Cuckolding in British spanking mags: punished for adultery

The wedding vows say 'Love, honor and OBEY' for a reason! If modern husbands had even an ounce of backbone, then their wives would know exactly what to expect if they ever strayed:

Of course, in the 'good old days' there were more real men around for women to marry and if these muscular studs got even a hint that their wife was not exactly 'forsaking all others' he'd have his belt off before you could say 'while you're down there'.

And if he was really displeased he could always make her punishment public...

 

The grizzled old crusader in 'The Legend of Lady Lenora' is certainly of this ilk. When his young wife is caught frolicking with a squire he draws inspiration from his travels to teach her a lesson:

Five years enduring her spartan exile waiting for her lover to reclaim her. Five years of public whippings by her gaolers on the orders of her husband.

...

One young man in particular, Gavin, reminded her so much of her lord before they were married. He was strong and kind and open in his love for her, a little too open for his own good, yet his naivete was in itself touching.
Her scowling lord became increasingly jealous and their rows frequent. During one he yelled at her: 'In the desert lands they have many wives and they whip the ones who disobey them.'

As she was driven out through the castle gates her husband, drunk and staggering on his weak leg, shouted: 'Take her, take her from my sight and don't let her back until she has repented of the hurt she has done me and the shame and humiliation she has brought me.

Whip her on the first day of every month, a stroke for every day of the month. 365 strokes a year until she agrees to crawl back to me on hands and knees to beg my forgiveness.'

...

'In my drunkenness I had forgotten I had ordered your whipping. Thank you for drawing it to my attention. Now sober, it seems a most appropriate punishment for your treacherous disloyalty. I have thought about you on the first day of the last two months and felt only pleasure at knowing yon are receiving the punishment you deserve. I have written separately to the warden confirming that the whippings should continue until you show a genuine desire for forgiveness.'
She wrote back after every whipping imploring him to give their love a second chance. 'How can our love grow if we are apart? Whip me yourself in our bedchamber if you want but spare me the humiliation of being flogged by my gaolers. All I see is their leering faces taking pleasure in spreading me over the trough and whipping me like a whore in a marketplace.'

Even in these modern times with their floppy-wristed beta male husbands, there is still the odd man willing to take his flighty young wife in hand. Usually a more experienced older husband who has rogered a few married secretaries in his time, as in 'A Room With A View':

'I'm so sorry, darling,' she was pleading in an urgent, breathless voice.

'I truly am. I love you with all my heart and wouldn't do anything to hurt

you. But you were away in Denmark and Peter came to the house and we drank

and ate and then drank some more and by the time I noticed the clock it was

too late for him to leave. I didn't mean anything to happen...'

I clutched Gus by the arm. 'Oh no,' I whispered, 'she's been unfaithful to

him and he's found out.'

'Certainly sounds like it,' Gus murmured back. 'I wonder how?'

...

'Why doesn't she refuse the cane?' I said to Gus, wondering at her silent

agreement. He gave me that look which said simpleton, and I already knew

the answer. Penny could refuse the cane but she knew she would be punished

in one way or another. Robert could devise something much worse and

longer-lasting. They were due to island-hop in the South Pacific this

summer. Penny could forfeit that, and never know if Robert took someone

else with him. He could easily make up an excuse to have a companion, to

help keep contact with the office while he was away.

...

Which made me feel even more wicked to be secretly watching Penny receive

her punishment for adultery.

...

'I'll never do it again,' we heard her say in a tiny, plaintive voice, so

alien to her normal bright confidence. 'Not even think about it, my darling

Bobby. Not ever again, I really promise. I'm sorry... I deserved it all.'

It was then that Gus switched off the eavesdropping system

...

He took my hand and, with a gentle yet urgent movement, reminded me of what I had earlier seen him adjusting.

And later than that, after Gus had shown me visible evidence of how eagerly he needed attention, and I had sought tactile confirmation of his stunning firmness of purpose, another set of girlish buttocks began to clench and unclench, tighten and relax beneath him, and another feminine voice was moaning and whimpering, gasping and crying out...

