J. J. MacGuire

Master and "baby"

CHAPTER 1

It had not been a good day for me. First, I was late serving dinner. Then, Kitten dropped a pile of plates on the way out of the kitchen, smashing the lot – and wasting four people's food. He would not be pleased – and I was later summoned to see him. Master was embarrassed by our actions. I felt my stomach knotting as I knocked on his study door and peeked in. "Master, you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, baby. Can you think why?"

I entered the room and stood in front of his desk. "Master, I'm really sorry about the dinner being late and the plates," I started. "It's just… as Kitten was coming out of the kitchen, one of your friends almost walked into her, and she had to swerve to avoid him. And…"

"Baby, excuses?"

"Yes, I know, but it was an accident. It's the first time it's ever happened."

"Well… And was there something else you needed to talk to me about?"

"Err… I know I was a bit late getting the dinner out, but the produce man got caught in traffic – I couldn't help it."

Slamming his fist on the desk, I jumped as he said, "I'm not interested in the produce man. All I know is that you were responsible for this party, and the dinner was late. How you were to achieve that was your problem – so long as you got it there on time."

"Yes, Master, I understand. But it is the first time I've been late."

Placing both hands on his desk he rose saying, "And I hope for your sake it's the last."

He moved out from behind the desk and walked toward me, "Listen to me, Baby. I pride myself on running a tight ship here." Master took me in his arms. "All I wanted was to have a simple party with good food. I wanted to show off both you and Kitten." Holding me close he whispered, "And slovenliness isn't part of the game plan. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master." I was trembling so hard, I bit my bottom lip so my teeth wouldn't chatter.

"Right. Well, I think I've made myself understood. Now, there's work to do – my friends are still here, so get about your duties. And I hope it won't be necessary for us to have a little chat like this again."

"Yes, Master. I'm sorry. Thank you, Master."

He kissed me on the nose and shooed me out the door.

I was very upset. I wanted to satisfy Master's friends' senses. I couldn't think of worse things to happen on our first party. Of course, he was upset too. After all, the whole idea of this party was to introduce Kitten and me to his friends. He had mapped out everything including what Kitten and I were to wear: trying to make Kitten look like an upstairs French maid, her slim, blonde body in that short black dress was playing on my senses, as I know it was teasing Master's friends. Like her I was nervous – there was almost something surreal about it. She was turning out to be good company. Quite a few times tonight we brushed against each other, giving each other strength.

We both wanted Master to be proud of us. Still, seeing him like that made me feel like a naughty thirteen-year-old. I hoped I would be able to keep things running smoothly – at least until they left, so he wouldn't be disappointed in us again this evening.

Dinner, once served, went fairly smoothly. There was one difficult couple, but I felt I handled them well. We managed to get through serving desserts to them, although rather absent-mindedly. My heart wasn't in it any longer. I just wanted them to go home.

Everything seemed to be going along well until the last of his friends were there, six of them. All had known Master for fifteen years or thereabouts, were smartly dressed, and obviously a little intoxicated. Nothing seemed quite right for them. One of them had an empty glass, another didn't like the music, they wanted Kitten and me to dance for them, and they spoke to us as if we were servants.

The final straw to the evening was when Kitten brought out fresh drinks. I knew six was too much on one tray for her, but she laughed and said she could handle it. As she got to the table, she lost her balance, and the whole lot went tumbling down. If it had just fallen on the floor, it might have been okay, but the drinks went all over one of one of the guests – into his lap. He screamed out – it must have been quite cold – and chaos ensued. He started shouting at her. I ran out trying to calm them down, trying to dry off the drink, and apologizing, then they stormed out. "We'd get better service than this in a diner," they shouted. Both Kitten and I stood like statues as they stopped to talk to Master before they left. We were quite shaken and as the door closed I felt Kitten holding my hand.

Finally the last of the dishes were cleaned and put away, and I was able to leave the kitchen. I started slipping out of my dress as I moved down the hall. I heard Master behind me and he helped me pull it over my head, then I heard him say, "Baby, I want to see you again in my study, now! And I warn you – I am in a foul mood, so watch out!"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I was in trouble now. What would he do to me? I reached for the door handle and waited until I was told to enter. I went in, nervously, holding the door for him.

"Shut the door. Well, baby, take position." Master waived at the chair in middle of the room.

I quickly moved to stand slightly in front of the chair, back straight, legs spread wide, arms at side, head held high, eyes lowered to the floor.

Master took his seat and ran his finger down my stomach. My stomach muscles rippled along with his touch.

"Now for our little talk, Baby."

"Sorry, Master, that the party was ruined. I've let you down bad." I dropped my chin to my chest.

"You promised it wouldn't happen again. Then I have to listen to my friends being irate about your and Kitten's incompetence. It will cost me to have those clothes cleaned."

"I'm really sorry it turned out to be a bad day."

"Well, 'I’m sorry' isn't good enough." He grasped my wrist in his hand.

"No, Sir, it's not." Half of me wanted to run and hide. I could feel the tears gathering.

Clearing your throat, he added, "There's the other matter."

My gaze shot to his face, a sad smile crossed his features.

"What's that?"

"What do you mean, 'what's that?' Why don't you think about it a moment?"

Silence. What could he mean? "I'm sorry, I really don't know."

He squeezed my wrist tighter. "Playing with Kitten in the kitchen, Baby."

I was trying to blink back tears, both from the pain in my wrist and in my heart. "Master? That's nonsense. We…"

"Are you saying my friend lied to me? How odd. They're normally so truthful."

"Oh." My butterflies were flapping a mile a minute when it hit me.

The stone face lady who had come into the kitchen when I had been drying Kitten's tears. She caught us kissing with our hands on each other’s pussy as Master had instructed. Thinking to play it off like it was nothing, I said, "That's all right, Master. I had just slipped my hand into Kitten's pussy when one of your friends walked into the kitchen. I was just trying to calm her."

"And you think I should just let it go?"

"But… but it's the truth, Master! Why would I lie about that?"

"I thought I specifically told you both to behave tonight? Maybe you wanted to test me?" I was pulled down to my knees.

"No, Master, that's not fair…"

"I think I'm the judge of what’s fair around here."

"But that's… we didn't do anything Master. It was habit, and a mistake."

"Excuses again, Baby, I've no doubt."

"No!"

Master paused, and looked down at me, leaned forward, and in a low voice asked, "What do you suggest?"

"Whatever, Sir."

He looked unconvinced.

"Well, Sir, I don't know what else…" I was becoming desperate, more tearful.

"How would you punish me for embarrassing you in front of your friends, I wonder…?"

"Never, Master! You never would embarrass me. I don't know what my punishment should be, Master." Our eyes locked and I know a look of puzzlement had crossed my face and a horrible thought occurred to me. "You don't mean…" I whispered.

Master's voice startled me from my thoughts. "Put your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers. Don't you dare lower your hands until I say so. Good. Now spread your legs." He moved his foot between my knees as I hastened to comply with his commands. I well remembered the consequences of disobedience, even of delay. "Wider," he said as I knelt in front of him, my heat just inches off the floor, naked, vulnerable, open and trembling with fear and with desire.

I knew that, between my gaping thighs, my moistness betrayed my true feelings about my punishment. I could, in my shame, feel the small trickle of dampness slowly creep down the soft flesh of my inner thigh.

I could smell the faint, but distinctive, odor of my arousal and I closed my eyes. I was mortified when I felt his index finger touch that trickle of dampness and he simply stated, "You love this, you know".

I blushed furiously at his truthful declaration, then gasped as that index finger slowly, tantalizingly moved further up my quivering flesh. When it reached my engorged, open and soaking wet pussy lips, it lovingly traced the outline of the outer folds of skin. Struggling to obey his earlier injunction to keep my legs wide apart, I shuddered with soaring lust. When his finger touched my clit, roughly rubbing it back and forth in my juices, I moaned deeply in my throat, almost a cat-like growl, and began to shake uncontrollably. My breath quickened and became shallower. My hips thrust forward, trying shamelessly to impale itself on the intruding finger. I groaned with frustration as he ceased touching of my most intimate places.

Master stopped abruptly and sat back in his chair. "Lay across my lap, Baby." I moved as if in a trace, my body lethargic from the heat in my core. Moving to lie cross his lap with my (what you had loving called creamy white) buttocks in the air, he ran his hands over both cheeks and pressed me down harder on his waiting thighs. My nipples hardened on contact with his rough wool pants. Tiny tremors shook my body.

Smack! His hand rejoined my bare bottom on the right cheek, smack in the middle at the fleshiest and most sensitive portion. I shrieked with surprise and sudden, agony. My shriek was cut short by a rapid succession of very hard, well-placed blows.

As the pain in my tortured bottom bloomed like a solar flare, I struggled with all my strength, trying to free myself, trying to flee from my just deserts. My muscles tensed as I strained against his hold on my arm and across my knees. The solidity of his strength mocked my puny efforts and his hand continued its inexorable rise and fall against my bare bottom. The pain continued to blossom and grow with each smack until my bottom was a seething mass of raw, pulsating nerve-endings, each transmitting its horrible message of pain to my brain. My whole consciousness was concentrated on my bottom, my poor, naked, martyred keester. I gave in to the inevitable, resigned myself to my fate and burst into heartrending sobs. His hand continued its work. Finally, after I was near hysteria from the pain and the overwhelming feelings of helplessness, he stopped. In fact, it had stopped some time before that fact registered in my consciousness. I first realized it had stopped when I felt his hard, rough hand against my swollen bottom, rubbing it gently.

Slowly, as my sobbing subsided, I felt the furnace-like heat increasing again in my pussy. I unconsciously parted my thighs and begin to thrust up my hips and bottom to increase the pressure of his touch. This strengthened touch increased the pain in my bottom while inflaming the lust in my pussy. I felt his hand slip off my buttocks and insinuate itself between my slightly parted thighs, pushing them further apart. Gasping, I opened my thighs widely, thrusting my pussy against his hand and breathed a long, shuddering, "Yeeeessss! Please!"

Master found my vagina totally open to his fingers. It was sopping wet, and as scorched as an open flame. My pussy seemed to suck his fingers into it as if it had a life of its own. My hips were bucking and pumping furiously against his hand, desperate with need. I pushed his thumb deeply inside of me as he grasped my clit between two of his fingertips and moved it back and forth like a toy joy-button.

I shrieked again begging to be allowed to cum. "Yes, Baby, cum for me." I let out a low moan, this time with unbridled pleasure and lust as I began to climax, a long, deep, profound orgasm, which momentarily, allowed me to forget the pain and humiliation I had just endured. "I love you," he said, "that's why I must punish you this way when you need it."

CHAPTER 2

As I spiraled down to earth the pain and humiliation of the spanking again flared in my mind and body. His thumb had stopped its relentless assault but remained in me. I felt my vagina continue to contract and expand around it, wet and hot.

"Baby, a repeat of tonight’s fiasco will not happen again, will it?"

Sniffling through tears of pain and pleasure, my buttocks throbbing. "No, Master, it won't."

"Good. Now get up and head for the shower. Make sure you clean every nook and cranny." Smack. Again the pain flashed and moved down and out. My breath caught in my throat in a moan. "Move it, and tell Kitten I wish to see her now."

Jumping up and moving toward the door on rubbery legs, I again heard your voice call to me. "Stop, Baby, aren’t you forgetting something?"

I turned back to look into his eyes and said, "Thank you, Master".

"Good girl, now off with you."

Kitten was kneeling outside the door, her big blue eyes the size of saucers. I felt my face heat up. She had heard all that had happened. I knew she was worried but I couldn't comfort her. "Master is waiting, Kitten," I said as I moved down the hall to the bathroom. Looking back as she closed the door, I notice her bottom lip trembling.

I went inside and closed the door, pressing my back and butt to the cool smooth surface. It quickly sent a chill coursing from my ass and shoulders. Resting there, I could vaguely hear the slaps on Kitten's buttocks, wrenching at each moment of impact. I felt my breath catch in my throat. I could feel myself being lifted away again. Shaking my head to bring me back to the present, I roughly pushed away from the door. The cold tiles curled my toes.

Starting the water and checking it, I turned on the jets. I slid behind the clear curtain and stood perfectly still, letting the water rush over my burning body. Slowly, I reached for the soap and washcloth and applied both to my breast. I felt little rivulets of water searing down my back and buttocks, then felt the cooling after effects. I let out a low moan, blinking back the feelings rising within me. I lowered the cloth to my pussy and gently stroked it up and down working up a good lather.

As I stroked my pussy, I thought about his hands on me, in me, all over me. The jets were doing a steady pitter-patter on my nipples, sending tiny pinpoints of sensation darting through my breast. My ass was still throbbing with the beat of my heart which steadily increased in speed.

Instinctively, I reach for the showerhead and brought it to my well-creamed mound, rinsing it off, hold the lips apart so the water pounded on my clit. The exposure to my heat from the pulsating jet ignited a slow burn in my core. I was starting to drift off into the moment. Nothing else mattered but this feeling of joy that was starting to wash over me.

"Baby, what are you doing?" My eyes flew open and there he stood. I could see him clearly through the curtain, hands on hips, legs braced and eyes that penetrated straight to my soul.

The showerhead started to fall from my trembling hand. Gasping for air, I tried to speak clearly. "I was washing, Master".

"Were you baby? Looks like your fingers are where they're not supposed to be and you thought to cum without me. Tsk tsk, you know the rules baby, only the cloth or I am allowed to touch you there. Well, you have started, continue, cum for me baby."

Kitten entered on hands and knees, a thin gold chain around her waist. Her normally alabaster ass was rosy red. She stopped and turned to kneel up behind you and slightly to your left. I looked at her tearstained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes before she bowed her head.

As she spread her knees wide, the gold chastity belt covering her mound became painfully evident. I was shaking like a leaf in a heavy windstorm. I knew I had to finish this but I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach I knew what was to come after.

"Well, Baby, we’re waiting. I have said you could cum, what are you waiting for. Do it, now!" The jet and his voice did their work. Inhaling I blinked once, teetering on the edge, then fell into the pathos of pleasure that electrified my heat, sending wave after wave of lightning fast jolts through my body. A low primal moan cut from my lips as Master pinched and twisted both nipples while I came.

"Look at me, Baby, can you understand what I'm saying?" I was trying to focus on his words but the sensation still had me in its grip. Nodding slowly, body shaking and knees locked, I raised my gaze to his face.

"Yes, Master," I whispered as I licked my lips.

"You will dry off." He pulled my nipples out more. "You will go to the dungeon where Kitten will be waiting with further instructions. You are to do this now, with out delay."

I sagged back against the tiles of the shower stall as you released my nipples. "Yes, Master".

CHAPTER 3

With glazed eyes I watched Master pull down his sleeves over bulging arms. The width of his muscled back rippled under the white shirt and I remembered how I had run my hand over it as I messaged the oil into and over his back. My fingers curled around the showerhead and I felt flush all over. His butt tightened as he shifted and pulled on his jacket and my breath caught in my throat.

I started to reach for him as my eyes rested on Kitten kneeling there on the floor, the chastity front plate cutting into her lily-white skin. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. She looked up at me, her bottom lip trembling and gave me a weak smile.

Master motioned to Kitten with a snap of his fingers. She rocked back on her heels, grimacing a little as she rose. He placed his hand on the small of her back and directed her out the door, saying, "Now listen carefully, Kitten. This is what I want you to do when Baby reaches the dungeon. First, I want you…"

As the door closing behind them with a click, I felt all the energy leave my body. Darn, I had done it again, from one punishment to another. Master had let me slide on the touching of Kitten in the kitchen but the pleasuring of one's self without permission he would not allow. We had been over this before; it was one of the first things he had insisted upon. Such an easy task really; why was it so hard to follow?

With growing anxiety I stepped out of the shower, pondering what he would have Kitten do to me. He was creative in my punishments. I wrapped the towel around me and began to dry off.

Recalling the last time I was sent to the dungeon, a shiver went up my spine. Master had left me tied over the horse in the middle of the room after bringing me to the edge, with instructions to Kitten she was to keep my lips throbbing but not to let me come. Kitten had used the feather, dragging it over my pulsating heat every time my legs started to relax. I immediately tensed, my lips throbbed again and I started to moan, only to have her pull the feather away and I cried out in frustration.

I felt the moisture gathering between my legs as I left the bathroom and headed for the stairs leading to the dungeon. I started down the cold block steps, my left-hand trailing over the rough rock wall. Down they spiraled, a votive hanging every so often above my head giving off just enough light to see the next step. My nipples hardened the moment I left the steamy warm bathroom and were getting harder as I descended. All I heard was the pounding of my heart in my ears as I went down the steps. My feet padded slowly down the cold flagstone. I reached the alcove at the bottom of the steps and in front of me was a thick hewed wooden door with iron hinges and a big iron ring handle.

Cooler air and soft music rush to meet me as I eased open the door. The room was ablaze in candlelight and, there, kneeling in the middle, was Kitten. She rocked back and stood with all the grace of a gazelle, her heat still covered by the gold plate, but her stance had changed from the one in the bathroom. Her eyes held a glint. No longer were they the eyes of the submissive kitten. "Kneel where you are, Baby, and take position." I dropped to the floor and placed my hands behind my neck as Kitten approached me.

She reached down and cupped my right breast in her small hand, lifting it as if to weigh. Her thumb brushed over the extended nipple sending tiny bits of sensation through my breast. I looked up into her eyes and watched as her pupils dilated and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You know you've been bad, Baby. I think you do it on purpose."

"No, I…"

"Shh, Master knows better, Baby. You just can’t help yourself, can you? Master gets us started and then our sub conscience takes over. Well, he decided you need a little reminder you're not to do for yourself, and he directed me to help you in this. Hmm, where to begin?"

The whole time she had been talking her thumb circled my nipple and I had leaned into it, and when she dropped my breast I had to catch myself so I wouldn't fall over. "Hold position, Baby." I regained my balance and straightened.

She turned away from me as if to scan the room. I too looked around, nothing had changed since the last time I was here and my body shook with fear. The horse was still in the middle of the room with the cuffs on the legs. The top drawer to the chest was open. I bit my bottom lip. I knew you kept all the clips and weights in there. She headed for it and my heart skipped a beat. Kitten must have been rummaging through it earlier because she reached right in and pulled something out.

She turned and moved her hand behind her back so I couldn't see what it was. "Baby, I want you to crawl to me, bend at the waist and drag your breast on the floor. Do not release your hands from behind your neck." I started to move as she snapped at me. "Now, Baby, not later, get your ass over here." Moving as fast as I could, I crossed the floor. The cold stones bit into my knees and played havoc on my senses as my nipples bumped across it.

I reached her and was about to rise when I felt her hand on the back of my head. "Stay down, Baby." She pushed me down till my breast pressed full against the floor, raising my ass further in the air. She released my head, moved behind me and bent over my ass. Her hand rubbed over my left cheek and down in between my legs. I could feel the moisture rushing to meet her fingers as she touched me there. A low moan escaped as she removed her hand.

Then both hands were on me, pulling at my swollen lips. A cold clip was snapped on one, then the other and I cried out as the weight attached to them dropped and dangled freely. Kitten brushed her fingers over the clamped flesh as she rose. "That should keep you focused for a while." She gave me a quick slap on both cheeks.

"Now, let’s see. Yes, I think you should kneel up, Baby. Spread those knees wider as you do, but do not under any circumstances let that weight touch the ground. If you do, I'll be forced to get out the viper."

I did as I was told and watched as she returned to the drawer. Reaching in she again pulled something out and held it behind her. She moved to stand in front of me and my eyes were again drawn to the little gold plate covering her mound.

Master enjoyed hiding Kitten's pretty white mound from her. She, like me had been caught one too many times pleasuring herself. The last time Master had warned us both he would cover her for a week.

She cupped my left breast and started twirling the nipple between her fingers. I looked up as she lowered to brush her lips over mine. "Oh what fun we're going to have this night baby. It's been a very full day don’t you think? Let’s see if I can remember all that Master said to me."

Of course Kitten remembered every word Master said to her verbatim. She never forgot anything he said. From the first, Master knew Kitten remembered all. She had come to us one warm summer’s night.

Thinking back on it brought a smile to my face. Master had just finished a project for one of his clients. I served him his after dinner drink when the doorbell rang. I looked out the peephole into empty space; Master came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist and nibbled the back of my neck. "So what do you see out there, Baby?" he asked as he opened the door.

There on the porch was a big wicker basket with a huge pink bow on it. A pink blanket covered the interior, hiding something that was beginning to move. I jump back into Master and he let out a deep laugh. "Easy now. Baby. It's a present from Stan."

Stan was the client Master had just finished up the contract with. Master had spent eight weeks working on a dungeon for the illusive man. I had yet to meet him and now he had sent Master something in a basket that moved. Without uncovering the contents of the basket Master dragged it into the house.

There was a card attached to the front and Master pulled it off. He opened it, laughed and began to read it allowed:

Thanks for a job well done. I know the hours of pleasure I'll receive from all your hard work will be well worth the time and effort you put into my dungeon. Attached please find the papers for the slave kitten. Enjoy her to your heart's content. She's a switch so I know you'll find lots of uses for her. Give my regards to Baby; hope to meet her soon.

Yours,

Stan

As Master read the closing, he pulled back the covers. An exquisite blonde rose from the basket. Her steel blue eyes searched both Master and me before a small smile crossed her lips.

SWAT went Kitten's hand as it contacted with my upturned rear flinging me back to the present. Groaning with the sudden pain and the loss of pleasant musings I nearly broke position. As it was, I shifted ever so slightly. She swatted again across my other cheek. I felt the heat radiating through my backside and down my legs. "Baby, are you with me now?" Kitten asked. I was only able to let out a low moan in reply.

My body trembling with desire. With each smack of Kitten's hand on my expose ass I clenched and the weights started to swing, tugging and pulling at my swollen lips. Nerve endings all over my body danced to the rhythmic spanking Kitten was applying to my ass. My breathing became shallow and faster. Kitten continued to spank me in her slow easy fashion, never varying the speed or intensity, yet sparks of pleasure were exploding in my arms and legs with each impact of her hand.

I felt myself beginning to slip away when a sudden cool breath of air crossed my wet heat. The spanking had stopped and it was totally quiet. Nothing moved. What had I missed while focusing on the intense pleasure Kitten invoked in my body? I wanted to rise up and look for Kitten, but I knew if I did, I'd be chastised for it, so I remained in position. The weights had slowed their movement but they continued to tug on my lips and I felt the cool stones on my nipples.

Goose bumps were beginning to cover my arms when I heard Master's voice from behind me. "Here are the girls, Stan. As you can see, I have put Kitten to good use." A heated blush immediately covered my body and I started to rise.

"Don’t even think about it, Baby," came Master's voice, "you are in enough trouble as it is." Totally embarrassed and at a loss as to how to extract myself from the situation, I remained in position, thankful that my hair covered my extremely red face. "Kitten, go kneel in the corner. I want Stan to meet Baby properly." As Master said this, I felt his hand stroke my right cheek.

Already dripping with moisture, a low deep moan escaped my lips as another rush of pleasure coursed through my body. Master continued to caress my ass, "Stan, this is Baby. She's being punished for touching herself without permission. Although I'm not sure if she is, at this point, seeing it as punishment."

Chuckling, Master smacked my rear once and I felt him move his hand down my legs and pick up the weights.

"Very nice to meet you, Baby," said Stan. "So spankings haven't worked? I see Kitten has been misbehaving, too." Groaning to myself as I remembered that kitten had the chastity belt on, I wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it. Kitten's and my actions were causing embarrassment to Master. I never thought of it in those terms before. I mean, what was a little touchy-feely? It hurt no one and it felt so good. But here it was slapping me in the face. I had misbehaved and Master was being brought to the carpet for it.

"Neglect, Stan, pure and simple, I've been so busy with all the new clients you've sent my way, I've been neglecting my girls. Well, the last one finished yesterday and I'm not taking anymore till spring. I'll these two whipped back into shape in no time." With that, Master dropped the weights and they pulled hard on my lips. Groaning this time aloud only brought a chuckle from both Stan and Master.

CHAPTER 4

I peaked out from under my hair to see Master and Stan standing behind me. Stan turned to Master and said, "You know I believe you and Baby need some alone time. Could Kitten whip me up one of her special omelets?"

Master raised his hand and motioned to Kitten to come to him. "Kitten, I want you to go upstairs with Stan and take care him."

Kitten jumped up and swiftly moved to Master's side, the little gold plate catching the reflections of the candles through out the room.

Upon reaching Master's side, she lowered to her knees and raised her right hand to him. Dangling between her slender fingers were the nipple clips she had pulled out before she spanked me. I inadvertently moaned and all eyes darted back to me. I quickly lowered my head back to the floor.

"Baby, before Stan and Kitten leave us, I think we'll have a bit of fun. Baby, come here to me, next to Kitten." I rose up to a kneeling position; my hair cascaded forward to brush over my cold breast, which had lost a lot of their heat pressed against the floor. Pivoting on my knees I moved toward Master, careful not to let the weights scrape the floor. As I stopped next to Kitten I noticed Master had his hand in his pocket.

"Have you a coin by chance, Stan," Master asked. "Would you mind tossing if for me in just a moment?"

"Sure do, what’s the toss for?"

"What Baby’s punishment will be." Master look directly into my eyes. Their sparkling depths tossed out a challenge of their own. Chuckling to himself, Master kept eye contact with me. I watched as the little smile lines around his eyes appeared. "The coin toss, Baby, will be this; tails, and you get tied over the horse; heads, the massage table. Stan, toss the coin, please."

Breaking eye contact with Master, I watched the coin fly up into the air, make a lazy arch and slowly float back down to Stan’s out stretched hand.

"Heads." His voice echoed through the room and the vibrations jangled every single nerve ending in my body.

My eyes flew back to Master's face, "Wonderful. Fire and Ice, the massage table. Baby, get the ice out of the freezer. Crawl. You know how I want it. Kitten, take Stan upstairs and make him feel at home."

Going back to all fours I made my way to the freezer, my knees spread wide and the weights swing just above the floor. Pulling the door open frigid air enveloped me. I was shaken to the core as I felt the blood rush to both areolas, and my nipples hardened even more then they were. With the weights still attached and swinging free, I was completely open to the chill of the freezer. I pulled the cup of cubes out and closed the door as quickly as possible.

The door clicked shut. I was so intent on the things my body was telling, me I hadn't heard it open.

"While you're over there, get the blind fold and crawl up on the table."

Ideas flooded my senses and my body temperature rose in anticipation. My breathing came faster and my mind cleared. Reaching the table Master took the cup and blindfold from me. I crawled up onto the table, soft leather cradled my hands and knees. Master put the cup on the stand next to the wall.

"Stay kneeling, Baby," he said as he moved along the side of the table to my head. "You care to tell me why Kitten had not put these in place?" He swung the nipple clips in front of my face in a pendulum motion. "Why she was tanning your already rosy red rear?" His hand rested on my tail, cool and firm on my heated body. An involuntary spasm started the muscles in my legs twitching. I could feel his heart beat in his fingertips. Lowering my eyes from the swinging clips I rushed out in one breath, "Kitten was trying to gain my attention, Master".

"Your attention, Baby? What where you thinking about now?"

"I was remembering when Kitten was delivered to you, Master."

"Oh, yes, I remember that well." His hand shot up and my right nipple was pinched hard between his fingers. Rolling it roughly for a moment, he snapped the clip on. My hands almost left the table with the sudden impact of the metal to it. "Sit down, Baby, and let your legs hang over this side of the table."

He tugged on the chain to get me to move in his direction. I did as I was commanded. Cupping my left breast, his mouth lowered to it. His soft wet tongue teased my nipple and areola. Goose bumps covered my arms and I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. He drew away and placed the other end of the clip on my wet nipple, the air chilling it, blood pounding in the tip. I was biting my bottom lip but a squeak still escaped. Laughing, Master tweaked it once. "Turn around, Baby."

I scooted around so that my back was to Master. A shadow descended over my head. I glanced up to see the blindfold coming toward my eyes and closed them. I was in total darkness. Master's hands moved gently on my shoulders. I felt myself go loose as he said, "Relax now, Baby and let me have control of your body." Drawing me down to lie flat on the table, he positioned my arms at my side.

The room grew very quiet and I heard only my breathing. Master's hands were on my head with his thumbs on my forehead, rubbing in a tiny circular motion. "Baby, I want you to relax totally," he said as his hands moved down my arms, grasping both my wrists in his firm grip. He brought them over my head, touching palms together. The soft lambskin cuffs circled my wrists.

The cuffs were cinched tight and I felt Master place a soft kiss on my fingertips. "Do you trust me, Baby?"

"Yes, Master."

"Baby, you know why you are here, don’t you?"

"Yes, Master. I touched myself while I was in the shower."

"Good girl, and are you allowed to do that, Baby?" Gawd, I felt about two inches tall, knowing I'd broken a rule and would be punished for it, but the worst punishment was that I disappointed and embarrassed Master. I heard it in his voice. I saw it in his eyes while Stan was here.

"No, Master, I'm not allowed to."

"So you broke a known rule, Baby?" There was that tone Master had when I'd hurt him. How many times had Master told me my actions were a reflection of him? Master never lost control; I on the other hand never had it.

CHAPTER 5

I heard Master moving around the room as I lay there. My body temperature began to drop. The adrenaline was starting to subside and I started to shake. Something landed in the middle of my stomach. It was heavy, then the area grew warm almost too hot. There was another a little higher on my abdomen.

I brought my legs up to cover my stomach and Master grabbed my left ankle. "Baby, I told you not to move." Immediately a strap was wrapped around my ankle, my leg lifted to forty-five degrees to my body. Master moved around to the other side and did the same to the right. My legs were now suspended in the air forming a V. The cool air in the room chilled the moisture of my pussy.

Master's hand cupped my heat and one finger traced the opening of my vagina. "Baby, you really must listen better." A shiver shook me as he released my mound and ran his hand up my leg to rest on the back of my right knee. "This is the last chance I'm going to give you, Baby. I've been very patient on this subject. Kitten hasn't had half as many chances as you and she'll be in the chastity belt for a week." With that he pinched the back of my thigh and the room became quiet except for my ragged breathing.

Pressure was being applied to my clit and a cold rivulet of water made its way over my lips and vagina to puddle at the rim of my ass. My leg muscles tightened and I rose to try to meet the ice cube that had been taken away. I felt my labium start to swell and a soft moan escaped.

Heat enveloped the tip of one nipple then the other, causing them to harden more then they were already, pulling the areola taunt. My body twitched of its own accord as the warm nearly hot wax covered my breast. I felt the wax harden almost instantly drawing the skin tight beneath it.

My breasts were coated in a shell of cooling wax that absorbed all the heat. My heart beat in the tips. The thin sheen of sweat covering my body turned cold as Master placed a cube on my belly button. The only sound in the room was my intermittent gasps and moans as my body shook and shivered. My lips convulsed begging to be touched when I heard the door open.

"Perfect timing, Kitten. Come over here," Master said as she entered the room. "Stan not with you?"

"No, Master. I left him in the kitchen to finish his food. He sent me to find out if you were ready for us to return."

I wanted to see them but the blindfold was tight and even shifting my head allowed no light to filter through. I know Kitten had that smirk, the one she got when Master wanted her to do something for him. Sort of like a Cheshire cat going for a bowl of cream.

"I'll call him in a few minutes. First I need you to prepare Baby for her punishment."

"Punishment," screamed through my brain, not discipline but punishment, meaning Master was not going to enjoy this and neither was I. "Kitten, attach the chain of the nipple clips to the one hanging down from above, while I get the chain on her lips."

Kitten jerked the chain and pulled hard. I was prepared for her to do that so I had arched, but not enough. The hard wax over the clips didn't give and my entire breast was pulled upward, ripping a cry of pain from me.

Almost simultaneously, Master tugged on the clips attached to my throbbing lips, drawing them apart and up. My clit was jumping as his thumb rubbed back and forth over the now completely exposed area.

Smack, as Master's hand hit my upper thigh just above my ass and my body moved on the impact pulling my nipples and lips, tearing another scream from me, louder then the pain justified.

"Baby, really, this is about control. If I hear another peep out of you I will gag you. Do you understand me, Baby?" Biting down on my bottom lip I whisper that I did. "Good. Kitten, let's go see if Stan is finished. But before we do, get the medium butt plug, the one with the remote and bring it here."

I heard Kitten skip across the stone floor to the toy chest, and the drawer sliding open. She giggled, as the drawer slammed shut.

Master's hand was on my stomach, his finger tapping gently in the puddle of water from the now completely melted ice cube. Kitten was back at his side in a flash. He rolled the plug in the water and trailed it down my stomach over my heat and shoved it into my anus. I bucked with the force but I knew it would be fast and hard. I anticipated the stretching searing pain and didn't scream out. My head rocked back and forth, I didn't want the gag.

Master patted each of my butt cheeks and said, "Kitten, kiss Baby goodbye for now." Her soft lips met mine. I felt her smile turn into a heated demanding kiss to be released all to soon. "Baby, I want you to think about control. You are completely in mine, everything you do I allow. I do not allow you to touch yourself without permission." With the last word said, Master hit the remotes on button and the plug vibrated on high. I wasn't prepared for him to do that just yet. I thought he'd leave me before doing so, and I moaned. The vibrating stopped instantly.

"Get the "O" ring gag, Kitten," Master barked out, "put it on her and come to the kitchen when you're done." Disgust rolled off Master's tongue.

The lock on the door clicked and Kitten slipped the gag into my mouth and fastened it on the side. "I've never seen Master so upset, Baby," she whispered and left as well.

Total quiet enveloped me; tears were rolling from under the blindfold over my cheeks. I was here through no one's fault but my own. I had deeply hurt my Master, my love, by my behavior. Cold dread radiated through me as the plug kicked on again and off almost as fast. Master once said that in punishment each action reflected a pain in his heart, inaction sorrow. All was still but my involuntary muscle contractions.

CHAPTER 6

As I lay in the dark of the blindfold with no sounds, my body trembling from the chill in the room and penned up desires. I began to see Master in the kitchen. I could picture the scene as if I was there. Kitten, with that little gold chastity belt, fluttering around Master, begging him to touch her, not in words but with her eyes and body movements, craving his hands on her.

I imagined Master caressing her butt cheeks as she stood next to him, running his hands up her back, while she turned toward him offering her lily-white breasts with their hard mauve nipples, him taking one in hand rubbing his thumb over the bud.

With that thought my body went hot from head to toe and I shifted in my confines, the clips on my own nipples and pussy pulled hard and I cried out through the "O" as the pain coursed through them. The gentle throbbing had turned to a pounding, and my heat was dripping with need. "Master," I tried to moan.

As if my plea had been heard the plug began to vibrate, shaking me to my very soul. Flashes of Master sucking on Kitten’s nipple raced through my mind, as sensation from the vibrator brought me closer to the peak of pleasure. "Aghh," it stopped, and I spiraled back; every nerve in my body cried for satisfaction. I pulled on my bonds to no avail. How I needed!

Fingers clenching, itching to rub my heat to bring myself an end to what had been started. I was restrained totally. Master knew I'd reach this point, I knew I would, but not this early in my punishment. He wanted to me to know what true need was, that my playing with myself at the slightest provocation was not allowed and was nothing compared to the need I could feel. I burned with desire.

Think of something else my mind screamed, anything, think of… Master, Kitten… Stan. Kitten between them, their mouths sucking on her, laying her face down over the edge of the counter in the kitchen. No, something else… Master's hands splayed over Kitten’s ass, rubbing and caressing it, Kitten moaning, purring at the touch. Stan holding Kitten's hands as Master applied the paddle to Kitten's cheeks turning them from alabaster white to cherry red.

Kitten crying out in pleasure and pain as Master applied the paddle to her bottom, over and, the chastity belt pressing into her heat.

Master's face aglow with delight, enjoying the fact that one was doing as she was instructed. Kitten basking in Master's attention. Faster and faster his strokes went, in time with the beat of my heart.

"Oh…" The vibrator was going again and I was aflame with desire. Lightening hot flashes charged through my veins, only to be cut short of their final goal as the plug shut off again, dropping me to the pit of molten despair. I cried out in my need, tears flooding my eyes. How could Master do this to me? Why was he torturing me?

I heard an inner voice over my screams saying, "it isn't Master who's doing this to you, you did this to yourself. If you had listened you would be where Kitten is, you would be satisfied, pampered, loved."

" No, Master loves me, I know he does. He won't leave me like this for long," I cried.

"Not until you learn, Baby. Will you learn? Will you learn?" echoed my subconscious.

I was floating again, over the kitchen, looking down at Kitten as Master cradled her in his arms, kissing away her tears. The gentle smile of satisfaction on her pretty face as she cuddled close to him. The look of pleasure on Master and Stan’s faces because Kitten had performed well.

The vibrator was on again, pulsating on and off, with only enough time in between for me to gasp a breath. My body was shaking and twitching so hard the small breaths of air I could get weren't enough to steady me. I was tossed me to the edge only to drag me back before I could cum.

Swish, crack, came to my ears before the pain radiated from my thighs. Swish, crack, again and again as the flogger bit into my thighs. The plug was turned off as the whip hit then turned on again as the last piece of leather moved away – over and over again. Every nerve in my body begged for release. I heard myself moaning through the "O" ring, begging and pleading for it. Then all went still.

My heart pounded in every inch of my body. My moans, now whimpers, were the only sound in the room. I strained to hear someone moving. I lay there trying to anticipate what would come next. Still nothing happened. My body shakes had slowed, and goose bumps started to rise on my body. The endorphin high was ebbing.

The door opened and closed once again to complete silence.

CHAPTER 7

"Baby," Kitten's voice came through a fog, "Baby, Master sent me to release you." Kitten peeled back the wax and released my breasts from the clamps. They were so sensitive to the cool air in the dungeon. I was pulling on the cuffs – my fingers wanted to rub my breasts.

She move to my wildly throbbing heat and undid the clips, patting them twice, I bucked with the sudden impact as the blood came crashing back into my lips. Trailing her hand up my legs she undid one and then the other laying them gently on the table. I tried to close them but she pushed them apart with a slap to my thigh. "No, Baby." My hands where clenching with the need to touch myself.

The blindfold and gag were still in place and my hands were still attached to the table. I heard her move to the toy chest and thought she was replacing the clips until she returned and slipped a three-inch thick leather collar around my neck. She then attached the cuffs binding my wrist to the six-inch chains that were attached to the collar at the back.

Helping me to a sitting position, she moved my legs to hang over the table, and stood between my spread thighs. I could rest my hands on my shoulders but I couldn't reach any lower – I tried.

Laughing at my feeble attempt, Kitten peeled the rest of the wax from my breast, scraping her fingers over my tender flesh. She finished removing the wax completely off the right one, when she pulled the nipple into her mouth and started to suck hard. My body was hot lava, flowing to her mouth.

Just as quickly as she started she stopped. I folded like a paper doll. She moved to the left one and pulled off all its wax and I arched toward her, waiting for her to take that one into her mouth, as well.

She anticipated me and pinched and twisted the nipple. "Baby, when will you learn? You are one greedy little subbie. Continue to sit like this. Do not move a muscle or I will follow Master's instructions and put you back for the night. You understand, not a muscle.

I froze; I didn't even nod to let her know I understood. The drumming in my heat slowed to a dull throbbing, but every so often it twitched. I had to concentrate not to whip my thighs together.

Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, she was back in a flash, attaching something around my thighs just above my knees. She helped me down from the table. I tried to shift my legs closer together to balance myself, but she had attached a bar to my legs and it was holding them apart.

Snickering, Kitten said, "Master sure knows you well, Baby. He said the first thing you would do when your arms were free of the table would be to try to rub your breast, and when your legs were free you'd try to squeeze them together."

She ran her hand over my mound and stuck her finger inside me. My vagina squeezed hard around her finger. Kitten pulled it out laughing, "Yes, you are a greedy one." She tweaked both my nipples before moving away from me.

I had to stand with my knees bent because of the bar between them. I felt her tug on the collar, to pull me to start walking.

"I'm on leash," I cried to myself. Master had not had me on leash in over a year. He'd said leashes were for newbies, trainees, and since I was trained to obey I would no longer be on a leash. My heart cried out at the humiliation of it all. He was showing me just how displeased he was with my actions.

I did my best to keep up with her as she moved out of the dungeon. It took several steps before I got the swing of my legs right to maneuver up them. We reached the top and headed down the hall. She moved along rather quickly and I hoped she wasn't going to lead me into a wall. The floor turned from soft carpet to the hard tile in the kitchen when she stopped short and I bumped into the back of her.

"Well, hello you two. I see you followed my instructions, Kitten," Master said as the plug vibrated on. My legs gave out and I went to my knees. "Unlike some." The vibrator continued. I was totally disoriented and shaking all over. The only thing keeping me from toppling on my face was Kitten holding the leash.

I felt a wave of pleasure wash over me and I teetered on the edge of coming when the vibrator shut off. A deep primal moan ripped from me.

"Kitten, did baby behave?" Master asked grabbing my hair at the back of my head and tilting it back. "No, Master," Kitten said as I gasped, "she did just as you said she would – pulled on the chains trying to touch herself and tried to put her legs together too, but the bar stopped her."

"Kitten, go take Stan a beer. He's out by the pool. Baby and I need a few minutes together. Tell Stan I'll call you both in a few minutes."

I hated not being able to see Master's face. I wanted to be able to apologize, plead, beg him to release me. If this blindfold wasn't on, I could have done so with my eyes. Master could always read what I was thinking just by looking at my eyes, but Master wasn't in a forgiving mood.

I heard the sliding glass door click shut, as something soft brushed my lips. I flicked my tongue through the "O" ring to moisten my lips. The next moment Master was inside my mouth all the way to the back of my throat. I started to gag but he didn't pull out. I stopped gagging and Master started to pump in and out of my mouth. I tried to suck on him, to enjoy the wonderful texture of his hard shaft that I loved so much, but the ring wouldn't let me.

Faster and faster Master pumped, gripping my head with both hands. Tears were leaking out from under the blindfold and streaming down my cheeks. Master rammed in hard and stilled. His hot juices coated my throat. I choked once and started to swallow as the tears came harder. Master pulled out and stepped back from me. I sagged towards the floor but he was holding the leash tight.

"No, Baby, you are to remain just as you are – on your knees." With that, he dropped the leash and moved away.

Even though I did the best I could to swallow all, some leaked out of my mouth and oozed down my chin. I whimper. I hurt to my very soul. Never had Master treated me so coldly.

My whimpers became sobs when Master said, "Baby, you will remain blindfolded and gagged until I determine you have learned. I will have Kitten take you to get cleaned up, but you will resume this position when she is done."

The sliding glass door slid open and over my sobs I heard Master telling Kitten the same thing he had just told me."

CHAPTER 8

Kitten helped me to my feet, wrapping her arms around me to quiet my sobs. "Baby, I have never seen Master look as angry as he did when he came back out to the pool. What did you do to him?" I sobbed louder. I knew what I had done; I had forced Master into punishing me. He was a loving, caring Dom. By my actions he had gone against his nature. Never had he taken without giving some form of pleasure. I was crying uncontrollably, not knowing or caring where Kitten was taking me.

She placed me on the side of the tub and started to run the water in the sink. I was still crying but the tears had slowed a little when she ran the warm washcloth over my tear stained cheeks.

"Baby, calm yourself. Crying will only make Master angrier with you." She was right of course. Bemoaning my fate would only add to the humiliation I was feeling, and add insult to injury where Master was concerned.

I had to pull myself together, to prove to Master I was a sub worthy of him. The washcloth was moving down my collarbone. I inhaled wanting to grind my teeth so I wouldn't lean into it. I knew what Kitten was trying to do. She wanted me to show my weakness, but at that moment I vowed I would not. I would be good. I would sit here come what may and not give into my wants. I needed Master; I wanted to cum. Master was the most important thing in my life. I needed Him. I needed his approval and love. I needed to be all he wanted me to be. I could do it. My love for him would help me do it.

Kitten finished cleaning me up and even had me rinse out my mouth. She brushed my hair and re-braided it. "Come, Baby," she said as she tugged on the leash. "Master will start wondering if we're behaving ourselves if we're in here much longer."

I hurried to follow her. Instead of the kitchen she took me into Masters formal living room, to my pillow in the corner and had me kneel there. At least if I had to remain on my knees it wouldn't be as bad as on the hard stone kitchen tiles.

Kitten dropped the leash and patted me on the head, whispering, "Good, Baby, you're learning. Master and Stan will be in, in just a little while. Remember you are to remain kneeling. Don’t let Master catch you leaning back on your heels."

The room was quiet except for the hum of the stereo. Master must have been listening to music and having his nightcap when Stan showed up. Master came in here to contemplate a problem. What music he listened to depended on the problem. I wished I could peek at the CD so I'd know how upset he was with me. Hanging my head, I really didn't need to look. I knew from the kitchen.

Time passed and no one came in. I wondered what time it was; really what day it was. The dinner party was Friday night; people had left well after 2 P.M. I had showered, petted and played with myself, upsetting Master, again; been sent to the dungeon, my breasts were starting to itch. Wax dried the skin and they needed to be creamed.

Sounds from the kitchen, ah, yes morning. Kitten must be making Master some breakfast or brunch. My stomach growled, the least of my worries.

CHAPTER 9

Master come in and removed the gag. I was working my jaw when he picked up my leash and guided me by the living room, through the kitchen and out the sliding doors to the patio by the pool. He brought me to a pillow next to the table.

"Kneel, Baby." I knelt. I was out in the light of day, naked as the day I was born, but it was all black to me. I heard birds singing in the distance; the gurgle of the pool pump; the smell of bacon. My stomach grumbled once and I tightened my muscle in the hopes of quieting it.

A momentary thought flashed back to over a year and a half ago. Would I have dreamt I could or would allow myself to trust someone as much as I trusted Master? No, that was a given.

Master was seated to my left and Stan to my right. Kitten was bringing out the last of the food when Master petted my head. "Baby, open your mouth," which I did immediately. He placed a grape on my tongue and I held still, mouth open wide, wanting to bit down. This was a test – Master knew I wanted it. At this moment I didn't need it as much as I needed him to know I would listen.

I tasted the sweet nectar of the grape as it set on my tongue. Master was still petting my head, working his way down the back of it to my neck, to knead the muscles there.

Master knew I needed his contact, his touch. To me, Master was my rudder in a storm. In the living room, Master and I had made our peace with each other. I was still under punishment but I had been forgiven. My heart was hammering again. The grape on my tongue was heaven. This was going to be child’s play. I giggled to myself.

Master wanted to show Stan how well behaved and well trained I really was. Master always said I was the best subbie he'd ever had. I was going to do my best to be all that Master thought I could.

I remained in that position while Master ate his meal. I will admit, in time my mouth got dry and I was so close to licking my lips. Just when I thought I could not take another second Master said, "Good girl, Baby, you can eat the grape now." I wanted to snap my jaw shut and chew away on that luscious grape, but that’s not what Master wanted. Master wanted me to savor this grape. This was our future.

Could I live up to Master's standards? Would I be all he thought I could be? Knowing right at the very moment my will power was about to give out, told me Master knew what I could and couldn't do. All that was asked of me was to trust Him.

Master fed me a few more grapes as he and Stan discussed some of the different bondage techniques. Master had done a few on Kitten and me, perfecting the breast bondage and the Oriental rope dress. I remembered that one well, by tying the ropes just so it would hold the lips apart, rubbing them at every twist and turn. I went wet, and I know I blushed.

Oh, great. Master is going to take one look at me and know I'm hot. Okay, I told myself, don't move a muscle. Hot is okay, just don’t give into the want. I chewed slower on the grape. I felt the change in Master's rubbing of my neck. It had gone from a gentle caress to a deeper firmer one. Master was hot too.

I finished that grape and asked, "Master, may I have a sip of coffee?" Weekends I was allowed a cup of coffee. I will admit, I was a caffeine addict, until Master. Some of everything, but in moderation, that way you enjoyed it more.

Master brought the cup to my lips. It was perfect, but I never doubted that for a moment. Master and Kitten both knew my weakness, next to Master, was coffee.

I felt Master tug on my leash for me to stand as he asked, "Stan you see the grape arbor over past the pool? Let’s take our conversation over there."

"Great," said Stan as he moved back his chair.

Master was leading me around the pool. I was walking almost on the edge. I wanted to move away from it so there would be less chance of me tripping and falling in. Still blind folded and with the bar firmly between my legs I was at Master's mercy.

We came to the grassy area before the arbor. I knew it well. Many afternoons Master and I had sat and played here. The grape arbor was covered in ivy so no bees or wasp came to visit. There were thick four by fours holding it up, and on the poles were eyehooks, positioned to Master's exact specifications. Each one had a job to do. In the middle of the arbor was a bench about six feet long. There were also those Georgian style wood lounge chairs with big comfy cushions you could lose yourself in, placed strategically for their view.

Master led me to stand at the far end of the arbor. Unhooking my left hand from the collar, he raised it out and slightly above shoulder level and snapped it on an eyehook, then did the same to the right. The bar was already spreading my feet apart. I didn't have to think about the rule of keeping my feet apart, no less then a foot and a half together, the bar had me stretched so much more.

Master moved one foot with his then the other so that my arms were straight and taut and attached my ankles to two eyehooks on opposite posts.

I was spread eagle and wet. With every action Master had touched some other part of my body – tracing my collarbone with his finger, brushing my nipples with his knuckle, rubbing the palm of his hand down my stomach to my heat, tweaking my wet swollen lips with his thumb.

I was already breathing hard. Master was priming me. I was slowly being brought up to a full state of arousal. Each caress was placed where Master knew I was vulnerable.

Master left me there and went to sit down next to Stan. Out of nowhere, Kitten was in front of me, rubbing lotion into my breasts, over my arms and belly, only to stop and move to my back. Covering my whole upper body, I could feel my pores drinking it in.

"Good, Kitten, now on your knees in front of Baby. Work the cream up her legs, Kitten, but do not touch Baby’s heat with it. I have a special surprise for Baby." I felt my juices trickling down over my thigh. "Kitten, do up to the knees only, okay love?"

"Yes, Master."

"How wet is baby now, Kitten? Remember don’t touch it with the cream."

Oh, cruel Master flashed across my mind. He had just told Kitten to lick me and find out. I braced myself. I was growing hotter by the second. When Kitten's tongue touched my lips I closed my mouth hard. If I moaned, she'd stop. I knew her game. She would enjoy me until I moaned. How long could I hold it in? Her tongue flickered over me.

Then she did a long slow lap from right at the edge of my vagina up to my mound. My muscles started trembling half way through that lick. Her tongue was the volume control to my lust. The higher she went the hotter I got. I was a flame as she planted a soft kiss right below my belly button.

"She is perfect, Master."

"Good, Kitten, here is the special oil I want you to use on Baby."

"Mmm," I heard Kitten say, "Almond oil." My mouth went dry. The smoothest of all the oils – and edible too. Kitten began rubbing the oil into my thighs, moving slowly upward to stop just shy of my heat, then on to the other leg.

"Master, do you want me to do her mound first or her ass?"

"Her ass, I think, Kitten. Make sure it’s good and covered."

Kitten moved behind me and began rubbing both cheeks, pulling and tugging on them, kneading closer and closer to the plug, slowing her movements closer to the of rim my anus and the edge of the plug, with the oil. Around and around her finger went. I caught myself holding my breath and I exhaled I bit too loud to my ear.

Pressing my lips together I tried to hold back a smile of pleasure.

I know Master was enjoying my expressions. He could read me like a book. He had told me the faces I made when I was excited, were the faces he loved the most. When we were together like this I was in a state of excitement till the end, and if Master had his way the end would be a long way away.

Kitten kissed one cheek and then the other. "All oiled back here," piped up Kitten as the plug started to vibrate.

"Ahhh" rolled over my tongue as my legs lost all control and I sagged in the cuffs.

"Did you think I forgot about this, Baby?" asked Master as the pulsating continued in my anus. Gulping air I started to whimper. It was too soon, no, I couldn't start begging already. I would disappoint Master, but my body didn't agree with my mind. It screamed out its wants, tightening every muscle with a steady shaking.

"Please Master may I cum?" I begged. I had been at a high level of arousal for some time now. I wouldn't come without his permission. A sharp firm "No" was my answer as the vibrator went off and I slumped in my restraints.

"Kitten there is a little treasure chest under the bench, bring it here."

CHAPTER 10

"Thank you, Kitten. Let’s see what we have in here. Yes, this I think will work well. What do you think, Stan?"

"On yes, I think that'll be just right. How does Baby usually react to that?"

"To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Kitten recommended it, said you had some good results with it."

Agh came to mind, kitten and her experiments.

"Kitten, would you like to show me how it’s done?"

"Certainly, Master." With that said, Kitten was again in front of me. What could she do to me that Master had not before? Then it hit me or I should say brushed me.

Feather like strokes pelted my heat. She was painting my pussy in oil. No two strokes were the same. I wondered if the oils were colored. It seemed as if she had a picture in mind. I tried to follow, to see if there was a pattern, a method to her madness; 'cause madness this was. Not ten strokes into it and I was awash in a higher level of want. Wanting her to go faster. My body tried to move in anticipation of the next stroke she would make.

I strained in the cuffs. The brush stopped, the vibrator came on and I bucked. My stomach muscles did the barrel roll as I cried out.

"Baby, if you keep moving like that, Kitten will never finish," Master said as his lips brushed mine, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth and letting it go.

"Baby," Master whispered into my ear, "I want to see how still you can remain while Kitten finishes her artwork. If you move again I will be force to tell Kitten to stop until you have calmed yourself. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master, I understand." Yes, I did understand, Master was telling me I'd be left here like this until a much later date, if I didn't behave. My mind wanted to obey, but my body didn't want to cooperate. I tossed my head back and let out a loud groan as Kitten started painting again, but my head was the only thing to move.

The vibrator was on full and I could feel my ass cheek muscles twitching, no help for that – I couldn't stop them if I wanted too.

With one last long stroke Kitten said, "Finished." My body was trembling and I was awash in passion.

"Baby, on the count of five I want you to cum. One." I felt my whole being tense. "Two." I inhaled. "Three." A sheen of sweat broke out. "Four." I was on the edge. My body was posed to explode. I was hovering there ready for five. Please, Master, give me five.

"Stan, I do like that picture Kitten did," Master said. I started to whimper. I wouldn't cum till Master gave me the word. We had worked on this many a night. I could take the pleasure and pain of being there, or almost there, for a little bit. Master would let Stan see that I was well trained, that I would not cum before he let me. He would wait, as with the grape, until my will was about ready to break, and then he would let me.

Time passed I had almost reach the point of no return when I felt Master behind me, holding my hips. He lifted me and slid into me. "Five," Master whispered into my ear and I flew over the edge. My body constricted around Him and I came. Lightening bolts of pleasure shot through my body.

Pure white-hot pleasure was all I felt, until I felt Master moving in me. In and out he pumped, keeping me going long and hard. I continued to cum. I was slick from head to toe. Master's hands were slipping. I felt him cum into me and he wrapped his arms around me to hold me close as I continued to cum. I begged him to stop, I begged him to continue. On and on it went, till I was spent.

I hung there with Master in me for some time, before he pulled out.

Kissing me on the back of the neck, he said, "Thank you, Baby. I'm going to clean up and take a swim. You'll stay here for now and think about why you're here. Stan, Kitten, let's leave Baby." With that he swatted my keester and was gone.

Silence and the anticipation of things to come were what I was left with. That and the satisfaction, I had pleased Master, not only physically, but I had shown I was trained as well.

CHAPTER 11

Time past and my muscle began to tighten. Spread eagle standing up was starting to get uncomfortable. I still felt slick all over from the cream and oil. A mixer of Masters and my juices had trickled down both of my inner thighs. I listened to birds in the trees around me but I still couldn't see anything because of the blindfold.

