Naughty Wife Plays Halloween Trick on Hubby. Treated to a Spanking!

Dear 1950s Wife:

I thought I'd play a funny trick on my husband for Halloween. Boy oh boy, did I learn that some things are no laughing matter!

It all began a few days before Halloween when I overheard some gal pals at the gym talking about sexy costumes they'll wear for their husbands' benefit on Halloween night. It sounded like a neat idea, except I knew I'd need to think of a more-creative costume because the outfits they mentioned are what I wear everyday.

For example, I always wear a sexy French maid's outfit during the morning as I dust the furniture, mop the floors, vacuum the carpet and scrub the toilet and tub.

My husband enjoys checking in on me from work via Skype during this part of the day for a mid-morning tug, particularly when I'm bent over scouring the toilet bowel with my short skirt riding up my ass and frilly panties on display. And, even during days when he has meetings or otherwise can't keep his office door closed, doing housework in a teeny-tiny dress, stockings, garters, six-inch pumps and a cute little maid's cap atop my head reinforces my belief that there's nothing sexier than keeping a clean house for my man.

After lunch, I devote the afternoon to laundry, including ironing my husband's button-down shirts dollar-bill crisp, and preparing the evening meal.

I work up a sweat from the iron's steam, not to mention the physical exertion of pounding dough for fresh-baked bread I serve with dinner and tenderizing the beef. So, for my afternoon outfit, I wear a gossamer thin cooking apron over bra and panties. (For comfort's sake, I change into more sensible four-inch heels.)

Hubby usually likes to check in around three o'clock via Skype for a mid-afternoon tug. So, a few minutes till, I slip off my underwear underneath the cooking apron leaving my nipples and bush practically exposed.

I also hold ice cubes against my nipple for five minutes till they're rock hard. Thus, even if work duties don't afford my husband sufficient privacy to close his office door and enjoy the smart-phone sight of my nearly naked body as I pound dough and beat meat, my nipples practically poking through my thin apron, I still benefit from the cooling sensation of iced tits.

My husband arrives home from work at 5:30 pm. A few minutes prior, I change into a cocktail waitress dress for our hour of martini time and pre-dinner blow job.

Hubby likes to watch sports on TV after dinner. (With satellite TV we can count on a game being on throughout the year, even if it must be a cricket match played in India or sumo wrestling in Japan.)

So, after I've washed and put away the dishes, I change into a bosom-enhancing, midriff-baring, panties-peeking-out "naughty cheerleader" outfit. I spend the game bent over my husband's lap on the couch. He spanks me with his hand to celebrate good plays by his favored team and to vent frustration if the opponent does well.

During halftime, I roll off Hubby's lap to entertain him with cheers about what a great guy he is and how lucky I am to have a dominant man who spanks me soundly for my faults. At game's end, I'm either on my knees giving Hubby a victory blowjob or bent over a chair for swats with the "naughty girl paddle" if the opponent wins to remind me to cheer harder for the home team next time.

For the final act of the night, I wear nothing but my "birthday suit."

My husband takes me to the bedroom, puts me over his knee and spanks me long and hard. Then he tosses me across the bed, strips and climbs aboard so we can finish the day with the most important of my wifely duties, providing my husband with three hours of bed-shaking sex!

I was really stumped as to what to wear to surprise my husband when he came home from work on Halloween night. Then inspiration struck: instead of dressing sexy in my everyday style, I'd wear the scruffy outfit of the so-called "liberated" non-submissive wife.

I figured if I was going to play the part I might as well go all out.

Rather than hopping out of bed at 5:30 am as usual, I slept untill my husband got up at six and asked him if he wouldn't mind making himself cereal for breakfast as I wasn't feeling well. Hubby was so gracious in the way he mumbled "I guess I can" that I almost lost my nerve. But, as I thought about the good laugh we'd share after I let him in on the joke that night, my resolve returned.

As soon as my husband left for work, I changed into my "costume": raggedy jeans and tee-shirt and a pair of smelly sneakers that I usually only wear when I don't want to ruin good clothes doing really grubby work, such as cleaning the gutters.

