largest, most virile rhino they could find. They had done their job to perfection and led us to a beast at least the size of a small granite koppie with a horn on his nose considerably longer than my arm. The trick was to get this monster into a robust mobile pen, which had been constructed to accommodate him.

With the Director of the Game Department shouting frantic orders from the safety of the largest truck, the pursuit was on. The tumult and the shouting were apocalyptic. Clouds of dust flew in all directions, trees, and vegetation were destroyed, game scouts scattered like chaff, but finally the Rhino had about a litre of narcotics shot into his rump and his mood became dreamy and benign. With forty black game guards heaving and shoving, and the Director still shouting orders from the truck, the rhino was wedged into his cage, and stood there with a happy grin on his face.

At this stage, the Director deemed it safe to emerge from the cab of his truck and he came amongst us resplendent in starched and immaculately ironed bush jacket with a colourful silk scarf at this throat. With an imperial gesture, he ordered the portable electric generator to be brought forward and positioned behind the captured animal. This was a machine, which was capable of lighting up a small city, and it was equipped with two wheels that made it resemble a roman chariot.

The Director climbed up on the generator to better address us. We gathered around attentively while he explained what was to happen next. It seemed that the only way to get what we had come for was to introduce an electrode into the rhino's rear end, and to deliver a mild electric shock, no more than a few volts, which would be enough to pull his trigger for him.

The Director gave another order and the veterinary surgeon greased something that looked like an acoustic torpedo and which was attached to the generator with sturdy insulated wires. He then went up behind the somnolent beast and thrust it up him to a full arms length, at which the Rhino opened his eyes very wide indeed.

The veterinary and his two black assistants now moved into position with a large bucket and assumed expectant expressions. We, the audience, crowded closer so as not to miss a single detail of the drama. The Director still mounted on the generator trailer, nodded to the electrician who threw the switch and chaos reigned. In the subsequent departmental enquiry, the blame was placed squarely on the shoulders of the electrician. It seems that in the heat of the moment, his wits had deserted him and instead of connecting his apparatus to deliver a gentle 5 volts, he had crossed his wires and the Rhino received a full 500 volts up his rear end.

His reaction was spectacular. Four tons of rhinoceros shot six feet straight up in the air. The cage, made of great timber baulks, exploded into its separate pieces and the rhinoceros now very much awake, took off at a gallop. We, the audience, were no less spritely. We took to the trees with alacrity. This was the only occasion on which I have ever been passed by two journalists half way up a Mopani tree.

From the top branches, we beheld an amazing sight, for the chariot was still connected to the Rhinoceros per rectum, and the director of the game department was still mounted upon it, very much like Ben Hur, the charioteer.

As they disappeared from view, the rhinoceros was snorting and blowing like a steam locomotive and the Director was clinging to the front rail of his chariot and howling like the north wind, which only encouraged the beast to greater speed.

The story has a happy ending for the following day after the director had returned hurriedly to his office in Salisbury, another male Rhinoceros was captured and caged and this time the electrician got his wiring right.

I can still see the Rhinoceros's expression of surprised gratification as the switch was thrown. You could almost hear him think to himself. "Oh Boy! I didn't think this was going to happen to me for at least another three years".


A Broken Record...

I have really been so strict with my diet and have even started to exercise a bit, but I am really battling to get the scale to co-operate.

So, not only am I most likely in trouble again with HH tomorrow...but Uncle Nick is ever so keen to keep on reminding me that if I do not meet the agreed-upon weight by the time I arrive in the UK, I will be receiving one cane stroke for each kilogram not met.

He is really starting to sound like a broken record....

Hope he REALLY notices the second track's name...


Killing the Spanking Golden Goose?

The offer on the table was that your college tuition will be paid for , free accommodation and that you will receive a $300 weekly allowance. The catch? In return, you will abide by the Spencer Scholarship Plan, which meant that if you break certain rules such as failing to report in or have a drink, you would be spanked.

Okay, now that does not sound too difficult, and it is obviously what some young women thought when they enrolled in Henry Allen Fitzsimmons’s tuition plan. However, it all went spankingly wrong. The fifty-four year old restaurant owner are now accused of taking things to far, and a judge decided on 19 May 2011 that a grand jury should consider whether Henry should be indicted on charges of felony abduction and sexual penetration.

The women are complaining that he did not only spank them, but he also used leather straps or a horse riding crop, and that they allowed him to spank them on their bare bottoms because they feared him. A 21-year-old women testified that when she joined the program last year November, she was spanked and was given $300, an ocean front apartment to live in, and a weekly allowance thereafter of $200. She had to abide by rules including walking twenty blocks a day, keep a record of her meals and to refrain from using drugs. Non-compliance to these rules meant that she would be spanked. She complained that he sexually assaulted her with a curtain rod, hairbrush and a horse-riding crop.

