Properly Paddled for a "Tramp Stamp" Tattoo

Dear 1950s Wife:

Every year a carnival comes to our suburb's downtown for a week. Normally I go on Saturday with my husband to cheer him on in the basketball throw, skee ball, "hammer the head of the pop-up mole" and other games of skill.

It's kind of dull, actually, because my husband is so competitive that he usually spends most of our carnival budget on his games. The only game he lets me play is the one where you pick up a floating toy duck to try to win a prize and sometimes we don't even have enough money left over to ride the Ferris wheel at the end of the night.

But this year a girlfriend and I thought it would be lots of fun to sneak out on a weekday to go to the carnival while our husbands were at work in the city. We had a blast going on the tilt-a-whirl, roller coaster, bumper cars and other rides my husband never lets me enjoy.

 We broke our diets eating funnel cakes. And we played all the games, including "smack the pop-up mole." I won a lot more prizes than my husband because I don’t get angry from missing a mole's head just once and hammer the same mole hole over and over again like he does.

My friend and I also decided to get temporary "tramp stamp" tattoos that said "Hoochie Mama."

We went on the Ferris wheel for our last ride of the day. I guess I must have had a sugar overload from too much funnel cake because, halfway through the ride, I stood up, turned to the side and lowered my jeans and panties halfway down my butt so people below could get a good look at my tramp stamp just above my ass crack.

I got home well before my husband arrived from work and washed off my temporary tattoo. I had a really good sugar buzz because I did a full day of housework and got dinner together in no time.

I had such a good time and I really thought I got away with it.

But I wound up getting busted! Unbeknownst to me, my arch enemy was in the crowd below the Ferris wheel taking pictures of me on her cell phone.

You see, some years ago in college there a sorority pledge I was in charge of named Carla who was a bit wide in the behind.

I guess I went a little overboard beating her ass with my sorority paddle during Hell Week and calling her "Carla Chubby Cheeks" and "Lil' Miss Fatty Fanny." I thought it was all in good fun, but Carla turned out to be the sensitive type who can't take a joke. She tattled to the dean and Daddy had to make big donation to the college to keep me from getting expelled.

Carla dropped out of the sorority and transferred schools and I figured I'd never see her again. But my husband's corporation recently hired a new CEO. Based on my husband's recommendation, the CEO bought a big house in our suburb and joined our country club.

And guess who's Mrs. CEO? "Carla Chubby Cheeks" aka "Lil' Miss Fatty Fanny."

Carla's ass is really fat now, but I can't even be snippy to her at the country club. Instead I must complement her on her designer clothes, fabulous jewels and lovely haircut.

A few weeks ago, my husband and other middle-management employees were invited to dinner at the CEO's/Carla's house. My husband told me to be nice or else, so I had to "ooh and ah" at the household furnishings and complement Carla on her wonderful cooking even though I'm sure she had the meal catered.

The food was good. I know Carla liked it because she ate half the hors d'oeuvres and had three helpings of everything during dinner. I swear I even caught her out of the corner of my eye licking her plate clean.

When I'm gardening or walking the dog, I sometimes see Carla huffing-and-puffing along the sidewalks in our neighborhood as she does her fitness walks. She wears really expensive track suits in bright colors with "Trophy Wife" stitched on the back.

Of course I looked out for Carla at the carnival, but maybe her track suits were at the drycleaners because I must have missed her. I would never have done half the stuff I did at the carnival if I knew Carla was around to spy, especially not show off my tramp stamp above my ass crack while riding the Ferris wheel.

The day after the carnival my husband was in a really bad mood when he got home from work. I greeted him at the doorway as usual with a kiss on the cheek and a martini in hand and he drank it down in one gulp.

Then he told me to follow him to the living room for a "talk" and my heart skipped a beat.

My husband said the CEO called him into his office that morning. The CEO told my husband he might be promoted, but there are few openings and many competitors. To be promoted, my husband must be perfect at his job and also have the right sort of look that says "upper-management material."

The CEO said a middle manager's wife must also have the right appearance if the couple hopes to climb the corporate ladder. And while the CEO is not against tattoos per se -- in fact, he had "Property of CEO" tattooed on Carla's butt after they got married -- a wife does not project the proper corporate image by showing off her "tramp stamp" and ass crack in public.

