Thursday, 25 June 2015

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: Taken In Hand and Bringing Her On

British spanking magazines are full of thrilling scenes of mothers and daughters being punished together. And if they have to suffer the pain together, why shouldn't they also enjoy some of the pleasure that comes after?
In the two-part story 'Taken In Hand' we have a husband who is seemingly quite happy to let his old friend the Colonel have his way with both his wife and daughter...

Going off on a business trip abroad, Adrienne's husband left her and their nineteen-year-old daughter in the care of an old friend, Colonel Carrington, who was 'to see to them'. Which he has been doing very effectively – as their two hot-tingling bottoms have learned....

Clearly the colonel's dominant personality doesn't just have an effect on females!
Both wife and daughter are a pair of tasty suburban morsels that any hot-blooded man would like to spank and screw:

A trim, grey skirt sheathed Wendy's round bottom, matched by a pearl-grey jumper that left her unbrassiered breasts bobbing beneath the wool. Charcoal-shade nylons and grey high-heeled shoes gave her a very fetching air, as her father had remarked before he went off to meet his friend at the station.

It must be said that Wendy's mother, Adrienne, matched her daughter's attractiveness. At forty-one, her bust was as firm as a much younger woman's and showed prominently beneath a pale pink blouse which barely concealed the jutting pallor of her tits. Her skirt, secured around a commendably narrow waist by a broad belt, was of matching shade, and – like her daughter – she affected dark stockings. Her husband liked them. Adrienne had no illusions about the sexiness of bared thighs above darkly-banding stocking tops. Neither she nor Wendy every wore skirts below the knees, and Adrienne's legs – though plumper – were as finely-turned as the slimmer delights of Wendy's.

There is a suggestion early on that Adrienne's husband at least enforces proper discipline, but it is soon revealed that like most modern fathers he has spared the rod when it comes to his daughter. She doesn't even know what a tawse is!

"Is he married?", Wendy asked, rather for the sake of saying something than out of curiosity. – "Yes – he married for the second time a couple of years ago, dear. He has two stepdaughters of about your age. No – I tell a lie – one is twenty-two, three years older than yourself. I hear he is very strict with them".
Wendy said "Oh?" in a disinterested sort of way, though the phrase stuck in her mind. – "More than Daddy?", she wanted to ask, but didn't.

But he does at least give his wife what she needs:

Wendy's secret – if it could be called that – was that she knew her mother submitted sometimes to the cane.

Several times her father had said to her, "You need the cane, my girl", though never confessing that he actually had one.

Though as in all things the Colonel is revealed to be superior:

The visit was all rather strange, anyway, Wendy thought, for the Colonel's arrival had been announced at short notice and her father was due to go away on a business trip the next day and would be away for a week. – "Oh well, he'll be all right in the guest room", Adrienne had said comfortably, and when her husband had said, "You will see to everything he needs, my love", she had replied – all too comfortably, Wendy thought – "You know I will, dear – everything".
He showed them photos too of his wife and her daughters. Lillian, he said, was eighteen and Felicity twenty-two. They were all shapely and attractive.
"They are coming on well, James?", Wendy's father asked, making her wonder slightly at what he meant. – "Very well, dear boy; discipline where it counts, y'know. Tawse-training, I call it. Had to have one made out there",


Whatever is a tawse?"
"I brought one with me. Forgive me for overhearing. I will show it to you later", he remarked and politely took the flowers that Adrienne had cut, his glance wandering to the bulbous splendour of her tits and the womanly curving of her hips. It had been fifteen years since he had had the pleasure of sweeping a fine cane across her naked bottom while Adrienne's husband attended in turn to James' own first wife. Quite a night that had been. He wondered if Adrienne remembered.
Adrienne did, and blushed. It was the one and only time she had ever been caned in the presence of another woman. She hoped that James wasn't going to be too indiscreet about it.

The Colonel wastes no time stamping his authority, as he clearly has many times before :

You were always a little hesitant at first, Adrienne – that was one of your many charms", he murmured. Feeling blatantly right under the weighty orb of her bottom,
Adrienne's now already-scorched bottom rotated madly. James was giving it to her much harder than her husband often did.

