Joe's Story

Joe and Helen Ch. 1: Joe's Story

I lived in this house for several years. Even after my husband left me for the sweet young thing he met and the divorce was final. I have a nice, large backyard, which I care for religiously. And adjacent to my yard, facing the side street is a small house where an old man lives.

We never had much to say to each other, just hi, or how’s the weather, stuff like that. But one summer day as I was mowing the grass in my yard, I noticed his was rather high, so I just started mowing his grass as well. Ok, I’m not that much of a Good Samaritan, but you know, he’s not looking too spry of late, and I’m not above doing a good deed.

Well, by the time I was finished and put the mower back in my garage, he was sitting in a chair in his yard sipping a beer and watching me. “Care for a beer?” I wasn’t going to turn it down, being hot and thirsty, so yelled, “Sure, I’ll be right over.”

I debated whether to run right over there or take a quick shower first. Ok, the shower won. I am hot and sweaty and always have that itchy feeling after cutting the grass; so I showered quickly, pulling my hair back in a pony tail and donned a pair of cut off jeans and a tee shirt.

“Sorry, Mr. Archer, but I have to shower after I mow, it makes me itchy.” He just waved his hand, handed me a cold beer and I sat on the chair next to him.

We made small talk. He told me to call him Joe like everyone else does. And I gotta say, sitting here with this old man was so peaceful and calming to me. It was evening, the sun was going down, the newly cut grass has that neat smell. After a couple beers I was all mellowed out and it appeared Joe was, too.

I said, “So how long have you lived here?” “Oh, since the 40’s, right after I came back from the war.”

I’d been around my grandpa enough to know a little bit about that era. And sitting there quietly, companionably with this old man, it was nice. Then, breaking into my thoughts, he started talking…

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Joe’s Story

Like a lot of young bucks coming home after the war, I was cocky and sure of myself and ready to conquer civilian life like we conquered the enemy. Unlike some guys coming back, I knew my Helen was waiting for me. She was sweet and loving. Her mom had passed away while I was gone, and she was living with her dad, adding to her hope chest and just on pins and needles waiting for our wedding day.

Our wedding day was fantastic, too. We had a quiet ceremony, with just close family and friends, but the real celebration was about to begin. As I closed the door after helping her into the car, Helen’s dad, Charlie, handed me a flat package and clapped me on the back, wishing me all the luck in the world, and telling me to open the package later. He had a twinkle in his eye, but at the time I really thought nothing of it.

We had a short honeymoon; I think both of us were anxious to get to our little home and start the day to day living like married people. Unpacking the suitcases in our bedroom, and putting clothes and things away, suddenly Helen spied the flat wrapped box her father had given me. “What’s in the box?” she inquired innocently.

”I haven’t opened it yet, let’s see.” I gingerly tore the paper and ribbon away, opened one end of the box, with Helen sitting at my elbow on the edge of the bed. Damn! I didn’t say it aloud, but Helen was giggling, and I sat there looking at a wooden paddle lying innocently in the box.

“The secret to a happy marriage” was scribbled in her dad’s scrawling handwriting. Well, I didn’t know quite what to do with it, so just looked at her and she said, “Don’t look at me! He gave it to you.” I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to or needing to use such an implement on Helen. So, embarrassed, I closed the box, shoved it under the bed and began picking up the paper and ribbon.

“Your Dad has quite the sense of humor,” I remarked and got up to do something in another room.

Well, time went by, and sooner or later, you lose the feeling of having to be on the best behavior with your new spouse. We all have little habits we try to hide from the other, or are unable to hide. After awhile, though, I began noticing an odd habit my wife had.

She was the model housekeeper and sweet woman that I’d always dreamed she’d be, but in the evenings after supper, she’d have her bath and sit in her easy chair in her terry cloth robe reading. I knew this is her way of relaxing after a long day, but one thing I never could get used to. I don’t even think she realized she did this, it was an absent-minded sort of thing.