Voices in the distance drifted to me. I could hear Master, Stan and Kitten in the pool, splashing and laughing together. I wanted to be there with them.

I tried to shift in my bonds but it was useless. I listened to the frolicking in the pool and was so intent that I let out a squeak when someone touched my nipple.

"Shhhh, Baby it’s just me," Kitten's voice purred in my ear. "Master sent me with a drink for you, and wanted me to make sure you were okay."

"My legs are a bit stiff, Kitten, but I'm okay." She ran her hands over my calves and kneaded the muscle and I relaxed.

Smiling to myself, it was great having Master look after me. He knew instinctively when and what I needed. As Kitten worked up my legs she kissed my heat, spreading the lips to expose my clit more.

Moaning at the pleasure of her month on me I arched into it. I was dripping wet in seconds. I could feel it running down my leg already.

Then the plug began to vibrate again and I tensed all over. Kitten continued to lick and suck me. I was on fire.

"Step away, Kitten," Master said. Groaning in frustration I wanted to scream, No, Master please just a few more, please, but I held my tongue. Then it hit me, ice-cold water, a steady mist of the hose. I was being watered like a plant. The spray began to grow in intensity the radius of the spray shrinking; working its way to a jet on my heat.

"OHHHHHH" I screamed as it pelted my clit. "Please, Master may I cum?" I begged.

"Yes, Baby, you may," replied Master and I toppled into an orgasm. On and on it went. Just when I thought I was coming down, up I flew again, my body whipping in my bonds as I did so. The spray moved lower and was at my vagina. Master was cleaning me out. He never believed in those smelly douches, he wanted only the natural smell of us.

The plug had stopped in my ass as Master said "Kitten, take out the plug and let’s get Baby cleaned up."

"Yes, Master," Kitten said as I felt her hands on my ass. She rotated the plug it was tight in me. She tugged once, nothing. She wrapped her arm around me and inserted her finger into me. I relaxed a bit. Tugging again the plug slipped out. Removing her finger and kissing the back of my neck with a giggle she whispered, "Baby, you have so many buttons, it’s always a pleasure to find one."

I know I blushed red at that comment. What did she expect, between Master and her, I was always on the edge of orgasm. Always ready to please or be pleased. Master had trained this body well. I had not had a will of my own for a long time, it belonged totally to Master.

"Kitten, undo baby’s legs and attach this"

"Yes Master," Kitten replied as her fingers caressed down my calf to my ankle. My foot was free and I wanted to move it in just to stretch the muscle, but I held position. I knew better than to move a muscle without Master's permission.

She did the same to the other then attached something to each of the wrist cuffs. I felt it slide along my back and she clamped it to my ankles. It was the mesh sling. I knew what was coming.

"Stan, would you mind giving me a hand here, I will lift baby if you will attach the quick links." Up I went and I was now in the sling, my heat open wide for all to see. "Baby does make a pretty picture, doesn’t she?"

"Oh, yes, Master she sure does."

Ice-cold water from the hose was again being misted over me. I was trembling, not so much for the cold water – it was hot enough out that it didn't bother me. It was what I knew was coming next.

How could Master do this, I felt so embarrassed. It was one thing when he did this with just him and Kitten around, but to let Stan watch too. I was starting to pant already. The water temperature was changing degree by degree, getting warmer.

"Kitten, undo Baby’s right leg and attach it to the left."

"Yes, Master," Kitten said as I was moved on my left side.

Master was starting to knead my ass, and rub around my rectum. The tip of the rectal tub was slid into my anus. I tightened. Smack!

"Relax, Baby." He separated my buttocks and inserted the tube so that it pointed towards my belly button. It was about three inches inside me. He was being very careful not to scrape the walls with the tube.

I was shaking like a leaf already. "Kitten, is the bag ready?"

"Yes Master, 101 degrees exactly."

"Good girl. Attach it to the chain there." I felt the fluid enter me. It was warm. Slowly it continued. I knew the whole processes would take about ten minutes and I knew I'd get the entire quart of fluid.

Master was kneading my ass as I heard him say, "Stan, would you and Kitten please take care of Baby’s breasts. Sucking on them always relaxes her.

Relax? Not having someone other then Master suck on my nipple would not relax me. I had embarrassed Master and this was my humiliation. That he would cause me to defecate in front of someone was so embarrassing. I remember when I first came to Master and I was not permitted to go to the bathroom without him.

"Nothing is private between us, Baby, remember that always," was what he had told me then.

Even now I found myself worrying I'd offend Master there. Smack! On the right cheek.

"Baby, tell me what you're feeling. I want you to voice this. You understand, Baby?"

"Yes, Master." Why did he insist I talk now? "I feel Stan’s and Kitten's mouths on my breasts."

"Good, and how does that make you feel? Remember, Baby, I know what you're thinking so if you lie, I will know."

"Yes Master," I felt what, "violated Master. You rarely let others touch me."

"True, Baby, but Stan trained Kitten, so she is an extension of him."

I was starting to feel full, almost distended. Time past and Master was lightly patting my ass. I felt a towel pressing against my keester and Master slid the tube out only to reinsert the plug. Slapping my ass one more time he undid my foot and moved me to be spread eagle again.

Stan and kitten were still feasting on my breasts. I had forgotten who was working which breast I was so intent on the movement of their lips on my nipples. They had a rhythm going. It was as if the same mouth was on both nipples, lick for lick they were in unison. I tried to remember which side was Kitten and which was Stan; I could not.

The sucking stopped and all was quiet.

CHAPTER 12

The songs of the birds were back – not that I could hear them well – I was too uncomfortable. The pressure of the water inside me was causing me to cramp a bit. I tried to shift my weight so the pressure would move, but I was full, no help there. I felt the moisture running over my temples before I knew I was crying.

Time passed and the discomfort came and went. Then the vibrator went on and off in a quick spurt. I arched up in a scream as Kitten's lips locked on mine. She was kissing me deeply and kneading my breast. I relaxed a bit as she continued her ministration. Moving away from my mouth, Kitten trailed a row of light kisses down my throat, over my shoulder and connected herself to my breast. At first her lips and tongue teased and tantalized, slowly getting harder, sucking my nipple in. I could hear her slurp every now and then which only added to my excitement.

Her hand worked down to my mound with butterfly caresses. I started to have flashbacks to my time at the academy. Had it really been over a year since I had come to Master? I had cried hard when Mistress bid me "serve him well" the last day there.

Kittens mouth was still working hard on my nipple as she released the plug. The water poured out and into a pail below me. She was stroking my stomach and kneading it now and then. The relief I felt was euphoric.

She released my nipple with a resounding smack of her lips.

"Baby, I am going to rinse you off and leave you here. Master and I are going down to play with Stan in the dungeon for a bit. Master said to tell you that he would have liked to have had you with us, however, this is your punishment for not obeying." I wanted to beg to come with her, but I knew she had no say in the matter, she was just the messenger.

Warm water flowed over my chest and down my stomach to my heat. She sponged me off and patted me dry. She tweaked my nipples as she kissed me goodbye, whispering, "Master said he would take the chastity belt off when we got downstairs, Baby," and she was gone.

My body had gone limp, and I was torn between wanting to cry for missing out on whatever Master had planned to entertain Stan, and wanting to muse back over that sudden flash of the academy. Had my journey started just two short years ago? It seemed that that was another lifetime ago.

A friend had been teaching me about BDSM and leading me through the various stages of my development as a submissive. This was all part-time, with no real development on my part. Sometimes I felt very submissive, other times so Dommish I even scared myself.

My job was high pressure and I had to be in control all the time. It would take me hours to come into the right frame of mine to be submissive to him and he was a very strong Dom. He said I was a true submissive, that I needed that to be complete. Deep down I knew He was right, but there always seemed to be something else I needed to do, something that needed my direction; until…

It had been my birthday and I was at loose ends. My latest contract was fulfilled and I had decided to take some time off. I was meeting Zack for dinner with friends. He said he had the perfect evening planned for me.

Before I left my office I had put on my red dress, black thigh high hose and silver spiked heals, let my hair down and so that it hung just to mid rear. I stopped to say good-bye to the doorman and the security guard. They had their backs to me and when they turned around you could hear their chins hit the floor. One tried to make a funny about my outfit, which was totally different from the suits they were used to seeing me wear, saying "but do you give BJs?"

I leaned over and whispered just loud enough for them both to hear, "Yes, and I swallow too." I pivoted and did the walk out, the one with hips leading.

I felt sexy and beautiful, and I think I was radiating that feeling as I left the building. The porters were all standing around. I had called down earlier to have them bring my car around, so it was parked out front, but it was blocked in by other cars. Since it was still early they were out there with their backs to the door. I cleared my throat and asked, "Excuse me, could you move the cars?" All turned. For boys who usually moved about as slow as snails when it's time they were moving so fast, I was afraid there was going to be an accident. It was hard to conceal my laughter.

I was smiling really big when I got into my car to go meet Zack, Mistress and Don. The rule with Zack was; before I was to get into his car or he gets into mine, I was to show my pussy. So when he came up to my car I lifted my dress. His face showed that he was a little peeved because he likes a hairy pussy and I had shaved.

He got in and we followed Mistress and Don, her slave, to Phillips. As we dodged traffic, he moved my hem up to above my waist and caressed my heat. He told me I should just let go for this evening and I agreed completely.

I dropped Zack off in front of the restaurant as Don did Mistress and followed him to the garage. There was a guy taking money to put in the machine because it’s hard to reach. I handed him my five and pulled into a parking space. As I got out I noticed my dress was still up. Don had gotten out of his car and was waiting to walk me to the restaurant.

When I was younger, Phillips was a very fancy place, but this night I was overdressed. Don wore shorts, a collar, sandals and his fingernails were painted silver. Mistress had on a white short set, and Zack was sitting at the table outside, in the heat, wearing a polo shirt and jeans, waiting for a table.

Zack told me before that a subbie should make sure her Master is completely taken care of, and with this in mind I went inside and asked if there was anything they can do to move us along in the line. The hostess says we could go upstairs to the menued dining room, downstairs was the buffet.

I went back and told Zack, so the four of us got into the elevator, and as the door closes Zack turned to me and said, "Show Barbara what you did," and pointed to my hem. I pulled up my dress and showed my disgrace.

"Tsk tsk for shame baby," said Mistress as Zack rubbed his hand over my mound. The elevator stopped and Zack pulled my hem down just as the door opened.

As we stepped from the elevator into the open room, there weren't many people up here. Windows along one side overlooked the boats and water but only two tops were available because the one four top there had a leaky ceiling above it, so we couldn't sit there. Mistress and Zack mentioned they wanted to sit by the window. I excuse my-self and went to find the manager to ask if we could have a table moved by the window. He started to say it wasn't possible, but I give him a hurt smile and told him I'd move it so he wouldn't have to. He quickly saw to it that a table was moved for us.

The waiter arrived and I ordered an ice tea for Zack and a coke with a shot of Amaretto on the side for myself. When they arrive I made sure the tea was unsweetened and I added one sweet and low.

I was trying to take care of everything but this was my first night in total submission in public. We ordered dinner and chitchatted about this and that, and what my expectations are for the evening. I told them I don’t have any, that I just want to experience.

One of the phrases Zack loved was "What am I," and Mistress asked me. "I am a cock sucking, cum drinking, pussy eating submissive slut." She laughed especially hard because I said, "cum drinking" a bit too loud. I blushed bright red, and look around to see if anyone other then the four of us had heard me, but no one was close enough.

The food arrived and we began to eat. I wasn't really hungry but I had to eat something, since I hadn't eaten all day due to nerves. During dinner we talk made small talk. About 8:30 we left and stopped by a Seven-Eleven to get cigarettes for Mistress. She and I went in and there was a cop drooling at the counter as I saunter by him. We left there and went to the club. The club was back in the warehouse area, and at this time of night the only cars parked around were for the club.

We parked the cars and I got out, went around to the door and helped Zack out. Inside the door was a counter to sign in, which Mistress took care of. She gives me a quick tour and we stop in the smoking room for a cigarette. When she finished we went back to Zack and he told me to sit next to him.

I have known Zack for twenty years, two as a Dom, and I know he wouldn't let anything happen to me. He had his collar out, slipped it around my neck and buckled it then told me to strip.

I stood up and took off the dress in a room full of people, with no hesitation. He had me stand there while he put on the wrist cuffs, then had me raise my feet to his thigh, one at a time, to put on ankle cuffs. He attached a length of chain to the collar. He led me over to a rack that stuck out from the wall and had me raise my hands. He clipped cuffs to chain the hanging down.

He handed me the flogger and whip to hold up. He put a spacer bar Mistress had been holding, between my legs and attached it to the cuffs.

I was still wearing my thigh high hose and my heels, and I was a bit nervous, but I focused on him. He started with the rabbit fur, rubbing it up my legs and arms, over my stomach. It was very relaxing. Next, he had a paddle that looked like a ping-pong paddle and he swatted me. It stung. He worked my keester and I moaned but didn't scream, and not one tear shed. He went to town on rear and thighs. Then he puts his index finger inside me, and started moving it up and down. He called me Baby, and told me to cum for him.

Mistress started tracing her nail along my side up to my nipple, then rolled it between her fingers. I almost came, I was so close.

I was very wet and Zack was pumping away. I looked into his eyes and I tried to, but it just wouldn't come, or I couldn't. He got out the flogger and used that on me; I liked that it's deerskin and hurts so good. He did that for a few more minutes and then took me down.

CHAPTER 13

Spiraling back to reality, someone was straddling me. Pinching hard on my nipples I opened my mouth to scream and a ball gag was jammed in it. They moved off me. First my right leg was unclamped from the clip and thrust up over my head to attach to my right wrist, then my left.

A suede flogger hit my right thigh then my left, back and forth. At first it was gentle, almost caressing as the strains wrapped around my thighs. Slowly, the rhythm increased with the intensity of the whip-ping.

Master and I had never used my safe words. He knows my body so well he knew when I was about ready to scream them. I would be thinking one more, I can only take one more, and he would strike me again and I would make it, then I'd think okay one more and I'll ask for mercy, but he would have stopped.

My thighs were on fire. I was thrashing about, screaming into the gag as hard as I could. This was totally different from what I had ever felt before. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I begged for mercy. It continued on, hard firm strokes moving lower toward my ass. I was on fire, bucking and pulling on my restraints. I had to get away. Then the strokes disappeared and all I felt was a warm glow deep inside, the flogger was still doing a number on my ass and the intensity didn't change but it all meshed into a hazy web of molten lava exploding through my body.

I floated from my core. Lightening strikes of electrical impulses were shot through my body. I was coming like crazy, orgasm after orgasm, only a few times had I ever been to this level.

Master was inside me. I know that entry – I live for it. He filled me completely rubbing just the right spots coming and going. I lost it, falling into a river of heat. The hair on his thighs was like sandpaper on my burning rear. It hurt so good. Holding on to my ankles he pumped, over and over again. I was deep in the throes of a massive orgasm when he came, shooting me even higher into ecstasy.

The world stilled and Master's warm sweet breath tickled my throat. He kissed under my chin and removed the gag to kiss me deeply. "Baby, you’ve got to try harder," was all he said before rising up off me.

I was being released from my bonds, and helped to sit up. The cuffs and collar stayed on but the blindfold was removed. I blinked a couple of times to adjust from the total darkness of the mask to the semi illumination of the path lights. The overhead fog lights had been dimmed. Kitten attached a leash to the collar and stood me up. My legs were like jello. I tingled from head to toe. Even the ends of my hair tingled.

Without saying a word she lead me back around the pool, this time I was not as close as I was on the trip out. We went through the sliding glass door and down the hall into Master's room.

She brought me to the cage in the corner and yanked hard on the leash for me to kneel and crawl in. The blanket was spread over the cold metal bottom of the cage.

I made my way in and Kitten leaned in after me, reaching for my hands she clasped them to the cage above my head. My feet she spread with knees up. My backbone was flat against the hard surface of the metal with only the wool blanket between. It was rough on my cheek where I rested, while tiny pinpricks stabbed in a thousand places on my tender backside.

The cage door clicked shut and Kitten patted the top of the cage twice. Standing there looking at me, her eyes were smiling even though it didn't show in the rest of her facial expression.

I shifted under her gaze and hissed, as I scraped more of what I knew was my "ruby red ass". No matter which way I moved one part of my burning flesh touched the blanket.

Kitten's smile had now reached her lips. "Night, Baby" she said as she crawled up on Master's bed and curled at the bottom. She lowered the lights to a soft mellow tone, and faced me. Her eyes watched my every move but not another word passed her lips. I did my best to hold perfectly still, and closed my eyes tight. I thought of the whipping I had just received and Master's words to me, that I had to try harder. I promised him I would.

Master came in shortly after Kitten dozed off. He removed his robe and I caught a glimpse of Master in his glory before he slipped between the sheets.

"Good night, Baby. Sweet dreams."

And there was silence: Cold cruel silence.

I had to shift again and almost moaned out loud as the embers of pain steadily grew in my nether region. Tears streamed down my face. Why was I so hard headed?

Walking back in time I thought again on that night with Zack. He called me the next day and what I would be doing for the next three months. He asked if I'd like to go to a spa of sorts as his gift to me for my birthday. A friend of his had a type of Academy for submissives and slaves. I would be away and unavailable for three months, unless for extreme emergencies. It was totally emerged, like they do for language in the CIA or something. "Berlitz School for Subbies", was what I thought at the time.

This same friend happened to have one opening left in the fall semester, and Zack wondered if I was interested.

Five million things went through my head at that moment, and I said, "Zack, you believe I'm up to it, or you wouldn't have brought it up."

"Very good, Baby you're learning. I'll make all the arrangements at this end. You have one week to close up shop, so to speak. I know the office is closed for a month. Make all the necessary calls and have the rest run through your service. Thursday, I'll call with a number where you can be reached in an emergency. You won't need anything but your driver’s license.

"You are to wear a jogging out fit, one size too small. It's to be a second skin; comfortable shoes and your hair is to be French braided. No make up. Oh, and by the way, no cigarettes."

"What!" I screamed to my empty room, attempting to cover the receiver before he heard me.

"Baby, I know you’ve been smoking occasionally, and this is my way of making sure you quit for good. I thought you had more back-bone."

I had to move again. I knew I was whimpering, but I couldn't help it. I was on fire, not in total pain, but not pleasure either. I needed relief of some kind. My pussy began to pulse as I was recalling the adrenaline rush I felt when Zack told me about the Academy.

It was the sort of heady feeling you get when you're about to jump headfirst into an icy cold river during the polar bear swim. I had gone numb. It was time to put my money where my mouth was.

I called my service and told them it'd be three months instead of one that I would be away and Zack would be calling with a number for emergencies only.

On an overcast Friday in September, Zack picked me up in the wee hours of the morning and we drove northwest for about four hours. We stopped at a diner a little after noon. He kept a running conversation going on everything but what I was about to do.

We were seated in a booth when he said, "This is it, Baby. If you have doubts about what you're going to do, you need to tell me now. Once inside the Academy's gates, there's no coming out for three months. You want to do this, right? Do you have any questions, Baby?"

I was going to be a subbie for three months, have Ones tell me what to do and when to do it. I could do that for three months. In my mind it sounded almost like boot camp. Oh, how little did I know about what I was getting into, how much I had to learn.

"Zack, what will I be doing?"

He gave me a gentle smile. "You remember what you read in Anna Rice’s books?"

"Yes"

"Similar to that but not."

Great. That told me a whole lot and nothing at the same time.

"Baby, do you trust me?"

"Of course, Zack."

"You know I would never put you in harm's way?"

"Of course, Zack"

"Good girl. You'll be taught to please in every way. You'll learn to be pleased in every way. Just go with the flow, Baby, and experience. At no time will you be in any danger of being permanently damaged. Mistress Bergenia is the Head Mistress and a very dear friend of mine. Her Academy is one of the very best for producing ponies, subbies and slaves of all shapes and sizes."

I wanted a cigarette, now. Zack had been bugging me to quit smoking; that and coffee were the last of my vises. I did fine for a few days then puff, I was smoking again. He said that true subbies were strong people and I was one. Why was I letting them control me, did I respect them? I wanted a cigarette, now…

CHAPTER 14

We reached the end of the road, and looming in front of the car was a rather awe inspiring set of iron gates. In the center of the filigree on each was a disk with ASS in gold letters. I glanced at Zack as he rolled down the window,

"It stands for The Academy for Subbies and Slaves."

"Oh", I said with a giggle.

"Baby, this is it, you’re last change to back out. Once we're inside and the gates close you're committed for three months. Are you sure you want to do this."

"Yes, Zack I am sure."

With that he pushed the button on the mic and a voice asked for his name. The gates swung open wide and down the oak lined drive we went. The canopy of leaves blocked out the noonday sun. Flickers of lawn flashed between tree trunks.

We approached a split in the road where there was a fountain. The watered ringed it, shooting upward into the middle. It slowly lowered to reveal a larger then life statue of two people, one on his knees, his head bowed in submission, the other standing over him, one hand on his head and the other holding a coiled whip. We circled to the right of the fountain, catching only a glimpse of the house before coming to a stop under an awning. Two people came down the ramp from the front door. Both were in loin clothes only. She had dark black hair that hung just below her shoulders and he was a dusty blonde. They smiled as they approached the car.

"Baby." I almost jumped out of my skin when Zack whispered my name, whipping my head around to stare at him. "Open the glove box please," I fumbled for the latch and finally got it opened. Nestled in it was my collar, the one Zack had used on me since the very first time we were together. "Hand it to me, Baby."

With leaden fingers I took up the collar, never before had it felt so heavy, so solid. I wanted to cling to it, my lifeline.

Zack slipped it around my neck and fastened it. "Strip, Baby." Without hesitation I reached for the zipper in front and slipped off the top. The two outside had stopped short of opening my door. Both remained where they were. I lifted off the seat and slid out of the pants. Folding both I handed them to Zack and he laid them on the back seat.

"Show me what you've learned, Baby," he said as he shifted a bit toward me and I undid his pants. Pulling out his cock, my mouth went down on him, taking him all the way in and gagging just a little when he rose to meet me.

I sucked and licked and caressed him, as I knew he enjoyed and I tasted his juices in my mouth when he came. I swallowed it all down and licked every nock and cranny as he pulled out of my mouth. I didn't want to let go. This would be the last time for us for a while, if not forever. I knew he wanted me to go on this journey without him, and I knew I had to do it for both of us.

Reaching for my hand, Zack brought it to his lips and kissed my palm. He stroked it with his thumb. "Baby, this is it the next stage of your life. Take it, embrace it, be it." His other hand cupped my chin. "You are my last, Baby, my crowning glory. If I were twenty years younger I wouldn't be letting you go. Mistress Bergenia will be here to help you, but don't expect special treatment. You've learned a lot in the last two years, but you have far to go before you're the submissive I know you can be."

"Yes, Master," I said as he kissed my forehead.

"Come, Baby, let's go in."

I moved to get out of the car to come around to open his door, but the female door person was there already. Zack reached my side and attached the leash to my collar.

"Crawl, Baby." I dropped to all fours and crawled up the ramp to the interior of the house. The plush carpet was easy on my knees.

As we entered the foyer, a lady approached Zack and threw Her arms around him.

"It’s about time you got your ass back here you old goat," she said and she continued to hug him. "Your visits have gotten to be few and far between."

"I know, Bergenia, but health problems are the only things that have kept me from your side."

"Oh, don’t give me that line. It looks like this one," she placed her hand on top of my bowed head, "might have had something to do with it also."

"Yes, Baby has kept me very busy over the last two years." Zack, too, patted the top of my head as they continued to hold each other.

She stepped back from his embrace and he scooped me up into his arms and held me close, whispering, "Make me proud, Baby. Remember, you represent me here." With that his hand slipped to my collar.

Tears streamed down my face; I did not want him to take it off. I was his. I didn't want to leave him. As his collar was removed another took its place. He stepped back.

"Go with Janice, Baby. You have a bit of paper work to fill out as well as a physical. I won't let Zack leave before you have completed them. You'll see him before he goes." Handing me a tissue Mistress Bergenia finished with, "Now dry your eyes and take care of business. You don’t want Zack to think you don't wish to stay with us, do you?"

I looked at Zack, his eyes, too, were a little misty. I nodded and said, "No, ma’am, this is where I need to be."

Janice gave a slight tug on the leash and I followed her out of the room.

CHAPTER 15

I was led from the main office. Janice explained that the doctor would do a complete physical to make sure there was nothing that could potentially hurt me during my training. That was done after I finished up a bit of paper work.

As I crawled along next to her I looked about. The walls were dark wood inserts. We had gone about half way down the hall when Janice took me in to a small cubical that had a desk and chair. On the desk was a folder with my name on it. I sat in the chair and opened the folder. There were my medical records from Dr. Connie, and the x-ray of my mammogram.

"Baby, there's a questionnaire that also needs to be filled out. Please be as specific as possible. It's self-explanatory."

I pulled out the questionnaire, and found it to be similar to the ones I had seen in the Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns, ALT. com and even a little like Ms. Abernathy’s Training Workbook.

While I was reading over and answering the questions, Janice was getting out some cuffs and anklets. When I saw them a sensation started in my nether regions. I tried to concentrate on what I was filling out, but I seriously believed they had turned up the heat.

Janice’s short white nurse's top with thongs showed just enough to tease. She encircled my left wrist in the soft lambskin cuff and buckled it tight running her finger around the inside to make sure it wasn't cutting off my circulation. Moving around to the other side she had me stop writing and did the same to my right. She knelt in front of the desk and placed the new cuffs on my ankles. She made no move to caress me; it was all done with quiet professionalism.

I finished up the questionnaire and looked through the rest of my stack of papers. There was a consent form, and contract. Skimming over the legal jargon, it was a standard D/s contract:

I, ____________________

, am here of my own free will, and of sound mind and body, to learn the ways of BDSM. I am bound by the rules of the Academy and I will follow said rules…

I looked up at Janice.

"The rules are on the back of that affidavit."

I flipped it over, sure enough there they were.

Rules: no animals no children no cuts (accidents do happen) no burns no breathe play no smoking or drinking on the premises no other rules, but that of your assigned Dom/Dommie. Tell your Dom/Dommie the truth at all times, immediately.

Well that seemed simple enough. I flipped the page back over and finished reading. As I signed my name to the paper, Janice pulled the leash.

"Down, Baby. The doctor will see you now."

I went back to my knees and crawled out the door following close on her hells. We came to a frosted glass front door and entered a standard examining room. I was weighed and measured from head to toe. She checked my blood pressure and noted that in my folder.

She led me over to the table and told me to get on it, then put my feet in the stirrups and clipped the cuffs into them. Coming up to my head she attached my wrists together to a bar above my head. I thought that was a bit much for an exam, but, well hey, I guess it was a fantasy they liked to live.

The strap was laid across my midsection and cinched tight. I was immobile. I tried to shift under the strap, but it was not letting me move a hair's breath. I noticed the ceiling; it was mirrored. So were the walls except where the cabinet was.

Janice pulled up a tray table next to me and got out some sort of jelly and applied it in various places on my body, then little white discs with wires were placed on the jelly circles. I panicked. What were they thinking here? I wasn't into electricity play. This was too much.

Janice noticed my distress right away and asked, "Well, Baby?"

"I need to know what's happening here, please."

She giggled a little, and placed her hand on my shoulder. "I’m sorry, Baby, we're going to be running some stress tests on you – nothing that will hurt. We need to see what you are physically able to do. We monitor your responses in here so we can give your Dom/ Dommie an idea of your strong points and shortcomings."

With that said the door flew open and a man entered wearing a white lab coat, mussed salt and pepper head and a stethoscope. Picking up the file from the tray he plopped it down on my stomach and opened it and shuffled through the papers.

Janice finished attaching electrodes on two of my fingers then connected the ends to a monitor, just like a lie detector test.

"There's no faking it at ASS, Baby," the doctor said as he touched my chin. "Okay, let’s begin. Janice, is everything hooked up?"

"Yes, Sir".

"Alright, state your name please."

"Baby."

"Date of birth?"

"91358."

"Mother's maiden name?"

"MacKenzie."

Looking over at Janice the doctor asked, "How did her responses record?"

"Good Doctor."

"I see you just had a mammogram," he pat my chest, "good girl. Everything looks complete here, lets just have a look see for ourselves." He examined my neck, listened to my heart, and pressed around my abdomen. He re-examined my breasts for any unusual lumps.

He then put on rubber gloves and parted my labia and I found myself catching my breath. This was just an exam – I'd had plenty in my time, I shouldn't have felt so flushed.

"Tell me, Baby, about your birth control".

"My tubes are tied," I said, my voice going up an octave as something cold slowly entered me and I knew it to be a speculum into my vagina. He opened the jaws wide, locked them, and proceeds to poke and prod (only thing I could equate it to) for a few moments.

Moving down he did a rectal exam. He had to have dipped his finger in something because it slid right into me. Zack had teased me there but never entered me. I bucked hard on the strap and found my self, straining to be released.

The Doctor placed his hand on the file still on my stomach. "Easy, Baby."

I could feel him way up inside me then he was out and removing the speculum. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them in the trashcan.

"Baby, everything looks good here. Janice has a few things to do to get you ready to be presented to the school. Enjoy your stay with us. If you need me my door is always open." He turned to Janice saying, "A C, with a medium." And was gone.

Janice went to the cabinet, pulled out some things and came back to me. Her rubber gloves stroked the inside of my thigh. One of her little fingers was circling my anus and entered stroking the lubricant in gently, hen slid in a plug. It stretched me and I whimpered. My hands had uncurled and were in the stop sign position. Janice stopped only to wiggle and press on again. Relief flooded my senses once it was all the way in. Janice held up a short fat device about three inched long and two inches in diameter. She placed it in my vagina, pushing it inside past the opening. Janice must have clicked a button because it started to move, rolling around the walls of my vagina, then she turned it off. Moving away from me, I thought she might be done. But she was back with what looked like a wax pot. Oh great, she's going to de-hair me now, was the first thought that came to mind, but she went to my nipples and started to roll one between her fingers.

"Baby, I am going to be putting on a type of clear rubber casting in places. These cannot be peeled off. Only witch hazel can remove this. Don't try to remove it; you will only cause yourself, unnecessary pain. Furthermore, you are not to touch it unless told to." My nipple was a hard bud as she circled it with that stuff. It dried almost on contact and as it dried it shrank like someone pinching my nipple. She did the same with the other one.

Wow, invisible nipple clips, amazing. What would they think of next? Oh my, I would have to be thinking that as Janice moved down to my pubic area, pushing the labia away from my clit, and smearing that stuff around down there. It too dried in a heartbeat. I was spread open and glued that way, my clit was sticking way out. I could see it clearly in the mirror overhead. With that dried and harden, Janice tested my clit, wiggling it back and forth, I guess to check to make sure it couldn't hide.

She undid the strap, released the cuffs and helped me to stand. I felt the pressure on my nipples and my pussy was being pulled further apart as I stood. I reached down to kind of move it more in place but it was glued solid.

"I said not to touch it, Baby." Janice said as she slapped my hand away.

The little white discs were unplugged from the machine and the wires were gathered and tied into a knot under my arm.

"Come, Baby, its time to go back to Mistress Bergenia." She said and pointed to the ground. Back on my hands and knees, I crawled out the door and toward my destiny.

CHAPTER 16

Turning to the right, we moved down the hall, passing several people in various states of dress. Janice stopped at a big double door. On either side were two women, naked and glued as I was. Both were chained to the wall with spreaders between their legs. Janice reached over and flicked the clit of one saying, "So Cathy, been up to your old tricks again I see."

"Yes, Ma’am."

Turning to the other she let her eyes roam up and down. She led me over to her. "Baby this is Christina, Cathy’s not so identical twin sister. I want you to lick her clit now."

I moved between Christina’s legs and licked her clit once and looked back at Janice. Amusement showed in her eyes.

"Oh, you are a literal one, Baby. I want to see you licking Christina’s clit. I want to see you make her shake with need. Christina, you may not cum. Proceed, Baby."

I turned back to Christina’s clit and did two very slow flat tongues up and down, then I sped it up to flicker over it. I could smell her arousal and she was beginning to tremble all over when the leash around my neck was tugged and I was pulled back.

"Enough, Baby. Christina is after all, human. How long have you been here Christina?"

"Since right after breakfast ma’am."

"Stand, Baby, and let’s see what you can do to her nipples." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cathy arching as Janice said that. I stood, and leaned in to take Christina’s nipple between my lips. The rubber was around her nipple too, it had no taste and the tip was exposed to my tongue. I sucked and licked raising my hands to cup and squeeze both breasts, moving my thumb over the other nipple. I could feel Christina’s heartbeat increasing as I continued to lick and suck. Her panting had a little mew to it. Again the leash was tugged and I let go and dropped back to the floor.

"Good girl, Baby. Girls, I will see you both later," She said as she pinched Cathy's nipple hard. "Come, Baby, Mistress Bergenia is waiting." She knocked twice and opened the door to a large office.

As I crawled in I saw Zack again. I had to stop myself from running to him and begging him to hold me. Janice stopped in front of the desk and placed the leash end on it.

"Mistress Bergenia, Doc said all is a okay. Baby is in perfect health and ready to learn." On top of the leash she laid my file, turned and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

My eyes were feasting on Zack. His strong hands, resting on his knees beckoned me, but I stayed as Janice left me.

Mistress Bergenia picked up my folder and opened it, leafing through the pages until she came to my questionnaire. A smile spread across her face as she handed it to Zack. She came around the front of the desk and picked up the leash.

"Zack, are you ready to see how this thing works?"

Zack looked up from his reading. "Of course, Bergenia. It sounds interesting and most enlightening."

Mistress Bergenia gave a slight tug on the leash for me to follow her. The carpet underneath my hands and knees was soft and full. It ended with a small slope down to white tile flooring. She tugged on the leash for me to rise to my feet. Taking my hand in hers, she raised it to a chain hanging from the ceiling. Kicking at my feet to spread them further apart she did the same to the other hand. She bent down and popped a D-ring out of the floor and attached it to my anklet. Then another D-ring appeared and I was fastened tight, spread eagle style. She moved a cart to the side of me. Undid the knot of wires under my arm and attached them to a machine on the cart. I could not believe my eyes, it was a lie detector.

Zack had pulled a chair up in front of me next to the machine and watched as Mistress Bergenia turned it on. Then for the first time she acknowledged me. "Hello, Baby, welcome to The Academy for Subbies and Slaves."

"Hello Mistress Bergenia."

"Zack has been telling me a little about you and how you two met. It's funny how something we have looked for all our lives can be right under our noses," she said as she smiled at Zack. "What we're going to do here is test your basic reactions to different stimuli." There were drawers under the machine in the cart and she pulled out a piece of fur. She said, "Zack, there's a grease pen there, will you note on the paper, fur. With each item I use will you please mark the paper." She began rubbing the fur over my body.

It was so heavenly, I could feel and hear myself purring, then she brought out a paddle and stepped behind me. Smack. She struck me hard on my right cheek and I screamed out. I hadn't been prepared for the pain that shot through me. Zack always took me to this level slowly, building to the heavy hits. Smack came the paddle on my other cheek.

Already I was whimpering and only two swats. Zack would be embarrassed if I didn't get control of myself. Again and again the swats peppered my ass and I tried to count them. I had gone from whimper to crying like a baby. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Could I use my safe words? Should I use my safe words? Were there any safe words?

The slow burn had started in my core as the pain tried to dissipate through my body. I gulped for air when she stopped and moved to look at the machine.

Pointing to the paper she said to Zack, "See here where it changes, look back on the chart and see the fur. See the similarities."

"Yes, very interesting."

She picked up another pencil and noted something on the paper.

I was still sniffling a little when she turned back to me and ran her index finger around the outer edges of my right breast. "You’re doing fine, Baby," she said then pinched both nipples hard.

"Are you comfortable, Baby?"

"Yes, ma’am."

She pinched them both again. "You will address me as Mistress Bergenia, from now on. No shorting it." She pinched again, "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress Bergenia."

"Good, girl." She cupped my pussy in her hand. I felt her finger enter me and move the short dildo Janice had put there earlier. She turned it on. I felt it pressing against the walls inside me, rotating around and around. The plug in my ass moved as well and she caught me holding my breath.

"Breath, Baby." Whoosh, I exhaled and gulped for air. "Baby, do you trust Zack?"

"With my life, Mistress Bergenia," I said looking Zack directly in the eyes.

"You know Zack would never let harm come to you?"

"Yes, Mistress Bergenia, I know that for a fact," I said smugly.

"Good, girl," she said pinching both nipples again hard enough to bring tears to my eyes once more. She released them, leaned down and licked both once.

She was petting my clit again, then there was a pressure as a clip was attached and what felt like a weight was swung from it. The little dildo was still rolling and I was beginning to feel flush.

She turned and spoke with Zack in low whispers, ending in a peal of laughter from both. She moved to a table across the way and picked up a pitcher and cup with a straw. I watched as she poured the liquid into the cup and brought it over to me, offering me a sip on the straw. I hadn't even known I was parched. I took a big sip of water and rolled it around my mouth before swallowing.

"Now, let's have a little fun, shall we?"

CHAPTER 17

My cage was being rattled and Mistress Bergenia faded. "Baby, time to get up." Groggily, I moved to rub my eyes and groaned when I pulled hard on the cuffs. I was still strapped in, and my ass had gone numb. Numb was good right now. I shifted a bit so I could rub my face on my upper arm. I knew I hadn't gotten much rest last night, between the dream and the wool blanket under me. I groaned again.

"Come on, Baby, rise and shine." I fixed Kitten with the meanest stare I could muster, and she laughed, "You're going to have to do better then that, Baby. That look wouldn't scare a fly."

I wanted to lay here, scratchy blanket and all and muse over my dream. Had it really been a year since I had graduated? A year with Master, our anniversary was here.

I looked out at Kitten through the mesh of the cage and started to cry. I had graduated with honors and look where I was – in a cage, not my Masters bed. Mistress Bergenia would skin me alive. I sighed, thinking, just as Master had done. Sniffling a little, I again rubbed my eyes on my arm.

Kitten opened the cage door and move behind it to release me. I sat up in the cage. "Come on, Baby, out." I had to undo my feet; in a way another form of humiliation and I cried in my heart a little more.

What was today? Egad Sunday. Looking at the clock it was six o'clock. I had to get up. Master had told me we were going to do something special today, just the two of us, to celebrate our year together. I wondered if he still wanted to after how bad I had been.

I crawled out of the cage and stood. I caught a glimpse of my backside in the mirror, red and raw. I slowly made my way to the bathroom and removed my cuffs, placing them on the table next to the door. Leaning over and taking off my ankles, I sighed again thinking: "Only when I am displeased will you have to do for yourself," Master had said once. This meant he was still upset.

Turning on the water I soaped up and rinsed off quickly. Climbing out kitten handed me a towel. "He is still really upset, Kitten."

"He grunted he wanted his breakfast. So I came to get you."

"You know today has been one year that I have belonged to Master?" She rubbed some cream on my back and rear. "One year since Mistress Bergenia gave me to him. After the last two days, Kitten, I feel I have let them both down, and you too."

"Baby, we all have those days," she said as she slapped my rear playfully, "Go get dressed," and she turned and left the room.

Raising my hands to my hair and letting it out of its confines I let it drop around me and began brushing it out, when…

I was standing in Mistress Bergenia office my hands on my neck in position back straight chest out; legs slightly spread ready for inspection. She had her crop in hand and was leaning back against her desk.

Raising the crop she tapped both my nipples. The wax had just been replaced for the third time, marking my one-month at the Academy. Sliding the crop over my stomach and down over my mound, she began to talk.

"Zack called to get a progress report on you, Baby. So I have lined up live feed to show him your progress. Turn to you right and hold this position. Look into the camera, because you will be looking into Zacks’ eyes." Mistress Bergenia tapped my clit twice with the crop.

I did as I was told and saw not only the camera but also a monitor with Zacks’ face. He smiled and I heard, "Good morning, Baby. You’re looking quite pert this fine day. Mistress Bergenia tells me you are coming long rather nicely. Proceed Bergenia, let’s see what she's accomplished."

With the last syllable, Smack and an explosion of pain crashed through my body radiating from both cheeks. I swayed a bit from the contact but didn't break position by stepping away. I could feel the tears in the corner of my eyes.

"What do you want to tell Zack, Baby, before we continue with your evaluation?"

"Thank you, Zack. You were right, this is what I needed." My voice seemed to be clearer, more relaxed even to my ears.

"I'm proud of you baby."

Shaking my head I heard Kitten say, "Baby you about done in there, its going on seven. Come on, he's waiting."

I shook my head to clear it and laid the brush down on the counter. I raised my head high and literally marched to the kitchen. I'd hear those words again. I'd make my Master proud of me again. I needed to see that glow back in his eyes. I needed him.

CHAPTER 18

I fired up the stove and quickly made Master his favorite omelet which Kitten took out to him on the veranda. I started to take it to him when she told me to go to his study and wait for him there.

I dragged my feet getting to the study and flopped down on my pillow in front of his desk. Taking the kneeling position, as was my custom, my head drooped and my chin rested on my chest.

The clock chimed eight when the door opened and Master came in. I glanced up and froze, in his hand he carried a sleeve. I shivered in fear. I felt tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. I know I had embarrassed Master, and hung my head in shame.

He stood behind me. "You know what to do, Baby, do so now."

I placed both hands behind my back and he slipped on the sleeve and zipped my arms into it. The zipper clasps snapped on the D-ring on the back of my collar.

I caught a glimpse of Kitten moving to my left and watched as she knelt by Master's desk. Master slowly circled me.

I felt so guilty, I looked up, my eyes big with the need to make amends; I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. I so wanted to beg him for forgiveness, to have him hold me and tell me he would help me do better in the future. I had to drop my eyes and look at his shoes, I had not been given permission to either talk or make eye contact.

His brown penny loafers made one more trip around me, before going to the side of the desk where Kitten was kneeling. I peeked up and watched as he leaned back against the desk and nodded once to her.

I watched her hands reach up and undo his belt, the snap of his pants, his zipper, and eased out his already hard cock. I licked my lips as I continued to watch her take him into her mouth.

Tears were streaming down my cheeks as she sucked on his shaft. I needed to hold him in mine, I needed to feel his hands on my head as I showed him how much I needed him. Yet, it was Kitten, caressing and feeding from him.

With each pump in and out her red soft lips pressed tightly around him, a band slowly tightened around my heart and my shame multi-plied. With a snap of his fingers, she stopped and rolled, over palms on floor and ass up in the air to him.

In one smooth stroke he was inside her. Her back arched and her head was up. A smile that would have done the Cheshire cat proud graced her lips.

She looked over at me with a smug grin and winked as Master's body tensed. I knew he was filling her with his juices. My mind screamed out, those are mine, not yours, Kitten. This was another part of my punishment, watching another service him, but my humiliation was not complete. Master pulled out of Kitten, swatted her upturned ass once and moved to stand in front of me.

He uttered one word, "Clean."

Taking him into my mouth I tasted the mixture of his and Kitten’s desire. The salty sweet taste that always pleased me so, made me want to gag. He wasn't here for my pleasure; I wasn't here for his. I was to clean up the mess; nothing more, nothing less. I was an in-animate object to be used and discarded as he saw fit. I attempted to caress his now flagging cock with my tongue, to re-ignite the passion in him but he tapped me on the head to let me know that was not what I was here for.

I was allowed to suck and lick for just a few moments before he pulled out of my mouth and walked away. "Put her in the van, Kitten, I'll be ready to leave in a half-hour." He left the room.

Kitten attached a leash to my collar and tugged it once so I would rise to my feet. My heart was hurting so badly I wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Tears flowed hot and hard down my cheeks. I had ruined the most important relationship of my life.

I gulped in air as she slid the cargo door open and crawled in, tugging on the leash for me to follow. She placed me in the middle kneeling then attached the chain from the roof of the van to the sleeve at my wrist; this threw me forward with my head down. Once she had me in place she slipped out of the van and slammed the door tight.

Naked I knelt, sobs racking my body. He's going to return me. He’s going to return me, echoed over in my mind. My year of service was up, I was found to be lacking and he was returning me. Over and over it played through my head.

He got in, buckled up and started the van. I felt my shoulders start to strain from trying to look up at him, but in this position it was impossible. Attempting to control my crying. I whispered, "Master," only to receive a 'shhh' in reply.

We drove on through the countryside, I saw shadows of the trees on the floor of the van. His window was open and the chilly morning air caressed my nipples till they were hard little knots of throbbing nerves pulsing through me. I had to shift because it tickled my clit; the way Kitten had attached my arms I couldn't bring my legs together.

He had made a sharp right that threatened to pull my arms out of their sockets and came to an abrupt stop. Lowering the window he spoke into the intercom. I heard a motor kick in and the gates of the Academy open.

The canopy of oaks still blocked out the sun as they did the first day Zack had brought me here. I that heartbreaking feeling of loss as I sobbed silently. We stopped and the van door was opened. I turned my head to see who was there to greet us.

I let out a low moan when I made eye contact with Cathy. She reached in and undid the chain to the sleeve. Christy tugged on the leash. I pulled back not wanting to go with them. Cathy grabbed my upper arm and hauled me out of the van. My legs were unsteady and my knees buckled. Christy took my other side and they dragged me up the ramp.

About halfway up my mind must have snapped, because I got my feet under me and broke free of their hold. Both made a lunge for me. I screamed and was turning to bolt back to the van when I collided with Master. His arms wrapped around me but I was still in a state of frenzy, until his lips touched my neck and he whispered, for the very first time, "I love you." I stopped dead in my tracks.

Cathy took my arm and led me up the ramp. I moved in a haze. All I knew was that my Master loved me; all would be right in my world.

CHAPTER 19

We entered the same corridor I had been through what seemed like a thousand times, but this time it was different. My tears glistened in the soft votive candlelight. My vision was a kaleidoscope of colors. I could see them sparkling, "rose colored glasses."

We reached Mistress Bergenia’s office doors and the three of us broke out in laugher as we recalled the first time we met. It had been Christy and Cathy on the walls, this time there were two new girls I had not seen. One was crying hard and the other had a serene smile on her face.

Smiling I stepped in front of the one who was crying. "Why are you here?" I asked.

"Because she had me tied to a tree in the garden," was her reply.

"Oh, and you were not permitted to play?"

"No, I was slow doing as she said, and she tied me to the tree.

Mistress Bergenia found us like that, we were to be decorated for some big…"

Cathy moved between us and kissed her on the lips, cutting off the remainder of her words. As Cathy backed up from the one hanging, she said, "Enough talk, she's here and you know what's required, Baby. Do so. Mistress Bergenia will be waiting for you."

Yes, I remembered what was proper protocol; I was the one to see Mistress Bergenia, so I was required to bring one of them to the "point of orgasm" before entering her office I glanced over at the other one as she winked. "Cathy, are you the cause of that smile?"

Cathy half laughed, half snorted. "You know me too well, Baby."

Giggling at the knowledge that Cathy could not pass up a bound blonde, I moved back to the crying brunette and took her breast into my mouth. The familiar feeling of nipple bound by latex wax brought a warm rush between my legs and I savored the memories it brought me.

Christy tugged down on the leash and I dropped to my knees. Quickly I took her clit between my lips and began working it hard. In moments I could smell her arousal. I released it just as I felt her thigh muscles tighten on my cheek.

"I see you have not lost your touch, Baby," Christy commented as she tugged again on the leash and Cathy opened the double doors wide.

Rising we three walked into what I considered the holy sanctum of the Academy. Here I had always felt safe. Zack had given me over to Mistress Bergenia here. Mistress Bergenia had nurtured me here. I had learned so much from her. She had given me into Master's care here.

I saw her at the desk and rushed forward to meet her, as tears of joy and sorrow streamed down my cheeks.

She rose as we entered, coming to stand in front of her desk. The three of us took position.

She walked around me, Her familiar crop in hand. "Baby, have you been touching yourself again?" I blushed bright red. She knew me too well, as well as Master.

"Yes, Mistress Bergenia."

Tapping me on each nipple once, then twice on my clit with the crop, she said, "Well, then we will just have to leave the sleeve on for now." Her arms circled and drew me to her, my and face rested in her more than ample cleavage. "It’s so good to see you my little one."

I whispered back that I too had missed Her.

The door opened as she held me close. "Go with the girls and we shall join you shortly." I tried to move out of her arms thinking she was telling me to go, but I was held fast to her chest. She didn't release me till the door closed. She stepped back and leaned against her desk. "How has the year been, Baby? Are you happy with your Master? I heard there is another there now, too."

I know my faced beamed when I answered, "Oh yes, Mistress Bergenia, he is all I could ever ask for in a master. Kitten is a love and brings him much joy. I am very happy."

"I hear a 'but' in there, Baby, tell me why."

Letting out a sigh, I lowered my head and the crop came up under my chin. Baby, you know the rules. Look me in the eyes when you answer a direct question."

"That's it Mistress Bergenia. I know the rules, but lately I seem to be breaking one after the other."

A knowing smile crossed Her beautiful face. "Baby’s cry for attention. So you have been feeling some strain with Kitten there after all. It's natural to feel unsure and act out. Your Master and I have had a few conversations about you over the past year." She laughed. "No need to look surprised. Did you think I would give you away without making sure all was well during that time? I warned your Master you might react that way when he called to tell me he had been given a slave. Why the tears baby?"

I didn't realize I was crying and I sniffled to compose myself before speaking. "Until today, Master had never told me in words how he felt about me, Mistress Bergenia. I knew He cared, but…"

"There was another there. Yes, Baby, I know. You do know why he brought you here today?"

"I believe so, Mistress Bergenia. Up until we arrived I would have told you he was returning me." A really big smile covered my face as I continued, "But on the way in, he told me he loved me for the very first time. So I'm hoping we're here to sign the papers to make me his permanently."

"Yes, signing of the papers is why you're here. He wants to do it right. There will be a ceremony as soon as the rest of the guests arrive. It’s scheduled for noon. You'll go now and get ready." She once again took me in her arms and held me close. With one last squeeze and kiss on the forehead she released me, and the doors opened again. "Girls, take Baby to get ready. Make sure she eats something, she was upset this morning and hasn't eaten."

Giggling at the joy I was feeling, I had to shake my head. She knew me so well; eating wasn't even on the list of things I had thought about this morning.

CHAPTER 20

The music of songbirds floated through the morning air from the open window as I was prepared for my collaring ceremony. Cathy had released me from the sleeve and removed the leather collar. They led me to a huge tub and I was submerged in an Egyptian Milk Bath. Christy told me the queens of the Nile bathed in milk, honey and almond oil to soften their skin.

They let me relax while they did up my hair. They twisted and twirled and fasten it with a single clip.

I rose and stepped out of the tub and they patted me dry. My skin felt so soft, and it shimmered as if dusted with gold. Raising my hands away from my body they dressed me in dark green silks that caressed every spot it touched.

The brunette who had been on the wall earlier entered the room as the twins tied the last of the silks in place. Smiling brightly at me she said, "All the guests are here, and Mistress Bergenia said they're ready for you."

My heart was pounding so hard I thought my ribs were going to shatter any moment. Taking in a big gulp of air, I nodded once and moved to follow her as she turned to leave. Cathy stayed me with her hand turned me to her and she and Christy kissed me on both cheeks..

"Come on, I don’t want Mistress Bergenia to think I muffed up this too," the brunette laughed.

"She’s ready, Kelly, lets go," said Cathy as they shuffled me out the door.

We walked down the long hallway and out the French doors to the garden. A bubbling brook flowed gently alongside the stone path we followed. Even in my excitement I sensed everything was ready. The garden was lush and green, overflowing with large weeping willow trees. The gentle breeze carried scents of lavender, jasmine and magnolia trees, mingled with the flowers that were in full bloom. I was floating on air.

The canopy-covered area was filled with guests, a quartet of string instruments softly played a welcoming tune. I gazed around and smiled at Master's and my friends and loved ones who had come for this joyous occasion.

My sight was drawn to a beautiful ornate box centered upon a pedestal, surrounded in dark shimmering green silk to match the one I wore. Master walked over and stood next to it. His wonderful smile beckoning me.

I felt a collective sigh from the crowd and a shuffling as they sat back in their seats. A warm feeling; almost a soft touch seemed to sweep through the canopy, making me aware that everyone knew of the love I had for my Master.

Mistress Bergenia cleared her throat, then greeted and thanked the guest for coming as I moved up the aisle and stopped about three feet from Master. He nodded and motioned to a pillow on the ground and I knelt on it. No one had told me what to expect. I lifted my eyes to his for a moment before lowering them. I listened to what Mistress Bergenia was saying:

"Welcome all to the Academy’s two hundredth and third collaring ceremony. I take great pride in the fact that all are still joined. We strive to match each and every one of our subbies and slaves to the appropriate Master or Mistress. The process at times has seemed long and drawn out to some." She smiled at Master and winked. "But a tried and true method it is. So before I sound like a commercial, let me begin with a bit of history on the Master and subbie we are joining today.

"He and I have known each other for years in the lifestyle. As some of you will know, his dungeons and equipment have been given the Good Dungeon’s seal of approval through the Black Rose and Houston Lifestylers. However, he had never found one that he wanted to make his permanently, until now. Over the years I have dealt with him, he has always been honorable, trustworthy and has shown very high values for himself and his work." She looked to the back of the crowd and I heard a rustling.

"Zack, I'm glad to see you could make it, would you please come up and stand beside me?"

My heart had been beating fast, now it was pounding almost unbearably. I hadn't seen Zack, other then on the monitor, for over a year and a half. He looked great, only a slight limp, when he walked. I wouldn't have known he'd had several operations if Mistress Bergenia hadn't kept me informed. He patted me on my head as he passed and offered his hand to Master. They shook hands, half hugged and whispered to each other for a moment before he moved to take Mistress Bergenia into his embrace.

She once again cleared her throat and moved out of Zack’s arms but they continued to hold hands. "My friends, this is Zack. He is here to give Baby away today. Zack, I was just giving a bit of back- ground before we commenced with the ceremony. Would you do us the honor of telling us about Baby, please." She raised a tissue to her eyes as Zack began to talk.

"I would love to tell you all about Baby. I've known her for many years in the business world. She's a go-getter and tops in her field. In fact, I believe she's an over achiever at times, but as she grew older I could see that something was missing in her life. She lacked direction and focus. She was happy, but not content.

"I brought up the subject of BDSM to her several years ago and she had the audacity to scoff at me." Zack looked down at me and chuckled. "She couldn't understand why a woman in this day and age would even begin to think of giving control over her life to a male. We went round and round on this subject for many months, but as you can see, my power of persuasion, and the draw of the lifestyle, won out and Baby became my submissive in training. Even though I had been retired from active pursuit of the lifestyle I couldn't resist Baby’s charm, eagerness and deep-rooted need to serve.

"Over a year ago my medical problems and Baby’s need to grow and learn forced me to see I could no longer take care of her. I called my dear friend, Bergie, and asked her to accept Baby into her Academy. She was hesitant at first, I know, because taking Baby off my hands so to speak would, in her eyes, say I was done in the lifestyle."

I could see her squeezing his hand tight and she dabbed her eyes once more with the tissue.

"I even had to promise to do a weekly call if she would take Baby in which I was more than happy to do." A soft series of giggles went through the crowd. "I can honestly say I didn't want to let Baby go. She was just coming into her own as a submissive. Each week I did my Friday call to hear of baby’s progress. Pride in Baby's accomplishments and Bergie's delight in her willingness to please her, made my soul lighter, and I was able to concentrate on getting my health back."

