A bit of advice

Another long period of time that "Raven believes that blogs update themselves" has gone past!

 

Erm...yes, Uncle Nick, save the sarcasm...SIGH!

 

I have finally arrived in the UK after frantically finishing off all my responsibilities and duties with my previous employer. I would rather want to forget about the packing and unpacking of my personal belongings. I soon realised that with the airline's baggage weight restrictions, whilst trying to fit everything in, also meant that I should have budgeted another two days or so trying to make things weigh lighter.

 

Not that it quite worked...the damn luggage was still over the required weight, but thank the gods above for a ground crew member irritated with her boss. Her massive sulk combined with my strategically well placed sympathy saved me quite a bit of money! It is now three weeks later, and I am still pinching myself, not quite believing that this time I do not have to get on a plane soon to leave again.

 

Taking into account that with rather being occupied in other areas for the past couple of months, my bottom has been reasonably well protected, but my arrival in the UK, coupled with being around Uncle Nick meant that sooner or later (and trust me...it was the sooner bit that came first), I would start gravitating towards the “I think I need to be spanked” thoughts. However, I am a realist - the nice tingly thoughts of wanting to be spanked continuously did get confronted by the cold (hot would be more apt) reality that when Uncle Nick gets hold of your bottom, you definitely know it. I swear his hand is harder than a rock!

 

Believe it or not, I am also quite a “good girl” most of the time, and for the rest, I tread carefully - I really do try and stay out of trouble. All of this only resulted in days of trying to decide whether I really do want to be spanked (Yes!!) taking into account the hardness of the hand that will be doing the spanking (No!!) whilst knowing that my carefully controlled good behaviour would mean that I actually will have to ask for the spanking...which started the circle of contemplation all over again.

 

At least the issue has now been resolved, although not quite in the manner than I anticipated. All I have to say -  do NOT go and sit on a cold wall and when all feeling have left your derriere, go up to a spanker and turn around lifting your skirt telling him to feel how cold your bottom is...

 

Bottom Betrayal

It has been a couple of weeks, well more a month or three since my bottom had declared a state of emergency. Slight twinges of concerns that it might have had regarding implements infringing on its territory slowly disappeared, especially when the owner of said bottom seemed to do nothing more than sitting in comfortable chairs, day after day, and from one meeting to the next.

Complacency is never a good thing. Much to my derriere’s consternation I decided that the signed copy of Uncle Nick’s book that was sent to me, as a gift for HH, should maybe be delivered...six months after it was posted from London. I am not sure why it took the South African Postal Services all this time to get the book to me...but I am definitely not going to waste energy trying to figure it out either.

Anyway, back to my bottom’s story. Clinging firmly to belief that the only hot object in the room will be the cup of coffee in my hand, the bottom very tentatively tried to relax in yet another comfortable chair, as conversation filled the air. However, sadly my bottom has now declared a breach of trust.

Nervous and jittery it realised that the conversation was coming to an end, and that all too familiar small silence filled the air, before HH uttered the fatal words that confirmed the ultimate betrayal: “Right, I think it is time, please assume the position”. As the winter air lightly cooled the bottom down, it was desperately trying to send messages to me to retreat and please, whatever I do, not to surrender.

Alas, as the tawse commenced to restore heat, the bottom admitted defeat. At my little whimpers uttered, it sneered in contempt – reminding me very clearly that it had been quite happy to continue with the status quo, but it was my insanity that was now causing it considerable discomfort.

Hearing the swish of the cane as it cut through the air, my bottom clenched in absolute disbelief and a clear message of “You MUST be kidding” reverberated in the room. After months of enduring nothing harder than padded chairs, the bottom was now faced with carefully placed strokes across its cheeks. As I finally agreed with my bottom that maybe I should have opted for the escape route, and better heating solutions can be found, my derriere was praising the gods above.

However, it is currently in a full blown sulk, taking every opportunity when I do sit down, to painstakingly remind me that it is not happy with me, making sure that I am well aware of the sudden insufficient padded chairs due to red stripes that are so nicely placed. I do predict that the sullen behaviour will continue for another couple of days. I have, wisely, I think, decided rather not to share the news with my bottom that Uncle Nick is of the firm believe that the old two week visiting routine to HH should be restored...it is definitely NOT going to fall for the “just a visit and coffee” routine again...   

