Has Spanking Joined The Mainstream?

Spanking Goes Mainstream is the headline to a major piece in the latest edition of Newsweek. Needless to say, since the magazine is American it manages to confuse the very broad topic of BDSM with the much narrower one of spanking, but that caveat aside the point raised by this article is interesting. Stripped of all the verbiage - and Katie Roiphe the authoress is an academic so the verbiage needs to be cut through with a machete - the argument is that women now occupy senior positions in business, and want to compensate for that by being extra submissive in the bedroom.

That readers of Fifty Shades of Grey are not the suburban mummies of popular lore, but actually twenty and thirty something professional girls, came as a surprise to me, but that is what the publisher's data tells us. In Girls, the new television series about a group of females making their way in New York a similar theme of sexual submission linked to professional assertiveness can be discerned.

Should we be surprised at this trend? We have know for decades that powerful men often like to let go of their worries with submissive behaviour in the bedroom, hence the whole femdom scene, so why should women be any different?

The future for dominant, assertive, older men in their 50 and 60 who enjoy being daddies to younger women has suddenly become much brighter!

Fifty Shades of Grey

Universal has paid a reported $5,000,000 for the rights to E.L. James' Fifty Shades of Grey and she has managed to negotiate some pretty extraordinary controls over the forthcoming production. Obviously the studio would not have agreed to those demands had they not been convinced that they had a winner on their hands, so is this the start of a renaissance for BDSM and CP works? Can your average friendly sleezebag porno writer now expect to be feted in quite the same way? This one waits in hope...

Cristina, Part Ten

I got to my feet and lit a cigarette. Cristina showed no signs of ceasing her performance, so I decided that I would leave her to her own devices and go and grab a quick bite to eat before I returned to the university. That was when I looked up and saw two women standing opened mouthed in the doorway.

The taller of the two I recognised as one of the Argentinian doxies from the club, but I had no idea who the other one was. Now did I care particularly, since all I really wanted to do was leave. 

"Little bitch threw a vase at me," I said simply. Neither of the two girls made any reply, so I carried on: "When she stops whimpering, tell her she can give me a call if she fancies. If not, it doesn't matter. You might also tell her that if there is any more shit then her scabby little pussy will get a deportation order slapped on it."

With that I walked out of the flat and went to get a late lunch. I never saw Cristina again. There was a story going the rounds that she managed to hook a wealthy Mexican businessman and became his mistress. Then someone told me that she had got herself pregnant and that the businessman had obviously fucked her off as most men would under such circumstances. After that I heard no more gossip about her so she probably returned to Argentina.

One thing was clear: I am willing to bet money that she remembered me for a long time to come!

Cristina, Part Nine

In spite of the fact that my jaw was aching I was not actually all that angry at Cristina. She had tried it on, had failed, and had responded hysterically as women often do when their idiot schemes fall flat. That said, she deserved to be taken in hand and put in her place, besides which she had a nice bottom and I figured that it deserved a nice smacking - and I was certainly in the mood to trim up a doxy that day.

"What are you going to do?" Of all the idiot questions a woman can ask that is probably the most retarded, especially when I have her by the arm and am marching her the two or three paces back to the bed. I suspect that Cristina knew exactly what was going to happen and if she was unsure at first then my sitting down and yanking her unceremoniously across my knee probably answered whatever questions were going through her little mind.

I pulled back the skirt of her dress and left it bunched above her waist. As I did that I grabbed the left arm and jammed it behind my back before taking her right arm and folding it, slowly and deliberately into the small of her back and holding it there with my left hand. Then it was the work of a moment to cock my right thigh over her already scissoring thighs.

For some reason Cristina had not replaced her panties so her bottom was bare under the dress. I spent a moment admiring her firm, rounded buttocks, before raising my arm above my head in preparation for a descent that would culminate, I knew, in a satisfying crack as my hard hand came into contact with Cristina's soft, yielding, female bottom.

"No! Please! I don't want to be spanked!" Of all the idiotic things that a woman in that position could think of to say those remarks were probably the silliest. For a moment I paused whilst I stifled a laugh, but then I remembered my duty as it were and my hand cracked down on that delightful rump to leave a clear imprint engraved upon the wobbling cheeks.

