I can remember, when I was younger, having two or possibly three spankings in one week.
I think the first was at the weekend after we – my parents and brother – were visiting my grandparents, who lived in a rather small cottage. The front room was very small and crowded with furniture, so we were supposed to behave quietly. I was messing about crawling under the furniture and I knocked the open flap of a bureau with my head.
Unfortunately, there was an open ink bottle on the flap. It spilled everywhere, staining the leather surface of the writing desk. Mum was furious, of course, and shortly afterward we were off home. We didn’t live far away, and on the drive home I was told I was going to get a smacked bottom.
A Spanking Memory1
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