Playing with colours

I do have a love for images where there is a play between black, white and red....

Mystery and anticipation...

Alluring and secretive...

Playful and funny...

Then there is...
Uncle Nick's interpretation of the colours - black, white and red...

SIGH...!!

Thin Ice

I am the worst liar you would find in the world. Uncle Nick can attest to this - during my visit, I tried to lie about something, and was caught out literally within seconds. If the blushing, or the act of avoiding to look at you ...oh and the nervous laughter do not give me away, it will definitely be my voice. When I utter deviations on the truth, my voice change - the lie and the panic  very clearly audible.

My dieting is still going strong (well, most of the days), but now there is the little thing of having to study. We did agree during my visit that time was precious, hence no studying was done. (I did take the books with though...at least there was some attempt!) Being back in South Africa, I diligently started once things had settled down, but then went on a business trip or two and somehow the studying went out of the window.  

That is, until yesterday. Happily chatting away on Skype, I was NOT prepared for the question: "How is your studying going?” In theory, I should have gotten away with a lie - we were not video streaming, so he could not see me and I could have pinched myself not to laugh - but the voice....the damn voice...

At the same time, I know when I treading on ice so thin, that I do actually already qualify for walking on water. It is something in the way that he became quiet - a small silence, the throat clearing...then his voice changing a gear, becoming a low hum and the question repeated ever so slowly and clearly. Although I miss him more than anything in life, I was eternally grateful that a huge piece of water was between us. Sometimes, the negative does have some positive results as well.

However, I am off to get some studying done...I have come to the firm conclusion that I do seem to run the real risk of having an impact study being performed on my bottom if books are not opened soon.

 

One year later...

It feels as if it was only the other day that I decided to explore this hidden part of me that I had denied myself for so many years.  I can remember the nervousness, the butterflies and the mental turmoil when I had to present myself to HH for my first adult spanking.  A couple of months later I met Uncle Nick and with his rather gentle way of persuasion I found myself with a spanking blog soon after.

Here I am - exactly one year later, and celebrating my first blog anniversary.  There were the first tentative steps with uncle Nick patiently helping, suggesting ideas and oh dear gods, editing whatever I had written. But, Raven Red has become so much more than just a blog for me.

I have met wonderful people on the way, in cyberspace and in real life, and being in a relationship that has to cover many miles, the blog has become my sanctuary as well. As the man who knows me in every way, Uncle Nick will confirm that Raven Red is me, as much as what I am Raven Red.

I have laughed, cried, ranted and sulked. I have shared my hurt, my anger and my disappointments, my happiness and my love. I have teased, been cheeky and a couple of times were plain provoking, and then of course, there is the  faithful reporting of having a rather red and sore bottom mostly because all of the above.

So, on the start of a new year, and as I blow the candle out, my only wish is that on Raven Red’s next blog anniversary, it will be with Uncle Nick, with me not having to leave ever again. Oh, and I would not mind having a slight erm...meeting with this guy...

 

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...

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.

Best behaviour...

It has been a couple of days since I have last posted, but I have been a full time tourist...to poor Uncle Nick's frustration. Tomorrow we are off to the munch somewhere in the middle of London. Now taking into consideration that my feet and legs hurt, and that I urgently require to be able to sit down...I am in the process of trying very hard to stay out of trouble from this moment onwards. There will be no " insolence", arguments or attitude from my side...really...

Spanking clips, DUI and English weather

The idea:

There are certain times when I do question my own sanity. Today was one of those days - in actual fact, the questioning into my cognitive functioning actually started yesterday morning, as soon as what the words: " Let's make a spanking clip" left my mouth. I am no actress, to that my looks and purse can sadly testify, and previous attempts at role-playing left me helplessly in tears - from laughter. So, to make matters worse, after the first couple of words were uttered, I added that the spanking clip should be linked to one of the outstanding “misunderstandings" between me and Uncle Nick in order for me to react in a genuine fashion.