I didn't bother to dust. Instead I turned on the TV. As my husband programmed the set to display only sports channels, it took awhile to figure out how to change to stations that broadcast shows non-submissive wives at the gym like to talk about.

Well, I must tell you that one morning of daytime TV is more than enough for me.

The morning news programs aren't too boring -- I'm particularly impressed by cute clothes and stylish blonde hairdos sported by the gals on 'Fox and Friends" But the way the people hoot and holler on the 'judges shows." So unpleasant. I'd find them all guilty!

My husband called at 10:30 am. I clicked "answer" and quickly positioned the phone's camera so it only showed my face.

"I hope you're feeling better dear," Hubby said with a big grin on his face. "I've got a boner that just won't quit and the tub could really use a good scrubbing."

His smile turned to a frown. "No makeup today?"

"Oh honey, I didn't have time to put any on," I breezily lied. "A friend from the gym called. She's a campaign volunteer for this man running for town council and I agreed she could come by this morning so I could help her lick envelops. He's a Democrat but he sounds very sensible."

I told my husband goodbye and hung up the phone before he could reply.

I watched TV for another hour then had lunch. I was starting to feel really bored and I almost took a roast out of the freezer. I could easily catch up on the morning's cleaning while the meat thawed.

But my resolve to play my prank to the end returned. I was going to spend the day as a liberated, non-submissive wife even if it practically killed me of boredom!

So I retrieved a trashy romance novel I hid under the bed that I'd been meaning to read for months.

I sprawled across the bed reading. The pages turned, but I couldn't concentrate. I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes to three, the time Hubby normally calls for a mid-afternoon tug.

Suddenly, I lept from the bed and tossed the romance novel under it. I tore off my grubby jeans and tee-shirt, retrieved my gossamer thin cooking apron and a pair of heels. I went into the bathroom and quickly put on makeup. Then I raced down the stairs to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of ice cubes.

No time for the roast to thaw, but I'll get something together for dinner, I said to myself as I held the cubes to my nipples. I was so preoccupied calculating how to get a day's worth of cooking, cleaning and laundering done in just two-and-half hours before my husband returned home that I scarcely felt the chill.

I looked at my watch. One minute to three. I tossed what was left of the ice cubes in the sink. I held my smart phone up so the camera faced my chest and waited for the call, my heart beating wildly with anticipation.

Seconds passed. I looked at the phone: 3:01 pm. More time passed. Another look: 3:02.

My heart beat slowed, replaced by a sinking feeling in my stomach. I waited three more minutes, then glum realization set in.

Hubby wasn't going to call for his mid-afternoon tug.

I felt tears fall down my cheeks. "Boo Hoo Hoo!" I cried. "I want my husband. I want Hubby!"

As I sobbed, the sting of iced nipples at last registered in my brain. I walked into the den and reached into the liquor cabinet to pour myself a stiff drink.

I downed the drink in one gulp. The warmth flooding through my body removed the chill in my tits, but didn't improve my mood. I poured another drink and turned on the television. Dr. Phil was scolding a marital couple about mutual misdemeanors.

As I sipped my drink, I felt a buzz come on and took an interest in the program. The wife appeared the more guilty of the pair and Dr. Phil was giving her a good talking-to.

"You tell her, Dr. Phil," I shouted at the TV. "She's a bad woman. Bad wife. Bad!"

The program finished. I looked at my watch. Five o'clock. Nothing to do now but wait.

I went to the kitchen sink, washed my empty glass, and returned it to the liquor cabinet. I walked upstairs and took off my cooking apron, undies and heels. I retrieved the "naughty girl paddle" and walked downstairs in my birthday suit.

I took a foot stool from the den and brought it to the entrance way by the front door. I bent over and laid the paddle across the crook of my back.

The twenty minutes I must wait here for Hubby to get home is part of my penance, I told myself.

                                                               ----

"Honey, I'm home," my husband shouts as he walks through the door.

