Announcement...or something like that...

If there is one thing I am certain of is that I am a bookworm. Having had a teacher for a mother, I was taught appreciation for the written word from a very young age, and could read at the age of five. I have never stopped since and although I have a love for certain genres, I love to browse and discover something fresh and unusual.

Two major events are about to occur in my life, of which one is leaving South Africa, with the second being the consequence of the first – the end of a very successful career at my current company. However, it is also the beginning of a new life, and one in which I have decided to combine my love for books with work.

I am setting up my own publishing company, as I firmly believe that everyone does have a story to tell, whether it is fictional or not. In terms of Erotica submission, a non-negotiable rule is that your manuscript should not contain kids or animals. For novels, the word count must be between 50,000 and 80,000 words and in your mail, please include a chapter by chapter outline. All submissions are to be sent as Word attachments. I have no objection if you want to submit your work to other companies at the same time. Regarding royalties, fifty percent of the received royalties will be paid over to you.

For more information or submission of work, kindly mail me at ravenred001@gmail.com.

www.savagechickens.com

The one that got away?

For a couple of months, I was working up to twelve hours a day, seven days a week, being involved in a development phase, not only for the business, but for myself. I can remember that horrible tiredness that set in after the first month which blurred the rest of the time in a “let survive day by day” philosophy.  With all that was going on, my two weekly bottom warming visits to HH effectively came to a screeching halt.

At first, it seemed to be all fine. I could flop down in chairs without going through the “oh holy cow, my bottom hurts” moments, my constant fidgeting  in meetings ceased and I was no longer getting up every ten minutes make a cup of coffee to alleviate the uncomfortable sensations experienced in my rear region.

However, in the absence of my regular mood stabilising therapy sessions, as performed on a certain part of my anatomy, my temper was flaring more than normal and I have to add, rather spectacularly at times. Coupled with the temper was the steady increase in my refusals to willingly co-operate with anyone in general, and I do think, it reached a point where any self respecting mule would have gladly handed me the stubbornness crown to wear.

This unhealthy state finally reached a point where a disagreement about paying for lunches ended it all. I had become totally fed up with the team leader of the project, more specifically, with his insistence to buy me lunch every day without wanting to take my money for my share. I am a firm believer in paying my own way, and my irritation levels knew no bounds when trying to leave money on the table or paying for the food directly, I would invariably find the cash lying on my desk later in the afternoon.

I kept the money in an envelope, and every time I had to add some more, my temper and impatience soared. I also knew that if I handed the cash over, stating that it is for the lunches, I would have not been successful. So, I put on my most innocent face, took the envelope out of the drawer and set of on my mission. As he came down the passage, I stuffed the envelope in his hand as I passed him, dismissively stating that I was told to give it to him.

When I was sure there was enough space between me and him, I stopped and then told him, gleefully and quite mockingly, I have to admit, that it is the damn lunch money. Oh, and he that can forget it – I have locked my office, it will remain locked, and even though it is against the law, if the money is returned to me, I will burn it! Feeling quite smug and satisfied, there was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for his next words. “Young lady, I feel like putting you over my knee, because you are in need of a good spanking”.

It felt as if the whole building was caving in on me – I knew my face was burning, as I could feel the air cooling it down while I was whipping my head in all directions to see if any of my colleagues heard this little, unexpected and devastating statement. At the same time, as I was leaning back against the wall due to a sudden but serious weakness being experienced in my legs, and trying to get a bottom under control that was clenching and unclenching involuntarily, I was frantically trying to think of a response, apart from the “Yes, oh my goodness, yes, yes, yes, please!” that was racing through my mind.

In the end, I did manage a weak laugh, and a mumbled some inane response that to this day, I cannot quite remember. However, a message was sent that very afternoon to HH, quite clearly stating that I am in dire need of not only a great cup of warm coffee, but also a bottom warming session with him and his cane. I have to confess though, that for the rest of project duration, and in the many meetings following, I did rather have a fascination with the hands of said team leader, not being able to look away, and constantly found myself daydreaming, wondering whether he was a hard spanker...

Nothing left...

That cold and clear moment when reality sets in. 

When nothing but contemplation and the wait remain.

