Painful though her hand had been, it was mild compared to the whack of that wooden-backed brush. This time, my wailing was solely in response to the smacking, and I very quickly reached the point where I could think about nothing other than the fire in my rear.
I could feel my buttocks pulsating as the blood continued to rush to my sore bum, the redness deepening with each whack. Heaving sobs wracked my whole body as mum’s trusty hairbrush continued to set my backside alight. The backs of my thighs did not escape her expert attention, and my legs splayed open and kicked wildly in all directions in response to this pain.