A Dragon's Song

He did not say anything when she arrived, but stood quietly, waiting patiently until she had removed all her clothes. It was not only the act of removing her garments; it was a removal of her defences, her protection, leaving only an offering - naked, open and in his hands. When the last piece of clothing sagged onto the floor, he turned away, not looking back as he walked into the house, knowing that she will follow. In the large room with the clock and dark furniture, he had prepared for her - an altar of his choice, only waiting for her. 

 

As she took in the sight of what awaits, her nipples hardened, and she knew that he was aware, but yet, even as he bound her, not a word was exchanged. He carefully ensured that the cane was left in her sight during this time, a dragon cane. She could see the terribleness, the loveliness in the smooth, thick bamboo, she could imagine the hard promises of its fiery kisses, and a heat started burning inside her. He gently placed the cane over the back of her knees and walked away, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. 

 

In her open, displayed nakedness, air was gently folding over her, softly caressing her, her body responding without qualms, she was swollen and moist. As she made a small movement, she could feel the crackling leather underneath her knees, but no allowance would be given to her now - she was bound to her situation, her choice, her needs, and her desire. She could feel the cane as it was resting on her legs and she was yearning to feel the burn, leaving hot, warm stripes of exquisite pain across her sensitive flesh.

 

She could smell the heavy oversweet scent of the dark shining mahogany. The polished grooves were cool against her skin where her hips touched it. The uncompromising cold embrace of the metal around her wrists kept her hands together in the small of her back, her palms open in what could be interpreted as a near entreating gesture. The alternating sensations of coldness were in concert and maybe, with slight sympathy, small whispers of goose bumps were raised over and over on her skin, spiralling into heat and moistness between her legs. The heat was amplified with her desire, her wish for his return, and her anguish at waiting for him.

 

The deep silence in the room was only broken by the tick of the grandfather clock and out of the corner of her eye she could see the pendulum slowly swinging from side to side, counting down the seconds. She has lost track of time, not that it mattered anymore, as she has forsaken her identity, her being, for this moment, this infinite moment of acquiescence. She knew he will return, she knew he will gently feel her heat, her wetness - test her readiness and if she was, he will remove the cane from the back of her legs. For then, he will create her desire, a song, a dragon’s song...

My gratitude to China Hamilton for allowing the use of his images.

 

Love our Lurkers...and Custard Creams?

During a rather pain in the derriere period of the wrong kind (no pink coloured tender bottom type), I disappeared into the corporate netherworld whilst liberally adding some more angst to my life in deciding to emigrate to the UK at the same time. The result was that a status of absentia was declared on Raven Red’s commiserations of spanking and life in general.

 

I have never thought that a Statistics report could induce so much guilt or gratitude for that matter. Every month I would receive the blog’s visitor profile, and yes, quite a bit of lurking was going on. For every single day in the period that I did not blog, I still received visitors. The corporate world has receded, okay, basically I am jobless, but I am now where I want to be, has started blogging again and realising how much I missed it...and lo and behold...I even have been spanked a couple of times!

 

With the return of my fingers to the keyboard and actually producing some blog posts, Chross and Pink have graciously restored my name to their blog rolls, Uncle Nick is praising the gods above that I finally realised that my blog will not update itself and Wordsmith is muttering something about escapes and custard creams...

 

As it is the annual Love our Lurker’s day that started with the Bonnie's wonderful blog, it is also a day where our lurkers are encouraged to leave comments if they want...but my message for YOU who did and do faithfully return every day to see if I have been up to something, or rather been upended over someone’s knee, regardless of the fact that there was for a period nothing but a purplish type of page, in your silent returns daily, I received your comments and for that, I thank you.  

 

I would appreciate some thoughts about Wordsmith’s sudden preoccupation for custard creams though...I personally prefer hot cross buns....

Before you...

My gratitude to China Hamilton for his kind permission given to use his images.

 

 

 

Muffled?

You have the flawless response; you plotted a seamless reaction whilst your brain seems to be functioning at optimum output...but, alas, this normally is always after the fact. 

 

It seems to be a human flaw that when something nasty occurs unexpectedly, you often wonder afterwards

1.         Why you did not say something more appropriate,

2.         Why you did not act/ react as you should have,

3.         Or as in my case, wonder what happened to your normal logical thought processes.

 

After a long road trip down to London with Uncle Nick and finally in the quiet surroundings of a warm hotel room, I was slightly astounded when I was informed that he had enough of my insolence. Before I could even formulate a proper response, (refer to paragraph 2, point 1) I found myself unceremoniously being hauled over his lap, as he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

As I was still trying to figure out exactly what it was that I said or done that could be regarded as “insolent” as this is after all, quite a broad definition of various possible scenarios that might or might not have occurred, I did sort of missed the fact that in my pondering, my knickers no longer were in place. In actual fact, my bottom was bare and I did not even lift one finger to try and stop this?! (Refer paragraph 2, point 2).