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...   

Some clarity required?

Perhaps the question was not clearly understood, but this is the short version of a conversation after it was established that the “available” Dominant male might NOT be so available:

“Does your girlfriend know about your alternative interests and actions?”

“Yes, but we do not discuss it”

“I am not prepared, nor want to be, the cause of any issues between the two of you”

“Do not worry, you will not be”

Let us now proceed to the phase where actions such as composing and sending text messages that openly and graphically declare kink intent of a certain kind to a third party, whilst at the same time leaving the mobile phone in range of said girlfriend, are simply beyond my comprehension. Clearly the expression about the cat and curiosity was never clearly explained to this particular individual.

Then...the cherry on the top of this delicious recipe for disaster...a frantic text message:

“Do not call me until I call you” with a total and utter shutdown in communication thereafter.

Later that day...another text message received from an unknown number which notified me of my level of perversion, her thoughts about my level of perversion, well, suffice to say, said level was a couple of feet below ground with a clear indication that evil little red men with horns and forks must be my only friends. Oh, and some fervent hopes and wishes that I should die a horrible death.

My opinions?

Her:

I fully understood her anger and rage – I would be just as angry, because clearly she did not know anything about his desire to dominate, control and punish. In fact, I would be angrier – because this person that professed wanting to marry me (information included in text message), did not have the openness or courage to even attempt to discuss or explain what BDSM was about. Great way to build a relationship...

Him:

I am not sure when the “until I call you” bit is going to happen – seeing that it has now been over three months, I rather do suspect that it is never, not that I mind though – I have low tolerance for cowards and assholes in general. Yes, I know – bad language...naughty, naughty girl I am...so spank me, be assured, at least I will not lie about it!

The whole debacle:

I know and realise that I am most probably in a “better” position than most. I am not in a relationship where I might have to hide things, but on the other hand, I have never been a person to hide crucial details that I think another should know. I am in a consensual relationship where my desires to be submissive and to be spanked/punished are clearly understood, as it is also accepted without prejudice that it is an integral part of my sexual being.

I truly appreciate that not all people can or is willing to disclose what they perceive as their “darker side” to another. I have also come to the realisation that for me, this is who I am, and I have accepted the fact that I will never be able to be fully happy within a vanilla relationship. However, for some, whatever the kink might be, it is a fantasy, something to get the sexual juices all fired up and they might or might not get involved with some play, but once it is all over, they go back to their vanilla lives.

 My message for those individuals that do hide little secrets away from their dear ones and do not want the kink to infringe on their vanilla lifes, please belief me when I say that I do understand, BUT, if you do want to play and are playing – please do me this small little favour – at the least, have some respect for the person that you are playing with and have the damn courage to be honest about yourself and your lies.

Oh, and one last thing – utilise those brain cells –when the urge overcomes you to compose text messages to other parties detailing your kinky desires, every mobile phone does have a delete function...it is highly recommended that you should familiarise yourself with it.

Intentions

It was never my intention to land up in a situation where my blog no longer featured in my daily rituals, but somehow I quite nicely manage to do just that. My somewhat disastrous adventures into the local BDSM scene, coupled with volunteering for a “twenty-week that lasted for twenty six weeks” project at work in addition to everything else I was busy with resulted in a complete stop in activities that in hindsight would have rather be the more preferred options.

Every now and again, obviously without a hint of sarcasm in his voice (yeah right!), Uncle Nick had to make this statement about “certain” people that think blogs update themselves. To be fair, although I would receive a lecture quite on a regular basis about taking on things that I never should have in the first place, Uncle Nick had been remarkably patient with me. It is rather concerning though that the question when last I saw HH, seems to be on an increased and regular repeat pattern lately.

As for HH, he is rather more down to the point regarding his demands about the blog. Taking into consideration that our regular chats also had diminished behind the evil wall of work, the “Get back to your blog!!” message was rather hard to miss on these occasions. Oh, and for some reason I am apparently instrumental in the current decline of his cane’s wellbeing. He does rather stress his concerns about it being covered in cobwebs, and although I am still of the opinion that it will do the cane no harm, I do get the message.