Zack moved to my side and placed his hand on my shoulder as he continued to speak. "When Bergie called me a year ago and told me she had found the perfect Master for baby, I was, hmm, how to say it, not prepared." I looked up at Zack and he ran his fingers down my forehead and nose, tapping me on the tip. "Then Bergie faxed me the proposal for Baby’s service. The first time through it, I could see Bergie was correct that this was the Master for Baby. So from there I can say the rest is history, till now."

Zack motioned for Master to stand before me. He again shook Master's hand then placed it on my head. "I give you Baby to guide and cherish. Revel in her giving heart, for it now belongs to you." With that said Zack moved to stand again next to Mistress Bergenia.

Master took my chin in his hand and raised my eyes to his, "Baby, I will look after you and protect you as you grow in your submissive-ness to me. The gift of that submissiveness is a treasure I value and need in my life." He turned to the box and opened it. He removed a silver piece of jewelry and raised it to the gathering. "With this collar, I take you, Baby, as my submissive." He placed the collar around my throat and I heard its lock click. "Only I will be able to remove this, Baby."

He attached a silver leash to the collar and turned to Mistress Bergenia and Zack. "I thank you both for giving me Baby to love and nurture. I will see that her life is full and she is allowed to grow to her full potential."

I felt a slight tug on the leash and I rose to my feet before Master. He took me in his arms and kissed me deeply. Tears of joy streamed down my cheeks and I shook uncontrollably.

He released my lips and brushed away my tears. He turned me to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my submissive, Baby."

Applause erupted from the group and they were on their feet clapping as Master again tugged on the leash and led me down the path back through the French doors.

CHAPTER 21

Master took me to the library and drew me into His arms. The smile on my face reached from ear to ear. He leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. Snaking my arms around him I molded myself to him. I was filled with joy and trepidation. My lashes fanned across my flushed cheeks.

"Baby, look at me. I know you were itching to say something during the ceremony, but your words are mine and I alone need to hear them." He sat in the big wing back chair that faced the empty fireplace, bringing me with him to sit on his lap. "I will hear them now."

There was so much I wanted to tell Him; my hopes, dreams and wants. Looking into his eyes, I said, "I need you, Master."

"And…" he said with a smile.

"I love you, Master."

He cuddled me close and whispered for the second time today, "I love you too, Baby."

There was a knock at the door and I made a move to open it, but

Master held me close. "Enter."

Kelly peeked in, her cheerful smile in total contrast to the look she carried earlier. "Mistress Bergenia said I was to report to you, sir. She said to tell you I was at your disposal."

"Good, come on in." Master said as he moved his hand under my ass. "Lift your silk, Baby, so Kelly may have open access to your heat."

I pulled up my silk and spread my legs apart. Kelly came to stand between them, rubbing her hand over my mound and wiggled her finger down my lips to my vagina. I continued to look into Master's eyes as she tickled and teased the opening. I was wet and her fingers slid easily over me.

Masters fingers were kneading my cheek. Soft whimpers escaped my lips when Kelly nipped my right hip. Spreading my lips she trailed a moist tongue to my clit. I moaned and jerked as she sucked it into her hot, wet mouth and almost came completely out of Master's lap when she pushed something cold into my vagina. If Master had not attached his mouth to my nipple I would have.

Kelly continued to suck on my clit. The cold object rested just inside me. She was again teasing the opening around my vagina rubbing my juices over and around my lips. She pressed hard below my vagina and above my anus, letting her finger drag down to the rim.

My clit jumped with each movement she made of her mouth, her little licks and continuous sucking brought me closer to the edge. I still had not lost eye contact with Master. The smile lines on his face told me all would be well. I opened my mouth to beg for release, but he shook his head. I inhaled and tried to relax.

Kelly was making wet noises as she licked and sucked. Again something cold touched my body, but this time the opening to my ass was invaded and I cried out. She stopped for just a second then pushed it in over the tight opening. I was ready to explode when she pulled her mouth noisily off my clitoris with a popping sound. I wanted to grab her hair and draw her back to finish what she had started but she was again standing.

"Thank you, Kelly, for your assistance. Please let Mistress Bergenia know we will be there momentarily," Master said as he lowered my silk, smoothing it over my heated nether region. I was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. He wrapped his arms around me.

The door clicked shut and we were alone again. "Baby, inside you right now are two remote control beebees. You are to wear them from now on, unless kitten or I remove them."

Oh my Kitten, where had she been? I didn't remember seeing her face at the collaring. Why was she not here? I remember seeing Stan and his slaves, but no Kitten.

Master saw the concern in my eyes and said, "Kitten was there and, yes, she saw the collaring. She's helping with the preparations for the feast. Stand now and take position, Baby."

My legs were like jello as my feet touched the floor. Master gave me a little push to help me up and placed both hands on my hips as I stood in front of him. Kissing my tummy he continued to speak. "We'll be going into the banquet hall shortly, Baby. You will dance for the gathering, but I want you to dance for me."

Master rubbed his hand over my heat and slid his finger into my vagina. I could feel him positioning the beebees into place, then to my anus to make sure it, too, was where he wanted it to be.

CHAPTER 22

Master smoothed the silks down over my body. Taking me into his arms, he leaned me back and had me look into his eye. "You do not have my permission to cum, Baby. Do you understand me? All who know you in the lifestyle are here."

"Yes Master, I understand."

"Good. Let’s join our friends. You will do the dance you did for the auction." He said as he kissed me on the nose. "You will be doing it for me, but I want everyone ready for the festivities taking place afterward."

I gulped audibly as the beebees inside me started flashed on and off in turn. I trembled as I thought of the "Dance of the Seven Veils". It was one of my favorite ones, but it had been over a year since I had done it and never with beebees. I nodded as Master clipped the leash in place and led me out of the library.

We arrived at the banquet hall. Masters and Mistresses were milling about, with slaves and subbies racing around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and beverages. I scanned the crowd looking for Kitten. I still hadn't seen her.

There were tables on one side of the room laden with food which some had gathered around. There was a part in the line like the parting of the waters in the Red Sea. Kitten was on all fours in the middle of the table with a glass top on her back and a tray of goodies balanced on it.

Once again, her gold chastity belt caught my eye, it was back in place. I looked from Kitten to Master, wanting to ask why. He smiled and tugged the leash for us to move toward the tables.

Underneath Kitten was a bowl of clothespins and pads of sticky notes. I noticed that some of the Ones around the table were writing on the pads. As we drew nearer I noticed the clips in various spots on Kitten's body. Omygod, my brain screamed, what did she do to get herself into that position? Kitten, movement in its purist form, was being forced to hold completely still, and be used as a pegboard. She bowed her head when Master approached.

"Baby, why don’t we read a few of the wishes our guests have sent to us?" He slowly removed one from Kitten's side. She was biting her lips. "Go on, Baby, you take one." Tugging on the leash he pulled me closer to Kitten.

Her left nipple had two, I didn't wish to cause her anymore pain then was necessary. I reached for one of them as Master pushed my hand away. I pulled the pin but it didn't come away with my hand. She groaned. "No, Baby, not that one. How about one on her tummy?"

Kitten was whimpering as another of the guests attached a note on the underside of her right breast. "Wait, instead of removing a pin, I think you should have the honor of removing Kitten's chastity belt," he said as he lifted my hand and placed the little key in my palm.

A soft no reached my ears. It was as if I was picking up Kitten’s thoughts as they came across loud and clear: When you take the chastity belt off me, I'll be totally open for the pins. I stuck the key into the lock and turned. The hinge sprung and Master caught the belt before it hit the table.

"Excellent, Baby, no hesitation," Master said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a chain with a one and a half-inch clear ball on one end and a ring on the opposite end. "Here, Baby, before you go to do your dance I want you to attach this to Kitten's clit." His voice lowered, "You both know why."

A duet of "Yes, Master," was our response.

Oh yes, I knew why, she had been in the chastity belt because we had touched in front of a guest. This was to be a further reminder to us both.

I picked up a clothespin and opened it wide hoping to loosen the spring, then slipped the ring between the jaw of the pin and reached up to spread her lips. As I pressed in a bit her clit jumped out at me and I placed the clip on it. The glass top shook a bit as I let the ball go from my hand and I started to grab the glass but again Master stopped me.

Tears were streaming down Kitten’s cheeks as Master tugged on my leash. Patting her low on her ass he said. "Give it a good swing once, Baby, and then you're going to do your dance."

Oh, crap, what's a good swing? Too little and I'll be in trouble, too much and I'll be in trouble. I raised it half way up and let it swing. Master chuckled. "Baby, you are too soft hearted," and he hugged me to him. "Come on, time for you to entertain our guests, but first I need to empty my pocket." Out came four more balls and chains, which he placed in the bowl with the pins. "We'll leave these for others to attach." He pat Kitten on her rear one more time and said, "Be good, Kitten and after Baby’s dance we'll let you participate in the festivities."

"Yes, Master." Kitten cried as another guest swung the ball.

CHAPTER 23

Master led me to the middle of the room. "Kneel, Baby." He said and I knelt before him. "Masters and Mistresses, slaves and subbies, our friends, Baby and I would like to thank you all for coming and helping us enjoy this wonderful day. Mistress Bergenia, we would especially like to thank you for bringing us together. Baby is going to do a dance for us before we start the evening's festivities. I know you all will enjoy." Both beebees went off and I swayed. "If you'll get comfy, Baby will do the 'Dance of the Seven Veils'."

My attention was drawn to the center of my being when Master leaned down and whispered, "I know you won't let me down, Baby. Enthrall them." He kissed me on the ear then moved to a chair next to Mistress Bergenia.

The vibrating stopped and I took a big gasp of air. I shook from head to my toe and told myself to focus. The musicians who had been in the garden began to play Michael Praetorius' "The Muse of Dance".

I rose to my feet and felt Master's heated gaze on me. I glanced about the room, smiling at our friends. My body began to move with the rhythm of the music. My hips swayed back and forth while my arms rose and reached out to my Master to offer this dance to him. I froze in mid reach as the bee in my vagina went off on high. My eyes locked with Masters'. He smiled as the bee stopped.

Seeing his smile from across the room my heart skipped a beat and I attempted to sway gracefully toward him. My face lit up with happiness. He brought so much joy into my life. I moved my hips a little more.

I slowly removed the first silken veils, letting the smooth material slide down my arms ever so slowly, baring my shoulder. I offered him the veil. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. My body moved to the rhythm of music in my heart.

Once again I spun away from him and scanned the room as I danced, moving more gracefully across the floor. I reached up to untie the second veil from my waist, then held one end in my fingertips. I started to take a turn about the room when the bee in my anus shot bolts of sensation through me.

I gulped for air as I unwrapped the veil from my body. I had a death grip on the end as I tried to lightly drape it over Zack's shoulders and slowly back away from him. He, too, lifted one end and kissed it.

I could tell by the glint in Zack’s eyes he knew I was on the verge of an orgasm. He had that smile that said, Don’t do it, Baby. Hold on to it, embrace it, but don’t cum.

Returning to the middle of the floor, I raised my shaking hand to the veil tied around my head, freeing it and the clip holding my hair. As it unknotted my hair cascaded in ringlets over my bare shoulders and down my back. The bee stopped and I shook my head a bit more vigorously then was called for. I tried to clear some of the lust from the cobwebs of my brain. I felt a bit dizzy when I tossed the veil to the crowd, and did a little dip again, trying to shake my hair out and clear my head from the fog of lust holding every nerve ending in my body tight.

Looking at Mistress Bergenia, then at my Master, as I turned spun around, I tried to think back to where he found me, and saw my future in his eyes.

I crossed the floor to move closer to Mistress Bergenia, her smile a beacon of love and pride calling me to her. I tugged on the fourth veil as I turned back toward Master, untying it I slowly expose my bare back to the room. I could feel their eyes upon me. Little shivers tickled my spine; both beebees went off in unison and I dropped the veil into Mistress Bergenia’s lap.

Master said later that the candlelights filtering through the scones, captured the highlights in my hair, making it look as if I was a blaze as I danced.

I turned to face the room, my hair and arms covering my breasts and moved my hips in a shimmying fashion. I wondered if anyone knew they were shaking to the beat of the vibrators inside me. I felt more alive then ever. As I lowered my arms from covering my breasts I heard a collective sigh escape the crowd.

Touching the fifth veil tied bandana style around my thigh, my eyes lovingly caressing my wonderful Master. Lust gnawed its way through me as I swiftly undid the small silk, tossing it to the floor at Master's feet. He laughed and reached down to pick it up.

I swayed in the middle of the room, my whole body moving in harmony with the music and the toys inside me. With my hand on the knot of the sixth veil at my hip I started to untie the silk. Lust ruled my body and I undid the knot with ease. It slowly slid away from my skin revealing one more very small veil. I dropped it to the ground. I was the temptress Master desired.

I moved gracefully back to Master and stood before him. My hips gyrating as seductively as I could muster, and I whispered, "I need you." I smiled down at him, wrapping my foot around his calf and rubbed it with my arch, sliding my foot up and down.

He pushed me away and stood, then moved me back to the middle of the floor. There, in front of my Master and all our friends I slowly ran my hands up my thigh to my hip to untie the last veil.

He smiled, moving my hand away and leaned down to kiss me. He whispered, "Allow me." The last veil was ripped from my body. He scooped me up and carried me back to his chair.

I was back in his lap where I longed to be, in the arms of the one who would not only be my best friend but my lifelong companion – my Master.

Applause broke out around the room. Mistress Bergenia stood, clapping. "Bravo, Baby, well I know that got me in the mood." She fanned herself with her hand. "Our next bit of entertainment I believe you'll find just as entertaining as Baby’s dance. I know you all have been eyeing the various pieces of equipment around the room."

She motioned to the musicians and as the first few notes of Bolero echoed through the room, all the subbies and slaves moved to the middle of the room.

CHAPTER 24

All the subbies and slaves stood in the middle of the floor and took the standard presentation stance for the Academy – back straight, arms down and slightly away from their sides, chin up, eyes facing directly forward, tummy tucked, and chest out.

Mistress Bergenia faced the guests, "My friends, in celebration of our ceremony today, I have come up with a new twist to an old game. This I call "OrgErotica". As you all have had time to peruse the equipment stations around the room, I’m sure each has picked out their favorite. Not to worry though that someone else will monopolize it. I will ring a bell and we will all shift at that time."

"There are thirty stations, and in front of you are twenty-nine prime students of the Academy. They will each draw a number to correspond to a station, as will each of us. All will go to their designated spot and place the student in that piece as you may see fit."

She smiled broadly when she looked at Master holding me on his lap. "The remaining station will go to your slave?"

Master shifted me on his lap. "Yes, Kitten will be taking that spot. She's not of the Academy, but she is well trained." I looked up to Master thinking, I'm not going to play? I tried to hide my disappointment, but I knew it was written all over my face. He kissed my cheek as he continued, " I promised her she would not be left out of the fun."

"Great." Picking up two bowls she placed them on the table, "Masters/Mistresses right, subbie/slaves left. Please go to your stations after you’ve picked your numbers."

I looked around for Kitten, when the doors were thrown open wide, four slaves, dressed only in loin cloths, carried Kitten, hanging from a pole like some big cat just bagged during a safari. She was still covered all over with the notes. There were four little balls dangling down below her ass. They swung and clanked together as she was carried in. Her long blonde hair was lose and hanging also. The pole was set on two brackets that had somehow materialized in the middle of the floor.

Master helped me off His lap and led me over to Kitten. He petted her head and stroked her hair. "Let's see what piece of equipment you're going to be assigned before we remove some of the pins."

Kitten started to wiggle as Master wove his index finger through the notes. Her intake of air was audible and the idea the notes might not all be removed at this time was not sitting well with her.

Mistress Bergenia handed Master a piece of paper, "Kitten will be in the Hanging Chain cage."

"Wonderful, that means we don’t have to read the notes just yet." Master said as he patted Kitten's upturned foot. "I'll leave you to get situated Kitten, Baby and I are going to wander around and mingle with our guests." He leaned down and whispered something in Kitten’s ear before he led me away.

I looked back momentarily to see them releasing Kitten’s feet from the bar. Even at a distance I could see the clothespins bouncing up and down with her moments. Master tugged my leash saying, "Kitten will be well looked after, Baby, lets go see what are guests are up to."

The first stop was a sling. The Mistress had finished cuffing the slave. We stood there and watched as she set her back in the sling, raising her hands over her head and attaching them high up on the chains. Her feet were then attached so that her rear just grazed the sling.

When the slave was secure the Mistress walked around and tested each cuff to make sure the tension was okay, then she pulled out a bright red flogger from her belt. Standing to the side of the slave she s trailed the strands over the squirming slave.

Master tugged again on my leash; I had been so absorbed in what was happening he had to pull rather hard to get my attention. "Baby, come. There are others to see."

We crossed the room to the station Cathy was at, a Black Stallion spanking horse. She was all ready positioned, her ass having a paddle steadily applied to it by Zack. His smile showed his joy as he continued on without breaking rhythm when we stopped to watch. I felt a surge of moisture between my legs, as I wondered how many times he had held me in that position.

I smiled as Master took me to the next station, which was a bondage table. The submissive was strapped in and the Master was having his slave crawl under the table to come up through the access hole. "Lick," was all he said and out popped her tongue to commence licking fast and furiously. The one on the table started moaning immediately.

Again Master pulled on my leash as he led me to an upright stretch rack. Kelly was strapped in at a very steep angle, hanging from her feet. Weights were attached to her nether lips pulling them apart and down. Cane marks covered her from breast to knee. The Mistress had stopped for a few moments when we walked up.

Master asked if we could butt-in for a moment, which she was more then happy to allow. He turned to me and said, "Baby, I think you need to thank Kelly properly for your little toys." Pushing me toward her I knew he wanted me to lick her cunt, but because of the position she was in the only way I could get close was to place my clit on her mouth – which I did and which was promptly sucked into Kelly’s waiting lips.

She matching me stroke for stroke and I started to lose it when the cane sliced across my ass. "Baby, remember you do not have permission to cum." I started to move away when I felt another strike of the cane a tad bit higher on my ass. "But I want you to get Kelly to cum."

I was moaning trying to concentrate on her pussy, licking and sucking it. I knew from the taste and smell that she was close, when a series of swishes hit one after another working ever higher on my ass. I was crying as I licked her, my tears and her cum creating a salty concoction, sweet to the taste.

She came fast and hard and her entire body jumped in the chains. My pussy was on fire as she sucked even harder with each jolt of her orgasm. I licked till the jitters stopped and Master's hand pulled me by my upper arm. "Good girl, Baby. Let’s go find Kitten."

I was on edge. His hand on my upper arm was the only thing holding me up right. I looked at Master with tears in my eyes, and begged in a soft whisper, "Please." Taking me into his embrace he held me close. My body was shaking so hard it was all I could do not to melt there in his arm.

Rubbing my hair with his hand, he held me there, whispering that I was still not permitted to cum. I tensed and started to pull away but he held me close. "Baby, this is our day, don't make me punish you." Tears streamed down my face, the throbbing in my cunt continued on as I tried to get myself under control.

Both bee bees went off on low and my knees bulked so fast I almost slid out of Master's arms on to the floor. He laughed as he pulled me close. The throbbing radiated through every nerve of my body. All I could do was cling to him, moaning.

He turned off the bee bees and kisses my cheek. My breathing was not as erratic and I realized I'd stopped crying. Nerve endings through out my body were humming as Master moved me out of his arms and touched my nose with his finger, "All better now, love?"

Nodding my head, I whispered, "Yes, Master, thank you."

"Good. Let's see how Kitten is doing." Master tugged on my leash.

CHAPTER 25

Master brought me to stand and watch Kitten being tortured. She was inside the hanging chain cage – well, part of her was. Her arms were above her head cuffed to the top of the cage. The cage's chain hung a bit away from the front of her body, but it had been raised in the back to sit on her rear. She was slightly bent at the waist with her legs spread wide by a bar cuffed at her ankles.

A fox fur paddle was being applied to her rear. Alternating between the leather side and the fur side; with each swat of the paddle, the Master welding it had Kitten jumping back and forth from pleasure to pain. As the leather side hit she would bounce forward catching the clothespins on the chain cage. Her cries for him to stop went unheeded. As the fur sidestroked she purred.

I watched Master made eye contact with her. If she needed her safe word, now was the time to say so. Instead of a word, a serene smile crossed her face. Master nodded and we moved around to look at her ever-growing redder ass. Each and every swat precisely placed to cover her ass in a growing pattern of shades of red.

The notes between her legs were sopping wet and the little balls were clanking away like the pendulum set I had as a child. One ball into the other finishing with a wide arc on either end. The Master had it timed that the ball would hit, then the leather paddle, then the fur. It was poetry in motion to see her played this way.

Master began removing the notes from Kitten’s body, reading some, laughing at most. "Baby, Zack sends his love. Here's Stan’s; "tie the knots and may your flogger always fly high". As each note was removed from various parts of her body, Kitten moaned, and each one that past her lips sent tingles up my spine.

I almost jumped out of my skin when Master turned on the beebees. He had his arm draped around my waist, but I was away from his body.

The bee bees went on high and my knees buckled. He was holding me up by my underarms. "Baby open your eyes." They flew open and I found us in the middle of the room. I strained to focus on those around us when I heard him say, "Cum for us, Baby."

All eyes were focused on us as I melted there in the middle of the floor. I was molten lust oozing with sensation, rocked to the core as the nerves pushed electrically charged impulses through me. The feelings ripping through my body seem to go on and on from my head to my toes. When they began to slow Master pulled me back against him and crossed his arms over my stomach.

He kissed the side of my neck as I finished. The room erupted in applause. I blinking and scanned the crowd. Smiles were on all the faces as well as on mine.

Master cleared his throat and said, "Friends it's time for us to leave you. We'd like to thank you all for coming. Bergenia, we'd especially like to thank you for bringing us together and letting us share our joy with you."

He escorted me to the van. I looked back out the window as the Academy faded from my view, then over to Master – my Master, my future. Easing back into the seat I closed my eyes and pondered what that meant. With Master, that could be any number of things.

LUST UNLIMITED Or, The Swingers

JAY LAWRENCE AND HARRY NEPTUNE

INTRODUCTION

Lust Unlimited is a triple-sized slice of sizzling erotica by the bestselling team of Jay Lawrence and Harry Neptune. This hot new collection gathers all their stories about those fictional international swingers, Jay, the woman no man would want to resist, and Harry, the stud who no woman could. Follow the unforgettable adventures of this swinging couple whose erotic exploits are guaranteed to both moisten your undies and split your sides. From Canada to the Caribbean, this dynamic duo takes on all-comers-a tag-team for whom little is off limits and nothing is taken completely seriously! Here's a volume that combines wicked British humor in the style made popular by TV shows like "Absolutely Fabulous" and the hilarious "Carry On" series, with a juicy selection of ultra kinky pursuits! Included in this giant helping of scandalous doings are the novelettes "Lust or Bust!," "Mr. Neptune's Convalescence," "Jingle Tingle," "Trouble In Paradise," plus the full-length novel Lust at Sea. Previously you would have had to purchase three books of short stories and one novel to read these great tales – but now they are yours in one giant volume. An Amazon. com review gives Jay Lawrence's work 5 stars, and raves, "first rate, of a literary standard not often encountered within the erotica genre." When Jay and Harry set forth in search of fun, Lust Unlimited isn't just a title. It's a fact.

The Publishers

Lust or Bust!

"What a dismal place! Now, don't get me wrong, my darling, I'd come to see you if you were camped out in the frozen wastes of Siberia, but I have to say you deserve a medal for surviving here as long as you have."

I reclined on Harry's new sofa, savoring its luxuriant squishiness and gratefully imbibing a glass of red wine. It had been a long day of bouncing bus followed by cut-price airline and hedonism seemed like the perfect antidote to my travel travails. Harry sighed in agreement, busy multi-tasking dinner in the open-plan kitchen of his apartment. Intriguing savory whiffs issued from the oven and my stomach gurgled a distress call.

"Don't I know it, dearie. It wouldn't be so bad if there was something I could actually despise about this town, but it's just plain blah."

"Like microwave dinners."

"Yep."

My friend leaned upon his work surface and looked morose. I wriggled my toes against the upholstery and pondered the possibilities. One brief weekend in a charmless northern town, sprawled like a canker sore across the vast and featureless prairie. Oil and gas had built the place, blizzards held it captive half the year. My visit coincided with a thaw, stale melt-water turning brown grass to mush. Yuck.

"Hmm. Oh well, we'll just have to make our own entertainment, won't we? If we can have a good time in this Godforsaken place, we can have a good time anywhere!"

Harry brightened up a little.

"That's true. I could always take you to the Log Jam tomorrow night. Hmm, yes, and then on for a curry at that Tandoori place I've been meaning to try. You game?"

A familiar glint had entered my friend's eyes and I remembered his gleeful description of the Log Jam pub where some astute local entrepreneur had obviously hired the waitresses with sleaze-appeal at the forefront of his mind.

"You should see the tits on one of them…"

"I'd like to, very much. Now stop it, you're making me horny and I'm bloody ravenous. Feed me!"

"Yes dear. I hope you like mushrooms."

"I like everything, sweetie."

"Bad girl."

****

The Log Jam was a common or garden kind of place, booths for couples and groups of friends, a motley selection of post-work guys at the bar. The TV was turned to the sports channel, discussion revolved around the respective merits of the local ice hockey teams. Harry picked one of those small tall tables with high chairs to give his little lady a bird's eye view. I eased myself up with as much grace as I could muster, having left my climbing equipment at home. The vista was both broad and breathtaking.

"Well!"

"Told you."

There were five girls working the shift that evening, each offered a different variation on a theme. The overall gestalt was definitely "tarty" but tarty came in various flavors, from ebony with waist-length braided hair to bleached blonde and busty. Tight, mid-thigh skirts were the order of the day and skimpy, boob-enhancing tops. My silky panties began to moisten but I couldn't resist a giggle too. Harry grinned.

"Quite blatant, isn't it? There was one the other day in a blue plastic mini-skirt. I thought I'd never see straight again."

"Alert! Alert! The blonde's coming our way."

I attempted to compose my lust-drenched features to a pastiche of respectable thirty-something-about-town. It's not that easy being a rampant bi-sexual, even in these more enlightened times. A pair of round brown breasts, thoughtfully gift-wrapped in a sky blue T-shirt with neckline plunging halfway to heaven, inquired what they could get for us. Harry ordered wine as I concentrated hard on the delectable hooters, positively bereft when they jiggled off to fetch our drinks. An artfully placed badge on her bosom said "Caron" but she looked like a Norma to me. I could see her as a naughty nurse, twin mounds of firm tan tit-flesh bursting triumphantly from a mini overall, straining buttons popping as she leaned solicitously over her ward.

"I want her. Will you get her for me, please?"

My request was playful, issued in jest, but I rarely say anything I do not mean. Harry groaned.

"You'll get us arrested one of these days. OK then, lover-girl, try scribbling our phone number when she brings the check."

"Nah, cheesy. She'll think we're trying to kidnap her for our cult or something."

"Chance'd be a fine thing!"

"Two glasses of Mountain Vale. Can I get you anything else?"

The flesh had returned, bearing a tray. I fixed the waitress with my best intense-sex-goddess-come-hither-I-want-to-eat-you gaze.

"Yes, Norma, you can. We would like you to come home with us. Would that be a problem for you?"

The deafening sound of Harry's jaw dropping to the table top almost distracted me from my mission but I pressed on, certain that every ear in the room was straining to hear my pervy wiles. My panties were soaking; my eyes were level with her tits. I asked them nicely.

"You'd make us very happy. Both of you. I mean all of you. I mean…"

The waitress threw back her head and laughed, eliciting a boob-quake of epic proportions. I sensed Harry's jaw leave the table and a faint panting sound replaced the incredulous silence.

"Right. Well, I don't finish up here 'til midnight so you're going to have to wait. Give me your address and I'll see what I can do. I'm not making any promises, 'kay? Enjoy your wine."

With a victory roll of her well-padded hips, she stomped off to serve another customer, throwing an amused glance back at our salivating forms. Harry took a large gulp of Merlot and made fish-eyes at me through the bowl of the wine glass. I stuck my tongue out at him in defiance. My friend retrieved his wallet and examined his supermarket discount card thoughtfully.

"Well, do you think she's a real tart? Is she going to make us pay for it?"

"I don't know. Do you have any condoms?"

"Of course. They might be past their sell-by date, though."

"Poor darling. Does this place have a late-night drugstore?"

"Let's go for that curry and then see what happens. Take things as they come. As it were."

"I know what happens when I have a curry!"

"Dirty beast!"

****

Jay got halfway to the Tandoori restaurant before she started complaining.

"No, they're not new shoes! I just haven't worn them for a while. If it's much further I'll take them off and charge you for new tights."

"Well, I'm not carrying you. I remember the last time I tried to sweep you off your feet."

I was waiting for the handbag swing and it missed by a mile.

"Temper, temper! Not far now."

The Tandoori house was new to me, but we had found an advert for it in a tourist brochure (tourists in this burg?) and it had a web site. Must be all right. More to the point, we had a ten percent off voucher from the brochure.

The frontage was unprepossessing at first sight, then one noticed the life-size picture of two smiling chefs and smelled an enticing aroma. We marched in.

"Do you have a reservation sir?"

I put on my best all-maitre-d's-are-my-best-friends smile and admitted to not having thought so far ahead. Jay tapped her foot. I hate it when she does that. Anyway, the boss found a table for us near the music and handed us over to a sari-clad usher.

The place was big – two hundred covers at least. The atmosphere was dark, the music live – sitar and percussion from two gentlemen sitting cross-legged on a small stage.

Water appeared, followed by a waiter. I groaned. Jay had her lust-filled look on again, this time the hetero variety (not that I can tell the difference).

The waiter was young, dark-haired, slim to the point of underweight, and servile. He wore a badge that read 'lraC'. 'lraC'? Oh, I see. An upside-down badge.

Jay hauled her tongue back in her mouth long enough to order chai, and I settled for more red wine. I often do that – I hate to see a poor vintner.

The waiter led us through the menu, necessary in my case because the darkness rendered the small print unreadable. I settled for chicken dopiaza and some poppadums and sauces to take the edge off the appetite.

Jay would have ordered jerk goat if the waiter had recommended it. Her menu flopped around as she read it, and I realized one hand was out of sight. I leaned slightly to the waiter's side of the table and saw the Lawrence claw stealthily approach the waiter's trousers. I kicked her and she glared at me, rubbing her shin with the lascivious hand. Dinner first, hanky panky after, in my book. She ordered lamb curry and we added naan bread and rice. A goodly mixture.

When the waiter had retreated, backwards for the first two steps, Jay spoke.

"My knickers are soaking!"

"You should have gone before we left the Log Jam," I replied practically. A spoon rapped me on the knuckle.

"That earns you a paddling when we get back," I said. The spoon rapped again and Jay grinned. I know how to get round her.

I glanced down at the table and we both started. Poppadums and three varieties of spicy sauce had appeared as if by magic. Not even Jay had noticed the waiter put them there. We tucked in, Jay with a dreamy look on her face.

Twenty minutes later lraC materialized again with the main course. It was excellent. I would have paid for it even without the ten percent off coupon. We concentrated on the food, and I also concentrated on eating it in the gloom without making too much of a mess on the tablecloth.

After a while the pace slowed and I began to pay attention to my surroundings. The two-man band changed melody frequently, and though my knowledge of Indian music is profound, I thought I recognized an air. I cocked my head in an intellectual fashion and listened.

"Have you got cramp? Heart burn? Your face is all screwed up."

"I am appreciating the music, you ignorant trollop. Listen – what do you hear?"

"Sounds familiar…"

"Of course it is, you bimbo. 'Those Were the Days, My Friend', by Mary Hopkin." The last time I had seen Mary Hopkin was in a Welsh youth club in nineteen umpty um.

The sitar player was a virtuoso. He went on to 'Bridge Over Troubled Waters' by way of 'Que Sera Sera' before returning to the Indian sub-continent and a flute.

Coffee came, and the bill. Jay's eyes gleamed as she returned to her original (and frequent) theme of the evening.

"I want him."

"Greedy. What about Norma?"

"I want…"

She didn't have to finish the sentence. I knew. All comers welcome. lraC returned with my sadly battered credit card. Jay's face was thoughtful for a moment, then she decided her strategy. She dug her sharp fingernails into the scant flesh of the waiter's wrist.

"You're coming with us."

The waiter stared at his imprisoned wrist and tried in vain to pull away. I wondered if he would scream for help. But no. There was even a hint of – something – in his eye. Jay dressed her voice in leather.

"You are coming with us."

The waiter struggled feebly. It looked like he would need some help.

I sighed. "What time do you finish work, lraC?"

"Midnight, sir."

I gave him a card. "This is the address. Be there no later than half past twelve. Don't bring a friend. We've got one for you."

Jay released the boy and smoldered at him. She is a good smolderer. lraC dropped his eyes, nodded, hopped a little from foot to foot, and sidled off. Jay flicked his legs with a napkin. His tush wriggled and he picked up speed.

"He's a foot licker, dear. You'll still have to get your oats from me."

"And Norma," said Jay in a dreamy voice.

****

"That's it! I've simply got to take these darned boots off!"

We had reached the fourth floor of Harry's apartment building and I leaned against the wall to unzip and remove the offending footwear. Harry gave me his best long-suffering "I really don't mind you lowering the tone of the place if you absolutely must, but do get on with it" look and I swung the slightly steaming boots from one hand as we reached his door. It was a surreal kind of night. There was even a raucous, giggling group of residents gathered in the amenity room downstairs, apparently watching a young man wrestling with a blow-up plastic doll. Hoots and cackles echoed through the stillness of the prairie night.

"I bet that's the most fun you've encountered since you've been here!"

"You're not wrong."

"Eek – it's not long 'til midnight! What shall we do? Hide under the bed?"

Harry sighed and fixed me with a baleful gaze.

"You got us into this, Lawrence, and you can deal with the consequences. No hiding. Unless, of course, it's the other kind of hiding. Which, all things considered, I think you most definitely deserve."

My stomach turned over and I looked up (way up, actually) at my forbidding friend. I recalled our mutual interest and the small package I had sent as a house-warming gift. Warming it was indeed…

"I think I'd like another glass of wine."

"Chicken!"

"Never in a million years, sweetie, but Norma and lraC will be here soon. We wouldn't want to scare them away now, would we?"

"You might have a point there."

Harry replenished our glasses and we killed some time by watching a somewhat cheesy blue movie and giggling like a pair of fourteen year olds where we probably weren't supposed to be giggling. The plot, such as it was, revolved around an Eastern European sex club, and, by way of coincidence, a faint but penetrating beat from the gathering downstairs, generously punctuated with whoops and cat-calls, suggested that some live exotic entertainment had been added to the mix. Harry raised one eyebrow.

"Wonder if Housekeeping knows about this. It's probably against regulations. Maybe I should go and, um, tell 'em to keep it down. Or something."

"Pervy lech. If you're going down for a peek through the keyhole, I'm coming too. Maybe we could gatecrash the bar mitzvah or whatever it is they're doing down there. How's your Yiddish?"

"Oi vey!"

At that moment, there was a cacophony of lustful braying and thunderous applause.

"I think we missed the boat, angel."

"Story of my life."

A few minutes later, just as we had settled into a slothful post-curry/booze/sleaze stupor, there was a hesitant knock on the door. Harry slapped my thigh and thrust an executive finger in the direction of the tapping.

"On you go then, dear! Mind you, knowing our luck, it's probably the Avon lady."

"Then I'll order some wrinkle cream for you, shall I?" I retorted smartly. My heart began to throb double-time as I turned the knob and peered around the door.

"I can't stay long and it'll cost you two hundred. No tax, I'm doing a special for the month of April."

"Oh, Ha-rry! We have com-pany!"

With a sudden lunge I grasped the girl and pulled her inside. She was wearing a shiny PVC raincoat, collar turned up and tightly belted at the waist, and, for some unaccountable reason, six-inch white stilettos.

"Interesting fashion statement. May I take your coat, Norma?"

"Thanks. I'm all sticky but I couldn't go tramping through the halls in this get-up!"

The girl slid out of her coat and I almost slid to my knees. She was almost wearing a naughty nurse's outfit – her amazing breasts threatened to burst out of a tight white overall, unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of lacy scarlet bra. Fine white fishnet stockings completed the costume, scarlet-gartered, tanned and sturdy thighs disappearing beneath the bottom-skimming skirt. Norma adjusted her boobs and tottered towards Harry who appeared to have lost the use of his legs.

"This is Harry, Norma. He may be in need of some medical attention."

Nurse Norma giggled and, with a practiced wriggle, stepped up onto the coffee table, giving Harry an eyeful up her short, tight skirt. The executive finger jerked towards the CD player, shaking slightly with a kind of pulsing, hypertensive beat. I grabbed the remote and pressed "play." The groaning strains of Roy Orbison immediately filled the room and I rummaged through the rack for something a little raunchier. Norma turned her back on Harry, spread her legs, dipped down to grasp her ankles and frowned.

"Got any Eminem?"

"I doubt it, Norma. Hmm, Black Sabbath. Give that a go."

Frenetic seventies guitar riffs replaced the groaning.

"Never heard of them. They don't sound black to me."

"Show us your titties!"

****

I maintained my usual air of mature nonchalance. If I smoked a pipe I would have filled and tamped it, and concentrated on puffing it into life to the exclusion of all external distractions.

I gave up smoking twenty years ago, so I looked at Norma. Those stilettos – should I tell her what a podiatrist once told me? Perhaps later.

Norma was bent double, gripping her ankles and swaying to the music. Her skirt rode up her derriere displaying tight red panties. Not those thong things disappearing up her crack, but real sensuous material caressing her five pounds overweight. She moved her feet further apart and swayed harder. Her mound pressed against the red material. The material moved slightly over her as the music pounded.

"Show us your titties!"

That woman has no couth. All the same, Norma turned and straightened. The skirt fell back to just below heaven and she raised her arms above her head.

"Pant! Pant! Pant!"

Miss Lawrence was in heat. She flopped onto the big squishy sofa next to me and laid her hand on my thigh. Norma ran her fingers through her hair and tossed her head. She put what I think was supposed to be a sultry expression on her face and leered first at me, then at Jay.

Jay made to grab Norma by whatever part of her was nearest, but I was too quick for her. I hauled her back, not taking my own eyes off Norma as she ran her hands down her face to her neck.

Jay struggled toward the gyrating nurse. I let her go a few inches and looked up at Norma. I winked.

Norma's hands ran down her top to cup her breasts. They didn't need any lifting, but she lifted them anyway and rolled them lasciviously. She pouted – I swear she pouted! This was every cheap striptease rolled into one! Jay was lapping it up. For such a small person she is strong. I let her get another few inches toward Norma's bounteous form.

"Lemme at her! Titties!"

I was holding Jay by her arms now as she stretched forward, mouth open and eyes wide. Norma let go of her breasts and moved her hands down her belly. That girl had the extra pounds in all the right places. As her hands met her thighs she started to bend at the waist. Her hands reached her knees and the valley of her breasts opened before us in its red bra frame.

Norma shook from side to side and her breasts went with her. They jiggled and joggled and strained and teased. Jay pulled against me and slavered but she wasn't going anywhere – not yet.

Norma slowly stood up again, picking up the hem of her skirt as she rose. She lifted the skirt high, up to her heaving bosom. She thrust her lacy red panties at Jay's face.

"Gurgle! Oofa! Wanna!"

I let Jay's face advance to within six inches of Norma's heavenly vision and held her there. Norma thrust hard at her, never quite touching. She had given up the cod pout and now was grinning at the expression on Jay's face. Jay's tongue darted forward and Norma moved back just beyond reach.

"Oogle argle wanna!"

"Not yet, my wanton little…"

Norma had had her effect on me, and I knew exactly what Miss Lawrence was going to do about it. I pulled my rabid friend back to the sofa and took a firm grip on her hair. She didn't even make an "Ow," just made another bid to get at Norma's flesh.

I unzipped my pants and pushed Jay's head down. She kept her eyes on Norma as she took me in her mouth and began sucking frantically. Norma performed some pelvic thrusts. The pressure on my rock hard jolly stick reached Hoover Deluxe proportions.

"'ithies! 'ithies!"

"I think she said 'Titties!' Norma. It's time to get them out."

Norma undid two buttons of her top. Her fingers went to the clasp of the red bra and snapped it open. Then she showed that she has a future in this game. In a flurry of movement, she performed some three dimensional magic and the bra was dangling from one upraised arm! She dropped it on Jay's bobbing head and…

…began to do up the buttons again!

"Urgle! Noffa!"

Jay tried to lift her head from my lap but now was not the time to break the rhythm. I pushed her down and watched Norma with interest. An unstoppable pressure was building in the direction of Miss Lawrence's tonsils.

The material of the shift was thin, and Norma's nipples were mighty. They pressed the white cloth out until it molded itself to her form. Norma picked up my forgotten wine glass and held it over her breasts. Slowly she tipped the glass until a drop of deep red wine splashed onto her straining bosom. She sent the next drop onto the other breast, then soaked the material with a steady stream of best (that I can afford) Burgundy.

The shift darkened, but became transparent too. Norma poured the rest of the glass over her breasts and thrust her chest forward, guardsman fashion. Her nipples were clearly visible now through the soaked material.

"Mmyahh!"

My little friend's eyes were popping out. One hand had disappeared beneath her long skirt and her arm moved convulsively as she frigged herself in time with her sucking.

My own breath was coming slightly quicker now. It was time for Miss Lawrence to get her mouthwash. I felt my member pulse with the coming tide. I leaned back into the soft sofa and gave myself up to Jay's eager mouth. This was going to be…

…Norma picked up the bottle of wine and poured a stream over her magnificent breasts. All opaqueness disappeared from the shift. There were her breasts in blood red glory…

…I grasped Jay's head with both hands. Just when I thought I had come all I could, Norma put the neck of the bottle in her mouth and fellated it, her eyes fixed on mine. I swear I came again. Jay swore that too, later – among other things.

At last I released Jay's head. She was on her knees in a flash. One dry hand and one sticky hand reached for the still gyrating red-soaked nurse.

Knock.

That wasn't Black Sabbath.

Knock.

No ghosts in this building – too new.

Knock.

The door.

"Get the door, dear," I said in as steady a voice as I could manage. One has to keep up appearances.

"Get it yourself!"

With practiced ease I swung her over my knee, lifted up her skirt, pulled down her knickers, landed three hefty smacks on her squirming posterior, rearranged her clothing, and pushed her on her way to the door. She gave me a pretty good glare, but the executive finger had her off on her errand.

With a gasp I was pressed back into the sofa by a pair of strong succulent thighs. Norma's red clad quim hovered before my eyes. I dragged my gaze up beyond the cloudscape of her boobies to her wickedly grinning face. She leered down at me.

"Fancy a drink?"

One hand pulled her panties outward and the other tipped the neck of the bottle. With a glug, wine coursed down her belly and into red clad heaven. Norma pushed me further back. The first drops seeped through the material and into my mouth.

****

"For one moment, I thought I had the wrong address."

The young waiter hovered in the corridor, nerves issuing palpably from his lightweight frame. Smiling reassuringly, I slid my arm through his and neatly maneuvered him through the door.

"Do come in, lraC! We're having a little soiree and your input would be most welcome. Take your coat and boots off and put them in the hall closet, there's a good lad. Mr. Neptune does loathe a mess." lraC obliged, then his eyes opened wide at the libidinous scene in Harry's pad.

"Neptune? Sounds fishy to me. And if he doesn't like mess, what is that girl doing on his sofa? You'll never get the stains out."

"Oh!"

I gasped, despite myself. Harry reclined in a yielding nest of soft beige suede, Norma's scarlet clad bottom pressed hard against his ecstatic face. Tiny flames of arousal lapped at my pussy as I watched his mouth work upon her lace clothed mound of Venus, his tongue pushing through the skimpy cloth to taste the sweet juice within. The girl clasped the half-empty bottle of wine in one hand, slowly dribbling the red liquid down her round brown belly for Harry to suck from her neatly trimmed quim. Giggling, she kept pulling at her panties, tugging them away from her luscious flesh, then letting them snap back against her waist with a satisfying elastic sound.

"Ping!"

Norma giggled loudly, then moaned in pleasure, as Harry's large hands cupped and appraised her full buttocks, searching fingertips disappearing beneath the flimsy cloth. The first fluttering butterfly wings of an orgasm caught me by surprise and I thrust a thumb in the waiter's gaping mouth.

"Oh god, yes! Go, Harry, go!!"

There was an intense mumbling from my randy friend, which confirmed that he was indeed going if not gone.

I grabbed lraC and drew him towards the sofa, feeling his nervy resistance melt in the face of such lustful acts. Norma had laid down the bottle and stripped off her dress. Now she ground her hips against Harry's face, forcing him down, down into the super-squishy depths of the comfy couch. He lay on his back, glasses askew, blissfully siphoning the last traces of wine from the naughty girl's panties. Her pneumatic boobs finally bounced completely free above Harry's head and his hands left her knickers and grasped the mighty melons, rhythmically squeezing their firm brown pulchritude. I desperately longed to feel those titties for myself, but I hate to see a grown man cry.

"Mmm! Yes! Mmm! Yes!"

Norma was beginning to shriek with pleasure, her bottom wobbling rather deliciously as her climax approached. Quick as a flash, I knelt behind her and pulled her ravaged panties down, just enough to slide my tongue into the sweet, musky cleft of her tight little ass. Gauging Harry's rhythm, I began to tease the neat pink rosebud, then we cunnilinged a deux, swiftly slurping Norma's hot wet pussy to an orgasm of mammoth proportions. It felt like an earthquake.

"JESUS! Oh, fuck me! Fuck me!"

As she came down from the pinnacle of ecstasy, we continued to drink her juices, licking it from each other's lips, dipping our tongues into each other's mouths, chasing her honey into every succulent crevice of her throbbing quim. It was then that I felt lraC's slender hands upon my own hips, as light and deferential as a trainee house boy. I reached around Norma's body and cupped her boobs, then fed one swollen nipple into Harry's mouth. His eyes closed in pure delight, lips working as a hungry babe. lraC lifted my skirt and began to ease my panties down. I rubbed my breasts against Norma's broad, strong back, grinding my bottom against the waiter's exploring hands.

"Halftime! Change ends!"

"When I'm good and ready."

Harry muttered through a mouthful of bosom, intently engaged upon teasing the girl's nipple with the tip of his tongue. I had never seen such big, round nipples and it looked like a deeply pleasurable game. I ran my own tongue down the sticky column of her spine, feeling my soaking panties slide down to my knees. Reverently, lraC began to kiss my bottom, printing a myriad of tiny teasing nibbles all over the contours of my ass. I gasped and licked a drop of sweat from the nape of Norma's neck. Her hair was bleached blonde, almost brittle, and I reveled in the cheap trollop-ness of her. It was then that the CD player clicked to another disc and the rousing strains of a well-known musical filled the room.

"Oh-oh-oh-oh-Oh-klahoma!"

****

Oklahoma! Where the hell did that come from? It must have got put back in the wrong box. Never mind, to change it I would have to climb through two panting girls and lraC, and it was anyone's guess where the remote had got to.

"Halftime! Change ends!"

"Oh, all right."

Reluctantly I let Norma's pulsing nipple slide out of my mouth. Jay grabbed her shoulders, twisted her round, and plonked her in my lap. It looked like I was going to sit this orgy out. lraC lost his balance as a Lawrence hip clouted him across the face and he fell to the floor. He propped his head on one hand and watched for a moment, probably wondering where he fitted into this melee of arms and legs. Then the music swelled to another rousing crescendo and he began to jiggle his gamin little hips to the beat. I could just see him in a lime green catsuit.

I reached round Norma for her wondrous breasts, but the little tit-sucker was there before me. She was alternately suckling on each, opening her mouth greedily to leave the maximum area of wetness.

I gave Jay's titty a tweak through her velvet top. She didn't take any notice so I took a firm grip on her nipple through the material and gave a good squeeze and turn. Jay yelped and knelt upright. I grabbed the other nipple and gave that a good tug as well. Jay yelped again. She does like a bit of pain with her pleasure.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh!"

"OH-KLAHOMA!!!" bellowed the CD player at full volume. I glared at lraC, who smiled sheepishly and passed me the remote. The silly boy must have rolled on it. There was a sharp tapping on the ceiling and I offered my invisible neighbor a two-finger salute before returning to the matter in hand.

Norma lay back against me and hooked her ankles round my calves. I peered over her shoulder and her breasts at the sopping red panties outlining her lovely mound. What a find! You don't get many Normas to the pound.

Jay slapped my hands away from her nipples and clambered to her feet. She bounced onto her knees on the sofa beside me and took Norma's head between her hands. She looked deep into Norma's eyes with what I think was supposed to be a soulful expression. Either that or the curry was repeating on her. The soulful look lasted all of three seconds – close to Jay's record for foreplay – before she planted her lips hard on the waitress's.

Norma waved her arms in the air for a moment, then gave up the unequal struggle. She put one hand behind Jay's neck and I felt the other slide down my thigh and head for the Lawrence quim.

Norma's full bottom ground into my crotch. Now with a little wriggling – there – I could be in a position to – just get those panties off and I'll be in her – damn they're tight over her spread legs…

"May I be of assistance, sir?"

"Certainly, boy. Get them off her." lraC gripped the waistline and tugged gently, then harder, but with Norma's thighs still spread wide and her feet firmly hooked round me, there was no moving them.

"Rip 'em off, boy."

"Of course, sir." lraC briefly allowed a feral grin to attach itself to his features. There was a satisfying tearing sound. Jay groaned loudly into Norma's mouth. She likes that kind of thing.

Now there was nothing between me and Norma's brand of heaven. It was the work of a moment to ease my still rampant tool into her dripping pussy. Immediately she started a rhythmic gyration. Her thigh muscles hardened against mine. I reached down to give some bonus stimulation, but Lawrence was there before me. She knows what she is doing so I went once more for Norma's joyously bobbling boobs.

Jay was kneeling over Norma now, still kissing her furiously as she teased her clit. Every once in a while their lips would part for a moment and I caught a glimpse of lashing tongues.

"If I may make so bold, madam…" lraC had his slim hands on Jay's derriere again. He planted a kiss on one ample buttock as it rose to meet him. Her knickers were round her knees so there was no need to run up her lingerie bill. lraC's face disappeared into the Lawrence rear end.

"Oogah! Mmyah!"

Evidently lraC had found the Lawrence love button. He had a firm hold on her thighs and from the strangled noises emanating from my friend, he was well stuck into his task. Norma's spare hand reappeared from under Jay's skirt and grabbed one of her breasts. Her fingers dug in and she was rewarded with redoubled ardor. Quick learner, that girl.

I added some thrusting of my own to Norma's gyrating hips. Jay frigged her frantically. I felt my second (or was it third?) orgasm spit on its hands and get ready to deliver. Norma's nipples were rock hard under my kneading fingers.

Jay achieved the remarkable feat of walking and chewing gum at the same time by grinding herself into lraC's face as she slobbered furiously all over Norma's lips. Quite a face fest.

Norma grabbed Jay by her hair and hauled her head back.

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

I took a firm grip and pounded into her. This was the home straight. She met me with each thrust. I rapidly approached that moment of nirvana when it is permitted for a gentleman to express his feelings.

"Yaargh!"

"Fuck me!"

"Yaargh!"

I flooded her pussy at the same moment my cock and Jay's fingers did the trick for Norma. Norma clamped down and squeezed the last drops of my juice into her.

"Yaargh!'

I have no idea if that last "yaargh!" was mine or Norma's, but I don't suppose it matters.

The next one, or a variation on the theme, came from Miss Lawrence.

"Yeergh! Lick me, lick me, lick me!"

Jay's face disappeared into its A1 climax expression. I normally shut my eyes, but Norma was not forewarned. Give that girl credit. She let go of Jay's hair and before my libidinous friend could move, fetched her a mighty slap across the cheek.

"OH YES! Oh yes! Oh yes!"

Jay collapsed into Norma's arms. Norma really is remarkably quick on the uptake.

Norma, in turn, collapsed into my arms. I lay under the two panting women counting my blessings. This had the makings of a good evening.

"May I interest anyone in a snack?"

****

"Mm, lovely, I'm famished! Got any Fringles, Harry?"

I cast my eye over Norma's luscious curves and mused that a big girl like her must need to nibble regularly to keep her strength up. She absentmindedly ran her hands over the wondrous boobs and I heard her stomach rumble. Harry extricated himself from the limb-fest and headed for the kitchen to have a rummage in his drawers. Suddenly hot, I peeled off my top and threw it on the carpet. Harry frowned, in the middle of popping open a tube of crispy snacks.

"Bad girl. Pick that up!"

This was an old game but a good one. Slyly, I thrust my naked breasts towards him, fixed my eyes upon the floor and pouted prettily.

"Shan't!"

Norma giggled and lraC cleared his throat expectantly (and, I noted, with more than a trace of interest).

"Jay."

Two pairs of interested eyes swiveled toward Harry and he sucked his stomach in. I stuck my chin out.

"Won't neither!"

I felt all eyes return to me, although I did not remove my gaze from the pristine rug.

"I see. Does someone want a nice bare bottom spanking in front of our guests? That could certainly be arranged."

"Ooh!"

Norma and lraC exclaimed simultaneously and I heard Harry snort with barely suppressed mirth.

"Right then. Norma, lraC, I must apologize for the unruly behavior of my little friend here. I'm obliged to tan her hide on a regular basis for the benefit of our mutual health and well being, as I'm sure you'll understand. She'd be quite unbearable otherwise. It's a tough job but someone's got to do it."

"Ooh, yes!"

Again, both spectators answered in unison and I finally raised my eyes to observe an interesting procession of expressions march across Harry's craggy visage. lraC slid to his knees on the carpet and Norma leaned forward intently, her huge boobs resting on her thighs.

"You know what to do, miss."

"Yes, sir."

Demurely, I sidled into the bedroom and returned with Harry's house-warming gift. There was an audible intake of breath, followed by a stereophonic gasp.

"Meet Aunt Jemima."

"Ooh, I've never seen one like that before!"

"It's so long. Look – the dangly bits are touching the floor…"

Harry coughed modestly and nonchalantly tossed some nuts into a dish.

"Yes, it is rather a fine specimen, isn't it? Fortunately, Miss Lawrence has excellent taste in, ahem, implements."

"Nothing worse than a budget flogger."

I laid Aunt Jemima on the kitchen counter, carefully arranging the long black leather strands to artful effect. It looked like a strange many-tentacled sea creature and I remembered Harry's pirate ancestry. Sometimes he can look quite scary…

"What to do? What to do?"

Harry finished filling bowls with assorted nibbles and slowly lifted the flogger in one hand, lovingly fondling its wicked tails. He looked thoughtful.

"Right, lraC. Have a rummage through the CD rack and put on something with a nice lash-concealing beat. The neighbors might not understand…"

My stomach turned over, delicious butterflies danced about my belly button. A public punishment, with witnesses! I had daydreamed about such a scenario but never imagined we'd pull it off. As it were… lraC crouched before Harry's CD collection, visibly bemused by the eclectic assortment of titles. Eventually, his face brightened and he pulled one out. Harry moved around the kitchen counter, the tails of his flogger casually draped over one broad shoulder. lraC fed the new disc into the slot. Harry gestured to Norma's bosom-filled lap. I raised my skirt to waist-height, then eased myself beneath the mighty mounds, feeling my pussy brush across Norma's solid thighs. She stiffened slightly.

"Harry, I hope you're a good shot with that thing of yours! I don't want my nipples singed."

"But of course I am, you silly girl. Press the button, lraC."

I felt an exhilarating rush of cool air pass over my exposed nether regions as Harry whisked his flogger energetically in a dramatic warm-up. Norma leaned back a little, although most of her breast-shelf remained in contact with my bum. There was a click and whirr from the CD player, then all hell broke loose.

