It was the last day of the reign of Miss Brown as headmistress of my all-girls school. She was retiring, to be replaced by Mrs Fothergill in the new school year. The day was hot and sticky, and we were getting restless for the end of school, which traditionally was at lunchtime on the final day. Miss Brown was being thrown a party by the governors and staff, and she was to be presented with a beautiful grandfather clock which we had been invited to contribute towards. Finally, I had had enough and sneaked out of class. I had a glass

My most embarrassing memory of high school was two years ago when I was fourteen and I had been in a fight with another girl in the hall between lessons. It was a silly argument really, about some boy we both liked the look of. He was at least two years older than us, though, so it wasn’t like he was boyfriend material or anything. Of course, we were soon separated by some older students and a couple of teachers, and then we both got sent to Mr B’s office, our school principal. Fighting was always a big no-no, so

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

I was in the 3rd year at an all-girls school. Being a private school, the discipline regime was strict to encourage the girls to behave and perform to their best. I had suffered a run of sanctions for missing the handing-in of homework. I had actually done the work; I was just forgetful at having it with me at the appropriate time. A couple of tellings-off were followed by a trip over Mrs J’s knee, which was my first school spanking. This was a wake-up call supposedly, but in all honesty having my bottom spanked really didn’t change a great deal. So much so,

It was the Sunday before Christmas and I had promised to take Emily, my best friend’s daughter, to see Santa at the local shopping centre. However, there had been a road accident and the traffic was chaotic. We finally got to the car park at 3.45, knowing everything closed at 4.00 pm. We flew through the mall eventually getting to the grotto with just 5 minutes to spare. “Sorry, we are just closing,” the elf on the door said. “Come back tomorrow.” “I can’t because I am working, and Emily has been looking forward to meeting Santa, haven’t you dear?  Oh

I previously told the story of my first slippering, delivered by my father, at the age of ten. The act of recalling that incident naturally made me think of other times I was punished at home. On the first occasion, my brother Felipe was punished with me. Strangely, although we were twins and quite close, we never really discussed it afterwards. It was simply an incident we both wished to leave behind us. Felipe was the next to be slippered, for an incident at school I had nothing to do with. Although I did not witness his thrashing directly, I

I grew up in a family of four in Spain. There were my two parents, my twin brother, Felipe, and me. Felipe and I were born in the mid-1970s, so our childhoods stretched until the nineties, when corporal punishment was less frowned upon than it is nowadays. We were certainly not spared. Until we were ten, we were spanked across the knee of one of our parents, on our bare bottoms. Without knowing how often it happened to others, it’s hard to say if this was a common event, but I’d say we both averaged about six spankings a year.

I attended a grammar school in Wales in the 1960s. I had no direct experience of formal corporal punishment before that. My parents didn’t believe in spanking, and while the cane was used at my primary school, the headmaster would only use it on very rare occasions, and always in private. The only times I saw a teacher hit a pupil would be a ‘clip round the ear’ type, meant to show disapproval rather than to cause real pain. In my first year in the grammar school, I was at my desk during break. As several previous occupiers of the

My mate Charlie and I were camping during spring half term week on a campsite we had been to before in the general South Downs area. We were at the far end of the site and, over the fence behind, was an outdoors pursuits business where small huts were used for accommodation. They had a group of girls, looked to be about 15 or 16 years old, judging by their build. They were clearly from a very posh school, at least compared to us. We didn’t have anything to do with them as there was a wooden fence between the sites. We fished and

When I was at university, my tutor was American and he was also head of the department.  A strong believer in an honour system, he would look kindly on any issues if you owned up to it, but would be very strict if not. My tutor, Mark, was a great, sweet man in his mid-40s. I had drinks a couple of times with him and his English partner, Karl, who was just as sweet. Most of my spankings, having not had a dad at home for most of my childhood, and going to an all-girls school, had been at the hands of