Then my husband whipped out his cell phone and showed me a photo that clearly showed the back of me on the Ferris wheel and the temporary "Hoochie Mama" tattoo above my ass crack. I tried to tell him it wasn't me, but my husband told me to spare him my lies, he'd recognize my butt crack anywhere. Besides, Carla took the picture and told her husband everything.

My husband told me to go upstairs to the bedroom, take off all my clothes and bring down the "naughty girl paddle." I did as instructed and came back to the living room. I gave him the spanking implement, a smallish paddle a half-inch thick with holes drilled in it. My husband only uses it on me when I'm really bad. Believe you me, it stings like the dickens!

I stood before my husband with my arms at my side as he held my chin with his hand. He lectured me forever in a really stern voice about how foolish I'd been to put his career prospects at risk. And that my duty as a submissive spouse was to support him in his job in every way possible including looking and acting the part of the perfect corporate wife.

Then my husband told me he was going to put me over his knee and paddle my bare bottom till tears and snot flowed to ensure I'd never be so naughty again.

So he spanked me. And spanked me. And spanked me some more. I cried and screamed and yelled "Please Daddy!" Finally my husband let me up. I kneeled before him, kissed the paddle and his hand, and said the required words:

"Thank you for spanking me Daddy. I know you do it because you love me and care about how I behave. I love you."

Then I was sent to the corner to stand with my scarlet red bottom on display while my husband ate dinner. After an hour, my husband told me to go upstairs to bed. No supper for me that night.

I figured that would be the end of it. But the next morning as I was clearing away the breakfast dishes, my husband told me the CEO e-mailed him last night after I went to bed with an excellent suggestion. It seems Carla had told her husband she briefly knew me in college before deciding to transfer to an academically superior school after one semester. (What a lie! She left because she dropped out of our super-cool sorority.)

Carla remembered me as being "good-hearted" but "a bit of a rube" (WTF?!) who could do with schooling in the proper ways of corporate wifedom. She kindly offered to spend a week teaching me to look, act and dress to better ensure my husband scales the career ladder. Carla even offered to send one of her maids over to clean for a week so I can devote myself full-time to her tutelage.

My husband gave me a quick peck on the cheek and headed out the door.

"I know Carla's a real fat ass, but you got to put up with it," he said as he left. "My career's at stake."

Just as the door closed my cell phone beeped. A text message from Carla:

"Be here in 30 minutes. And bring your sorority paddle!"

Ut oh.

"Naughty Charts" and Demerit Books for Wives

Dear 1950s Wife:

For major misbehavior, my husband spanks me on the spot with this stingy OTK paddle that hurts like heck. But for minor misdemeanors, he puts a checkmark on a "naughty chart" he's stuck to the refrigerator.

Along with minor housekeeping errors, some of the things I get checkmarks for include forgetting to call my husband "Daddy," not curtsying after he's given me a command or failing to address every man I speak to at least 21 years of age or older as "sir." Once he's put a sufficient number of checkmarks on my chart, my husband marks up my bare bottom with his cane: one stripe for every check.

Our refrigerator was on the blink, so the repairman came by the other day while my husband was at work. Of course he saw my chart with my name in big bold letters and plenty of check marks next to descriptions of my misdeeds.

The repairman told me, "My, my, you folks sure are strict with your daughter." As my husband forbids me to lie, I had to admit that we have no children. The repairman chuckled and starting calling me "little missy" rather than "ma'am." It was really embarrassing.

As a good submissive wife, I agree with my husband spanking me. But don't you think he's going overboard using a naughty chart? Can't he just keep track of stuff I do wrong in his head?

Good woman:

Goodness, gracious me, of course he's not being excessive in using a chart.

Keeping accurate records is a manly virtue. While it may be hard for we womenfolk with our flighty ways to understand, men are drawn to facts, figures and the "bottom line." That's why they're so much better suited than the fair sex for the business world!

Along with accuracy, posting a naughty chart on the refrigerator where visitors can see provides you a much needed dose of humilation. The teasing you receive helps keep you humble and submissive, qualities the good wife strives to present all the time.

