My mother believed in firm and strict discipline. At first, she seemed to prefer the ‘instant response’ style of immediately dealing with any inappropriate behaviour, naughtiness, disrespect etc. But later she shifted to scheduled sessions, both more ritualised and more severe. She felt these enabled her to better ‘demonstrate her love’.
A typical session would begin promptly upon arriving home on Sunday afternoon. While little was said previously, I always knew what was going to happen. Mother would send me into the spare bedroom, where I had to strip – discipline always being applied on my naked bottom. She would then fish in the closet for her strap. Once she found it, the spanking could begin. Sometimes there would be little lectures, but she always saved the largest part of her energy and focus for the actual spanking.
Sometimes I would try to negotiate, begging for another chance, or promising to be good all next week. Seldom, extremely seldom, did I gain more than a few seconds out of these entreaties. Then it would start.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I would say, pleading.
How long would it last? I did not count at the time, but my estimate now is somewhere between 40 and 60 strokes, usually. Sometimes Mother would take a short break midway through to compose or freshen herself. I realise I whimpered and writhed pathetically. “Oooh m-m-mummy, it h-hurts, it hurts….” I don’t know why I reverted to these infantile expressions, considering how old I was – but she was not impressed.
“It is supposed to hurt,” she would reply. “I have to be severe with you, Robbie – it proves how much I love you.” Then she would resume the spanking
Looking back, it is interesting how well behaved I would be for several days after one of these sessions. Many times, I recall Mother’s little compliments regarding my ‘sweetness’ or how ‘good’ I behaved after a good hard Sunday session. I could not help myself. It was just so much easier to be ‘good’ after having been whipped. Even my walk became quieter, tamer, more delicate.
Was she right to be so strict? I can’t really judge. I know she found my comportment after a session to be pleasingly preferable to that before. She probably felt she was successfully domesticating me.