My introduction to spanking was unusual. It came after my youth, in the first stages of womanhood, & with no preconceived feelings of excitement or pleasure.

It was 1943 & I was 18. My mother had died before my second birthday & I was raised exclusively by my father. He was a carpenter in the small Wisconsin town where I grew up & a wonderful man. He did believe in spanking, but I cannot remember one occasion where one of his rare threats was carried out with a single swat.

My father spoiled me within his limits, & though we could not afford much in the way of material things, he allowed me my way as doting fathers often do. I learned quite early in life how to smile, pout, or whatever it took to wrap him around my little finger.

My father was 33 when Pearl Harbor was attacked. A very patriotic man, he was very outspoken of his desire to enlist. At first, I knew his responsibility to me prevented him from doing so, as did the law that as sole provider he would not be accepted, but as my 18th birthday approached & the war dragged on, I could sense my father's restlessness & uncertainty. I would be 18, but an 18 year-old young woman back then was not what it is today. I had no impending prospects for marriage among the few eligible bachelors not off fighting, & though I had secured a job in a local factory manufacturing military supplies, my father could not & would not hear of me being on my own. I was not anxious to be, nor did I want my father going in harm's way, but I could see how important serving his country was to him. My assurances that I would be one of many single women & safe alone in our home went unheard &, though I tried, I could think of no resolution until one night when I shared my problem with my factory manager.

A very nice man, Mr. Higgins was 4F due to a heart condition & easily understood my father's feelings. He told me that there were many ladies at the factory sharing living quarters due to the influx of workers, & suggested I might find one to share my home & ease father's concern. Father thought this a marvelous idea when I told him, but his overprotective streak caused a problem with candidates until Olivia arrived in our parlor.

Father was overjoyed with her from the moment he saw her. I was unsure. Olivia was 29, a war widow, & though she was rather pretty & had the most beautiful complexion I have ever seen, she struck me as much too proper. Her clothes, manner, & educated speech struck me as far too spinsterish. I was not wild in any sense & had no plans to be, but Olivia seemed too staid; a librarian type to whom a Dickens novel would be a thrilling event.

Out of love for father & his insistence on Olivia, I acquiesced. And so, unwittingly, I accepted a change in my life that I write of today.

Olivia moved in before father enlisted & very quickly set about exerting her influence over father & I. He was delighted with everything. I was not. I had not considered father's loneliness nor his desire for at least a surrogate wife & mother, but in the two weeks before his departure, Olivia filled that role.

In retrospect, Olivia was not cruel, selfish, nor unreasonable. However, her view of my behavior was contrary to mine. I had been allowed my freedom, was spoiled by a doting father, & was simply used to having most things my way. I did my chores on my schedule, spoke my mind, & had taken to dressing in the trend of the day, which then were comfortable, convenient overalls instead of pressed & starched dresses. Olivia's quiet comments concerning these habits & others were absorbed by father like a dry sponge. Even so, I had no inkling of the impending change in my life. I had accepted that I would be subject to the elder woman's guidance during father's absence, but I had no inkling that she would assume a totally dominant, maternalistic role that would include my first taste of old fashioned spanking discipline.

Father had been gone less than a month before I began to rebel against Olivia's increasing dominance. Though her expectations were explained graciously & altogether reasonable, my prior freedom to do as I chose seemed to shrink daily. Although I allowed it at first out of respect for father, I finally could hold my tongue no longer when, one night, Olivia insisted I finish the dinner dishes before listening to a radio show I was anxious to hear. I found Olivia's stubborn attitude over the small incident & her response to my protests disturbing, to say the least, & I told her so-- in a cheeky fettle complete with stamping feet.

It was then that she voiced her belief that I was spoiled, undisciplined & neither too big nor too old to be spanked. I was aghast at her statement, but I was shocked when she turned on her heel, disappeared, & returned with my very own panteen hairbrush in hand. She said nothing as she went to place one of the kitchen chairs in proper position & set herself upon it.

I do believe I entered a state of shock as she repeated her feelings concerning my behavior & told me she was going to do what father could not & spank me then & there or write to father & tell him she would be unable to remain in such a situation. I felt trapped. Olivia was only slightly larger than I-- 5'6" & in the 130 pound range compared to my 5'3" & 102 pounds-- but her intimidating character & my respect for father cowed me enough where I found myself over her knee in what seemed the next instant. I imagine shock, disbelief & fear blurred my will to resist, as did the speedy efficiency with which Olivia prepared me for my first spanking.

I will never forget it for as long as I live--- humiliating heaped upon humiliation as I helplessly felt myself dangling over her knee, felt the hem of my skirt folded up my back, & then felt the final indignity of my panties being peeled down to the hollows of my knees. I had never been spanked in this fashion, & in my ignorance I felt certain that no amount of pain could be worse than the sheer despair I felt at being so displayed. But Olivia quickly corrected me with a promise that I would not again speak back to her or throw tantrums by the time she finished & the first awful contact of my brush against my soft bottom. I had locked my legs together in an effort to shield some small vestige of modesty, but the burning sting of the spank forced my legs apart & up in pained protest. They would not be still again nor would any hope of modesty be remembered until much later.