'RAW HIDE!"

"Jesus Christ!"

I couldn't help myself this time; I just had to laugh, although I realized the half-suppressed giggles were making my bottom wobble in a rather unbecoming fashion. That song had always made me split my sides, never mind the current circumstances. Just as I pressed my face into the sofa cushion to staunch my mirth, the tails of the flogger snapped smartly against the tops of my thighs with a deeply satisfying thwack!

"Mmmm…"

The giggles were knocked out of me, swiftly replaced by a long moan of pleasure. A falsetto voice began to sing along to the tune and I turned my head to see lraC strutting his stuff on the living room rug. He hadn't quite got the hang of the lyrics, but close enough.

"Git 'em out, moov 'em out, whip 'em up, RAW-HIDE! Yee haw!"

Grimly, Harry continued to flog, his strokes out of synch with the whip cracks in the song. A violent trembling began above my bottom and I realized that Norma was laughing uncontrollably. lraC pranced over to the snack bowls and, quickly emptying out a couple of wooden dishes, used them like coconut shells to make a clip-clopping sound. Norma spluttered all over my ass and I wriggled under the light warm spray. Relentlessly, Harry flogged on. My cheeks were hot now, I imagined Norma's spit sizzling and steaming on their round scarlet mounds.

****

They thought I was joking when I said Jay needs regular chastisement to keep from becoming insufferable, but not a bit of it. No whacks equals cheeky. Without me she would get thrown off buses.

This, though, was something new. Until now, her punishments had always been private. Norma and lraC were laughing, but for us it was certainly no laughing matter. Jay's bottom rapidly turned red as I laid on the flogger with a will. I am a big fellow and I wasn't holding back. I wonder what our two new chums would have thought if they had seen some of our other games?

"Hey, you're really hitting her hard!"

Norma's expression had changed from amused to bemused. Jay was quite still now on her lap, eyes tight shut. I whipped her bottom and thighs with the tips of the flogger's strands, where the leather whistled through the air with maximum velocity.

One especially well aimed strike made Jay yelp and slip from Norma's lap.

"Hold her, Norma! Hold her hands behind her back. That's it. Don't let her move." lraC sat cross-legged on the floor watching with fascination. Every now and then he wriggled.

This was my first try at the flogger. Spanking was the norm. My big black belt lasted one session, bravely borne by Jay, but she would have no more of it. The bruises took two weeks to go away. Mind you, the first time I spanked the minx my hand was black and blue for days. I believe in doing a job properly.

Jay groaned now as each lash bit into her ravaged skin.

"Look at her Norma! Look at her lraC! Look at her naked red bottom. See how the marks run down her thighs. Look at her hands captured behind her. See how Norma controls her. See how helpless she is!" lraC's mouth was slightly open. He breathed hard from his lotus position.

Jay groaned louder. I took a step back now, then a step forward in time with the lash.

"Keep them doggies moving, Raw-hide!"

Step back, step forward, lash!

Norma started to look worried. I am an awful lot bigger than Jay, and I was using all my beef. Then Jay began to tremble and her groans ran into a bubbling scream. There was no mistaking an oncoming orgasm of titanic proportions. Norma brightened up. I readied myself for the last lap.

Lash! Lash! LASH!

Jay struggled furiously in Norma's firm grip. Suddenly Norma transferred both of Jay's wrists to one strong hand and with the other gripped the Lawrence hair. She tugged hard and Jay's head arced up.

LASH!

"YEEEEEEEEESSS!"

Jay's legs kicked. Norma pulled her to and fro by her tangled hair as I kept up the bombardment on her rear end.

I judged the moment before her orgasm became uncontrollable. I stopped.

Silence.

Jay screamed.

She screamed again.

I raised the whip and steadied myself. I waited. And waited again.

Silence.

I struck.

The whip came down on her red raw bottom with all the weight of me and my piratical forebears.

Jay's body convulsed as the climax rolled through her. Norma, eyes wide, held her firmly with one hand round her wrists and one hand in her hair.

A drop of bright blood appeared on Jay's thigh where a stray strand nicked her. Quick as a flash lraC darted forward and licked it away. He sniggered.

"RAW-HIDE!"

Dan Ackroyd's voice faded into the end of the track.

"Whoof!"

Norma looked as exhausted as Jay and me. lraC looked curiously untouched.

****

Mmmmmmmm…

There really is nothing to compare with the deep satiety of the post-disciplinary phase. Slowly, languidly, I slid to the carpet, printing a brief, grateful kiss on Norma's sturdy and now rather sticky knee. She looked down at me with a mischievous smile.

"Better?"

"Much better!"

It was a strange feeling, yet completely erotic. I crouched on the floor, thoroughly and stringently chastised, both buttocks tingling with the heat from the flogging, virtually naked but for my skirt, a crumpled hitched-up mass about my waist. Suddenly, a rush of self-consciousness washed over me and I blushed, felt the color seep up my throat to stain my cheeks. Slightly confused, I rearranged what was left of my clothing. Now I wanted to be alone with Harry, needed to feel him penetrate me, take me, hold me.

"Gosh, is that the time? Sure does fly when you're having fun!"

The buxom girl had a promising future in clairvoyance. Too shaky to stand, I sat on the rug, watching Norma wriggle into her nurse's outfit. Sexily, she swayed over to Harry and pressed a kiss upon his cheek. His gaze lingered longingly over the crevasse of cleavage and one hand slipped up her skirt to pat her broad behind farewell. Harry sighed resignedly.

"lraC, help Miss Norma with her coat, there's a good lad."

"Yessir!"

Norma rummaged in her handbag and extracted a calculator. One long scarlet nail tapped furiously, then she pursed her lips and smiled sweetly.

"That'll be $350, Harry dear. Extra for the, erm, special services. Kinky's always double the rate. Plus, of course, it's after hours…"

I watched Harry's face reorganize itself and wondered if Norma knew she was dealing with a savvy financial entrepreneur and card-carrying Econo-Mart aficionado.

"Now, now, Norma, I'm sure you wouldn't have missed this little extravaganza for the world! No need to cheapen it into a financial transaction. Why, we've put such a show on, perhaps you should be paying us. What do you think Miss Lawrence?"

"Definitely!"

I had regained my equilibrium. Fiscal matters have an unerring tendency to de-fog the brain cells.

Norma's jaw set like ready-mixed concrete and she belted her raincoat with a rather violent action which suggested that she wished Harry's neck was in situ.

"You'll be sorry, Mr. Neptune. I have connections."

Harry smiled indulgently.

"I should hope so, Norma. You'd fall apart otherwise. Look, we'd hate to see you go home empty-handed. Here's a little something for you. Never let it be said that we're not generous."

Bemused, Norma took the small piece of paper and scanned it intently.

"Ten per cent off at the Delhi Belhi Tandoori House? I hate curry!"

She stamped one stilettoed foot and lraC promptly ejaculated.

"I'll have you know it's the best in town! After all, the service is quite outstanding."

Harry clapped his hands.

"Well said, lraC! You've been most attentive. Well, it's been fun, boys and girls, but now I really must get my beauty sleep."

Glaring balefully, Norma stuffed the voucher into her purse, grabbed a large handful of mixed nuts and stomped out, a grinning lraC in tow. Harry snorted. I watched his crinkles collude in mirth.

"What's so funny, big boy?"

"I've just realized that that voucher is now out of date. Expired at midnight. Oh well, perhaps lraC will take pity on her when she pops in for her steak and chips. Did you have fun?"

I popped Harry's nuts into my mouth and nodded, enthusiastically.

"Yes, I did. Especially being punished before witnesses. Feel how wet I am now."

Laughing, Harry lifted me up and sat me on the kitchen counter. I spread my legs to show him what the night's events had done and he traced the trembling contours of my juice-drenched pussy with one long forefinger before kissing me long and hard.

"Bedtime."

"Yes, dear."

"Ye Gods, I'm exhausted."

"You must be getting old, Mr. Neptune."

"Just you wait, Miss Lawrence…"

Mr. Neptune's Convalescence

Jay plonked herself down on the side of my bed and popped a grape from a paper bag into her mouth.

"Hey, they're supposed to be for me!"

"Mmmmmyah. I'm testing them for poison."

"Who's going to poison me?"

"I am."

Charming. Meet my little friend, Jay Lucrezia Lawrence.

"And why, pray, should you want to off a helpless invalid?"

"Because your pathetic state of health has dragged me back to this benighted boil on the prairie."

"My health is perfect! I have a broken leg!"

"Same difference. The grapes are OK. Tuck in."

I grabbed a large handful and munched rapidly before the Lawrence mitt descended again. I wiped my hands on my hospital gown and eased my position in the bed. The traction apparatus groaned and I yelped.

"Don't tug at that! It's all that's holding me together."

"It's about time something did. I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens."

"I was foully attacked by assassins! Backstabbing felons! Cowards who ganged up on me four to one! For no reason whatsoever!"

Jay sighed, quite unnecessarily.

"What was it Norma said? 'You'll be sorry, Mr. Neptune. I have connections.'"

"How was I to know she doesn't like curry? I gave her a whole voucher – ten per cent off at the Delhi Belhi Tandoori House. A Prince's gift! She's an ungrateful wretch – after all the pleasure we gave her. Hah."

"She gave you a three hundred and fifty dollar bill for sexual services rendered – a fair proportion of it for after hours and kinky. You paid her off with an out of date meal voucher and a pat on the bottom."

"There was never an agreement to pay her for her tawdry services. No contract. Therefore nothing for her to complain about. QED."

"Bloody hell! Talk about splitting hairs! She said two hundred dollars when she walked in the door! And that was before things got kinky."

"Ah, but I never agreed. A crucial point, my dear. Crucial!"

I rested my case. And my leg. That didn't stop her.

"And what happened as a consequence of your lawyering? Hmm? What happened?"

She claimed after that I looked sheepish, but of course not a bit of it. I was simply bemoaning the depth of depravity in the human soul.

"They came after me with – sticks – you know…"

"Baseball bats."

"That's right – baseball sticks. In the dead of night. At eleven o'clock. When I was walking home from a convivial evening with fellow philosophers at the Grunt amp; Groan."

"Staggering more like."

"Staggering be buggered! I had the legs of them, convivial evening or not!"

"Especially after you pushed the line of supermarket trolleys into them."

I sniggered. "That was rather effective. Made a lovely noise."

"And then…"

I scowled.

"Only the great Harry Neptune could get run over by a minivan full of strippers."

"They were on their way back from a stag do. They were picking up pizza. And they weren't looking where they were going!"

I groped in the bag for more grapes, but Lawrence had scoffed the lot. I was reaching for the bedpan with a view to clouting her when the door opened.

"Time for our medicine, Mr. Neptune! Be a good boy now…"

"Nurse Benjamin, Miss Lawrence. Miss Lawrence, Nurse Benjamin. I knew Nurse Benjamin's mother in Antigua, you know."

****

I'll bet you did!

"Did you know Whistler's mother too, sweetie?"

"Shurrup, Lawrence, I'm concentrating!"

"Get Nurse to fetch you a laxative then."

Nurse Benjamin advanced, a broad smile illuminating her sunny face. I looked up. And up. She was a big girl. I sensed a theme developing and gave Harry a hard stare. He tried to look innocent.

"Nurse Benjamin is a direct descendant of the Bigaboobi tribe. Bigaboobies fill many lofty positions in the Virgin Islands."

"I can see that, darling. Delighted to meet you, Nurse B."

The young woman grinned, perfect teeth gleaming in contrast to her dusky skin. Her hair was black and curly, neatly pinned beneath a starched white cap.

Wait a minute! Starched caps went out with Dr. Kildare! This is no ordinary nurse…

"Open wide! Who's a clever boy?"

I watched, incredulous, as Nurse B deftly crushed a brace of painkillers, mixed them into a dollop of jam and spooned the mixture into Harry's strangely willing mouth.

"You baby, Neptune! Take your medicine like a man!"

"There. All gone!"

Attentively, Nurse B leaned forward to dab at her charge's sticky lips and I saw Harry's eyes cross, then focus intently on the girl's heroic chest. She lingered just long enough to give him a good eyeful, then stood up, straightening her rustling apron. I wondered which fancy dress hire store had purveyed an Amazon-size retro nurse's kit. An awful thought occurred to me and I hissed at the invalid.

"What did you do with the real nurse, Harry? I hope she's not tied up in the sluice room or something equally nasty."

Harry sighed.

"They're on bloody strike! I was lucky to get plastered, I can tell you. For one moment, I thought I'd have to do it myself. Anyway, I had to go private for the convalescence. Fortunately, I still have P.H.U.C.T. coverage from my last post with Rope amp; Tackle."

"P.H.U.C.T.?"

"Private Healthcare (when) Undercover (in) Crappy Terrain."

"You're not undercover!"

Harry drew the sheet up to his nose and made coy eyes at me.

"I am now!"

I looked suitably skeptical.

"So, Nurse B comes with Plan A, does she?"

"No, Nurse B came with Scheme 3, sub-section vii, addendum 19d, actually. She's covered by the "post-traumatic stress syndrome" clause. I've been subjected to severe mental cruelty and need succor in my hour of pain…"

"Succor!"

"I'd love to…"

At that point, Nurse B began to laugh uproariously, throwing her head back until her cap fell off and wild strands of dark hair began to spring loose from the mass of pins. She looked down at Harry, then at me. There was a distinct glint in her bright black eyes.

"Fancy a bit of bondage, Mr. Neptune? Seems we're already set up!"

Harry gulped.

****

"No! Scheme 3, sub-section vii, addendum 19d is quite specific. Stress relief. Not stress inducement! Fetch me my cocoa."

Little and Large looked at each other, or rather the one looked down and the other peered up. I thought with some satisfaction that Jay might have met her match in Nurse Benjamin.

"Bugger addendum 19d. What does addendum 19e have to say? Where's the book?" My diminutive friend had a most unpleasant glint in her eye.

"Addendum 19e refers to restraint of temporarily deranged trauma victims," replied Nurse B with what I can only describe as a wolfish grin.

"Hey, that's enough! I've paid for Scheme 3, sub-section vii, addendum 19d, and that's it! No extras! I'm post-traumatically stressed, not a loony…"

"You were pre-traumatically stressed, Neptune. I think you've diddled the insurance company."

Miss Lawrence's face took on a contorted, pained expression, as if she were giving birth to a prize watermelon. I had seen that performance before. She was thinking. With a grimace like a primeval swamp facing a dinosaur about to enjoy bath time, she spoke.

"How much more is addendum 19e, Nurse Benjamin?"

"A hundred dollars a day. In advance."

Miss Lawrence produced a checkbook and started writing.

"Hey! You produced that checkbook from my bedside locker! It's mine!"

"So? You're the one needing treatment. You pay for it."

I folded my arms over the bedclothes. "I'm not signing that."

"No need. Tell the difference?"

The dwarfish mal-busted insensitive swamp-cologned peanut-brained trollop had my signature off pat.

"Now I know where your new broomstick came from!"

"No need for a receipt, Nurse B. By the way, how well did the old boy know your mother, exactly?"

Nurse Benjamin grinned, slyly.

"I have a half-sister named Venus Harriet. The family resemblance is remarkable, actually. She's quite the little entrepreneur, runs a lemonade stall that's the envy of her classmates. And no wonder, as she filched a huge neon arrow from the local drive-in movie theater. You can see it for miles. Real chip off the old block. I do wish she could see her old man. She'd be just wild about Harry." The nurse's eyes positively gleamed. There was only one thing to do. I gulped again.

The nurse and the houri stood beside my sick bed, the bed to which I had been confined by dastardly blackguards egged on by – another nurse. Yes, Norma had been wearing a nurse's uniform! For a while at least. Was this a conspiracy? Was the whole world against me? Or a substantial proportion of the auxiliary medical profession, at least?

Answer – yes.

I didn't like the way they were looking down at me, not one little bit. Nurse B was used to dealing with helpless patients, but for Miss L, this was a new sensation. I didn't need to follow the twitches across her contorted face to know that she was liking the sensation.

I steeled myself. Who was the boss in this relationship, anyway? Who wielded the heavy palm and the flogger? Who administered the punishments? When push came to shove, who was on top? Harry Neptune – that's who!

I drew myself up to as much of my height as I could manage from the prone position. I fixed my eyes on Miss Lawrence. I concentrated hard, recalling some key points from Hypnosis for Incompetent Buffoons by Ima Charlotte An, the renowned Asian mesmerist. Miss Lawrence raised one delicate little eyebrow.

"Are you all right, Harry, darling? You look as if you're about to lay an egg!"

Determined to exert my will upon the insolent creature, I thrust my jaw forward and lowered my eyebrows as far as they would go in a last-ditch attempt to look truly forbidding. My eyes were but two sinister slits beneath a fearsome beetling brow as I watched Miss Lawrence's feet trace bashful circles upon the cold linoleum floor.

In my mind's eye, she quailed before me. Her feet shifted. She fidgeted with her rumpled cardigan. Her hair draped in rat's tails about her timid, fearful face. Her lips quivered. Her eyes fell and her shoulders slumped. A tear ran down her reddened cheek.

"Hah! Submit, you bint!"

I cranked my eyebrows back to their normal position in triumph, only to witness the two females hanging onto each other in mirth, bodies heaving with silent hysterics. Finally, they cracked and spluttered, giggling out loud. Jay's face was scarlet and I made a mental note to add another spanking to the ever-growing list in my little black book.

"Oh, you did look funny, Harry!"

"He looked just like a lappet-faced vulture, Miss Lawrence!"

The two harpies disintegrated into a fresh round of cackling.

Finally, after a Herculean effort at face straightening, Nurse Benjamin spoke.

"I think it's time for your bed bath, Mr. Neptune."

****

"I think that's a splendid idea. Mr. Neptune is getting a bit iffy."

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Not to infinity. Hah! Got you."

I smiled indulgently at the hapless lump in the high metal-framed bed. Harry had overdone the cologne in an attempt to conceal any potentially unsavory odors and the powerful scent of "Atoll Affair" was making my eyes water. I groped up the arm of my cardigan for a hanky and blew my nose with a loud toot. Nurse B frowned disapprovingly and shook a long and decisive finger at me.

"Germs!"

"Anything I've got I caught off Precious here. He's always sniffling. Shouldn't you be boiling up kettles of water or something?"

"Mr. Neptune isn't about to give birth!"

"I'm not so sure about that, Nurse. He's put on a few pounds lately…"

Harry glared at me and the mound of blankets retracted sharply to the sound of a sharp intake of breath.

"It's relaxed muscle. Just wait 'til I get back in the gym. What's your excuse, tubby?"

"Don't need one. Besides, voluptuous is back in style. I say, is that water cold?"

Curious, I watched Nurse Benjamin fill a plastic basin from a sink in one corner of the room. Briskly she squirted a long stream of anti-bacterial body wash into the water from a large container marked "Stink-Off" and swished the resulting mixture to a pale yellow foam. With visible satisfaction, she smartly snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then looked down at me with a glint in her eyes.

"Would you care to assist with Mr. Neptune's ablutions, Miss Lawrence? I think he's big enough for both of us."

"I'd love to, Nurse B. Mr. Neptune always insists I use the guest bathroom when I come to stay and I'm most curious about his toilet habits."

Harry looked horrified and he instinctively cupped his privates through the bedcovers.

"Is nothing sacred?! I am a private person! Except when I'm feeling exhibitionist, that is…"

Nurse B roared with laughter and shook her head, a mass of ebony curls spilling onto her shoulders in wild abandon. With one dramatic gesture, she swept the covers from Harry's semi-recumbent form. His hands dived down to repeat the protective gesture but, alas, he was a fraction too slow and Nurse B caught his wrists together in a vice-like grip.

"Up we go, big boy!"

Quick as a flash, the statuesque nurse had cuffed her patient's arms to the tubular metal bed-head. His eyes opened as wide as saucers and he roared in complaint. Nurse B grinned.

"Why, he bawls like a bull!"

"Has he, dear?"

"I don't know, Miss Lawrence. Perhaps we should take a look."

We collapsed in mirth. Nurse Benjamin grasped the hem of Harry's hospital gown and flipped it up. I pulled on a set of gloves and we bent over to examine the source of his modesty.

"I've seen worse, Nurse B."

"Oh, much worse! Why, I once dated a Harlem Globetrotter. Vast edifice of a chap, would have made big Mr. Neptune here look like one of the seven dwarves and that's saying something. Anyway, I was getting quite concerned about the potential contents of my boyfriend's boxer shorts, I can tell you! But I needn't have worried. When he finally plucked up courage to whip it out, it took me half an hour to find the poor little thing. With a magnifying glass. Mr. Neptune here is really quite average."

"Average? You dare to call my magnificent love-tool average?"

Harry looked so incensed that I wished we had a Polaroid camera to capture his outrage for posterity. I patted his plaster reassuringly.

"It's a wonderful willy, darling. A very tasty popsicle indeed."

"Hmmph! Now you think you can get round me with sweet talk! Keep going."

A wicked thought or three entered my head. I slipped off my cardigan and winked at Nurse B., who began to saturate a sponge in the bowl of frigid body-wash. Nurse B winked back and I started to sing.

"It's a wonderful wang, a delightful dong, six inches of heaven, a prize-winning prong!"

Nurse B joined in, with rich and fruity tones:

"A premium penis, a decadent dick!"

"It's the cock of a lifetime!"

We put our heads together and harmonized:

"A world-beating prick!"

Harry groaned.

"So give it a lick."

"What an excellent idea, Mr. Neptune. That may be just what the doctor ordered."

"Jesus Christ! That water is bloody freezing!!"

I turned to see Nurse B direct a steady stream of antiseptic froth at Harry's gonads. I swear the poor man's eyes crossed.

"Is there no hot in the tap?"

"The boiler custodian has taken industrial action. Never mind – cold showers are strengthening to the constitution!"

"If you don't die of heart failure first. And you might have slid a towel under my bum, Nurse B – I feel as if I've wet the flipping bed!"

"Poor darling."

Amused, I watched Nurse Benjamin sponge Harry's tackle. The initial chilly gush had sent Horatio (Hornblower, in honor of Harry's passion for all things nautical) scurrying for cover, but the brisk sponge massage appeared to have wakened him up again. He sprang to attention, all shiny and clean. Nurse B handed me a towel.

"You dry him off, Miss Lawrence. I feel a need to get into something a little less starchy…"

I gently patted Horatio, then bent to kiss his sweet, fresh helmet. Mmm. That tasted so good, I couldn't resist a little lick along his steadily swelling length. Harry moaned. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Nurse Benjamin taking off her nurse's uniform. Harry moaned a second time and an extra inch made contact with my tonsils.

****

I tugged at my shackles and they clanked. Nurse Benjamin had actually used real handcuffs to attach me to the bed head! I had one leg spare and that was it. The other was firmly and painfully pinioned by the traction apparatus. I supposed I could try to land a killing karate blow when Nurse B came back within range, but somehow I thought a round of karaoke might be more successful.

Jay opened her mouth wide – very wide – and started on her impression of a sucrose starved dieter presented with a stick of extra-sweet candy. The feeling was familiar and all the more welcome for that. I grabbed for her hair and my hands came up short after a two inch excursion.

"Ow! These things are digging into me! Get them – oh my gosh…"

I had been keeping a surreptitious eye on the disrobing Nurse Benjamin. She had had her back turned to me and I couldn't quite see what was what in the mirror. She was down to panties and a tantalizing glimpse of the under curve of bare breast when she disappeared behind the screen in the corner of the room.

Nurse Benjamin reappeared.

"Oh my gosh!"

"Ooh ma gurgle!"

The latter was from Miss Lawrence, who had her mouth full.

Nurse Benjamin was the works. Xena the Warrior Princess would have crawled into a corner to die.

With a plop Miss Lawrence disengaged herself from her vital life-saving task and unsteadily stood up.

"Come back here! Three more slurps and I'll come!"

She didn't hear me. I can't say I'm surprised.

Working from the top down, Nurse Benjamin's wild hair was confined by a leather band around her head. Her breasts were just about confined by a short leather jerkin that revealed rippling stomach muscles. The jerkin was tied by leather thongs, and it did not meet in the middle. Her leather cuffs were held together with the same thongs. Her biceps made me gulp yet again.

"Oooh!"

Miss Lawrence was engaged on the same voyage of discovery as me.

Nurse Benjamin's skirt stopped short of heaven by a single breath. The skirt, of course, was leather. I don't know if a Warrior Princess's underwear is called knickers, panties or something more archaic and warrior-like, but I assumed that whatever they were called they were leather. Her thighs were powerful. There was no other word for them. Her laced boots were – leather.

You get the picture. The theme here was leather.

That meant the whip could be made of only one thing.

I gulped yet again, noisily. I pressed my backside firmly into the damp hospital mattress.

"Not me – her! I'm the thrasher. She's the thrashee."

Miss Lawrence nodded eagerly.

"It's your money," said the Amazon Queen. "And for me – a labor of love…"

Nurse Benjamin drew herself up to her full height, which was several levels of altitude greater than Jay's full height. Now I knew for a fact that Miss Lawrence had never been – chastised – by a woman. There is a first time for everything, and it was plain that this was it for Jay and Sapphic thrashing.

Nurse Lawrence reached out and held Jay by the back of the head. Jay went on tiptoes as Nurse Benjamin drew her up and examined her eyes. It was Miss Lawrence's turn to gulp. Apparently satisfied, Nurse Benjamin held my quivering friend at arm's length. I looked down and saw that she was still on tiptoe.

The whip cracked. Miss Lawrence yelped.

"Yelp!"

Nurse Benjamin led Jay to my bed, my partner in crime looking quite the little lamb to the slaughter. Her eyes had already adopted the abstracted, blissed-out, glazed expression, which is peculiar to breast-feeding babies and terminal spankees.

"Harry – help me! Help me!"

Miss Lawrence loves to lay the drama on with a trowel. I could just picture her lashed to a railway track, with the 5:15 from Shepton Mallet bearing down upon her frantically struggling form.

"That doesn't sound too convincing, my dear. Take it like a woman. Carry on, Nurse Benjamin."

"Be silent, Mr. Neptune."

Nurse Benjamin thrust Jay into my arms. Or it would have been into my arms if those damn handcuffs weren't there. She crouched over my torso, her face an interesting blend of bliss and trepidation. I started to feel disagreeably confined.

"Get these bloody things off me!"

Nurse Benjamin ignored me. Jay wrapped her arms round my neck and closed her eyes tight.

Buttons from Miss Lawrence's skirt sprayed across the room as Nurse Benjamin removed it without recourse to the conventions of good clothes care. There was a satisfying ripping sound – I do like that sound – as the Lawrence knickers followed the skirt with one sweep of a mighty arm. Jay moaned in ecstasy, knicker-ripping being one of her favorite things, along with chocolate in any form and a peculiarly ugly aging French film star. My cock rallied and sprang up like a fiberglass tent pole – boinng! I realized that my gown was still flipped up and my rod swayed merrily in the breeze, vulnerably exposed to the full onslaught of the domme's advances. I remembered coming across a terrifying site about cock and ball torture on the Net and I flushed, blanched, winced and flinched in rapid succession.

Miss Lawrence's bare white bottom was exposed to the fresh air and the ministrations of Nurse Benjamin. Her breasts were pressed against my chest. She was starting to strangle me, her body squirming rhythmically against my captive torso. Alas, my manhood was too far south of her moistening pussy to take a dip, the distinctive difference between our respective heights normally requiring a trip through the Kama Sutra for the Climbing Lotus position.

"Gerroff!"

Miss Lawrence whimpered and ground her hips against my belly. This was torture, without any recourse to nips and clips upon my apparatus. Groaning in pre-orgasmic bliss, my little friend clasped the metal bed-head and dribbled pussy juice upon my fiery loins.

"She hasn't even touched you yet."

With a crack the whip landed on Miss Lawrence's unprotected buttocks and she leapt as if she had been shot. A bright angry weal appeared.

"She has now."

The whip cracked again.

Miss Lawrence's whimpers against my neck became more ragged with each crack. She buried her face further into my neck and began to wriggle like an eel on a spear. Her breath came hot against my jugular vein.

"Harry…"

Her fingers dug in and her breathing was now loud, gasping for air.

"Harry… Oh my god… Harry…!"

Nurse Benjamin let loose a flurry of blows. Jay's whole body began to shake.

"Oh yes… Harry… yes… yes… aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Jay collapsed across my injured body. Nurse Benjamin gave one more lash for luck and stood back. The grip on my neck relaxed. Miss Lawrence slowly slipped off the bed until she was in a kneeling position with her head resting on the mattress.

She gave a gentle snore.

Nurse Benjamin looked down at me. I looked up at Nurse Benjamin. Her breath was ragged too with the exertion of whipping – or something related…

"Now, Mr. Neptune."

Nurse Benjamin hung the whip over my aerial tractioned foot. She stepped over Jay and knelt on the bed, straddling my chest. She lifted her leather skirt and thrust her pelvis to within a foot of my face.

Yep, whatever they were, they were leather all right. Tied at the sides with – leather thongs. The mixed smell of leather and woman was intoxicating. I felt my manhood resurge.

Nurse Benjamin tugged at the thongs and pulled the leather whatsits away. Her wet quim glistened through dark curly damp hair. She grasped the tall bed head and before I could take a decent breath, engulfed me in sweet wet rampant Amazon pussy.

All I had to do was survive. She took care of everything else. She slipped and slid over my face, grinding herself onto me. Her great thighs gripped my head in a vice.

I could feel her pulse hammering. I swore I could hear her pulse hammering. She ground harder and harder at me. I would have tried to breathe through my ears, but they were trapped by her thighs.

My head was pressed back against the pillows. I wondered if I could breathe through her pussy.

After what seemed hours but must have been no more than a minute or two, she gave a titanic cry and I felt myself drenched with her juices. She went still for a moment, then slowly and lasciviously rubbed herself up and down my dripping face.

At last she stopped and leaned back.

"Hah hah hah hah…"

I wasn't laughing; I was reacquainting myself with the sensation of dragging oxygen into my lungs.

Miss Lawrence had recovered her senses during this performance and was examining her bottom in the mirror over the washbasin.

"Look at that, Harry! They'll take weeks to go away!"

Her bottom was covered with perfectly parallel red stripes. It looked painful. I bet I wouldn't hear the last of it. She'd goad me into taking flogging lessons from Nurse B.

Nurse Benjamin stepped off the bed and stood looking down at me again.

"Nasty swelling that. Looks like we'll have to purge it."

She was looking at my middle section. My nasty swelling began to subside of its own accord.

Nurse Benjamin tugged at a thong and her jerkin fell off.

My nasty swelling recovered at a rate of knots.

Jay trotted back from the mirror and eyed Nurse Benjamin's stupendous breasts. She was recovering rapidly too.

Nurse Benjamin gripped my nasty swelling in a powerful hand.

"Careful!"

My faithful pal, bless her, was concerned that her favorite part of my anatomy was about to be amputated without benefit of proper surgical procedures.

Nurse Benjamin squeezed gently. I felt an irresistible pressure build.

"Ohhhhh…"

That was me.

Miss Lawrence bent over Nurse Benjamin's hand and gave my helmet a friendly lick. She lifted her head expectantly.

Nurse Benjamin's dark head lowered. With a sudden movement, she engulfed me. Her lips gripped and slithered and her tongue lashed like the whip had lashed Jay's rear end. She had suction like a tornado over a carrot field.

"Ahhhhh…"

Nurse Benjamin released me and Miss Lawrence was there like a shot. She pumped her mouth up and down my length. There was no waiting. This was not a day for drawn out foreplay.

I came almost before I knew it.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH…"

Miss Lawrence's lips lifted away and Nurse Benjamin was there to catch the last spurts of hot semen as I sank back into my pillows.

My eyes closed. I may have snored.

The bed shook and I opened my eyes. Nurse Benjamin was back in her nurse's uniform and Jay was back in her skirt. A large safety pin held it together where Nurse Benjamin had dispensed with the buttons.

"I've never been raped before," I murmured.

"First time for everything, Harry my lad. We're off to buy a present for Venus from her Dad. I've got your check book."

I didn't have the energy.

"Make it a nice present. Nothing tatty," I said drowsily.

"Ciao, sweetie!"

A chill breeze wafted through the door as the two girls left. I went to pull the bedclothes back up. My hands traveled two inches and came to a clanking stop.

"Hey! Come back! Come back here! Oy! Come back!"

There was no answer.

Jingle Tingle

"I don't believe it! Not here! Not now!"

"What's the matter, darling? Seeing little green men again?"

I followed Harry's gaze but could see nothing more daunting than a short, plump lady in a bright pink trouser suit. We sat in the elegant lobby of Victoria's magnificent Empress Hotel, taking a luxurious little break from some Christmas shopping. Harry slid down in his chair, as if attempting to render himself invisible. Not an easy task for a chap built on White Star Line proportions. My large friend hissed and drew a frond of potted fern across his face.

"It's the Black Widow!"

I looked skeptical.

"Sweet cakes, you're doing a very good impression of the Green Man. Did you know he is an ancient fertility symbol?"

I was just about to launch into a rather erudite discourse on pagan lore, a perennial interest, when the lady in pink squealed like a pig with its nose in a bucket of boiling swill.

"Harry!!! Ooh, it is Harry Neptune, it really is! Oh, darling Nep-toodles, what are you doing here in the Empress? I can't believe it! This is wonderful! What a delight! Oh! Oh!"

A steady stream of burbling emitted from the woman's lips, liberally punctuated with audible exclamation marks. I imagined that five minutes of the Black Widow's company would be tiring, a whole day of it might induce one to book oneself into a spa for a rest cure. Smiling grimly, I extended one suede-gloved hand towards the gushing lady, as Harry extricated himself from the vegetation, a sheepish and somewhat fatalistic expression on his face.

"Gloria, this is Miss Jay Lawrence. Jay, allow me to present Mrs. Gloria Goldfinkel."

"But do call me Gigi! Are you here to take tea? Are you staying at the Empress? I have a wonderful suite in the west wing, simply divine. Oh! Oh! You must come up to my suite and take tea. You will, won't you, Harry darling? Oh, you simply must. Don't forget Tittitata Lodge!"

Harry looked grim. I recalled his terse recounting of his first liaison with the Black Widow, a lady of independent and considerable means, whose wealthy sixth husband had expired on the last leg of a round the world cruise. I suspect my friend had been considering an auxiliary career as a shipboard roue and cad-about-port, but Gigi's terminally effusive manner had brought him back to dry land with a bump. Poor dear. Gigi finally paused to draw breath and I grasped Harry's elbow and propelled him towards the nearest door.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Finkelstein! Just remembered Harry's doctor's appointment! It's his old trouble again, I'm afraid. Arrividerce!"

"But! But! Oh!"

We left the vision in pink pouting by the potted palms and careered out into the dampish day. The uniformed doorman gave us a very disapproving look as we scuttled down the gravel drive and I giggled at last.

"Tittitata Lodge, eh?"

Harry shuddered.

"You don't want to know. Believe me. You don't want to know. If I say fuchsia marabou trimmed peignoir that should give you more than enough information. Now, what about our tea, you little monster? I'm parched."

I took Harry's arm.

"I know a place. Not as fancy as the Empress, of course, but it has a certain rustic charm."

"Don't we all, dear!"

"Tittitata Lodge indeed. What next, Mr. Neptune? What next?!"

******

Jay's little legs positively twinkled as we fled from the Empress and the occupant of its west wing suite – the Presidential Suite, I had no doubt. She clung to my arm as I ran through the old familiar lose-the-tail routine. As we ducked and dived I wondered idly about planting a notice in the newspaper that my old trouble had proven terminal.

"Slow down – we've lost her!"

My breath returned to something like normal as I let Jay take over the navigation.

Jay's 'rustic charm' amounted to Tillie's Tea Shoppe, an inside outside place tucked away between the main shopping street and the harbour. We battled our way through the Christmas hordes and plonked ourselves down at an outside table. The weather was unseasonably warm, despite Jay trying to influence it with her fancy gloves and a scarf she could have corralled horses with. There was an open fire built into one wall of the outside bit, and various decorations dangling from the more vertical surfaces. All jolly seasonal.

"Tittitata Lodge? Come on, Neptune, spill the beans!"

"Mrs. Goldfinkel has been married six times, you know. The first…"

"Tittitata Lodge!!"

"… was her childhood sweetheart, a football player. His insurance company made her first fortune when a faulty helmet allowed a Hoboken linebacker's boot to impact with both sides of his brain at once. The second…"

"Harry!"

My little friend had one of her determined looks on.

"… was an elderly gentleman who made his loot out of a chain of clothing stores. He lasted one night of bliss with his busty blonde bimbo bride and succumbed with the traditional smile on his lips. The third…"

The next word in the narrative would normally be "Ouch!", but I knew Miss Lawrence well enough to judge the moment at which to move my ankles a strategic couple of feet away.

"… the third…"

"Hi, I'm Sugar! What can I get for you today?"

The thread was broken with a vengeance. Sugar wore her hair in a pony tail, exposing ears I can only call pixie-like. They were pointed at the top and stuck out at a delicate angle. She had the fresh face of a fourteen year old. That's as far as the pixie look went.

She had managed to spill some tea or coffee on her white top. It clung damply to what I can only call one of the most magnificent pairs of breasts it has ever been my pleasure to drool over. They were round and full, uplifted by the bra whose outline gave texture to the top. If the Venus de Milo had had arms she would have made a grab for her own boobs in embarrassment at their inadequacy. They broke the mould when these titties came out.

The rest of Sugar was partly encased in a short plaid skirt and ended in shapely thighs and calves. The contrast between innocence from the neck up and voluptuousness southward was enough to make a bishop doubt his vocation.

"Tea and crumpets, please. Real butter."

Miss Lawrence tried womanfully to meet Sugar's eyes from her sitting position, but I could see that mammary gravity was winning.

"And two mince pies," I added.

"On the way! It's nice and warm here by the fire." Sugar turned and swayed away between the tables like a viola on acid.

"Hell fire," murmured the shaken Miss L. "If I hadn't seen them with my own eyes…"

"Remarkable indeed. The way they are pointed at the top. Not Spock-like but positively pixilated. I bet she has Irish blood."

"Pillock," said Miss L calmly as she regained her composure. "Now – Tittitata Lodge."

"The third was an oil man. One of his derricks fell on him in an earthquake. The fourth…"

"@*% amp; the fourth! Tittitata Lodge!"

"Miss Lawrence! I never did hear such language. And in the festive season too, with merriment all around. The fourth inherited his money from daddy. He was an adventurer who disappeared in the Gobi Desert while attempting to set a round the world skiing record. By now the Black Widow had entered her second half century. The fifth…"

Miss Lawrence sat back and folded her arms. Her expression was grim.

"… was a lusty young gardener she spied through the bedroom window one morning as she stepped out of the shower. She immediately fell in lust, ran downstairs in dripping nakedness, and ravished him in the petunias. He had enough brains to know when he was on to a good thing and soon traipsed up the aisle with her."

I looked hopefully around for Sugar. She was not in sight so I completed my fascinating tale.

"The gardener started to cart valuables away from the house in his wheelbarrow, and made free of the serving girls as the new master of the house. The wool soon fell from the Black Widow's eyes. She confided in a rather handsome Italian American gentleman from Las Vegas she had met on a cruise between husbands three and four – or was it four and five? No matter.

"Mr. Goldfinkel – he changed his name to better fit into his adoptive country – had a way about him. The Black Widow soon exchanged an errant spouse for certificated evidence that he had progressed to the afterworld on the wings of heart failure exacerbated by acute lead poisoning."

Still no Sugar. I concluded.

"At this time the Black Widow became Mrs. Goldfinkel and set out to repeat the cruise on which she had originally met husband number six. They had a wonderful time, and he had a perfectly proper coronary as the ship entered Fort Lauderdale harbour after girding the globe.

"So there you are. The Black Widow unveiled."

Miss Lawrence's lips parted in what looked like a snarl.

"Neptune – Tittitata Lodge. All the dirt. Or we're going to tea at the Empress."

I was trying to invent a plausible story when merciful heaven sent Sugar back to us.

She now proudly bore a sprig of holly in the valley of her slightly stained white bosom.

"Here we are! A nice pot of tea, crumpets and real creamy butter, and mince pies to feel Christmassy with. Can I do anything else for you?"

Jay and I looked at each other then at Sugar's chest. Our mouths opened to deliver what I am sure would have been very similar replies.

"Coo-ee!!!!!"

******

"Oh, not again! Does that woman have man radar? Has she had me electronically tagged?!"

Harry almost looked agitated. Sugar looked both amused and sharply knowing. I suspected her Santa's Little Helper shtick concealed a will of steel and it suddenly looked as if our little shopping expedition might turn into quite a jolly jape. The artfully bobbed, curled and tinted head of the Black Widow appeared at a porthole-like window in the red brick wall which enclosed the tea room's patio. This time, we both slid down in our chairs but it was too late. The woman had us firmly fixed in her sights. I wondered if she had a harpoon secreted in her capacious Gucci handbag.

"Yoo hoo! Gay! Harry! Oh, you are naughty! Gigi is quite put out!"

A plump little finger liberally encrusted in platinum and diamonds wagged at us through the porthole. Sugar snorted.

"You bad girl, Gay! Keeping that yummy-scrummy man all to yourself! Oh! Oh! Now, don't you move an inch, I'm coming to join the party!"

I wondered whether she would try to squeeze herself through the little window but the curly frosted blonde head withdrew and began to bob, Miss Piggy style, along the top of the wall. Harry looked wildly around for an escape route. The patio had but one exit, from the tearoom and bakery, towards which the Black Widow steamed relentlessly on. Practical as ever, I scooped up the baked goods, wrapped them in a napkin and stuffed them into my coat pocket. I happen to be very fond of a good mince pie.

"This way! There's a back door through the pantry."

Sugar had risen to the occasion, her pneumatic boobs pointing the way to freedom. There was something just a little too good to be true about them but there was no time for a full appraisal. The tearoom door tinkled as the Black Widow entered, panting. Desperate times, desperate measures! Quick as a wink, Harry and I ducked under the bakery counter, crawled beneath a heavy curtain into the pantry and ended up on our hands and knees at Sugar's feet. She had a tiny blue butterfly tattooed on the inside of her left ankle. I gazed up her short plaid skirt and recalled a hundred naughty schoolgirl movies. Her panties were white and moist. A first class servant is always one step ahead of the master and mistress and Sugar grinned mischievously. There was more to this particular wait-person than met the eye.

"Right then. Take off your clothes. I want to see you both naked in less than thirty seconds."

Harry was hyperventilating on all fours and his jaw dropped slightly in an obvious blend of lust and astonishment. Feminine intuition being what it is, I was not so surprised. Sweet little Sugar was into a spot of humiliation and it wouldn't be her pert little buns that would get a roasting. Our diminutive captor grasped a spatula from a can of utensils and slapped it rhythmically against the palm of her hand.

"I'm waiting. Strip. Or I tell the bimbo from hell the exact location of her precious prey."

I looked at Harry. A fascinating procession of emotions was traipsing across his craggy face. While I myself adore to submit, there's not a person alive who could force Harry Neptune to bare his botty for a sound disciplinary session. I waited for my friend to laugh derisively or draw himself up to his full height and bend the forward girl over the counter for a salutary spanking. To my astonishment, he began to unbutton his shirt. Sugar smirked and placed one foot on the rung of a nearby stool so we could see more of her panties.

"Good boy. Now, let's get one thing straight. You don't touch my boobs. They're off limits to both of you. Disobey and it's the waffle iron."

"But…!"

Now the reason for Harry's impression of a lower primate was becoming clear. No doubt he planned on playing the slave-boy just long enough to get his mitts on Miss Sugar's ample dumplings. It was my turn to smirk. Swiftly, I got naked amongst the sacks of flour and jars of jam. This was going to be fun. Harry did likewise, a determined look in his eyes. The pocket dominatrix rapped her spatula on the seat of the stool and thrust her off-limits chest towards her naked audience.

"You may call me Miss Thwack. I have a second career disciplining naughty boys like you. Sometimes girls, but usually boys. I find them so much more deserving. Get your ass over this stool, my lad. It's twenty strokes of the paddle for you! Don't think I didn't notice you drooling over my bust-line. Lascivious brat."

I held my breath. Harry's face had gone rather red. I waited for the storm to erupt but strangely, nothing happened. Very quietly, my friend gestured to me and murmured

"Ladies first."

Quick as a wink, I leapt up and positioned myself over the seat of the stool, my naked buttocks eager to feel the sting of the makeshift paddle. I looked up at Sugar expectantly and could see that Harry had thrown her a curve ball. Miss Thwack was not accustomed to unexpected detours on the route. For one moment she looked rather angry, then she shrugged her shoulders and pushed my head down. Cool, smooth fingers traced the contours of my ass and my pussy began to ooze with juice. I parted my legs and waited for the first blow to fall.

Thwack!

Not too terribly stingy for starters. No doubt the worst was yet to come.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Aha! I knew Harry Neptune would not stay down for long. Upside-down, I watched him through the rungs of the stool, as he coolly appraised the young girl's spanking style.

Thwackk!!

"Oh come on! You're not swatting a fly. Give it some elbow grease, girl."

Now we were beginning to reach serious bun-warming mode. I wriggled pleasurably, dry heat spreading across my naked cheeks like sunburn.

"Mmm…"

Sugar aka Miss Thwack's thighs brushed against the backs of mine and I rubbed my bottom against her crotch. My familiarity was rewarded with another resounding slap. That time, my buttocks quivered with the shock and I gasped, grasping the rungs of the wooden stool with sweaty palms. I wondered where the Black Widow had got to and whether she could hear the percussion emanating from the pantry.

"That's better. And now it's your turn, Sugar, my sweet."

I opened my eyes to see two pairs of calves through the pine framework of the stool. The young girl spoke at last, her voice notably high and a trifle shrill.

"It's Miss Thwack to you! Don't even think about it! Oh, you bastard…"

There was a rather satisfying tearing sound and I sensed Miss Thwack's panties had suddenly lost their elastic and found themselves about her knees. Harry Neptune has a peculiar effect on knicker elastic. A frantic struggle commenced and a warm but violently wriggling body was pinned to my back. I felt Sugar's short skirt flip up over her hips and two strong hands pinioned us both in an interesting sandwich. I wondered whether I would be able to breathe.

"Spank Harry Neptune, would you, bint?"

There was a murmured response. Perhaps Miss Thwack had had her lungs crushed too.

"Speak up, you little brat."

"Oh, fuck you, you big bully!"

Sugar had found her voice. I took a sharp intake of breath in preparation for the storm to come. If there's one thing Harry abhors, it's bad language. He's no angel but the lingo of the gutter riles him to the core. I waited for the axe to fall. Which it did, promptly.

"Aaaaaaeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

There was a piercing shriek as my cultured friend grasped Sugar by her ponytails and entered her hard and deep from behind. An enthusiastic thrusting and moaning began, with a hot pussy grinding madly against my ass. Unable to retrieve a hand and give myself some manual stimulation, I did what I could and ground back against the squirming crotch. Then, to my relief, two small but strong hands found my cunt and began to massage my mound with a manic rhythm. Waves of pleasure surged through my body as I savored the feel of the big bouncy breasts which were tightly squished against my back. They really were incredibly pneumatic. The bucking fuck sandwich continued and I longed for a cucumber. If we had only had a strap-on for Miss Thwack… However, it wasn't long before Harry groaned and shot his load into a squealing Sugar who shrieked and frigged me to my own bleating climax.

"Yesss!"

"Ooh, yesss!!"

"OOH, YESSS!!!"

At that moment, the heavy curtain to the pantry parted and a rather cross looking old man stuck his head through the gap.

"Do you mind? This is a teahouse, not a bordello. Get dressed and back to your duties, Miss Sachs!"

Harry snorted.

"Sugar Sachs?!"

We uncoiled from the stool, a little dazed from the experience. Sugar grimaced.

"My real name is Gretchen. Can't blame me for trying to spice up a dull existence, can you? OK, so it's round one to you, Mister, er, Mister?"

Harry made a curt bow.

"Harry Neptune at your service. Always keen to keep an errant young lady in line. I've had plenty of practice with Miss Lawrence here."

Sugar tried to pull up her panties but they slid back down to her knees in limp surrender. Shrugging, she stepped out of them and smoothed her short skirt over her naked buns.

"Should help with the tips!"

A distant "Coo-ee! Harry! Gay!" from the tearoom shattered our post-sandwich reverie and we began to struggle into our discarded clothes. It seemed that the enemy was indefatigable. With a knowing smirk, Sugar held open a fire door and we fell pell-mell into a rather dirty alley. The last thing we heard was "Twatton's, four o'clock."

We stood up and dusted ourselves down.

"Gay indeed!"

"Well, you are. Kind of."

"I'm bi, dear. Like planes and 'noculars. Meaning two of. Gay is something else."

"That pixie's 'noculars are something else."

"I'm suspicious."

"Yes, you most definitely are."

"I don't think they're real."

Harry looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

"That's it! That's the final straw! First, I'm hounded by that rabid nymphoid Goldfinkel, now you try to tell me that Sugar is artificially sweetened. Next, you'll say that Father Christmas doesn't exist. Well, go on! Sock it to me! I can take it. What's a delusion for if not to be ruined, trampled to death in the dirt of stark reality?"

I patted my pouting friend's hand reassuringly and decided not to disclose what had happened to the mince pies during the shuffle through the pantry. At that moment, a small sheet of bright red paper floated down from above, wafting gently to rest at our feet. I picked it up.

Festive Fun at Twatton's Department Store

Come Sit On Santa's Knee!

Pixie Parade at 4pm

"The plot thickens!"

Harry brightened visibly.

"Oh ho ho ho! Santa comes but once a year but when he does, he fills your stockings! Want to sit on the old man's knee, Miss Lawrence? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink!"

He leered lasciviously.

"Depends how well his tree is trimmed, sweetie! Let me see, what time is it now? Gosh, half past three already. We've just time to make our way to Twatton's. I wouldn't mind a rummage in their lingerie department, anyway."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Dirty old man."

******

This leisurely Christmas shopping expedition was turning out to be rather too energetic for my tastes. I like minimum shopping and maximum mince pies and sherry. Admittedly so far there had been an absolute minimum of shopping, but there had been zippo seasonal grub and Amontillado as well.

Now it looked as though for some mysterious reason we were off to see Santa Claus. I once saw a blue movie starring a female Santa and Humpty Dumpty, but somehow I thought Twatton's Department Store would have different ideas. I gathered together my slightly singed dignity and urged my diminutive friend on. The sooner this was over the sooner we could attend to the inner man.

"Ten minutes to spare. Time for a grope in the lingerie."

Jay glared at me anew.

"Behave yourself for once! I don't want a repetition of the Harrod's incident!"

"I wouldn't mind a repetition of the Harrod's incident."

"Harrod's wouldn't."

I cracked my knuckles ready for lingerie. There had been no mention of Tittitata Lodge since our escape from Tillie's Tea Shoppe. Good.

Lingerie was on the second floor. I pushed Jay on the escalator in front of me and felt for her undies through her woolen dress.

"Roll-ons to the right, conveniently next to the vests and thick knickers. You'll be in and out of here in a flash!"

"As well you know, I wear nothing but the best next to my alabaster skin. Turn left and seek out teddies."

"My pleasure. My pleasure indeed… Oh, I say! A civilized store! The goods are actually on display – tactile display! I complained bitterly to Mr. Marks and Mr. Spencer when M amp;S packaged their undies in cellophane. Cellophane simply does not feel the same as silk. I shall close my eyes and unerringly select the very best in the store for you."

I advanced on a rack of lacy bras and panties. I advanced so far and abruptly abandoned advancing. Something was amiss with my breathing. It had to do with the long scarf someone called Lawrence had wrapped round my neck.

"Heel! Put your hands in your pockets. And no tasting, either!"

I obeyed reluctantly as Jay selected a matched pair of red bra and panties that I was sure were a size too small. She likes bursting out all over. I like it too.

"Slips. Onward, Neptune."

This was starting to get boring. I cast my eyes idly over the serried ranks of feminine frippery and stopped on a green silk teddy. I imagined Sugar's bumptious boobs pressing into the silk, nipples hardening under the sensual…

"Hello again! You found your way here, then? Given that woman the slip? What a sight! I bet she eats men for breakfast."

"Only rich men, Sugar, my dear. Apart from one gardener." I maintained my sangfroid magnificently.

Plainly Sugar was to be the star of the Pixie Parade. She wore a short green tunic with yellow buttons barely holding out against the assault of her chest. Bare – nay naked – legs led down to green slippers with bells on. A green hat perched between her ears at a jaunty angle.

"Maybe I'll treat myself to that later. I do like green."

"What?"

"The teddy! All nice and slinky. I can just imagine myself wiggling in that…"

I gulped. I could imagine her wiggling in that, too. I did imagine it. I felt burgeoning pressure in the trouser department.

"Er, Sugar…"

"Coo-ee!!!!!!"

Sugar giggled at my startled face and un-Parliamentary language.

"I thought you disapproved of bad language, Mr. Neptune! My dad used to say things like that when the rent man snuck in the back door. Come on! I'll save you again."

She grabbed my hand and dived through the rack of slinkies.

"Harr-ee!!! Gigi's here!! Come and pick out a nice nightie for Gigi!"

The sound of pursuit stayed with us as we brushed through the lingerie undergrowth. I might have risked all and lingered in the sensory heaven of seamed stockings and garter belts, but Sugar hauled me on.

"The Parade starts in a minute! I'll have to stash you somewhere. I know…"

A quick burst of speed put us momentarily out of sight of the happily trilling Mrs. Goldfinkel. Sugar pushed open a door and dragged me in.

"In there! Keep the curtain drawn and don't say a word!"

She disappeared leaving me in a small cubicle with head-height walls, a mirror, and a single bench. I sat down to catch my breath.

The strains of 'Jingle Bells' came faintly through the ceiling. Sugar must be leading the Pixies round the floor and corralling kids to be ministered to by Santa. I wondered how long to wait before the coast would be clear.

"It's me! It's so me! I'll just check it for fit and then I'll take six!"

"Very well, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Certainly Mrs. Goldfinkel. I'll wait outside for you, Mrs. Goldfinkel."

I looked around desperately for an exit. The only way in or out of my cubicle was the curtain. I hastily stood on the bench to hide my size twelves. I grasped the curtain barely in time as a bejeweled hand appeared at the edge.

"Taken! Never mind, next door's free!"

A curtain swished and a zipper unzipped. There was a noise as of shoes being kicked off and of discarded clothes being scattered around.

I crouched on the bench to keep my head below wall level. I breathed carefully and quietly under the sound of the Goldfinkel disrobing and singing little snatches of Christmas songs to herself.

I wondered how long it would go on. Already cramp was creeping into my calves. Then something else crept into me.

It was a dreadful, dreadful temptation. I fought but it had me firmly in its grip. An insidious force battered my willpower. Madness was in the air. I could no more resist than an urchin could resist peeking through a hole in a fence. Slowly my knees straightened.

******

"Aaaaeeeeeee!!!!!! Feelthy pervert!!!!!!"

I knew I shouldn't have taken Harry lingerie shopping. A vague, gnawing sense of concern had been toying with me since his sudden disappearance in 'Teddies amp; Bustiers'. Feeling uncomfortably like a lax mother with an unchecked, rampaging child, I hurried in the direction of the piercing shrieks, clutching my cache of lacy undies. A rather large lady of Mediterranean origin was hyperventilating beside the changing cubicles, her Rubenesque form sensibly clad in several acres of pale pink flannelette. Aghast, she pointed at the middle cubicle, which appeared to be empty, although the curtain was drawn. Several sales assistants and a security guard came panting down the aisle to see what the fuss was about. The night-gowned mamma immediately began to wail and wave her arms about, in a rather operatic manner.