However, I don't agree with the repairman calling you "little missy" rather than "ma'am." To prevent a repairman from taking such liberties in future, an older male relative who's retired should come by to chaperon if repairs must be done while your husband's at work. This procedure will also ensure the work is done properly, as I'm certain you're like most women, me included, and have absolutely no idea how mechanical things operate.

Due to my zeal for obedience, my husband decided the humiliation of posting a "naughty chart" on the refrigerator isn't needed to accompany my spankings. However, I do keep a demerit book to write down all the little things he catches me doing wrong. (Like you, I'm also spanked immediately for major offenses.)

Whenever I've accumulated sufficient demerits, Hubby puts me over his knee, bares my bottom and spanks my naughty behind. I must read aloud from my demerit book while he's spanking me, which can be hard to do because I'm usually crying so loud near the end that it's hard to talk.

Once the spanking is concluded, I kneel before my husband, kiss his hand and say "Thank you Daddy for spanking me so hard. I know you do it because you love me and care how I behave."

I Love "Lucy Spankings"

I rarely watch television.

My husband forbids me from turning on the set during weekdays while he's at work to promote increased productivity in household chores. And the TV is reserved for his use at night and on weekends to view football games, boxing matches, stock market reports and other manly subjects that I of course take no interest.

I feel like such a wet blanket at luncheons with my non-submissive girlfriends when they chatter about the latest hit shows. But at our next hen party I'll be the bird with the word on TV viewing as I've discovered a really funny situational comedy.

My husband was on a business trip this past week. Mother-in-law, who lives in the nursing home since father-in-law passed away, stayed with me. Her watchful eye ensured no slacking off in darning my husband's socks, nor breaking my diet eating bonbons and other forbidden treats, nor exceeding my allotted 15 minutes daily telephone time gossiping with other wives.

My husband allowed the TV on for 30 minutes each day so mother-in-law could watch her favorite show. I sat next to her on the couch. Normally I wouldn't have looked up from my knitting, but this program was so funny I just had to sneak a peak.

The show is filmed in black and white and vintage fashions add to the retro look. The main characters are husband and wife, Ricky and Lucy, who look to be in their 30s, and an older couple who live in the apartment upstairs complete the cast.

Lucy is quite the character, let me tell you! She's gets in the most amusing mishaps, most of which result from scheming with Ethel, the older lady. Ethel's husband Fred is something of a fuddy-duddy though nice. But Ricky, pitter patter, pitter patter, be still my beating heart. So good-looking with the most charming Spanish accent!

And guess what? When Lucy messes up, Ricky turns her over his knee and soundly spanks her sassy bottom. Good for him! I would have thought such politically-incorrect, but thoroughly manly, behavior would not feature so prominently in a modern TV show.

The program is called "I Love Lucy." Check your local TV listings for time and channels in your city.

Birthday Girl Paddled for Lying to 1950s Wife

One of my regular readers commented that she was very concerned that the wife who was subject of yesterday's post reported no birthday present, even though she was hand-spanked twice, caned and paddled by her husband all while dressed in her "birthday suit."

I was also concerned about the wife receiving no birthday present so I sent an e-mail to the husband. It turns out his wife had indeed been given a nice birthday present that morning -- a state-of-the-art ironing board -- but young madam left that part out in her message to me as an unsuccessful ploy to gain sympathy. Can you believe it??!!

The wife couldn't enjoy her new ironing board on her birthday, as the husband felt having access to clothes would tempt her to violate his sound rule that she spend her entire birthday dressed in her "birthday suit." But he advised that she has been enjoying the board all day today ironing his shirts and pants.

Young madam will be presented by her husband with a different sort of board this evening: 12 swats with the "naughty girl" paddle on her bare backside as punishment for being less-than-truthful in her e-mail to me.

I was also please to hear that the couple's night-on-the-town with the wife commanded to wear a short, tight "newspaper dress" went well. Young madam was extremely careful in walking, sitting and standing so the dress wouldn't tear. And several couples comprised of dominant husbands/submissive wives came by the restaurant table to complement young madam on her dress and ask where to buy similar costumes.