 

As his hand came crashing down on my bottom time after time, my only thought was...”OMG! I better make sure that no-one hears me being spanked!!”  With that desperate thought, I promptly grabbed the pillow in front of me, stuffed my face into it, and happily endured the spanking, after all, all my yelps were quite succesfully being muffled...

Erm...(refer paragraph 2, point 3).

Low Hanging Fruit...

I have had a couple of surreal moments in my life, but then again, I do seem to have sign on my forehead that says: "Trouble Welcome Here". Attending a get together with some friends, I was introduced to a rather jocular, seemingly highly intelligent man. I did not think much of it, nor take much notice either, apart from the fact that he seemed quite a nice guy, friendly and easy on the ear of a newly arrived South African still trying to decipher the words between all the different British county accents.

 

As things sometimes do obtain a life of their own, so did the evening. From what was supposed to be a bit of chatting and catching up over a glass of wine or two, it turned into a serious "Global Resolution” summit, even briefly including some heavy duty strategies to resolve the current global economic crisis. As with any good informal social discussions, thought processes were definitely being influenced by the copious amounts of red wine consumed. The topics and debates thereof were on the increase in direct proportion to the amount of empty wine bottles in the recycling bin.

 

It was in this rather robust atmosphere where personal opinions were now based on the size of egos with a simultaneous reduction in intelligence and common sense, when I made my escape to some cold evening air to have a cigarette. I was joined by the afore mentioned gentleman and the conversation (very one sided at that) started off innocently enough - he was curious about the South African for about 15 seconds before proceeding to tell me about his latest business venture. 

 

Take my word for it...staring at an empty wine glass wishing you brought the bottle with, whilst making the appropriate acknowledgement noises as your ears ache, does not even closely come to describe my despair. When the inevitable promises came that he would offer me a job, no, actually I should not scoff at him, he is offering me a job; it took every bit of self control not to roll my eyes. When I finally did manage to utter a single sentence about going back into the house as I am slightly tired, he pounced on the subject of sleep deprivation with great gusto. 

 

It took nearly fifteen minutes to establish that he had not slept for some indeterminable time...but would I like to know why? Another bit of advice - when you get that little niggling thought that you should run before it is too late...DO IT! I was proudly informed that his sleep shortage was due to “bonking” every female in his sight, because they all find him irresistible, especially when they see his appendage’s considerable size.  It appeared though that my disinterest in his overwhelming busy sex life or the size of his “brain” was interpreted as disbelief. 

 

Before I could even say the word “penis”, he jumped up, excitedly shouting that he will show me what so many desires - “MY COCK!” which he then promptly hauled out. I will give him this - he is well endowed - it is just a pity about the rest of him. My desire for something stronger than wine increased dramatically as he was waiving his asset around for all and sundry to admire. It was about five minutes later when I heard his voice rather plaintively stating that he loves having his cock sucked. (I ignored the statement - At this stage, my glass had been thankfully been refilled, and I was concentrating at getting as much nicotine and wine into my system in the shortest period of time possible). 

 

Silence descended.

Then...“Would you like to suck my cock?”

All the red wine in the world could no longer put a lid on my temper. “No”.

Another bit of silence.

“Congratulations! You have the job!!”

I have to admit, I could not help but to laugh - it was one of the best attempts I have ever heard anyone make trying to safe some face...well, in his instance, attempt to save cock? 

 

The surreal bit?  It was about ten minutes later after I finally managed to make my escape, when he came up to me...

“Love, how ‘bout a cup of tea, please?”

 

 

 

 

 

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...

 

Defeat

I have a couple of weeks left before leaving my job. At the same time, I have the same couple of weeks left before leaving the county. Oh, and over and above that, in between I am focusing on a business that I am trying to get of the ground.

 

So, between juggling work issues, reading some manuscripts received, editing, packing up stuff, I have now reached a point where if you look closely I am waving a white flag. Actually, you do not need to even look closely, if you look in the distance and see a large blob of white frantically moving around - that is me. I admit defeat!

 

Although I normally will try everything to get out a spanking, I now humbly request, can I please just crawl over a knee and have my derriere undergo a change in colour? I am tired, out of sorts, now and again going of on a temper tangent and even worse, having sulks that even I frighten myself.

 

I know that as that hand impacts over and over on my bottom which frankly has become quite complacent in not having any firm discussions with it, the tension in my back and shoulders will start unwinding.  I know that this awful feeling of being unsettled, being moody, from the one moment close to tears to the other ready to kill anything in sight, will go away.

 

I know that when the tears finally do come, and they will, I will experience a feeling of quietness inside myself, creating peace and calmness, and therefore I will no longer be waking up because I have a sore jaw from grinding my teeth, or having half-moons in my palms left from clenching my fists in my sleep.

And I know that even though my bottom will hurt, this terrible hollowness inside will be gone, I will once again safe and strong enough to face the future, no matter how difficult these last couple of weeks might be.