As we all know, spanking and screwing go hand in hand, so is it any wonder that middle-class housewives are wont to stray? They regularly get their voluptuous bottoms spanked, strapped or slippered by their husbands, or by their fathers, or father-in-law, or boss, or husband's boss...
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And they must spend their days tottering around the office in high heels and tight blouses getting their bottoms pinched...
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Or at home scrubbing floors. or making themselves pretty and lounging around watching the day go past oh so slowly on their dainty wristwatches while the silk of their robes teases their pert nipples. And then we act surprised when they look for some comfort from the nearest man to hand!
Spanking stories that contain cuckolding are by and large set in the suburbs, and there is such a taboo thrill of supposedly respectable suburban ladies who should know better (and their daughters who are being taught to imitate them) giving in to their primal urges with men other than their husbands.
That's why they get spanked of course, but we all know that spanking is only a punishment in the loosest sense - nothing warms a lady's front side up faster than a little leather on her backside!
I think this paradox is what is so appealing about spanking - you get the idea that it's painful punishment and all the taboos and fantasies that come with that, but all it really does is make horny ladies hornier!
And of course there are plenty of dirty old (or not so old) men who are itching to have their wicked way with the bottoms and fannies of willing ladies while their husbands are unaware or helpless to intervene.
Many of the old magazines are still available on the relevant websites, and some of the stories have been posted on the brilliant www.britishspankingmagazines.blogspot.com
They're well worth buying if you like your classic spanking stories, but over the next few weeks I will post snippets of may favorite cuckolding scenes from those classic publications.
Sometimes cuckolding is only hinted at:
But often it's much, much more explicit. Let's start with the Janus classic 'Albert Higginson Strikes Back', where a stereotypically outraged pensioner catches the nubile young wife living next door doing something she shouldn't:
'I know just what that young hussy needs,'
Albert would hotly inform Dorothy, his wife, after a session at the bedroom
window.
What she needed, of course, as Dorothy would know, for she had heard it many, many times before, what Melanie Halford's ripe bottom needed in Albert's estimation was 'a good whipping'. The cane, or a riding crop, her husband's belt – or, one may be sure, Albert's belt
What she needed, of course, as Dorothy would know, for she had heard it many, many times before, what Melanie Halford's ripe bottom needed in Albert's estimation was 'a good whipping'. The cane, or a riding crop, her husband's belt – or, one may be sure, Albert's belt
...
There had been a car outside next-door's that
he couldn't recall seeing before. Happening to go again into the front room 15
minutes later Albert had this time seen a young fellow get in and drive off. He
had seemed to come from next door...
Albert made it his business to know other people's business as far as possible and he knew that the husband, Mr Halford, would be out at work. He had a job at that newfangled computer firm and his car wasn't there. And so if this young chap had come from next door he had been to see her. He could be a relative, or some sort of salesman. But on the other hand – well, certainly Albert was prepared to believe anything of her, especially with those jeans an open invitation.
Albert made it his business to know other people's business as far as possible and he knew that the husband, Mr Halford, would be out at work. He had a job at that newfangled computer firm and his car wasn't there. And so if this young chap had come from next door he had been to see her. He could be a relative, or some sort of salesman. But on the other hand – well, certainly Albert was prepared to believe anything of her, especially with those jeans an open invitation.
Albert's nose was indeed pointing him in the
right direction. Something was going on next door. Albert's 'young
fellow' had knocked and entered a few minutes after the washing had been hung.
Melanie had greeted him somewhat equivocally.
'Oh God, Trevor. I told you not to come round here in the daytime. These blasted neighbours, they've got eyes like hawks.'
Not very welcoming words perhaps but at the same time Melanie was permitting him to push her up against the hall wall, his body hard against her, his arms around her, one hand enthusiastically groping that bottom which regularly sent Albert's temperature soaring; and then his tongue in her mouth to stop further words of protest.
Melanie sucked on the tongue, making moaning sounds of pleasure, and then broke her mouth away.
'I'm serious, Trev; you don't know what it's like, especially with these old fogeys. They've got nothing better to do than mind someone else's business. There's this old bloke next door for one. He's always eyeing me.'
Trevor Wilmot, 29 and who was a salesman, gave a laugh. 'He probably fancies you. He's probably dying to get his hands on this fantastic bum.'
Melanie giggled and squirmed at what Trevor was doing to her bottom. Then protesting but not too strongly, she agreed to go into the lounge.
Melanie had met Trevor Wilmot four weeks earlier at a party and just didn't know how she'd got into this, but a harmless lunchtime drink at a pub and then a drive in his car and, well... It was Gary's fault really, she was stuck at home all day and he mostly didn't want to go out in the evenings. She knew she shouldn't do it and had strong guilt feelings. That was why she wouldn't let him go up to the bedroom, it was in the lounge, on the sofa. Somehow that didn't seem as bad as doing it in their bed.
