Dear 1950s Wife,
After attending a community theater production of a Noel Coward play, my husband is enchanted with all things British. Now he spanks me with a slipper instead of his hand for minor offenses. I don't mind that so much, but he also bought a cane to replace the ping pong paddle he used to punish me with for major misdemeanors. And, I don't mind telling you, that cane stings like a bitch! Whatever I am to do?
You must try ever so hard to obey all your husband's rules to avoid being caned. But even the best wife can slip up, so I suspect you'll be wearing stripes from time to time. Moreover, I'm telling your husband you said "bi-ch" and I hope you get caned for that!
As an American, my husband prefers to paddle me for major offenses. But he substitutes the cane at times for variety's sake.
When I'm to be caned, my husband sternly tells me "Chair, Now!" I must bring a straight-backed chair to the middle of the living room, bend over the back of it and tightly grip the edges of the seat. Then husband tucks my skirt up over the waist band and pulls my panties down to my knees. Before the first burning stripe is applied, he lectures me at length about why I'm being punished, how much it's going to hurt, and how my screams and tears will have no effect on him.
Then, after what seems like forever, he administers the first stroke. Everyone who's been caned will recognize the sensation: a slight cut on the bottom followed a millisecond later by pain that floods through your body. I scream and cry, knees buckle, and I grasp the edges of the chair so tight my knuckles turn white. But I dare not let go because, if I break position for even a second, the stroke won't count.
My husband won't administer the next cane stripe until I'm completely still: my knees no longer quivering and my shoulders not shaking. After stroke one I'm usually composed and prepared for my next stripe within a minute or two, but as the punishment proceeds it can take as long as five minutes for me to calm my crying and steady the body to my husband's satisfaction. Between strokes, he lectures me that I must follow his rules at all times else be soundly punished. With all this time in between, a six-stroke caning can take as long as twenty minutes.
Then my husband takes me into the bathroom to wash the tear-stained makeup off my face. Next he turns me over his knee to apply antiseptic spray to my searing stripes, which starts me howling all over again. Once medicinal treatment is concluded, we enter our bedroom and I change into my pajamas. My husband tucks me in then goes back to the living room to watch the end of his TV show.
Then it's bedtime for him. Can you guess what happens next? A happy ending for both of us :)