When I was 12 to 13 years old in the early 1980s, I had extra lessons with a private female tutor in her large Victorian semi-detached house. Ms Booth, the lady, was a retired head teacher in her late 60s; she was a well-dressed and strict lady.

Each week, usually on Saturday mornings, I would cycle to her house, leaving my bike unlocked around the back of her house, and knock at the back door. I was usually waved in from the dining room window, removing my shoes and entering the dining room. A lesson lasted between an hour to an hour-and-a-half. She set Maths and English papers, which I had to finish at home.

On my first visit, she stated these lessons were for my own good and she did not expect excuses. Papers were to be done, messing about in her lessons was not permitted. There was usually another student either before or after, and we overlapped our lessons by 30 minutes.
On one occasion, I was talking with another student. We were both told off. After his lesson had finished, he was told to stand outside the dining room, hands on his head, and 30 minutes later I had to do the same. So, basically 30 minutes late home or ‘playing out’ time.

During my 12 months or so visiting her she would state: “Naughty boys used to get punished,” and: “Start concentrating or you will have a visit over my knee, boy.” I wasn’t sure if she would, but I got down to studying. My parents were paying for these extra lessons.
Then one Saturday, 30 minutes into my lesson, a new girl arrived called Lucy; very pretty, and a nice figure, well spoken, she was having extra lessons to do an entrance exam at a private school. We spoke when we could, when Ms Booth was out of the room, being careful not to be caught.

Over the next few weeks, we spoke about people that we knew, and I mentioned a girl my age a few times called Donna, Lucy assumed she was my girlfriend or that I fancied her. My lesson ended and I left Lucy as she had another 30 minutes to go.

Mid-week, my mother received a phone call from a very cross Ms Booth. Somebody had drawn on her oak dining table ‘DS’ with a love heart and ‘DW’, obviously my initials. My mother was also cross, and I had to go straight around on my bike to Ms Booth.

I was greeted by a very cross Ms Booth, and told to come in. I was asked lots of questions and, if I was not telling the truth, she would recommend to my parents they deal with me, and Ms Booth would deal with me, as naughty boys should be dealt with! After our conversation, the damage was clearly caused when Lucy and I were last there, and on Lucy’s side of the table. She said it must have been Lucy.

Several weeks passed. Then it was time for my usual Saturday appointment. I was early and put my bike around the corner. Then I noticed Lucy with her hands on her head in the corner of the dining room, jeans and her white knickers down to her knees, her bare bottom very red. Ms Booth had her back to me. Next, Lucy pulled her knickers and jeans up. I then went to the back door and rang the bell.

Ms Booth eventually came to the door. She told me to take my shoes off and wait there. Eventually I was allowed into the dining room. Lucy did not say a thing and she didn’t look up. Ms Booth said just to get on with our work and no talking. I could tell Lucy had been crying and she moved about in her chair. After 30 minutes, Lucy went. She was picked by her mother, and there was a brief conversation which I could not hear.

Ms Booth came back into the room, and told me to stop. She said Lucy did damage the table and that she was paying for it with her pocket money. She had also had a bare bottom spanking from her mother two weeks ago.

Then Ms Booth said: “This morning, I pulled her jeans and knickers down and spanked her bare bottom myself. She has leant her lesson.”

I saw Lucy a few times after that, but then never saw her again.