Happy Tears is a book from the 1930’s, all about the “joys” of domestic discipline. It is the story of Arthur, a widower, who meets a woman named Eleanor, and discovers to his amazement that she punishes her daughter with spankings. Gradually she draws Arthur, who marries her, into her domestic discipline arrangement, encouraging him to discipline his own daughter Hester and to eventually become a DD style head of household. Unfortunately, the version I’m going to share today is not the original, but the re-write by Paul Little. Happy Tears first appeared in the 1930’s as pornography disguised as a domestic idyll but I doubt it fooled the censors. The original did not have all the sex inserted by Little, but the tone and plot are basically the same.
First, Eleanor, the widow, explains her methods to Arthur:
Fortunately, so far as economics were concerned, my husband had a great deal of insurance and had purchased our house and left no debts, so that I didn’t have to worry about the future. That meant I could devote myself entirely to bringing Betty up as I believed she should be. And so, to make a long story short, it wasn’t long before I had the full authority of her supervision that I employed discipline with her. And I don’t mean talking. In a word, Arthur, when she was naughty, I spanked her.”
So you see, at the very outset, Betty, who had never had so much as a slap, suddenly found that with me as her only parent, she would be punished each time she did something that I believed to be out of line with good behavior. And at first, I can assure you, I sometimes felt that I was being much too severe. But gradually it bore fruit. Which is not to say, to be sure, that I have given up this discipline even at her age today. Yes,” she paused a moment and regarded him levelly, “whenever Betty disobeys me or does something that I consider entirely out of character, she is punished for it. And by punishment I mean a spanking.
Eleanor is very prim and proper and matter-of-fact about it. But all this talk gets Arthur’s motor running.
But most of all he found it difficult to credence that a big grown girl like lovely golden-haired Betty should be so humiliatingly and childishly chastised. He found himself examining with a great deal of curiosity the possible ways in which this voluptuous and handsome widow would administer such discipline to that lovely girl. And when he went to bed that night, he tossed and turned, his drowsy mind haunted by the most singular phantasmagoria in which he saw the ripely curved adolescent not only across her mother’s lap, kicking her legs and turning back a tear stained face to implore mercy, but also standing on tiptoe with her hands tied high above her head and tethered to an antique whipping post.
Tsk, tsk, Arthur, you old horndog. Then it happens. Betty plays with some boys at the beach and mother does not approve. Upon returning from the beach, she orders Betty into her bedroom to “prepare.” Mother comes in. Betty is face down on the bed, bottom bare. A pillow is under her hips to raise her buttocks so that she may be chastised properly.
Now the fatal moment had come, and Betty was seen to shiver throughout her entire almost naked pink-sheened body. She reached out to her left which was near the edge of the bed, and took up the buckling strap, which was of brown soft leather. Eleanor Stanfield took it, and Betty dutifully clasped her hands together and extended her lovely bare arms out in front of her while her mother proceeded to wind the strap tightly around the slim wrists and to draw up the buckle as tightly as she could. The other strap was black and polished, about two feet long, of double thickness along the last three inches at one end, and about a quarter of an inch thick throughout its major length. At the applying end, it was rounded off in a kind of semi-circle, to create a kind of extra-stinging slap.
“Get ready, dear,” Eleanor Stanfield said as she took her stance by the edge of the bed, the strap in her right hand. Betty quickly squirmed till she was exactly over the center of the pillow, her stomach and loins pressing down upon it, and pressed her thighs together, then laid her left cheek against the surface of the bed and waited. Her bottomcheeks were splendidly ample, up-standingly rounded and quite plump and firm at the summits. The groove between them was gradually sinuous, broadening at the base. There was an adorable dimple in the exact center of each buttock, and both seemed to come and go as the girl’s bare skin twitched and shrank in understandable anticipation of what was to follow. She pressed her bare dainty little toes down hard into the covers, to give herself support, but this maneuver served to project and tauten the target of the black leather strap which now slowly rose in the air.
