America in the 1950’s. Eisenhower is president. The post war baby boom is underway. Young women everywhere are getting married and staying home to keep house and raise a family as their husbands transition from being soldiers to becoming workers in a booming post war economy. Suburbs are springing up everywhere. Everyone has modern appliances and cars. The image of the suburban housewife gaily dusting the furniture, preparing delicious meals, dressing up for supper while she eagerly awaits her husband’s return from a day at the office is firmly implanted in America’s consciousness as a cultural icon. How did it come to be that way? Perhaps this little tale is illustrative.
Frank looked at the mess in the sink. Not only the dishes from this morning--- last night’s mess still there too. And the rest of the house was a wreck. He swore and ran his fingers through his hair. How had he married such an irresponsible girl? He’d been captivated by Donna from the moment he’d first seen her---the impossibly cute face, the bubbly personality, the ravishing figure. Donna had blond hair worn shoulder length with the ends curled up, blue innocent looking eyes, and a dainty nose. He’d had no chance---it was love on sight. To his great surprise she had been quite taken with him too.
But she had a bratty streak. She was used to getting her way. Frank could see that as he observed her behavior around her family and friends. Only her father seemed to hold some sway over Donna who was the baby of the family and was otherwise spoiled rotten.
He’d figured he could cure the worst excesses of his flighty, irresponsible princess once he’d married her. Surely she would buckle down and act like a married woman instead of a headstrong and immature child. Yet, here she was, off shopping with her friends at Harvey’s department store instead of cleaning house like she was supposed to do.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned.
Donna’s father, Carl, had taken him aside just before the wedding. He put his arm around his shoulder. “Frank, I know you’re a swell guy for Donna, but she can be a little handful; and if you don’t nip it in the bud, son, she’ll run circles around you.”
He took him out to the garage. “Wait here a sec,” he said. Frank stood there while Carl rummaged around in a basket. “Here it is,” he said, brandishing what looked like a slat of wood. Upon closer inspection, Frank realized that it was a little paddle. On it was a legend---Heat for the Seat.
“When she was younger, I picked this up on a trip down to Florida in one of those road side gift shops. She and her sister Betty were carrying on something awful. Anyway, I had to use this a time or two then and through her early teens. I’m giving it to you now. You may find it useful.”
“Uh, thanks Carl, but I don’t know. Donna’s not a child.”
Carl chuckled. “Yeah, she figures she’s all grown now. But I tell you, son, in many ways she still has some growing up to do.” Then he told Frank how he’d put the paddle to use when Donna had been younger and disrespectful, or downright disobedient. Frank’s jaw dropped as he listened, but Carl made sure he got the idea.
Frank sat on the couch, brooding. The paddle was lying right there on the coffee table. Should he? He had decided that Carl was right. Here he was, just home from Korea and mustered out of the Marines. He had a good job as an insurance agent. He’d met Donna at a church social, courted her, and married her. He had a tract house in a new subdivision, Belle Haven, that had been built in the post war boom of 1952 that was transforming life all over America. Life should be great. Only he was finding out that Donna was still, in many ways, that perpetual teenage spoiled princess.
She was supposed to keep house while he worked. She was supposed to do the grocery shopping, prepare the meals, iron his shirts and keep the house clean and fresh. Wasn’t that what wives did these days?
Instead it had been shopping trips, lunches with her friends, more shopping. Things never got done. Dinner was boiled hot dogs or a frozen Swanson pot pie if it happened at all. The house was unkempt. Frank had talked to her about it, but she had always brushed it off, promising to do her part, which somehow never seemed to happen. Well, not this time. This time their little talk would be a bit more pointed.
The crunch of gravel in the driveway and the slamming of a car door announced Donna’s arrival. She came bustling in, loaded with packages. She saw Frank sitting on the couch.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re home early, darling.”
He was indeed home early. He’d left work earlier than usual to go home and surprise his new bride, perhaps convince her to stop doing housework and join him in the bedroom for some extended lovemaking. Instead he’d found her gone with no explanation, leaving a dirty house, no meal being prepared, and nothing cleaned up from the previous night. The bed hadn’t even been made.
