I proved to be something of a handful for my totally stressed out, but dear, mother whilst growing up, and was very often on the receiving end of a good wallop or two, on reflection probably well deserved. However, this escalated into a full-blown bend over, pants down leathering, not only once but twice; experiences I will never forget.

The first time this occurred, I had been playing up a bit in school and the utterly hopeless teacher, who held absolutely no authority over her class, decided to throw the ball into my mother’s court by sending me home with a letter outlining my misdemeanours and suggesting that some suitable punishment would therefore be required. On receipt of this note, my mother had to sign and return it.

To add insult to injury, the teacher also phoned my mother to back this up.

With the said note firmly in my satchel, I nervously walked home and entered the hairdressing salon where we lived in the flat above. Mother was tending to her last client of the day as I entered, and her steely-eyed state said it all. Silently, I handed her the note which she signed immediately, and then she instructed me to get upstairs, go to my room and wait for her.

My heart was beating like crazy and I was almost in tears at the thought of what was to come. However, I was compelled to obey. What seemed like an eternity passed as I sat on the edge of my bed and listened as my mother saw her client out, locked up, and made her way upstairs.

A short lecture ensued next where I pleaded desperately to avoid punishment, but this fell on deaf ears and she then told me to strip to my pants. She left the room briefly, returning with her stout leather belt, and I was left under no illusion of what was to come next. I was actually in tears at this point and completely terrified, but I did as I was told, standing before her. The belt was doubled over in her hand.

“Underpants down and bend over the end of the bed,” was her next command.

I had no choice but to obey, so with tears in my eyes I did so. She then folded my shirt up, gripped me firmly by the back of my neck, and applied the first hard stroke. It felt like a swarm of angry bees had invaded my behind and I struggled to escape. I was on fire. My mother remained unrepentant throughout what seemed like an eternity as the blows swiftly reigned down. I cried like a baby and pleaded with her to stop, but to no avail. It seemed to go on forever and I’m not entirely sure exactly how many strokes I did receive, but eventually it did stop and the belt got flung down on the bed beside me as a painful reminder, while she silently left the room.

Lying sobbing on the bed and gently rubbing my now swollen bottom, I gently rose and looked at myself in the mirror. My behind was covered in angry red belt marks and was beetroot red in colour. I had been well and truly leathered.