Once her ironing is finished, young madam will be hard at work making made-to-order "newspaper dresses" for all the submissive wives in town. With the extra money from wife's dressmaking covering the husband's beer and beef jerky expenses for the rest of football season, he'll be able to buy her that new vacuum cleaner he's had his eye on for her birthday present next year.

Wife Spanked Soundly in Her "Birthday Suit"

Dear 1950s Wife,

Along with spanking me most days either for discipline or his enjoyment, my husband spanks me soundly on my birthday. Of course I don't object to birthday spankings (or any other kind), but I'm unhappy that he makes me wear my "birthday suit" all day long on that special day.

When the clock strikes 12:01 a.m. on my birthday, I undress and sleep in the nude.  I rise in the morning and make my husband a hearty breakfast and sit down with him butt naked at the table to enjoy my yogurt and low-calorie cereal.

Once we're done eating, my husband takes me over to the couch, turns me over his knee, and spanks me ten times my age with one to grow on leaving my bottom bright red.

If it's a weekday, my husband goes to work. If it's a weekend, he goes to play golf. Either way, I stay inside naked all day doing housework and cooking dinner with my clothes closet locked tight.

My birthday was a few days ago. I was busy darning a pair of my husband's socks when I heard the mailman pull up. Normally, I wouldn't dare go outside on my birthday but my favorite fashion magazine was due to be delivered that day. So I used the morning newspaper to fashion a paper skirt and top and snuck out to retrieve the mail.

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough paper from the funnies and women's section to complete my outfit. I didn't dare touch the business section and sports, but did use that day's editorial page to finish up.

I didn't think I'd get caught because my husband already read the editorial section at breakfast, but it turns out there was a column he thought was so good that he wanted to read it again at dinner. He asked me what happened to the newspaper and, boy oh boy, was he ever upset when I confessed.

I got 12 swats with the "naughty girl paddle" for going outside wearing a paper dress and six stripes with the cane for using the newspaper's editorial section as material. Then my husband turned me over his knee and I got hand spanked ten times my age with one to grow on just like in the morning. Ouchy, Ouchy!!

The worst part is yet to come. I must make a very short, tight dress out of newspaper to wear when we go out to eat tomorrow night. I'm going to have to be very careful in walking, sitting down and standing up, else the dress will rip and I'll be butt naked in the restaurant with my husband and the other patrons laughing at me.

After we get home, my husband is going to rip that dress off of me, turn me over his knee and spank me so hard that I holler "Daddy, please Daddy, I'll be good!"

I know I was naughty, but isn't my husband being a tad excessive?

Good woman:

Of course not! Two hand spankings, ten paddle swats, a six-stripe caning and the embarrassment of a night out on the town wearing a "newspaper dress" is by no means excessive punishment for such naughtiness.

While I commend you for not using the business sports sections as material for your paper dress worn to the mailbox, the editorial section is still sacrosanct.

My husband entertains me each morning at breakfast by reading that day's newspaper editorial aloud with commentary as to its wisdom or lack thereof. Among my daily chores is using a colored felt tip pen to highlight sections of the editorial and political columns that he considers important. This affords my husband greater efficiency in writing his many letters to the newspaper's editor on important issues of the day.

Though you have another sound spanking in store for you tomorrow night, look on the bright side: you can market the newspaper dress you wear to the restaurant as the next fashion craze. If it takes off, your husband will have extra money for beer, beef jerky, and other household essentials and may be able to buy you a new vacuum cleaner or other luxury gift for your next birthday!

Paddles with Holes

Dear 1950s Wife:

My husband spanks me with his hand for most offenses, but when I'm really naughty he uses a paddle with holes on my bare bottom. When he's finished whipping me, I have :) visible on one cheek and :( on the other. My husband says the design emphasizes that paddling is lots of fun for him and a real tragedy for me!

Paddlings hurt like heck, but what's worse is my husband sometimes uses humiliation afterwards. The other night he paddled my posterior right before we left for a dinner party. When we got there, he told the guests I'd been really bad and must stand in the corner for 30 minutes before supper with my bare bottom on display.

