As men gradually became accustomed to wearing skirts and dresses, and boys reluctantly got used to having to wear nappies, Ms. Simmons introduced yet more legislation.

She introduced a new police force, which quickly became known as the ‘Fashion Police’. They had the power to check that men and boys were complying with the dress regulations.

With the ban on trousers for males, and amid protests from mothers, boys under the age of ten were granted an exception to the ‘no tights’ rules. They were permitted to wear woolly tights over their nappies. For practical reasons this was often paired with a onesie, or a dress. Once again, with encouragement from Ms. Simmons’ government, the only dresses available for boys were very similar to those worn for years by baby girls. Officers had the power to check under boys’ dresses or onesies to make sure they had a nappy on.

The penalty for non-compliance fell to the boy’s SiSSY maid, who could face expulsion from the household for failing to dress his baby appropriately. It wasn’t uncommon for the mother to administer her own punishment rather than expelling her maid. Tales of spankings and even canings were commonplace.

Of course it was obvious whether a man was wearing a skirt or dress, but this new police force had the power to check that men were wearing ‘unisex’ knickers too, and that they weren’t wearing tights. It wasn’t uncommon to find a pair of ‘Fashion Police’ officers insisting that a man lift his skirt or dress to confirm that he was wearing panties or stockings. Having been the subject of such investigation on a couple of occasions, I can confirm that it was deeply humiliating, even when you knew you were complying.

Initially, the penalty for non-compliance was to be taken back to your abode and forced to change into appropriate underwear. Before long, however, Ms. Simmons’ government decided that a more visible deterrent was required.

She introduced a new law that meant that non-compliance with regulations would result in a public spanking. Again there was a degree of outrage about such a punishment, but the law was pushed though on a huge majority.

In clandestine groups men talked about resisting the new rules, especially those relating to a public spanking, but it was all just words. In reality, we had no say in the matter, and we all knew it. We had no choice but to comply.

Centres were set up all around the country where men could be spanked. Like most men, I avoided visiting them at all costs, not wishing to be part of the unedifying spectacle. But the spectacle gained more and more popularity, with huge crowds gathering to witness men suffering public humiliation.

But then one day, a couple of years after public spankings were introduced, I found myself right in the middle of things.

There had been increasing resistance to the rule about men not being allowed to wear tights, and that had gained traction over the winter, which had been unusually cold. Men argued that if they were forced to wear skirts or dresses then they should be allowed to wear tights. Stockings just didn’t provide the same warmth, especially as woolly stockings were rarely available.

It meant little to Ms. Simmons’ government to give in on this point. After all, they’d subjugated men sufficiently that we’d stopped complaining about having to wear dresses and knickers, and now our only plea was that we be allowed to wear tights too. It was an easy win for to concede that we should be permitted to wear tights. The date for the change was set for March 1st.

Knowing the change was coming, and it being such a cold winter, many men started wearing tights some time before the new law actually became effective.

I had always been cautious about the regulations, but as time went on, more and more men were wearing tights. On the day before the relaxation of the law became effective, I decided I’d wear tights under the woollen dress I’d chosen as my outfit for the day.

As I walked into town, however, I was approached by two ’Fashion Police’ officers. “Excuse us, Sir,” one of them said. “Can we just check what you're wearing under your dress?”

My heart sank. I’d always been so compliant, and yet here I was being checked by the Fashion Police, and knowing that I was wearing tights, contrary to the rules in effect today.

They stood back and waited as I slowly lifted my dress, revealing that I had tights on.

“Those are tights, aren’t they, Sir?” one of them asked. I meekly nodded.

“Are you aware, Sir, that tights are forbidden for men until tomorrow?” Again, I meekly nodded.

“Very well. Then I'm afraid you must be punished.”

My heart sank as they lead me away. The local punishment centre was in the shopping mall, where I knew there’d be a lot of people.

When we got there I was made to take off my tights, and surrender them to the officers in charge. Then I was made to take off my knickers, in preparation for the spanking I was to receive.

The punishment centre was a Perspex room situated at the cross-section of the busiest part of the mall. On one side were plastic chairs, where those of us awaiting punishment had to sit. When I arrived there were two other men already there. We were required to sit without speaking to each other, with our knickers on our laps for everyone to see. Embarrassed and in trepidation of what was to come, we avoided eye contact.

Occasionally I glanced up to see what was happening around us. Women and girls looked in excitedly, knowing the fate that awaited us. The few men around tended not to look, perhaps sympathising with our predicament.

Our spankings were scheduled for 5pm. An hour before, a piece of furniture was brought in. I’d never seen anything like it before. It was like a table, but with two pads on each side of it, with straps and buckles on them. I was told this was “the spanking bench”. If I hadn’t been terrified before, I certainly was now.

As five o'clock approached I noticed that stalls were being set up around the punishment centre. There was a cocktail bar, and various food stalls. It slowly dawned on me that ‘a public spanking’ meant just that. There would be a big crowd to witness my humiliating punishment.

At ten to five an official came round to invite each man in the punishment centre to draw a number. By now there were five of us. The number we drew would determine the order in which we were to be spanked. I drew number three.

At five o'clock sharp the guy who'd drawn number one was lead to the spanking bench. He was ordered to leave his knickers on his chair. He was laid over the bench, his legs and arms secured with the buckled belts on the pads. Then his skirt was lifted, revealing his bare bottom. A huge cheer went up among the predominantly female crowd, fuelled by the products of the cocktail bar.

I noticed that there were girls going around the crowd selling tickets for something. It turned out that the spanking for each of us was to be six strokes from an official, and then six more from the owner of the winning ticket.

The spanking official produced a fearsome-looking wooden paddle, and strode around the Perspex room, showing the implement to the baying crowd. She then went behind the poor prone recipient, and brought the paddle down hard on his bottom.

The crowd cheered. The man winced. Five more times this happened.

Then came the ticket draw. A winning ticket was selected, and the winner eagerly made her way to the entrance to the punishment centre. She was handed the paddle, and given some advice on how to administer her six spanks.

If anything, her spanks were harder than the official’s. By the end of his spanking the poor man had tears running down his cheeks. He went back to his chair and put his knickers back on over his fiery red bottom.

The second miscreant was lead to the spanking bench, and suffered a similar fate. By now the crowd were really getting into their swing, and the noise was incredibly intimidating.

When it was my turn I felt like I was in a daze. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.

I left my knickers on my chair and lowered myself over the spanking bench. The official pulled my dress up over my waist, exposing my bare bottom. I vaguely heard the crowd cheer.

And then I felt the first spank. The paddle connected with my bottom with such force that I found myself propelled forward against my constraints. The pain was intense. I tried to steel myself for the eleven more spanks I know were coming.

With each stroke I got closer to tears, and by the sixth I was blubbing like a baby. The crowd were loving it.

The winner of the crowd ticket lottery was a girl I’d taught at school. I was hoping for some mercy from her, but none was forthcoming. By the time she’d finished it felt like my bottom was on fire.

When they untied the straps holding me in place I could hardly stand, and staggered back to my seat. I put my knickers back on and gingerly sat down.

Once the whole spectacle was complete we were released, and I made my way back to Peggy’s, my legs cold with no tights on, and my bottom still feeling like it was on fire.