Protesting still, in the lounge Melanie nevertheless slipped off the skin-tight jeans and then the very brief knickers (pale blue ones). It was really dreadful but at the same time overwhelmingly exciting. Afterwards, of course, the excitement was, for the moment at least, gone and you still had, more strongly, the guilt feelings. You also had, and more strongly, that fear of busybody neighbours.
Melanie repeated, more vehemently, her pleas that Trevor must not come round to the house; but when you are 29 and fancy-free, enjoyment of pleasure and the satisfaction of simple basic desires can be paramount. (Albert Higginson would have had something to say about that.) So although Trevor said a dutiful 'OK', there he was the next morning again ringing the door bell.
'Oh no!' gasped Melanie – but nonetheless let him in. 'You can't!' she breathed – while once more allowing herself to be persuaded into the lounge. 'NO!' she pleaded – as, like yesterday, the jeans and knickers came down again.
All this was most unfortunate because today hidden in the greenery at the end of the garden, was a figure Melanie would certainly have recognised...
'Oh God, Trevor. I told you not to come round here in the daytime. These blasted neighbours, they've got eyes like hawks.'
Not very welcoming words perhaps but at the same time Melanie was permitting him to push her up against the hall wall, his body hard against her, his arms around her, one hand enthusiastically groping that bottom which regularly sent Albert's temperature soaring; and then his tongue in her mouth to stop further words of protest.
Melanie sucked on the tongue, making moaning sounds of pleasure, and then broke her mouth away.
'I'm serious, Trev; you don't know what it's like, especially with these old fogeys. They've got nothing better to do than mind someone else's business. There's this old bloke next door for one. He's always eyeing me.'
Trevor Wilmot, 29 and who was a salesman, gave a laugh. 'He probably fancies you. He's probably dying to get his hands on this fantastic bum.'
Melanie giggled and squirmed at what Trevor was doing to her bottom. Then protesting but not too strongly, she agreed to go into the lounge.
Melanie had met Trevor Wilmot four weeks earlier at a party and just didn't know how she'd got into this, but a harmless lunchtime drink at a pub and then a drive in his car and, well... It was Gary's fault really, she was stuck at home all day and he mostly didn't want to go out in the evenings. She knew she shouldn't do it and had strong guilt feelings. That was why she wouldn't let him go up to the bedroom, it was in the lounge, on the sofa. Somehow that didn't seem as bad as doing it in their bed.
Protesting still, in the lounge Melanie nevertheless slipped off the skin-tight jeans and then the very brief knickers (pale blue ones). It was really dreadful but at the same time overwhelmingly exciting. Afterwards, of course, the excitement was, for the moment at least, gone and you still had, more strongly, the guilt feelings. You also had, and more strongly, that fear of busybody neighbours.
Melanie repeated, more vehemently, her pleas that Trevor must not come round to the house; but when you are 29 and fancy-free, enjoyment of pleasure and the satisfaction of simple basic desires can be paramount. (Albert Higginson would have had something to say about that.) So although Trevor said a dutiful 'OK', there he was the next morning again ringing the door bell.
'Oh no!' gasped Melanie – but nonetheless let him in. 'You can't!' she breathed – while once more allowing herself to be persuaded into the lounge. 'NO!' she pleaded – as, like yesterday, the jeans and knickers came down again.
All this was most unfortunate because today hidden in the greenery at the end of the garden, was a figure Melanie would certainly have recognised...
And at the end of the story there is a lovely display of the unintended effect a thrashing can have on a young lady:
Melanie's bottom had stung like mad for quite a
while after awful Mr Higginson had left but gradually it had eased. And as the
sharp sting in her bottom lessened so she began to realise that shock and
horror wasn't all she was feeling. It had been diabolical but at the same time
the thought of it was exciting. To be forced
to bare your bum like that – or at least take your jeans down – for that stern
old man and have him whip it with that riding crop. It was horrendous but it was also a real turn-on.
All helped by the fact that the reader knows exactly why this naughty young wife isn't usually like that when her hapless husband gets home!
The feeling of being turned-on had increased and
by the time Gary came home Melanie was feeling really steamy. She grabbed him
as soon as he was in the house and, rubbing herself up against him, suggested
that they go upstairs. This was a shock to Gary, Melanie was never like that
when he got home. She had given him a hot, sexy kiss and informed him, 'I'm
feeling randy!'
And randy Melanie had definitely been in the bedroom. Lewd and disgusting, Albert Higginson would undoubtedly have said even though it was her own husband. But lewd and disgusting or not, he, Albert, had unwittingly been responsible for that behaviour.
And randy Melanie had definitely been in the bedroom. Lewd and disgusting, Albert Higginson would undoubtedly have said even though it was her own husband. But lewd and disgusting or not, he, Albert, had unwittingly been responsible for that behaviour.
All helped by the fact that the reader knows exactly why this naughty young wife isn't usually like that when her hapless husband gets home!
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