All the men laughed really hard at the :) :( marks on my bottom. But their wives didn't think it was so funny, especially because the men asked my husband to make them the same type paddle.

My husband will be really busy in his wood shop this week. And he says he'll test all the paddles on me to make sure he got the :) :( marks just right. Whatever am I to do?

Good woman:

Paddles with holes are excellent tools for wife training. I commend your husband for his choice of design. I love a man with a sense of humor!

The paddle my husband uses on me has I < heart > Hubby drilled into it and of course I stand in the corner afterwards with my bare bottom on display so Hubby can admire his work. He usually prefers the deep red hue of just the paddling as background, but sometimes sharply pinches my bottom at various places to provide a decorative edging to the lettering.

It's your wifely duty to serve as test subject for the paddles your husband makes for the other men. I trust they'll pay a reasonble fee for materials and labor and I'm sure your husband will spend the money wisely. Whenever my husband comes into a financial windfall, he buys beer, potato chips, knicknacks for his "man cave" and other useful items.

Humilation such as public cornertime is good for you as it aids in wifely submission. I hope you'll be standing in the corner before guests many times in future with your bright red bottom on display, the men laughing and the women murmuring in sympathy.  

Friday Night Martinis and Spanking

It's Friday night and Hubby will soon be home from work.

I log off the computer and put on a pretty dress, makeup and heels. I greet Hubby at the door with a kiss and a martini made just the way he likes it. Dinner tonight is steak au gratin and I listen to fascinating tales as we dine of Hubby's triumphs at work.

After dinner is eaten , I clear the table and wash the dishes. Hubby takes my ear and walk me over to the couch, puts me over his lap, lifts my skirt, lower my panties and spanks me till I howl. Then he throws me over his shoulder and carries me upstairs to the bedroom and we have hot sex until wee hours of morn.

There are advantages to being a 1950s Wife!

Usefulness of "Bulls-Eye Spanking Panties"

This story is one of ten that is now part of my anthology, "The Best of 1950s Wife," which may be purchased for ready read on your Kindle via Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking this link: "The Best of 1950s Wife"

Are "Hippie Husbands" Acceptable?

This story is one of ten that is now part of my anthology, "The Best of 1950s Wife," which may be purchased for ready read on your Kindle via Amazon.com for the reasonable price of $2.99 by clicking this link: "The Best of 1950s Wife"

Spending Football Season With My Nose in the Corner

(American) professional football kicks off Sunday.

I hope wives are busy making pigs-in-a-blanket and other tasty treats, polishing television screens and performing other household chores needed to make your husbands' big day a special one. And please don't spoil your menfolk's enjoyment by asking silly questions that take attention from the game such as "why do they call it football when the players' feet hardly ever hit the ball?," "what inning is it?," and "they called a penalty so why isn't the player sent to the penalty box?"

Being an inquisitive sort and unable to grasp the rules of football, early in my marriage I usually found myself on football Sunday standing in the corner with a stinging red behind a few minutes into the first quarter for "talking too much." After ten years together, I've learned to follow a strict routine.

After laying out a tasty spread on the coffee table in front of the TV for my husband's enjoyment, I sit in a chair facing a corner of the living room during the warm-up game and busy myself with darning my husband's socks, knitting him a Christmas sweater or other needle work. In the break before the second game when the home team plays, I retire to the bedroom and put on a naughty cheerleader's outfit.

About that time, a couple of my husband's single friends show up to watch the game. I go downstairs and entertain them with cheers about what great guys they are, how lucky their girlfriends are to have them and that I hope they takes pains to blister their beloveds' backsides when they're naughty.

Right at kickoff, I take my customary position across my husband's lap with my pleated cheerleader skirt flipped up and a hairbrush resting on top of my "spankies" (underwear), which by the way have "I < heart > Hubby" stitched on them.

When the visiting team scores, my husband gives me a stinging spank with the brush for every point to vent his frustration. When the home team scores, he gives me two harder spanks for every point to signify his celebration. Of course he starts from zero-zero after every scoring play in calculating the number of spanks.

At game's conclusion his friends leave. I clean up and put away the leftovers while my husband goes down to the basement to spend 20 minutes on his rowing machine burning off calories from pigs-in-a-blanket and beer he's consumed.