Cristina opened her mouth to protest just as the second slap landed on her unprotected rear end which knocked the breath out of her. By the time she had taken a deep gulp of air into her lungs in preparation for a good old moan smacks three and four had landed on their target. Give her credit, though, because after that the whole spanking was punctuated by her cries, shouts and squeals as my hand rose and fell on her bare bottom.

And she wriggled! I do not know where she learned to squirm like that but it was like trying to hold an eel across my lap. Cristina gyrated her hips frantically to try and avoid contact between my hand and her bottom, but all I did was slow down the rate of delivery to make sure that each smack landed on the target zone. Since she was not getting the awarded number of smacks I increased the severity of each one, bringing my hand down in a great arc from high above my head to land right on on the money, with each smack increasing the redness levels of Cristina's bottom, so that her buttocks went from pink to red and then to a deep, burning crimson. At least that way she received her due measure of correction in severity if not in quantity.

"I hate you! Let me go! Let me go this instant! Can't you hear me? I am telling you to let me go!" Of course I could hear her. Toe be honest I wished that I could turn her voice down as Cristina had a fine set of lungs that allowed her to boom out her demands at full volume. Not that I took any notice, you understand, but I must confess to the fact that I wished that she had been a bit quieter as the sound of her raucous tones did begin to grate on my sensibilities.

Not that it distracted me from my duty - if you are thinking that then put the idea clear out of your mind. No woman will ever throw a heavy object at me and get away with it and I was determined to administer a lesson to Cristina's mind via her posterior that she would remember for a long time to come. Starting with every time she tried to sit down for the next few days!

"Please let me go. Please, I'm sorry, but just let me go and I'll do as you want. I'll do anything if you just let me go, she whimpered. Now that was more like it! My arm was getting tired, anyway, and I did give serious consideration to letting her up, but then I remembered the way the vase had crashed against my chin and I decided that a bottom under the hand was worth two that were still able to sit down and I redoubled my efforts to smack every ounce of sauce out of that insolent young madam.

Cristina stopped struggling and lay whimpering across my knee as the crescendo of smacks continued to rain down upon her bottom. I can remember pausing for a moment to admire my handiwork, which must have led Cristina to think that her torment was over. Alas for her I began again, spanking first one cheek and then the other, each smack delivered with all the force of my arm behind it and each one having its effect on the mind and bottom of the wretched girl who lay helplessly across my knee.

"Please, please, please," she repeated, over and over again. I looked down at her at that point and only then did I realise, in the pause, that my arm was so weary that I could barely lift it. I rested my aching palm on the bottom that I had just corrected and waited for a moment to get back my breath. A few moments later, and without further ado, I dumped her on the floor and left her to blubber to her heart's content.

To be continued.

Cristina, Part Eight

The look on Cristina's face told me that another ride was probably out of the question, so with a heavy sigh to let her know the sacrifice that I was making on her behalf, I tootled off to shower, and on my return I threw my clothes on. Fully attired I then tossed the collection of female underwear, skirts, jeans and tops that took up an easy chair onto the floor and sat down to await madam's pleasure. Although I say it myself I am nothing if not a decent soul.

"I want to talk to you about our relationship," she began, to my amazement. I do so hate it when females start talking like that, because it presupposes that a relationship even exists. Women may think that just because they have been riveted to a bed that we riveters have some feelings towards them, but I am sorry to have to disappoint you, girls, but most of the time our interest in you ends once our balls have been emptied. That is not to say that we do not feel warmly towards you again as our balls start to refill, but do not confuse our desire to have a friendly pussy at our beck and call with anything else, such as the emotion stuff, for instance.

"Of course," I replied as smoothly as I could. No fool me, I was not going to pick a fight with such a delightful bed mate, especially if there was a possibility of a return bout between the sheets. "Tell me what's on your mind," I concluded.

"I have been thinking," madam began. It is always a bad sign when they start sentences with those words because it means that some idiotic idea is buzzing through their superficial little minds, and I have to admit that I was curious to know what the nonsense would be. I did not have long to wait as the question which followed summed up her fantasies perfectly: "Wouldn't you like to have me all to yourself?"

"How would that work out, in practise?"

"Well, I would live in a small flat and keep it nice for you whenever you came to see me," she replied, brightly.