"It was a man! A pooping tom!"

One of the sales assistants giggled.

"I think you mean a peeping tom, madam!"

"I know what I mean! He made a rude noise and then…"

"Thrrrrrppppptttttt!!!!!!"

A ripe, juicy raspberry issued from the depths of 'Garter Belts amp; G-Strings' and just for one brief moment I thought I spied Harry's mischievous grin through the shrubbery of dangling smalls. The fat lady cried out:

"That's him! That's what I heard! Catch him!"

"What is all the fuss about? Are they giving away free pantyhose again? I've never heard such a commotion! Oh! Oh! Is it Santa time yet?"

The now familiar excitable tones of the Black Widow cut through my chagrin and I turned to see a second bedtime-apparelled apparition appear from the row of cubicles.

"Good heavens! Mrs. Goldfinkel!"

For once I was at a loss for words. The Black Widow was squeezed, by some method unknown, into a tight satin tiger print gown, complete with matching high-heeled mules and a long feather boa. Generous handfuls of tropically tanned flesh were visible in assorted directions and the overall effect was of an overstuffed sofa that had split its seams and spilled its filling. I gasped. So did the Black Widow. Like Sugar, there was something over-the-top about her bust line, even allowing for her generous dress size. I couldn't help myself. Before you could say "Double D", I had grasped the mighty melons and given them a good firm squeeze.

Toot! Toot!

"Hooray! Hooray! It's the Twatton's Pixie Parade!"

At that moment, mere mayhem descended into all-out fracas. The elevator doors opened and a nubile chorus line of six attractive young ladies in bright green mini-dresses and matching pointed hats began to prance through the department, scattering candy canes to left and right as they wriggled and jiggled to a merry festive tune. The Black Widow shrieked in glee, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I had just grabbed her by the titties. Quite overcome with excitement, she grasped my arm and propelled me towards the gyrating elves.

"Come on, Gay! Let's be first to sit on Santa! Gigi is going to give the old man a Christmas to remember! Oh! Oh! This is going to be so much fun!"

The Pixies had formed a conga line, to which game shoppers joined on, snaking in and out of the racks of frillies in a giggling, cheering serpent. A Christmas medley played in the background, with various festive tunes rapidly segueing into each other in a frenetic tinkly melody. I grasped a couple of the Black Widow's love handles and tried to avoid being knocked right out of line by her swaying tiger print rump. It looked as if she had been taking samba lessons. As the conga swept past 'Seasonal Intimate Novelties', I spotted a large stack of gift-wrapped packages topped by a sign which proclaimed:

Tooti Hooters!

Inflatable Musical Bras

(Reduced)

Never one to resist a bargain, I snatched a box from the top of the pile as we cha-cha-cha'd by. This could be interesting. I glanced over my shoulder as we careered through the exit and headed for Santa's Grotto, cheerfully setting off the shoplifting alarms with assorted items of unpaid merchandise. The security guard stopped hunting for the Phantom of Ladies' Intimate Apparel and waved his arms at us.

"Hey! You'll have to pay before leaving the department!"

"Don't worry! I'm a Loot Club member! Just put it all on my account!" trilled the Black Widow, making a bee line for Santa, a rather short and skinny chap whose red and white suit looked about three sizes too big for him. I began to wonder where on earth Harry had got to.

"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!"

Mrs. Goldfinkel shimmied out of the conga line and virtually threw herself at the poor unsuspecting Santa impersonator, elbowing several pre-schoolers and a nanny out of the way to be first in the line-up. I glimpsed the look of horror in the man's eyes and his knees buckled as a large tiger print bottom landed on his lap. In fact, you could see little more than the white pom-pom on the top of his red hat once the Black Widow had ensconced herself. A small boy began to wail loudly in protest but the vision in satin was undeterred.

"Ooh, Santa baby, I've been ever so naughty this year! Will I get nothing but a birch switch in my stocking?"

There was a muffled, rather wheezy mumbling from behind Santa's cotton wool beard which sounded rather like "get off my knees, you old trollop" but the Black Widow merely giggled and bounced up and down like a wallaby on a trampoline. She might have been carrying a few too many extra pounds but she was fit with it.

"Oh, Santa, Santa, Santa, don't you have anything for poor little Gigi? Hee hee! Oh! Oh! This is so much fun!"

Grimacing, Santa reached down to rummage in the large sack of parcels by his tinsel-trimmed throne. Just at that precise moment, the Black Widow executed her biggest bounce, ripples from which sent some rather fascinating currents through her shiny tiger print coated bottom. For one brief moment, it was unclear what was heading up and what down until both buttocks landed with a fulsome squishy thump. What was more, the resulting shift in weight and balance caused Santa to make a frantic grab for the nearest handhold, which just happened to be Mrs. Goldfinkel's seasonally augmented boobs.

BANG!

"Aaargh!"

There was a minor explosion, accompanied by a small shower of tiny gold foil stars, shreds of scarlet tinsel and strands of cotton wool. Santa slumped semi-senseless on his chipboard throne, a dazed and strangely silent Black Widow sprawled across his hapless lap. The tiger print gown could no longer take the strain and the twin meringues of her large soft breasts erupted from the satiny wreckage. A tiny voice piped up from the gathering crowd.

"Mummy, why did the fat lady have balloons down the front of her dress? Did she want to look fatter? Ooh, look mummy! You can see the lady's boobies!"

"Hush, Emily!"

"Yes! Nnnnyurrgh! Yes!!"

A familiar sound issued from somewhere close by and I wrested my gaze from the desecrated grotto. I knew that sound. Somewhere between the mating call of the duckbilled platypus and a constipated moose, it was a guttural grunt I'd heard on multiple occasions. Harry Neptune was having an orgasm. But where? How? Perplexed, I scanned the milling festive crowd for H's large form but there was nary a Neptune in sight. Then I spotted another sign.

Bliss Day Spa

Pooped out? Pop right in!

"Oh, yes! Just a little to the left, Angel, my love. Mind my appendectomy scar! That's it. Right there. Mmm. Dreamy…"

"Well!"

I stood in the doorway of Bliss, still clutching my unpaid merchandise. A veritable bacchanale greeted my incredulous eyes. The spa was decorated in the manner of a Roman bath house, all trompe l'oeil columns and bunches of plastic grapes. Harry Neptune lay in naked, oily splendor, surrounded by several nude and equally well-greased handmaidens. Giggling, they rubbed their glistening breasts against his hairy chest as he swatted their bottoms with a mitt on a stick. A trail of bright green tunics and jaunty hats littered the path from steam room to massage table.

"So that's where the Pixies got to. I wondered. You're a bad lad, Harry Neptune. What is that gunk on your belly?"

Harry contemplated his navel.

"I think it's called Ho-ho-joba Festive Fun Oil. Strip off, Lawrence. Join the slick."

"No thanks, sweetie. I'm still recovering from Santa's Grotto. You just wouldn't believe…"

"After this afternoon, nothing would surprise me, I assure you! How do you like my tattoo?"

A ripple of laughter tinkled through the pixies and, with a gleeful grin, Harry thrust his freshly swelling manhood towards a pert little brunette.

"Another squirt of Ho-ho, please, Angel, my sweet. That's it. Now, give Horace a nice little massage. Ohhh! That hit the spot. What do you say, Jaybird? What do you think of that?"

I appraised the member. A neatly stencilled sprig of mistletoe decorated Harry's toothsome love-shaft.

"It brings a whole new meaning to 'kiss me under the mistletoe'!"

"I hope that's not permanent!"

"Nah. It'll wash off after sixteen showers, apparently. Pretty nifty, eh?"

"Seems like a Christmas to re-member!"

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"What happened to Sugar? I think I discovered the source of her magnificent decolletage on sale in ladies undies."

Harry grinned ruefully.

"Yep. I hate to admit it, but you were on the money with the fake tits, Shortie. I tried to rip off her bra in Garters and G-strings. The resulting explosion almost blew me into the food hall."

"Serves you right! So, what did you do?"

My large friend smiled to himself.

"Oh, I gave the minx the spanking she so richly deserved, gagged her and tied her helpless naked form to the window display in Household Utensils. That'll teach her to go after Harry Neptune with a spatula. It was very artistic. A red-bottomed bint with some copper-bottomed pans. I expect Security will let her out at closing time."

I began to giggle uncontrollably at the mental image and Harry grasped me with oily hands, planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Jaybird!"

"Merry Christmas, Harry. And a Happy New Year, should we live that long…"

LUST AT SEA

A Slightly Sexy Novel

CHAPTER ONE: "METHINKS HE DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH."

"Mmmmmm… Whassup? Not guilty, go 'way…"

"It's all right, darling, I'm not the I. R. S. You have to wake up, Harry. Now! Something dreadful has happened."

I gave the grunting hulk beside me a fresh prod in the ribs and this time a ruffled head emerged from the tangled mass of bedcovers, glared balefully at me through reddened eyes then sank back down on the pillows with a pained groan.

"My head hurts. Fetch me an aspirin, bint. What's up? Run out of fresh meat? No toy boys at the market this morning?"

I rummaged in my purse for the emergency pain pill. Not being prone to headaches, the tablet was less than fresh and daintily coated in Kleenex fluff and chocolate crumbs. I brushed it off and passed it to the afflictee, along with the glass of water on the night table.

"Here you are, angel. Best take a nice big gulp or it might just stick in your throat."

With Herculean effort, Harry lugged his bulk into a semi-upright position. Focusing on nothing in particular, he popped the pill on his tongue and chugged down the contents of the glass. There was a sudden choking sound, followed by a liquid eruption of Niagaric proportions.

"Thhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrpppppppppttttttttttsssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Harry Gravesend Neptune! You've soaked the bed!"

Rarely did I utter my partner's middle name. It was an event that marked those inevitable times of extreme frustration which pockmark the face of any Great Love. Harry gasped and spluttered.

"That was neat Tequila, you little horror! You're trying to kill me again, aren't you? I don't know why. I keep telling you I don't have a brass farthing to my name. Neptune has never been synonymous with wealth, I'm afraid."

"Oops!"

Sheepishly, I took the glass from Harry's outstretched hand and sniffed the remains. It was booze all right. Gently, I replaced the tumbler on the night table and stroked my paramour's tousled hair. I had news to break and I sensed the bulletin might hit him hard.

"Darling, I have something to tell you."

"You've found a cure for the farting."

"No, dear."

"Too bad. It's kind of ripe in here. Can't you open a window or something? Where the heck are we, anyway?"

Harry peered at his surroundings, a typically nondescript hotel room.

I steeled myself.

"We're in Las Vegas, sweetie."

"I thought you disapproved of gambling!"

"I do. Always thought craps was something you put on the roses. But, angel…"

Harry clasped his throbbing head, then gingerly drew back the sodden sheets to reveal some interesting night apparel.

"Don't tell me! I lost my shirt, didn't I? What on earth am I wearing? You minx, Lawrence. You set me up with the girls at the Crazy Horse again, didn't you? Ah, I remember Paris. Is the Nevada squad as lively as the French? Odd, I really can't recall a thing…"

"Nice jammies."

I stifled a giggle. Harry was resplendent in scarlet silk pajamas, naughtily printed with top-heavy nudes. He slowly examined the pattern with increasing amusement.

"Ooh, I say! Look at this plump one under my armpit. Could be you, except her bum's not big enough…"

I stiffened.

"That's enough. I can't help my genes. It's the Eskimo blood. Right. That's it. No more beating around the bush. You asked for it, Neptune. The thing is – we got married."

Harry's tanned face blanched to a shade normally associated with blotting paper. Then he looked at me suspiciously, a wry smile hovering about his lips.

"OK, Jaybird, you're a very funny girl. Joke's over. Harry Neptune ain't that gullible."

I sighed heavily and patted his hand.

"I'm sorry, darling. It's not a joke. You proposed and I accepted. We are hitched. Spliced. Man and wife."

My other half issued a pitiful strangled cry. I'd heard him make some pretty peculiar noises over the course of our long-time partnership but this one was new to the repertoire.

"But where? How? When?"

"At the Buxom Baybe Medieval Boob Fest. In the Chapel of Celestial Bliss. By the Fairly Irreverent Pastor Von Schlong. Sometime last night."

Harry rallied visibly.

"Buxom Boob Fest? Pastor Von Schlong? Hah! Relax, Lawrence, there's no way it can possibly be legal. What are we doing for breakfast? I'm beginning to feel a bit more human again."

"There's a place across the road. But darling, I'm afraid this marriage lark is not the jolly jape it seems. I called my attorney about an hour ago, thinking he'd laugh my worries all the way to Yuma. The trouble is, it's legal. I'm Mrs. Harry Gravesend Neptune."

Harry moaned.

"Oh, good grief. We've been in some dangerous situations but this one takes the biscuit. I don't want a wife! Had one once, hated every moment of it. There has to be an Acme Drive-Thru De-Hitching Center. This is Vegas. Easy come, easy go. Fetch me my shorts!"

I stared at the outraged vision in the lurid pajamas.

"Well, if you must know, this wasn't what I had in mind either! Give me Venice over Vegas, any time. Find your own shorts!"

"Acting like a bloody married woman already, I see. Right, then. Breakfast first, then we seek further legal advice. I don't believe this. I just don't bloody believe it. Wait 'til I get my hands on that Von Schlong. I'll wrap him round a lamppost. What the hell was I drinking last night, anyway? Jet fuel?"

I searched my memory bank and came up with something unsavory.

"I think it was that stuff that comes with a nice fat juicy worm in every bottle. You were showing off for a brace of blonde croupiers from Caligula's Circus. I think you actually ate the bug, with a Jalapeno chaser."

Harry clutched his stomach.

"That's it! I'm going on the wagon. Never again!"

"No more croupiers?"

"Ha ha. Lawrence, I don't suppose we have photographic evidence of this fiasco, do we? Exhibit A, as it were."

I fished in my purse and withdrew a Polaroid. Harry's face contorted. He turned beetroot. His stomach heaved. Finally, he let out a huge guffaw.

"HEE! HEE! HEE! Another one for the family album! That is an absolute classic! Where are you, anyway?"

"Oh, very funny."

I snatched the instant image from my better half, and wondered whether I could have it digitally altered. A very much the worse for wear Harry leaned (nay, slumped) against a fake Roman column, elegantly dressed for the occasion in a garish Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to his navel. His glasses were slightly askew, his eyes likewise. His hair was a mess. In fact, it looked as if he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, to quote a quaint old Celtic phrase. Beside him, at torso level, was an equally disheveled head, all red eye and out of focus. Apparently, due to the cramped dimensions of the chapel and the distinctive difference in the bride and groom's respective heights, the photographer decided to capture what he could. It was cut off Harry's head or lose my body and my body lost. I stifled a sob.

****

"There, there, old girl. The shirt ain't all that bad, and anyway it looks like it didn't survive the party. Where the hell did these pajamas come from, anyway?"

"I don't care where the bloody shirt went or where the bloody pajamas came from! I want my wedding pictures!"

I stared at my diminutive friend in surprise. This was a far cry from the Miss Lawrence who gave a Montana football team more than they bargained for when trapped in a snow-bound Howard Johnson's two winters ago.

"I want my wedding pictures! All dressed up in virginal white and you in a white tuxedo and a black tie. And bridesmaids. And flowers. And… and… and… I want my wedding pictures!!"

I put my arm around my sobbing friend – my sobbing wife. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment then tugged at my pajama jacket and blew her nose noisily on it.

"Mind you, I never thought you'd be in my wedding pictures. But you asked me so nicely, on bended knee and everything, rose behind your ear and champagne in the waitress's slipper. 'I love you, Jay Lawrence,' you said, 'Hitch your star to mine and I'll have your babies.' Everyone applauded and someone gave you the Fairly Irreverent Pastor Von Schlong's folding brochure and…"

The tears started again and I did my ineffectual manly bit until they stemmed. It was starting to come back to me.

We turned up at Miami airport and told Fly By Night Airlines that we would go anywhere as long as we got an upgrade. After rejecting Edmonton, Alberta with a pair of heartfelt shudders we accepted two Business Class seats to Sin City. We loaded up with sushi from the concourse bar, instructed the flight staff as we boarded on how to store it and when to serve it, and proceeded to show our appreciation for Fly By Night's generosity and cooperation by gushingly complimenting every glass as it arrived and was rapidly replaced by the next one.

"I want the plashtic handcuffs!" is the refrain I recall emanating from Miss Lawrence in a bondage mood. Eventually they fished out the restraints to keep the racket down and she was happy for the rest of the flight.

Things got a bit blurry after that. There was a taxi ride to a hotel, presumably the one we were in now, and a bar crawl along the strip in which we made lots of new friends. And in which apparently I ate worms. I didn't remember that bit and didn't want to, blonde croupiers in togas or not.

Then, apparently, I popped the question and slipped the Irrelevant Schlong a fin or two to do the dirty deed.

"A white dress…"

"Shush, my dear. Rest your head on me and calm yourself."

"A white dress… and bridesmaids…"

"Hush a bye baby…" I trilled.

Mrs. Neptune sat up. "Are you going to be sick?"

"No, I am not going to be sick! I am comforting you with a lullaby."

"Humph. Stick to patting my bum or I'll be sick."

"Charming! What's that sticking out of your bag? Is it our wedding certificate?"

Jay leaned over and pulled out an official looking piece of paper covered with small print. I could make out the words 'Copyright, Chapel of Celestial Bliss' overprinted in pale red.

"It's not the wedding certificate. I propped that up on the dresser with your aftershave bottle. It's – it's a prenuptial agreement!"

"What! Does that mean I get all your money when we annul this afternoon?"

Jay gave me an old-fashioned look.

"It says on the top, 'For The Bride'. As far as I can make out I take you to the cleaners under any and all circumstances, plus a few I hadn't thought of. Wow! Not even Elizabeth Taylor thought of that one – it's a lulu…"

I leaned back and adjusted my comfort. I smiled.

"As I keep telling you, my love, I haven't a sou. I live off my wits and charm. You may dispose of that useless piece of paper in the nearest waste receptacle."

"Oh yes, Harry Neptune? What about that Cayman National Laundry account you told them to pay your winnings into last night? That's where you keep your dirty socks, is it?"

I maintained my sangfroid admirably. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"A hang over from my Colonial days, sweetie pie. Merely a few tens of dollars to cover any unexpected expenses. The interest wouldn't keep me in jelly babies."

I yawned elaborately and peeped at my new spouse out of one eye.

"Your Platinum Cayman National Laundry account. No doubt with diamond clusters." There was a glint in the Lawrence eye. "We'll see about that. I always did wonder where you found the loot for Saville Row suits."

I decided a change of subject was in order. I was searching for one when a sudden and obvious thought burst into my mind.

"Consummation! Every marriage has to be consummated or it's null and void! Who was the queer poet who never rogered his wife and she divorced him after years and years?"

"Oscar Wilde probably. And who says our marriage is not consummated? We've consummated at every opportunity for yonks!"

"Not after the ceremony we haven't! That's all that matters. Pre-marital practice doesn't count."

"How do you know we didn't? You can't remember a dickey bird from last night!"

"Exactly! I rest my case! You know perfectly well that if I get as completely blotto as that, the old hampton wick goes into hibernation. Quoderat demonstrandum. Nil lead in pencil, nil consummation, nil marriage. We're off the hook!"

I was glared at.

"And nil prenuptial agreement – there must be a cooling off clause in there somewhere!" I added as an afterthought.

I wasn't expecting the fist that landed in my left eye. Nor was I expecting the hand that dived into my pajama trousers, nor to be straddled by a gimlet eyed Miss Lawrence.

"Miss Lawrence!" I gasped.

"That's Mrs. Neptune to you!"

****

Harry made a sound like antique bagpipes.

"Oof! Gerroff my belly! And before breakfast, too! You know I can't do a thing 'til I've had my eggs over easy!"

Relentlessly, I hunted down his snoozing manhood and clasped it tight within my hot little hand. My husband yelped.

"You've been over easy for way too long, darling. I think it's time you saw the light and were saved by the love of a good woman."

I was quite getting into the matrimonial lark. In fact, I wondered why I hadn't tried it before. Oh, it was something to do with that "love, honor and obey" clause. But no one ever paid much attention to the small print, anyway. The power was rather intoxicating. Seductively, I slipped my silky robe from my shoulders, revealing my heavy breasts. Sensing my strategy, Harry turned his head to one side and scrunched his eyes shut. I began to rock gently and rhythmically against his crotch, enjoying the way his big torso made me open my thighs full stretch. Riding horsy was one of our favorite games. Harry clenched his teeth. I picked up speed, moving from a sedate walk to a nice crisp trot.

"Bouncy, bouncy! Ooh, look at those boobies go! Up, down, up, down, up, down. Jiggle, joggle, jiggle, joggle, jiggle, joggle!"

There was a large mirror on the wall above the bed and I watched my plump breasts twitch and frisk in the bright morning sunlight. Not bad, Mrs. Neptune. Not bad at all. It was a few years since I'd last appeared in a blue movie but I still had the moves. I felt a vague stirring between my legs and Harry began to mutter.

"Cold showers, thick tights, cold showers, thick tights…"

I giggled and upgraded the trot to a canter. My boobs began to slap lustily against my ribs as I gripped Harry's hips with my thighs and squirmed my soaking pussy against his helplessly swelling shaft. Now, I understood why people got married. Amazing to think that such a large percentage of the populace were sadists, however. Strains of Wagner filled my head as I rode my trusty steed towards a rousing climax. The muttering intensified and the pitch rose by an octave. My beloved sounded like a Buddhist monk on acid.

"Oatmeal and woolly vests! Oatmeal and woolly vests!"

The sweet taste of victory close at hand, I launched myself into full-tilt gallop and the William Tell Overture, popularly known as the theme from the Lone Ranger.

"Da da da, da da da, da da dah dah dah!

Da da da, da da da, da da da dah dah!"

"Cold tights, woolly oatmeal…"

"Hi ho, Silver, away!"

Now we bounced as one, the furious rhythm carrying us along in a wild orgiastic frenzy. Harry's cock was hard and full against my dripping cleft. With a deft feat of syncopation, I captured his luscious love-tool with my hungry snatch and gripped as if my life depended on it. My husband howled in a schizoid blend of pleasure and despair.

"Bitch! Oh, Jesus, that feels good! You've never done it like this before! Aaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeee!!! Nnnyurrrghh!!!"

I felt my own orgasm approach hot on the heels of Harry's. Interestingly, marriage seemed to be bringing out my sluttish side. Maybe wedded bliss was the ultimate kink for a card-carrying pervert and confirmed single. My singing rose to an ecstatic shriek.

"Ooh, yes! YES!! Harry!!!"

I dismounted with as much grace as I could muster (which wasn't much, as I had cramp in both calves and my knees had seized up). Harry lay like a beached whale, a strange glazed look in his eyes. Briskly, I threw off my robe and headed for the shower, attempting to limp with a slink. Casually, I called out from the bathroom:

"I think we can call this marriage consummated, sweetie. Don't worry. I just know this is going to be good for both of us. Don't know why we didn't take the plunge years ago."

"You said you were allergic."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, numbly examining the large damp patch on the front of his pajamas.

"I hope you haven't ruined my new PJs!"

I adopted a clipped, 1950s hausfrau tone.

"Of course not, darling! Why, you just whip them off and I'll get out my Acme washer and wringer and have them squeaky clean in no time at all! Would you like nice sharp creases in the trousers? I should have some Crispo laundry starch."

"Well, now you mention it, I do have some shirts you could iron…"

"Sorry, darling. The schedule is full. Ask the maid. I want to visit Retro Mart for some old-fashioned undies to play my new wifely role to the hilt. You know, seamed stockings, Betty Paige stuff. You won't regret making an honest woman of me!"

Harry began to look more cheerful. At that moment, there was a faint rustle and a large pink envelope slid underneath our hotel room door. Tastefully decorated with glittery kissing cherubs, it bore the legend:

Compliments of the Chapel of Celestial Bliss

Do Not Destroy! You May Be A Winner!!

CHAPTER TWO: "A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE…"

Fort Liquordale disappeared into the rose red setting sun as the good ship Caribbean Conch steamed out for a fortnight of cruising bliss. I slipped my arm around my spouse's shoulder and emitted a hearty sigh.

"All right, the bar should be open by now. Come on, I'll buy you a restorer."

I turned my back on the vista of cranes highlighted against reddened clouds.

"There's one at the sharp end. Lovely view of where we're going. I always did like to sit facing the engine."

We found ourselves two comfy steamer chairs on the deck outside the Sharp End Bar. In no time restorative Margaritas were doing their vital medicinal work.

"This is better than Las Vegas!" we said as one. Jay licked the remaining booze out of her glass and looked round hopefully for a waitperson.

"Must be a record," I said. "From hangover in improvised desert honeymoon suite, to Bridal Suite Sans Pareil on America's idea of a luxury liner. Am I still drunk and dreaming?"

"Nope. Not yet, anyway. Thanks to the Irrefutable Reverend Von Schlong, we are actually on our way to a selection of tropical paradises, populated by beauties of all sexes, and swimming in the elixir of life. And I hear the fruit is pretty good as well."

"And your old stamping ground," added the thirsty Miss Lawrence.

"Indeed," I replied. "Perhaps I shall stay on board when we get to the Virgin Islands. Do some press ups in the gym or something."

Miss Lawrence didn't bother responding. No doubt she would think of some mischief or other by the time we hit Tortola.

My empty glass was replaced with a full one. I leaned back and stretched my legs, and ran over once again how we had progressed from a bemused morning in the desert to being served hand and foot en route to the Caribbean Sea.

Compliments of the Chapel of Celestial Bliss

Do Not Destroy! You May Be A Winner!!

That's what the pink envelope had said. And for once, it meant it.

After being bounced on by my consummate wife, I took a cautious sip of the remaining Tequila in a hair of the dog attempt to get my brain back to a semblance of what passes somewhere close to the neighborhood of something like normality (as Miss Lawrence unfunnily puts it at frequent intervals).

Jay stepped on the envelope on her way to the shower, muttering "I'm all sticky…"

As the sound of rushing water indicated that stickiness removal was under way, I clambered gingerly out of the tangled bedclothes and cautiously approached the propped up marriage certificate. It looked pretty kosher. It seemed Von Schlong was a Notary Public as well as an Unorthodox Vicar. All avenues of escape cut off. I put it back after deciding that the bugger must have a copy filed so there was no point in eating this one, grumbling tummy or not. Breakfast was well overdue.

I perambulated a couple of steps and picked up the pink envelope with a view to chucking it in the wastebasket. My brain fired spasmodically on the second cylinder and for some reason I opened the garish thing.

A sheet of matching pink paper fell out.

Happy First Day of Wedded Bliss!

Webet hope you had a lovely night!

Are You The Lucky Ones?

This week we wed our millionth ecstatic couple!

Bring your marriage certificate into the Chapel Of Celestial Bliss!

If you are Couple 1,000,000 you will win an all expenses paid luxury Caribbean cruise!

Come On Down!

Hallelujah!

I looked again at the certificate on the dresser. Maybe it was worth something after all…

Jay reappeared from the bathroom with a towel turban wrapped round her head. She dripped.

"Come on Lawrence, Neptune, whatever your name is! Get dressed, we're going to claim our prize."

I found my Hawaiian shirt under the bed and hauled on a pair of slacks with several interesting stains. Jay was in an Indian dress with matching stains as we staggered out of the door.

"To the Chapel of Celestial Bliss!" I cried at the taxi driver. He raised one eyebrow and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Oh." The Chapel of Celestial Bliss was next door to the hotel.

"We'll walk," I said. The taxi driver closed his eyes. No tip.

Heavenly music flowed from the Chapel of Celestial Bliss as we walked under a fringed canopy and into a cool, vaguely Mediterranean looking antechamber. I had no recollection of it whatsoever.

"Mah beloved brethren! Welcome back to the Chapel of Celestial Bliss! Ah trust yo' all have come to see if yuh are the winners of our One Million Grand Prize! But Heavens to Betsy! Surely yo' all haven't had a married tiff already?"

The Fairly Irreverent Pastor Von Schlong was looking at my face with an expression of heavenly concern. He tilted his snow white Stetson back on his head and allowed small worry lines to appear on his tanned face.

"Boy, that is a beauty! You all need some good Texas steak on that shiner and no mistake!"

I looked at my reflection in a mirror behind Rev Schlong and saw what he meant. My left eye was closed and acquiring a range of colors from pink through purple to black. I had thought my impaired vision was a natural and common consequence of alcoholic excess, but it looked like my new bride could give Muhammad Ali's daughter two rounds out of five any day of the week.

"An accident, vicar. Carried away with adoration of my newly betrothed, I swept her off her feet to carry her over the threshold and came a purler into the door knob."

"Ah see," said the bootstrap-tied clergyman in a slow drawl.

"I owe you one," murmured my newly betrothed.

"But now!" brightened up Von Schlong. "Let us see your marriage certificate from the Chapel of Celestial Bliss to see if you have won that fabulous prize!"

Mrs. Neptune produced the slightly battered certificate from her handbag and handed it over. Reverend Schlong held it up to his clear blue eyes, squinted, then turned away to inspect it discreetly through a small pair of eye glasses. He turned back with a great cry and flung his arms in the air.

"Hallelujah! The Lord be praised! We have our winners! You Jay, and you Harry, yo' all are blessed couple number one million! Ring the bells and tell the world!"

Jay and I looked at each other, dumbfounded. Not even I had really believed the pink envelope.

"Now, most blessed pair, what shall it be? An Ecocruise? A Botanic Cruise? A Historic Monuments Cruise? A Health and Fitness Cruise? A Find the Lord Cruise? A Find Yourselves through Abstinence and Exercise Cruise? A Literary Cruise? A…"

"Literary!" I said hurriedly before he got to a Psychotherapy and Acupuncture Cruise. Literary sounded the most likely to be compatible with a Booze Cruise. A book would come in handy to put over my face at afternoon siesta time.

"Literary it is, you lucky people! Now, time's awastin'. Your boat leaves in four hours and you ain't in Florida yet! Hurry, hurry, hurry, and send up your thanks to the Lord as you go!"

I sketchily crossed myself as we were hustled into a huge white limo that swept off to the airport. Half an hour later we were airborne with Fly By Night once again, sinking the first glass of bubbly, and looking at the Caribbean Conch tickets as we tried to catch up with ourselves.

Our third cocktails arrived. A cooling breeze swept over the bow of the ship. I settled more comfortably in the steamer chair, closed my eyes, gave a contented sigh, and reached for my bride's hand.

"Coo-ee!!!"

****

"You did that without moving your lips!"

"Huh?"

Somewhat sleepily, I peered across at Harry's semi-slumbering form. He opened one eye and squinted back at me, then shrugged and reverted to snooze mode. I gave his stained and lurid shirt a disparaging glance. We really had to visit the ship's store and pick up some much-needed-on-voyage stuff. Like sun hats. And sun dresses. And sarongs. Not to mention sunscreen for my delicate Old Country complexion. Hastily, I moved my chair back into the shade. Lobster is not a becoming skin tone. I had just settled myself for the second time when the strange sound issued again, this time much closer than the first.

"Coo-ee!!!"

"What is that, Harry?"

My better half grunted.

"Ship's whistle. Mating call of the Blue Footed Booby. At ease, Mrs. Neptune. There are many strange sights and sounds afloat. Haven't you ever cruised before?"

"Only on dry land."

"Ho ho. Well, you'll soon get the hang of it. Basically, you sit in a deckchair and get pissed. Then you eat too much. Then you get pissed again (if you've sobered up from earlier on, that is). Oh, if you absolutely must have some culture, we can go and get lectured. Bloody hell, what was THAT?"

Something short, round, bright pink and rather wobbly thundered past our chairs, rather astonishingly leapt into the air and deftly caught a flying quoit.

"Didn't think little Gigi would catch that one, did you, Raoul? Oh! Oh! This is so much fun! I simply adore a cruise!"

Whatever it was, it was dripping with gold trinkets, like a smallish, fattish Christmas tree. Like a mobile window display at Harry Winston's, it tinkled as it bounced about, the bright Florida sunshine glinting from its clinking chains. Harry whistled. The glittering prize paused in mid bounce, peered into our shadowy lair and giggled like the proverbial giddy schoolgirl.

"Oh! Oh! You are a naughty man to whistle at little Gigi! I can see I'm going to have to watch my back on this voyage!"

Harry shrank back into his chair in horror. I stifled a giggle of my own. The creature advanced. It was a middle-aged woman dressed all in pink. Pink top, pink shorts with a pink belt, pink canvas deck shoes, pink sun visor. Anything which wasn't pink was gold, including her artfully curled and frosted hair. Her lips were suspiciously plump and pouty, no doubt from serial collagen injections. In short, she resembled a plastic baby doll. One almost expected to find a string and ring pull on her back. Instead of bleating "Mama!", the creature exclaimed:

"Don't I know you? Oh! Oh! It is Dirk Staunchly, isn't it? Oh, Mr. Staunchly, I'm just one of your biggest fans! I didn't know you were on the lecture list. What a wonderful surprise!"

Harry and I looked at each other, then at the thing in pink. Finally, I found some words in my emergency cache:

"I'm afraid you've made a mistake. This is my husband, Harry Neptune. I am, um, Mrs. Harry Neptune. Or Jay Neptune. Or something like that, anyway. Haven't decided yet. We're just married."

The pink blob clapped her hands together with glee.

"Newlyweds! Oh! Oh! How totally romantic! I am Mrs. Gloria Goldfinkel (of the Happachappabunket Goldfinkels). But you can call me Gigi. Everyone does. Oh! Oh! This is going to be so much fun! You really are the spitting image of Dirk Staunchly, Mr. Neptune. Quite uncanny. May I call you Harry? I'm sure dear Jay won't mind. After all, you're safely stashed in her safety deposit box now, aren't you?"

Mrs. Goldfinkel's tinkling voice adopted a coyly flirtatious tone underpinned with a disconcertingly steely nuance and Harry blanched then muttered something unintelligible. I patted his sturdy thigh in a proprietorial manner.

"It's been lovely meeting you, Mrs. Goldfinkel. I'm afraid it's time for Harry's rest now. Too much excitement flares up his Old Trouble something nasty."

Harry sighed heavily and did a lovely theatrical wince. Gigi frowned.

"Oh dear! Men are such flimsy things, aren't they? If only we could have them made like cars and order a Rolls or a Bentley. You know, something comfy and reliable. Oh well! See you at dinner!"

The creature bounced off, clasping the errant quoit. Harry groaned.

"I knew there would be a catch somewhere! Why, oh why, do women find me irresistible? I wonder if there's something I can spray on myself to repel them…"

I opened my mouth to make a standard witty response but no sound emerged. It was my turn to see something scary and unexpected. My eyes opened wide. My heart skipped a beat. Finally, I flushed scarlet and whispered:

"Boner."

Harry examined the front of his shorts.

"Don't be ridiculous. Horace went into hiding when that Goldfrink was on the offensive. I'll probably have to send a search party up the Orinoco to locate him and bring him back."

I moaned softly.

"Darling, it's Will Boner. My ex. The horror writer."

****

Boner? Yes, I remembered the name. Long thin streak of misery with a keep-fit bent and no idea of how to treat a lady. He was wearing Nike everything, which went oddly with the gray hair, wire-rimmed spectacles and sour expression.

"Mr. Neptune, Mr. Boner. Mr. Boner, Mr. Neptune." My bride introduced us reluctantly.

"What ho, Boner!" I cried from the recumbent without extending a hand. "Looks like you're carrying a bit more weight round the middle than the mem related."

Boner felt for his fatless waist and frowned. No love handles there, but from what I had heard he didn't have much use for them anyway. One up to Neptune. I could see he would spend an extra hour on the treadmill tonight. Me, I would head for the Turkish bath with a glass of Gordon's, except that I didn't really care about my profile. A few more pounds and they'll call me 'stately' in the police blotter.

"So how have you been, Jaylene?" asked my wife's former lover.

Jaylene? I would pursue that. Was it yet another of her many aliases?

"Up and down, Wilberforce, up and down. Did you ever get your latest book published?" she asked sweetly.

Boner scowled.

"I will by the time I get off this boat. Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted Publishers is aboard. I particularly asked for the cabin next to his so I can engineer a social meeting, arrange an appointment, present my manuscript, and negotiate a contract."

"Why don't you just get him pissed and shove the MS in his pocket?" I suggested helpfully.

Boner glared this time.

"Because, you… what was it you said? 'The mem?' The memsahib? Surely not even someone with your reputation would stoop so low…"

"Watch it, Boondongle. That's my bride of less than twenty-four hours you are thinking of insulting. Take your aspersions back the one-holer you got them out of. And wash your hands."

"Why you… you…"

"Come on, Boondock. You're supposed to be a writer, a wizard with words. You can do better than that. Where is the Wildean barb? Where is the Churchillian insult? Cat got your tongue? Oh no, of course not, pussy and your tongue don't mix, do they?"

Boner clenched his fists and took a step forward. I prepared my famous kick-in-the-nuts-from-the-prone-position riposte.

"Boys! Boys!" interrupted Miss Lawrence. "Not before dinner. You can go three rounds with the gloves on later, if you wish. Find me a blackboard and an eyeshade and I'll open a book."

For a moment it looked as though Boner might make a serious mistake and take one more step, but the ship gave a lurch as we left the shelter of the land and Boner lurched with it.

"Impressive! Is that what they call pea-green? It looks as though your stomach is turning upside down, inside out, side to side, twisting and groaning, ready to send your lunch back the way it came in a vile tasting…"

Boner turned and ran to a downwind rail. Faint heaving sounds came over the crash of the ship's bows cleaving the ocean waves. He more or less straightened and staggered aft, holding on to the teak rail for support and wobbling out of sync with the ship's movement.

"See you at dinner, Bummer! Oysters and fried squid!"

Miss Lawrence looked at me disapprovingly.

"That wasn't very nice. Forgive and forget and all that."

"Sod forgive and forget and all that. The bugger had better keep out of my way or I'll send fried egg sandwiches to his cabin morning, noon and night. No one denies my wife the perversions that are her right. Why I'll… fuck me!"

"Later, dearest. Dinner at the Captain's table first."

"No, I meant, 'fuck me, it's her!'"

"What on earth are you talking about? And close your mouth."

"Frippery, that's what I'm talking about!"

"Frippery? The Duty Free shop isn't even open yet."

"No, you halfwit! Frippery Drippit! The ex-Mrs. Frippery Neptune! What the hell is she doing on this scow?"

I stared across at the willowy figure tying a scarf around its head and gazing meaningfully at the horizon. She hadn't seen me yet. I wondered how fast I could grow a beard.

"She's a writer, dear. You told me. This is a Literary Cruise. She's probably going to give talks and readings and things, and advise would-be Prousts. I shall be very nice to her and find out why you keep mumbling in your sleep about a frying pan. And how you got that scar."

Frippery finished communing with the horizon and turned. Her refocused gaze fell on my recumbent form. She took a few hesitant paces until she was standing before us. Her face went even paler than its usual dead white. Her eyes stared.

"Miss Drippit, Miss – er, Mrs. Neptune. Mrs. Neptune, Miss Drippit."

A drop of spittle appeared at the corner of Frippery Drippit's mouth.

****

"You bathtard!"

"Well, that's nice, I must say!"

I stared up at the tall, dark haired creature which dared to cast aspersions on my new husband's parentage. She was an odd looking thing, vaguely reminiscent of a slightly tattered parasol. No breasts to speak of (what poor Harry had made of her flat chest, I couldn't possibly imagine.) No hips either, so her dress draped vertically, as if on a hanger. She wore a floaty, almost ankle length floral frock, sensible sandals and a silk headscarf, frumpily tied under the chin in the manner of H.M. the Queen out walking the Corgis. Large hands and feet. With her long hair crimped and some more vibrant clothing, she would probably look quite striking, like one of those melancholy ladies in Pre-Raphaelite paintings. As it was, she just looked limp. The concept of Frippery Drippit and Harry Neptune forming an alliance seemed about as likely as the Democrats taking Happachappabunket. Miss Drippit gave her ex a superior look.

"It'th Boner-Drippit, Harry. You're not the only one who hath remarried. Will and I formed Romanthing The Bone Athothiates, to promote our writing careers. Inthidentally, my latht novel, 'Flenthing Tenthing' was thort-lithted for the Puker Prize. And you thaid I'd never publith a therious book!"

It occurred to me that the fine spray, which bathed my sun-warmed cheekbones, did not originate in the salty swell. I'd spotted Drippit's tome, 'Flensing Tensing,' on the bookstore shelves but wasn't tempted by the grim tale of existentialist menopausal angst which, incidentally, had nothing to do with either famous Sherpas or the practice of removing meat from dead whales. It was simply a suitably pretentious title. Too bad, really, as I'd always rather fancied Edmund Hillary and some of my ancestors were well acquainted with the business end of a harpoon. So, Harry's ex had hit the wordy big time. Well, that explained Boner's sudden interest in matrimonial bliss. There always was method in his madness. He certainly wouldn't part with a cent unless it was blessed with a guaranteed return. Speaking of El Diablo, the grizzled wonder himself was bearing down for a repeat assault. Must have found the Dramamine. I braced myself for a fresh bout of ground scratching, flapping and pecking but it seemed a second cock fight was not in the program.

"Come along, Frip. It's nearly time for your vitamin regime and we must have a chat with Bjorn and Heidi at the gym."

"Just coming, dear. Thee you around, Harry. Jaylene."

The gaunt couple retreated at a brisk, cardio-toning march. They looked like a mismatched pair of pipe cleaners. My newly betrothed and I stared at each other in mutual incomprehension.

"What the heck did you see in her? She's got no tits! And she thpits!"

"Jaylene? What were you doing? Singing country and western?"

It was a long story. I sensed that Harry had a rambling, convoluted epic of his own. I slipped my arm through his.

"It's almost time for dinner, darling. We can't possibly grace the Captain's table dressed like this. We're going to have to rent some nice new rags. There's plenty of time to swap 'ex files.' By the way, the Captain's name is Ahab, and no, I'm not making this up! He's incredibly dishy. Just like Omar Sharif."

Harry sniggered.

"Omar Sharif must be almost as old as the Pyramids, these days."

"Don't care. I prefer old things."

"Thank you, Mrs. Neptune."

"You're welcome, Methuselah."

CHAPTER THREE: DEATH IS A CABARET

The Captain was just like Omar Sharif. Tall, dark, flashing eyes and gleaming teeth. You could just imagine him charging across the desert on a wild stallion, a curved knife between his teeth, and the heroine clinging to him from the rear pillion. His slicked-back black hair had a distinguished touch of grey at the temples, just like mine. He wore an old fashioned pea jacket with brass buttons closing almost to the neck. I could have sworn I glimpsed the flash of a Croix de Guerre hiding behind the collar.

I was resplendent in white jacket, black tie and cummerbund. The insignificant person in charge of the rental department had typically uninformed ideas about wing collars and flashy waistcoats. He didn't even know what I meant when I said I didn't want to look like a homosexual snooker player. I brushed him aside and chose my own apparel. Conservative and distinguished. A man of substance who sets fashion, doesn't follow it.

For the first formal dinner of our married life my bride chose a simple pearl-colored dress with plenty of decolletage. She has taste, too.

We were ushered to our seats in the chandelier-lit dining room. The champagne arrived with commendable speed.

The Captain made his entrance and sat at the head of the table as the men bobbed half up then back down again. He didn't have a limp.

"I am Captain Ahab. Welcome to my table on the fine ship Caribbean Conch."

We all murmured our good evenings.

The Captain was good. He had memorized the place settings on the small piece of paper I saw the purser slip him as he came into the room.

"On my left is the charming Miss Lawrence – nay, Mrs. Neptune! And the most very fortunate Mr. Neptune. May I offer my heartiest congratulations on this happy day!"

Polite applause and a couple of bravos came from our fellow guests, though with more enthusiasm in some quarters than others. Miss Lawrence wriggled a little closer to the Captain on her gilt chair.

"Next to Mr. Neptune is the lovely Miss Loretta Swat, familiar to us all as celebrity weather lady and for Loretta's Book of the Month."

I knew Loretta's Book of the Month could make or break authors and even publishing houses.

I turned to nod a greeting to my neighbor and barely managed not to turn it into a drool. I don't watch much TV, and I prefer to look out of the window to see what the weather is doing, so while I had heard of Miss Swat I was not prepared for the reality. She was thirty-something, tall, tanned, blonde, full bosomed, and half-naked. Her black cocktail dress could not possibly have hidden even the flimsiest foundation garments. Her eyes met mine.

"My, Mr. Neptune, what a pleasure," came a husky Southern voice. I wondered if the voice was real. I didn't care if the boobs were or not.

"The pleasure is all mine, dear lady, all mine," I replied gallantly, dragging my eyes up to hers.

I felt a small but determined foot kick my shin from the other side of the table. Here we go again. Well, it was my honeymoon. I returned my attention to the Captain. Mind you, Miss L likes a threesome as well as the next lusty bisexual vixen, so perhaps…

"And now, to help me entertain such a scintillating company, our ship's Medical Officer, Dr. Dunnett."

Dr. Dunnett was Scottish – one could tell before he even opened his mouth. In his early fifties, slightly stooped, half-moon glasses, his patently dyed red hair was brushed over a bald pate. Thin grey hair was growing out under the henna'd mess, and dandruff spattered the worn and shiny dinner jacket. He was obviously a man who knew his mind, because instead of the usual collection of wine glasses, he had before him a cut-glass whisky tumbler and a decanter in a silver swinging cradle. As long as the glass was in the right place, not a drop of the water of life would be spilled as the decanter tipped and poured.

"Good evening, Doctor," I said politely as I leaned forward slightly to get a better view of the decanter and stand.

They were somehow familiar. I cast my mind back to the last Reunion at Edinburgh Castle. I recalled just the same decanter before each of my assembled comrades, though not much else about the evening. At least not until we hit the bars behind Princes Street in the early hours, but that is another story and anyway there is an official record. Yes, there was the Castle crest, discreetly engraved on the side of the stand. It looked like the Old Medical School bash had been held at the Castle as well.

I leaned back and sneaked a peek at the Swat cleavage as I went. For my pains I got another kick in the shin.

"Next to the good Doctor, Mr. and Mrs. Boner-Drippit. Mrs. Boner-Drippit is of course well known to all of us on the Literary Cruise, and I am sure Mr. Boner also has a tale to tell."

Frippery was dressed in taffeta, as near as I could make out. The years had not been too kind, and her neck was better now described as scraggy than thin. She looked like an ostrich with stomachache. Or maybe that's just the thankful ex-husband speaking.

Boner had been taken in by the fashion idiot in the tuxedo rental department. Wing collar, paisley waistcoat in unnatural shades, trousers with red stripes down the sides, and a strange jacket with pocket cuffs in the same paisley as the waistcoat. He sat upright and nodded round the table. He seemed to think he looked good dressed as a clown.

"Finally, and far from least, the charming lady on my right…"

"Gigi! Gigi! You must all call me Gigi! Oh, what fun we shall have! Miss Swat, I watch your cookery program all the time! The maid does your angels on horseback so well!"

So la Swat was a celebrity chef too? Well, with a shelf like that I dare say she could get away with anything from gardening to political comment.

Mrs. Gloria Goldfinkel (of the Happachappabunket Goldfinkels) was still in pink. Lots of pink. Not to mention gold and sparkling diamonds. I couldn't begin to describe the ensemble. Jay is far better than I at that kind of thing. Suffice it to say that had she fallen overboard, she would be visible as a beacon from outer space, if the weight of wealth didn't drag her to the bottom first to be a hazard to submarine magnetic navigation equipment.

Mrs. Goldfinkel smiled radiantly around the table, the epitome of party fun.

Captain Ahab had finished his introductions and evidently felt like a break from social duties. He sat back and sipped at a glass of mineral water. There was silence for a few moments, then as the most presentable male guest (and as Harry Neptune) I took up the burden of conversation.

"How's your stomach, Boner? Up to the delights to come? A glass with you."

"I don't drink. Nor does Frippery."

****

"Well, actually, I wouldn't mind just a teenthy-weenthy glath…"

"We don't drink alcohol," Boner continued, firmly removing the wine glass from poor Frippery's place. "It's the ruination of the western world. And an emerging problem in the Third…"

I switched off, as my former lover began to drone on in a familiar and dreary speech I'd heard a thousand times before. I could probably repeat it, word for word, just as I could still recall the lyrics of the musicals he played from dawn to dusk when composing his tomes. I turned my attention to the new Golden Delicious of my husband's eye, a peroxide blonde with suspiciously convex tits. She looked like she had a couple of colanders stuffed down the front of her frock. (Maybe she did.) Harry was obviously having a hard time (as it were) maintaining eye contact as they chatted knowingly of Caribbean cuisine.

"Oh, I agree, the flying fish filet at the Far Flung Farrago, is infinitely superior to the tunny tournedos at Terrapin Terrace!"

They laughed, comfortable in a smug shared world of culinary conceit. I wondered how long it would be until Ms. Swat discovered that Harry thought okra was an Afro-American talk show host. The first course arrived and Blondie examined it with an expert eye. I sighed deeply and briskly draped my napkin across my lap. Things could well get messy and I'd hate to get grease on my fine new frock. Not that H would notice if I'd rented a gorilla suit. I took a dainty bite of the chilled Crab Surprise. It was delicious so I decided not to commence the petulant neglected spouse routine until I'd sampled all six courses, then go for the conversational jugular with a soothing liqueur. The glamorous weather forecaster, cook, and serial fornicator (according to the tabloids she had a weakness for sportsmen – by the team) continued to turn her plate around, cooing and purring at what looked remarkably like a lettuce leaf, some crab meat and a large dollop of pink sauce. TV cooks indeed! Give me Nigella Lawson any day. That woman knows how to live. I laid down my fork and stared at my own plate. To my intense surprise, nothing happened whatsoever. The way the blonde was communing with it, I had expected it to get up and dance.

"Looks like crab to me. What's the surprise, I wonder? Don't tell me, it's lobster dressed as crab. "

Naughtily, I cast a pointed glance at Ms. Flyswat's frontage. She had to be at least forty-five. Even Joan Collins knows when it's wise to keep your baked goods wrapped.

Harry glared at me. Alas, it was one of those rare and unfortunate moments when a thought solidifies and becomes a barb (usually after considerable forethought and precision timing). I smiled sweetly at my dearly beloved. Then, in the brief moment when I had his attention, I mouthed:

I want a divorce!

Unfortunately, my amour had never been good at lip reading.

"Ask the waiter!"

Later. I returned to the crab and Harry reattached himself to the bimbo's cleavage.

"I Married A Leech."

Sounded like one of Boner's lurid efforts, which were generally ripping yarns set at a frenetic pace that made Indiana Jones look like "The Sound Of Music." Something was always either exploding or decomposing, frequently both, as in his magnum opus, "The Squishing." They'd make great B-movies, 'though.

I'd like to squish that blonde. Monopolizing my husband!

Suddenly, I realized that something very strange had happened. And it had little, if nothing to do with the crab. I was jealous. Furiously, green monsterishly, hand-me-a-dagger-and-I'll-make-a-kebab type jealous. This was a new emotion and I fought back a large lump in my throat. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had discovered the secret in Crab Surprise.

****

"Oh, Mr. Boner, what a lovely suit!"

Boner preened as Mrs. G turned her attention to him.

"I buried my third husband in one just like it!"

Boner depreened. A hint of a smile appeared on Frippery's prim mouth.

"He was such a dear! In oil, you know. I do so miss him. And the others." For a moment Gigi looked sad. The she brightened up.

"Perhaps I'll meet number seven on this cruise! Lucky seven!"

She gazed around the table as if sizing up the candidates.

"Now," she said archly, "who have we here for Gigi? Doctor Dunnett?"

Dunnett shrank.

"A confirmed bachelor, Mrs. Goldfinkel, wedded to my profession. Never had the time for courting."

Or the sobriety, judging by the rate the decanter was emptying.

"Ooh, Doctor, you are such a tease. I bet you have the ladies swooning over you on every trip!"

There was a faint snort from the Captain.

"Mr. Boner, you are of course spoken for."

Mrs. G moved on without further comment. Boner looked put out.

"Mr. Neptune, I am just a day too late! Poor Gigi should have got her skates on! And you look so good in that tux!"

I took my wife's hand across the pristine linen tablecloth and bowed to Mrs. Goldfinkel.

"The fates would not have it so, my dear Mrs. Goldfinkel – Gigi. I have captured all my heart's desire and could want no more in life. I shall dance at your nuptials to the fortunate seventh Mr. G, whoever he may be."

For some reason Mrs. Neptune dug her fingernails into my palm. I looked at her and she smiled sweetly. She mouthed, Bar Steward!

"Just empty your glass dear, he'll soon refill it."

Gigi turned her attention to the Captain. She linked her arm in his and rested her frosted head on his shoulder.

"Ah, Captain, I do love a man in uniform!"

Captain Ahab was no stranger to these scenarios. He disengaged his arm politely and stood.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a toast! To fine weather and a happy cruise!"

We raised our glasses – the Boner's were filled with some carroty colored liquid Boner had brought with him in a thermos flask – and repeated the toast.

"To fine weather and a happy cruise!"

Glasses were drained and replaced with a late model Burgundy for the main course.

"And what is the weather prediction for the duration, Miss Swat? Any frontal systems we will be exposed to?"

"Why, Mr. Neptune! If the weather don't oblige, Ah sho' will do my little bitty best not to disappoint yuh!"

This was a bit rich even for me, but if listening to it was what it took to get Swat in the sack for a honeymoon treat Harry was your man. I could see by the way Jay snuck glances round me at Loretta's magnificent unfettered chest that she was of similar mind.

"Darling, I left my hair brush in the cabin. Would you be a dear and fetch it for me?"

"Of course, sweetheart." I made my apologies to the table and trotted off. If I trotted rapidly I would get in a swift Old Turkey to wash away the taste of the Burgundy before I came back.

There was no sign of a hairbrush in the cabin, so I pocketed my comb as a reasonable substitute and headed off to accomplish the second, unofficial, part of the mission.

When I got back to the table Miss Swat was picking ratatouille out of her cleavage and Miss Lawrence was addressing Boner.

"Did the discharge stop, or do you still wear the protective underwear?"

****

Harry's face was quite a picture when he resumed his seat at the Captain's table. Suddenly realizing that he'd been well and truly had, he shot me a masterful look and mouthed a warning. It looked a bit like:

I'm going to shag your button!

I smiled enigmatically and pretended not to notice. Boner had (thankfully) stopped talking ringworm and boils and Ms. Flyswat was taking the accident with the vegetable entree quite well really, all things considered. There had been a fairly major expletive when the piping hot slop hit her bronzed decolletage, but the ship had lurched just as I passed the bowl and my dainty little wrists have always been on the fragile side when it comes to lifting great big heavy items like dishes of steaming ratatouille. Oops. What was more, a brief but educational stint as The Great Superbo's glamorous assistant, Miss Fortune, taught me that the swiftness of the hand deceives the eye. It was a good flip. Superbo would have been proud. Meanwhile, the blonde was busy trying to turn the mess to her advantage.

"There was waaay too much liquid in that dish! Ah shall have a word with the chef. Ah might even offer to show him a couple of mah specialties."

There was a polite murmur of appreciation. I noticed that either Blondie's boobs had swollen with the heat of the sudden hot shower or she had artfully eased the melons another inch or so out of her skin-tight black gown.

