This position, thankfully abandoned after the birth of my half brother, largely relied on sheer willpower to hold your place, and unfortunately it was willpower that I lacked when my bum was being set alight. I squirmed all around, my bare lower half rubbing roughly against the (very 90s style) light grey corduroy settee fabric.
Even though my back was pinned down, my neck could move freely and I continually lifted my head from the couch cushion, straining unsuccessfully against mum’s hand to raise my torso too. My arms were instinctively flying back periodically, seemingly trying to do their bit to prevent my bum’s torment (although in reality their movement angered mum and worsened things for my poor bottom). My legs were kicking and flailing in all directions, so much so that when the smacking finally concluded my pyjama bottoms had be retrieved from the opposite side of the room.