"NOO-HOOO! Oh, James, please!", she sobbed as he allowed the last searing bite of the cane to sink in, feeling his penis throbbing stiff at the sensuous display of her rolling, reddened bottom cheeks.
"It is patently obvious to me that discipline has not been as fully extended in this house as one would have wished. I shall return later. Get your knickers right off and wait for me!"
"J...J...James – please!", whined Adrienne as she slithered forward on to the bed, spreading her ample legs as she did so and displaying the rolled lips of her quim blatantly to his view. James, however, had a more immediate appointment. Striding to the door and nimbly taking the key from inside the door, he closed and locked it to a despairing whimper from Adrienne who hid her face in one of the two pillows and had a bleary, tummy-squirming memory of what had happened on that night long ago when James and her husband had caned the two of them until – as James had triumphantly announced – their madly-rotating bottoms were 'cock-ready'.

Adrienne is clearly a well-trained wife and cuckolding is the price her husband pays for needing to bring in a superior man to keep her in line. Hard to have a spanking without a screwing after all...

"Let him have whatever he wants", her husband had told her, and Adrienne had agreed with that quiet submissiveness that he loved. Her bottom had wriggled so often to the tawse and the cane in the last twenty years that she knew she could no longer do without them.

There had been a mad time once, when she had first got married, when her husband and the Colonel had warmed-up their wives' bottoms together in the same room and had then shafted them manfully while they had moaned and wriggled.
She had never been allowed to forget that – the ultimate surrender – and now in the past few days the Colonel had got Wendy into training, and Adrienne knew that she had not objected as strongly as she should have done.

As the daughter soon finds out...

Now was the moment – the moment of her true initiation, the Colonel thought. It was now up to him to prepare her for the exquisitely sensuous pleasures of her future. As carefully as he slid down the zip of his flies, even so Wendy's ears caught the sound and she buried her face in her hands and waited. – "There is an afterwards, Wendy, you know", her mother had murmured to her all too vaguely the day before, but Wendy knew what she meant. Her eyes had not missed the horny projection that the exposure of her bottom always aroused.
The Colonel waited until she was still again. Her bubbling sobs sounded quite adorable. – "Just one more, Princess, and then you're going to get what you've so nearly had before. Isn't that right?", asked the Colonel slyly. – "Oho, I never.... YEEE-OW-WER!", Wendy ripped as the promised one came in. This time she had no chance to jive her hips, for even as the cane swung so it was loosed and fell with a faint clatter to the carpet and her would-be wriggling curves were seized.
"GOOO-WER!" came Wendy's last explosive cry. Something like a huge plum was easing up between her melting cunnylips, expanding them as the throbbing stave drove in until the hot butterball of her bottom was rammed tightly into his belly, grinding wildly against his skin as their mingling moans of desire filled the otherwise silent drawing room. – "You... you lovely little bitch!", the Colonel ground out. "Oh yes, oh yes – come on!" Wendy sobbed.

And then later...

"Get your clothes off and get into bed, Adrienne", he snapped, and sat up. The cane lay alongside him, she saw. Hastily Adrienne closed the door. – "Listen, Tom, I don't want to wake Wendy, but...". – "There are no buts, Adrienne. You know how your husband feels about disobedience. I don't want to have to report on you badly do I? Mission completed and all that y'know. Get INTO bed!"

Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: Hot Afternoons

Ah builders. Big hunky men who spend time in your house while you're at work...

And as muscular working-class types to a man, their appetites will not go unnoticed by your wife and daughters:

Amanda still didn't know whether to believe what Sarah had told her. Had she made it up? Those sort of things certainly happened but they were difficult to believe when it was someone you knew, someone who was your best friend. It had been the man taking out his thing. Unzipping his jeans and taking it out. His big stiff thing with its big purple-mushroom head, Sarah said. And then telling her to hold it.

Could you believe it? Sarah, seeing the disbelief in Amanda's eyes, had sworn it was true, every word. He had taken it out and made her hold it. This man who was there fixing their fence. He had got Sarah to stroke it. Pump it. He had wanted her to have it in her mouth but Sarah had said no. Because she was prepared to do what he wanted with her hand. Sarah had demonstrated to Amanda a pumping motion with her cupped hand. After quite a short time... the stuff had all shot out.