Whichever it was, she looked ready to pop, her pronounced nipples defining the very edges of the plunging neckline. A glimmering crevasse opened up, like a bosomy gold mine and, unable to help himself, Harry grabbed his napkin and began to dab furiously, muttering inanely about the high cost of dry cleaning. And the Flyswat let him! A true Southern belle would have launched into outraged Scarlet O'Hara mode faster than you could say mint julep. Hmm. It wasn't just the boobies that were fake. In fact, there was something vaguely familiar about Ms. Swat. I calmly watched my husband eradicate every last molecule of ratatouille from the valley of the doll. I wasn't the only exponent of sleight of hand. He'd given her titties quite a massage beneath the white linen napkin. The harlot gasped as he finally withdrew. I swear her breasts looked as if they'd just been polished. The Southern drawl grew huskier and more pronounced.

"Why, Mistah Neptune. Y'all sure know how to treat a lady. Ah'm eternally grateful to you, ah'm sure. Ah mean, really grateful, if yuh know what ah mean…"

This was getting quite indecent. Then it came to me. The super-sized chest, the phony Southern drawl. I knew Loretta Swat's true identity or, at least, one of her former incarnations.

"Well, I'll be damned! Voluptua Luscious!"

Everyone turned to me and stared. Except for Blondie, who positively glared. I giggled.

"Oops! Hey, this ratatouille is really rather good. Dig in before it gets cold!"

Harry excised his peepers from the thrusting orbs. His mouth worked furiously:

"Rocket thrusters?"

We really had to take a lip reading course.

"I'll tell you later!"

I returned to the veggies and a trip down mammary, sorry, memory lane. Voluptua Luscious was a former porn star and exotic dancer, once upon a time, way back in the shady mists of antiquity (the mid-1980s, to be precise). It was an era of big hair, big tits and big tips, and for one brief but heady season, Lush, (as the other girls affectionately called her for various reasons), was the veritable Queen of the Pink Pussy Lounge. What she couldn't do with a brass pole and a gallon of baby oil wasn't worth knowing. Why, it was there that I learned the infamous pussy dance. My own XXX career was brief but fascinating. A quick dip in the retro section of an adult video store should unearth at least one Titty Boomboom erotica classic.

"Nympho Vixen Sluts Do Miami" was my personal favorite, especially the lesbian gang bang scene in the car wash. Happy days.

I finished my ratty and beamed at my husband, suddenly feeling more at one with the world. After all, he almost looked like a rather well upholstered and mature version of James Bond in his debonair outfit. I was just pursing my mouth to blow him a fond little wifely kiss when I spotted the creeping hand. It was an artful little technique which my nearest and dearest had oft used to give me a frisson in a public place. Although, to the other guests at the table, it would simply appear as if H was politely hanging on Ms. Flyswat's every murmured word, I could clearly picture the furtive maneuvers taking place beneath the napkin draped across her lap. My dearly beloved had worked his hand up her long tanned thigh and inside her flimsy knickers. If she was wearing any. Somehow, I doubted it. Lush's eyes were slightly glazed, the pupils dilated. Harry knows where to find a clitoris. Just at that moment, the band struck up a ruckus with a Latin-American beat. I stood up and threw down my own napkin as if it were a gauntlet.

"Right! That's it! Come on, Harry – let's dance!"

My freshly betrothed stared at me as if I'd gone completely bananas.

"Jay, sweetheart, you know I was born with two left feet. I'd only crush your lovely little tootsies with my great plates of meat."

This was true, not an avoidance device. I groaned, inwardly. No way I was tripping the light with Boner or that greasy, sozzled doc. That left the Captain and instinct told me he'd stay close to his table in case it went down (the strained remnant of Lush's bodice, that is).

I lifted my chin and marched onto the small spotlit square of parquet which formed the dance floor. There was no one there, it being mid dinner, but the band played a mellow background medley. A sign on their glitzy podium read "Escabeche."

Mm, hot sauce. They certainly were a rather tasty quartet. Four hunky young Latinos in gaudy ruffled shirts and cock caressing pants jiggled their snake hips to a lively beat. One played the maracas and sang, one beat on his bongos, the third strummed a bass guitar and the fourth tootled a trumpet. The resulting din sounded a bit like Herb Alpert grafted to Santana, which more or less summed up the average age of the diners. I'd rather have had Carmen Miranda myself, but I've always been a retro kind of gal.

Seizing the spotlight, I surreptitiously undid the top two buttons of my slinky gown and began to sway sensuously to the sultry rhythm. This was going to be the performance of a lifetime. I'd show that has-been old Lush that Titty Boomboom still had the power to drive men wild with desire.

Harry would not be unimpressed.

****

Jay had obviously gone bananas. Everyone from the Falklands to Oslo knows Harry Neptune can't put one foot in front of the other on the dance floor unless it's a strict 3/4 waltz. The Gay Gordons may be performed under extraordinary pressure, but the tango and suchlike modern gyrations are definitely where Harry happily sits it out. I have never even attempted the Twist.

Miss Lawrence, on the other hand, is something of a whiz on the dance floor. Not to mention the brass pole and the lap. Early ballet training had found an application that would have scandalized old Miss Prodworthy with her cardigan and metronome.

I settled down to see what La Lawrence would deliver, and kept up a deft rhythm under cover of the napkin.

"Oh, my, Mistah Neptune! Ah do declare I may at any moment experience some deep satisfaction!"

Good. That was the idea. Then maybe this luscious Luscious would come back for more under the ministrations of the well-known tag team of Lawrence and Neptune. The name Voluptua Luscious rang a faint bell. Something to do with the X-rated Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. Ah well, I would find out later when I presented my bride with her honeymoon gift and ripped off the wrapping.

Speaking of my bride – by golly, she was on form tonight!

"Good heavens!" Even the squiffy doctor raised his head at the entertainment.

Jay's dress was hiked up nearly to the top of her thighs. Her feet were wide apart, her arms raised high in the air, her hair flew in a dizzying circle as she tossed her head wildly. At least three buttons had come undone on the top of her dress and her ample breasts thrust rhythmically against the expensive material as her body grated to and fro.

My fingers increased their pace inside Loretta's thin and sodden panties and I circumspectly eased the growing pressure on my trousers.

"Ooh la la!" squealed Mrs. Goldfinkel as the tempo of the music increased. "Just like the Crazy Horse in Paris before my second husband passed away!"

The Captain took another sip of mineral water and smiled quietly to himself. This was beginning to look like a memorable evening.

Jay slowed to an offbeat rhythm. She ran her hands lasciviously over her breasts, over her stomach and along her thighs. She was moving very slowly now though the music was becoming even more frenetic. Her eyes were closed and I knew she was moaning quietly to herself.

Her hands ran back up her thighs and for a moment took her dress to waist level. The glimpse of knickers disappeared as the dress fell back and she massaged her ribs. She started moving quicker again, eyes still closed. She squeezed her breasts.

Miss Swat's breathing quickened and I felt the warmth of approaching orgasm. My fingers slowed and she convulsively grasped my thigh. Harry knows when to prolong the pleasure.

Jay opened her eyes and in a sudden movement pointed at the maraca-wielding chanteur. He needed no second bidding. As he leapt from the low stage I saw it was Raoul, Mrs. Goldfinkel's quoits companion. He had all the usual greasy Dago attributes.

The band launched into what I think is called the Lambada. Whatever it was, Jay was into it. She slithered all over Raoul without touching him. He obviously knew the score because he matched her move for move with arms outstretched.

"The view's much better beside you, Harree!"

Mrs. Goldfinkel had tripped round to my side of the table and now gripped my arm tightly as she watched the dance with what I thought might have been a touch of nostalgia.

Loretta dug her nails in and I slowed the pace yet more. I felt a faint shudder pass through her body.

I saw that Jay was dancing a few inches further away from the Latin male bimbo, and the reason was evident for all to see. He needed more space to keep to the no-touching rule. Jay ran her hands down her breasts and thighs again and I knew he was willing her to grab his meat and two veg. She licked her lips.

It occurred to me that this was hardly the way a lady was supposed to behave on the first evening of her honeymoon. Dash it, her eyes were supposed to be on me. Never mind her hands. I began to wonder if she would be quite as appreciative of my gift of Miss Swat as I anticipated. She seemed to be in a hetero mood tonight, which is not at all the kind of threesome I had in mind.

All of a sudden Jay stopped dancing in mid-movement. Still in dance pose she fixed her eyes on Lothario's. He stopped too, mere millimeters away from Jay's sweating body. Her hands slowly traveled down her heaving breasts and glistening thighs. As they moved upward again her dress rose too, slowly this time. One hand caressed her crotch, a finger pushing the wet material into her pussy.

The band played on, on autopilot now. Every eye in the room was on Miss Lawrence. Raoul was mesmerized.

Jay's free hand ran round the inside of her thighs. She opened her mouth wide and ran her tongue over her lips.

Then her hand darted to Raoul's bulging erection. His gasp could be heard over the music as she tugged him to her.

Several things happened at once.

The lights went out.

The music stopped.

Miss Swat had a loud and enthusiastic orgasm.

"Ach, I spilled ma' whusky!"

A champagne cork popped.

Mrs. Goldfinkel grabbed my crown jewels and stuck her tongue in my ear.

A thump came from the dance floor as of a falling body.

"Lights!" in the Captain's commanding voice.

The lights came on.

Miss Lawrence stood in a theatrical gesture, one palm outstretched where she had evidently thrust away the panting and now frustrated Raoul. Raoul lay motionless face down on the floor.

Miss Lawrence gestured imperiously to the drummer.

"You! Next!"

****

There was a stunned silence followed by a roar of rapturous applause!

"Bravo! Bravo!"

I looked around the large dining room of the Caribbean Conch and witnessed a veritable sea of enthusiastic faces. Some diners whistled and stamped, others clapped as if I were a Broadway star making a final, much hyped farewell performance. I felt just like Ann-Margret. Harry told me afterwards that my most vociferous fans were a group of senior citizens from Cleveland but no matter. It was sublime. The bongo player thumped out a long, dramatic drum roll and I took a deep bow, placing one stiletto-clad foot on my partner's back for effect. Raoul seemed determined to play his role to the hilt. He remained slumped across the parquet, a glazed expression in his one visible eye. Smiling glamorously, I gave him a little kick in the ribs and hissed:

"OK, Fred Astaire, take a bow. Don't even think about stealing the limelight!"

It was years since I'd performed and I realized just how much I'd missed that feeling. Then and there, I vowed to make a comeback. Titty Boomboom would ride again. There was, after all, quite a market for plump and mature.

The applause faded, my Latin lover didn't move an inch. My artistic temperament came into play. I inserted the sharp end of my high-heeled sandals between his tight little spandex painted buns. Not a flicker. I crouched down and muttered in his ear.

"Up, Raoul!"

Then, unfortunately, I started to laugh uncontrollably. Don't ask me why, but for many, many years, the name Raoul has given me the giggles. There's just something about it which taps my funny bone and it can't be uttered without me creasing my sides. I spluttered. I heaved. Finally, I looked up to find myself almost nose to nose with Dr. Dunnett, who was peering officiously at the limp Latino. The whisky vapors almost knocked me out cold. The Scotsman placed two fingers on my partner's neck then shook his head.

"Thir's nae pulse. The laddie's deid."

Mrs. Goldfinkel screamed like an express train entering a tunnel.

"Raooooooul!!!"

Unfortunately, this set me off again and I clutched my sides. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and they weren't ones of sorrow for the boy's demise. I was helpless.

"I've never actually killed one before!" was all I could gasp, before setting off on another session of mirth.

"Please return to your seat, Mrs. Neptune."

Captain Ahab had materialized, all gold braid and understated mastery. I looked up into his deep brown eyes and a sudden wave of nausea overcame me. Must have been the ratatouille. I swallowed.

"Oo-er, excuse me, I feel a bit Moby Dick."

Of course, when I realized what I'd just said, the hilarity started all over again. The Captain frowned.

"I must remind you that this is a very serious matter. There may be an inquest."

Dr. Dunnett looked up from examining the body, his thin face pinched and grim.

"Ah fear there will be. The laddie's been shot!"

There was a fresh banshee wail from Mrs. Goldfinkel, accompanied by various gasps, shrieks and squawks from the company. It was darned good entertainment, even if Raoul did get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. I rushed into Harry's manly embrace and pressed my face against his crisp white shirtfront. To the gathering ghouls, it would look as if I were weeping my little heart out in horror and fear. In truth, I was desperately attempting to staunch my hysterics. It wasn't easy, as the Goldmine kept crying her toy boy's name, while wringing her multi-carated hands in a credible performance of bereaved histrionics. One got the definite impression she'd perfected the act. I wondered how many husbands she'd buried and whether the Gigi curse extended to Latino playthings. Harry patted my bottom tenderly.

"There, there, darling. It wasn't your fault, really it wasn't. These hot-blooded Latin gigolos are always getting bumped off by jealous husbands, outraged fathers and incensed uncles! It's a fact of life, like fluff in your belly button. I'm just amazed the vengeful party didn't realize that Raoul was doing the male population a major favor, keeping the Black Widow at least partly amused."

I snorted into my husband's armpit. Once at Raoul, then again at his new name for Mrs. Goldfinkel. It suited her perfectly. She was calming down quite nicely, taking a strengthening gulp of Champagne and letting a steward fan her soothingly with a menu card. He'd better watch himself or he'd be the next victim. Tenderly, Harry brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face and I smelled the distinctive musky scent of rampant pussy on his fingers. That was it. The final straw. Several crew members carted off the draped and lifeless form of my dance partner as I thumped furiously on my spouse's chest.

"Adulterer!"

Effortlessly, Harry grasped my wrists and grinned down at me as I wriggled wildly.

"You're just put out because someone shot the poor bugger and you thought you'd sexed him to death!"

I pouted. Harry knows me so well. Nevertheless, we were officially man and wife. Frigging the Lush at our first formal dinner was below the belt. Waaay below the belt…

"And what about the irreproachable Mrs. Neptune?" Harry continued, increasing the vise-like grip on my wrists. "I've seen tamer dance routines at some pretty sordid strip joints! You were all over that grease ball like a nasty little rash. I've a good mind to pull your panties down and give you a damn good thrashing. Teach you who's boss and all that."

My tummy turned over again. This time, in a good way. I love being turned over a strong man's knees for a sound bare bottom spanking.

"Did someone mention spanking?"

Boner had acute hearing when it came to anything buttock related. Harry was spot on when he called my ex "Bummer." While H was a confirmed "tit man", B was an ass. I sighed deeply.

Harry grinned, reading my thoughts.

"Don't worry, dear. You'll get a thorough going over later. No stone will be left unturned, I promise you that much."

A piratical hand grappled its way up my garter belt and broached my drenched panties. I noticed that the other hand had recaptured Ms. Swat, who gave me a "howzabout it?" look. Well, I might and I might not. It depended on the mood of the moment.

A solemn Captain Ahab returned to his table.

"Mrs. Neptune, I'm afraid I must insist that you return to your cabin and do not vacate it until some questions have been answered. A mere formality, I assure you."

I fervently hoped the Captain himself would perform my debriefing. I certainly wouldn't mind going over his knees. I smiled sweetly at Harry.

"Right then, darling. Looks like I'm under house arrest. Time to find the handcuffs."

The Flyswat gasped, pretending to be shocked, while thrusting her tits out to "they're gonna blow!" dimensions. The tension was incredible but nothing broke loose so I guess she had the dress taped to her nipples.

"Why, hellzapoppin'!"

Harry feasted his eyes on the Grand Canyon.

"Quite."

CHAPTER FOUR: "WHAT GOES UP…"

I was less concerned about the deceased Raoul than about the hopeful look in Boner's eye. Miss Lawrence had told me he carried a sports bag around with him filled with paddles, flails, whips, canes and other implements of botty-beating. She also told me that was all he was interested in in the sex department. A few swipes and he toddled off to change his trousers. Frustrating for someone who likes nothing better than brisk cunnilingus and a doggy style pounding after a good bottom reddening. There was a suspicious damp patch on Boner's pants already.

"Thweetheart, it'th time for pre-beddy-byeth yoga."

The ex Mrs. Neptune hauled on her new hubby's arm. He moved reluctantly away, though surely even that thick-skinned idiot must realize that Miss Lawrence was more likely to line him as the next murder victim than let him anywhere near her rear end. I wondered how he managed his peccadillo with Mrs. Boner. She had as much interest in the finer arts of sexual stimulation as a Brussels sprout. She positively shrank from even the most unadventurous foreplay. If Boner had ever raised the courage to threaten her rear end I have no doubt his ears were still ringing with the cry of horror.

"Raooooooul!!!"

Mrs. Goldfinkel reminded us that this was a solemn occasion and some mourning was in order. This seemed to me a little rich for someone who moments before had been massaging my pride and joy while reaming out my ear with a sticky tongue. However, I suppose she was entitled to a wail or two.

All the same, a dead Dago is a dead Dago and no doubt there would be alarums and excursions to come. Self-important ship's officers filling in logs and a West Indian policeman or two. Dashed annoying, murders. They encourage all sorts of people to crawl out of the woodwork and make nuisances of themselves.

I wondered who dunnit. I knew I didn't, but everyone else I could think of had at least one hand free at the time. My detectiving skills had become a little rusty since the Kuala Lumpur affair, but I was sure I could dust them off. I always like to be helpful. I thought searching Miss Swat would be a good start.

"Take me to my cell, husband. Bind me to the bed and punish me for my wickedness. Beat me! Beat me!"

Miss Lawrence wiped her brow with the back of one hand and feigned a swoon. I rapidly withdrew my hand from her panties to take the weight while maintaining a grip on Miss Swat. I hadn't forgotten my duty as a detective.

"Ah'll go and freshen up after all this excitement. Ah do declayuh mah underwear has dissolved!"

Miss Swat retrieved her hand and headed for the ladies room with a farewell twiddle of her fingers. I felt another set of fingers dig into my gluteus maximus.

"Take me to prison. I'm horny as a mountain goatess. Tie me up and never mind the bruises!"

Despite our occasional spats Miss Lawrence are of like mind on one thing, and this was it. I would keep the bruises within the bathing suit line seeing as we were on holiday, but they would be good bruises. Not for nothing am I known as Thrasher Neptune in some of the more interesting houses. And unlike Boner, I come back for dessert.

The Captain had disappeared and no one else but the wailing Mrs. Goldfinkel was still around to say "Thanks for the lovely evening" to. She was well into crying on the shoulders of a couple of olive-skinned stewards so I steered us in the direction of out, snagging a couple of bottles of champagne from an abandoned table on the way.

I gripped Jay's upper arm as I opened the cabin door and threw her through the doorway. She landed in a heap on the floor, her dress around her waist.

"Show me up with your dirty dancing, would you? Cuckold me with a Marbella beach bum? I can see I'll have to teach you a lesson, Mrs. Neptune." I quickly put the champagne down.

Jay leapt off the floor and swung a fist at my head. I caught her hand and twisted it behind her back. She glared up at me and kicked my shin. The sharp toe of her pump dug in and I felt a drop of blood trickle down my leg. I slapped her cheek open-handed and twisted her arm further.

"A lesson, Mrs. Neptune. A lesson to remember."

Still holding her arm I swung her onto the table and pressed her face and breasts to the mahogany. I hauled her dress up as far as it would go and took hold of the waistband of her panties. With a sharp tug the sound of ripping satin revealed her bottom. Jay gave a small shriek and twisted in my grip, to no avail.

Whack!

My hand, still tingling from slapping her cheek, landed on her up-ended rear.

Whack! Whack!

Her bottom was already turning pink. I redoubled my efforts, raining blows on the unprotected rear of my brand-new bride. She struggled ever harder and I whacked ever harder.

I got into my rhythm and saw the pink turn to red, then deep red. I felt sweat run down my neck.

There was still plenty of spanking left in me when Jay convulsed and let out a long and loud cry.

"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

She slumped on the table making more little cries as the aftershocks flowed through her. When Miss Lawrence has an orgasm she goes for a few encores as well.

I gave her a few more wallops for good measure then let go of her arm. She staggered to her feet holding on to the table then me for support.

"Harry, that was… ooh, Harry…"

I gathered the job had been well done. And the evening was yet young.

Jay flung her arms around my neck and kissed me fiercely.

"I'm going to dress," she said with a last nip at my lower lip. She pulled a leather valise from under the bed and disappeared into the bathroom closing the door after her.

I stretched my fingers to ease my aching hand and put it back into shape to uncork one of the champagne bottles. Neither task took long. In a jiffy I was pouring myself a revivifying flute of Brut.

As I sipped a movement caught my eye. I saw the tail end of a mass of blonde hair pass the porthole. Miss Swat taking the air after doing whatever 'freshening up' is.

Aha! My bride's present on the hoof and requiring only to be lassoed and brought back to the ranch.

I drained the glass and slipped out of the cabin. This would only take a moment.

****

I examined my thoroughly chastised bottom in the bathroom mirror and wondered if the Flyswat would be up to anything kinky. I remembered her as decidedly pussy-oriented, forever with some eager guy's mouth glued to her fully shaven snatch. That's right, she was the one who complained her nether lips were permanently swollen from an excess of cunnilingus! Always looked for a cushion when she sat herself down. Somebody even made a documentary about her called "Licked But Not Beaten." It was all coming back to me. She was rumored to have made a minor fortune in a tongue-fest flick called "Lickety Split", in which she basically just lay back, spread her legs and allowed a succession of cunning linguists to lap her crack to a screaming conclusion. Apparently, she was so multi-orgasmic that she'd earned a place in the Goodness! Book of XXX Records. Personally, I reckoned she faked 50%. She was certainly noisy to work with. Slowly, sensuously, I began to unfasten the remaining buttons of my dress, easing my boobs out of their silky lair, teasing my reflection as if it were the audience in a private club. I desperately longed to dance again, to slowly strip naked before a crowd of cheering men whose lustful eyes felt hot upon my shimmering, well-oiled skin. There was little that I wouldn't do in my performing days. Titty Boomboom was wild. I even posed naked with a python for my professional portrait, an image that graced the frontage of many a gentlemen's club across the land.

Wild Titty!

She'll Drive You Insane!!

Lost in my memories, I opened the smart new leather case and appraised the contents. Mmm. A pervert's treasure chest. A black fishnet body stocking. Two cans of spray-on latex, in rampant red and porno blue. Handcuffs and matching ankle cuffs, both the genuine article, no Christmas cracker imitations. The biggest, thickest dildo I had ever seen (Acme "Challenger" model), a half-pint bottle of super-lube, edible panties, a ball gag, a set of graded nipple clamps in 'ooh!,' 'ouch!' and '*****!' and an innocuous looking silvery trinket called a clitorizer. Oh, and the ubiquitous length of rope. This collection was a little gift from me to me on the occasion of my marriage. For years I'd coveted the Deluxe Vixen Valise by Hornee of Hollywood. I'd ordered it delivered to the ship from Porn-Mart, an adult supplies warehouse that was conveniently located near the docks of Fort Lauderdale. Harry would get a little surprise on his credit card but hell, a girl didn't get hitched every day of the week! And I just knew he'd love the body stocking.

"Hmm, what's this?"

I was just slipping out of my dress and was poised to ease my flesh into the fishnet creation, when I spotted the little book in the bottom of the case. It wasn't included in the list of contents so it seemed to be a free gift. How nice. There was an arty photograph of a well-trussed Japanese girl on the front cover. "Self Bondage" by Ty Tilasing. Now, there was something I'd never tried before. Never really saw the appeal, to be truthful.

I peered round the bathroom door but the cabin was empty. My other half must have nipped out to fetch some supplies. A wicked thought entered my mind. I'd gift-wrap myself for my husband's pleasure. Eager to prepare myself for Harry's return, I wriggled my warm and willing body into the fishnet body stocking, then replaced my high-heeled shoes. The busty creature in the bathroom mirror squeezed her bodacious DD-cups through the silky spider's web and wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue. I remembered a particularly popular stage routine in which I wore a very similar suit. I'd invite a guy up onto the stage and offer him the end of the thread. He had three minutes to unravel what he could and what flesh he uncovered he could lick when the time was up. Most guys got hopelessly tangled, to widespread amusement, but usually managed to reveal a boob or two. One smooth mover actually got me naked. It was the only time I had my pussy licked to orgasm on stage and it was really rather incredible. I always wondered whether he made fishing nets for a living.

Flipping through the little bondage book, I opted for a wildly draconian yet relatively simple to achieve option called 'Up amp; Under.' In the accompanying photograph, the long-suffering Japanese girl stood stoically on a wooden chair, her wrists attached to an overhead rail. There were small metal clamps on her nipples and her clit and a bright blue ball gag in her mouth. Her legs were spread, the ankles rather fetchingly roped to the back of the chair. A huge pink dildo, just like the one in my Vixen Valise, had been inserted deep into her sweet little pussy and her eyes were glazed. Smiling to myself, I fetched a footstool from the cabin and placed it beneath the shower curtain rail. Then I set to work with the book propped open for reference and the box of sensual delights…

****

I shot down the corridor and out onto the deck with a beckoning cry on my lips. It was stillborn as no one but a bunch of staggering Cleveland pensioners met my roving eye. They seemed to be trying to imitate Jay's dance. I averted my gaze rapidly.

A quick reconnaissance would do no harm. I knew that Jay getting into war regalia could be a time-consuming procedure. She was nothing if not a perfectionist. All the same, I would have to keep my skates on to be back in time for some serious kinkiness.

The nearest door led to the Sharp End Bar. As good a place as any for a lady to seek shelter from the night. I pushed open the heavy weather-proof door and cast my eyes around. Some late revelers I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting slurped their late night bourbon. I marked them down for introductions and jollies later in the cruise.

I was about to resume my search elsewhere when I caught sight of a solitary figure propping up the bar. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a lugubrious expression on his face. A brief diversion with my detective hat on was called for – seize the moment, and all that.

"Good evening again, Doctor. What will you have?"

"Glen Tipplet, and I thank ye, sir. Mr. Neptune, isn't it? My eyes are nae what they used to be."

His eyes were nae what they used to be a couple of hours ago, but everyone to his own. This looked like a nightly performance. I ordered the same.

"So what's the story on the deceased Spaniard? Who pulled the trigger?"

"That's a mystery, laddie. A complete mystery. Ah'm baffled."

Befuddled more like. He leaned toward me confidentially.

"Och, and there's another mystery. When the clumsy sailors dumped his deid body on the sick bay table a sliver of wood fell to the floor. The silly Jack Tar who picked it up pricked his fool finger and fell in convulsions on the floor. He's a lucky wee boy it was no more than a prick. He'll live wi' a tale to tell."

"Are you telling me someone fired a poison dart at Lothario? As well as the bullet? How did they do that in those few seconds of darkness?"

Doctor Dunnett waved a hand vaguely and more whisky appeared. He did the confidential lean again.

"It's my theory there were two assassins!"

I was fascinated.

"I'm fascinated, Doctor. On what do you base your theory?"

"On the fact that the bullet entered the front of him and the wee dart was stuck in the back of his neck!"

The Doctor leaned triumphantly on the bar.

The plot thickened. So Raoul had two enemies aboard, or at least two people with a practical bent who wished him deid – sorry, dead.

I tried to place everyone in the dining room at the moment the lights went out, but that would have to wait for tomorrow and a corroborator. My attention had been on Miss Swat's imminent orgasm and my wife's wild dance.

Talking of Miss Swat – that was enough sleuthing for one evening. I had my wife's wedding present to round up. I bade Doctor Dunnett good night, though I doubted if he was still capable of registering my presence. I returned to the deck and immediate reward.

Miss Swat was in the bow of the ship, hair blowing back and dress pressed against her body by the wind of our passage. This was a moment for long gazing at the horizon, for secretly held hands, for adoring looks, for romance and everlasting love.

I grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

"My cabin, now, fucky-fucky time!"

"Oh my, Mr. Neptune! This is such a suhprise! What is a po' Southern girl to do?"

"Drop 'em and lick everything in sight."

That idea didn't seem to horrify her. She followed me eagerly to the cabin.

Miss Lawrence had had plenty of time to change and titivate, but there was no sign of her. Well, I had been rather a long time with the Doctor, but it was in a good cause. I was sure she would understand. Anyway, it looked like she had taken the hump and gone for a constitutional or some other entertainment. As a dutiful husband it was my beholden duty to search her out and make the peace. I turned to instruct Miss Swat to make herself comfortable while I searched, when my hair was grasped in two taloned hands and I was pulled off balance and down.

From tell-tales such as a yielding surface and the smell of hot sex I gathered Miss Swat had pulled me down on top of her on the bed and was doing her best to insert me head first into her pussy. In such a situation there is only one thing a gentleman can do. I pushed my tongue as far into her vagina as it would go and got licking.

Miss Swat was already making a fair amount of noise when I moved north and addressed her clitoris. In no time at all her legs were wrapped around my shoulders and she was bucking and yelling in the throes of a mighty climax. Her heels drummed against my back. It was a good job my hair is thick and strong or she would have pulled out handfuls of it.

Eventually she let go and lay back on the bed with arms outstretched and black dress around her midriff.

"Oh, Mistah Neptune! Ah do declayuh mah private parts are positively on fire!"

Miss Swat inserted two fingers in her dripping cunt then raised them to her mouth. She sucked her fingers and lowered at me.

Searching for the delinquent Mrs. Neptune could wait a few minutes more. I lifted the dress to neck level for a view of those wondrous orbs. There was a suspicious scar under each, but it's a free world and anyway Neptune had a gusher in urgent need of relief. I hauled Miss Swat off the bed and onto her knees.

In a moment I was unzipped and in Miss Swat's full-lipped mouth. Her lips clamped around my shaft and her tongue thrashed as I pumped in and out. After all the stimulation I had suffered that night it was not long before I felt the tide rise and flood her hot mouth. I threw my head back and gave a howl of overdue satisfaction.

When I got my breath back I withdrew from heaven and stood back. Miss Swat slumped against the bed, her dress around her neck and semen dripping down her chin. I looked down with a sense of another job well done. I do like to please.

The champagne, whisky and excitement combined to produce an understandable desire to relieve another pressure.

I pushed through the bathroom door, squinting against the fluorescent light Miss Lawrence had thoughtlessly left on. I pointed Percy in the direction of the porcelain and let fly with a relieved grunt.

I frowned involuntarily. My grunt had been met with another. A high-pitched, angry sounding grunt. I unsquinted a little and peered around, then opened my peepers to their fullest extent and positively gawped.

Miss Lawrence had got herself into full regalia all right, not to mention somehow handcuffing herself to the shower rail. She teetered on a stool. Her eyes glared – nay, glared malevolently – at me over one of those bondage gags that looks like a refuge from a billiards table.

Through a rent in a fishnet catsuit protruded a large pink dildo. As I stared, dumbfounded, it slowly slipped out and fell to the floor. My eyes followed its descent and saw under the stool a small key that I had no doubt belonged to the handcuffs.

A snarl worked its way round the gag. I glanced down and saw that my golden stream had soaked her fish-netted legs and was working its way down to her stilettos.

****

That sultry southern night witnessed my first and last attempt at self- bondage. I didn't care what it said on the back of the book. One was not fun, especially when a pumped-up fluffed-out peroxoid was getting the goods from my other half. The bathroom door was only slightly ajar, so most of the action was of the overheard variety but there was certainly aural sex aplenty. It might even have been a major turn-on if I hadn't left the key to the handcuffs under the stool. I had been trussed up for what seemed like an eternity before the cabin door finally burst open and two frenzied forms threw themselves onto the bed and a great slurping and grunting began. It sounded like feeding time at Ol' Pa's pig farm. Oh, I had struggled to catch their attention all right, rattling the handcuffs against the shower rail and calling out, but the noise they were making easily canceled out the faint tinkling and stifled gurgling from the en-suite bath. Once Harry has his snout in the trough, a herd of wildebeest could stampede through the bedroom and he wouldn't miss a lick. Lush was true to her old form and it wasn't long before the screaming began.

"Land sakes! Oh my! Aaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

Then there was a bit of scuffling, more slurping and a fresh howl, that time from my husband.

The swine! The cad! I tried to yell "you bastard, Harry Neptune!" but all that issued was a plaintive raspberry. The ball gag was worse than a trip to the dentist. As for the nipple clamps and the clitorizer, I was throbbing painfully at all three points. Just as I began to get really, really angry, El Porco himself stumbled into the bathroom, squinting and fumbling in the bright neon light. Then he promptly proceeded to pull out his dick and spray my legs in a bad aim for the toilet bowl. The dildo dropped and I lost what little cool I had managed to retain. Yelling "get your prostate checked you greedy old fart!!!" issued as an unintelligible animalistic snarl. Harry gawped. It takes quite a lot to astound the big chap so I added a point to my day's running score.

"Good grief, Lawrence! What on earth are you doing? Let's get that billiard ball out of your mouth for starters. What happened, darling? Surely, Captain Ahab wouldn't have ordered you trussed and confined?"

Swiftly, Harry unfastened the gag and I spat the plastic ball into his hand. (I actually aimed it at his nose but I just didn't have the puff left for a good shot.) The Flyswat's dulcet drawl issued from the cabin just as my husband unlocked the cuffs.

"Oh, Mistah Neptune! Yuh fishin' for crawfish in there? Ah sure could do with anuthuh round of mah favorite pursuit."

Harry looked sheepish. Without a moment's hesitation, I retrieved my arms and gave him a swift left hook to the right eye. Stunned, he slumped against the towel rail, then slid slowly to the bathroom floor. Briskly, I crouched down and untied my ankles from the legs of the stool. Gingerly, I eased the nipple clamps and clit-torturer from my tender nodes. Stepping over the bulk on the rug, I peered round the door at the flopped-out Lush. She had arranged herself seductively on the bed, all naked and wanton, hair spread out in a wavy cloud upon the pillow. Her eyes were closed, her bronzed thighs parted wide.

"Come an' give it to me, baby," she murmured, hearing the soft creak of the bathroom door. Smiling to myself, I switched off the bathroom light, picked up the dildo and advanced upon the recumbent tramp. She was quite attractive in a teen doll kind of way, all long limbs, Miami tan, silicon boobs and big bleached hair. I suspected she'd been Botoxed and collagened for good measure, but if growing old disgracefully was the Lush's desire, who was Jay Lawrence-Neptune to call her wrong? I may look like Morticia Addams when I hit those awkward years. Hardly daring to breathe in case the trollop opened her eyes and scuppered my game, I grabbed a free pillow and clasped it to my front to replicate a stately male torso. Harry isn't thin and he doesn't have breasts. The fearsome dildo protruded from under the cushiony mass like a pink torpedo. Sensing my proximity, the Flyswat pushed her long fake fingernails through her tumbling locks and writhed voluptuously. Her tongue crept out and wetted her pouty lips. She groaned.

"Fuck me, Harry. Stick that great big beautiful cock of yours right in me to the hilt."

Almost purple with the effort of repressing my breath, I knelt between her legs and obligingly placed the business end of the dildo against her swollen and dripping labia. As soon as it touched her cunt, she began to shriek.

"FUCK ME! Fuck me good, boy!"

Boy, indeed. Harry might be some things but boyish isn't one of them. I pressed my cushioned body against the squirming torso of La Lush and, with a victory flick of the wrist, drove the monster dildo home. There was half a second of stunned silence then all hell broke loose.

"JESUS! Yuh great stallion you! Oh yesss, yesss, YESSS!!!"

I had underestimated the woman. What had taken me several minutes, fifteen squat thrusts and copious lube to insinuate inside my own pussy, slipped inside Ms. Flyswat with effortless ease. The Knockwurst rumors must have been true. Ah well, I'd saved poor Harry from getting lost and having to ask directions. Lush continued to scream and writhe like a snake as I thrust womanfully on, knowing from experience that it wouldn't take long to bring my victim to a peak of delight. Her glistening boobs joggled wildly just under my nose and it was more than I could bear not to give the swollen nipples a tentative lick. Her smooth, tight flesh was warm and moist beneath my tasting lips and I drew the rising nipple into the wet heat of my mouth as she shrieked and clasped a rail above the bed. I pumped the dildo double-time into her cunt, as fast and as hard as my arm would allow. Suddenly, I realized that my own pussy was wet. Very wet. As she screamed her first orgasm, I threw off the pillow and pushed her legs over her head. It all happened so quickly, she still didn't know. She was so turned on, she was almost weeping. Her tight little bronzed buns were perfectly presented, ass and cunt wide open for the next assault. I grasped her cheeks and placed the very tip of my tongue against her ass. She went wild, thrashing around as I rimmed her tight little hole with increasing enthusiasm. Then I traveled north to taste the pleasures of her syrupy cleft, inserting my little finger in her ass to give her double the fun. Now, I could see why the guys flocked to suck on Lush's quim. She was one juicy mouthful. Just as she squawked out her second come, I heard an odd little whimper from beyond the porthole above the bed. Looking up, I realized that the blind wasn't drawn and Frippery Boner was watching the show. Her expression was interesting, a blend of outraged horror and desperate fascination. Her hand strayed furtively towards her crotch. Winking broadly, I blew her a kiss, then threw a blanket over the well-licked blonde, who was limp and incoherent in the aftermath of lust.

"Fire! FIRE!! Go to your station!" I cried, bundling the befuddled Flyswat out into the corridor and locking the door. A second form joined Frippery's at the porthole to pleasure and I heard a muttered "any more of this and I'm going to spank your bare bottom." I grabbed the tassel and drew down the blind with a decisive flourish. It had been quite a night. I stripped off the fishnet and made myself comfy in a thick toweling robe. I was just about to check whether there was a late night film worth watching on the little TV, when the bathroom door swung open and a large panda staggered into the cabin.

"Oh, darling!" was all I could gasp.

CHAPTER FIVE: "WHAT MORE COULD HAPPEN?"

I had been married less than twenty-four hours.

In that time I had been socked in the eye and raped by my new wife, been donated a dream honeymoon by a decidedly iffy Vegas vicar who apparently performed the wedding ceremony, rushed half way across America to be hustled up a gangplank, encountered as fellow shipmates my ex-wife and her new husband who happened to be the ex-lover of my new wife, fingered a blonde weather lady and celebrity chef to orgasm at the Captain's table, fought off the ministrations of a Black Widow, witnessed my wife's debauched and accomplished impression of Mata Hari dancing the fandango, witnessed the murder of a singing Spanish gigolo (they are all gigolos), discovered that said Spaniard was an awfully unpopular chap to judge by the bilateral assault on his probably worthless life, licked the blonde weather lady and celebrity chef to another screaming climax, inserted the Neptune seed into the lady's willing mouth by main assault, pee'd on my wife, been socked once more by her in the other eye and knocked myself unconscious on bathroom furniture as I took a dive, and recovered from at least one hangover.

I think I managed to remember everything.

Under such circumstances a chap can do one of two things. Either is best accomplished with fortification, so I popped the remaining bottle of champagne and took a healthy slug.

"Oh darling!"

Mrs. Neptune dragged her eyes away from the TV long enough to examine her handiwork. I took a look in the mirror and wondered where my sunglasses had got to. I hadn't had such a pair of shiners since being ejected from the B-52 in sixty-nine (the bar in Guam, not the aeroplane).

"Why don't you bust my nose while you're at it, seeing as you're in the mood?"

"Poor Harry!"

She clicked off the TV and pulled my head down to give me a kiss.

"You've been up Swat's cunt! I can smell her! And taste her!"

"Harry darling, don't get uppity. You were there before me. Share and share alike and all that."

"Bloody hell, you didn't even wait for me. Just left me at death's door on the bathroom floor (hey, that rhymes!). That does it. Next time it's the double titty rub with two-tongue orchestration. I'll drown the pair of you."

"Speaking of drowning, next time you can pee on her! I'll have to wash the fishnet out and hang it up to dry."

"It'll be my pleasure," I said savagely.

I sat on the bed and glugged some more Brut.

Miss Lawrence recalled her incarceration in the bathroom and opened up a line of attack.

"Where the hell were you, anyway? I was strapped up there up for ages waiting for my beloved to come back and do his honeymoon duty. My nipples and clit are sore as…"

I cut her off.

"While you were playing single-handed BDSM I was investigating the murder of our late not-lamented Dago friend. After expert investigation and interrogation I discovered that non modo was he shot by some unknown marksman sed etiam another assassin stuck him at the same time with a deadly poisoned dart."

"How did you work that out, Sherlock?"

"The Doctor told me."

"That sozzled old wreck! He couldn't diagnose a cause of death if it was beheading."

"Not at this time of night certainly, but he was compos mentis enough earlier to conclude that it was death by lead poisoning. It took one of the matelots to prove it was also death by curare poisoning."

"How?"

"He stuck his finger with the dart when it fell out. He'll live."

****

I stared at my husband in ghoulish delight.

"Good heavens! We appear to have stumbled into an Agatha Christie novel. Guess that makes us Tommy and Tuppence. Or Dashiell Hammett's Nick and Nora Charles, more like. How exciting! We must sniff out the motive and find our man. Or woman…"

Harry nodded.

"Exactly. I wouldn't put anything past the Goldfinkel dame. That caterwauling at her toy boy's demise was as fake as the Swat's double F bra-busters. But why would she want him dispatched to the great mariachi fiesta in the sky? I could see it the other way round, if Raoul thought he had a way to get to her loot, but why would a middle aged nympho off her twenty-something Latin lover? Hmm. A blackmail angle, perhaps?"

I took a pensive sip of the somewhat tepid champagne. I was rather fond of a good mystery and had oft dreamed of slinking around in a belted raincoat, wise-cracking with jaded policemen as we examined some nastiness dredged from the bay. I ran the tip of one finger around the rim of my glass, eliciting a pleasing hum.

"Jealousy."

My partner raised one eyebrow.

"Oh? You think Gigi's girlish party-time demeanor hides a green-eyed monster with murderous predilections?"

I placed my glass upon the table.

"It's possible. I'd say all things are possible when passions are aroused. Wouldn't you? Why, I could have scratched that Lush's eyes out when you were all over her at dinner and you took your green-eyed monster out on my bare bottom when we returned to the cabin! It's still smarting."

I wriggled pleasurably against the sofa cushions, savoring the residual heat in my well-spanked buttocks. Harry coughed and assumed his "not guilty" expression.

"Jealous? Me? Never! Any excuse for a good bun-warming session, that's all. Now, what is this "lush" business? The Swat doesn't drink to excess, as far as I can see, and you're hardly one to talk!"

At last, I pulled my trump card out.

"Loretta Swat, celebrity weather gal and TV chef, was once a dancer and porn star called Voluptua Luscious. Lush for short. We danced together at the Pink Pussy Lounge in Ballistic. Took me a while to click as she's had some major body work done since '84."

Harry grinned lasciviously.

"I'll say. Why don't you go for a boob job like that? Talk about endless hours of pleasure. And where the hell is Ballistic?"

I loosened my robe and appraised my breasts. They had always been naturally big but not huge, kind of soft and pillowy rather than the bouncy beach balls that the Lush thrust before her. Thoughtfully, I emptied two fruit and goodie bowls and slipped them over my boobs as makeshift falsies.

"What do you think, sweetie? Is it me? Ballistic is in Arizona, by the way. I was working my way west. Or was it east? Those days are a bit of a blur. Anyway, Pink Pussy specialized in the infamous Pussy Dance. That was one wild flesh parlor, I can tell you!"

My husband looked suitably amused.

"Oh, do tell. This all sounds vaguely familiar. What was the Pussy Dance about – naked girls with cute little whiskers and tails?"

It was my turn to smile. I wondered if I could recall the moves. Come to think of it, there weren't too many steps to learn. It was all about positioning. I removed the bowls and slipped out of the robe.

"Put your champagne down, darling. I'm going to give you a little demonstration."

"Now you're talking!"

"Just lie back, relax and let me take care of everything…"

Harry stretched out on the sofa, his head at one end, feet protruding well over the other. He's a big boy. Slowly, sensuously, I began to unbutton his shirt, gradually exposing his hairy chest. His hands reached up to fondle my breasts and I squatted over him, enjoying the feel of his swelling crotch against my naked quim. I was just about to proceed to the nitty-gritty of the Pussy routine when a faint but familiar sound issued from the cabin next door.

Slap, slap, slap, slap.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Slap, slap, slap, slap.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP.

"OW! OW! OW!"

Harry groaned as I paused mid-Pussy. The staccato beat of implement on flesh thwacked on in a brisk duet with a heartfelt female yowl.

"I swear that's Boner with a light oak paddle! I never did care for blunt implements."

"Don't tell me the dynamic duo are right next door! This is getting positively incestuous. What are the odds against this kind of coincidence happening, anyway? Our respective exes meeting and hitching. It's mind blowing."

I dismounted and pressed one ear against the cabin wall.

"I'd know that rhythm anywhere. It's Boner all right. Listen. You can just hear Howard Stern in the background. 'Seven Brides For Seven Brothers.' He can't get the beat right without a yodel in the background."

My partner snorted in mirth.

"Hee! Hee! Well, I just can't believe that old Frip is game for a spank. She always loathed anything other than straight sex in the missionary position. Talk about vanilla. She wouldn't even try fellating me. Said it was absolutely disgusting."

I looked at my friend and couldn't imagine why a woman wouldn't want to savor his toothsome knob. He has a lovely cock, simply perfect for sucking. However, bitter experience had shown me that some prefer a slurp-free path.

"Well, that's obviously one thing they have in common. An oral aversion. Poor dears. They don't know what they're missing. Life without licks is like dried fruit. No juice."

Harry nodded and we exchanged sorrowful glances at the thought of such a Spartan existence. Meanwhile, the spanking session seemed to be reaching an ouchy climax and Frip's squeals were turning me on.

"Get the toothbrush tumblers from the bathroom and we'll listen in! I still don't believe that's my ex in there."

I was just heading off to fetch the water glasses when there was a protracted and somewhat piercing orgasmic shriek accompanied by a veritable taradiddle of paddling and yodeling. Then there was silence and a gruff male voice said:

"Next time, you won't forget that final stomach crunch, will you?"

A soft female voice murmured an unintelligible but contrite-sounding response.

Harry looked incredulous.

"Bloody hell. She never came like that with me! And she'd sooner have had her wisdom teeth extracted without an anesthetic than go over my knee for a spanking session!"

I took my husband's hand and led him back to the sofa. All was quiet on the next cabin front.

"So, why did you marry Frippery, darling? I've heard of the attraction of opposites and all that, but you're such a confirmed bon vivant and she's so prim. Was it that old chestnut about Caesar's wife being beyond reproach? I'll bet she was a virgin when you met her, am I right?"

Glumly, Harry nodded.

"You got it, smart ass. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I really thought I could teach her all the tricks of the trade, mold an innocent girl into the wanton love slave of my dreams, like that wicked chap in 'Dangerous Liaisons'. All I got was six months of dry sex and a very expensive divorce. She found a good lawyer. Now you know why I'm nuptial shy."

I kissed my husband on the forehead.

"It's all right, angel. You just have a bit of a Pygmalion complex. It's every man's dream to create the perfect partner for himself. Now, take Boner, for example. He's a prime exponent of that particular syndrome. You wanted to know why he called me Jaylene? Why, when we were living together, he defined my whole existence, from the number of laps I swam in the morning, to what I ate for lunch, to my very name itself. To merely call me Jay was to leave me unmarked. I'm lucky I escaped without a B for Boner brand on my bum…"

Harry grunted.

"I thought you liked all that kind of thing."

"Well, yes, my love, I do, but it kind of got like kinky boot camp after a while. Too regimented and somehow lacking in joy. I like a varied diet."

My partner smiled and pinched my well-rounded thigh.

"Talking of food, pass me a banana from that fruit bowl, will you? Dinner was rudely interrupted and the breakfast buffet is still a few hours away. Tomorrow, my dear spouse, we drop anchor at Saint Martin. We'll need to keep our strength up for the tropical treats onshore."

"Aha."

If I knew Harry Neptune, those treats would be both dark and sweet…

CHAPTER SIX: THE JEWEL OF DENIAL

Our first port of call was Saint Martin, or Sint Maarten depending on which side of the French / Dutch border you happened to be at the time. This is where the duty free lives, by the yard. Jewelry, watches, electronics, cameras, booze, you name it. Colombian Emeralds and Diamonds International would disappear without trace were it not for Sint Maarten. More credit card limits have been blasted here than anywhere else in the world, including Hong Kong.

My interest in duty free is limited to the booze. I wear watches until they break, which is quite often considering how often I seem to have to flail my way out of trouble. I don't watch TV or take photographs. Jewelry is only as attractive as the woman wearing it. I remember a girl in Bali who wore bracelets made of Coca Cola cans…

Talking of Coca Cola cans, in the Cayman Islands hermit crabs use them as surrogate shells when they can't find a suitable cast-off. Not a lot of people know that.

Back to the story. The Caribbean Conch tied up on the Dutch side at Philipsburg and we lined up at the top of the gangplank with suitable paraphernalia to sample delights of shore life. In my case suitable paraphernalia was a back pocket of US dollars ready for spicy snapper with rice'n'beans and a refreshing beverage or two. When I extracted the cash from my wallet my credit cards had done a runner, but I didn't panic – or not too much anyway. I really must sign them 'Harry Neptune' instead of 'H. Neptune'. Miss Lawrence finds it too easy to assume the persona and autograph of 'Harriet'. Anyway, the damage was usually not too great.

Miss Lawrence and the Black Widow had struck up a conversation at breakfast and were standing arm in arm with shopping baskets and floppy hats.

"And where are you two lovely ladies off to today?" I asked in the holiday spirit.

They looked at each other, giggled – actually giggled – and said nothing.

"Don't snigger! What's it to be – shopping or beach?"

Jay glared. "Bastard!"

"What? What have I done now?"

I felt aggrieved, because as far as I knew I had behaved very well for several hours. Jay had an early morning tingling bottom and pussy to prove it. Not to mention the breakfast drink she prefers to orange juice.

"It's what you haven't done," said Mrs. Goldfinkel.

"Bastard!" growled Jay again and kicked my shin.

"I give up." I moved out of range.

It seemed to be taking a long time to let us into the willing hands of Dutch Immigration and Customs and out to the fleshpots of Mammon. I was about to kick off a choral rendition of "Why Are We Waiting?" when there was movement at the bottom of the gangplank. Two large black policemen appeared, flanking an even larger black man in a long-sleeved shirt and Barbados Cricket Club tie. He took point as they marched up the gangplank. As they reached the deck a hearse appeared on the dock and two black-tied gentlemen extracted a stretcher from the back.

As the policemen – the guy in the middle had CID written all over him – reached deck level I looked as guilty as I could. I hunched shoulders, shifted eyes, and hid my face with my Panama hat. I live in hopes of wrongful arrest and massive damages. So far none of my arrests have been wrongful, but there is no harm in trying.

The detective stopped and tipped my hat up.

"Mr. Neptune," he nodded.

I looked at him with a certain amount of amazement. I was sure I had never been arrested on this island.

"We have a mutual friend," he said. "Inspector John Henry Fernack of the NYPD."

"Ah."

"Friend" was perhaps not the right word in my case where Inspector Fernack is concerned. "Acquaintance" is nearer the mark, but still regretfully short of it. I surmised that someone had been checking the passenger list.

The copper moved on to speak to Captain Ahab in the shadow of a lifeboat. After a couple of minutes he turned and waved a hand at his uniformed colleagues blocking the way to shore. They stepped aside and allowed the flow of passengers to start dockward. They were obviously confident that if the guilty party scarpered, they would catch him or her at the airport or in whatever leaky scow they hijacked to head for Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic. There is no point going to Tortola in the British Virgin islands because a strange face gets noticed immediately. I know.

Mrs. Goldfinkel was looking at me in a strange and rather fascinated way after my encounter with the policeman, but Jay ignored it. We have known each other a long time.

Jay also ignored me as she and the Black Widow hustled down to the dock and through the fairly perfunctory formalities. Jay had wrapped a scarf round her head and donned dark glasses – my dark glasses – to evade Captain Ahab's house arrest order. He was too busy talking to the police official to notice. They disappeared in the direction of shopping opportunities without a backward glance.

I saw Miss Swat near the taxi rank studying a tourist map with Dr. Dunnett. I looked again to make sure I saw right as they climbed into a battered Datsun and disappeared in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Chacun a son gout, as those who can't speak the Queen's English put it.

Boner and Frippery brushed past me.

"What ho, Frip! How's the old bum today then? Not much padding to absorb the whatsit!"

Frippery looked at me with her what-the-dickens-are-you-talking-about-now expression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Explain yourself, you…"

Boner grabbed her arm and almost whisked her off her feet as he headed for the road.

"A nice drink is called for, my dear. A health food cafe run by Netherlands expatriates is marked on the map not a few streets from here…"

Frip cast a frowning glance back over her shoulder then returned her attention to locomotion as she tripped on a coconut shell. My ex-wife and Jay's ex-lover disappeared at a rate of knots.

I stood alone and slightly bemused. It looked like I was left to my own devices until mid-afternoon when I was to meet Miss Lawrence in the Lobster Pot.

Never mind. I could amuse myself. Snapper. And then there was a rather interesting watering hole that I wot of. On the French side, of course. Dutch debauchery is far too civilized.

I put the best foot forward and hailed a taxi to take me over the non-existent border to Marigot.

****

"Now, I think you might find this particular stone of especial interest, ladies."

Reverently, the jeweler placed a diamond of Liz Taylor dimensions upon a small felt mat and handed me a tiny eyeglass to squint at it through. Not wishing to appear gauche in the Harry Winston department, I carefully appraised the gem's many glittering facets and suppressed a profound urge to whistle. The Black Widow, whom the dusky Turkish-born proprietor had greeted with a familiarity and enthusiasm bordering on the indecent, gleefully rummaged in a tray of multi-carat stones as if they were mere trinkets at the dime store.

"Oh, yes, that is a beauty! I knew I could trust my old friend Mr. Hirsch to come up with a diamond worthy of a Neptune's bride. Oh! Oh! This is all so romantic. I just can't wait until I find myself another lovely man."

I smiled at Mrs. Goldfinkel reassuringly. To be honest, I'd never really been one for adorning myself with expensive baubles but the woman's enthusiasm was as infectious as typhoid in the rainy season. At breakfast that morning I had allowed myself to be talked into going shopping for a ring sans husband ("never trust a man to pick your jewelry unless he's a Jewish banker, darling!") I sneaked a little plastic from the old man's wallet and hoped there was sufficient virtual cash for Mrs. Neptune to invest in a modest rock. If all else failed, we could always pawn it in a tight spot. However, gem modesty appeared to be unheard of in the tropical bastion of the seriously rich. Suddenly, I realized that there were no price tags, however discreet, anywhere in the subtly understated store.

If you have to ask the price, you probably can't afford it.

Gently, I laid the diamond and the glass upon the jeweler's mat and tried to look as if I simply hadn't found what I was shopping for.

"Um, would you happen to have anything more, erm, petite? After all, my hands are very small…"

Both the gold-toothed Mr. Hirsch and the Black Widow gave me what could only be described as an "old-fashioned" look.

"My dear, never forget that diamonds are a girl's best friend! And, when it comes to a fine stone to represent the sublime reward of true love, let me tell you honey that size is everything. Perhaps we should take some iced tea and have a nice little chat."

I noted with interest how Mrs. Goldfinkel's gushing firmed up in the presence of plain brass tacks. Not to mention the faint but detectable hint of Noo Joisy in the "honey." I imagined that no one was what or who they purported to be in the Caribbean. Maybe Harry's tales of the tropics weren't so tall, after all.

Overcome with curiosity, I mouthed "how much?" at the frowning jeweler. Raising his dark eyes to the elegant ceiling, he mouthed the answer. It appeared to be the gross fiscal debt of a South American republic. I smiled wanly and stuffed Harry's Amex card deeper into my shopping basket. Not in this lifetime.

"That's obscene. I'm sorry, Mrs. Goldfinkel, but I think I'm going to need that cold drink after all!"

I tottered out into the bright heat of the street and leaned against a wall, a slightly cross-looking Black Widow in tow. I sensed I was about to receive tea and man-squeezing 101 from my dumpy friend. She was twittering on about Swiss banks and offshore accounts when I spotted a very different but to my mind infinitely more appealing store. Pushing through a brightly printed curtain, I found myself in an Aladdin's cave of painted wooden toys and trinkets made from cheerfully colored glass. I found a cardboard box marked "rings, assorted" and gleefully selected a massive faux knuckle-duster of Hope Diamond dimensions.

