Safety Routes

Weighing her options...

in distance and speed.
(Oh, and whether he will be quick enough)


So much ado about nothing

It was only a small peep...

Men really suffer from an"overreaction syndrome"!

Little questions...

Those little questions that are not questions but more statements than anything else, that invariably gets you into trouble, no matter how hard you try to give the correct answer...

Q = "Are you answering a question with a question?"
A = Now why would you say something like that?

Q = “Do you have something so say for yourself?"
A = Not particularly, talking to oneself could be an indication of some psychological issues...

Q = "Did you say something?"
A = Nooo, was too busy sticking my tongue out while your back was turned.

Q = "Will you wipe that grin off your face, young lady?"
A = As soon as you stop frowning because your eyebrows remind me of hairy caterpillars at war...

Q = "You do know that you will not be sitting down for a week?"
A = Why? Are we selling some of our furniture?

Q = "Do you want your bottom smacked?"
A = Erm...is this a trick question?

Q = “I think this spanking was overdue, don't you?"
A = I think that in future thinking should be left to me...

Q = “Does your bottom hurt?"
A = No!...erm... YES!! It really does....oh crap...


Made in China

"Sweetums? Come up here for a second, please". I remembered my fingers becoming motionless over the computer keyboard, where up to then; I was happily researching the place that he was going to take me to for the day. The voice might have been sweet and inviting in its request, but the gods above has abundantly blessed me with self preservation instinct. While frantically wondering what I could have done wrong, I did manage a calm voice when sweetly asking him if he was in need of something downstairs, but then spoiling the attempt and presentation of innocence and calmness when panic overrode all common sense, and the "What have I done?" was blurted out immediately afterwards.

Uncle Nick at this stage had been on the odd occasion making noises about a spanking that was required, but up till then, the effect of sentences that contained "spank, bottom, standing for a week" had an amazing reigning in effect on my quick tongue and well, behaviour in general. I was quite relieved when his reply came that he was only looking for socks or something to that effect, and as such, I happily climbed the stairs to go and help search for whatever he was looking for. This happened about four weeks into the two month visit, and up and until that fateful morning, I have made sure that whenever I was done with brushing my hair, my hairbrush would disappear into a suitcase.

When I laughingly said to him that I really thought I was up for a close and personal encounter of the spanking kind, it did not cross my mind that perhaps before I make any references to spanking, I should scan the room for any bottom harming implements that might have not been put away. I watched him with a sinking heart when he sauntered over to my side of the bed and gleefully held up my hairbrush. I could feel my whole body stiffen whilst listening to him singing the potential praises of his discovery, but we were late, and thank the gods, no spanking was forthcoming. As he placed  the brush back, I was eyeing it - wondering whether I could get it away from him without being caught, but as I glanced at him, I realised that every thought must have been written on my face. Although his, “Do not even think about it!" resounded in the room, it was too late - I lunged to grab  the offending article in question.

As he caught me around the waist, and I grabbed the brush triumphantly, we looked at each other, and then collapsed in laughter - although I will frankly admit, mine was tinged with a bit of pure nerves. He tilted my head back and softly warned me of consequences if the brush did not stay out in the open.  As  I firmly believed, and still do, that my bottom, Uncle Nick and a cane should not occupy the same space, the hairbrush were for the rest of my visit, no longer exposed to deep and dark suitcases.

For the record - Uncle Nick did attempt to start a spanking off with the hairbrush about two weeks later but after the first smack, the brush broke in two. Must admit, I would have loved to see his face when he was left only holding the plastic handle, but unfortunately I was quite pre-occupied with his hand coming down on my bottom after the handle was flung into some corner of the room. Oh, and personally - I will NEVER EVER complain about anything again that boldly states: “Made in China".



Maybe after a month of self-imposed silence, a blog posting fuelled by the assistance of some cocktail named after the sunset and sunrise in one, is not the best idea - but then, on the other hand, alcohol does tend to lend courage where it is lacking at times. It has now been two weeks since I have returned to South Africa, and apart from this dreadful sorrow inside me, I continuously feel as if I am looking in from the outside, watching a person that resembles me, drudgingly making it through day after day.

She seems to keep her head up most of the times, but is quick to drop it - for tears seem to form at any given time. She smiles when requires to do so, but she has heard from more than one person that the smile is not touching her eyes. She feels lost, out of place, not sure where to go anymore. Things that use to pleasure her, no longer does, her heart belongs in a place very far away from where she is. She avoids people, barely making contact with anyone, because her sorrow seems to spill over when she really does not want people to see that side of her.

I know that I should be pulling myself together, to re-adjust, to put the smile back on my face but more importantly back into my heart – but for time being, I shamefully admit, I cannot. I know that the aggression, the resentment is building, I know that the anger is somewhere lurking, and I know that sooner than later I will have to present myself...but I am not quite ready... for it will not be Uncle Nick who pulls me over his lap...and that is what I want more than anything else in the world.

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