By the time I was 8, I was no stranger to being up in my room, over dad’s knee with my trousers and pants around my ankles. Whilst I am sure they were deserved, I never felt like that at the time.

This changed, though, when I started to feel genuinely bad about some, but not all, of the things I did. On this occasion, I was running through the house to go out when my coat sleeve hooked a vase off the shelf in the hall. Mum came through at the sound of breaking china and was visibly upset when she saw what had happened. It had belonged to her mother and wasn’t worth anything as such, but had sentimental value.

She didn’t shout at me, she didn’t even tell me off. She just checked I was ok and started clearing the mess up. I was confused by any lack of reprisal and went to my room, because that’s just what I thought I should do. A while later, Dad came up to see me. Again, no telling off but a gentle chat about not running in the house and I now knew why, also reminding me how upset mum was.

I was sent down to apologise. She wasn’t especially forgiving but didn’t have a go at me either. She just suggested I stay in my room for a bit. I duly went back up. I knew Dad was still there and I thought I knew what was coming. Again though, just a few more gentle words and he got up to leave. I must have had a very puzzled look on my face as he asked what I was thinking. I asked if I was in trouble and he said I wasn’t popular but I wasn’t in trouble. After all, it had been an accident. I had quite expected my trousers to be coming down. Whilst this was a relief, it sort of didn’t feel right either.

Roll on to the following Friday evening.

I hadn’t had a good week. I’d been pushing my luck almost each day. Finally, at tea that evening, I said something, probably cheeky, and Dad got angry and lectured me about my behaviour that week.

It concluded with the question: “Do you want to go over my knee?” There was a long pause, followed by: “Well?”

Normally, this would result in a hasty ‘no’ and an apology, but that time I heard myself saying ‘Yes’.

The look on my parents’ faces was of total amazement and they just stared at me. The biggest coward about being spanked surely didn’t just say that. They kept looking at me, and I felt I needed to explain. I was also petrified at the same time.

I said I felt really bad about the vase and should have been punished. I’d behaved a bit badly all week to get punished, but that hadn’t worked.

Eventually Dad found his voice and told me to go to my room. I asked if he could do it where we were so .mum could see, as I’d upset her so much. I was then taken over to the sofa and he sat down. I was asked again if this is what I really wanted to happen. I started to feel tears building up but still said ‘yes’.

I stared upwards as my trousers were undone and pulled down. I was duly pulled across his knee and the back of my shirt moved out the way. I felt 4 hard smacks across my pants before the customary pause while they were also pulled down. I was already in tears by this point as 4 more smacks landed on my bare bottom. When I got up, Mum hugged me and said all was forgiven. That’s all I’d wanted from that time the previous weekend. My bottom hurt a lot, but despite that I felt I’d done the right thing. I’d finally realised that sometimes spankings were necessary and I was much more compliant from then on.