"That's a great idea," I said. "How do you suggest that I pay for it?"

"You, you are an academic, a professor," she began. "You are well paid," she concluded, with what I thought was a touch of triumph in her voice.

"I am very well paid for thirty-two weeks of the year, but for the rest of the time I get nothing. I work by contract, two contracts a year, each for the sixteen weeks of the semester. The rest of the time I can starve as far as the university is concerned," I told her.

"But how can that be, my love?"

I was not entirely convinced that I was her love and I suspected that she had added that for effect, but I let it pass, decent soul that I am. "Because that is the way that Mexico works, my sweet. If you are not connected to someone then you do not get the cushy little numbers, and as a foreigner I am not connected to anyone important," I replied honestly.

"But how can that be? What do they pay you? You must get the bonuses and other benefits," she claimed.

"I get fuck all," I said. "I get paid for the hours that I work and if I am sick then I either put those hours back or lose the payment. I get no end of year bonus, no holiday pay, no pension and no sickness pay," I told her simply.

"I don't understand," wailed Cristina, a slightly hysterical edge to her voice.

"What is there to understand? Nobody cares about the fact that I sell porn or that I bed students. In return I don't really care about them. It is just a job," I explained.

"You duped me," she screamed. "Tricked me! Made me think that you were somebody worth caring for!"

"Don't be stupid. You're a whore who dances for money and then you spread your thighs for more of it. I teach the offspring of the rich and occasionally get some of their daughters on their backs. That's when I'm not punting pornos vids. That's what we are, so let's be honest about it," I told her.

"I'm not a whore!"

"No, you're the Virgin fucking Mary who just gives the impression that she takes cock as a sideline when she isn't too busy with sunny boy Jesus," I said, with a laugh

"That's blasphemy," madam screamed, as she picked up a heavy glass vase from a table and threw it at me, water, flowers and all. I barely had time to register what was happening before the damned thing hit me on the jaw and then bounced off to smash on the floor.

"Now that was fucking stupid, of you, I replied, as I got up and walked towards her.

To be continued.

Cristina, Part Seven

Taking her hand I guided it down to my cock so that she could get to work on it, and as soon as she started doing that I leaned over and began to gently nibble her neck as I ran my fingers up and down her spine. I knew that she had enjoyed that before and the heavy sigh that escaped from her lips told me that she still found the sensation to her liking.

Reaching between her thighs I discovered that she was moistening nicely. Not yet fully wet and ready, but on her way, so to encourage her along I slipped my middle finger between her pussy lips and gently stroked her until I felt the hot wetness increase. I pushed Cristina on her back and went down one her, my tongue thrusting deeply inside her ripe, rich opening as my eager tongue sought out the little button that controls a woman's innermost being.

I found it and as my tongue began to lap around that delightful spot I heard Cristina let out an animal sigh of pure unadulterated delight and then she took my meat and and let it slip into her mouth as I continued tonguing her to paradise. We stayed in that position for some time, each of us lost in our own pleasure as we instinctively pleasured each other. Eventually, Cristina let my cock slide out of her mouth and I heard her heavy, laboured breathing as my tongue continued to dart in and out of her body.

"Take me, take me, please take me," she implored, her hot breath heavy on my balls as she spoke.

I was ready to go and needed no further encouragement. I flipped myself around and looked into her face as she took my meat in her hand and guided it into her warm, wet opening. Normally I take my time entering a woman so that my cock becomes slick and wet from her juices, but with Cristina as soon as the cockhead went into her she thrust her pelvis upwards to sheath the whole weapon up to its hilt.

That was it - we were off and fucking as it were. Every time I pushed my cock into her body, Cristina would thrust that pelvis upwards to meet me. She egged my on to fuck her harder and faster and whenever I tried to slow the process down that jangling pelvis of hers kept me riding my mare at her speed and not mine. I looked down into Cristina's face and saw that she was rocking her head from side to side and then all of a sudden she arched her back and dug her head backwards into her pillow and then her mouth opened to allow a deep moan of sheer animal joy to escape her lips.

I tried to hang on, honestly I did, but this mare knew how to make her rider perform to her satisfaction, and that involved urging me on to pump my meat into her faster and faster. As I did that my cock became a lump of muscle that had one just one purpose and that was to pump the juices that were still just about contained in my balls into Cristina's eager willing body.