The " What was I thinking!" moment 

An incident of driving after having a drink or two, turned into a drunk driving offence with any changes of wiggling my way out of it, disappearing like the sun in English rain. I did rather fervently prayed last night that today would bring bright sunshine - one should explore and not stay indoors while the sun does shine over here - but the steady dripping of rain against the windows dashed that hope early this morning. My attempt to sleep late due to " exhaustion" was further nipped in the bud by Uncle Nick whispering that he had decided that my errant ways in not only disobeying him, but that of the laws of a country were to be rewarded by twenty-four strokes of the cane by lunchtime today.

Current...er... "status":

My first ever spanking or rather caning now captured on footage being edited by Uncle Nick. I did have a look at it - but the involuntary clenching of my bottom muscles in sympathy soon put an end to that. We did go out for dinner afterwards- and what was comfortable chairs yesterday had for some strange reason changed overnight into the most unyielding and uncomfortable seats. I have been knicker-less since lunchtime - and it is not that I am that daring; it is a sheer question of trying to keep anything away from touching a very sore, rather striped and red bottom. And I am now going to bed, to sleep on my stomach, and to repeat the following mantra: "You will NOT have any more bright bottom ideas..ever."

Avoidance

I have to confess that I have been avoiding my blog. The last week in South Africa before my flight to the UK was filled with seemingly non-stop last minute arrangements and meetings, and I never had a chance to even think about the blog, never mind write or post some images. The reality that I was finally on my way to the UK, only really set in when I was walking through the Frankfurt airport on my way to board the connecting flight.

Even with the excitement bubbling, a dreadful sadness settled over me. Seven weeks to spend with someone I deeply care about, the desperate attempts to slow time down, fill the days with as much as what is possible - but yet, knowing every day that time is limited. Three weeks have already flown past - I have met people and am still due to meet some more. I have seen and experienced places with so many more that I want to see. I have been folded into his arms, held as he promised me he would when we see each other again. I have been on the receiving side of his lectures and some of my offerings of “valid reasons" had resulted in him laughing from the bottom of his toes.

I have been pulled over his lap, a rebellion instantly quelled by his hand bruising my bottom. I have confirmed once again that for my bottom's welfare, the cane he has stashed in his closet should be destroyed. The tawse he so lovingly nurtures - well, words escape me. He has left it out - where I can see it every day, and I have had wonderful ideas about accidental mishaps that could befall that piece of leather...but must admit the courage to follow through is sorely lacking.

In all this time I did not want to blog. The blog reminds me of the escape it offers from being separated from him, being in another country - the tool to use to calm and soothe the hurt. The blog reminds me that the time will soon come again...my hurt, my frustration and sorrow growing as everyday go past, building to that moment where life seems to lose its vibrancy and colours again. I understand world economics, immigration policies, and the difficulties currently experienced in this wonderful country, but as I living my life in this country with him for the couple of days given to us, I also know that I have always been optimistic about life...yet, now, I am only praying for some miracle.

I am no longer sure whether I can survive the sorrow that I know will be arriving soon, or will be able to fight off the bleakness and loneliness that builds every day with the longing and missing. I do not know how much pieces of my life I will have to lose again as I wish it away until I can board a plane again for a bit of time with him...returning to a blog to fill that void and soothe the pain within my soul.

We draw near

As this music was written for the voice to be nothing more than an instrument

That the listener is not distracted and only hears the harmonised sound,

My soul reaches out for you,

In search for my own melody,

The song that sets me free from my own boundaries.

Deep in the night, when silence folds around me,

I close my eyes, and remember.

The tips of my fingers feeling the heat of your body,

In my memories, I am tracing your face

And I feel your feather light kiss against my palm.

I feel your arm underneath my hand as I we walk together,

I marvel at the strength within.

I can smell you, as I bury my head against your chest,

My tears staining your shirt,

Yet you never let go.

I feel the imprint of your hand against my skin,

The pain, the redness, the desire for you

My breath catches as my body shudders

Caught between defiance and submission,

 I surrender my soul to you, over and over again.

As I hear the rich timbre of your voice,

The sternness, the lightness, the laughter

In this stillness of an African autumn night,

My soul reaches out for you, the distance of no consequence,

For it is nothing more than Adiemus...we will draw near...

 

 (Music: Adiemus, Karl Jenkins)

Moonglow

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.

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.

Need

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.

I am angry

I am angry...

I am angry at an illness that came uninvited, invading my body, whether I wanted it or not.

I am angry at an illness that refused to go away when I wanted it to, to disappear into thin air, as if it was never there.