She laid the book on the arm of the chair and with her legs spread a little, her focus in the book, one of her hands would lie in her lap, and she’d be fingering her pussy. Now, I realize this does not sound like something most fellows would find alarming, but just the fact she would read someone else’s words in a book, and finger her pussy. Well, it just bugged the hell out of me. I would tell her to stop and she’d look up embarrassed and stop for awhile, but then later, either she forgot or thought I wasn’t looking, she’d just start up again.

After we were married for some time, she no longer made the pretense of stopping when I asked; she’d just look at me and say, “It’s my pussy. Why does this annoy you?” I never had a good answer. I’d reply with something stupid like, “It just isn’t seemly to look over there and see my wife fingering her own twat every evening of my life.”

“But I’ve been doing this my whole life, and it relaxes me. It doesn’t take away from the pleasure I enjoy with our sex life. So I don’t see why it should bother you.”

Ok, now you’re going to start thinking I’m a mean bastard, but several times, well, admittedly after a drink or two, I would say, “Look, Helen, if you don’t stop, I’ll just have to tie your hands back so you can’t do that.” She would look at me smilingly and challenge me with an “Oh, yeah?” and of course, I had to prove I would really do it.

So, yes, many times I would tie her hands together behind her back. She was still allowed to sit and read while I watched TV, but with her hands tied. And now I will admit that this sight aroused me more than I could have predicted.

One evening I happened to run into Charlie in the local bar, and after a couple beers, got up the nerve to ask about Helen’s nervous habit. He was not in the least surprised. He said, “Oh, yes, Helen always played with herself. Even as a child. I saw no reason to make her stop as long as we were in our own home. I mean, she doesn’t do it in public or anything, and aside from that, she was always the sweet, modest girl.”

I agreed. And then wasn’t sure what to say. Then out of the blue, he said, “So, how many times have you spanked her for that?”

“I’ve never spanked her at all,” I said. “The paddle is still under the bed.”

“Well, maybe that would be a good way to get her to understand you mean business.” Now, this made sense, though I never really thought much about spanking my wife. But the more I thought about it, the more turned on I was about the whole prospect. Then I started thinking of other things that really bothered me: Number one being that she hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. Most everyone we knew had started a family. And while I realize this is nothing you can really fault a woman with, sometimes it really did bother me.

Well, armed with these two annoyances, I went home after consuming several beers, and there was Helen, sitting up in bed reading. Only she didn’t even have a robe on, but she was stark naked, and with her nice big titties sticking out, and the book to the side, she was just playing with her pussy, lost in whatever thoughts she had.

“I’ve just about had enough of that, darling. I am finally going to have to get you to quit playing with yourself.” She looked up at me startled. Ok, almost scared. But I’d never given her a reason to be scared of me except when I tied her hands behind her back, but this time I wanted her to be a little bit scared. Though I knew I would never really hurt her.

“What is the matter, Joe? I do this all the time.”

“Yes, I know and even though you know I hate it, you continue anyway.”

By this time, I had taken the book from her hand and laid it on the night stand, reached under the bed and taken the paddle from the box and then said, “Ok, young lady, roll over and take your punishment.”

Part of my brain realized she wasn’t all that alarmed at the prospect of having her bottom paddled. I knelt on the bed next to her, and looking at that lovely white ass in the moonlight, well, all the frustrations just came over me. Her nervous habit was one of them, yes, but also the fact we as yet had no children. And not to mention the crappy things I put up with from my boss at work. I started rhythmically spanking her, and soon she was crying, though quietly, her face buried in the pillow.

Well, I spanked her over and over and eventually, the urge was gone. I put the paddle in the drawer of the night stand next to the bed, turned out the light and pulled her into my arms. She cried and I comforted her and thoroughly enjoyed this feeling. It was such a …… well, almost a release of all the tensions that had built up in me.