Then it happened: the pressure built to bursting point and all the muscle clenching in the world was not going to stop the hot cream from rising up and shooting outwards. As Cristina's felt my juice lap over her cervix she let rip a scream of pure animal delight as I continued to pump my come into her.

We collapsed into an exhausted heap in each other arms. From somewhere far away I heard a drowsy laugh from Cristina, and I glanced over at my wristwatch to see that I still had plenty of time before I had to go and see any more damned students, and I began to think about another bout before I left.

Cristina had other ideas, alas, as she wriggled out from under me and scampered off to the bathroom. Before I knew what was happening she had returned and had somehow managed to climb in her dress without my noticing. The she sat down next to me on the bed and fixed me with a lovely smile.

"We need to talk," she said, without preamble.

To be continued

Cristina, Part Six

As the door swung shut firmly behind me, Cristina began to unzip my trousers and then reached inside to take control of my cock. With a heavy sigh she half closed her eyes and began to slowly rub it so that it reached its full power. When the meat was rock hard in her hand she bit her lower lip and looked at me through raised eyes.

"That didn't take long," she said quietly.

"Hardly surprising in your expert hands," I replied, laughingly.

"I am not an expert," she pouted. "I don't do this because I want to, I do it because I have no choice!"

"Where's your bedroom?" I could see from the wobbling lips where this conversation was heading, so I decided to cut her off before she started blubbering as I did not want my whole afternoon wasted.

"It's through there," she said, pointing vaguely over her shoulder in the general direction of nowhere in particular. 

"Let's go," I instructed her. Then, when she did not move quickly enough, I turned her around and sent her on her way with a firm smack to the bottom.

"That hurt," Christina whimpered, holding the area that had just felt my hand.

"Want some more?"

"No."

"Then lead the way to your bedroom," I instructed her quietly.

"It's not just my bedroom, I share it with another girl."

"Is she there now?"

"No"

Is she expected to return any time soon?"

"No."

"Then why are you bothering me with useless information?"

"I'm sorry, I just thought that you would want to know, she wailed, leading me into what was obviously her bedroom. I looked around, yes, judging from the clothes that were piled up on either side of the room, it was obvious that she was telling the truth about sharing the room.

"How many live here?"

"Six, two girls in each bedroom," she told me.

"All Argentinian?"

"Yes."

"All illegals?"

Cristina nodded by way of reply and with a smile I pulled her towards me and told her not to worry about such thing s right now. Then I stripped her naked and feasted my eyes on her firm, ripe, available body. I can remember thinking that it would be nice to take her doggie style so that I could enjoy the sight of the gold globes that were her buttocks. Then I decided that an unsmacked bottom is not something that I really enjoy all that much, and since Cristina had not actually done anything to merit a spanking, I decided that I wanted to look into her face whilst I took her.

I pushed her gently onto the bed and she lay there quite submissively whilst I quickly stripped off my clothes and then joined her. Cristina lay on her side and gently stroked my face. I reached behind her to take her bottom in my hand, and then I gently ran my middle finger all the way up her backbone to stop just below her neck. Cristina arched her back delightfully as I knew that she would.

"I want to talk to you, later, of course," she said.

"We will," I promised her truthfully. I had assumed for the start that she was after something - that is just the way women are - and I was more than happy to listen to whatever scheme was going through her pretty female head - after she had been fucked to my complete and utter satisfaction, of course.

To be continued

Cristina, Part Five

I knew exactly where the flats were because they tended to be rented out to foreigners who were in Mexico City for longer than a holiday, but who were not going to be living in the city in the long term. Thus a lot of American teachers inhabited them, people that we old timers found very entertaining for the bright eyed enthusiasm that they brought with them. An enthusiasm that quickly turned to frustration, then cynicism, before the individual either fled the country or sought what solace he could with insouciance or the bottle. Yes, I knew that warren of small dwellings which both circled a large courtyard and sat two stories above it very well.

The taxi dropped me off and I made my way into the main entrance. A security man was sitting behind a desk, but I just nodded to him and he raised an arm lazily by way of reply. Clearly he did not care who I was, and since I knew roughly where I was going that suited me down to the ground as I had a cock with a desire for attention, so obviously I had no wish to engage in idle chitchat.