I felt so pleased, and so naughty, that I do believe I deserve the cane.

Sometimes an experienced old hand can show modern husbands the way, as in 'Victim?':

Ronald was uninhibitedly forthcoming, and it was an incredible piece of good fortune when he disclosed to Marcus that he had actually used to spank his mother during the early days of their marriage.

'Needed to, my boy. Lovely gal, but one of the flightiest young women I have ever met, and with me being away so much...'. He looked at his son searchingly as if suddenly doubtful of his parentage.

But often wives are only punished for cheating by the type of man who's already stolen her from a floppy-wristed beta male. I love how these stories play up the hypocrisy of the experienced letch as he tut-tuts over modern morals while screwing young married women. This lovely snippet shows the landlord in 'The Tenant' to be a particular master of this:

I only once administered a genuine thrashing, and that was to a young divorcee I was having an affair with, who confessed to being unfaithful when I was away one weekend. I made her strip completely and bend over the back of a chair, with her hands grasping the seat; then gave her twelve with a riding switch, using full throttle. Halfway through the punishment she begged for temporary respite, which I refused.

It takes a special kind of arrogance to fuck another man's wife and then thrash her for cheating!

But really if you're a middle-class suburban husband you can't win. Even if you roast your wife's faithless behind and screw her senseless afterwards, it just makes her hornier and more likely to fall into the arms of the next man who rings the doorbell while you're at work!

 

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: Recruit for the Club

I love the idea of respectable surburban neighborhoods being a hotbed of spanking, cuckolding and more. Imagine walking down an apparently quiet street with a bugging device and all you can hear are the crack of belts on bare bottoms and the squelch of thick cocks between the legs of other men's wives. The story 'Recruit for the Club' is this in a nutshell.

In the story's suburb, the fathers have decided that now their daughters are 18 the only way to discipline them effectively is to spank each others girls 'because it's not possible to discipline your own daughter properly, and they don't get it at school these days', and have formed a club for that purpose.

When a new family moves in, the way their lecherous neighbor gets their daughter quickly recruited into the club is rather delicious for those of a cuckolding persuasion:

The house next to the Hollings had not been vacant for long; hardly surprising as this was an attractive leafy middle-class estate in a pleasant market town within easy commuting distance of London. The newcomers had moved in two days ago. They were called Lanford, Steve and Jane, and seemed about the same age as Carl and Frances Holling who were in their late thirties. Carl had noted with approval that Jane Lanford was a good-looking, shapely blonde. And also there was a teenage daughter, the same age as their own daughter Liz who was 18. That to Carl Holling was just as worthy of note as the attractiveness of her mother.

...

Carl saw Jane Lanford and her daughter come out to sit in the garden chairs on their terrace. No doubt they had had a busy morning getting things sorted inside. Now they were in brief summer dresses and sandals. It was a Tuesday and Steve Lanford would no doubt have been off on the early commuter train this morning. And Carl's own Frances and daughter Liz were also conveniently out of the way. They had gone out for the afternoon, shopping: the new school term started next week and Liz wanted some new clothes. Altogether it was an opportunity that had to be seized....

He went down and stuck his head over the fence. Carl could be very charming when it was needed. Within five minutes he had Jane and Debbie Lanford sitting on his own terrace. On the garden table under the sunshade was a bottle of chilled white wine.

'This is awfully nice of you,' Jane said.

...

Carl grinned. Jane's white cotton dress was tight-bodiced with a full short skirt which left a good deal of her shapely bare legs on view.

...

Carl smiled at mother and daughter. They really were both highly desirable. Debbie for The Club of course. And her mother... for the usual thing. A fuck. A nice afternoon fuck. He could feel his prick stiffening. Could he now, when he had scarcely met her? It might seem impossible – but somehow he had the feeling it was. His prick was telling him it was....