Crack! The strap flashed down and leaped across the tops of both delightfully rounded naked hips. Betty caught her breath and closed her eyes, convulsively tightening her clasped fingers ahead of her, but she made no sound or movement other than that. As the strap lifted, one could see the bright pink tracery imposing its vivid hue over the baby-pink satiny epidermis of the teenager’s naked behind. The strap rose again slowly, hovered in the air, then again flashed down with a sonorous impact, visiting the girl’s naked upper buttocks, perhaps half an inch below the mark of the first stroke. Betty’s calves flexed and her toes scrabbled at the covers, while she lifted her head slightly, and then laid it back down in exactly the same place as at the outset of the punishment. Eleanor Stanfield continued with a deliberate cadence, allowing perhaps ten seconds between strokes. After twenty-five, she paused to contemplate her handiwork. Betty was sniffling now, squirming uncomfortably, but she had not left the limited boundaries of the pillow. Her face was now pressed down on the other cheek, so that it seemed turned towards her beautiful, relentless executioner. Her eyes were still closed, but there were tears glistening at the ends of the long thick curly lashes, and her face was flushed. Her arms were still thrust out ahead of her, the fingers tightly clasped together, and her thighs had begun a nervous kind of rubbing together, and shifting just prior to the infliction of each new biting kiss of the black leather strap. The marvelous smooth pale pinkness of the young girl’s naked body, with the lovely back adorably hollowed by the spinal column and the pronounced vista of the chinkbone, and then the soft sheen of the bare thighs and calves, was emphasized all the more by the now vividly crimson-striped pattern designed on the girl’s round, voluptuous young bottom. From the tops of her hips to the base of her buttocks, the strap had visited with an impartial vigor, and Betty’s nether globes seemed to tense and then relax with a sporadic motion she seemed unable to control.
After this brief pause, the handsome brown-haired widow once again lifted the strap, and Betty, who had opened her eyes at this moment, uttered a gasp, “Oh, Mother!” and quickly closed them again while at the same time she seemed to press herself down tightly against the pillow in an attempt to steel herself for the resumption of punishment. Thwack! This stroke encircled the base of both quivering nether globes, and Betty’s hips squirmed convulsively under the stinging impact. A stifled sob escaped her, and she turned her face to the other side now, pressing her left cheek down against the covers, while she stretched her arms out ahead of her with a kind of supreme gesture. If it had not been that she lay on her stomach, one could have seen the beautiful young titties arch and jut with that maneuver which tautened them. Again the strap fell, this time slightly higher up, and now the spanking resumed with the same methodical regularity as during the first portion. With brisk horizontal cuts, the black leather band wedded to both globes at the same time, ascending the inflamed and twitching posterior to the tops of the hips, covering every cranny of tender young flesh with the chalorous embrace of leather.
Now “Ohhhs and “Ahhs” began to be heard at virtually every stroke, and from time to time it was seen that Betty’s bare hips convulsively swerved to this side and then to that. But never once did she leave the confines of the pillow, nor did she make any outcry for mercy or reprieve. Again after twenty-five, making a total of fifty, Eleanor Stanfield stopped and lowered the strap. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling, her lips moist, and her magnificent bubbies rose and fell majestically under the thin bathrobe which covered the even sheerer black nylon slip. Betty was crying softly now, and rubbing herself nervously back and forth over the pillow, as she attempted to find a less irksome pose in which to endure the finale of her punishment. During the last three or four spanks, she had kicked up first one leg and then the other, but never once throughout this already prolonged and quite painful whipping had she attempted to roll to one side to escape any of the punitive, biting descents of that black leather strap. During this pause, the golden-haired culprit turned her face again so that her right cheek rested on the covers, and her tear-filled eyes fixed on her mother’s beautiful, absorbed features. This time she crossed her ankles, tightening her leg muscles as she prepared for the resumption of correction. Eleanor Stanfield slowly raised the strap, and Betty uttered a “Ohh, Mother!” as she hurriedly closed her eyes. She seemed to press herself down tightly against the pillow in an effort to diminish the much too vulnerable plumpness of her now vividly streaked hindquarters.
The strap descended with an ominous “Crack!” and this time fell vertically, dividing the left buttock exactly in half as it merged its black polished leather end along the luscious nether hillock. “Ouch, ohh!” Betty sobbed, she shifted her bound wrists nervously, lifted her head, and then closed her eyes and pressed her chin down firmly against the covers, her entire body rippling with tremors. The strap rose slowly again, paused in the air an excruciating moment, then fell vigorously down the right buttock, attacking it from the base to the small of the girl’s bare back. Betty’s body jerked convulsively under the stinging lash, her hips swerved frantically from left to right, then from right to left again, and she pressed herself down frantically against the pillow as once more she tried to diminish the prominence of the inescapable target of that punishing, burning strap. Eleanor Stanfield concluded the whipping with a dozen more lashes down each bare cheek.