Cristina's flat was on the first floor and I knew that it would be the usual three bedroom affair, with a living room, kitchen and small bathroom completing the suite. As I reached the landing I walked off along a balcony that ran above the courtyard below to the door of Cristina's flat and knocked firmly upon it.

She opened the door almost immediately and fixed me with a wide smile that lit up her face. The tussle of blonde curls that brushed her shoulders and the pretty little nose were just as I remembered them, as was the delightful set of boobs that peeked out perkily from beneath her light yellow wraparound dress.

She must have caught me eyeing them as she did that old female trick of pulling her shoulders back so that her set stood out prominently. With a last lingering look I allowed my eyes to travel back to her face and was rewarded by the sight of her lifting her head to expose her neck. Again, it is an old trick, but I am sure that many men still fall for it.

Luckily I have had rather more than my fair share of pussy over the decades so I am pretty familiar with most of the seduction techniques that women use, and even when I do come across something new, my innate cynicism kicks in and I just assume that she is trying something on. Still that does not mean that I do not enjoy the performances as does my cock; believe me when I say that he was raring to go that day. Christ - even the light, flowery fragrance that was Cristina's perfume was having an effect on me. Secure in her power she held out her arms for a nice hug and I was only too pleased to let her wrap herself around me.

As I kissed her I let my hands fall down to fondle her tight buttocks underneath the thin cotton of the dress, and as our lips parted I was rewarded with a heavy moan that escaped her lips. My eyes went down to those luscious breasts again and I heard the tinkle of soft female laughter as Cristina coked her head to one side, widened her eyes and then bit down gently on her lower lip. Trust me when I say that it was a consummate performance and I can remember wondering if it was genuine or not? Then I decided that it did not matter so long as I got what I wanted and I pushed Cristina gently backwards and closed the door behind me as I stepped into the flat.

To be continued

Cristina, Part Four

Thus it came to pass that three choppers were duly sucked by three whores, leaving three men very happy indeed. The trollops then went off to do whatever such girls do when their mouths are full of cock oil, the two cops went off to continue protecting the streets of Mexico City, or not as the case may be, and I wandered off to get a rather late lunch in one of the local eateries. I can remember that I went to an Argentinian steak house as a tribute to the little banger who had taken my meat in such an expert way, but I have to be honest and say that as I drove my way wearily home at the end of the night the incident was beginning to fade from my memory. Within a few days I could not remember Cristina's name, which caused me a moment of embarrassment when she called me the following week.

The nice thing about contract work is that if you are not being paid for an actual hour's labour then you can pretty much do as you want. I had taught a group in the late morning and did not have anything else to do until the early evening, so I was sat in a bar nursing something long and cold when my mobile 'phone began to make an insistent ring.

"Bueno," I answered in the usual Mexican way.

"Hello, it's me," replied a female voice. I do so hate it when women do that as I invariably have no idea who the hell is calling me. It should have been easy to spot the Argentinian accent, but the bar was busy and I had to hold a finger over my free ear to keep the noise under control.

"Great to hear from you," I lied, glibly. "How have you been keeping?"

"I'm fine, and I've been thinking about you," said the disembodied voice.

"Funnily enough I was just thinking about you this very moment as well," I said. Trust me, when it comes to lying through my teeth I can do it with an ease and fluidity that sometimes persuades even me that I am telling the truth.

"Really?" The voice turned into a squeal of delight as its owner digested my news. "Are you free this afternoon? Want to meet me? Why not come over to my place?" The words tumbled out in a flurry, and for just a moment the bar became quiet and I could hear the girl's accent. So she was Argentinian, was she? Now where the devil had she come from? Of course - the trollop form the week before! Now what was her name? I left the girl to prattle on as females are wont to do whilst a name was conjured up from the memory hole.

"Cristina," I said, eventually, "why not just give me your address and let me pop round there? Are you alone?" I glanced at my watch. Yes, I had three hours free so if madam lived in the area I could pop around there and get my knob polished before returning to teach. It was obvious to me that she was after something, but rare is the woman who does not use her pussy to get what she wants, so that did not trouble me. Just let her be enthusiastic as my cock was being driven into her and the rest I would worry about after my wad had been shot.

