Piano Lessons

Getting ready for a lesson...

or on her way to face the music...
perhaps both?


Zebra Crossings

I had a look at my bottom in the mirror this morning and they are still neatly striped thanks to HH's enthusiasm with the cane on Monday...

Seeing that it is nearly thirty degrees again today, and I will be spending the day in a swimming pool, I am frantically trying to think of excuses if anyone might question the zebra crossings on my rump.

What I do know is that I should inform HH that stripes should rather be displayed like this...prettier and far less painful...


Love our Lurkers Day

(A huge thank you to Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts)

Dearest Lurkers,
It always leave me with a smile,
when I see that you came along and lingered for a while, 
When you do pay me a visit...

You might find me laughing, or in a teasing mood
Not cheeky - I am never, ever cheeky...
I am sure you will agree. 

Or I might be in a state of rebellion -
most likely because I was judged to be cheeky or insolent...
Really? Me? 

You might come along and see that I have once again landed myself in hot water.
I have been told that I have a natural born talent for being in trouble...
I have no idea what they mean...

Invariably, somewhere along your visits, you might find me in quite akward positions,
with my bottom undergoing some changes in status.
Something along the lines of red, sore and rather tender...

Oh, and at times, you will find me sulking - slightly sarcastic even,
lamenting about how misunderstood I am,
normally around my definitions of cheeky, rebellious and insolent..
and quite often about my problems in being able to sit down.

But whoever you are, and wherever you are from...
I appreciate your visits more than what you would really know.
And if for today only, you would like to leave a comment
I would really love you to do so...
(Erm...even if only to agree that I am NOT cheeky...ever!)



I left my office shortly after five yesterday afternoon for my meeting with HH. I had a brief conversation with him a couple minutes before that, wanting to confirm that the appointment is still on. He answered my question with a question: "Do you think that you want to keep the appointment?” He knew that given the chance I would have wanted to opt out, but that little question took away any escape routes I might have considered. I tried for a clever retort; "Yes is the correct answer, but No features quite a bit as well" but his response was just as quick: "Yes No then".

True to myself, I was trying for a way out, but I realised that there was not much of an option, and that this appointment should be kept. He knew it as well and by understanding me rather to well, he was gently directing me towards total submission – a simple acknowledgement that I will report to him as was agreed. On my arrival, he did not waste much time. We had our chat, albeit much shorter than usual, and when he uttered the dreaded “Right, let’s get down to business”, I did not argue. I must admit when he reached for the cane, a couple of words were muttered, which dried up drastically when he threatened to take out the paddle.

Bent over, waiting with a bared bottom, I could feel that panic was close at hand. The last time I could barely manage six strokes, and I knew that this time, he will not stop at six. However, instead of receiving that first searing stroke, HH started striking my bottom with quick and light strokes gradually increasing the intensity...and then, that first hard swish of the cane could be heard, but before I could even draw a breath, the cane was back, quick and rather harder little strokes warming my bottom all over. This was, I soon found out, to be the format of the caning.


I started dreading the tapping in-between the hard strokes...never I have been so alert, so tense – on tenterhooks, not sure when I would feel the deep line of fire across my cheeks. There was no format to the taps (that I might add, grew a little bit stronger in force as time went pass) that I could accurately anticipate the hard strokes. And, the little quick taps started to add to the soreness; it was as if they were sealing in the deeper strokes...my bottom soon felt as if it was on fire!

I have no idea how many strokes I did receive in the end (I lost count after twelve), but I do remember staring at the yellow files on the desk, trying hard not to cry...for I did not want to get his files wet, and my bottom was hurting so badly that I could not summons the energy to move them out of the way. Although I slept on my stomach, and had (and still do) some problems in sitting comfortably today, I am calmer, more relaxed and reacting to the world in a much softer way...

Thank you, HH.



Between a Dentist and a Spanker...

I managed to break a tooth yesterday, which for most of last night left me scrounging around for any pain medication that might alleviate the fire in my face, whilst fervently praying for daybreak so that I could visit a dentist. The fact that I absolutely fear a dentist, diminished with the pain - agony was a clear winner over any misgivings of looming needles that will "only be a small prick" (yes sure!) and shrieking drilling machinery in my mouth.