So, with the project finally over, and my life seemingly returning to a more normal routine, I can finally pay some attention to my blog again....and well, seeing that I no longer have any valid excuses for tantrums, sulking or unavailability to present my rear-end for cobweb prevention (previously, successfully blamed on project commitments) I suppose HH will be most eager and delighted to return his attention to my rather neglected bottom, with Uncle Nick on the sidelines, grinning in glee...awaiting my moans and groans about a red and tender backside.

Raven and the "Dom"

It took months of debating and self-assessment to decide whether I should act on the desire to explore total submission that is coupled with strict discipline. Locally it meant that I had to explore the fringes of the BDSM world, and although I am very comfortable in the spanking environment, it took a lot of courage to finally take a very tentative step into the unknown. However, anyone that reads Uncle Nick’s blog will know by now that it turned out to be a disastrous first experience.

I do not hide the fact that I have a dominant personality, but yet, that I am submissive. My self-awareness and understanding of my psyche in relation to the desire to submit, is also at a level where I acknowledge that certain actions, conscious or sub- conscious, are purely based on assessing whether the person commanding submission, is truly a dominant, and a strong dominant at that. I have a tendency to push against set boundaries, simultaneously testing that the boundary posts are not moved to make an allowance for my actions, and that where I have overstepped, real consequences whatever they may be, will follow.

However, where consequences are concerned, it is based on mutual and informed consent. I should also be able to fully trust the person in all aspects, to experience care and nurture at the same time as it is not a weakness, but a further strength in the person responsible for the submissive.  With all of that in mind, an initial get together with a “Dom” lasted nearly three hours in a local restaurant. Some more conversation followed the following day, in which I agreed to a second meeting to further discuss whether he would be right person in terms of what I need. Due to circumstances this meeting took place at his house, which, yes, in hindsight, I should have never agreed to.  

It turned out that he had a serious drinking problem, and within an hour or so was totally drunk. As the drinking escalated during the hour, so did his aggression. His ideas and theories around what a true dominant male should be and act as, were nothing more than a wall to conveniently hide sadistic and abusive tendencies behind. Apart from thrashing the local BDSM scene as pretentious, fake and only for show, he built in his need for alcohol by mocking an important safety rule, apparently within the local BDSM group: “No play when alcohol has been consumed”.  

A total illogical and surreal speech was made where BDSM where likened to Afrikaner culture, and it was during this speech that the danger signs appeared. I was informed that he wanted to slap me (and my assumption was in the face) at the previous meeting, because I had the audacity to reply to a waitress without asking him first as he was the “host”. Upon correcting him that I arrived first, it was a meeting between two adults with no prior arranged consent to do anything but talk, that I was responsible for my own bill,  a list was set out of what will be allowed and what will not be allowed.

Between the glasses of brandy with some very limited Coke and ice, I was informed that he will decide when and what I will say to Uncle Nick. I will not mingle with the local BDSM scene, yet in another breath, he wanted me to go to a local upcoming BDSM function. His desires will always come first, and as far as what he was concerned, the needs of a submissive are of no importance. Somehow, in his mind, I have somewhere along the line agreed to be “trained”.

 I was locked in a house with him, and I had no idea where the keys were, and no words can describe the cold feeling that I had in the pit of my stomach. Fortunately as he became drunker, he also became more uncoordinated and off balance, and towards the end of the ordeal, it appeared that he was ready to pass out. I did finally manage to leave relatively unharmed, partially due to some well placed text messages and calls from Uncle Nick, however, it took several days to make peace with the fact that I had to ‘submit’ to certain demands in order to do so.

My initial reactions of total rage, coupled with a sore body and feeling totally violated although no sexual acts were required, left a very bitter taste in my mouth towards the BDSM scene. However, common sense did prevail, and although so easy to do, the actions of one man cannot be transferred onto a group, nor can they be held accountable.

The sad thing though, like a true alcoholic, his response to my text message that I will not be seeing him again under any circumstances, reflected that he most likely did not remember half of what he did or said.  A harsh and scary experience, I do admit, but at the same time, my desire to continue exploring has not diminished, and after receiving some moral and emotional support from individuals within the BDSM community (local and internationally), I do know that I will be okay.