'Don't worry,' he told Debbie. 'I know they're all very keen to meet you. Look, why don't you come round again later when Liz is back...'

Yes. Later. Because for the moment the darling daughter's presence was a little superfluous. When what he wanted was intimate conversation with her mother. Intimate congress.

Jane couldn't believe it. Could it really have happened? She wanted to tell herself it hadn't, and it was certainly like a dream. But she knew it wasn't a dream, that was just the effect of the wine. No, it had happened. Also because of the wine of course. She had let Carl Holling fuck her. On that sofa in his lounge. In the middle of the afternoon.

Debbie had gone back into their house... Their host had said it was a good idea. In fact maybe he had actually suggested it? Yes, well it would be logical, wouldn't it. While he insisted that she stay. With that bottle of wine. Out on the terrace, and then inside. It would be cooler inside, he said. And then.... Just like a dream. On the sofa. His hand. Going up under her short skirt. 'I want to see if you're wearing knickers...' And then somehow... they were coming off... her... His hand was there. At her pussy. Her wet pussy.... and then... it was happening. He was doing it to her. Fucking her. On top of her between her spread legs. One of her feet on the floor and the other up... yes, she was being fucked.

And then afterwards of course, when she was contemplating this awful thing that she had somehow allowed.... afterwards.... he was telling her about the other thing. This club. The Club. The group of them with their daughters. On the estate. A secret club. A disciplinary club.

He wanted them to join. Debbie. And Steve. So she would have to talk to Steve. Tell him. And persuade him, if that was necessary.

No, he said. Of course he wouldn't let anyone know what had just happened on this Tuesday afternoon on his sofa. Not a soul. If she would see about Debbie. And The Club.

* * *

Jane and Steve were in bed. She hadn't been able to broach the subject before and it wasn't easy now. She was having to force herself. Her mind was still full of that awful business only hours earlier. On the Hollings' sofa. Carl Holling fucking her. And if she wanted it kept quiet – as she did! – then Steve had to join this club. With Debbie.

'What d'you mean, discipline?' Steve asked. His hand was sliding over her as they lay side by side on their backs under just a sheet. Sliding down to her pussy. She could guess he was going to want sex. A fuck. And after doing it with Carl next-door. Well it didn't seem she should, not right after. She slid her own hand down, to hold Steve's.

'Well, you know. Discipline. Ah..... spanking. And maybe also... I think.... strapping. If necessary.'

Steve said, 'You're joking.' His hand was sliding away from hers. Pushing in between her legs. To her pussy.

'No. Steve... I'm serious. And, well, I think maybe it's a good idea. If it's strictly private of course. Steve!'

He was getting on top of her. Pushing her thighs apart. Getting between them. She felt the head of his stiff cock.

As he entered her Steve said, somewhat breathlessly, 'You mean that Carl... and the others... get to deal with Debbie. And I do... one of their daughters....?'

Jane said yes. As Steve began to fuck her. As only hours earlier Carl next door had fucked her.

Kudos for Mr and Mrs Lanford having a good old fashioned awkward married romp. I always like to see a wife getting some 'home cooking' from her husband in the evening, with the poor sap unaware that the reason she's so turned on is that she's thinking about what she was up to while he was at work! Though at least Mr Lanford has plenty of pert teenage bottom spanking to look forward to!

And Carl isn't anywhere near finished with the mother or the daughter...

Downstairs Jane was doing the washing-up. While thinking of poor Debbie of course. She had asked Carl to please not strap her too hard.

This morning. He had come round and she had made him some coffee. And... she had let him fuck her again. Well, she had tried to refuse but he had just laughed. And said, 'I know you really want it.'

It these British Spanking stories, it seems that the daughters always get spanked and sometimes get fucked, and their mothers always get fucked and sometimes get spanked!

Cuckolding in British spanking mags: Evacuee

'Evacuee' is probably my favorite cuckolding/spanking story, because Mrs Sheila Newman is probably the ultimate middle-class suburban wife (I have even used her descendants as characters in a few of my manips).