As is habit, I performed my early morning messenger greeting to HH - who in turn had read my blog posting for Saturday, where I SO very nicely declared my absolute need to be spanked. Obviously, the gentleman that he is quickly offered me a spot for later in the day - which would have turned out to be three hours after my dentist appointment. As I rolled my eyes at myself, I thought that it can only be me - without any great effort or difficulty, I again had put myself between a hard place and a rock. However, I totally forgot about the bit of space between the two...

An internal argument immediately started raging about which fear was conquering which - reporting to the dentist and leaving with a sore mouth, or reporting to HH and leaving with a sore bottom. In this process, my thought processes took a definite knock, and my small little comment (that should have not been uttered at all!) about hoping that he would be able to ensure that I remain in place, and not opt out as before, resulted in a conversation that made me totally forget about the dentist, his needles and the drill.

A rather detailed informative session followed mentioning words such as ropes, spanking benches, dungeons, St Andrew's cross, oh, and a tree...(rather do not ask). As my eyes widened, and nervousness left me quite wordless and unsure what to reply, I inadvertently took a sip of very hot coffee, totally forgetting that it should stay away from the left side of my face. The pain was short-lived, and the quick flash of fear when remembering about my upcoming dentist visit was brief - I had more important things to panic about! Somehow my glib little utterance was interpreted as an invitation, therefore accepted and I was the recipient of the RSVP.

I must be honest, I could not think of one thing to say in order to retract the "invitation" and back out gently without being detected...I still will have to work on that. Currently it is taking the form of a formal pledge to stay in place, not move and so on...It did appear though that the gods above took some mercy on me - HH postponed the spanking until tomorrow afternoon, but as I left for the dentist, the gods gleefully displayed their perverted sense of humour again. I received this last little message from HH..."Had an additional thought – thinking about making a birch from the willow tree in my garden for tomorrow". I wonder if I would be able to schedule another dentist’s appointment - perhaps for the whole day?

Open Drawers

 He tells you that he thinks you should get yourself a pair of open drawers....

You can admire your bottom anytime - happy for all those hours in the gym.

Uncertainty whether his request for you to bend over is based on the same admiration.

It was not! All you have left is a sore and red bottom due to unrestricted access.

Open drawers are lovely,
however their safety record in terms of bottom preservation is quite appalling.
So, in answer to his request, 
I think I will opt having the attitude of the lady at the till ...


Knowledge and Wisdom

Difference between Knowledge and Wisdom?

Knowledge is acquired when realising that a spanking leaves your bottom red and sore....

Wisdom is the realisation that a concerted effort should be made to invest in chairs with a specific focus in soft seating designs...



The refusal to submit to any form of spanking for a two-month period born out of a spurt of stubbornness had led to a very short lived caning last Sunday, with me opting out at the first opportunity given. It is amazing how well HH knows me by now - he did state that the effect of the caning will only last for a couple of days. We had a tentative appointment scheduled for yesterday afternoon; however, HH had to cancel due to an important meeting.

I was not overly perturbed about it, in actual fact, I was having such a fun day yesterday, that the cancellation seemed not to matter very much. Or so I thought. Last night while chatting with Uncle Nick the first symptoms appeared. A feeling of discontent, slightly irritated with the world slowly started creeping over me. As the night wore on, things progressively deteriorated. As much as what I tried to curb the flow of conflicting emotions, it was of no use - I became more and more withdrawn, unsettled and restless.

I love to make bold statements when defiant; I will quite adamant declare that I do not want or need to be disciplined, I will be quick to point out that I do not want or need any sermons and I will vehemently argue that I do not want or need to be spanked. However, I find it quite ironic today that having being saved by the bell from a spanking yesterday, and should really be jubilant about my bottom being unharmed, I find myself instead craving for it with every fibre in my being.

