I would have to admit that at the times when my Mother took the belt to my bottom, she would sometimes smile during and after the punishment, when she held me on her lap for a comforting kiss and hug.

When she was with her friends, she often would describe in detail how she sometimes made me go get the belt to be whipped. She would laugh as she said that she loved how I was obedient to her in that way.

For my own part, from a fairly early age I began to become fascinated about being spanked.

The next day, Mother would ask me if my behind was still sore. If I answered in the affirmative – which was generally the case – she would have a happy expression on her face. At these moments I would run to her, throw my arms around her neck and bask in the love of the woman who so often reddened my backside. Was it that I enjoyed the attention?

As an adult, I played the scenes of her spanking me in my head and would be ashamed that I obviously enjoyed being spanked on some level.

I never had the nerve to ask my Mother about those feelings, but I confessed them to the woman who eventually became my wife, and she was so understanding and sweet about it.

Then, one day, I came home to find both women at the top of the stairs. Both were smiling – and my Mother was holding the belt she had used to whip me . Suddenly, it became clear to me that I no longer needed to be ashamed of my feelings.

My wife continues to discipline me with that belt even to this day, and for many years after that fateful day, my mother would occasionally whip my bottom.

I’m sure some of your readers would have qualms about this outcome of childhood spankings, but I for one can’t help but feel positive about the experience.