Friday, 3 July 2015

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: Mother has needs

Stories of wives getting spanked for cheating are actually quite rare - more common are ladies getting spanked as the result of others screwing around. This makes it even hotter for me and it comes back to the attraction of undeserved spankings, with for instance an innocent daughter getting her bottom warmed regularly because she's caught in the middle of one of her mother's indiscretions.

'Henry's New Girl' and its sequel 'The New Girl Meets Mr Miggins' are pretty much the cipher for this scenario, as two 18-year-olds find themselves packed off for a summer with a strict disciplinarian, and slowly realise that self-improvement wasn't the first thing on their mothers' minds:

Mummy and Daddy in the next room at home had a double bed and Valerie knew why that was. Mummy was still a very attractive woman and she knew Daddy still wanted to do it to her. You could sometimes hear Mummy's bed creaking in a very rhythmic way when that was happening.
There had been one horrid occasion, earlier in the year, when there had been some bed creaking from the other side of the wall when Daddy had been away. When also there had been a certain visitor to the house.

A man, younger than Mummy, who Mummy said was Mr. Smith. Anyway he had stayed the night, supposedly in the spare room but then later on Valerie heard that very distinct sound which had made her feel really sick.
She couldn't really believe Mummy would let that Mr. Smith do it to her in her's and Daddy's bed. But Mummy had said not to bother to tell Daddy that Mr. Smith had stayed – he was a friend of her friend Mrs. Carrington and she was just obliging by putting him up. Mummy had given Valerie an extra £1 with her pocket money that week.
She sealed [the letter] up and addressed it to Mrs. Hartnall because Daddy was away on business for three weeks

Valerie put her head under the clothes. She thought of home. Somehow her thoughts went to that other horrid bed-creaking, when Daddy had been away. Mr. Smith. Then she felt a sudden cold shiver. Daddy was away at the moment for three weeks. What if Mummy hadn't only sent her here because she didn't make her bed, etc. What if that awful Mr. Smith was visiting? At this very moment, perhaps, was doing it to Mummy? If that was the case Valerie would not be leaving in two days; she would be here for two weeks... or three...
In the morning Valerie decided it had all been a bad dream. Mr. Smith was not at her home doing it to Mummy

Of course, Mr Smith is at home doing it to Mummy. And when the daughters learn that doing it can help reduce the frequency and severity of their punishments... well, they have their mothers' examples to follow...

'What about your mother,' asked Valerie. 'I bet she'd kill you if she knew.'
'My mother can't talk,' Cynthia replied spiritedly. 'She does it with whoever she wants. One time at a party at our house she did it in my bedroom on my bed! With this man. I opened the door and there they were and I had to shut it again pretty quick. While my father was downstairs pouring the drinks. That's what mothers do, Val. I bet your mother's just the same.'

Valerie said her mother didn't do that but as she said it the whole thing crystallised in her mind. Those horrible thoughts she had had the first night here. Three weeks was how long Daddy was going to be away. All at once Valerie was quite certain that Mummy wasn't with Mrs Carrington, she was with that Mr Smith somewhere. Letting him do it to her. For three whole weeks presumably.
Cynthia said, 'I bet your mother does, if you knew. They all do it, whenever they get the chance. When our fathers are out of the way, at work or something. And then they tell us we must be so good and pure and not even think about it. But why shouldn't we do the same as them?'
Valerie had stopped sniffing, the pain in her bottom and indeed her whole general misery much less intense with the excitement of this new insight. And really, if Mummy could be beastly and abandon her just so she could do it with Mr Smith, perhaps Cynthia was right. Perhaps she should do something to pay Mummy out – and at the same time avoid Mr Fultonby's sickening cane. She gave Cynthia a wary look.
Cynthia said encouragingly, 'It's not against the law, you know. You should be doing it. It's what life is all about when you're grown up.'

Indeed it is. As we learn in a rather delicious final scene showing the naughty Mrs Hartnell getting her summer delights at her daughter's expense:

Meanwhile, also, such was the excellence of the British postal service that Valerie's letter, posted yesterday afternoon, had already been delivered to her home. It was, however, lying in the hallway, unopened, and the chances were that it would remain in this position and in this state for a little while yet. For Mummy, Mrs. Elizabeth Hartnall, was not at home. A letter was at this moment on its way to Valerie explaining that Mummy had gone to stay with her friend Mrs. Carrington for a few days. The Carringtons were not on the phone but Valerie could write. She hoped Valerie was having a lovely time.
In fact at this moment Mrs. Elizabeth Hartnell was not at her friend Julia Carrington's but was in an hotel in Eastbourne. Still in bed, and protesting, but only mildly, at what her companion, male, was doing and was clearly about to do.
"Charles! Again? You'll wear me out!"
Charles, on top of Mummy at this moment, would have been recognisable to Valerie, if she could see his face, as 'Mr. Smith'.
As Charles commenced, with long smooth strokes, to do what he had already done several times to Mummy during the previous night he inquired about Valerie. How long was she staying at that place?