"Perfect, only perfect."

It fitted my slender finger like a glove and caught the rays of the intensifying sun like a precious gem.

"I'll take it!"

The Black Widow tut-tutted as I handed over a handful of coins and sashayed gracefully out to the street. Tilting my wide-brimmed hat to an elegant angle, I refreshed my lipstick and caught sight of myself in the mirrored frontage of a more plutocratic store. I felt like Audrey Hepburn and blew myself a kiss. Poor old Harry. He'd get the fright of his life when he spotted my rock. It was rather naughty but I do enjoy a practical joke…

CHAPTER SEVEN: A CULTURAL INTERLUDE

The Watering Hole was at the end of town tourists seldom frequented. Here were the docks and dockland, small ships, coasters, and the lighters that brought cargo in from the larger ships moored in the roads. A US Coast Guard cutter was tied up at the central dock, its diagonal orange stripe vivid against the grey hull. There was a popgun on the foredeck, decently covered in a tarpaulin, and various other armaments no doubt in the armory below. The men (and nowadays a few women) to wield them against the forces of evil (equals drug runners) would be out investigating the tropical delights of the island, except for the glum looking guard sipping coffee at the top of the gangplank. I gave him a cheery, "What ho, Captain Bligh!" and headed for sustenance.

I had already had my snapper at an excellent little joint from the balcony of which one could mock fat tourists in horrible shirts. It was time for some entertainment. I had an hour to spare before my expected arrival at the Lobster Pot.

I turned into the door of the Watering Hole and paused a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Another pair of eyes already inside needed no such adjustment.

"Harr' Neptoon, yo' bastar'! Yo' owe me money!"

A mulatto the size of a cruise ship vaulted surprisingly nimbly over the bar. He leaned back to a barman's recess and extracted a cutlass. 'Cutlass' is the West Indian name for a machete, but believe me in this man's hand it was a cutlass from the old days. He advanced on me, kicking chairs and customers out of his way.

"Bastar'! Twen'y t'ree dollar! Yo' no pay for yo' roun' las' time! Yo' bastar'! I chop you!"

He flung two longshoremen aside and towered over me, the cutlass raised high while one hand gripped my shirtfront. Spittle dribbled down his chin. The whites of his wide eyes matched the white of his bared teeth. I felt my feet leave the ground.

"Toss you for it. Double or nothing."

There was silence for a long, long moment. I felt a shirt button give up the struggle.

"All righ'. Me coin – I reme'er yo' tricks."

The huge barman put me down and pulled an East Caribbean dollar from his pocket. The octagonal coin flew toward the ceiling from his muscular fingers.

"Heads!" I cried.

The coin reached its zenith and fell back to the floor. I reached to pluck it out of the air and felt cold steel at my throat.

"Just trying to be helpful," I muttered carefully.

The dollar landed, bounced a couple of times, and settled.

"Heads it is!" I gloated. "Let me down, you great baboon."

The great baboon dropped me and I scooped the coin from the floor before he had a chance to check my reading of the face.

"Good to see you, Eldine my friend."

Eldine looked at me quizzically for a moment, then slapped my back and held out a huge paw.

"We got good show! For Yanquis from Coas' Gaur'! Stay! – an' pay yo' bill!"

I looked around the gloom and saw a dozen or so US Coast Guards at rickety tables, imperfectly disguised in holiday attire. They looked at me with suspicion, which I ignored. Water off a duck's back, seen it too often. The rest of the clientele were some businessmen and a couple of coaster skippers and engineers. This was an up-market joint.

I looked more closely at one of the Coast Guard tables and saw that one drinker was a Latino-looking woman, wearing a muscle shirt and impressive muscle definition to complement it.

Eldine was back behind the bar with a glass ready for me by the time I had wended my way and taken in the scenery. He had a matching glass of colorless liquid. Not my favorite tipple, but I was not about to be offered a choice. I knew this stuff. Most bottles have a message on the label warning."80% proof" or "75% alcohol by volume."

This St. Vincent bottle just said, "Very Strong Rum." It wasn't kidding.

There was only one way to deal with it.

"Down the hatch!"

I threw it back and managed to keep it down. I had aimed to miss lips, tongue, taste buds, throat and anything else containing nerve cells, but a few drops escaped on the way to my stomach and cauterized whatever they landed on.

I maintained an admirable sangfroid. The top of my head came off, my stomach retired to another dimension, I smelled burning flesh, but I maintained an admirable sangfroid. I leaned on the bar to help it stay admirable. Eldine refilled our glasses without exhibiting any ill effects from his own tot. I was not surprised. I happened to know he was weaned on the stuff.

"Slan' ee var'!" offered Eldine as a toast with the next glass. I was partly anesthetized already and felt only excruciating pain this time. I looked at my slightly unfocused watch. Forty-five minutes to go until rendezvous at the Lobster Pot. Time enough to be polite with another glass or two and still hit ETA. I settled on a barstool and eyed the next glass – or it could have been glasses. They breed, you know.

"Got good show! Great girls! Enjoy, yo bastar'!"

A few minutes preview of the entertainment could do no harm. It would be nothing but politeness to catch the early moments. I would still meet my lovely wife in plenty of time.

Eldine roared to the bar.

"Lady an' gennulmen! Da show!"

He switched on an earth shattering boom box and flicked various light switches. Everything in the joint vibrated with a reggae beat as a small stage was illuminated by random colored spotlights. I felt my contact with reality start to fray at the edges.

A figure appeared on the stage. Tall, jet-black, arrogant, breasts thrusting against a full length black peignoir, one athletic thigh visible as the figure posed and waited for undivided attention. It didn't take long for her to get it.

Eldine walked to the stage and looked down at the unmoving woman. With a sudden movement he gripped her gown and ripped it from her body. Naked, she did not move. She sneered back at Eldine contemptuously. He picked up a bucket from behind the tatty curtain.

Eldine raised the bucket over the girl's head and tipped a golden syrup over her. The smell of Barbudan honey filled the room. Honey ran down her body, flowing over her head and her breasts and her belly and her buttocks, flowed between her legs and down her thighs. She raised one breast to her lips and slowly licked then sucked her nipple. The room vibrated with the visceral music.

I reached for the rum bottle.

****

"…And that was when I discovered pre-nuptial agreements, Jay, sweetie. I really must give you my attorney's number. It seems you're in dire need of some sensible advice from a nice strong father figure…"

The Black Widow prattled on as we wandered down a shady side street, seeking refuge from the powerful heat of the midday sun.

"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Goldfinkel. I assure you that my heart has always belonged to Daddy. Where are we, incidentally? This is beginning to look a little unsalubrious."

"Oh! Oh! You are a naughty girl! I've been quite distracted by your silly feminist notions and now we've gone and got ourselves lost."

Feminist notions indeed! If she only knew just how deeply the concept of a nice strong father figure resonated in my psyche (not to mention my spanking fetish). I rummaged in my basket for a street-map but realized that I must have left it behind on the ship. Oh well. It simply added a new angle to sightseeing. The rude, rough underbelly of a Caribbean isle. I thought of big black men with cocks like Arab stallions and wondered whether there was somewhere we could go to watch a show. After all, I had purchased my rock and there was still a little time before we had to meet Harry for afternoon tea. My nipples rubbed pleasurably against the flimsy cotton of my summer dress. I wasn't wearing any underwear, for twin reasons of heat and horn, and I thought of a dark skinned native unbuttoning my frock and exposing my tender pale flesh to the scorching rays of the midday sun.

"Mmmm…"

"Taxi! Come along, Jay. We'll take this cab to The Lobster Pot."

A rather rickety looking taxi shuddered to a halt at the Black Widow's frantic wave. I remembered Harry's tales of white-knuckle cab rides with deaf, blind and merely psychotic drivers, and stuck out my chin in determination. I don't let just anyone boss me around. Besides, I'd made up my mind to score before tea. Male or female, the gender didn't matter, but they had to be big and black. Fortunately, I seemed to be in the right place for both. Mrs. Goldfinkel's plump pink-clad bottom disappeared into the back seat of the cab and I blew her a kiss.

"Don't worry, Gigi. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I just want to see the other side of this tropical paradise. Do my own little rough guide."

"Harry will be very cross!"

I doubt that very much, Mrs. G.

The taxi coughed twice and rattled off in a dense cloud of blue smoke. I hoped the Black Widow would survive the ride. It really did seem safer to walk. One hour to catch me something dark and tasty. Suddenly desperately horny, I strode off down the street, doing my best to look as if I knew exactly where I was heading. The docks, apparently, going by the general ambiance and a couple of cranes against the skyline.

"Hi there, honey!"

A couple of prostitutes lounged on the peeling front steps of a once brightly painted but now shabby house. One of them had a gold front tooth. Their skin shone dully in the dazzling sunshine. I smiled and waved gaily in response. Once upon a time, I was a call girl known as Fleur Delice, specializing in making old men happy. I admired the girls' large breasts, clearly defined through their tight cropped tops. I didn't want to have to pay so I passed on, blowing them a little kiss.

Tattoo parlors, cheap cafes, fish filleting and diesel sales. I began to be aware of eyes following my progress. There were sailors everywhere. Ooh, I say! It looked like my ship had come in. He was big and he was black and he wore a crisp white uniform. I gazed up, up, up at his smiling face.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Would you happen to be able to direct me to an establishment called The Watering Hole? I'm new to this town and my friends have gone on ahead."

"Why, certainly, young man. In fact, I was just going there myself. The rum punch is quite outstanding."

I bluffed like mad, quickly slipping one arm through the sailor's and instinctively setting off in the general direction of a faint but throbbing beat. My escort gave me a rather perturbed look but I pressed on regardless. The poor boy was probably shy. Maybe it was his first time. I scanned his features for signs of a date stamp. Twenty, perhaps? Ooh, a toy boy. I love older men but the odd piece of fresh young flesh makes an interesting change. They have nothing to say but their hormones are rampant.

"What's your name, dear? I'm Jay."

The young man cleared his throat. He really was nervous.

"Um, Leroy, ma'am. Leroy Biggin."

I couldn't help myself. This was too much!

"Biggin, did you say? Why, Mr. Biggin, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. You can call me Miss Bazookas."

The chap didn't skip a beat, the humor lost on him.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mizz Bazookas. Um, erm, if you don't mind my asking such a delicate question, Mizz Bazookas. Um, erm, how much will I need to pay you for your services?"

Oh dear. It would appear I had found a big black Biggin with a wallet full of greenbacks. I smiled and patted his arm.

"That's all right, big boy, I'm on special today. Just buy me a drink and satisfy my curiosity."

The booming reggae music emanated from The Watering Hole, a sleazy looking establishment which was obviously more than just a bar. Various posters displayed on the frontage showed dark skinned girls in assorted stages of undress. A strip joint. Perfect, only perfect. Maybe Big Boy would buy me a lap dance. We walked in, my rather courteous escort selecting a table in a darkish corner near the bar. The place was packed and fiendishly hot, not unlike the black hole of Calcutta. I took off my hat and unbuttoned my dress another notch, making Biggin gulp. I wondered if I had a virgin on my hands. Surely not. Scores of white uniformed sailors of all ages, sizes and shades were standing around, drinking bottled beer and staring at the dancer on the stage. I raised my gaze above the smoky throng and focused on the naked girl.

"Good heavens! What's she covered in?"

Biggin extricated a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket. A short-sighted virgin Biggin. He polished them carefully, placed them on his nose and squinted at the stripper.

"That would appear to be honey, Mizz Bazookas."

"Ooh, I say…"

The girl was tall, very dark skinned and completely naked. Her ebony skin was thickly coated with the sticky golden mess and she writhed upon a plastic covered couch, ecstatically massaging her heavy breasts. Her long, lean legs were parted wide, exposing her pussy to the cheering throng. Then I realized that there was a man's head between her legs. His face dipped down into her cunt and she grasped her ankles with purple-taloned hands and spread her thighs wide for the sailor's hungry mouth.

"I like it."

My own naked pussy had begun to throb and, pushing my skirt up, I placed Biggin's dark hand on my ivory thigh. A topless girl with a mass of braided hair thrust a plastic ice cream tub under our noses. She bore a remarkable resemblance to the girl on stage or maybe the heat of the room had simply gone to my head. The tub was filled with money.

"All yo' can eat! Five bucks!"

I thought of sucking honey from a hot black cherry. Then again, it seemed I might have another cherry at hand to pop. I smiled coyly at Big Boy and he placed a greenback in the tub. Seductively, I stroked the inside of his thigh as the music throbbed and the stripper spread 'em for the gang. He seemed to have a baseball bat in the pocket of his pants.

"Is this a rough area, Mr. Biggin? You seem to be carrying protection."

I swear Biggin blushed.

"I can't get protection to fit, Mizz Bazookas. That's my, um, erm…"

The topless waitress began to laugh and I withdrew my hand and crossed my legs. It rather looked as if I'd bitten off more than I could chew…

****

I rose for breath and swallowed a good dollop of honey. Delicious. And so was the honey. And the honey. I remembered her name now – Elvira. I took another lick then staggered to my feet to make room for the next licker.

The girl with the money tub kindly assisted me back to the bar and the bottle of rum. I patted her bottom with a sticky hand and she giggled.

"Thank you, my dear. Just swivel me round a little so I can maintain observation on the delectable Elvira."

She giggled again.

"She no Elvira – I Elvira! You no remem'er? Oh Mistuh Neptoon! Yo' no remem'er?"

If I had been on the rum last time we met it was no wonder I didn't remember. I looked closely at Elvira then at the girl on the stage now being attended to by two matelots, one of them the muscle shirt. I looked back at Elvira and took a healthy slug of rum. When I could speak again I engaged a careful brain cell.

"Now, my dear, I shall be very diplomatic here. I can't think of any other way to say it though – I really can't tell you apart!"

Elvira threw back her head and laughed.

"That 'cos we twins! Twins! Like as peas in a pod! She Alvira, I Elvira!"

A memory came back to me of an octopus-like engagement in the back room of the Watering Hole a year or two before. I seem to recall being blindfolded and made to guess whose anatomy was pressed on or around me at any given moment. I took a great many guesses, and I have to confess I sometimes made a deliberate mistake to prolong the inquisition.

I put an arm round Elvira and planted a kiss on her full lips.

"Now I remember! Let's see, when we left off you were just about to…"

"Service!"

A familiar voice cut across the music and cheers appreciative of Alvira and her entourage. I twisted round and peered into the murk. Elvira caught me just before I twisted a twist too far and landed on the floor.

My wife waved an arm in the "bring me a drink" gesture known by barmen the world over.

I looked guiltily at my watch and managed to make out the orientation and identity of the hands. Should I have been at the Lobster Pot by now? No, I had another ten minutes to make it. Why then had my newly betrothed tracked me down to this spot?

I saw her companion and had an inkling. Perhaps I was not in trouble after all.

He was large and black, in a gleaming white uniform. Very large and very black. For some reason though Miss Lawrence was keeping her hands to herself and had wrapped her legs in a reef knot.

"Who's the big feller?" I asked Elvira from the level of her breasts.

"That Leroy Biggin! He from Barbuda! They all big there! I meet him there when I work in Princess Di hotel!"

The inkling became a bigger inkling.

"A descriptive name, may I hazard a guess?"

Elvira giggled again.

"Ver' descriptive! He a big Biggin!"

The inkling became a certainty.

"Who dat wit' him? You know she?"

"But of course, my dear. Come and meet my wife."

Elvira looked at me disbelievingly as I collared the rum bottle and steered a course for the Lawrence and Biggin table. By the time I got there Miss Lawrence was sipping a rum punch and Biggin was halfway down a Red Stripe.

I heard Miss Lawrence speak, with a slight catch in her voice.

"Is it true your people are – blessed – in proportion to your height?"

Biggin laughed and showed pearly white teeth.

"No ma'am, that ain't true. Why, if it were I would be ten feet tall!"

Miss Lawrence paled. Elvira sighed nostalgically beside me.

I fell into a chair at the table.

"Mrs. Neptune, meet Elvira. Elvira, meet my beloved wife Jay."

Elvira held out a hand and Jay shook it.

"Pleased to meet you," they said simultaneously.

Jay looked at me welcomingly.

I waved the rum bottle at the young lad. He took a slug without turning a hair.

"Well?" I said. "Still time before we meet at the Lobster Pot. Are you going to have your bit of fun, then?"

"Er, Gigi will be waiting for us, and, er, I'm getting hungry, and, er, we don't want to keep Gigi waiting, and, er…" Jay started to push her chair back.

I watched, puzzled, then caught sight of Elvira's hand massaging Biggin's muscular thigh. I looked again. It wasn't his thigh. There was something sharing trouser space with his thigh, and winning the battle for occupancy. All became clear, and so did my mission.

"Now hold on," I cried cheerily. "The Black Widow can wait for a bit and knock back a margarita or twain. The back room's the place. Come on Elvira – lend a hand."

Elvira and I took Miss Lawrence by her elbows and hustled her past the stage and the squirming Alvira with her sailors, through a beaded curtain, and into Eldine's spartan but clean and tidy back room. Biggin followed, with a slight limp.

"Harry…!" Jay looked wildly around her for escape.

"You goin' enjoy this!" Elvira rolled her eyes and smacked her lips. She lifted Jay's brightly patterned skirt, swiftly revealing that the wanton little hussy had ventured forth sans panties.

"Bes' doggy style – max'mum input!" Elvira skillfully wrestled Jay to her knees, then slid under her with her arms around her waist. She gave Jay a kiss on the lips.

"This goin' be good, baby! I look af'er you!"

"Harry…!"

"Look on this as your introduction to the Caribbean, my love. Nothing like starting with a bang!"

I took a pull at the rum. It was going down much easier now. I had lost all sensation in my upper digestive tract.

Biggin stood behind Miss Lawrence, an odd aura of uncertainty hovering about his super-sized form. Hesitantly, he unzipped his white ducks and almost apologetically extracted a medium-sized mahogany tree. Elvira licked her plump dark lips and began to knead Jay's trembling buttocks with practiced hands.

I gulped.

Now the Neptune weapon is not to be sneered it. It holds its own in most company. I may modestly claim never to have had a complaint. But this behemoth – well, there are occasions when there is nothing to do but raise the white flag and admit defeat.

I grasped Jay's hair, lifted her head, and poured Vincentian rum into her open mouth as Biggin sank to his knees behind her.

****

White heat flooded my throat as I swallowed the potent liquor, feeling it inflame its way down to my stomach. The stuff could make you go blind yet I had a strange suspicion I could get to like it. I have a fondness for chili pepper. However, I was in a tight spot and had to think quickly. Crying "Rape!" would get me nowhere in the back room of a strip joint by the docks, and knowing my dearly beloved, would only incite Harry Neptune to greater heights of depravity. Elvira felt warm and silky between my thighs and her long nimble fingers were eliciting some deeply pleasurable sensations, massaging my bottom and spreading me wide for the young lad's monster tool. I could handle Elvira but Biggin's equine cock would have to wait 'til I asked the Lush for some pussy stretching tips. In a sudden flash of brilliance, a fiendish plan emerged. The vast, swollen head of Biggin's knob pressed lightly on my vulva and I let out a piercing squeal.

"Lube, darling! We must have lots of lube! This heat is drying me up and we might get stuck!"

Biggin gulped loudly. I wondered just how many times he'd actually managed to get the monster up. A really huge cock is less than a blessing, unless you take your prize-winning prong into the realm of XXX. I continued, having formed a small breach in the opposition's psyche.

"Lube me up, honey. Just think how good it's going to feel."

"Mmm, oh yeah, baby girl. I get yo' all wet n' willin'."

Elvira moaned softly and reached out one arm to rummage on a nearby shelf, upon which, I had noted, there was an economy-sized bottle of triple-strength SupaLoob. Harry's hand had lost its prior tight grip on my hair and, seizing the moment, I shot out from my trio of captors like a frenzied sprinter leaving the starting block. There was nowhere to go but on stage. I threw myself through the curtain of beads and came to a skidding halt beside the writhing Alvira.

"Oi! Come back here, bint! Call yourself a proper wife?"

I looked over my shoulder. Harry was more than a little inebriated. He leaned heavily against the door frame, artfully draped in the strings of multi-colored beads. The bottle of rum dangled limply from one hand.

"Come back here and let the lad fuck you, you disobedient trollop!"

Two dark hands slipped around his waist and slowly began to unzip his trousers. Seemed like we had the makings of a sex show that would rival anything in Amsterdam or Hamburg. Ignoring my husband completely, I squatted down beside Alvira's squirming ebony form. She had a strange, distant look in her black eyes, a look I associate with either drug use or extreme forms of sexual submission. Yet she looked like the kind of woman you'd be a fool to mess around. Slowly, I pressed my lips against her open, gasping mouth in an upside-down kiss. Her long, lean arms reached up to capture my head and draw me down.

"Woo! Yeah! Lesbian sex!"

The crowd of sailors went wild. Men love to watch women getting it on. I just couldn't resist. I cast one last glance behind me and saw Elvira kneeling between Harry's legs. He held her head and ground her face against his crotch in an aggressive rhythm that would soon bring the girl a creamy mouthwash.

"It's so hot in here."

I whispered in Alvira's ear, tracing the contours of her breasts with my hands. The boys gave out another raucous cheer. Suddenly, something strange happened. The room began to fade, the stage to sway. There was a vise-like grip on the back of my neck. The rum had kicked in.

"Take yo' dress off, honey!"

"Yes, I'm so hot, so hot…"

My flimsy sun dress was half-unbuttoned, as it was. There was a sailor lodged between Alvira's glistening thighs and I grasped his feasting head between the palms of my hands.

"Undress me."

He looked up, surprised. Then a broad grin split his dusky face. He was black too. There was still time to achieve what I set out to do. Roughly, I pulled him to his feet and pressed my hands against the bulge in the front of his pristine white pants. He was big but not Biggin-style big. I would live to tell the tale of this encounter. I let him undo the last few buttons of my dress, guiding his slightly fumbling hands. Then I slipped the garment over my shoulders and let it slide to the floor in a heap. The crowd roared in appreciation.

Oh, yes, yes, now I remember!

Naked on stage, I recalled the potent power of exhibitionism, the divinely delicious high of full exposure. Titty Boomboom was making a comeback! I walked arrogantly about the narrow platform, sometimes squatting down to show the guys my rapidly moistening pussy, never letting them get close enough to dip their tongues in the dripping juice. I lay on my back and spread my legs as wide as I could while massaging my breasts. I crawled on all fours and growled like a tiger. Finally, when I'd exhausted my old repertoire, I clambered on top of the grinning Alvira and raised my ass towards the big black sailor.

"Fuck me!"

Now I was facing the door to the storeroom. Biggin had emerged and was slowly stroking a well-lubed tree-trunk as he watched my husband fuck Elvira from behind. The girl was pressed up hard against the door frame, her big black tits squashed beneath the weight of a wildly rogering Harry Neptune. Her mouth was open, her eyes rolled back in her head as he pulled hard on her waist-length braids.

"Oh, god!"

I kissed Alvira hard, felt her hot, sticky breasts full and satiny beneath my own large, soft tits. I straddled her hips and ground my soaking cunt against her voracious cleft. She was hot, she was wet, I was hot, I was wet… I kissed her again and again, feeling the sailor's hands upon my wriggling hips. I raised my bottom to meet his searching, thrusting cock.

"Oh, Jesus! Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

A solid rod pierced my pussy, drove hard and fast into my cunt. I fucked them both, meeting the sailor's thrusts at each womb-deep stroke, dry-humping the stripper who pushed her tongue into my mouth and the tip of one long-nailed finger inside my anus. I came noisily, with thoughts of my husband fucking my ass…

****

Matters got a little hazy around this point. I have a fairly good head for liquor, but that St Vincent rum must have been off. Through my blurred vision I spotted the bottle rolling away toward the dance floor, not wasting a drop because it was patently empty. All right, maybe I had overdone it a teensy weensy bit.

"YEEEEESSSS!!!" came a cry from in front of me. I returned my attention to the job in hand – or rather the cock in cunt – and matched my rhythm to Elvira's pumping buttocks.

"OH YEEEEEEESSSS!!!" This time it was me as I pumped Neptunian life fluid deep into Elvira's pussy and dug my fingers into her thighs.

"OH YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!" Elvira was not be outdone. She came with a howl that would have guided ocean liners through fog then uncoupled and twisted round to take the last of my offering deep in her mouth.

"Oh yes…" I leaned against the door jamb to catch my breath.

On the dance floor Miss Lawrence was reaching the same point of no return with the help of the athletic sailor pounding in and out at hundred-yard dash pace. From the contortions Alvira was going through, I guessed that she had a finger in the Lawrence ass, guaranteed to send her over the edge. I hardened again at the thought of spread-eagling my wife on a queen size bed and parting her tight buttocks…

Elvira sucked ferociously as she sensed her mouthful growing, but it was not to be. Harry needs a little rest between encounters. I pulled her up by her hair and kissed her sweet-tasting mouth.

"Look at 'em go! T'ree way ear'tquake any second' now!" opined Elvira as she caught sight of the frenetic action on the stage.

Sure enough, Alvira's spare hand was between her legs and the sound effects, vibration and general enthusiasm indicated the end was nigh.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssssss!!!"

"Ooooooooooooooogggggghhhhhhhh!!!"

"Wubbbawubbbawubbba!!!"

I leave it to the gentle reader to sort out which exclamation belonged to which of the climaxing trio. As the grunts and groans fell below the level of the pounding boom box the trio fell apart. My wife crawled across the floor toward me.

"Harry! Take me home!"

"Not without your frock, my dear. And anyway, we have Mrs. Goldmine to rescue from the clutches of Margaritas in the Lobster Pot."

Alvira was still reconstructing her sense of reality, but Elvira rescued Jay's summer frock and buttoned her into it. I managed my buttons all on my own.

Jay leaned heavily on me then stiffened.

"Oh, that poor boy! All dressed up and nowhere to go!"

I turned and saw the bashful Biggin lurking in the shadows, still holding his monster dong and dripping lubricant.

A hopeful look started to appear on Biggin's face and Jay hurriedly hid behind me.

"Oh no! We've got to go!"

As Jay dragged me out into the fresh air the last thing I saw was Elvira and Alvira each with two hands around Biggin's shaft with plenty of room to spare.

"Phew!"

Jay looked as though she had had a lucky escape, and she could well have been right. I know babies' heads get out of that place, but with a certain amount of screaming and yelling on the part of the passage owner, so I imagine something the same size going the other way would similarly turn ecstasy to agony. Were I a shirt-lifter I would definitely be a stabber not a bender.

"Taxi!"

The familiar Caribbean imprecation led us to a typical Caribbean taxi. Take the word "decrepit," add the two words "beaten up," and round them off with "disreputable." Like I said, a typical Caribbean taxi.

"The Lobster Pot, my friend, at a sedate pace and without killing too many civilians."

"Yes, boss!"

We set off at mach two.

The landscape became a blur as we careened out of dockland and back into the commercial district. Jay had a firm grip on the seat with one hand and me with the other. She stared ahead with wide eyes and white face as pedestrians, other vehicles, livestock and occasional lampposts magically evaded our headlong rush.

Like I said, a typical Caribbean taxi. I crossed my legs and relaxed. This was Miss Lawrence's first visit to the West Indies, after all. Not even Boston is adequate preparation.

"I say!"

I twisted in my seat and stuck my head out of the window to look back the way we had come. I pulled my head back in.

"It's them! Coming out of a bank! What are they doing there? A bit out of the way to be cashing traveler's checks!"

"What? Who?" Miss Lawrence kept her eyes fixed ahead but managed a contribution to the conversation.

"Dunnett and Swat, that's who. Coming out of the Greater Antilles National Bank. Sniggering."

"Sniggering?"

"Yes, sniggering. Arm in arm. What the hell are they up to?"

"Robbery. Rehearsing a pantomime. Smoking ganja. Who the hell cares!"

Jay looked as though the rum might repeat itself on her as we negotiated a roundabout the wrong way and won a battle of wills with a lorry load of cement.

"We care, that's who! Detectives, remember? We are sworn to discover who put poor Raoul in a body bag, and the way to do that is to track down mysteries. Here is a mystery. Let us track."

It seemed simple enough to me, but from the word Miss Lawrence used, it was apparent she had other priorities. Never mind, she would feel more like it when her feet were on terra firma again. I patted her hand and got another rude word in reward.

"Da Lobster Pot!"

Our driver seemed very pleased with himself to not only have found our declared destination but also to have delivered us alive. So he should be.

I paid in U.S. dollars with a moderately generous tip – we were after all indubitably alive – and handed my wife down onto the road. Sidewalks are a luxury largely unknown in this part of the old town of Sint Maarten.

Mrs. Neptune took a deep breath, forwent kissing the ground in gratitude, and rapidly resumed her normal demeanor. It would take more than a first Caribbean taxi ride to faze her for very long. She would be ready for the next one.

We stepped over the storm drain and into a shady, comfortably furnished restaurant and bar. A ceiling fan wafted cooling air. A couple of tall cold cocktails were called for.

"Coo-ee!!"

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE PLOT THICKENS

Mrs. Goldfinkel was elegantly ensconced on a rattan sofa, several glossy shopping bags propped against its turquoise cushions. Nearby, French doors revealed a charming, sun-dappled courtyard, bright with dazzling flamboyant hibiscus. Finches chattered in the little oasis and the silvery jets of a small fountain danced against the vivid green of the lush shrubs. The restaurant's clientele were all rather smartly dressed and I looked around for the ladies room, painfully aware of my somewhat disheveled appearance. Harry plonked himself down in a peacock-back chair and wiped his glistening forehead with a large white handkerchief.

"Phew! Now, that's what I call a liquid lunch!"

The Black Widow looked me up and down with thinly disguised disapproval. I had received such a look before, from a straight-laced bed and breakfast proprietress in rural Spain, when I turned up fresh from a dip in the Mediterranean. It was the "you're a mess!" look.

"Jay, honey. You really should take more care with your complexion! And what have you done to that pretty dress? I knew I shouldn't have left you alone, you bad girl! Never mind – Gigi has been shopping! I have a little surprise for you both."

Harry and I exchanged a slightly worried glance. I suspected the B.W. had more money than sense or good taste, as is often the case. With childish glee, our benefactress rummaged in the packages by her side, swiftly retrieving two smartly wrapped boxes. I wondered at how she had managed to pick up so many items in such a limited span of time, but it looked as if she had plenty of practice.

"Here we are! Just a little belated nuptial gift for the new Mr. and Mrs. Neptune. Oh, I do hope you like them, they're a matching pair. Quite rare too, apparently."

"Why, thank you, Gigi. I'm quite overwhelmed."

Gingerly, I untied the ribbon and opened the box. There, carefully protected by a large quantity of tissue paper, was what appeared to be a big black shiny phallus. It looked very familiar. Harry sniggered and I shot him a warning look. After all, it's the thought that counts, even if sometimes one wonders just what that thought was…

"Why, it's, um, very unusual…"

Mrs. Goldfinkel clapped her hands.

"It's a fetish! Eighteenth century, Pokipoki tribe. The dealer who sold it to me suggested that it (here Mrs. G blushed slightly and coughed modestly) is rumored to bring greater satisfaction to the fortunate owner."

"Oh, I say!"

Harry had almost slithered to the floor with suppressed hilarity. I continued to ignore him. Bravely, I picked up the fetish and examined its polished ebony shaft. Actually, it was rather beautiful in a very rustic, visceral way. This wedding gift had potential. Much more fun than a pair of monogrammed bath robes. I gave the Black Widow a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Gigi! I shall treasure it. Come on, darling – open yours!"

With a Herculean effort, my dearly beloved ripped the ribbon off his matching package and pulled out a wad of tissue paper. I watched a sly smile curve his lips. Triumphantly, he pulled out another native artifact, carved from the same dense, dark wood.

"Well, I'll be blowed – it's a…"

At that point, Mrs. Goldfinkel rather swiftly and surprisingly clamped her hand over my husband's mouth.

"It's a matching fetish," she stated, rather pointedly. Harry peeled the woman's fingers from his chin and examined his gift.

"It looks just like Elvira to me!"

The Black Widow tittered.

"Well, so long as dear Jay doesn't mind, I'm sure you can call it whatever you like! It is, um, supposed to have the same therapeutic effect as its matching piece."

"I'll bet!"

I took the other fetish from Harry and admired the set together. No wonder he was reminded of Elvira. His part of the pair was essentially a beautifully carved and burnished black vulva, with fat swollen lips and a prominent clit. The piece was cylindrical, smoothly hollowed out as if to accept a thrusting cock. Of course!

I just couldn't resist. Reverently, I slid the penis into the vagina. Needless to say, it was a perfect fit. Then the oddest thing happened. A strange tingling sensation seemed to course through my body, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, almost as if I had received a mild electric shock. Just for a moment, I felt quite peculiar. When I came to, Harry had ordered some drinks and a late lunch. Come to think of it, I was famished – perhaps that rum on an empty stomach had made me go a little queer. Not to forget the taxi ride.

"Biggin and Elvira. Well, thanks again, Mrs. G – this is certainly a gift to remember. I know I can speak for my dear wife when I say that we cherish our fetishes. Buck up, Lawrence, the crab cakes are coming."

Another wave of electricity coursed through me and I swore I could feel my hair standing on end. The Black Widow stared at me as if I'd gone completely crazy.

"Mrs. Harry Neptune! It's time you got yourself some effective conditioner! Just look at what the sun is doing to your hair. I bet you took your hat off, didn't you? Naughty girl!"

There was a mirror on the wall beside our table. Reluctantly, I appraised the flushed apparition that met my worried gaze. It was true. My hair really was literally standing on end! I looked like a reject from that hippie musical, "Hair." Harry let out a guffaw and I promptly laid the copulating bookends down. The moment the objects left my grasp, my coiffure headed south. My husband roared and slapped his thigh in delight.

"How the hell did you do that?"

"I'm not sure, darling. I do feel rather odd."

At that moment, I looked out into the sunny courtyard. Two familiar figures sat on a bench beside the gurgling fountain. I lifted my ring finger to point at Dunnett and Swat, who were deeply involved in what looked like a rather intense conversation. Harry's rather bloodshot (not to mention blackened) eyes followed my gesture then sharply returned to the fake knuckle-duster. It never fails to amaze me how unobservant men can be.

"Hmm, Barbie and Scrooge. Probably arguing over the drinks bill. Or maybe the bar staff tried to stick a paper parasol in his Glen Tipplet. Um, incidentally, what is that rock on your finger, Jaybird?"

The Black Widow tutted and I ignored her, stylishly lifting my newly arrived drink in an expansive and theatrical gesture, as if showing the world my magnificent ring.

"Isn't it stunning, sweetie? I just couldn't resist!"

Harry blanched, a forkful of crab cake paused en route to his gaping mouth. He appeared to have lost his appetite.

"Er, how much did you pay for that bauble? Can I pay for lunch or do we have to munch and run?"

I looked coy.

"Oh, I couldn't say. A girl never tells. After all, what price can one place upon true love?"

My husband put his fork down and took a steadying gulp of wine.

"Out with it, Lawrence. I want the facts."

I was just about to confess the truth when our attention was distracted by a minor scuffle in the courtyard. It seemed Miss Swat had slapped the doctor's face. Well, well. A lovers" tiff? Seemed highly unlikely. She kept gesturing at her pneumatic boobs, today, modestly concealed beneath a jade green sun dress. How very odd. The intense patterns of light and shade in the garden almost suggested that Swat's chest was not entirely symmetrical, one breast a little higher than its twin. I took a pensive sip of the chilled white wine.

****

The Neptune brain had not resumed firing on all four cylinders after the interlude at the Watering Hole. In fact, it was burping along on one and a half. That was quite insufficient to assimilate and generate an intelligent response to a pair of ebony male and female parts with magical powers, Swat and Dunnett pummeling each other, and a rock that must have left a dent in my credit card the size of the Grand Canyon.

I worked out some priorities and settled on the rock.

"How much, Lawrence? Did you run out of ink before the zeroes were finished? Do I have to turn to a life of crime to get Mr. American and Mr. Express off my back? Out with it!"

"Turn to a life of crime? Return more like!"

"That's enough of that. We're in polite company. How much? Where did it come from? Where's the receipt? Sale or return, I hope."

Mrs. Neptune sniffed.

"You'll find out when you get the statement. If you really loved me you wouldn't ask such questions! Heartless beast!"

Sniff again. Mrs. Goldfinkel looked on approvingly.

"You tell 'im, dear!"

I could have sworn the Black Widow dropped an aitch.

"Tell me!"

"Shan't!"

My wife turned her back and stuck her nose in the air. Mrs. Goldfinkel cackled and did likewise.

Seeing as no one wanted to face me, a drink seemed in order. I drained the wineglass and looked at it, unsatisfied. Chardonnay was no contest for St. Vincent rum, but there was only so much of that I could take. All the same, something more bracing was called for. I gestured to the waiter.

"Panty Ripper!"

My female companions swiveled back round and looked at the waiter with interest. He grinned.

"Coconut, white rum and pineapple juice," he explained.

"Make that two," said Miss Lawrence.

"Three," added Mrs. Goldfinkel.

I put the issue of the Kohinoor diamond on the back burner. I would return to it in the privacy of our cabin where I could apply some moral "suasion in peace.

The rum cocktails arrived. Not up to the lethality of St. Vincent, thank goodness, but a healthy belt nonetheless. I felt the hair of the dog start to do its work. Another cylinder kicked in.

Mrs. Goldfinkel knocked hers back appreciatively and waved her glass in the air.

"Rip my Panties!" She collapsed back on the rattan sofa in helpless mirth as the waiter organized a refill. I could see we might need a wheelbarrow to get her back to the ship.

I remembered the first mystery on my list, the hair-raising fetishes. I picked them off the table and examined them as well as my eyes could focus.

They seemed to have almost a soapstone texture, yet somehow they didn't feel like stone. Ebony? Seasoned mahogany? Bone? There seemed to be very faint striations under my fingers, but I couldn't see any variation in color under the dim indoor light.

I levered myself to my feet and took the fetishes out into the dappled sunlight of the courtyard. The light was best next to the fountain, where Dr. Dunnett and Loretta Swat were engaged in a quiet, fierce, heads together altercation. I ignored them and held the anatomical replicas up to the light.

"Harry, be careful!"

Jay's voice came from far away.

The light around me faded. The fetishes seemed to become even darker and more mysterious. They also seemed to be taking on a life of their own, as if they were absorbing energy from the disappearing sun's rays.

I felt as though I was back at school in a physics class, striving to hold two magnets apart as their opposite poles attracted. The hairs on my arms prickled and bristled. The parts tugged at my hands, willing me to join them. I saw no harm in that, so I relaxed my muscles and the dark shiny willy shot into dark shiny heaven.

"Mistah Neptune!"

Miss Swat's pseudo-shocked tones pulled me out of a reverie. There seemed to be violent action around my groin level. I looked down and stared in amazement.

A ferret was trying to fight its way out of my trousers and doing a lot of dribbling in the process.

I have heard of self-gratification, but this was ridiculous. Unaided by human hand, the Neptunian pride and joy was straining my trouser material in a pulsing rhythm and spreading Neptune seed as liberally as butter on breakfast toast.

"Mistah Neptune!" exclaimed Miss Swat again, leaning forward and resting her chin on one hand.

I resolved to retrieve the situation.

"A little trick I learned in the Antarctic, where it's too cold to take your gloves off," I said airily.

"Mistah Neptune, honey, I surely would love to see that trick in the open air!"

"Och, indeed…" added a male voice in a tone that can only be described as "dreamy."

I looked to Miss Swat's right and saw Dr. Dunnett in identical Rodin pose, his gaze fixed on my ferret. I backed hastily away and pulled the ebony penis out of its girlfriend.

As I did so Miss Swat sat upright. Or rather, most of her did. While I am sure her breasts engaged in a perpetual battle with gravity, I imagined they always prevailed in unison. Not this time.

Her right boob thrust eagerly as ever against her sun dress, but its companion seemed to be on strike. The effect was decidedly lop-sided.

Miss Swat gave a scream and landed a roundhouse left on Dunnett's nose.

"I hope they hang you! And fry you! And boil you in oil!"

She leapt to her feet and fled through the restaurant to the street, clutching her chest in both hands.

I ignored Dunnett, flat on his back in a bed of cactus, and turned plaintively to my wife and Mrs. Goldfinkel.

"What did I do?"

****

"It's what you haven't done!" the Black Widow and I chorused in girlish glee, before collapsing in gales of rum-soaked laughter. Mrs. Goldfinkel was practically flat on her back on the little couch, clutching her ample tummy and drumming the heels of her espadrilles on the parquet floor. I looked at Harry and promptly spluttered out a large mouthful of Shredded Panties, neatly soaking the front of my dress. I stared at my wetted bosom with little regret.

"Oops! Oh well, that's the only panties I'll be wearing today!"

Instead of giving me a scandalized lecture on propriety, Mrs. G only snorted and slapped one sturdy thigh. Tears were running down her carefully powdered face.

My husband stood in the doorway to the courtyard, a noticeable damp patch spreading across his crotch. Hurriedly, he stuffed Biggin and Elvira into my shopping basket. I noticed with some interest that someone at the Watering Hole had slipped the economy-sized bottle of intimate lubricant into the basket as a parting gift. How kind. Behind Harry, Dunnett groaned loudly and eased himself up from the flattened plants. Somewhat shakily, he retrieved a small pewter hip flask from a Black Watch tartan bum bag. Presumably a sporran is too itchy in the tropics. Thankfully, he unscrewed the cap with a trembling hand and took a lengthy draught of the liquid within. The man had to have a liver built on the Clyde. Finally, his rather scrawny loins suitably girded with drink, he limped off through the restaurant in the Lush's wake. Rather pointedly, our waiter placed a small leather folder on the table and retreated with a disdainful glare. We were lowering the tone something nasty.

"My treat!" gasped the Black Widow, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief and reaching for a brand new Gucci purse.

Harry looked relieved and I made up my mind to put the old boy out of his misery and confess my little joke with the ring. I'd get the hiding of a lifetime. Oh dear, never mind.

We were just scooping up the remains of the crab cakes and polishing off the dregs of our drinks when I spotted a dog-eared pamphlet on the floor near our table.

"What is that?"

Curious, I picked up the creased brochure and smoothed it out upon the glass top of the table. It appeared to be a promotional booklet for a cosmetic surgeon, but judging by the outmoded style of the images and slightly yellowed pages, it was far from up to date.

"Good heavens!"

I couldn't help myself. Never having inquired about breast enlargement, I was ignorant regarding this cosmetic procedure. The booklet was essentially a style guide, with bosoms ranging in size from relatively petite to need-a-wheelbarrow proportions. Each page showed a tasteful line drawing of the projected final result and bore a charming name. One could select a "Trixie", a modest 34B with a rather impish upward tilt, or go full-steam-ahead with "Jezebel", mammoth melons, the dimensions of which read like a stifled expletive. I giggled and tried to pronounce the enormous cup size:

"FFFF!"

"Watch your mouth, Lawrence!"

I stuck my tongue out at my husband, and we gathered our belongings to make a dignified retreat. Naughtily, I held up the brochure for all to see, just as the waiter returned for his cash. The poor man's eyes almost popped out of his head and Harry let out a long whistle.

"Jezebel! I'd know those tits anywhere!"

I glanced down at my delightfully dampened chest.

"Why, thank you, darling. I dropped my Panties!"

The Black Widow began to wheeze with mirth. Just to put the cherry on the cupcake, a rather respectable looking middle-aged businessman at an adjoining table leaned over and inquired confidentially:

"Titty Boomboom?"

The waiter ground his dentures.

"I must ask you to vacate the premises. Sir. Madam."

Blowing my fan a theatrical kiss, I marched out of the restaurant, arm in arm with my stained husband, a tittering Black Widow bobbing along in our wake like a small pink dinghy. It was not 'til we reached the relative brightness of the street that I realized the rear hem of my dress had somehow got caught in the wicker of my shopping basket and I had mooned the room while beating a dignified retreat.

CHAPTER NINE: TWO PLUS TWO MAKES FIVE

We decanted ourselves from a taxi at the foot of the gangplank. The Immigration and Customs men were nowhere to be seen, which meant they would forego their "exit tax" – a significant source of income for many Immigration departments, and sometimes for their governments as well.

Mrs. Neptune's modesty was by now covered in an attractive blue wrap, with palm trees and bubbling champagne glasses. I reflected that it was a good job the ripping took place before her interrogation about the Hope diamond. The red glow left by a thorough spanking might have been attributable to a spot of nude sunbathing, but questions would have been asked about a certain precise striping effect associated with more rigorous chastisement.

"Oops a daisy!"

Mrs. Goldfinkel, Gigi, the Black Widow, performed a feat I have seldom seen before by falling up the gangplank. She arrived on deck in a whirl of arms and legs and shopping. Captain Ahab prudently took a step back.

"I trust you enjoyed your run ashore. I see you did – even those of you confined to your cabins! Inspector Parrot was so much looking forward to making your acquaintance, Mrs. Neptune. Indeed, he still is. Step this way…"

"Parrot? I'm not going to take the third degree from a blasted bird!"

"He is a policeman, madam. Inspector Hercules Parrot. Now if you please…"

I picked my wife off her feet and carried her to the rail, where I quickly lashed her to a lifeboat davit with a dangling length of rope.

"You shall not have her! I shall protect her with her life!"

"Ooh, this is – hey, that's your life, dummy!"

"I know what I'm talking about. Shut up and look innocent."

The Captain apparently lacked a sense of humor. He sighed, crooked a finger, and turned to a companionway.

Miss Lawrence was torn between the bondage and the imperious crooked finger. Finger won.

"Lemme go!" she wriggled.

It looked like the fuzz was going to get his way. I slipped the knots and gave my slightly slavering wife a shove in the right direction.

"Would you like a witness? Not that I'm impartial, but I can tell a lie under oath without batting an eyelid. Got an award out of a judge that way once, instead of six months."

"No thanks. I'll tell you all about it later."

Miss Lawrence disappeared after the Captain with a most attractive twitch of her bottom.

"Now then, Harrykins, what shall we do while poor Jaykins is on the rack?"

From the look in the Black Widow's eye she had a very good idea of what she wanted to do, and it didn't coincide with my idea of late afternoon fun. Not with her, at any rate.

"Detectiving, that's what we shall do, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Unearthing evidence to clear my beloved's name. I don't believe any detective named after a mythical strongman and a screeching tropical bird is going to come up with anything useful. Who shall we convict?"

Gigi giggled coyly.

"Won't you have to interrogate someone first? Will you be cruel and nasty? Will you make awful threats and look fearsome?"

"Bugger that for hard work. I take bribes. What's it worth to stay out of the clink?"

The Black Widow grabbed my hair in two pudgy talons and applied her lips to my ear. My eyes widened. Not even I had thought of that – not since Rio, anyway.

"Mrs. Goldfinkel! Not only is that immoral and illegal, I'd need at least two masseuses on call in case of accidents! Unhand me, woman."

Mrs. Goldfinkel let go, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she hadn't given up.

I smoothed my hair and took a breath.

"Let's examine the scene of the crime. They're usually littered with clues."

I marched off to the scene of last night's excitement, a twittering Mrs. Goldfinkel in tow. The room was gloomy and empty, the smell of stale tobacco and booze lingering. The tables and chairs were in the same positions as last night, bare white tablecloths ready for the next load of crockery, eating irons and food stains.

I surveyed the room with the air of a seasoned investigator. Without a deerstalker I was lost, so I winged it.

"Sit where you were last night, if you please, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Let us recreate the scene."

"How will we do that on our own? There's one bit I can recreate…"

Mrs. Goldfinkel licked her lips and moved toward me.

"Your seat, madam! Sit-t-t-t-t!"

Gigi covered her mouth with her hands and scuttled to her chair of the night before. She sat primly with her hands folded in her lap, a slightly dopey expression on her face.

"I shall take the place of the deceased. Here, on the dance floor. Now, Mrs. Neptune was dancing with her back to the Captain's table so Raoul was facing it. The bullet entered his chest squarely from the front, which means it must have come from…"

With a dramatic gesture I flung my arm out.

"…the Captain's table! The table is quite alone, as befits Ahab's majesty. There was no one standing near or behind the table. There is no window or porthole near. Therefore – the foul murderer is one of us!"

I surprised even myself at that.

"Yes – it must be. Well, I never…"

"But it couldn't be," squeaked Gigi, "I mean – we were all having such a nice time – and we are not the kind of – it must have been someone else!"

"But who, Mrs. Bla… Mrs. Goldfinkel? There is no other candidate. Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

I raised an invisible meerschaum to my lips and took a drag of best Turkish.

Mrs. Goldfinkel sat still and, I thought, rather pale under her caked make-up.

"But that's silly. I mean why? The opportunity was there, granted. But who had the motive? Who had the means? Where is the weapon?"

I stared through the rich tobacco smoke. This didn't sound like the silly woman who couldn't keep a thought in her head, never mind her hands to herself.

"What motive could any of us possibly have to off a nobody Latino troubadour? I mean to say, who would bother? There really must be another explanation. A ricochet, perhaps."

I expected fluttering and incoherent denials, not this cool analysis. There was more to Mrs. Goldfinkel than her trite exterior allowed.

"Let's examine the possible motives. There's greed, jealousy…"

"Harry! I'm free! It was a bum rap! I'm suing for wrongful wotsit! Celebrate with me!"

Miss Lawrence burst into the room and whipped off her wrap with a bullfighter's flourish.

"Toro! Toro! Have at it, Parrotface! I'll stick you full of bandilleros! Ole!"

An imaginary Toro charged and was whisked to one side with a cavalier flick of the cape. Quick as lightning Miss Lawrence sank her sword in his muscular neck.

I applauded politely.

"Ole! Both ears and the tail! His pistle to the stewpot!"

Miss Lawrence stalked imperiously round the ring, one arm raised high. She flung her arms about my neck and gave me a smacker.

"I'm innocent! Pure as a newborn babe! Off the hook!"

"Innocent? Shall we say unsullied in this particular case?"

"Fair enough. Who's guilty then? Who will swing from the yardarm?"

"Well, Mrs. Goldfinkel and I were just coming to some surprising conclusions on that very…"

I turned to bring the Black Widow into the conversation and stopped. She had done a bunk. Thoughtfully, I made a mental note to continue the conversation. I put the mental note somewhere not even a likely surfeit of ethanol would drown it. Mrs. Goldfinkel had another side to her, and Harry Neptune was going to find out what it was.

"She's buggered off, dear. Probably gone to look up some of the long words you must have been using. Come on, let's celebrate!"

Something hard pressed against my neck. I felt a thin trickle of blood descend to my shirt collar. I pulled Miss Lawrence's hand away and examined the dazzling lump of compressed carbon adorning her third finger.

I frowned and compressed my lips.

"Explanation time…"

****

"Ah. Oh dear, that's quite a scratch! Let's go ask Dunnett for a Band Aid, shall we? And there's blood on your nice new shirt. Gosh, I saw the prettiest stewardess this morning. I'm sure she'd be delighted to treat that stain."

No one would notice the spots of blood on Harry's shirt, a typically riotous multicolored creation, and it was a minor cut. However, prior experience and instinct indicated that I was in trouble with a capital T so I bluffed like crazy. Very slowly and meaningfully my husband began to unbuckle his heavy leather belt. I backed away until my progress was abruptly halted by the raised platform on which the Latin band had strutted their stuff and where the unfortunate Raoul had shaken his maracas for the very last time.

"Harry! Sweetheart!"

Menacingly, Harry towered over me, the stiff belt poised like a leathery Sword of Damocles above my trembling semi-recumbent form. I was wet as hell but my heart raced like an express train. The belt was not a laughing matter. With infinite care, my husband draped it over the microphone stand as a visual warning, before folding his arms and returning to the interrogation at hand. He looked down at my small, helpless form and raised one bushy eyebrow.

"I think we understand each other. Don't we, Mrs. Neptune?"

This was the most exciting moment we'd shared since I didn't know when. I was Harry's wife. I'd always longed for a masterful spouse, which was quite possibly one reason why I never took the matrimonial plunge. I couldn't respect a man who would let me push him around. I nodded, mute with awed obedience. There are some very dark corners in Harry Neptune.

"That's better. So, how much was the stone, Jaybird?"

Despite my genuine fear, a tiny titter burst from my lips like a renegade champagne bubble, although the source might well have been nerves as amusement. Frowning, Harry grasped a handful of my hair and pulled me up into a sitting position. He slapped me sharply on both cheeks. Not hard, but with enough emphasis to gain my undivided attention. My confession erupted with an unexpected shower of tears.

"Six dollars! It's glass!"

My assailant's face was a picture. Intense relief was obviously the predominant emotion but he was determined to play the role of brutish husband to the end. He crouched on the step beside me and took my face between his hands. I noticed that his palms were quite damp with sweat. He really had been prepared to punish me severely and he was nervous about it.

"If you ever give me a scare like that again, I promise you this. You won't be able to walk without a limp for six months. Do you understand?"

I parted my lips to make a murmur of assent and was suddenly overcome by an intense and completely unexpected orgasm. I looked up into my husband's eyes with blissful adoration. There was a loud clanking sound. Harry frowned.

"What is it, darling? Not your old trouble again, I hope?"

"Get up. Someone's coming."

"Indeed!"

It appeared to be table setting time. A small squad of smartly uniformed stewards had entered the dining room from the double swing doors that led to the galley. They pushed a large creaky trolley heavily laden with assorted items of crockery. Harry greeted the four men.

"What's on the menu tonight then, chaps? Last night's entree was murder!"

The stewards looked at one another with undisguised incomprehension. English did not appear to be their first language. Three were Chinese, the fourth from the Indian subcontinent. Finally, the Indian spoke, nodding gravely.

"Moor-dah! Oh dear. Belly up. Yes indeed."

The remaining stewards set to work with a near mechanical efficiency, swiftly creating an immaculate tableau. I thought I saw them exchanging warning glances but one can never be sure with inscrutable types. Perhaps the Captain had told them not to talk. The Indian lingered, as if troubled by something he could not express. Harry persisted.

"Did you see something, my friend?"

The man shifted from one foot to the other and looked furtively over his shoulder. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper.

"Bonah. Bad black magic man. Yes indeed."

"Boner, did you say? Will Boner, the horror writer?"

"Very bad man. Oh dear. Nasty stuff in cabin."

"What kind of nasty stuff? Whips and paddles? A live recording of Oklahoma!?"

The Indian looked confused.

"No, sir. He make model out of wax. Stick pins in he."

"Voodoo, eh? Well! No wonder my old trouble has been acting up. I'd better melt down a candle and mold my revenge."

"No, sir. Model of belly up no good dead boy."

"You're saying Boner made a wax image of Raoul?"

At that moment there was a loud clatter and the three of us jumped. It appeared that one of the Chinese stewards had dropped a container of flatware on the parquet floor. Our informant hurried off, with the furtive, sheepish look of one who feels he has already said too much. Harry and I exchanged perplexed glances. Thoughtfully, I retrieved Harry's belt from the microphone stand.

"Will certainly had some dark inclinations but dabbling in the black arts? Hmm. And what motive would he have for wishing the gigolo ill? "

Harry's face adopted its most intent, crossword puzzle solving expression.

"It seems Raoul had few friends on board the good ship Caribbean Conch. Come on, Jaybird. Let's retire to our cabin and dress for dinner. I've yet to debrief you from Parrot's inquisition."

"Debrief me, darling? I'm not wearing any!"

"Silly bint."

