When my Dad fetched his ‘slipper’ for me, (a traditional bedroom slipper with a smooth sole), my reaction was usually, “No Dad! Please Dad! Sorry Dad!” as he took me over to his armchair to bend me over his knee and give me a good slippering. I used to struggle to try to avoid being put over his knee and put the palm of my hand in front of my bottom and hope that he wouldn’t pull my pants down because it hurt more on the bare bottom. I would try to be brave but he always slippered my bottom very hard and first of all I would shout and plead for him to stop and then cry. He always gave mea few whacks when I was crying to make sure.

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