Falling asleep and comforting her, I had this short panicky feeling like she’d be angry and no longer love me. But exactly the opposite is what actually happened. The next morning, she was more loving and tender to me than she’d been in a really long time.

Charlie called me, and said, “Well, did it work?” I momentarily didn’t know what he meant. “You mean the spanking? What was it intended to do?”

“Make things all better for the two of you. I spanked my wife on a regular basis for forty four years and can attest to the effects it has on a loving wife.”

“So far, she’s sweet and angelic as always. I imagine she’ll still finger herself whenever she finds the opportunity.”

“Yes, I imagine she will. But now you know how to take the annoyance out of your thinking. Really, Joe, you should learn to appreciate looking at a naked woman playing with herself. It really is a turn on, don’t you think?”

As I hung up the phone I suddenly had the vision of Charlie over the years, watching his little daughter fingering herself whenever reading or doing her schoolwork.

“Darling, come here, and bend over the table. I think it’s time for your next spanking.” She came quietly, smiling. And that began a habit I had for the next forty years, of spanking my wife to appease my frustrations, and that stupid thing My Generation called Putting a woman in her Place.

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Well, I sat there listening to this story, and there’s just something about listening to a husband spanking his wife that made my pussy wet. Though I realize there is no way this is going to happen to me. It’s just a second nature, I suppose to put yourself in another woman’s place, imagining how she felt.

The conversation kind of petered out after that. We agreed it was getting late, and I for one, had to work in the morning. So, saying Good night, I went home and he went in his house.

I worked daily until the weekend, and on the next Saturday morning, I got a phone call. “This is Joe, next door. Could you come over for a few minutes, there’s something Id like to ask you.” Well, ok, I went over to see him, wondering what it was he could possibly want to ask.

I knocked on the door and he invited me into his kitchen for coffee. Now, in all fairness, I realize he’s an old man who’s been widowed for several years now, but his house had that old stale smell like it hadn’t been cleaned in some time. Not necessarily enough to turn your stomach, but bad enough.

As if reading my thoughts, he said, “I’d like to ask you if you’d clean my house for me. You know, thoroughly at first and then maybe once a week you could just keep it clean. I know it smells bad, but I can’t get around much anymore and I know it needs a good cleaning. I can pay you,” he added like he didn’t want to take advantage of my good nature.

With relief, I agreed tactfully, and told him I could start this morning, I had nothing I’d intended to do anyway. So I went back to my place and gathered up some cleaning supplies and as I was coming back to his house, the Gold Service van was picking him up. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather clean when there’s no one else in the house anyway, so I just dug in and got to work.

Well, I tackled his house with a vengeance, moving all the furniture, cleaning under, over, and everywhere. By late afternoon, I was feeling a bit tuckered out, but it definitely had a better smell to it, and I was proud of myself. Almost thinking maybe I shouldn’t charge him any money. Naw, I gave my whole Saturday, I won’t Charge him any amount, just see what he offers.

As I was moving the bed back into place, there was a thud on the floor. I stopped for a moment, and looking down, saw that a small book had fallen on the floor, must’ve been wedged in under the mattress somehow. I picked it up, wiped off the cover. 'Diary' it said. I just flipped open a little bit and saw this neat, pretty handwriting…..Dang, I can’t believe it! Here’s Helen’s diary!!!

Remembering the conversation we had yesterday in the backyard, my curiosity was really piqued, wondering what her viewpoint was…..I tucked her Diary under my arm, picked up a bunch of cleaning mops and buckets and made a quick trip back to my house across the backyard.

Now, honestly, I am an honest person. And I never really thought I was Stealing it. I Found it and all I wanted to do was Read it. And when I come back to his house next time, I’ll just sneak it back in, stash it up under the mattress, and he’ll never know. Right?

Sounded good to me, so back at his house, I finished putting things in order, and just as he was getting out of the Gold Service van and coming into the place, I was standing there looking disheveled and tired, but the house looked and smelled Great!