Frank looked at all the bags and boxes. “Did you go shopping, Donna?”
“Yes,” she said, pulling off her stylish gloves. She was all dressed up in heels, a stylish polka dot dress that flared outwardly at the waist, and that type of pill box hat that seemed so popular. “Harvey’s had a sale on women’s fall fashions.” She shot him a smile. “I just couldn’t resist. I got the cutest little cocktail dress, some Capri pants, a new hat…”
“Weren’t you supposed to be doing housework today? I was working all day, just like I’ve done every day this week.” Frank sat back, arms folded.
“Oh, that,” she said, waving her hand breezily, “That can wait. This sale was important. Besides,” she said, eyeing the mess, “you can just take me out to dinner.” She had to admit, she had been running roughshod over Frank. He was an ex marine, a tough guy, but he was an old fashioned gentleman. In some odd way his nice guy persona made her want to push it—to see how much she could get away with. Her girlfriends wondered how she did it. She just told them that she had him wrapped around her little finger.
“We don’t have the money for going out. And with what you’ve spent today, Donna, it looks like we won’t be going out for quite some time.”
Donna turned and looked at Frank. This was new. Frank asserting himself with her. “Well, aren’t you the old bear today? I told you—it was a sale.” She turned to go. “I’ll just put these things up in our closet.”
Frank stood up. “You can leave them right here because they are all going back.”
Donna stopped dead in her tracks, turned and looked at Frank in disbelief. “Whatever do you mean, Frank? I already paid for these. I’m not taking them back. Why should I?” She pouted and folded her arms.
“Because we can’t afford them and because you should not have been out shopping when your duties in this house are not done. Just look at the mess in the sink.” Frank pointed into the kitchen.
“Oh, are you on that again? You know, Frank, you could get me one of those new dishwashing machines. Gloria Stevens has one.”
“Donna, I don’t care what Gloria Stevens has, and anyway we don’t need one of those things. You are perfectly capable of doing the dishes. Now put down those boxes and get in there right now and clean up like you were supposed to do.”
“Why, Frank Nelson, don’t you order me around like I was a child who didn’t clean her room,” said Donna, shaking her finger at him.
“I was afraid it would come to this Donna.” Frank advanced toward Donna.
“Just what do you think you are going to do, Frank Nelson?” Donna began backing up.
“You’ve been acting like a spoiled child instead of a wife, Donna, and I’m not going to put up with it any more. You are getting yourself into that kitchen right now and getting to work.”
Donna retreated, putting the sofa between her and Frank. She didn’t like that look in his eye. What was going to do? Donna picked up an ashtray, a heavy glass one, and cocked her arm back. “You stay away from me, Frank. Come any closer and I’ll…”
Frank stopped. “And you’ll do what? Seriously Donna, put that down. We are going to sit down and get some things straight around here. You think you are a princess who doesn’t need to be a good wife in this marriage. Well that ends right now.”
“How dare you talk to me like that? I’ll go home to mother. I’ll tell daddy!”
“Yeah, tell your daddy,” said Frank, chuckling. “Let me tell you something though. It was your daddy who told me what to do with you if you didn’t behave.”
Donna fumed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Frank retrieved the little paddle from the coffee table. He held it up for her to see and smacked it into his palm. “I’m sure you remember this,” he said.
Color drained from Donna’s face as she eyed the paddle in Frank’s hand. She remembered that paddle. She’d been a bratty 13 year old the summer daddy got it, and he had put it to use. That meant Frank was threatening to actually spank her with it. Then she recovered from the shock and sputtered, “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, yes I would,” said Frank, advancing toward her, his face projecting grim determination.
Donna flung the ashtray right at Frank’s head. He got his arm up just in time and deflected it. The glass hit the floor and shattered. “That does it,” he muttered, grabbing Donna’s arm. She screeched as he yanked her by the arm over to the couch. Seating himself, he pulled Donna over his knee until her bottom was up and her nose was almost on the floor. Donna cursed and kicked, but Frank held her down. At six-two and 200 pounds he easily overpowered the five-four 120 pound Donna. He tossed her skirts and layers of crinoline slip up and over her back to reveal a rear end clad in a panty girdle and stockings. That was no good—way too much protection. He set about yanking the tight panty girdle down.