As luck would have it, Cristina lives in a well-known block of flats only about a mile or so from where I was sitting. After telling her that I would be there in a few minutes, I called for the bill and asked to waiter to whistle up a taxi for me, before setting off to have my middle leg stiffened.

To be continued.

Cristina, Part Three

I started off very quietly and introduced myself to the tarts. I told them that I was acting on behalf of the owner of the dive and I went on to say that I hoped that their time in Mexico City would be happy and profitable for them all. If there were no questions, then I would leave them to get on with their work, banging their brains out with a lusty Mexican between their milky thighs. There are no questions? Jolly good - well off you go my girls, whereupon five whores, all with rictus grins on their faces, made to leave.

"There is just one thing before you go," I added in my best silky manner.

The whores paused and stood rooted to the spot. I remember that one of them started to cast nervous glances at the cops and another began to fidget with her hair. The others had that look on their faces that said they wished to be elsewhere.

"We, that is the police and I, just need to check your residence documents. Just to make sure that you are all nice and legal in these United Mexican States," I cooed sweetly.

That did it, as I knew it would. All hell broke loose as five Argentinian mouths all opened at once and their owners started to scream as only a Latin type can. I have to be honest and say that it was very entertaining as the eyes flashed, hands waved and boobs moved sensuously as the girls hopped around giving it tongue in a big way. I fished out my cigarettes and offered the pack to my two police chums. Then the three of us stood there enjoying both our smokes and the high decibel yelps of five outraged whores.

All good things have to come to an end of course, and my free entertainment ended with a question from me which the tarts did not hear properly, but which shut them up for a moment which was my intention. As soon as they were quiet I asked my question again:

"Is Paco a cunt in your opinion?" Eyes widened and jaws dropped as they took on board my query. I saw a nervous grin begin to emerge on one set of lips, so I repeated the question, putting all the vehemence that I could into my Spanish words: "Do you think that he is a fucking cunt?"

Five heads stared to shake uneasily. Very good, very good indeed. Yes, we were getting there.

"OK, so if he is not a cunt, then why are to trying to fuck him as if he were a cunt? I mean, a cunt exists to be fucked, and you have already agreed that Paco is not a fucking cunt, so why are you fucking him as if he were a cunt?" I paused for effect, staring into five sets of eyes in turn, holding the gaze until the minger dropped her eyes.

"I can get you lot deported tonight and earn a lot of money doing it," I said, showing them the leaflets. The tarts were by now very quiet indeed and you could have heard a pin drop in that room.

"Alternatively, we can come to an agreement," I said, giving the little slappers a glimmer of light. I saw five pairs of eyes begin to sparkle with a wary hunger in them.

"What type of agreement?" The girl who asked the question was a curly haired blonde with large breasts and a little snub nose. I was willing to bet money that the punters were queuing up to get access to the pussy that she carried.

"What's your name?"

"Cristina, what's yours?"

"None of your fucking business," I told her. "Now then, nobody expects you to do anything that you have not already agreed to do. Nobody expects you not to be paid the agreed amount, unless you are giving the odd freebie to a friend of the club," I went on, ever the reasonable man.

"The problem is that you have been agreeing to perform and then you try to wriggle out of your undertaking. Or you give shit to your punter. Or you do any number of little stunts which annoy the  punter." I saw a mouth open to protest so I moved to cut off the possibility of protest: "Let me explain that what drops out of the crack in my arse after a fucking good meal is more important than you; more important than any fucking woman, come to think of it. All I care about is a friendly pussy with an obedient owner," I concluded truthfully.

"Please," wailed Cristina, bursting into tears. "Please I am not really a whore. I'm a schoolteacher!"

"And then the economy fucking tanked, and you ended up here because whoring in Mexico is better than scavenging for food on a rubbish tip in Buenos Aires," I told her.

"A man brought me here and then he dumped me," she wailed. "I can't get home and I don't know what to do," she went on pityingly.

"Sweetheart," I told her, "do you really think that I give a fuck whether you live or die? I paused for a minute to let my words sink in and then I hit her between the eyes with my next sentence: "If you were to catch fire I wouldn't piss on you to put out the flames, not unless you were giving me regular access to your cunt!"

"Nobody has ever spoken to me like this!"

