It was the start of the Christmas holidays in 1974. The weather was foul and I was bored because my friends weren’t able to ‘play out’ that day. My sister, was ‘in charge’, as my mother would put it. Usually I took no notice of this authority, instead just keeping out of her way.

I couldn’t stand the boredom any longer so I began to hunt for my Christmas presents. Initially, I sneaked into my parents’ bedroom (it was usually a safe bet they would be there) and looked in all the usual places. Not finding anything, I went from room to room.

My sister was downstairs, playing a new record she had bought over and over again, so I went into her room as the only place I had not searched. Finally I got round to looking into her drawers, most were full of girlie junk but the bottom one contained her underwear.

Being curious, I looked through it, checking out what was in there. I could feel a funny feeling in me, and knew I was looking at something naughty. Just then I heard a cough.

Tarnia was standing there – and had been watching me for some time. She went ballistic.

“What do you think you’re doing looking through my drawers?” Screamed Tarnia. “You dirty little creature, you are looking through my underwear!” She continued.

“I’m going to tell mother what you’ve been doing!” Tarnia threatened, her eyes blazing with anger.

I tried to explain but she wouldn’t listen and said that she would tell mother.

“I was only looking for my Christmas presents!” I exclaimed, hoping she would understand. But Tarnia was having none of it.

I pleaded, so she gave me a choice: either she would tell mother, or she could punish me herself. I agreed, as the other option seemed too bad to contemplate.

The thought of mother finding out was terrifying. I knew her punishment would be far worse. So, reluctantly, I accepted Tarnia’s offer, hoping it would be less severe.

I agreed to be spanked twice, once that day and once the next. I felt Tarnia enjoyed the power she had over me. Tarnia had always aspired to be a school teacher. This was her chance to practice. She sat down on the chair, and put me over her knee. I don’t know how many I got, just that it went on for ages,

The indignity of going over her lap was unbearable. The seats of my shorts were smacked very hard with the palm of her hand, each strike stinging more than the last. As she lectured me about my behavior, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, both from the spanking and the embarrassment. Her voice was stern, and each word seemed to punctuate the sharp smacks that landed on my bottom.

When Tarnia had finished spanking me I was made to kneel in the corner. Every so often, she would pick up a school plimsoll or her hairbrush and give me a really hard smack. Each strike was sharp and stung intensely, adding to the humiliation and pain. This continued for about an hour, with Tarnia relishing the control she had over me.

The school plimsoll was the worst. Its rubber sole was unforgiving, and each time it came down, it felt like a jolt of electricity shooting through my body. The sting was immediate and intense, leaving a burning sensation that lingered long after the smack. The hairbrush, on the other hand, had a different kind of pain. Its hard, wooden surface felt heavier, and each strike seemed to thud deep into my flesh, leaving a dull, aching pain that built up with each blow. The combination of the two was almost unbearable, each adding its own layer of torment.

The next day, while our mother was out Christmas shopping, Tarnia called me up to her room again. This time, she had a garden cane she had taken from dad’s shed. She swished it through the air, the sound alone sending shivers down my spine. She made me bend over her dressing table, my heart pounding in my chest.

Tarnia took her time, savoring the moment. She tapped the cane lightly against my bottom, each tap a reminder of what was to come. Then, without warning, she brought it down with full force. The pain was excruciating, a sharp, searing line of fire across my skin. I screamed, but Tarnia was relentless.

The first stroke was a shock, the pain immediate and intense. I could feel the welt rising on my skin, a burning line of agony. Tarnia paused, letting the pain sink in before delivering the second stroke. This one landed just below the first, the pain doubling as the two welts intersected. I cried out, but Tarnia was unmoved.

The third stroke was the worst yet, landing on the tender flesh of my lower back. The pain was a white-hot flash, searing through my body. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but Tarnia showed no mercy. She took her time, each stroke a calculated act of punishment.

The fourth stroke landed on the same spot as the first, the pain intensifying as the welts overlapped. I could feel my body shaking, the pain almost too much to bear. Tarnia’s voice was a cold, detached monotone as she lectured me, each word a reminder of my transgressions.

The fifth stroke was a diagonal slash across the previous welts, the pain a jagged line of fire. I could feel my resolve crumbling, the pain and humiliation overwhelming. Tarnia’s voice was relentless, each word a verbal lash that matched the physical pain.

The final stroke was the hardest, a full-force blow that left me gasping for breath. The pain was a searing line of fire, the welt rising immediately. I could feel my body shaking with sobs, the pain and humiliation too much to bear. Tarnia stood back, admiring her handiwork, a satisfied smile on her face.

As she delivered each stroke, Tarnia lectured me as if she were a headmistress. “You must learn to respect others’ privacy,” she said sternly. “This is what happens to naughty boys who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” Her words were sharp, each one punctuated by the swish and crack of the cane. “Do you understand?” she demanded, her voice cold and authoritative. “Yes, ma’am,” I sobbed, the pain and shame overwhelming me.

“You will think twice before invading someone’s privacy again,” she continued, her tone unyielding. “This is a lesson you will not forget easily. Each stripe on your skin is a reminder of your misdeeds. Do you understand the gravity of your actions now?” Her words cut deep, each one a verbal lash that matched the physical pain. “Yes, ma’am,” I repeated, my voice trembling.

This wasn’t a one-off incident. Not long after this, my sister got the chance to discipline me again.