My best friend when I was a younger was a girl called Naomi. I was invited one evening to her house to go for a sleepover.

Naomi’s Mother was lovely, very hands-on and cuddly with us and giving us plenty of attention. Finally, we were sent outside to play while she prepared the evening meal. There were just three of us that night, as Naomi’s Father was away on business.

Outside, we ran around a bit until Naomi came across a couple of tennis racquets and a ball, and we began to bat this between us in a very loose interpretation of the real game.

What hadn’t occurred to me was how close we were to the house. Naomi hit the ball towards me and I whacked it back with gusto. Unfortunately Naomi missed my return stroke by a mile and the tennis ball slammed into the glass door of the porch which gave on to the back door proper. It didn’t smash, but left a crack of about 8 inches on the glass.

Naomi’s Mother rushed out to see what had happened and turned on us with an angry face. “You naughty little girls! Naomi, how many times have I told you not to play there?” Silence. “Right, which of you hit that ball into the glass?” Reluctantly, I raised my hand. “Well, you had both better be punished, then. Go to your room this minute!”

We scampered upstairs – we didn’t speak when we got to Naomi’s room, which I was sharing for the night. We listened apprehensively at the movement downstairs, and then what appeared to be a one-sided conversation. I presume Naomi’s Mother was on the phone.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later the bedroom door opened and Naomi’s Mother came in. In her right hand, she held a table tennis bat. Naomi started to cry when she saw it and I felt my stomach drop.

In one corner of Naomi’s room was a desk and table, where she did her school homework, and her Mother picked it up and placed it in the centre of the room facing the bed where we both to sleep. She sat down and looked up at us. I guess my own eyes must have asked a question, because Naomi’s Mother nodded at me. “Yes, Caroline, you are going to be spanked too. In fact, you might as well get done first. Come here to me.”

I stood rooted to the spot. My own Mother rarely smacked my bottom and in retrospect I’m still quite surprised she agreed to me being chastised in this way. I suppose she thought I should be subject to the rules of my host.

When I didn’t immediately obey the command to come, I thought Naomi’s Mother would be really angry. However, a sympathetic look softened her face. She rose briefly and took me by the hand, leading me over to the chair and saying: “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

She placed me at her right side. she gently guided me over her knee and I was suddenly looking at the carpet. I felt a slight chill across my bottom , but I wasn’t chilly for long.

It wasn’t a terrible beating, but it was a really thorough spanking. That table tennis paddle could have been made for smacking bottoms, easily covering my entire small Bottom with a deep burn every time it came down. Naomi’s Mother concentrated on the middle of my bottom, most of the spanks falling dead centre across my Bottom. It hurt very much indeed, and I bellowed and sobbed harder than I ever had in my life.

Finally, I was stood back up on my feet. Naomi’s Mother opened her arms and I threw myself in for a long, long hug, for several minutes. Eventually she brought my crying under control and sat me down on the bed.

On her way back to the spanking chair she took her own daughter by the wrist. Quietened now (but with my bottom still humming from the spanking) I was now able to witness my friend obediently bent over her mother’s lap.

only when Naomi screamed at the first smack did I realise how noisy my own performance must have been.

I must confess to having a sort of funny feeling as I watched Naomi’s spanking, and instinctively I began to squeeze my thighs together. I had done this before in private.

Naomi’s spanking ended and she too got her turn at having a cry on her mother. I was struck by how loving the whole process was, despite it hurting so much.

Naomi’s Mother put the chair back. “Now, I want you girls to stay here for a little while and think about what you did, and what you got for doing what you did. OK?” We nodded, eyes cast down. “I’ve kept tea on to warm and I’ll call you down to eat in a bit.”

I think we both lay on Naomi’s bed for about half an hour, comparing parents and punishments (Naomi said her Father was ‘much worse’ when it came to smacking her bottom), before we were called downstairs to eat. Then we were sent back up to have a bath and change into pyjamas.

Then we went back downstairs and each sat one side of Naomi’s Mother on the settee. She had also changed into a nightie.

Finally, bedtime was pronounced. Naomi’s Mother gave me a gentle smack with her hand and I giggled. “You’ll live,” she pronounced.

“Right, bed right away. No chat, or me and Mr Paddle may be back!” Certainly, neither of us wanted that, and we both slept as soundly as only spanked ones can that night.

When I got home the following day i thought For one dreadful moment I was going to get a tanning from Mother too but all she said was: “I bet that taught you a lesson. I sometimes think I’m too easy on you, my girl!” Then I was dismissed to go and play in my bedroom.

What stays with me about this incident, as I say, was how firmly, but also calmly and lovingly, both of our spankings were administered by that lovely, maternal lady.