Lizzie Baines: a 1950s spanked wife (part one)

04Oct09

Its fun when its not my turn

Here is another story from the DJB story archive that is too long for one post.

When I met my husband in 1949, he was in the army. I first saw him checking the train times at Grand Central Station, I was 21 and he looked like a man of the world straight off the cover of Life magazine. I was sidled up to him and pretended to be also checking my train when he spoke.

“Excuse me Ma’am, you don’t happen to know where I can get a train to Vicksburg, Louisiana?” He asked me in a wonderful southern accent.

I blushed not knowing what to say, my sophisticated New York City girl persona deserting me.

“Hey that’s kind of cute, I thought all you Yankees had a smart mouth.”

I don’t remember my reply, but I certainly forgot my shyness and gave him a mouthful. He just laughed and said that was the New Yorkers he knew and loved. Ten minutes later, we were drinking coffee and ten days later, we were engaged.

His name was George Baines. He was a sergeant in the heavy infantry, whatever that was. He called me Lizzie right from the get go. Although I had always been Elizabeth and hated the diminutive Lizzie, coming from him I didn’t mind.

Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to meet his folks and we would have had a long engagement. But things did not work out like that. Being in the army, he was always being called away so in the eight months between meeting him and marrying him we were together less than 30 days, then the Korean War broke out.

I had originally come to New York from Boston to study business and secretarial studies; I guess I never got around to going back. It was not that I particular took to big cities, but I had no close family of my own, so there was nothing to back for. My mother had divorced my father when I was eight and I had stayed with dad and I had all but lost touch with her. I had gone to live with a great aunt when the Second World War began as my father had been called up. Even then, my mother showed no interest. So when he did not come back from somewhere called Sainte-Mère-Église in France I was pretty much on my own.

We had originally planned to spend a long holiday with his folks in Louisiana during the summer of 1950 but the threat of war that June had thrown our plans into disarray.

Having lost my father in the last war, I was devastated by the prospect of another. When he failed to turn up for his leave I telephoned every number I had for him and his friends. After one hysterical tantrum on the phone to, as it turned out the wrong section at his base, I finally received a call from him.

He was not amused. He said if I was going to be a good army wife then I had to get used to him going away and not calling for days or even weeks. I complained bitterly that I was not an army wife and if this was what it was going to be like then I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be.

I don’t know how he swung it, but three days later, he turned up at my apartment at five in the morning with a seven-day furlough. I instantly forgot all my doubts and rather shamelessly threw myself into his arms still in my nightclothes.

After making him breakfast and coffee, I called work from the phone down the hall to say that I would not be in that day and then just sat there mooning over my man at the other end of the dinning room table.

“Shouldn’t you get dressed?” He said rather disapprovingly.

I was mortified; I had even been to the telephone. I let out a wild shriek and ran to my room.

Sometime later still embarrassed I returned to clear away the breakfast things.

“You and I need to talk.” He said. There was an edge to his voice.

“I am sorry I just got carried away seeing you like that. Unexpectedly I mean.”

“I don’t mean that.” He snorted. “Although I must say I was surprised that you would go down the hall half-dressed like that. If my mother could see you.”

I just blushed again. What must he think?

“I can’t have you calling the post. You make me look like an idiot. Do you know how I managed to swing a week’s pass?” He asked. There was something about his tone that reminded her of her father before the war.

“I was worried.” I said lamely.

“My captain found out and I was forced into a hole. I either had to admit you were a flake and I should drop you or go along with his idea that there was trouble at home. That kind of thing can hold up a guy’s promotion.” Somewhere while talking, he had become angry.

“I don’t know what the hell the fuss is all about.” I became defensive.

“What did you say?” he was really mad by now.

“What?” I was confused.

“I don’t ever want to hear language like that coming out of my wife’s mouth.” He snapped.

“Well I am not your damn wife yet and I’ll use any damn language I please.” I yelled.

I think as long as I live I will never forget the look on his face. It was somewhere between pain and shocked surprise, like he had been stung by a bee or shot even. Which was kind of ironic since a heartbeat later I must have had the same look on my face.

