My experience takes my back to when I was an 11-year-old, in the late 1960s. Myself and around six pals took to playing in a nearby right-of-way at the back of some gardens and lock-up garages, much to the annoyance of the householders, who would tire of our noise and balls hitting their fences, etc. They would often come out and remonstrate with us. One in particular was a stout, elderly gentleman, his appearance suggested he may have been an Army Colonel or something, his authoritarian appearance we found quite scary, and we would all run off when he came out.

On one occasion he came out, I was obviously not quick enough in running away, and he grabbed my arm. As my pals disappeared into the distance, he proceeded to march me through his gate, and into his garden, his strong grip ensuring I could not break away. Some degree of panic set in, but I naively thought I was just going to get a good telling-off.

My head was in a whirl as he sat down onto a stool (he was obviously a keen gardener, the stool being adjacent to a potting bench) and pulled me over his ample lap. I can remember my legs fluttering in mid-air, and my gripping on to his leg for support as his strong horny hand gripped my waist while the other held my thighs to adjust my position across his lap.

I had only ever witnessed over the knee spankings in comic strips, films, etc, where that position was used to dramatize and create a spectacle. I still could not believe this was happening to me!

His hard hand started walloping my upturned bottom for what seemed like ages. I don’t even know if I verbally reacted at that point, all I was aware of was my bottom getting hotter and hotter. Being summer, the thin shorts I was wearing offered little cushioning.

I was then aware the spanking had halted, although difficult to tell as my bottom was so hot and sore, but my relief was short lived. I had obviously slipped out of optimal position, as he grabbed my waist with both hands, lifted me, and threw me forward over his knee, to deliver another barrage of stinging smacks.

At this stage, I was squirming to be let off the hook, kicking my legs, and verbally reacting with howls and pleas for him to stop.

When he finally believed the lesson had been learned, he lifted me up off his knee and placed me feet first on the ground, finally giving me chance to rub my blazing bottom cheeks. Still in a state of shock, I did not fully take in what he said as he pointed to the gate. It was something like there were plenty more where that came from, and he would ‘tan all of our backsides’.

At that stage, I saw his wife had stood watching with a smile on her face, and the venue was overlooked by other houses, so not sure whether my spanking was witnessed by others too.

In the right of way, alone, I carefully peeled down my shorts to try to soothe my very red bottom, but even gentle rubbing was uncomfortable. I knew I needed to get back to my pals.

My pals ran to me as I entered my home street. I put on a brave face, despite feeling tearful, and tried to act normal despite my bottom feeling like it was on fire. I just said he had told me off and made up a story that he knew where my parents were so we would play somewhere else. Fortunately, my friends heeded my advice!

My bottom was still very sore when I got home a short while later, and I had to hide any discomfort so as not to arouse any suspicion from my parents. The tingling lasted well into the next day, and a couple of days later some residual bruising was noticed by my mother, but I just made up a story that I had fell onto my bottom whilst playing football.

A couple of our group were similar aged girls, and I often thought what if it was one of those he caught and not me. Would they have been taken over the knee as I was? Clothing of the day was short cotton summer dresses, which would surely have ridden up, knickers offering less protection than my shorts.