Elizabeth Hartnall gave a sensuous groan. "Oh... I don't know, Charles... Ooohh! She... she can stay all summer..."

So mothers certainly have needs, and so do aunties, as a niece learns when she comes home unexpectedly to find her married aunt getting well and truly leathered by their domineering lodger in 'Pre-War Spanks':

One afternoon I went out to see a friend on a Sunday. She was the same age as me and we were both in jobs. She wasn't in, so I came back. I didn't mean to let myself in quietly, but then I heard the sound...
the noise of well-worn leather meeting a naked bottom. Yes – I knew all right.
It was my Aunt Helen – in the front bedroom.

The dominance of this alpha male as he thrashes the married lady until she betrays her husband is something to behold:

"Come on, Helen," I heard him say or sort of croak, rather. "No-oh-OH!" her moans came, but she wasn't making any movement to get off the bed or really avoid the strap.
"Yes – come ON!" he growled. "Ow-er! Ow-er! Ow-er!" came her response. She was about thirty then, Aunt Helen. Nice and round. Attractive. SLAP-CRACK! SLAP-CRA-AAAACK! "I told you I was going to, Helen, didn't I?" – "YEHESSSSS! OW-OOOH! You're doing it too hard, you are, OH!"
I'd been strapped. Not like that, though.

 "T....T....Tom, you shouldn't...............'t...... stop now............. stop!"
"I told you, I told you, Helen, I'd make a woman of you, the way he never will. You need it burned into you like this – LIFT IT!"
"All right, Helen, all right," he said in a quick tone. I saw the strap slide to the carpet and his hand go to his fly-buttons. Well, no – I didn't believe that at first. I hadn't exactly looked for a bulge there. I heard her moan, she made to look round, to slide back off the bed (beds seemed higher in those days) but he gave her bottom a rare smack with his hand and she yelped and sobbed all in one voice. Then he got it out.
I almost hid my eyes. Well that's a fib. I'm sure I didn't really. It reared up, all nine thick inches of it with the bulbous knob looking like a big plum that was likely to burst with ripeness any time. I remember putting that thought into those words, and right I was. Then he grabbed her hips and his cock waggled stiffly. "All right, Helen," he said like one might talk to a nervous horse. She bucked like a horse, too, would have got up, I swear, but he held her, leaning his weight forward over her back and fumbling, fumbling until his knob found her slit.

"AH! you're juicy!" he groaned. Then a real "WHOO-OOOO!" came from her, and the wrigglings of her hips only excited him the more, I could see. "I've got you – all right, I've got you, Helen," he said in a voice as quiet as you like, and then he gave one heave of his buttocks and it was a knife going into butter all right. "Oh-oh-oh-oh-!" she sobbed and then her head hung down again and I could see her seared bottom pressing back despite herself while the thick shaft lodged itself inch by inch between her rolled lips.
There was a glistening there, I could see. ...
Her bottom sank slowly right back into his hands around the suspendered fronts of her thighs and – OOOH! – right in.
 "Oh, Tom – oh, Tom – oh, Tom," she kept moaning. "Didn't I tell you – didn't I tell you?" he was croaking. Then he began to pump her. My mouth was dry, my eyes glazed – but I was moist down in between all right, I heard the slaps of bottom to belly coming so loud to me – his skin white, her deep pink, his balls swinging.
"Ah, you bitch, didn't you want this, need this?" he croaked.
"Yes..... oh Tom...... you're naughty..... yes.... oh! oh my bottom!"
"It's lovely for it, you know it is. I told you, Helen, told you five years ago and you wouldn't. Remember what your Dad used to say – strapping and threshing come together." – "OOOh, Tom, ah! Don't come! Ah, you bad man, I never had it like this before, you know I didn't." – "Time you did then, eh? Oh gawd, I'll come in a minute – are you coming – wriggle it, Helen – ah, my lovely, you've got a lovely one."
Despite all her protesting and sobbing and moaning, she was surging and heaving it to him all right.

The niece gets rather excited watching her aunt get strapped and fucked (who wouldn't) and after she reveals her presence (to her aunt's humiliation) it isn't long before the masteful lodger is giving her similar treatment:

But then, being stupid, I played a mischievous trick, going down the hall, opening the door quietly and banging it.
What a scuffle came from up there! You can believe it. I heard Aunt Helen say "Oh God," and then "It's all down my stocking tops."
"Go on, Tom do her as you did me," she said. She swore afterwards she didn't mean it the way it came out, but that was a lie. An eternity later – ten, fifteen, twenty strokes later of that strap with my bottom like a brazier
It was a whole week after that before I was strapped, pumped and creamed the way I wanted to be.........

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