“What are you doing?” She shrieked. “You stop that Frank.” Her voice sounded panicked. The panty girdle was coming down, and along with it, her panties. Frank marveled as Donna’s nude bottom popped into view. She sure had a cute one---full rounded cheeks set off from her thighs, they jutted out pertly, seemingly begging for attention. The panty girdle had been underneath a garter belt which now deliciously framed her bare jouncy behind.
“I’ll never forgive you for this Frank!” she hissed. This was awful. She was being held over her husband’s knee like a naughty child. Her bare bottom was fully exposed and her legs were held by the elastic of the panty girdle which was at her knees. The utter humiliation of being held in such a position was devastating. But even as she blushed in shame, other parts of her began to react to her husband’s assertion of raw male power. Even as she felt her quivering bare bottom on display, moisture began to seep into her womanly parts.
“Maybe, Donna, but first I’m going to give you what you have been needing for a long time.”
Smack! Frank’s palm smacked her right bottom cheek.
Crack! He struck the opposite side.
Splat! The third spank fell right across the divide.
Donna shrieked in reaction to the stinging assault. It was a shock to her system. This was outrageous! And it hurt! At the same time, to her dismay, she felt herself becoming sexually aroused.
Frank marveled at the resilience of her bottom cheeks. The splat of his palm caused her flesh to ripple. Repeated smacks caused a most delightful wobbling of her cute bare fanny. Frank felt himself becoming erect and for a minute the thought intruded that what he would like to do was to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. Then he steeled himself. No, couldn’t do that. She had a lesson to learn.
Smack! Whap! Crack!
Frank settled into a rhythm applying a methodical spanking to his wife’s wriggling fanny. He landed smacks in volleys of five or six, in between, asking his wife if she would behave.
“Are you (smack! whap! Crack!) going to take your duties seriously, Donna (whap! Smack!)? Or do I have to continue? Crack! Smack! Whack!
“Ow….ow! Frank, you let me up! Ow!” Donna wailed and wriggled as her husband’s palm spanked her bottom with relentless precision, covering every inch of her stinging bottom. She fluttered her legs and flailed her arms but it did no good. Frank’s punishing hand felt like a hot iron, searing her bottom. It went on for several minutes. For now the feeling of shame and embarrassment had been replaced by the sheer overwhelming sting of the spanking.
Frank had slowed down now, smacking her behind with slow deliberate smacks directed right to the sit spot, that place just underneath the crown of her buttocks. He knew from bitter experience at the hands of his mother that she’d feel these smacks for some time to come. He gave her ten slow hard smacks. Each one elicited a yelp. That was good. He was getting through to her.
“Am I getting through to you, Donna?” Frank had stopped for the moment.
Donna continued to struggle and flail helplessly. “You let me go, Frank Nelson. I’m going home to tell my daddy!”
Frank fumed. Well if that’s what she intended to do, he might as well go whole hog. He picked up the little paddle. “Your daddy gave me this paddle and by God, Donna, I’m going to use it. Now for the last time are you going to behave like a proper wife?”
“No! Let me up right now!”
That tore it. Frank brought the paddle down right across the crowns of her luscious bottom cheeks.
Crack! The paddle smacked her buttocks sharply. “Eeeyow…..arrrr!” squealed Donna, kicking wildly.
Crack! Another crack made her bottom cheeks ripple. “Ahhhh…….nooo” she wailed again. The scissoring of her lower legs looked almost comical with her girdle at her knees.
The paddle made a sound like a pistol shot. Frank gave her ten good firm swats. She bucked and shrieked like a scalded cat. Her behind was aflame and finally she was ashamed. Ashamed that she had behaved this way. Ashamed that she had driven her generally mild husband to take her in hand like she was a spoiled brat. She realized that she had been pushing him---acting out, being lazy, unconsciously goading him to see what it took to get him to act like a man and not let her push him around. Well, she sure found out.
“We can do this all afternoon, Donna.” He smacked her five more times.
Donna broke down in tears and bawled. “Oh….Frank, please stop. Ok, ok. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Frank,” she blubbed.