Amanda got up again. She couldn't concentrate, there was no way she could. All these thoughts in her head. Sarah must have made it up. She went over to the window again. The two men were still there, but not digging now, they were resting.
Leaning on their things, the pickaxe and shovel. The young one with his back half towards the house, that really swoony back with those muscles. Amanda suddenly pictured him coming to the house, with some query like the man at Sarah's house. She would let him in and then in the kitchen... he would do what Sarah's man had done. Unzip those chalk-stained jeans. Show it to her. His big stiff thing. And she would take it in her hand.

Among plenty of spanking and screwing, the story 'Hot Afternoons' features two trench-diggers in a suburban garden discussing the ladies of the house...

'They've all started these days, including these hoity-toity ones in big houses.'
Ron, leaning on his shovel, looked thoughtful.
'Actually,' continued Stan, 'I actually rather fancy her mum. She's got a real nice arse too. And a woman that age can really love it.'
'You'll have to go in and ask her for a drink then,' observed Ron.

Sadly neither of them get a taste of the lady of the house (at least not in this story) but they certainly do with her 18-year-old daughter, after she's been spanked and screwed by her English tutor no less!

She found her knickers and pulled them on. At the window she saw the workmen still out there. Could they ever guess what had happened in the silent house on this hot and sultry afternoon? Was it something that one with the muscles wanted to do?
He came to the house the next afternoon. Another one of those hot and sultry afternoons. Ron his name was, she found out. The workman with the back, the shoulders. Those muscles. Only now when she went to the back door in answer to the knock he had his shirt on. His shirt and his jeans that were chalky from digging the trench. Did her eyes dart down to the front of his jeans, after her first startled look of recognition? Thinking of his thing. He had an empty Tizer bottle in his hand.
'Uh... we were wondering... if we could get some water. Please. It's really hot again.'
Ron was conscious of his nervousness and the words didn't come out easily. It had been an effort to come and do this but here he was. And here she was. Well, she might not have been in. Not in her uniform today, she had on a blue-and-white flowery dress. Tight-bodiced with a full skirt, it showed off her ripe young body. He could imagine the soft flesh under there – in just brief little knicks and a lightweight bra probably.
Momentarily stunned by his presence Amanda unconsciously ran her tongue over her full lips, then gave a nervous smile. 'Y... Yes of course. Come in...'
'OK. Thanks.' He felt more confident already. Stepping inside. 'No one else in? What's your name?'
Yes his name was Ron and the other one was Stan. He told her this in the kitchen, filling the bottle at the tap. Amanda feeling surging excitement now. Here he was in the house. Just the two of them. Yesterday Mr Tillot, screwing her. And now today this Ron. Had he really just come for that water?
'I... uh... do you want it for a drink? It is awfully hot, isn't it? Because we've got some beer in the fridge. I think.'
'Beer?' he laughed. 'I don't know about beer. Your mum might come back.'
'No. No she won't. She won't be back for ages.'
Amanda met his eyes. She had told Sarah last night. About Mr Tillot. The whole thing. Sarah wouldn't believe her, not at first, but then she did. And now... this Ron, with the muscles. Amanda had told Sarah about him, just that there was this bloke, one of the workmen, with super muscles.
She imagined pulling his shirt off and running her hands over the muscles. And then... pulling open his jeans... Taking his thing in her hand.
'Well thanks, I'll have one if you'll have one,' Ron said.
Amanda shook her head, with a little giggle. 'I don't really like it. Just a sip perhaps.'
They took the can of beer into the sitting room. Ron looked round. 'Nice... Really nice. Can I sit down in these chalky jeans? And are you going to sit on my lap?'
Amanda said a giggly no, but she did. It was fantastic. More exciting than Mr Tillot. Well almost. Squirming herself on his lap. Thinking of his thing under her bottom. His arm came round her.
'I... I could see you out of the window,' she breathed. 'You've got really big muscles.'

The other one wanted to do it as well. After Ron told him. Amanda had made Ron promise not to tell anyone, not his mate Stan or anyone, and he said he wouldn't but of course then he did. He told Stan. He said he didn't tell anyone else, just Stan who was his mate. But then of course Stan wanted to do it to Amanda as well. Stan who was older and with a fat beer belly. Another hot afternoon in the house.

