I was probably lucky that unlike her older sister (as I had heard from my cousins), my mother did not use a spanking implement even for severe cases, and was thus the severity of the punishment was limited by the resilience of the palm of her hands. These must have stung, however, for she gave it to me long and hard, and I soon could not prevent myself from utterances of pain and humiliation. My sister, whose bedroom was next to mine, told me later that she had listened to my chastisement.
Finally, Mother considered I had had enough – or, at least, perhaps that her palm had had enough. She wiped my anus and between my buttocks (I did not dare protest the slight intrusion of her paper-clothed finger) and told me to get up. She told me to get dressed as she cleaned the thermometer with alcohol, put it back into its case and left the room.
I recall that, during a later sickness – a real one this time – I feared Mother would take my temperature this way again. Fortunately, I was back to the regular way. Perhaps she had forgotten, or perhaps she considered that spanking had been a sufficient deterrent against future cheating.