I am angry because I had to confess that I did hide the severity of the symptoms from you, because of my own reluctance to go and seek medical help.

I am angry because as much as what I try to evade the truth, I can barely manage to hide it or conceal it. In the end, I always pull it out – to show you, confess to you, of what I have done or not done.

I am angry that you wanted me to explain why I did what I did, when I barely understand it myself.

I am angry that even though I did try, I knew that nothing I said could justify any of it.

I am angry that you saw my pitiful arguments and reasons put forward for what it was, nothing more than empty words trying desperately to deflect away from my own stubbornness and silliness.

I am angry that you are not going to let this one slip by, your calm voice telling me what will be, your logic and arguments closing every avenue of escape I could think off.

I am angry at my helplessness to stop the scribbling of a pen on paper, knowing that even with the months in between, this will only be between you and me.

I am angry that when the day arrive, I will have to crawl over your lap and feel your hands lower my panties,  for a punishment now recorded according to date and time.

I am angry that when my bottom will burn and turn red from your hand and a tawse, and when I squirm and want it all to stop, I will be reminded of this day.

I am angry, because I know that you are right.

I am angry...with myself.

Nobody knows the trouble I foresee...

It was suppose to be a quiet Saturday morning, nothing hectic planned, no stress foreseen, nothing - butterflies, birds, honey and trickling water were suppose to be theme of the day. However, I did forget that it seems I am direct descendant of Mr Murphy, and that all his laws and some more, seem to apply, in full, to me. It is now late afternoon, and I have yet to speak to Uncle Nick, however, I can see one dreaded moleskin notebook making an appearance...erm, maybe I should tell him now that he might need more than one.

Strike one – Delaying doctors visit for no good reason except own stubbornness.

First visit this morning was to my doctor, who by the way, I have been avoiding for the past week, although I am as sick as a dog, and have been running a fever for the same time.

 “Do you always HAVE to wait until you are literally at death’s door, young lady?” (Jeepers, what is it with this young lady business?)

“What do you mean you do not want the injection in your bottom? Does it look that I am giving you a choice? The fever needs to be brought under control”

The look that accompanied that sentence, whilst waiving a syringe and one evil looking needle my direction, effectively resulted in no further arguments. However, quick thinking was required to put the bottom cheek forward that no longer reflects caning stripes. In his mood, he might have wanted to refresh them....

Strike Two – Lying and buying stuff because of the guilt

Next stop, the Chinese woman and her needles. It has to do with lymph nodes etc, but halfway through the procedure, already quite naked lying on my back, the request was received that she needs access to my back. But, the backside, especially the bottom still rather reflects quite a bit of bruises, and a couple of cane tracks...therefore quite a couple of blatant lies were provided why I could not lie on my stomach.  

I left with a abdomen that feels as if it is attached to my spine,  I have four  needles in each ear that must be removed, one per day over the next couple of days....and because of my guilt lying to the nice lady, I also bought  some “may-day-sin”. Apparently, it will be good for my digestive system...

Strike Three – High Speed Driving , while yelling and talking on cell phone

Coughing and spluttering, holding onto a stomach that had just endured needles, vibrating needles at that, I was on my way to collect the monthly 15kg cat food bag. With a friend in the car, sending text messages on her phone, I was patiently waiting at a traffic light, when two hands enter the car through the open window next to my friend, plucked her cell phone neatly out of her hands, then hands and body ran to a waiting car on the highway, got in and took off.

 Blame it on the needle being waved in my face, and the other ones stuck into my stomach, but I saw RED. With Uncle Nick talking to me on the cell phone, whilst I am driving and yelling at some idiot to get out of the way, I was in pursuit of the thieves. Forty kilometres further, after driving at about 150km/hour and weaving in between cars travelling rather a bit slower, I admitted defeat. Okay, fine – I had no more petrol left to do this exercise. I was asked the question when arriving home, what exactly I was planning to do when I did catch up with them....erm, I did not think that far ahead, but I am sure I will have thought of something incredibly stupid to do...

Therefore, I am now going to quietly retire, to offer some serious prayers to the deities above, that Uncle Nick on his return from his shopping expedition would have had hundreds of young ladies smiling at him...

Because nobody knows the trouble I foresee...