Then we go upstairs and I put on some sexy lingerie. If the home team loses, I get a punishment paddling and am sent to bed with no supper to remind me to cheer harder next time. Then my husband goes into the computer room to smoke cigars all night while composing angry posts to the team's coach on his blog. If the home team wins, I get light OTK with the hand to warm me and hubby up, then we have hot sex all night.

I sure hope the home team has a winning record this year with lots of low-scoring games!

Husband Bought A Cane :(

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?

Good woman:

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.

After my final stripe, my husband tells me to stand up and allows several minutes for my sobbing to cease. I use his hanky to dry my eyes, then kneel before him, softly press my lips against the cane, then kiss his hand. I say, "Thank you for caning me so hard, Sir. I know you do it because you love me and care how I behave. I  wear these marks as a sign of your loving discipline!"

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 :)

Bad Driving Equals Sound Spanking

Dear 1950s Wife,

I ran over the mailbox by accident when I pulled into our driveway the other day. Upon confessing my misdeed, my husband put me over his knee, lifted my skirt, lowered my panties and spanked my bottom with a smallish paddle-with-holes that he uses on me for major offenses. He paddled my posterior until tears streamed down my face and I screamed "Daddy, please Daddy, don't spank me anymore!"

While I submissively support his husbandly duty to administer that discipline, additional punishment is in store a few days later when another couple comes to our house for bridge night. Prior to the card game, I must read aloud an essay I'm to write on why women are inherently bad drivers and must be extra careful behind the wheel. Then my husband will turn me over his lap and spank my bare bottom again, this time with his hand. Then I must stand in the corner of the living room with my skirt tucked up, panties down, and my red behind on display for the rest of the evening.

Isn't this a tad excessive?

Good woman:

Of course not.

Recognizing that women are naturally poor drivers, my husband forbids me to drive except for trips to the grocery store. On my way there, I must go no faster than 15 mph and, in parking the car, must use a space way far back in the lot away from other cars to prevent nicks and scratches. Though I'm pleased to say that I've never had an accident, I still enthusiastically support my husband's giving me regular "reminder spankings" to reinforce safe driving.

Two spankings, writing an essay, and a night of cornertime is certainly not excessive punishment for running your mailbox over. And if you can't find a fourth to take your place for bridge, you must be spanked for that too!

Wife Trained by "Pitch-Pipe Discipline"

A Gentleman writes:

1950s Wife, I will soon be married. Immediately on return from our honeymoon, I plan to implement a no-nonsense daily routine for my wife enforced by crisp commands to make my breakfast, make our bed, clean house, cook dinner, etc.., all reinforced by sound bare-bottom spankings should she tarry. The problem is that I sing in a barbershop quartet in the evenings and need to preserve my voice. Do you find training with the pitch pipe effective?

Kind Sir:

Such training would not work for 1950s Wife, as I'm tone deaf. The good news is that I've heard such discipline is effective for musically-inclined couples. Patience is required as your wife learns which "toot" on your pitch pipe corresponds with which chore. But once a reasonable time is given for her to learn, she must jump to the calls of your pitch pipe as she would to the sound of her master's voice. If she lingers in the slightest, turn her over your knee, lift her skirt, pull down her panties and spank her silly!

For the sake of our marriage, given my tin ear, I'm glad my husband does not sing in a barbershop quartet and can order me about throughout the day with voice commands.

Husband Makes Me Call Him "Daddy"

Dear 1950s Wife:

My girlfriends tease me because they think it's strange that my husband makes me call him "Daddy" at home and in public.

Good woman:

1950s Wife firmly believes 1) teasing is good for you because it enhances wifely submission; and 2) your girlfriends are the ones who're strange.

1950s Wife proudly notes that she has never once in ten years of marriage broken my husband's command that I refer to him as "Daddy" at all times and in all places. And, despite my perfect record, I support Daddy's wise decision to regularly spank, paddle and cane my bare backside to reinforce this rule and others that promote proper behavior on my part. Whenever acquaintances arch their eyebrow's at my use of the term, I simply tell them "I call my husband 'Daddy' because he loves me, cares about my behavior and, whenever I am naughty, turns me over his knee, lifts my skirt, takes down my panties and spanks my bare bottom cherry red!"