He reached across the room with his great bear-like arms and seemingly without getting up hauled me halfway across the room and over his knee.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

“I. Will. Not. Tolerate. Such. Language. From. My. Future. Wife.” He said swatting me hard on my tail with each word.

Even through my thick skirt, it stung and after a few more firm swats, I began to yelp.

“You bastard.” I screamed. Big mistake.

He flipped up my skirt and began to spank me energetically. My thin slip and panties now offered no protection to my behind. I bit my tongue so as not to let go with any more expletives but continued to growl angrily through my teeth.

My angry protests soon gave way to plaintive wails and I began to cry. The spanking was a pretty thorough affair and before long, it was all I could do to hug into his lap in submission.

“Darn it please I’m sorry.” I sobbed.

The spanking immediately stopped and was dropped sprawling on the floor.

What followed, as I knelt on floor rubbing my hiney and crying, was a long scolding lecture about my behaviour and being a spoilt brat. I was too cowed to argue back and the worse thing was that as I listened I was forced to agree with most of what he had to say. Then he said: “Next time I have to spank you it will on your bare bottom.”

I felt a strange thrill run through me that at the time I did not understand but I said: “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You bet I would, because by then you will be my wife.” He grinned.

“If you think I am marrying a big bullying oaf like you then you are very much mistaken.” I pouted.

“Cheer up I already have a special licence and by the time I rejoin my unit we will be married. But no more phone calls to base.”

I flew into his arms and kissed him like I would die, the spanking forgotten, until I tried to sit down that is.

The next few days were a whirlwind. The only guests were the two girls who shared my apartment and a couple of George’s army buddies who also happened to have swung some sort of leave.

I quit my job, well George all but quit it for me, and I was told that I would be living with his mother for the duration. I tried to protest but my heart wasn’t in it. I had never been so happy.

We only just had time for George to get us to Louisiana and his family before his furlough was up.

The first thing that struck me was the heat. The second was the smell and the verdant surroundings. His family home was halfway to being a farm, although his late father had been a lawyer in the nearby town, so it was quite away out from anywhere with only a few neighbours.

George had three older married brothers; all but the eldest were in the army, and one younger brother who was away at college. He also had a number of sisters, three of whom still lived at home.

I had a devil of a time working out sisters from sister-in-laws and cousins. And they all seemed to be called Susie, Mary or Jane.

“I am glad to welcome a Lizzie into the family.” His mother said giving me a great big hug. “Call me Ma.”

She was a formidable looking woman who must have started young to have raised such a large family and to still be in her prime, her eldest son was over 30 and yet she barely looked 50.

It was clear from the start that she was the boss, at least as far as the women were concerned. Although the men seemed to sit easily on the porch with a beer, the women bustled around all seemingly at Ma’s direction.

The house was huge and family life revolved around the porch and the big room that had the world’s biggest kitchen at one end and the largest table I have ever seen at the other. Even with such large table, there was still room for a couple of easy chairs and a sofa arranged around a radio set.

The house also boasted a large front parlour and a back room that served no obvious purpose. Upstairs no passageway ran straight for more than 10 feet and the seemingly infinite numbers of bedrooms were set behind a maze of doors and old pictures. Some of the upstairs rooms even had balconies, although sadly not the room that was to be mine.

It felt strange, not to mention exhausting, being in such a large family after my solitary upbringing, but everyone did their best to make me feel at home.

All to soon George had to leave and I felt that my world was being taken from me. When he tried to leave, I just hugged him and wouldn’t let go. He gave me an almighty swat on my behind and told me to behave.

“This is a new life for you, I know it will be hard at first. But mind Ma and it will all turn out fine.” It was the last thing he said to me before leaping onto the back of his brother’s pick-up as it drove away.

I was put to work at once peeling potatoes; I don’t think Ma wanted me to dwell on George going away. It felt strange and nice just doing ordinary things and getting to know Ma. Looking back it was the beginning of a mother-daughter relationship that I had missed growing up, although the stormy nature of our relationship was still ahead of us.