I am the first to admit that abuse and violence against women make me see red, especially living in a country where it seems to be a widespread problem, however, where this story is concerned, I do have a couple of questions about the validity of the complaints.

The Spencer Plan is on the internet, including a website run by Henry, where the offer of tuition, accommodation and an allowance is made in an exchange agreement to rules versus consequences, which in a nutshell boils down to spanking. It seems that all the women, mostly single struggling mothers and former drug addicts, who took up the offer, knew what the agreement was about.

There was no problem until April, when one of the women was accused of stealing money from his restaurant, and was fired because of it. A week later, six women began filing charges against him, however, her complaint as well as two other women’s whose only complaints were that they had been spanked, were dropped on the 19th May. According to the attorney for Henry Fitzsimmons, two women asked to remain in the programme after Henry threatened to terminate the agreement.

So, to conclude, from November last year up and until April, at least six women had a place to live in and were given allowance money per week. They were taken out for extravagant nights out on the town, and one of the women was even the recipient of a car. It rather does seem strange that the disagreement only started after one of these women was fired for theft.

I am left wondering whether this is not merely the actions of women when realizing that not only was the golden goose not willing to compromise on his rules, he was not letting go of his eggs freely, they should rather attempt a kill? I am, very cynically, I might add, waiting for the civil suits to follow….


Mars, Venus and a Spanker

I realised that the book "Men are from Mars and Woman are Normal er..from Venus,
does have some validity.
This is a girl that is very tired, like me...

but for some reason I suspect that HE will not see that she is exhausted...
only how near "perfect" her position might be...
It is for that reason, that I decided any future heat testing of bathwaters,
with anyone nearby that might misinterpret innocent actions,
should strictly happen alone and behind a closed...no change that...a locked door.


Spanking size?

No matter how low my mood, when looking through the work of Nik Zula,
I always seem to be smiling afterwards....
Hope that everyone will have a spanking wonderful week-end!



The Crossing

This is the month, that twenty-five years ago he was put into my arms...and for a short wonderful time I had a son, the most precious gift I ever did receive. In his far too short life, he loved me unconditionally, no matter how different or odd I appeared to others around us. 

Johnny Clegg wrote a song (English and Zulu) when he lost a close friend...which is my birthday gift to my son in this month, and a gift for all those who has suffered the loss of a child...

Through all the days that eat away

at every breath that I take

through all the nights I've lain alone

in someone else's dream, awake

all the words in truth we have spoken

that the wind has blown away

it's only you that remains with me

clear as the light of day

O Siyeza, o siyeza , sizofika webaba noma

(we are coming, we are coming, we will arrive soon)

O siyeza, o siyeza, siyagudle lomhlaba

(we are coming, we are coming, we are moving across this earth)

Siyawela lapheshaya lulezontaba ezimnyama

(we are crossing over those dark mountains)

Lapha sobheka phansi konke ukhulupheka

(where we will lay down our troubles)

A punch drunk man in a downtown bar

takes a beating without making a sound

through swollen eyes he sways and smiles

'cause no-one can put him down

inside of him a boy looks up to his father

for a sign or an approving eye

oh, it's funny how those once so close and now gone

can still so affect our lives

Take me now, hold me close

don't let go, I'm coming home

The first memory...(Audio)

It took years to come to terms with who and what I am, but not only has this past year this been exceptional in that I have found myself, but that I have also made some great friends along the way. A reflection of the journey so far brings forth a range of memories and emotions, but the memory of that very first time, even as young as what I was, when I realised I was different, will most probably be with me until my dying day.

I told the story to Uncle Nick...
Er, by the way...I am in full denial that I have a South African accent...
Just saying...


Seven non-spanking weeks

I am adament that for the next seven weeks I am going to be well behaved.
At all times.
I know that Uncle Nick and HH are a little bit "doubtful" about my decision.
But, I am going to put this picture on my nightstand to assist.
It should help....
I hope.

Wordless Wednesdays: A Study of Wood

For the love of wood...


My sincere apologies

I have put myself in a corner (well sort of)
as I am really and truly sorry

But as my financial year-end is nearing,
there has been way to much work

that resulted in little personal time for myself...
okay, FINE!!...and also NO sideline action

Although for some reason beyond my comprehension,
my canings, paddlings and whatnots have not reduced in any way!


I have had no time at all to read blogs or even leave comments

As my current status remains overworked and tired
(with a constantly sore bottom)

But, there is a light at the end of the tunnel....

as hopefully everything will soon return to normal...
eh...except my bottom.


A Spanking feeling of sorts

This represents how I am currently feeling,
after being notified that HH,
his eh..."lovely" paddle
and me (correction - my bottom)
have an upcoming appointment...

One thing is sure though,
I need no clairvoyant to tell me
that in the near future I will be experiencing some troubles
with severe discomfort and heatwaves...

And although I know that this is not an option,
this is what I really feel like doing...

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