I want and need to hear a stern voice saying the words that do not come with any other option but to obey, for that redirects me back to where I should be. I want and need to be disciplined, shown where the boundaries are yet again, for that is what calms and releases the stress within me. I want and need to be told to bend over, that I will be spanked, regardless of what I might or might not say for that is when I know I am no longer in control. I want and need that that wonderful/awful emotion when anticipation mixed with fear rise up in me as my knickers is lowered for that is then, that I know that I am beyond the point of no return. I want and need to be spanked.


I would rather...

It had been quite a rough week, and upon waking up early on Saturday morning to a beautiful summer's day, brought some quietness to my soul. That was, until the phone call.

"Morning, Raven. Are you still suffering from the flu?"
"Morning Mom, no I do have a sore throat, but it is definitely on the mend."

"I want to talk to you about something....BUT, if you laugh, I will personally kill you next time you come to visit"
I knew whatever was coming, was going to test my levels of self control!

"You do realise that old people have sex?"
I barely managed the "Yes", as I could feel my eyes widening and a hysterical giggle attack looming. Pinching my leg did do the trick to keep it at bay, however, with a sinking feeling in my stomach I realised that this conversation was going to be extremely uncomfortable.

"You also realise that with my back problems, I do have a problem in that area?"
Oh yea gods - I am a visual person - and the images conjured in my mind....

"I bought a book that I showed to your Dad, which by the way has left the house for a walk in the garden. He does not want to hear me talking to you about this"
Thanks Dad! Thank you so much!

"So, as I was saying, I read this book, and I have decided to ask you if you could please buy me a vibrator."
I could not breath, I was pinching my leg so hard that I was blue for days...but I did manage a very composed - well I think it was rather nicely composed and calm - Yes, no problem".

Erm, Mom - what size do you prefer?
"It comes in sizes?"

An even lenghtier silence...removal of hand from mouth with clear teethmarks visible, followed with a discussion that I really do not want to get into again.
"Do you need to get batteries? Or do you plug it into the wall?"

That was it! Images of my seventy year odd old mother being attended to by paramedics due to electrical shock caused by vibrator use...

In the end, the vibrator was bought, delivered, batteries inserted and the practical application thereof explained - in theory only! In a country where anything sexual is still very much a taboo subject, and conservatism still rules the house, my gratitude and a huge thank you to the ladies at the Lolamontez shop in Sandton. At least I was saved from the ordeal of a sleazy sexshop with a gum chewing, disinterested person behind a counter...

However, I have realised that I would really and truly prefer bending over for a severe thrashing with the cane before ever having to have another  conversation "about the birds and the big, bloody artificially created humming bees" with my mother...especially where I am allocated the role of the sexpert!


Another learning

Okay. I have made a note to myself. Never, ever will I ever again allow a nearly two-month period between spankings or in this instance a caning. The overdue interest manifested itself in a way that even took me by surprise.

As I was driving early on Sunday morning to HH's offices, I was trying my utmost not to think of what was coming. Not that it worked very well, I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs - except - my tail was going soon going to be in the firing line of a swishing cane.

I was in no disagreement that the caning was required; in general my decline in good behaviour had reached a stage where even I was getting quite fed-up with myself. I was well aware that bottoms (well, mine) should be turned a shade of red. What I did not take into consideration was how said bottom reacted after quite an untouched state.

Bent over, bottom bared and eyes firmly closed - the first stroke of the cane sent a shudder through my entire body. Rebellion! Although knowing better than to straighten up, or to grab at my bottom, I did stamp my foot and seeing that a good foot stomping should be accompanied by some noise - I did revert to some muttering of not a very ladylike kind.

By stroke three I could feel the perspiration trickling down my back and although I would love to say that it was the summer heat - I was not happy, but my bottom was even in an unhappier place. At the fifth stroke I did ask very hopefully if it was not already number six, but alas...

Six strokes of the cane later, with me very gingerly holding onto my bottom, HH looked at me quizzically - and then stated very quietly: "This should hold you for a couple of days, but I will be seeing you in a week." Cheeks galore! I am not sure whether my bottom will be ready! Six lines were prominently displayed for a day or two, but yea gods, I will have to have a serious talking to my rear anatomy. It rather does appear that the holidays are over…and in any event, Christmas is coming- canes and red stripes are good. Aren’t they?

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