I should begin my little story by telling you about a recent discussion I had with my now very elderly mother. Apparently, when I was quite young, she had reason to smack my legs as a punishment. I responded with a curt ‘didn’t hurt!’

This was not a smart move, as mother apparently promptly , turned me over her knee and spanked my bottom thoroughly until I cried. I was then asked: “Does that hurt enough?”

You may be surprised to hear that I personally don’t recall this momentous event. Quite how someone who even as a young girl thoroughly enjoyed the thought of having her bottom smacked cannot remember such an event is beyond me, but I have a complete blank.

Moving on to my school days, I daydreamed my way through one teacher’s class for a year. He was a middle-aged gentleman, smartly dressed and smoked a pipe. I suppose he had that ‘uncle’ aura about him.

Quite often, I would daydream about him giving me a terrible scolding before turning me over his knee for a sound spanking.

I did receive four whacks of the plimsoll (aka slipper) during senior school. The punishment was not particularly painful, although I didn’t let on, just in case the person administering it decided to follow my mother’s example. Sadly for me, the teacher wielding the slipper was a woman. I would have much preferred a man to administer my punishment – especially the uncle-like teacher with the pipe!

As I got older, I dated a few boys – however none were very much interested in smacking my bottom. Eventually I met Paul, who became my husband. He was happy to spank me, and did a fine job. His only requirement was that I dressed up as a St Trinian’s-style schoolgirl. White knee socks and flat shoes do nothing for him – stockings and heels are more his thing.

I was happy to oblige, because Paul spanked me so very soundly. He would turn me over his knee and smack my bottom hard for 10 or 15 minutes. Goodness me, it stung!
I wish I had a pound for every time over the years that I’ve stood in the corner, hands on my head, with a glowing, hot backside. I find it quite therapeutic – it clears the mind when the only thing you can concentrate on is the scorching fire spreading through your bottom.

After one such session, early on in our marriage, I questioned Paul about any spankings he had received as a boy. He remembered two. The first was really just a playful smacked bum from his aunt and mother.

Paul was wearing a ‘Lone Ranger’ style mask and told his aunt to ‘stick ’em up!’, pretending to rob her. In reply, his aunt told him she was an undercover policewoman and that he was under arrest. She took him by the ear to see ‘the judge’ – Paul’s mother, sitting nearby.

The aunt told the judge what the naughty little robber had done. Paul’s mother said he would have to go to jail for 10 years, but his aunt suggested a spanking instead. The judge agreed and Paul had his bottom smacked by both his aunt and mother.

Both women turned him over their knee and gave him a few smacks. Paul said it was all good fun but it didn’t turn him on. He laughed when his aunt took her turn and smacked first. When it came to his mother, she scolded him and told him that robbery was a very serious crime and that his bottom should be smacked very hard. Paul says his mother smacked a little harder than his aunt but it didn’t really hurt – just stung a little.

Paul’s second spanking was for ignoring his mother after she had told him to sit on the naughty chair. He had been forbidden from moving off the chair until his mother gave him permission to do so.

Anyway, Paul turned on the television (because sitting on the naughty chair was boring), then his mother came into the room and asked how the television had come to be turned on?

Paul explained innocently that he had turned it on because he had been bored – his mother replied that that was the point! He was not supposed to leave the chair, and he had disobeyed her.

She put him across her knee and – sitting on the very same chair – proceeded to smack his bottom hard. Paul said he cried more from the telling-off than the actual spanking, but admitted it really did sting for some time after. For some reason, he had expected his punishment would be the same as the playful spanking he had received from his aunt and mother earlier. So when his mother smacked him hard and fast, it was a shock.

Even worse was the length of time the spanking took – Paul recalled thinking that his mother would never stop. He admitted it was extremely painful and he learned his lesson that day – if his mother told him to do something, he did it. So, obviously, the spanking he received did its job – spankings work!

So there you have it – I am the one in our family with the spanking fetish.