Little is the only author I know who uses words like “netherhillocks,” “bottomcheeks,” and “netherglobes.” But I think it works. The reader can visualize what is happening–“the inflamed and twitching posterior,” indeed.
Anyway, Arthur and Eleanor marry and move into Eleanor’s old neighborhood where the parents all spank the teenagers–and the domestic help! There is enough material here for six spanking novels as the disciplinary methods of each couple are described in lurid detail. Oddly enough, the adults don’t seem to be keen on spanking each other. Here’s an example:
As luck would have it Sally Jamison was destined to feel that split strap—her designation for the tawse her mother used for serious breaches of conduct—the very next afternoon. The day being excessively warm, Sally decided to take a swim in the little creek about half a mile to the north of the Jamison house. She biked out there and put her swimsuit in the bike basket. Then, believing that no one could see her from the clump of trees which framed the old creek, she hastily undressed and got into her suit. As luck would have it, Mrs. Nielby, an elderly and cantankerous widow who lived across the street from the Jamisons, was walking home from the convenient little shopping center about three blocks away from the creek, and happened to see Sally in the process of removing her suit, drying herself with the towel she had brought along, and then hastily dressing. Scandalized, she promptly phoned Frieda Jamison, and when Sally walked into the house, the sophisticated brunette met her daughter at the door.
“What’s this I hear about your putting on a peepshow, Sally?” she blandly asked.
“I—I don’t know what you mean M—Mom,” the pretty sandyhaired teenager stammered.
“Well, I don’t recall that you asked my permission to go swimming in the creek, and particularly to do a striptease there where old Mrs. Nielby could see you, young lady.” “Darn her hide anyway, the old snitch!” Sally groaned.
But this justifiable protest didn’t in the least soften Frieda Jamison’s heart. “You know I’ve told you repeatedly, Sally, that you’re a big girl now and there are some neighbors who just go out of their way to criticize. So it’s best not to give them any room to do so. And it certainly wasn’t proper for you to undress right there where you could be seen. I’m afraid I’m going to have to use the tawse. Go get it, please.”
With a groan, Sally obeyed, and when she came down the stairs, to her mother’s room carrying the strap with its ends split into three finger-like strips, she was biting her lips nervously. Her father would be home in another half-hour, and she hoped that her mother wouldn’t tell him, because he might take it into his head to add a little extra dosage to the punishment.
“I’m going to give you fifteen, Sally, and I want you to count them one by one, and after each you’re to say ‘I won’t ever undress by the creek again,’ do you understand, Sally?”
“Y-yes, M—Mom,” Sally was fighting the tears as she prepared herself. Something her mother had taught her to do over the years. Lifting up her skirt and slip, she knelt down on the couch, pressing her face against the cushion at one end, while her mother carefully folded the upturned garments high on her back so they wouldn’t fall back down over her bottom. Next, Frieda Jamison tugged down the thin white cotton panties, and the sight of the twitching, milky, ripe bottomcheeks made her mother remark somewhat ironically, “I see you were in such a hurry you didn’t completely dry yourself, Sally. Well, we’ll see if the tawse can do that for you. Now get ready, and don’t forget to count and to say what I told you to say.”
Sally uttered another groan as she arched her hips and thrust out her shrinking, all too plump, bare buttocks to meet the kisses of the tawse. Slowly the leather strap fell, the finger-like strips stinging and whisking over the edges of the huddling naked nether globes. Sally took her whipping bravely, and managed to count each of the fifteen cuts and to utter the prescribed formula. Nevertheless, from the eleventh stroke on, she was crying softly. When it was over, her mother kept her kneeling there for a long minute, and then, lecturing her again, finally allowed her to get down off the couch, pull her panties back up and smooth down her clothes. Tearfully, Sally clung to her mother and kissed her, and thanked her for the whipping, as she promised not to repeat that outdoor undressing act ever again.
If I can find volume 2, we’ll see what happens to Betty and Hester when Arthur assumes the role of HOH.