Her daughter has been evacuated during World War 2, and finds the discipline (particularly for pretty blonde London girls) rather stricter than she can cope with. However, with her husband off fighting and her children packed off to the country, Mrs Newman isn't exactly receptive to her daughter's pleas to come home:

Stanley's letter, posted that same evening as Janet's caning, arrived at Acacia Road in South East London the next morning. There might be a war on but the British postal service continued to work efficiently.

It was 9 o'clock and Mrs Sheila Newman, a still attractive and shapely blonde of 36, was making her breakfast. She was feeling pleasantly relaxed and physically... well satisfied. Physically satisfied in a way that perhaps a married woman whose husband had not been home for the last two weeks should not be feeling physically satisfied. For Sheila Newman had had sexual intercourse one hour earlier.
It was the war...

Jim Newman, Janet and Stanley's father, had been called up with other Territorial Army men a fortnight ago. So Sheila would have had an empty house when the children were evacuated; except that at the same time there had been a request for people to take in workers from the factory south of London which was going over to munitions production. Sheila had taken in two young men.
They had arrived later the same Saturday that Janet and Stanley went off: two attractive young men with young men's normal feelings and desires. And as already stated their new landlady, though older, was a pretty and shapely woman – with no husband around. They had almost immediately made it clear that they found Sheila's shapely body highly desirable. And they made it quite clear that they would like to get properly to grips with it.

It was the sort of situation the war would create everywhere. Sheila and Jim Newman had been in the habit of having intercourse at least three times a week and now, suddenly, Sheila's ripe body was starved of it. She had always been a faithful wife but now she found herself in an almost impossible situation.
Sheila fought against it, but her body simply responded to the men's presence: as they teased and complimented and playfully grabbed at her, and quite simply stated what they wanted. It was terrible, but she knew she wanted it too. Her body quivering for it, like a cat on heat.
It did not take long for matters to reach their inevitable conclusion. On the Tuesday evening, when Janet had her second spanking from Mr Jones, Sheila had intercourse with one lodger, Bob, on her sitting room sofa, while the other one, Ron, was out. Later, when Ron returned and learnt what had happened, he too managed to avail himself of that same ultimate satisfaction.

Afterwards, naturally, awful feelings of guilt, etc. But that night both men in turn came into Sheila's room, and her bed, and Sheila's ripe body had another double dose of what it had been missing for two weeks.

And so on Thursday morning, when Stanley's letter reached his mother, she was feeling physically relaxed and satisfied, albeit with those inevitable twinges of conscience. For she had had sexual congress with both her lodgers before they went off to work that morning.

Sheila Newman opened Stanley's letter and made a face. He wanted to come home, as also Janet, in two letters already, said she wanted to return. Really they were being so silly. They had only been there a few days and had simply not given themselves a chance to settle in. And really they were much safer there, much more so than in London. And also...
And also there were Bob and Ron. The children would very soon suspect something if they were back in the house. Of course Sheila could give up what she had just started two evenings ago; but once you had started something like that it was almost impossible to stop. Doing it with those two, the two younger men, was a fantastic turn-on: out of this world. And although there was the guilt there was also the fact of the war. It wasn't her fault, it was the war.

No, in spite of feeling bad about it, Sheila was not going to stop. So Janet and Stanley could stay where they were. It was by far the best thing for them; and anyway it was probably quite a nice place, that Llangafan, if they only gave it a chance. Sheila Newman went to get her writing paper and pen.

I love how matter-of-fact and 'English' the story is, with the casual implication that every suburban war wife is at it with her young lodgers while her husband is off fighting and her children are being disciplined severely by strangers. Anything like this, the implication that cuckolding is universal and there are hordes of well endowed young men waiting to pleasure your willing housewife as soon as you leave for work - or war - is a massive turn on.

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............... sh....sh.....shouldn'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.........

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!"