I shook my head in amazement at the bitch's stupidity and I was about to go back to the Interior Ministry people and just hand the lot of them over for the reward, when one of the other girls held her hand up to ask me to hold off for a moment. I saw the girls looking at one another, doing that half chat, half body language, that women use when they want to reach a quick understanding between themselves. Then the girl who had asked me to wait spoke up and said that they would do as I asked. I gave a heavy sigh and asked one of the cops to go and bring Paco in.

The good owner of the club must have been waiting outside the door because within seconds of the cop stepping outside, Paco was stepping in, looking for all the world like a steam powered ferret as his eyes darted from one girl to the next and then across to me.

"We have an agreement," I told him. "The whores will perform like good whores should and will give every punter that they meet the impression that he is Mr Big Dick writ large.

One of the tarts tried and failed to stifle a guffaw at that, so I quickly added: "Of course, nobody has said that they cannot lie through their teeth."

Paco grinned, and behind me I sensed that the cops were stirring. Of course, they wanted their payment.

"These cops need a girl each and a bottle of something nice," I told Paco.

"Of course," he replied. "Take your pick," he went on, waving expansively at the whores.

The good ladies were about to protest, but one look at my face quickly persuaded them that such a move would be counter productive. Each cop chose a whore and went off to get his free blow job. I grabbed Cristina for my pleasure and the other two hurriedly scampered off before someone came along and demanded freebies from them.

"Right," I said, closing the door. "Let's see how good you are at sucking a cock. Remember," I told her, ever the teacher, "that good girls suck, but bad girls swallow every drop!"

To be continued

Cristina, Part Two

What Paco did not know was that all foreigners resident in Mexico have to be registered at the Interior Ministry where they are issued with a type of internal passport which sets out their status. Since no foreigner can do anything legally without permission of the government, those of us who were legal aliens in the country became well acquainted with the government office that regulated our lives - in fact it was located in those days just a few hundred yards from Paco's club. I knew that the Interior Ministry was having one of its regular purges on illegal immigrants, so I sauntered over there to pick up some information.

Going into the building one saw a large poster offering money for information that led to the deportation of any person who was living illegally in Mexico, and the poster made it clear that the offer applied to both Mexican nationals and legal aliens. I cannot remember exactly how much was on offer, but it was about £250 per illegal, so the Mexicans were not messing around because that was about a month's wages for the average worker at the time. With a smile on my lips and a song in my heart I wandered over to the information desk to speak to the rather nice wide-hipped, full breasted, red-skinned banger who sat behind it.

"Do you have any leaflets about the rewards for turning in illegals?" No point in beating about the bush, I always feel.

"Of course, sir, replied Miss Luscious, as she handed a sheaf of printed papers over to me. "Please take as many as you wish, and please don't worry, this isn't about you Americans," she concluded rapidly.

"I'm English, but never mind. Is there any sort of particular foreigner that you want information on?"

The girl nodded her head rapidly, then she pointed downwards in a southerly direction as it were, before replying sotto voce: "South America."

"Yes, the Argentinians are becoming tiresome," I replied, and was rewarded with a frantic bit of head nodding by way of reply.

Glancing down at the leaflets I saw that they contained the same information as the poster that I had seen so with a last lingering look at the delightful pair of melons that were barely contained by a light grey blouse, I bade a fond farewell to their owner and headed back to the club.

Just outside the main entrance I saw two cops drinking Cokes and smoking cigarettes, both looking bored out of their skulls. On impulse I decided to involve them in my evil scheme so I wandered over and introduced myself.

"Fancy a bottle or a blow job for twenty minutes work?" If the cops were stunned by my suggestion they did not show it, with one scratching his chin in contemplation as if they get offered these deals ever day. Which they probably do, this is Mexico after all.

"It depends what we have to do," said chin-scratcher by way of reply.

"I need to scare the shit out of half a dozen Argentinian whores - I just want you to stand around as if you are from the Interior Ministry, but answerable to me," I replied.

The two cops thought all this was hilarious, but they quickly put on their stern faces as I led them into the building. Paco's eyes widened as he saw my posse, but a quick shake of my head calmed him down. I asked him to send all the Argentinian tarts to one dressing room and to keep everyone else out. Five minutes later I was stood in the middle of the room with two cops lounging against a wall and five whores stood against the other one.