She told Sarah about Ron, that was fantastic. Ron with his fantastic body, all those muscles. But Stan... No not Stan.
Amanda told herself it was just the once with Stan. She certainly wouldn't let him do it a second time. It was something she would forget. But of course Stan told Ron he had done it. And Ron then wanted her to do it some more with Stan... He wanted Amanda to do it with both of them. Because they were mates.

One wonders if Amanda's mother ended up getting shared between the two workmen just like her daughter!

I love the bit about 'hoity-toity' ladies in big houses loving it as much as their working-class brethren, if not more. It's true of course, especially when burly working-class men are involved. And it certainly adds new meaning to the phrases 'well-brought up' and 'well-bred'. Because you perhaps might not expect well-brought up, well-bred, middle-class suburban women to act this way. But in fact, this breed of lady is almost trained to cheat, almost without thinking about it, just as her mother and grandmothers were before her and just as her daughters and granddaughters will be after her. After all, they have all been brought up to expect a life of pleasure and satisfaction behind a veneer of respectability!
Who knows, if things get really hot perhaps hunky young Ron or dirty old Stan will end up taking advantage of both mother and daughter at the same time!


Sunday, 21 June 2015

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: Mother and Daughter

Kane and Blushes both featured different stories with the extremely enticing name 'Mother and Daughter'.

One of my favorite cuckolding scenarios that appears in British spanking mags is when daughters are packed off to disciplinarians while their mothers have some extramarital fun. It should already be clear that middle class ladies misbehaving is a massive turn on for me, plus there's the unfairness of the poor daughters getting their pert little bottoms spanked, caned and strapped, all so Mummy can satisfy her carnal urges without losing her veneer of suburban respectability.
The Blushes version was rather subtle in its description of the mother's indiscretion:

'As you will know, Fiona, I have had your parents here earlier this afternoon. That is always my practice, when I intend to cane a girl... 'Yes. Charming people. And your mother a very attractive woman.' Mr Branton leant forward slightly. 'I can tell you that they raised no objection... They agreed with me, Fiona, that a girl cannot be allowed to make liaisons with local youths'
Mr Branton's mantlepiece clock showing 3.15 when Elizabeth had breathlessly entered his sitting room. A visit she had kept to herself, saying nothing to Derek or indeed to Fiona. A visit to plead with Philip Branton. A woman of maturer years but still stunning. A beautiful blonde come to plead; to throw herself on his mercy for the sake of her daughter.

But Philip Branton, though quite clearly not unresponsive to Elizabeth Mayfield's charms, had remained adamant regarding the caning...
She stood, gasping and sobbing. On the pretty legs that didn't seem to want to support her. Mr Branton delivering his post-caning lecture. Observing as he did so that striking contrast between what was below and what was on top. Elizabeth Mayfield, of course, had been just the same in that regard.
In the Rover Elizabeth said, 'It was the caretaker. He found out I was seeing this boy. I wasn't doing a lot but it was strictly against the rules. So... I let him do what he wanted. Cane me. On the bare bottom. Does that excite you?'

'Yes.' Derek's hand pushed back in between her thighs. 'You never told me.'

Elizabeth pursed her lips. She was thinking of the principal of Greentops School again. 'He's so big,' she breathed in the awe-filled voice.
Was Elizabeth Mayfield referring to Mr Branton's general bulk and the thought of his cane whipping down across poor Fiona's bottom? Or something else? That she herself had experienced. On Thursday of last week. Face down in the seat of that armchair.

The Kane version is considerably less subtle:

Remarkably enough, at this very moment as Jill lay over the Headmaster's lap, her mother was looking apprehensively at just such an implement which had caused Jill so much distress. A cane, no less. A cane in the hand of that gentleman who she had been so keen to see prosper in his business, Mr Calvino. The two of them were in Fiona Kendall's bedroom once again, Mr Calvino in slacks and shirt, Fiona in a blouse and below her waist not that new girdle which Jill had seen but this evening a black lace suspender belt attached to her sheer dark nylons. No skirt and  no knickers, so that her ripe haunches were fully and splendidly on view.

