All because of a smacking

By the time I was 12, my reputation as the family tomboy was pretty much established. I rarely played with other girls, never wore skirts (except reluctantly at school) and preferred my own company.

The other thing I knew with certainty at that age was that I was fascinated with the act of spanking. By now I rarely got the back of my mother’s hand, but I had a little brother five years younger and he still regularly got his pants put down to go across Mum’s knee. I would watch carefully and discreetly as Mum smacked his little bare bottom while he lay across her lap, wriggling and crying like a baby.

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