I strongly suggest you offer the same explanation to your friends!

Wife Trained in "Spanking Songs"

Dear 1950s Wife:

My husband, George, makes me sing this song before he spanks me:

"Georgie Porgie Puddin' n' Pie
Spanks Me Hard And Makes Me Cry
Spanks Me 'til I Holler 'Oh!!!'
And That's Why I Love Georgie So!!"

Except when it's my birthday. Then I must sing to him:

"Happy Birthday to Me
Happy Birthday to Me
Today is My Birthday
So It's Over Your Knee"

Good woman:

Good for him!

Burned Dinner, Bottom "Lit on Fire"

Dear 1950s Wife:

Was it fair for Hubby to spank me with a breadboard paddle for burning dinner in the oven and feeding him microwaved hot dogs instead?

Good woman:

Yes.

Marriage Proposal From a "Younger Man"

Dear 1950s Wife:

I've been dating this wonderful fellow for a year now and he recently "popped the question." I love him dearly, but, sadly, he is only eight years older than me. My parents say he is far too young to be "marriage material." It will break my heart to call off the engagement. Whatever am I to do?

Good woman:

1950s Wife is generally of the opinion that a fiance should be at least 15 years older than his betrothed to ensure sufficient maturity necessary to guide his helpmate. However, in very rare occasions, a suitable match with a "younger man" is possible provided the father of the bride-to-be makes suitable investigation.

Invite this fellow over for dinner so your father can have a long talk with the young man in his study prior to supper. If the conversation assures Daddy of your suitor's intelligence and judgment, the young man must clear another hurdle: After you serve your parents and boyfriend dinner and stand silently by the table with your hands on your head while they finish their meals, your fellow should take you over his knee, lift your skirt, lower your panties and give you the spanking of your life.

Daddy should keep a sharp eye as to vigor of arm and strength of disposition. Your boyfriend must ignore your screams and not let you up until your bottom is bright red and you're bawling your eyes out. Then he must make you kneel before him, kiss his hand and say "thank you, Sir, for spanking me so hard, I know you do it because you love me and care how I behave." After that he may give you a reassuring hug and pat on the bottom and send you off to eat your supper (no desert) with your plate on your lap as you sit in the corner. (Paddle swats from Daddy if you spill your food.)

Provided he passes this exam, your boyfriend may graduate to fiance with the blessings of 1950s Wife.

Lost Job at Candy Factory and Spanked by Hubby :(

Dear 1950s Wife:

I lost my job at the candy factory after just one day because I couldn't keep up on the assembly line. I tried really hard to put the candy in the boxes but they rolled by so fast that I couldn't keep pace. I got so far behind that I ended up stuffing a bunch of candies in my mouth, but the forewoman caught me and fired me on the spot!

When I got home, my husband put me over his knee and spanked me until I cried for losing my job, then made me stand in the corner for an hour. After that, he spanked me again really hard for going off my diet by eating candy. And he says I have to look for a new job tomorrow! I try to tell him that "a woman's place is in the home," but he won't listen. Is he being unfair?

Good woman:

Unfair by tanning your bottom twice in one night? Of course not! If you mean unfair by making you look for work, 1950s Wife is generally of the opinion that "a woman's place is in the home." However, just as "Rosie the Riveter" did her duty during World War 2, in these troubled economic times an exception may be made to the rule.

As you're clearly unfit for assembly line work, 1950s Wife suggests an alternative: humbly apologize to the forewoman and ask if you can at least be paid minimum wage for being made a daily example of the risk of assembly line idleness. Your husband can drop you off at the factory on his way to work. Before letting you out of the car, he should put you across his lap and spank your bottom scarlet red. Then you can spend the next eight hours standing in the corner in front of the assembly line with your skirt tucked up and your bright red bottom on display. This will aid the factory's productivity by reminding female workers of what awaits them at home by slacking off and losing their jobs, as well as improving your moral disposition by reinforcing your womanly duty to be submissive at work and home.