Needless to say, Mr Kendall was out for the evening — at his Club. Mr Calvino was in the process of describing to the nervous-looking Fiona the exquisite erotic pleasures to be obtained by submitting to a cane — such as the one he was flexing in his hands.
For matters had progressed somewhat between Mrs Kendall and the thrusting young manager of Beautybase. She had now on two occasions had full sexual intercourse with Mr Calvino, the first time being on his very next visit following the one observed by Jill. A fitting session in Fiona Kendall's bedroom as before and Jill's mother again stripped down to blouse and girdle and nylons. And again required to bend face-down over her bed so that Mr Calvino could check that the girdle had the correct 'give'. Only this time it had not been his hand which he slipped in between Fiona's parted thighs.

Fiona had gasped but not struggled to any great extent, and he had slid up into her with an ease which could imply that she had been ready and willing for this to happen. Though this she later denied both to Mr Calvino and herself, putting on the front of a shocked and innocent wife when Mr Calvino eventually finished performing. She had had, though, a full, almost mind-blowing orgasm such as she had never had with her husband.
In any event Mr Calvino was back for a further fitting the next afternoon during the course of which the same thing — sexual intercourse — again took place. And this evening, as daughter Jill argued in vain with her headmaster regarding Major Barker's use of the cane on her, Mr Calvino was back to, this time, use a cane on Fiona Kendall. Because as it happened, full and complete enjoyment of sexual pleasure with a woman for Mr Calvino involved a preliminary use of that same instrument which Jill Kendall had been complaining so bitterly about.
It was to this end, so that Fiona Kendall's magnificent bottom could be fully exposed for the cane, that he had brought, not the girdle, but the black lace suspender belt which, with very little else, Fiona was now wearing.
She was not at all happy with this new development. She had never been caned before and it was a decidedly alarming thought. It would obviously hurt! Mr Calvino said perhaps a little, but the caning of her bottom would undoubtedly arouse her sexual parts to a more exquisite enjoyment of the sexual act... As always with Mr Calvino she had no will to resist.
Fiona's face was down in her bed cover. My God! she thought, What am I doing! there was a pause and then a CRACK!.. as the cane whipped down on her succulent rear.

Fiona let out an anguished involuntary yelp: the succulent rear writhed. The stinging pain was excruciating...
But he gave her six. Wasn't that an old English custom: six of the best? (As it happened it was what daughter Jill had got from Major Barker.) And then Mr Calvino abandoned the cane and proceded to partake of the sexual part of his pleasure. Mrs Kendall, under him, responded with a desperate pleasure of her own.

So matters settled down into something of a routine... 

And Jill's mother? Her somewhat larger rump was getting the same treatment as her daughter's but rather more frequently: at least twice a week. It continued to hurt, to sting like mad, but for Fiona what came afterwards was more than adequate compensation. Because Mr Calvino was a very vigorous young man in that respect. And maybe he was right, the cane did seem to increase that subsequent sexual pleasure.

There was perhaps one bright spot for Jill. Her mother wrote to say that she thought after all Jill was right and she could forget about the girdle. Well, Mr Calvino was such a vigorous young man and Mrs Kendall would just hate to think of him casting his eyes over Jill's ripe young form. And just possibly getting ideas in that direction.

I think 'a full, almost mind-blowing orgasm such as she had never had with her husband' could almost be a slogan that encourages wives to cheat!

Wednesday, 17 June 2015

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: The Voice at the End of the Line

Picture a cheating wife alone, at home, husband away on business. She's getting ready for a date with her lover.

Why not pick up the phone, dial her number and tell her what a naughty girl she is and how she should be punished? That's what happens to the wife in 'The Voice at the End of the Line', and her caller gets her to spill some things that give a fascinating insight into the psyche of a wife who sleeps around behind her husbands back. But first, we get some nice titillation for those of us with a jewellery fetish:

