“Lie over my knee!” I did as I was told, being familiar with the position from my father’s spankings.
Auntie Deirdre pulled my shirt back a bit to expose my bottom properly and put an arm around my waist.
It was a grip of iron, and I was about to discover why it was necessary.
The smacked bottom with the hairbrush that followed was the worst smacking I had ever had in my young life.
Mother’s own hand smackings had been quite sharp and definitely to be avoided, especially compared with father’s fairly innocuous spankings, but this was in a different league.
She aimed most of the strokes hard and low, I guess so that I would really feel the chastisement for a while when I sat down – which I certainly did.