It wasn’t long before I got my first insight into how Ma ran her household. Three days after my arrival the five of us, Ma, her three younger daughters and myself, were sitting down for dinner. It was I think the first time that we had had an ordinary family meal that did not involve the extended family and a party.

“Was that Steve Jones I saw you talking to this morning?” Amelia the youngest asked Janey, as if butter wouldn’t melt. “Do you know if his older brother has gone to the army?”

I didn’t know who Steve Jones was but I sensed right away something was up and it might not be a completely innocent question when Janey flashed a worried look at her mother.

“No, why would I speak to him?” Janey replied with irritation.

“Didn’t you use to be sweet on him?” Mary asked matter-of-factly.

“That was ages ago.” The 19-year-old Janey snapped back.

I noticed that Ma was staring at Janey, although she was trying to do her best not to notice as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. I still could not fathom what was going on.

“Janey Baines have you been talking to Steve Jones after our little conversation?” Ma asked pointedly.

Janey looked torn as if wrestling with herself before she answered. And although Mary looked as puzzled as me, Amelia looked like the cat with the cream.

“You had better not lie to me.” Ma added.

“I only bumped into him, we only spoke for a minute.” Janey said at last.

“Seemed to me like you had arranged to meet for a soda.” Amelia piped up.

“Hush you.” Ma snapped. “Janey is this true?”

“Yes Ma.” Janey said defeated.

What happened next was a surprise only to me. Ma just pointed to the other side of the room behind one of the stuffed armchairs and Janey got up blushing and walked over and stood in the corner with her face to the wall.

“After our meal you can cut a switch.” Ma said.

Everyone else carried on eating and talking as if nothing had happened but my mind was racing. Surely, Janey was too old to be punished for just meeting a boy. Amelia was only one to understand my surprise and smirked at me. Then Ma caught it and said:

“Justice is swift in this house. Steve Jones comes from a good family but he is a bad lot. Janey promised me that she would never see him again. You are about to see how I handle broken promises.”

After dinner, Janey was released from the corner and sent outside. After 10 minutes, she returned with a thin branch no thicker than her finger and about two feet long.

Ma led her to the armchair and laid her across both arms with her bottom towards the room and raised her skirts and lowered her panties. Both her sisters were smirking now but I just gasped to see a near grown woman’s bare white bottom sticking up for everyone to see.

Ma brought the switch down with quick swishing sounds while Janey just yelled and repeated that she was sorry. In no time at all her bottom was red all over with darker plum coloured streaks that were raised in welts all up and down and across both parts of her hiney.

The switching went on for quite a long time while Janey just sobbed. I could not look away, although I must have been almost as embarrassed as Janey. Her sisters did not look embarrassed though, they were openly enjoying the whole thing.

When it was over Janey was put back in the corner holding her skirts up in back with her panties still at her ankles and left there for a good cry. She was there a good hour or more before being sent to her room.

Ma said nothing afterwards and you might think that nothing had happened. But once she was out of earshot her, two sisters discussed the switching excitedly.

“Better than when Mary-Jane got it last summer.” Amelia giggled.

“I wouldn’t go that far, that was a doozy.” Mary replied.

I was slightly horrified, Mary Jane was one of the sister-in-laws, and she had to be at least as old as me.

“How can you be so horrible she is your sister?” I asked not even wanting to know about Mary Jane.

“We are all going to get it sometime.” Mary rolled her eyes up at me. “Might as well enjoy it when it’s not your turn.”

“No one is ever going to treat me like that.” I said indignantly.

“What’s a matter city girl? No one ever spanked your tush before.” Amelia made a crack and flounced off.

“Ignore her. Maybe seeing as you are not from around here Ma won’t get mad with you.” Mary said sounding distinctly unconvinced.

I went to bed early that night worrying things over in my head. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen, it was 1950, the dawn of the second half of the 20th century and women weren’t whipped like that. But they were it seemed. I didn’t want to think about the fate of daughter-in-laws in this house but thoughts of George spanking me and his last words about minding Ma began to play on my mind.

Continued in part two.

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Tags: marital spanking, spanked daughter-in-law, spanked wife, spanking, spanking in the 1950s