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!
Welcome to 1950s Wife, a blog dedicated to preserving marital harmony a la the 1950s by advocating spanking, cornertime, and other corporal discipline for naughty wives!
Friday, September 16, 2011
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"
Monday, September 12, 2011
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"
Saturday, September 10, 2011
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!
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.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
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 :)
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.
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 :)
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Bad Driving Equals Sound Spanking
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!
Friday, September 2, 2011
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.
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.
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