I've got a choker around my neck – it's about an inch wide, navy velvet – I wear a lot of navy blue – with a Victorian brooch at my throat. I'm wearing a gold watch.' I pause, realising that I've told him all this to cover up my nervousness. 'And a couple of rings. A wedding ring. I'm married.'
'Why are you half-naked at seven o'clock in the evening? Why are you putting on so much make-up?'
'I'm going out. For a meal. With somebody.'
'Are you going out for a meal with your husband?'
'No,' I tell him. A pause. 'I'm going out with a colleague from work.' A longer, more eloquent pause. 'A male colleague.' Then in a rush: 'My husband's working late and, anyway, he doesn't mind. He knows.'
'Does he? Did you tell him?'
'No. He just knows.
'Now tell me about your date tonight.'
'It's not a date. I'm just having dinner with a colleague. There's some business we need to discuss, there wasn't time at work.' It sounds feeble even to me, although when I said it on the phone to Paul, my husband, this afternoon it sounded perfectly plausible. Paul certainly accepted my tale although, to be honest, I made a point of calling when I knew he'd be busy and wouldn't want to talk. In any case, he's out most evenings himself. That's partly the trouble: if he were at home more I wouldn't be looking around for distractions like Donald. I'm not sure I even like Donald all that much. My mind wanders but is brought to heel again by the Voice.
'Don't bother lying to me. I know about Donald Danvers and the quick business talks over drinks and meals. They take place at his home where very little is eaten and I suspect not much talking is done, although probably drinks are consumed and as for business – well we don't want to get vulgar, do we?'

'My husband's gone off me. He comes home late. He ignores me. We don't...' I try again. 'We don't have sex very often. I met Don at work. We get on okay. It's something to do. That's all.'
'What would Donald say if he saw you now, posing almost naked for a stranger? What would your husband say?'
'I don't know how Don would react. I don't know him very well really. Paul would probably be angry,' I tell him.
'Only probably? Aren't you certain? Tell me exactly what you think he would do,' the Voice persists.
'He'd be angry with me, that's all.'
'I'm growing tired of this conversation. I disagree with you. I do excite you. All men do. You're just naturally promiscuous, Julia, and Paul knows it. You are a wanton, easy slut and need to be brought into line. Do you understand?' His tone has become sharper, authoritative, like a Victorian master addressing an erring scullery maid.

Ah the classic cries of the faithless wife. 'He doesn't mind', 'he doesnt satisfy me anymore'. It's all rot of course, as the upstanding gentleman on the other end of the phone line makes clear. Julia's hubby could shag her senseless every night and she'd still stray given half a chance. That's the trouble with these modern career women, they want it all. Her husband's to blame too of course. If you don't give your wife the stick to keep her in line, she'll be off with other men getting a very different kind of stick!

'Let's get down to business. You've been behaving like a whore ever since you got married, and probably before, but I won't concern myself with that. How many men have you slept with since marrying Paul?'
I'm beyond lying or arguing. 'Five,' I reply. 'Or six. I'm not certain. Six I think. Yes, six.'

'Six! And you think Paul doesn't know?' He sounds incredulous.
'I'm sure I've been discreet. Anyway, he wouldn't mind.'
'Wouldn't he? Well, I mind! It's obscene the way modern women flout their wedding vows. They mock the institution of marriage itself. Just because you go to work, it doesn't mean you can forget your station in life. You're a woman and your function is to serve and respect men in general and support and obey your husband in particular. You seem not to understand this, Julia, so I'm going to help you learn. Go and put some shoes on. The high-heeled navy blue mules, since it's your favourite colour.'

Just because a man is enforcing the sanctity of other people's marriage beds doesn't mean he can't appreciate a pair of nice heels! Of course this powerful man is able to convince her of the error of her ways and make her agree to submit to punishment, all the while reminding us of the sordid details of her naughtiness!

'Even if Paul chooses to ignore your infidelity and disrespect, someone has to bring you to heel. You make your husband a laughing stock and act like a bitch in heat. It's time you learnt some humility and self-control. Spread your legs wider. Let your arms and belly take the weight. I want those legs really stretched and that bum wide open and displayed. That's good. How many of your lovers have seen you like this? You're really quite an exhibitionist aren't you? I'm sure you're enjoying our talk more than you'll admit.' I groan; I'll admit nothing to this pervert.
'You are an immoral slut and are about to be suitably chastised. Stay still. I'm taking off my belt. It's wide; thick leather made supple by age. It's got a very heavy buckle. Take your punishment well and I won't use the buckle end on you.
You are right to be worried. My belt is going to warm up that backside of yours. I think six strokes, one for each of your lovers.'

I struggle to regain control of myself. 'I've slept with other men since I got married; I've not respected my husband,' I recite...
'I deserve to be strapped and caned on my bare bottom'.

Yes she does. And yes she is! Though six strokes per lover seems a trifle lenient. Though after the cane and belt a tawse is brought out and no limit is set on the number of times it will visit her naughty little bottom!