I can remember, when I was about 10 or 11, 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 afterwards 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.
Back home, I was sent up to my room. Mum came up and told me to take down my trousers and pants and bend over the side of the bed. She sat on the bed next to me and began smacking my bare bottom. I can’t remember how many smacks I got. It went on and on, and I kept trying to twist out of the way or put my hand in the way, but she said ‘I haven’t finished yet’ and carried on smacking.
Later in the week I must have misbehaved again – I can’t now recall what I did wrong. This time, the spanking took place in the bathroom. What I most remember is standing up in front of the washbasin, holding on to the taps while I got a good smacking – again, on my bare bottom.
The result of these two spankings left my bottom with very clear bruising. I don’t think I realised quite how obvious it was until another boy made a remark while we were getting changed for swimming at school. “I bet that’s where his mum smacked his bum!” was one of the comments. I made some feeble story up, but I’m sure everyone knew the truth.