I awake with a start. I must have dozed off. Hubby looks at me with a bewildered expression.

"What are you doing bent over a stool naked like that?" he asks. "We usually have a drink before we get frisky."

"Oh honey," I cry not daring to get up. "I've been a very bad wife. I need to be spanked."

"There, there. It can't be as bad as all that," my husband consoles. "Now get up off that stool and tell me what happened."

I feel the tears begin to flow as I rush into his arms. As my husband holds me tight, I burble out my tale of woe.

"My friends at the gym were talking about how they were going to surprise their husbands by putting on sexy outfits for Halloween night, but I dress that way for you everyday cuz I love how you want me so much that you call home on your camera phone from work for a tug," I sob.

"So I thought I'd do something different and dress up as a lazy wife to prank you when you got home. And then I thought it would be cool to see what it's like to actually be a lazy wife. So I sat around all day watching TV and I haven't done a lick of housework and there's no dinner and by the time I realized it was a bad idea it was too late and I felt so guilty that I had a couple of drinks and now my head's all fuzzy. Oh boo hoo hoo! Boo hoo hoo!"

My husband just holds me and says 'there there" and "I'm not mad." At last I calm down.

My husband can tell I'm feeling better.

"Very well, young lady," he says. "I can tell from your tears that you feel bad but Daddy must still make sure his little girl learns her lesson."

"Yes sir, Daddy," I say.

"Now go upstairs and put on your 'spanking suit'. Then meet me in my study," he says. "'Lil' Miss Sassy Britches' needs to get reacquainted with 'Mr. Hairbrush'."

"Yes Daddy."

I walk upstairs to the bedroom and retrieve the little-girl-style party dress, ruffled panties, plain bra, white knee socks and Mary Jane shoes. This isn't an everyday outfit. I only wear it at special times like now when a special sort of discipline is needed.

I put on the costume and walk downstairs to the study. I knock on the door.

"Come in."

I enter the room and shut the door behind me. I take a few steps till I'm standing before him. I stand as I've been trained, with my hands clasped behind me looking straight ahead.

He stands and reaches out with his right hand to cup my chin with his palm lifting my head slightly so I look straight into his eyes.

"Do you know why I've called you to my study?"

"Yes sir, Daddy. Cuz I've been naughty."

"And what happens when you're naughty?"

"I get spanked. On the bare. With the hairbrush."

"Very well. Place yourself across my lap please."

I comply. He lifts the pleats of my party dress and pulls my panties to mid-thigh. He rests the face of the hairbrush on my bare bottom. Then come the inevitable words:

"I'm hate to spank you, young lady, but I wouldn't be a good Daddy if I didn't correct you when you misbehave. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you."

He applies 25 firm spanks, twice my age and one to grow on. Not so much for the grown me, but more than enough to bring tears to the eyes of Lil' Miss Sassy Britches.

"You may get up," he says.

I rise and, pull up my panties, and wipe my eyes.

He opens his arms. "Give me my hug," he says. I rush into his arms.

After a minutes, we release each other from our grasp.

"I should make you do thirty minutes of cornertime, but not tonight," he says. "Trick-or-treaters will be here soon and Lil' Miss Sassy Britches needs to give out candy. Then she and Daddy are going out for hamburgers and ice cream."

"Hamburgers and ice cream. Hooray!" I cry. "Oh Daddy, I love you!"

He's made me go out dressed as Lil' Miss Sassy Britches before. Normally I don't like it. It's so embarrassing for people to see me like that.

But no worries tonight.

It's Halloween!

Good woman:

I can certainly tell that you've learned a good lesson from this experience. While I'm all for a good laugh, humor has it's proper time and place. Just as the operating theatre is no setting for a surgeon to make jokes, the wife who aspires to the 1950s lifestyle knows that the domain of hearth and home is sancrosanct and no place for pranks.

For next year's Halloween, might I suggest an appropriate prank such as playing "ding, dong, ditch," on an irritating neighbor's front door and leaving a lighted paper bag full of doggie poo for them to step on. Or perhaps TP'ing their yard.