On caning Raven Red

I caned Raven Red yesterday - twelve good strokes, each one well laid on, that left her whimpering. If you want a full account of the event then la Red has one already posted, so please read her memories of the event. What I want to talk about is the cane, or rather my dislike of it.

There is something impersonal about a caning that is at the very root of my distaste for the implement. Putting a woman across my knee, holding her in position and raising her skirt before peeling down her panties is not just a preparation for the discipline to come, it is also an intimate delight in itself. Indeed the whole act of administering a spanking is intimate, especially the way in which a wriggling female rubs herself unconsciously against her chastiser's hardening cock.

So why did I cane Raven? Basically because I was angry at an event that almost got her killed back in her native South Africa. I had told her at the time that a dozen with the cane was waiting for her, so yesterday was really about nothing more than administering that which had been previously awarded.

The world is a really nice place with Raven in it. Let's hope that she stays around for many decades to come and does not allow her seeming death wish to ever get the better of her again. In the meantime she can carry on moaning for the next few days, in her curious mixture of English and Afrikaans, about the state of her very well thrashed bottom from now until the cows come home as far as I am concerned.

My liberalism knows no bounds.