That’s what he’d been waiting to hear. “Are you going to do the things you should? As my wife?”
“Yes, yes, Frank. Please, I’m sorry.”
Frank lifted her to her feet. Her hands went under her skirts to her flaming fanny and she rubbed while Frank watched. After a minute he said, “Now, take that dress off, put this apron on and get into the kitchen.”
Hastily, lest he be tempted to use the paddle again, Donna obeyed. Moments later she stood at the sink, naked except for her garter belt and hose—and the apron. Frank was standing there paddle in hand waiting to add a few smacks if were to rebel. He admired his handiwork. The cheeks of her fanny were two bright red beacons on a snow white background. His erection strained against the front of his slacks. As soon as she was done, he was going to carry her into the bedroom if that’s what it took.
Donna’s bottom felt hot and it throbbed. She must be quite a sight, she thought. She hurried with the dishes. She felt motivated. The heat in her bottom had ignited raw desire. Her pussy was wet and screaming for attention.
There. The last one done. She turned and watched Frank’s eyes grow wide with amazement as she dropped the apron. Underneath she was naked but for the garter belt and stockings. Frank watched appreciatively as his wife slowly advanced toward him.
She reached out to unbuckle her husband’s belt. Pulling down the zipper, she sank to her knees and drew Frank’s turgid penis from his briefs. It popped out hard and upright. She hadn’t done this before, but her friend Gloria had told her what to do. She put it in her mouth, hesitantly at first, then she clamped her lips on it and moved her head back and forth, swirling her tongue around the head as she did so.
Frank could only stand there, moaning, as his wife dutifully pleasured him with her mouth. He ran his fingers through her hair. He was going to explode. Gently he pulled her up. He kicked off his pants while she unbuttoned his shirt in feverish haste. Frank picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her on the bed and slid his lips slowly up her body, kissing her everywhere. He kissed her feet, her knees, the insides of her legs. He could feel her slippery sex. He moved up and caressed her breasts, then sucked on the nipples. He flipped her over and planted kisses all over the hot buttocks he had spanked before moving up to her neck. She was moaning, begging him to be inside her.
He turned her over and got on top. She gasped with pleasure as he slid in to the hilt and began the slow thrust and counterthrust that built toward a crescendo of passionate climax. When it came she cried out, her body quivering in spasms of pleasure. Frank bucked furiously then went rigid as his seed released. Then he collapsed on top of her. A few moments later they revived and started up again.
In the end Donna got her way. It was so late that Frank did take her to dinner, although she squirmed a bit uncomfortably in her seat. Later, her friends wondered why she couldn’t make as many shopping trips as before, why she kept house all day, dusting and cleaning and fixing the meals. Donna regretted that, but knowing that the little paddle now hung on a loop in the closet, and that Frank would use it, tempered her desire to hit the stores. Anyway she, she decided, if that first night was any indication, she was more about pleasing her man these days. And, if she was a bit naughty from time to time, well, so much the better.
OK, THAT’S A WRAP. That’s it, people. The lights went up. Everyone on the set relaxed. The producer turned to the network executive and said, “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know, Harry, it’s a little edgy, even for HBO. It’s a bit much---I mean, spanking the wife for not doing the dishes? Then hot sex afterwards?”
“Don, edgy is where it’s at—this is Desperate Housewives meets The Story of O, it’s The Donna Reed Show meets the Marquis de Sade. Anyway, it’s what they did in 1952. Wife spanking was big back then.”
Don rubbed his chin. “It’s different, I’ll give you that. I used to see this sort of thing all the time in old movies, but wow, they never took it this far.”
“It’ll be a smash hit---just like Mad Men, only kinkier. Hey, maybe we can get that Christina Hendricks, you know the red head with the big….”
Don was shaking his head. “I don’t know. Have your people call my people. We’ll see. And Harry, you pronounce Sade, as s-o-d. It’s not “shar-day”.
“Whatever. And we’ve got great writers---from this internet library of all places. Specialists in this stuff. Who knew this spanking thing was so big? Hey, Don, where you going? We’re about to shoot scene two….Don?”
Geez, what did you have to do to sell a TV series these days?