When I was a child I was a very keen rider. I lived with my parents in Surrey at a village called Fernhurst. We lived in a house called Cylinders and it has a few acres of ground and two stables.

I was spoilt in some ways in that I was always bought good ponies and I won a lot of prizes at local shows. On the other hand my parents were very strict and if I was even slightly naughty I got a severe spanking.

Initially this was only with their hands over my skirt or jeans but then they started to use a gym shoe which hurt a lot more. As I became a teenager they decided that, as I was so keen on riding and owned about 6 different riding whips varying from short crops to long dressage whips, which I have to admit I was never too slow to use if my pony misbehaved, my whips would be used on me if they had to punish me.

This really frightened me as I knew that although I never used them very hard, each one of them could hurt my poor bum very badly. I tried to behave well and avoided a beating for some time but eventually the day came when I knew I was in real trouble.

I rode in any weather and had two full-length rubberised cotton riding mackintoshes. It was a golden rule that if I went riding in the rain I had to wear a mac and had to do it up really tightly and completely. Although I actually got a funny feeling of protection from these macs, and loved wearing them in the rain, they were uncomfortable hot in dry, warm weather.

One day my mother saw me preparing to go out riding and the sun was shining. I had no intention of wearing a mac but my mother told me I must do so as rain was forecast before lunch. I simply disobeyed her.

Before I got home it started to pour and I got soaked. I knew I was in for a good thrashing but even then had no idea how serious it would be.

My mother met me as I came into the house and told me to join her in the tackroom in five minutes. When I went in she not only had all my whips laid out on the table but had put both my mackintoshes on it as well.

“Right. I’m now going to teach you what happens when you disobey me. Take off all your clothes, put on your rubber riding boots and BOTH those mackintoshes. Do them up properly and I’ll be back in 2 minutes.”

I quickly undressed, pulled on my rubber boots and then put my older mac on. It was cold against my bare skin. It was also very heavy and made a strange swishy noise as I did up the buttons, buckled the leg straps round my thighs, tightened the belt and turned up the collar, fastening it across my chin. Already I felt incredibly and rather erotically restricted.

Quickly I wrestled with the newer, stiffer and even heavier better riding mac, struggling to get it on over the other one. Eventually I did so and had just finished, as I thought, doing it up, when my mother re-appeared.

“Good,” she said. “After I’ve given you a thorough whipping you will wear both those macs each time you go out riding for the next week whatever the weather. Understand?”

I did, all too well!! It was no good arguing that she was being unreasonable, I knew that would only make matters worse.

She then made me kneel on a low stool and put my hands flat on the floor. She pulled the shirts of the macs back to leave my bottom bare; it felt cool after being covered by the heavy rubber cloth. However the leg straps prevented the macs fully clearing my bum and my mother then noticed that I had not done up the leg straps on the first mackintosh on the tightest hole.

She bent and undid all four straps, stood back and considered her darling daughter in this embarrassing position.

“You will get twelve strokes for your disobedience this morning, and a further dozen for not doing up that leg strap tightly. We’ll start with this one. She picked up a lightish short child’s whip from the table. It was one I had had for years and had now discarded as being too ineffective now that I was competing in teenage events. I was thankful that she had not chosen a different crop but nevertheless those first twelve strokes were fiendishly painful. I wriggled and writhed over the stool but as I was, relatively speaking, used to being punished I managed not to jump up and clasp my bottom which I longed to do.

“Now, how about this?” My mother asked, and, looking up I saw that she had picked up a brand new schooling whip that I had not even used before.

“No, no, no. Not that. That’s not meant to be used as a punishment whip. That’s just for a flick to reinforce my leg if the pony doesn’t respond quickly enough! That would kill me!!” I was really afraid now.

As you may know schooling and dressage whips are long and thin and end in a wicked piece of cord that, if used wrongly, can actually cut the flesh of a horse let along my poor bum.

“Well I’m going to use it to reinforce my orders. You’re still young enough to obey me whatever I say so get down there again at once, Gay.”

Reluctantly, I knelt back on the stool and somehow remained still with my hands flat on the ground as my mum again pulled the macs off my bottom so that it presented a complete target to her. She swished the whip through the air twice without hitting me and I began to think she was going to forgive me or had decided that the schooling whip really was too severe. Foolish me! The third time I heard the whip swish through the air it landed flush cross my already well punished buttocks. The sting was appalling and I leapt up, my hands clasping my burning hot bum.

Thankfully, my mum realised that this was going too far. I had never before moved while being punished and she knew I really had had enough.

She let me take off the mackintoshes and go up to bed where I lay on my tummy and went to sleep. However she did make me wear both macs for the rest of that week whenever I went riding. But I only went out twice. Sitting in a saddle and joggling up and down on my bruised backside was too painful to bear too often that week or for very long.

A long term result of that episode was unexpected. I dreaded so much getting beaten for not wearing my riding mac in the rain that I started to wear it almost every time I went out and, unbelievably, as I reached puberty I sometimes got an orgasm if I was out in heavy rain with my mackintosh tightly done up. This was particularly the case if I had to use my crop or whip.

Who else has experienced this?