Argentinian arseholes were about to clench.

To be continued

Cristina, Part One

People find it hard to believe that  I was once a university lecturer who moonlighted as a porn merchant, but it is true. I worked at a small private university in Mexico City centre back in 2002, which was rather handy as I could nip out to one of the many bars in the Zona Rosa area to meet a punter and sell him a video or two. Since I was about the only seller of BDSM videos in town I had a rather nice, select clientèle, and through them I became a habitué of the lap dancing clubs. I should point out that in Mexico you can not only touch the girls, but there are usually rooms above the club where you can take one of them if your middle leg feels in need of the exercise, and you can agree a price with the trollop.

Exercise of any kind was the last thing on my mind after having just finished a long hot afternoon in the company of students, and as is always the case after such surfeits, I felt the need for something long, cold and alcoholic. I left the university and walked across a main avenue to a lap dancing club that was managed by Paco, an acquaintance of mine. Sitting in his office in return for my gin and tonic I got to hear his tale of woe. It seemed like a good deal at the time, but it led to an interesting couple of days with a lippy Argentinian madam who had to be put in her place.

"I have had enough of those Argentinian bitches," Paco said wearily, speaking to me in English.

"What Argentinian bitches?"

"You didn't see them when you walked in? The white girls, by the door," Paco explained.

"I thought they were more of your Russian whores," I answered.

"Naah, the hair's not dyed. Not out of a bottle. They are the real deal," Paco went on, smacking his lips approvingly.

"Then you should be pleased," I told him.

"They treat the Johns very badly," he replied. Then seeing my puzzled look he went on: "That is what you call the customers, the Johns, isn't it?"

"Not in Britain," I said, shaking my head. "Over there we call 'em punters."

"OK, my English teacher. The Argentinian girls treat the punters badly," explained Paco, pleased at having added another word to his English vocabulary.

"So get shot of 'em," I said, ever the practical man.

"I do, but then the punters complain that we do not have white girls for them to fuck, so I take on more Argentinians. Then they start treating the punters badly and..." His voice trailed off into nothingness.

"The punters are Mexican - why don't they just slap the bitches around like they do their wives?"

"Some do, but then the girl starts screaming and that annoys the other men in the other rooms. They start to mock him, saying he cannot control a woman," Paco said with a shrug as I shook my head in bewilderment.

"You need to learn how to handle women," I told him.

"And you do," he said, mockingly, as he slapped his thighs in glee at what he thought was my bombast.

"I reckon that I could keep your little Argies in line," I told him.

"If you want to try, then go ahead," said Paco.

"You want me to be your bruiser?"

"What's a bruiser?"

"A bruiser is the thug who keeps order in a brothel. Makes sure that the punters pay up and leave quietly and that the whores don't steal."

"OK, you can be my bruiser," Paco replied, genially.

"I am the professor of history at that place just across the road, in case you had forgotten," I told him.

"Of course, if you think that it is too much for you," he said, obviously trying to goad me.

"How much are you offering?"

"You want cash or pussy?"

I sat back and considered the option. "I'll take the pussy," I replied. "How many are you offering?

"Keep them quiet and you can have as much as you want. But, please, I don't want too much violence," Paco cautioned me.

"I don't want any," I replied.

"So what's the plan?"

"It is not what happens, but the fear of what might happen" I told him.

Paco gave another one of those shrugs and later on that day I started my new life as a brothel bruiser.

To be continued

Which girl got the job?

This is the girl who got the job, which now pays her just over £20,000 a year, according to the reports that I have seen. People may think that this is not a large amount of money, but the third world cost of living is much less than ours. And Russia is basically Upper Volta with missiles.

Yesterday's competition earned the blog several hundred hits, so a warm welcome to all the new people who turned up to have a look around the place. Make yourselves comfortable, ashtrays are on the mantelpiece, please leave a comment next time.

How the Russians choose a secretary

There you are - a reasonably successful Russian businessman who needs a  new secretary. You advertise in the press and you interview a few hundred girls, but you cannot decide which one to choose.

Then you come up with a brilliant idea...

You invite four of the tastiest girls back for a second interview...

And you tell them to flash their tits for the camera. 

The one with the nicest set will get the job.

Which one would you choose?

Click here to see the winner!