****

I think the belt had magical properties. I had only had to actually use it once on Jay, a matter of one "thrrrrrpt!" too many, and the lesson had stuck. I guess the fact that I don't do things by half measures and put all my 230 pounds behind it on that occasion helped create a place for it in my paramour's memory. She came spontaneously that time as well, though neither of us could really separate the orgasm from the pain and tears.

I was hard as a rock.

"Talking of magical properties, so Boner is a juju man, is he?

"What are you on about? Oh, I see – the belt."

Jay shivered as a draft of early evening air came through the cabin porthole.

"Tell me how you got out of Parrot's clutches first. And bend over."

"I suppose bird claws do clutch. Like eggs."

"Stop talking nonsense. Bend over."

Jay closed her eyes and bent, her hands on the sofa. I lifted the remains of her dress over her hips and quietly unbuckled my belt again. I unzipped and poised at Jay's moist entrance.

Simultaneously I looped the belt around her neck, held her firmly by her hair, and slowly entered her. The belt tightened around her throat for long moments. I held my own breath then let her breathe again. I was still and waiting inside her.

"Parrot. Tell me."

There was a catch in Jay's voice.

"He told me off for going AWOL. And the Captain told me off for going AWOL. He wagged his finger at me."

A little convulsion went through Jay's body.

"Parrot wanted to know where I had hidden the gun. I said, what gun? He said, the gun you shot Raoul with."

I tightened the belt and thrust slowly in and out for thirty heartbeats.

Jay gasped as I released the pressure. Her voice was low.

"I said I didn't have a gun and had never even held one. And I had nowhere to hide one last night. I didn't have any secrets. The Captain said, yes, that's true, there was no hiding place in your state of dishabille."

Squeeze again, holding her head steady by the hair. I hardly moved.

Another gasp, followed by fast breathing. I knew Jay's eyes were tight closed.

"Parrot said, we know it wasn't you anyway. No powder burns on Raoul's clothes or skin. The bullet was fired from at least ten feet away."

I thrust further into my wife than I had ever done before. The cabin was very quiet. There seemed to be a source of the quiet somewhere in the room.

I sensed a presence nearby. It was in my wife's shopping basket, sitting beside her spread hands on the sofa. I twisted the belt behind her neck and freed her hair to reach into the basket.

The two fetishes were waiting for me. I put the black female part on the sofa and forced Jay's lips to it. She moaned and tried to twist out of the belt's embrace. I took the male part in my hand. The cabin faded away…

****

"Hell fire, Jaybird, that was a close one!"

"You're not kidding! I thought I was a goner. Good job you kept at least a bit of control."

We lay back on the sofa, Jay pale in my arms.

"I only just managed to let go of the belt before the lights went out. Do you remember anything after that?"

"I remember kissing a warm wet pulsing pussy. And I remember you hosing my cervix like a water main had been turned on. What the hell happened?"

"The Black Widow's fetishes, that's what happened. The damn things are possessed. They want blood – I could feel their fury when I flung the belt through the porthole."

I shuddered. When I woke, still impaled in Miss Lawrence, I had flung the fetishes after the belt. They landed on the deck outside with a crash and must then have rolled over the side into the clear water. Let the fishes have some fun – or otherwise.

"It seems to be black magic day. First wax images now this. I laughed at the wax stuff, but now…"

Jay snuggled tighter and I held her close. We could both do with a bit of TLC right then.

"Don't knock it, my dear. Voodoo, juju, black magic, obeah, whatever you call it. It's powerful stuff. There were a couple of reported cases of obeah in Antigua a year or so ago. One of them scared some poor policemen shitless. And Haiti of course – they put an act on for the tourists, but up in the hills some mighty strange things go on."

Jay shivered again.

"Did Boner really believe he could kill Raoul that way? And why, for crying out loud? I can understand Boner using some sneaky underhand method instead of frontal assault. Dueling isn't his style. But why should he want to do in a Dago singer?"

"I might have said on principle, but I suspect Boner doesn't have any. He had to have a motive somewhere."

"Yes, and a diamond toothpick to a pinch of sand money is involved somewhere. His meanness is legendary from Boise to Cripple Creek."

I looked at my watch. The short tropical twilight was nearly over.

"Time to dress for the party. Whatever Boner's motive, the means didn't get off the ground. Raoul died of acute lead poisoning before the pins did for him. They do tend to be a slightly longer term measure – promote fatal bowel constrictions and that kind of thing."

"I bet he's disappointed. And you watch your back, Harry Neptune. If you keep needling him he might needle you!"

"At the first twinge I'll chuck him overboard. Come to think of it, I might make an effigy myself. Handy thing to have around."

A little insurance never hurt.

"Come on, Lawrence. It's an old colonial theme tonight. Cross-dressing. Where's my girdle?"

CHAPTER TEN: A BIT OF A DRAG

"Good heavens! It's just like Fagzindragz on a Saturday night."

I stifled a giggle. I hadn't seen so many middle-aged men in glittery frocks since I worked as a hat check girl in a San Francisco drag club. Harry looked blase.

"An old Caribbean custom, my dear. For the white settlers, that is, not the natives. The steamy heat of the tropics does funny things to your head. I say – just look at Swat and Dunnett!"

I followed my husband's amused gaze. That time, my laughter could not be contained. As mentioned, the theme for the evening was cross-dressing, and the vast room was filled to bursting point in more ways than one, the ladies Chaplin-esque in outsized dinner jackets, their male partners painfully squeezed into miniscule cocktail dresses. Apparently, the good doctor had eschewed a chance to get into the Lush's skimpy apparel and had opted for a full-length lady's evening kilt and a silk blouse with a prim high neck and frilly jabot bodice. Someone had curled and lacquered his lank red locks into a bouffant do, and he carried a matching tartan drawstring bag, which no doubt concealed his medicinal Glen Tipplet. Miss Swat appeared to be wearing a straitjacket. Helpless, I clutched at Harry's skirt and gasped:

"Dunnett looks just like Moira Anderson!"

(Cultural note: Miss Anderson was a popular Scottish singer during my impoverished 1970s Old Country childhood.)

Harry snorted.

"What's with the Lush in full bondage gear? It's supposed to be an evening of cross-dressing, not Halloween. That's a real straitjacket she's wound into, by the way. Curious."

I decided not to ask my nearest and dearest how he could determine a real loony restraint from a phony one. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Miss Swat resembled an Egyptian mummy, her arms tightly folded across her chest. When she moved, she had to take tiny little bird steps like Morticia Addams, as the strange white garment bound her ankles. Her feet were clothed in fetching hospital issue bed-socks.

"I guess there wasn't much to choose from in the sick bay and Dunnett was too mean to let her pinch his scrubs. Come along, Mrs. Neptune. I spy the Droners in drag. Let's go have some sport."

"Not to mention a nice cold drink."

I plucked a couple of tall glasses from a tray born by a passing steward in a tangerine mini-dress. He smiled, an outlandish apparition in a Cleopatra wig and heavy false eyelashes.

"May I be so bold as to suggest that you sip those slowly, madam. It's a new creation of Ramon, our head bar steward, called a Hermaphrodite. Quite a potent little concoction."

"Sounds divine!"

I clasped the drinks in my hot little hands as I followed Harry through the smoky, noisy crowd. Passing close behind Dunnett and Swat, I overheard a snatch of another intense conversation.

"You sure this get-up will bring 'em back again? I can't hardly breathe."

The Lush's dulcet southern belle tones appeared to have taken a quick trip to Brooklyn.

"It should help. If not, well, we'll have to consider a remodel job. I'm afraid it will mean some reduction in size."

"As if I'd let you at me with a knife again! I wanna refund!"

My eyes opened wide and I melted further into the milling throng, thoughtfully taking a sip of my Hermaphrodite. It was quite delicious, a subtle melange of tropical fruit flavors with what seemed to be just a hint of cream and chocolate. Mmm.

The Boner-Drippits were rather artlessly attempting to schmooze Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted Publishing. Will's face darkened as Harry approached and Frippery frowned.

"We're talking bithneth, Harry. Can't you come back later?"

A wicked glint entered my partner's eyes.

"Later? Why, I wouldn't want to take up any of your spanking time, Mrs. Boner. No, I think now is as good a time as any."

"Thpanking?"

I looked very closely at Frippery. She wore one of Boner's old suits (I recognized the patches on the elbows) and a profoundly bemused expression. If he really hadn't initiated her in his over-the-knee fetish, who the heck was he spanking the other night? Hmm…

Boner himself was a vision in floaty lilac, Nike running shoes incongruously peeking out from a daintily ruffled hemline. I couldn't contain an impromptu jibe.

"Nice frock, sweetie! I always suspected you were into women's clothes."

To my intense surprise, my ex turned scarlet and flashed me a "one more word and it's curtains for you" look. And he was always such a manly man. But appearances can be deceptive…

****

That straitjacket brought back memories. I just hoped there were no Koreans on the ship…

My floor-length purple dress had been left on board by a statuesque but second-rate tennis player rounding off her career by coaching flabby brokers in sun visors on the finer points of serve and volley. She was looking for a decrepit millionaire to ease her middle years but fell instead for a Belgian sous chef and married him in Martinique. Some stories have a happy ending.

I hooked my evening bag over my elbow and adjusted my auburn wig. A glance in a mirror told me my make-up was perfect and my boobs in place.

"My make-up is perfect and my boobs are in place, darling."

"So they should be. I painted it on you and stuffed them up your dress. How's my mustache?"

Mr(s) Neptune sported a thin penciled line above her upper lip, the two halves meeting in a sweep at her nose. Very artistic, though I say so myself. Her hair was plastered back and bunned. The ship's wardrobe had produced a very decent set of evening clothes with a genuine do-it-yourself white tie. Shining patent leather shoes rounded off the effect. All it needed was a cigarette holder, but Neptunes don't smoke even in jest. Not nicotine, anyway.

"Give me your arm, my dear. I feel in need of a little support."

"You'll have to bend down!"

God only knows where my shoes came from originally. Maybe also left behind by the tennis player. They were a size or so too small and sported sturdy four-inch heels. I felt like that odd basketball player with the strange hair, the lisp, and the multiple ear piercings.

Talking of lisps…

"Thpanking?"

Frippery Drippit seemed genuinely nonplused by my new wife's sally. I could see this turning into an interesting evening.

"I'm thure I don't know what you're talking about!"

Frip stalked off, Boner's well-worn brogues making slapping sounds on the deck as her feet flopped around inside them.

Boner glared at us as Mr. Deal took advantage of the exchange to sidle off in the direction of anywhere but the Boner-Drippits.

"I've had quite enough of your innuendoes! Just because you're obsessed with your own perversions…"

"Oh, but I learned my perversions at the master's knee, didn't I, Will?" said Jay sweetly. "Or at least learned that it took a better master than you to turn a peccadillo into a perversion."

Boner hitched up his floating skirts and looked as though he might take a swing at someone with his brocaded evening bag.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Bonehead! I'll belt you with my handbag!"

My spouse giggled.

"Now, now boys – or girls! Handbags at five paces is not the done thing at respectable parties. You can go out on the promenade deck later and I'll take bets on the winner."

Boner drew himself up to his full height, which was quite a bit less than mine especially in those shoes.

"I must warn you that I was middle weight boxing champion of Upper Podunk. I shall thrash you to within an inch of your life!"

I put on my best wolfish grin and loomed over him.

"And I am a Technicolor belt in the ancient martial art of Durti Trix! Bid farewell to your vulnerable parts…"

Boner had the sense to blanch under his thin make-up and take a step backward.

"Before that though, Willy baby, we have something of mutual benefit to discuss."

I linked my arm through his as though we were matrons at a ball and drew him to one side.

"Mutual benefit? What benefit could we possibly have in common?"

"Silence, old thing. Got your check book handy?"

"What the hell are you talking about? A contribution to the Deaf and Dumb Society?"

Boner was definitely quivering now, but so far it was just at the thought of parting with money. Not why. I went on.

"Or rather it wasn't very silent. Not through our cabin wall and with that well-known hearing aid the toothbrush glass. Dealing out a good old thrashing, weren't you? And if it wasn't Frippery, who was it? Hey?"

Boner wriggled but I clamped his arm tight.

"What's it worth, Boner? Silence is golden, and all that. How many zeros, do you think?"

Two bright red spots burned on Boner's pale cheeks.

"Not you as well! Oh no, I should have expected it. That hellcat has had it in for me ever since…"

"What do you mean, not me as well? As well as what? As well as whom?"

Boner's eyes narrowed.

"Blackmail, you…"

With a sudden movement he whirled his handbag like a bolas and caught me on the ear. The game no longer seemed worth the candle, in public at least, so I let him go with a crafty kick at his ankle in parting. I watched him go, thoughtfully.

Jay reentered my orbit, one hand thrust into a trouser pocket and the other gripping a fresh glass of Hermaphrodite.

"So what was that all about?"

"I really don't know. I was having a bit of fun putting the shits up him by threatening to spill the beans about his botty-smacking tryst, and he completely lost his sense of humor. Accused me of blackmailing him. I mean, would I do such a thing?"

"Yes, but only if he had enough money."

"True enough. But you told me yourself that miser though he is, he never earned enough to be worth putting the squeeze on."

I took Jay's glass to wet my lips. Something alcoholic lurked under the secondary ingredients. My lips went slightly numb.

"That's not the point, anyway," I continued. "Then he said, 'Not you as well?'"

"You mean, as in, 'Not you as well as another blackmailer?'"

"That's the ticket. It seems someone else has been putting the black on him. Why? More illicit corporal punishment? Hardly seems like a serious enough slip for a proper blackmail bid. What's he been up to? He's your ex-lover, what could that boring fart possibly have done to merit grade A extortion?"

****

I suppressed a powerful urge to rub my painted mustache, which was starting to itch. I do like to get it on with another girl but I've never been inclined towards dressing for the manly role. Playfully, I massaged Harry's bottom through his evening dress and he slapped my hand away with a petulant pout.

"Don't be so sexist! We're in public! Do you want to ruin my reputation?"

"What reputation would that be, gorgeous? Anyway, the plot is getting so thick we'll soon have our boots stuck in it. I overheard a rather interesting snippet of conversation en route to the Boners. Dunnett did Swat's tits."

The statuesque creature in purple shrugged.

"So? Who wouldn't?"

"No dear. The sozzled Scots sawbones created Jezebel."

"Is this a cryptic word game?"

Sometimes Harry Neptune can be so obtuse it makes me want to scream. I took a restorative draught of my Hermaphrodite. Interestingly, it didn't appear to be affecting me at all. My head was clear, if filled with enough clues to keep Scotland Yard busy for a month.

"Listen to me, you big puce tart! Dr. Dunnett is or was a breast enlargement surgeon. Swat's boobs are about to hit her bony little sun-kissed knees and she's ready to sue for malpractice. And, just to put the icing on the cake, Boner flushed like crazy when I made that joke about him being into ladies' frocks."

Harry tossed his stunning auburn locks.

"So you're saying the old master's a closet queen and Swat's continental shelf is drifting south thanks to the professional shortcomings of another closet queen who I strongly suspect didn't have to rent his outfit for the night. There were no evening kilts in the ship's dress hire store, I can tell you. I had to go through the entire inventory before they exhumed this rag from the Lost and Found. Bloody tight it is too."

A wicked thought entered my mind.

"We need to go look in some closets, my darling."

"I thought clothes bored you."

"It depends. Sometimes they can be quite revealing. And I'm not just referring to the Lush's little cocktail outfit. How are your burglary skills, Raffles?"

Grinning broadly, my partner in crime extracted a hairpin from his faux coiffure.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OUT OF THE CLOSET

A little breaking and entering never did anyone any harm. Or not me, anyway.

The party was building up a head of steam around us. All the denizens of the Captain's table the night before were present and correct, apart from Ahab himself. He was probably off somewhere detecting with Inspector Parrot. Mrs. Goldfinkel had buttonholed Mr. Deal and was lecturing him about something or other over glasses of Hermaphrodite.

"Let's do Boner and Frip's cabin while they're stocking up on free grub."

The oddly matched pair were stuffing carrots and various greenery into their mouths at the buffet table. As I watched Boner glanced around and slipped a handful of assorted nuts into his evening bag.

We slipped out onto the deck after snagging a couple more glasses of Hermaphrodite.

"You know, thish shtuff's got absholutely no kick to it whatshoever!"

Miss Lawrence hiccupped, staggered a little as the night air hit her, and hung onto my arm.

"I'll need a shtiffener when we get back if I'm to fashe the resht of the night!"

She giggled.

"Letsh do it in their cabin!"

"Hush, you daft bat. We're burglars, not – not – whatever people who do it in other people's cabins are!"

"Letsh do it here then!"

Jay gave me a sozzled look and pushed me against the rail. She grabbed the hem of my dress and lifted my skirts. A bejeweled finger crept up my thigh.

"Gerroff! I'm not that kind of girl! Tits first!"

"You ain't got no titsh! They're fake!"

"What a thing to say to a nice girl!"

"You're not a girl! Or nice! You're a – you're not wearing any pantiesh!! You shlapper!"

Miss Lawrence's mind had to be returned to the matter in hand, but that was not going to happen until something else had happened. Come to think of it, now she had put the idea into my head…

I looked around for a relatively secluded spot and pulled Miss Lawrence, hand still up my skirts, into the lee of a pile of life rafts.

She put my hand on her crotch then thrust her own hand down her trousers.

"Feel that! Aren't I a big boy! I'll give you such a sheeing to…"

I had a feeling real cross-dressers were a little more sophisticated in their play, but needs must. I masturbated her hand vigorously through the cloth.

"Don't make me come in my pantsh! They'll shtain… where'sh your pushy gone?"

A questing finger was searching for an orifice beneath my dress. I deemed it time Harry Neptune took charge.

"Zip or buttons?"

I tugged at Mr(s) Neptune's belt – in fact, my own thick black belt borrowed for the occasion.

"Buttonsh of coursh. I'm a gentleman!"

The finger had reached my bum when I pulled my wife's dress trousers down and pushed her against the life rafts.

"Ooh! You're no lady! You're an imposhter!"

"And someone went overboard when they circumcised you, sir. Have at you…"

I thrust into Jay's slippery cleft and set up a fast rhythm. Finesse was out. Harry was in, and we still had burglary to commit.

Jay's finger inserted itself in my anus. Slightly shocked, I returned the compliment. My dress rustled against her dinner jacket. I felt her nipples hard even through the thick material.

"Harriet…!"

"Jaynothan…!"

I pressed Jay against the life rafts as that familiar irresistible pressure built up under the impetus of Hermaphrodite and the kinkiness of the occasion. Jay's orgasm came seconds before mine. Still shuddering, she pushed me back and dropped to her knees.

I pumped my shaft those last few moments and she bowed her head. I came on her hair like Brylcreem from a barber's squirter. I carefully wiped the last few drops on her disheveled pate.

"Thatsh – that's better. I feel quite shober – sofa – sober now."

Jay ran her fingers over her hair, slicking it back into place with my warm come. She licked her fingers and grinned up at me.

"Tastes better than that oily stuff!"

"You put your finger up my bum!"

"Well? You're wearing a dress and you're an orifice short. A man has to do what a man has to do."

She pulled down the brim of an imaginary fedora and sneered.

"That's it baby. Love 'em and leave 'em Neptune, they call me. Hasta la vista, babe. Enjoy the memory."

"You swine! My mother warned me about men like you! Have your evil way and leave the poor girl holding the baby! Oh! A baby!"

I sobbed and groped in my handbag for a handkerchief. Mr(s) Neptune handed me a tissue.

"Stop your sniveling or I'll give you something to cry about."

I had another sob then pulled myself together and stuck my nose in the air.

"I don't care. I'm going to burgle a cabin. Are you coming or are you going to stand there preening all night?"

****

I began to wish I'd taken the mini-skirted steward's advice about the cocktail du soir. Clandestine sleuthing and giggly inebriation are not compatible bedfellows. Talking of the latter, we appeared to have reached the spanker's lair. A smallish lilac sticker on the Boners' cabin door bore the legend "Accommodation Compliments of the Romance Authors' Association." I squinted at the swirling highly embellished print in disgust.

"I might have known the old miser wouldn't have paid a cent for this nautical jaunt!"

Harry peered at the sticker and pursed his lips. He desperately needed to refresh his lipstick.

"Hmm. I would have thought Frip'd have her stateroom covered as a lecturing author on a literary cruise. The cruise line might not have wanted to cover an accompanying spouse's costs, however, so maybe she had to drum up some extra sponsor money with her old hearts and flowers stuff. The Boner really is as tight as you described. And I thought you were exaggerating."

"I'll tell you about the pasta incident some time…"

My ex lover's concept of a romantic dinner for two was the three-dollar all-day breakfast special at a cut-price cafe where they gave you a ticket and called out your number when they'd griddled your order. I once suggested that we treat ourselves to a modest Italian meal and was rewarded with a Castro-length diatribe on the excessive and iniquitous mark-up on restaurant pasta. That was probably when my disenchantment set in.

"Keep an eye out while I fiddle with this lock."

I did my best to cover Harry's back as he bent to meddle with the cabin door. The corridor was empty, distant sounds of reggae music and hilarity issuing from the ballroom. It sounded as if they had brought in a DJ to replace the surviving members of the Latin band, who were no doubt claiming permanent emotional trauma from the events of the previous night. My stomach rumbled and I realized that we had forgotten to help ourselves to the buffet. This was turning out to be more of a weight reduction cruise than a literary one. I nudged the busy creature in the purple frock.

"Hurry up! I'm starving."

"Shurrup, Lawrence. Nearly there. Just a couple more little twists and twiddles…"

Footsteps and voices echoed down the narrow corridor just as my partner pushed open the cabin door with a triumphant click. Hurriedly, we stepped into the darkness within. The door closed behind us and we found ourselves in a veritable Stygian pit of velvety blackness. Obviously, the Boner-Drippits had drawn the blind down over their porthole before sashaying forth to the ball. A large hand gently fumbled across my chest as if attempting to tickle my nipples through my dinner jacket.

"Where's the light switch?"

"Very funny, dear. It should be near the door. Shouldn't it?"

The phantom hand marched back in the opposite direction and I slapped the black space before me, my eyes still unaccustomed to the severe lack of light.

"What's funny? Here we are. Jesus Christ!"

At that precise moment, three things happened. Harry found the bedside lamp and turned it on, creating a golden pool of light in the dark cabin. The light illuminated a small human skull, which sat on top of a hefty manuscript, like a macabre paperweight. Something hand-like ran down my trouser leg and scuttled under the bed. There was a brief pause, followed by an intense exchange of glances. I decided to go first.

"It's all right, darling, it's only Yorrick."

"Ditto, Jaybird, that was merely a tarantula."

"I see."

Every pore of my skin contracted and I stifled a powerful urge to scream. I'm rather fond of the reptile kingdom but large spiders in furry jumpsuits are guaranteed to give me the shudders. With as much dignity as I could muster, I backed away from the bed, convinced that a pair of beady little eyes on stalks were watching my every move. Without taking my gaze from the shadowy space beneath the bed, I picked up the skull and struck a Shakespearean pose.

"Alas, poor Yorrick, I knew him well. This is one of Boner's favorite things. Lord knows where he got it. I never did find out."

Harry picked up the manuscript. It had to be at least six hundred pages. My ex was short on generosity but long in verbosity. I think he was hoping to find a publisher who'd pay him by the weight of his tome.

"What is this? War and blinking Peace?"

We looked at the cover, which appeared to have been typed with an old-fashioned manual typewriter. I groaned.

"Don't tell me he still hasn't got himself a word-processor!"

"The Mashing of Melody Moons!"

I turned back the cover and began to scan the first page of purple prose.

"Wait a minute. This isn't one of Boner's lurid fantasies, although the title is certainly representative of them. Look – the author's name is given as Domina Dark."

A small sheet of scarlet paper fell out of the manuscript and fluttered to the cabin floor. Harry picked it up.

"Draconia Books. Specializing in Fem-Dom fiction for the discerning Mistress."

I recognized the small publishing house. Their books invariably came with an image of a fierce-looking cane-wielding Cruella de Ville type on the cover. Story themes inevitably revolved around the humiliation and subjugation of the masculine sex. Not my personal cup of tea but I have a friend who is a visiting dominatrix in Queens. Her ad runs: "Call 1 800 THE BICH."

My husband whistled softly.

"This is Frippery's writing, Jaybird. I'd know those flowery adjectives anywhere. So, our esteemed ex romance writer and current Puker Prize winner pens sadomasochistic knee-tremblers in her spare time, does she? I always had a vague suspicion she hated men."

I skimmed down through the first few paragraphs, which involved an incompetent "sissy maid" and a disgruntled Lady with a riding crop and a dust allergy.

"But, if so, why did she marry Boner? He's a man and he's not submissive. Or, at least, he always told me he wasn't a bottom. Actually, he went to great lengths to insist that he wasn't. However, I've never forgotten that time he asked me to spank him. Hmm…"

Harry smirked.

"Sounds like a distinct case of "methinks he doth protest too much". Never mind this ripping yarn, let's get into the closet before the dynamic duo return. There's only so much greenery they can consume at one sitting without sprouting floppy ears."

As if to punctuate his statement, a familiar voice called out from beyond the porthole.

"Oh, look Will! A myriad of thtars!"

Swiftly, Harry snapped off the lamp and the cabin reverted to inky darkness. I remembered Boris the spider and gritted my teeth.

"We'd better make a run for it, sweetie. We're only next door, we can get there before they reach this end of the corridor."

"Nope. I want some answers, Jaybird. Get under the bed."

"Dream on! There's a whopping great arachnid lurking under there!"

Two large hands grasped my trembling body and thrust me to the floor. One grabbed me by the seat of my pants, the other pushed my face down on the carpet. I squealed in horror as my husband unceremoniously shoved me underneath the bed. There was just enough space for me, although I felt like the filling in a sandwich. There was a brief hiatus, then I heard the closet door open and slowly close. Seconds later, a key turned in the cabin door and the Boner-Drippits returned.

****

"Someone's been playing with my muse!"

Boner's aggrieved tones reminded me that I had flung the skull on the bed instead of carefully replacing it on the manuscript. Talking of the manuscript…

"Someoneth been pwying into my manuthcript!"

I wondered if there was anything else we had disturbed, but that seemed to be it.

"Must be the bloody maid. I'll complain to the Purser first thing in the morning. I left explicit instructions that nothing on that table was to be touched."

There was a sound as of manuscript and skull being replaced in their proper positions. Yes, there was something else we disturbed…

"Where's Hermione? Hermione! Here girl! Here girl!"

The next sound was chairs, cushions and pillows being shoved around in the search for Hermione – who, a pound to a penny, was lurking under the bed in chummy comradeship with Miss Lawrence.

"Hermione dear, there you are! What a leap! You must be ready for your grasshoppers."

From this, and without the benefit of the sense of sight, I gathered that Miss Lawrence must have expelled Hermione with some vigor into the arms of her master.

"Will! Put the horrible monthter away! I told you not to let it out! Ughy ughy icky icky!!!"

I remembered that last expression from my brief marriage to la Drippit. Anything not sealed in zip lock bags or Saran film was a candidate for ickihood. Frippery had no time for anything icky, including the exchange or donation of bodily fluids. A large hairy spider, though in fact they feel quite dry and rarely slaver from bared fangs, was a dead cert for ickiness.

"Now, now, Hermione darling. Ignore the nice lady. Let's get you some nice din-dins. Here we go…"

A click as of the lid of a spider tank closing was followed by the crunching demise of a startled grasshopper – or the latter could have been my imagination, overworked in the rather cramped closet.

It was at this point that the inevitable desire to sneeze began its insidious assault on my nasal nerves. Inevitable? What do you expect, put the hero in a dusty cupboard and what better way is there to give him away in flagrante? Or her. I imagined it was even dustier under the bed. I carefully raised a hand and wiped my nose.

There was a slightly squelchy sound.

"Will, what are you doing now? Why are you thquithing up that nathty Raoul?"

"Raoul no longer concerns us, lambikins. Someone with a pistol got there before Mother Voodoo finished her work. She would have though. He would have died in agony and quite inexplicably…"

There was a note of sadistic satisfaction in Boner's voice that created a resolve in me to rearrange his nose before the voyage was over. That aside, what we were hearing from our hiding places sounded much to me like an admission of conspiracy to murder – even if the weapon might puzzle prosecuting counsel at the Old Bailey. And why did Frippery apparently have it in for the late lamented Raoul?

"Good," came Frippery's voice with a vicious twist I had only heard from her before when mentioning socialists or compost. It looked like her hatred for anything not matching her world-view had vented itself on the deceased dago. Not to mention through the writings of Domina Dark.

"He laughed," snarled Frippery. "He laughed when he should have begged and cried. He deserved everything he got."

Under the impetus of her fury her sibilants had come back. I knew that only happened when she was about to throw a milk bottle through the neighbor's window for parking in the wrong spot. Someone was in for it.

"Now with a little remodeling – a slightly bigger head, I think – yes – altogether bigger – it'll take all I have – that's it – now the hair – perfect!"

"Wonderful, darling! You are tho talented!"

The sibilants disappeared again with the satisfaction of a job well done.

"It'th him to a T! Big and ugly and nathty! Put him in!"

I wasn't sure what the last meant, but it was followed by a wooden click and the clack of something being laid on the table.

"I want to do it! Give me the thpear!"

There was silence for a moment, then a searing pain shot through my back. I was too shocked even to cry out, if a cry could have found its way between my gritted teeth. My body went rigid, all feeling focused around the red-hot pain eviscerating me.

I twisted in silent agony, trying to reach behind me to remove whatever was driving me toward insanity. The closet was dark but I felt a deeper darkness approaching.

I dimly heard the light switch click off and the cabin door close. I was caught in the clothes hanging from the rail, now strangling as well as dying of that terrible wound.

"Harry! What are you up to? The Watusi? There is a time and place, you know!"

I fell out of the closet onto the floor, my wife nimbly sidestepping rather than being squashed herself.

"Harry! What is it? Are you having a heart attack?"

Jay's concerned gaze hovered above me, dimly visible through the mists of pain. I turned my head to the table and saw a box with a steel needle sticking out of it. I struggled to my knees and started to crawl toward it.

Jay put her arms around me and helped me half upright.

"The box!" I managed. "The needle – take it out…"

Give Jay credit, she didn't waste any time with stupid questions. The pain suddenly disappeared and I fell back to the floor. When I opened my eyes Jay was kneeling over me with a small coffin-shaped wooden box in one hand and a glistening six-inch steel spike in the other.

I staggered to the sofa and sat back with my eyes closed. The residual pain was receding and I started to feel almost half a Neptune again.

"Give me the box…"

It was fashioned as a crude miniature coffin, the lid held in place with a piece of rough string. I slipped the string off and tipped back the lid.

"It's just like you! How clever!"

I looked warningly at my wife.

"Don't say that – you'll only make it believe itself and become even more dangerous. And be careful with that spike."

I took the spike from her and gently rubbed the wax effigy's arm with it. I felt cold steel and the hairs on my arm ruffled. Jay's eyes went wide.

"Ooer!"

"Ooer indeed. I wonder where Boner got this stuff from? It's ancient. This kind of wax hasn't been made since the days of the pirates in Hispaniola. Haiti, for a guess, the home of voodoo. Over the years it must have been made into many effigies to have accumulated such power."

"Can it be destroyed? Or is always going to be a menace?"

"Wax burns. Fire will destroy it…" I said idly.

As I spoke I was remodeling the soft wax. A little smoothing on the pate, a little remodeling of the nose, a tuck here and a tweak there… The therapist often gave me Plasticene to play with before he discovered what I had secreted in my lunch pail.

"Harry! It's him to a T! Big and ugly and nasty!"

I looked curiously at Jay. Those were the very same words Frippery had used when the wax was made into a model of me.

"Yes. Will Boner. Now, what shall we do with him?"

I laid the model in the coffin and tied the lid back on. Jay toyed with the spear.

"Not yet. We still don't know why Frippery wanted Raoul dead. Or why Boner was willing to kill him. We'll hang onto this. I have a feeling it will come in handy."

"My thoughts exactly. But we'll hide it well. We don't want them getting their hands on it again."

"Come on then. I'll fix your makeup and we'll get some grub. Can you model it into a spider, by the way?"

As Jay put her hand on the doorknob I put the spike to a small knothole on the underside of the box and gave a short sharp jab. I grinned nastily and followed her out into the corridor.

CHAPTER TWELVE: WHO DO YOU VOODOO?

The party was waxing fast as we reentered the grand ballroom of the Caribbean Conch. Harry had secreted the little coffin in his capacious handbag, alongside some feminine necessities purloined from my vanity case. The lipstick and powder I could understand, given H's current Tootsie role, but a nail file, eyebrow tweezers and scissors seemed a bit over the top.

"What do you need those for, darling? You've got no nails to speak of and it'd take a lawnmower to tidy up your eyebrows!"

My glamorous husband merely blew me a kiss and smiled enigmatically. Then I knew.

"Oh, I get it. Not content with simply stabbing old Bony in the bum, you're going to torment him with my toilet articles. You'd better watch your karma, angel."

Harry sent a malevolent look in the Boner-Drippits direction. They had refilled their salad plates and were hovering like vultures near Mr. Deal, who was doing his best to ignore their presence as he chatted with an attractive aspiring authoress.

"Karma schmarma. No one sticks pins in Harry Neptune and lives to walk without a limp. Why did I throw those fetishes overboard? I have a feeling they would have made a potent ally."

I thought of the strange dark artifacts and shivered. There are some things that just cannot be rationally explained.

"I don't think so, Harry. The fetishes were free agents. We had no power over them – they controlled us as effortlessly as if we were mere marionettes. I'd like to find out where the Black Widow bought the damned things. Whoever sold them to her was downright irresponsible."

"Or very clever indeed. Don't worry, Jaybird. All will be revealed in due course. Incidentally, it might have escaped your attention but the wind is getting up. I think we're in for a bit of a squall."

"What are you talking about? It's almost flat calm."

My partner grinned wickedly and began to swing his handbag back and forth like a pendulum, his gaze fixed upon my ex lover. Boner began to look a little green.

"He'll think his sea-sickness is back with a vengeance but there ain't no anti-nausea pills on board that'll cure this bout."

"Oh, you are awful!"

"Subtlety is always the best offense, my dear."

I watched with fascination as Boner clutched his stomach and put down his salad. His complexion had changed from bilious green to grossed-out gray. With a satisfied smirk, Harry led me to the buffet table, where we heaped our plates with a delectable assortment of seafood. A ghastly Boner leaned against a pillar as we spooned up lobster, giant prawns and crab.

"That should do it for now. Just setting the scene for the delights to come. Let's chow down for a bit, then I'll go in with the emery board and abrade his balls."

"Ouchy! Did you make him a pair?"

Harry frowned.

"No, I believe that wax Bony is ball-less. We can soon fix that, "though."

I was quite getting into the spirit of things. Naughtily plucking a brace of capers from a platter of lox, I arranged them on the edge of my husband's plate.

"What about these?"

"Same color as his face, that's for sure!"

"And here's a little cane to chastise his bottom."

It was almost three decades since I'd last played with dollies but the urge to accessorize Harry's version of Action Man got the better of me. Giggling, I added a sharp wooden cocktail stick to my partner's plate. Harry snorted.

"You can have the honor of giving the old boy six of the best on the bum. I think we should pick our moment 'though. The next time we overhear him dishing out punishment would be good. Spank the spanker as he spanks the spankee. How's that for an alliteration?"

"I see that the bountiful badly-boobed Barbie has bobbed up with the big black bobby."

"You what?"

I inclined my head towards the dance-floor. It seemed that during our soiree in the Boner-Drippit cabin, Miss Swat had ditched her straitjacket in favor of a large shirt and tie. Parrott was squeezed into a very familiar black cocktail dress, his broad and hairy chest doing quite a good job of expanding the low-cut bodice. I looked around for Dunnett but the alcoholic medic was nowhere to be found. Harry whistled.

"Well, well, well. Is La Lush dishing the dirt on the dastardly doc or is she simply reggae for a little light interrogation?"

I recalled my all-too-brief spell in a small, darkened room with the quietly insistent Inspector Parrott. It was just as well I really did have nothing to hide, for I suspect he'd have gained a confession from me as swiftly as he could shuck an oyster. His dark, intense eyes sent tiny shivers down my spine. I watched the couple dancing and sensed a certain sensual connection between the pair.

"He's been in her knickers – or wants to be! Now, what's happening?"

The DJ turned down the music and grabbed a mike.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, who's for karaoke? We have a special prize for the best performance! Step up now and don't be shy."

I looked up at Harry. My beautiful partner grinned broadly.

****

This was evidently the moment Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted had been waiting for. He was wearing an attractive long white dress with a high collar and sequins. His wig was black, with rather tomboyish licks at front and rear.

Mr. Deal hit the stage and struck a pose, one arm high and head bent. The DJ had seen this before and knew the form. He slipped a CD in the karaoke machine.

"Since my baby left me

I've found a new place to dwell…"

Mr Deal's head rose. The aspiring authoress looked on in amazement.

"He's not all that bad, Jaybird. Got the gestures and facials down pat, and not at all a bad voice."

I tapped my foot to the rhythm and absent-mindedly swung my handbag.

"Elvis in drag – now I've seen everything. And stop swinging that bag – give him time to get out on deck before he pukes."

Boner was clutching his stomach again. I grabbed the bag and abruptly stilled it. Boner dived to the ground as if over the handlebars of a bicycle striking an ambushing rock. Frippery helped him to his feet and they staggered in the direction of out.

"…I'm living at the corner of Lonely Street at – Heartbreak Hotel…"

I dropped the bag and heard a thump from out on deck.

"Harry Neptune, you're a nasty man! You're having all the fun – it's my turn next."

"Voodoo?"

"We do."

"You do?"

"Yes, voodoo."

That settled, I trapped the bag between my feet and applauded generously as Mr. Deal reached his big finale.

"…You know I'm so lonely I'm so lonely baby,

I'm so lonely I could die!"

Mr. Deal twitched a lip and bowed.

"Than' yuh verra much!"

He stepped off the low stage and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek from the aspiring authoress. Maybe there was something in Elvis in drag after all.

"Go on, Harry! Give them a torch song!"

"Not without a few more Hermaphrodites. It's been a while since I waggled the tonsils in public. Definitely needs lubrication, and I'm talking about the audience."

The DJ put on some background reggae and shilled his crowd.

"Come on then, who's next! Who wants our extra special humungous magnificent great big prize! There's lots of talent here tonight – let's hear some of those classics!"

He was about to raise the stakes by actually telling us what the prize was when there was a movement in the doorway beside the stage. The DJ stopped in mid-spiel and forgot to close his mouth.

Dr. Dunnett half minced and half strode onto the stage. He wore a long blonde wig. And purple velvet hot pants and bib over a yellow silk blouse. And boots. Thigh boots. Black.

"Fuck me with a feather duster!"

"Later, Mrs. Neptune. I want to see this. Not sure I want to hear it, though."

Dunnett handed the DJ a CD and seized the microphone between long-nailed fingers. He tossed his hair and nodded. The first bars of a blast from the past belted out and he launched into his party piece.

"You keep saying you got something for me

Something you call love but confess

You've been a'messin' where you shouldn't 've been a'messin'

And now someone else is getting all your best…"

The accent was a curious mixture of Edinburgh and Galveston. I had not heard anything quite like it outside a speech therapy class.

"…You keep lyin' when you oughta be truthin'

You keep losin' when you oughta not bet

You keep samin' when you oughta be a'changin'

What's right is right but you ain't been right yet…"

Loretta Swat was leaning against the Barbados policeman with a glazed expression on her face. Parrot was impassive, presumably thinking this was the normal fare on cruise ships. He may have been right, though I doubt anything quite like this had been seen on the Caribbean Conch for many a long year.

Swat's impressive frontage was back in place, presumably with the aid of either a cantilever brassiere or a bicycle pump. Jay nudged me.

"I wonder if she kept her top on with him. He looks like a tit man to me – she may have had a battle!"

"Shush, I'm enjoying the concert."

Jay turned her gaze back to the stage and gave my handbag a nudge with her foot.

"…Well, these boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do.

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you…"

The bass played its meaningful downward scale and Dunnett sneered out the final two lines.

"…Are you ready, boots?

Start walkin'!"

The music reached its crescendo as Dunnett strutted about the stage glaring at his audience through swinging blonde hair. I had a feeling he had missed out a verse, but I wasn't complaining.

The DJ took out the CD and slipped it into his pocket before leading the applause.

"Your very own Dr. Nancy Sinatra Dunnett! A big hand for the medical profession!" Sotto voce he added behind his hand, "Is there a doctor in the house…?"

"Bravo! Bravo! Encore!"

Someone threw a bread roll at me as I gave a loud whistle of appreciation. The doctor bowed in my direction and tripped off the stage toward la Swat.

Out of the corner of one eye I saw the Boner-Drippits return to the fray, taking a vacant table near the stage. I couldn't see either of them doing a turn, unless it was to recite an improving verse and give a lecture on the iniquity of eating animal flesh. That didn't mean they should not provide some entertainment for the multitude though…

Out of the corner of my other eye I spotted a small movement under the buffet table.

"Wait here."

Jay looked at me curiously as I ambled over to the buffet and accidental-done-a-purpose knocked a stray bun to the floor. I bent down to retrieve the bun and reached under the table.

In Antigua they call them mahogany mice, because if you stamp on them you break your foot. It is said that they and sharks are the only creatures which would survive nuclear holocaust.

It was the work of a moment to capture the cockroach and secure it in the coffin. I tied the string tight.

With my best innocent expression I returned to my wife and the pleasure of an evening's entertainment aboard the good ship Caribbean Conch.

****

Even the DJ looked a mite incredulous at Dunnett's routine, or maybe it was the purple hot pants. I wondered if the good doctor had run them up himself.

"Well! That's what I call a hard act to follow. Come along, ladies and gents, there's a great surprise in store for the lucky winner. I promise you, you won't be disappointed!"

I glanced at Harry. For some reason he was suddenly looking incredibly smug although he still showed no signs of getting up on the stage and doing his party piece. Not drunk enough yet, no doubt. Probably just as well – we'd been asked to leave a number of establishments on account of my beloved's piece de resistance and I really didn't fancy a night in the boiler room or wherever the Captain might stow away delinquent passengers. To my amazement, my ex lover scraped back his chair and stood up, a little unsteadily.

"I don't believe it! Boner is getting up. I thought he despised this kind of thing as immature frivolity."

"Is he, sweet-cakes?"

Harry had his best enigmatic "It wasn't me" look on his face. He was definitely up to something. I watched Boner approach the stage. He was really behaving very oddly, taking two steps forward and one to the side, as if practicing some obscure square dancing routine. Frippery was beginning to look rather cross. The DJ obviously presumed the latest star turn had simply had one Hermaphrodite too many and smirked indulgently as he gave Boner a hand up onto the stage. The two men had a brief discussion and the DJ rummaged in his case of CDs. It wasn't long before the familiar strains of "The Surrey with the Fringe on Top" issued from the huge speakers and I groaned.

"Not again! Can the man not try something new?"

Boner grabbed the mike and was just about to launch into the first verse when a high-pitched voice cried:

"Oh do wait for Gigi! I simply adore a little Rogers and Hammerstein! Let's sing a duet!"

For once, Mrs. Goldfinkel was not dressed in her signature pink. It was unclear which male member of the present company had loaned her an outfit but he had to be an extrovert. The suit was scarlet with broad, sequin-encrusted lapels. Harry sniggered as the Black Widow bounced up to the stage and grasped a second microphone with consummate glee.

"Bloody hell, it's Liberace!"

"Shh! Hee hee! Boner's furious at being upstaged – just look at his face."

"Never mind his face, he seems to have a bad case of ants in his pants. Funny that."

Mrs. Goldfinkel had started to sing in a shrill soprano but my ex seemed unable to utter a note. His long lilac frock twitched from side to side as he shuddered and squirmed. I hissed at Harry, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Did you put itching powder in his Y-fronts? How on earth did you manage that?"

"Nope. Better than that. Keep watching."

"Chicks and geese and ducks better scurry…"

"Aaahh!"

The Black Widow shot Boner a rather perplexed look but kept on singing like a trouper, as her partner howled, then inexplicably fell over backwards and started to break-dance. It wasn't long before his curly brunette wig flew off and landed on Miss Swat's chest with a resounding hairy smack.

"Watch that fringe and see how it flutters…"

"Ooyahooyahooyah!!!"

"Well, ah'll be damned, if that's not the final straw!"

The Swat glared malevolently at the disheveled hairpiece, which perched upon her outsized boobs like a lap dog in need of a session at the poodle parlor. There was a great trembling in her bosom, as if her breasts formed the epicenter of some fleshy earthquake. Accompanied by an anguished scream, her bust collapsed, Boner's wig falling to a forlorn fuzzy heap upon the dance-floor. Wild with fury, the blonde thrust an accusing finger at Dunnett, who blanched and tried to shrink back into the crowd.

"He done it! Jezebel indeed!"

Meanwhile Mrs. Goldfinkel was doing her utmost to keep the show going, to a fascinating syncopated rhythm from the drumming of Boner's running shoes against the floor of the stage. He now appeared to be wrestling with the Invisible Man. It was very unusual, if not avant-garde entertainment.

"The cows'll moo in the clover…"

Loretta Swat was jumping up and down, her boobs protruding from the approximate level of her belly button. Inspector Parrott looked like an unshockable kind of chap but even his eyebrows had hit the upper level. Dr. Dunnett was backing away from the blonde advancing upon his velvet clad form with a murderous glint in her thickly lashed eyes.

"You'all are nuttin' but a charlatan."

The Deep South swiftly segued into Brooklyn, as Miss Swat met her busty Waterloo. Dr. Dunnett continued to retreat, the crowd parting smoothly for him like the Red Sea did for Moses.

"Now, now, Larry!"

There was a stunned silence.

****

It's quite hard to stun a silence. You have to hit it very hard, or more than once. This silence took a bit of a battering.

Dr. Dunnett tripped backward over the door jamb and disappeared out into the night.

Miss Swat grabbed a carving knife from the buffet table and leapt through the door after him.

Boner started jumping up and down with both feet at the back of the stage.

An unpleasant crunching sound came from my handbag.

Inspector Parrot shot through the door after Dunnett and Swat with the look of a policeman who knew how to take knives away from fallen blondes.

Boner collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Frippery fainted.

Mrs. Goldfinkel finished her song with a flourish of, "…Surrey with the Fringe – on – the – Top!" and bowed deeply.

That's how you stun a silence.

I let it go on for a few seconds then rose to my feet and applauded once more. After a few more seconds I realized I was on my own and sat down, with as sheepish an expression as I can manage when I am trying not to laugh my head off.

"Larry? Who's Larry?"

"Wouldn't we like to know, my dear? And we shall. A boy's name, I fancy. And I have a feeling the good doctor was addressing the bounteous Loretta at the time."

"Rhymes with Harry… no, there couldn't be two of you!"

I let that one go so as not to spoil the pleasure of watching Boner crawl across the floor to his scraggy fainted wife. Frippery raised herself on one arm as he approached and wiped the back of a hand across her brow.

Boner's clothes seemed to be rather shredded, and on closer examination his exposed skin was covered in scratches. I took the coffin out of my bag and opened it.

"Oh dear! What a way to go!"

Jay peered into the box and shuddered.

"I'll tell the animal cruelty people! What a mess…"

The cockroach was well and truly stomped. Its carapace was fractured and bits of leg had gathered in the bottom of the box.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…" I intoned as I surreptitiously tipped the mortal remains of the insect into the evening bag of the aspiring authoress at the next table.

When I looked up Boner and Frip had disappeared. I gave the coffin a rattle for luck and replaced it in my bag. I hadn't finished with it yet – or Boner.

On second thoughts I took it out again and poured in half a glass of someone's sticky liqueur. With any luck he had just lain down on the bed.

On third thoughts I stuck an ice cube between the effigy's legs. That was enough thoughts for now.

"Behave yourself, Harry Neptune. Get back to detecting. Why Larry?"

"Now why should a female person be addressed by the name of a male person? Confusion engendered by the cross-dressing theme of the evening perhaps? No, none of the disguises are that good."

I puffed the imaginary pipe again.

"Larry is actually a girl's name in the Deep South or the Bronx or wherever la Swat really hails from? Not in my experience."

I made pipe-sucking noises to aid cerebration. Jay rolled her eyes.

"So once again we must eliminate the impossible to leave…"

"Swat's a guy. Or was a guy."

Miss Lawrence folded her arms with an air of finality.

"I think you may have hit the nail on the head. For sixty-four dollars – drum roll – who did the snipping and enhancing? Take your time…"

Jay screwed her visage up into an expression of pained introspection.

"Stop it, your face will stick like that."

An expression of amazed enlightenment spread across her features.

"Surely not – not Dr. Dunnett, scion of the floating medical profession. Oh, surely not!"

I blew a smoke ring.

"The very same. And quit hamming. You make Roger Moore look like Laurence Olivier."

Miss Lawrence tipped a glass of half melted ice down my cleavage. It felt rather refreshing.

"A snip here, a tuck there, and Bob's your auntie."

"Not forgetting the boob job. That must be what really set her – him – whatever – off. Sloppy silicon sliding suddenly southward."

I drained my Hermaphrodite in satisfaction. One part of the mystery was solved. Or was it? Was it part of the mystery at all? We had set out to discover who murdered Raoul, not that Dr. D was the knife behind disposing of Swat's excess wedding tackle and botching her chest job.

Jay read my thoughts.

"Perhaps there is a connection? There's plenty of scope for digging a motive out of this lot somewhere. We ain't finished yet."

"We ain't indeed, my dear Mrs. Neptune. A three pipe problem, methinks."

I tapped my pipe out and rose to my feet. The ballroom had emptied as we cogitated.

"Come, my love."

"Yes, please!!!"

Miss Lawrence took my arm and looked up eagerly. I steered a circuitous path toward the door, emptying glasses of the more interesting looking liquids as we wended our way.

My dress flowed in the breeze on the open deck. Mr(s) Neptune took my hand solicitously and smoothed her mustache.

Harry Neptune's musical recital would have to wait for another day. Quel dommage.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

The tour guide was both Colombian and attractive, a wiry looking woman who wore heavy rimmed glasses and had an endearing habit of smiling at you over the top of them. Sensing a kindred spirit and a potential conquest, I decided to brush up my Spanish. Harry groaned as we began to climb the steep track that led from the beach into a dense forest of verdant green.

"Co'mo esta's tu, sweetie?"

My husband winced.

"Oh, very clever, I'm sure. It's my rotulas, if you must know. I might have to eschew this cultural interlude for a few cold ones on the beach."

I gave my partner a very hard stare.

"Your rotulas, eh? That's a new one. Got your ojo on someone, have we?"

Harry raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head disapprovingly.

"I don't know, Mrs. Neptune. Anyone would think you didn't trust me. My kneecaps are giving me serious gyp. It's the heat and the lie of the land. I think I'll really have to sit this one out. I'm sure you'll survive without me."

Clara, the tour guide, looked amused.

"It's not the heat, it's the humidity."

I blew Harry a kiss and turned to watch him limp off down the track. He'd most likely be heavily medicated by my return, the old reprobate. There was a large shelter on the beach, artfully crafted from coconut palms, where a barbecue was planned for the latter part of the day. Various less adventurous souls had passed on the hike to the ruined mission, in favor of lounging in the silvery sand. They might have a point. It was getting very hot.

"What a stunning view!"

The old road emerged from the lush vegetation and there was a sudden and magnificent vista of the turquoise bay below. The Caribbean Conch looked like a toy ship anchored in the distance. White clouds scudded across a bright blue sky and a fresh breeze cooled my burning face. I took a long, deep drink from my water bottle, deliciously aware of Clara's eyes upon my swallowing throat. She had my numero, all right. The party toiled onwards and upwards, and I lagged behind a little to admire our leader's pert behind. The Boner-Drippits were present, naturally, although, no doubt, more for reasons of exertion than cultural interest. Will sported a pith helmet and Frippery a straw sun-hat as big as a sombrero. I wondered whether they had discovered that their closet black magic had taken a hike. Apparently, Inspector Parrott had Ms. Larry Swat under house arrest and it also seemed that Dr. Dunnett was lying low. Well, who could blame him? The chap was as popular as defective ventilation at a chili-eating convention. Gigi Goldfinkel had decided to opt for a relaxing day on the beach and was last seen wearing a neon pink swimsuit and trying to inveigle a handsome young man to play volleyball. The woman seemed indefatigable.

On and on we climbed, finally emerging at the cliff-top, where the crumbling remains of a dazzling white building rose against the cerulean sky. Clara paused to recount the mission's history, then, leaving the group to mill about the sun-baked ruins, she wandered off down a steeply sloping bank. Certain of her intent, I followed after a modest pause. Once, twice, I slipped and fell onto my bottom, finally rounding a vine encrusted stone buttress to discover the tour guide leaning against the shaded foundations of the mission. Almost brusquely, she removed the large silver hoops from her ears and thrust them into the pocket of her shirt. She looked at me with frank challenge.

"Kiss me."

Her black hair was thick and wiry between my burning fingers. I took her head between my hands and slid the tip of my tongue between her lips. Clara murmured into my mouth.

"Don't tease, Jay. You want me, you take me. All of me…"

I kissed her hard and felt her sensuous spirit collide with mine, just as strong, every bit as hungry. Aggressively, she pulled at my thin cotton shirt and a button gave way, skittering off down the precipitous bank. Her hands sought my breasts, wresting them from my sweat-soaked bra. I gasped as her hot wet mouth surrounded one nipple with velvety heat. Clara burned with the kind of visceral, powerful, forceful energy I seldom find in a man, never mind a woman. Closing my eyes, I had the oddest sensation that we were both male and female, conqueror and vanquished rolled into one. Where she began and I ended was unclear. I longed for her to penetrate me like a man and, as if reading my mind, she thrust one hand down my trousers and roughly pushed two fingers into my cunt. I moaned softly and she laughed:

"Don't tell me you want me to be gentle. I don't believe that."

"No… Oh god…"

It was my turn to be pressed up against the warm stone surface and I parted my legs to accommodate Clara's hungry mouth as she knelt before me, her wild hair escaping from its loose ponytail. My trousers were about my ankles, my breasts bared to the midday sun, as I looked up to see the Boner-Drippits glaring down at me from a vantage-point above. Unable to resist the temptation to tease them both, I ground my pussy against my Latin lover's face and threw back my head in ecstasy. I heard two exclamations of disgust and a muttered "bloody unhygienic" before my first orgasm swept through me like a veritable electric shock. It was all I could do not to scream at the top of my lungs. Will and Frippery disappeared from view and Clara stood up, deftly pulling my trousers to my waist. Swiftly, she replaced her earrings and combed her tousled hair with her fingers.

"Time to go. Next time, you take me, not the other way round. You weren't quick enough."

"You make it sound like a game!"

The tour guide only laughed and began to climb the crumbling slope back to the ruined mission and her flock of restless charges. I tried to follow at a discreet distance but my legs appeared to have turned to jelly. Perhaps it was the intense heat of the day or the after-effects of a powerful orgasm but I suddenly felt rather odd. Trembling slightly, I slowly clambered up the bank. It didn't really matter if the group went on without me, as there was but one road up to the mission and we would simply be retracing our steps back down to the beach. Realizing that my problem might be caused by dehydration, I sat down within the cooling shade of a tree and unscrewed the top of my water bottle. At that moment, I overheard the Boner-Drippits having what sounded remarkably like a minor marital tiff. It seemed that the group had begun the descent to the bay, but Frippery and Will lingered on in the sun-drenched ruins. For some inexplicable reason I began to feel almost afraid. Frippery's voice sounded high and self-righteous, magnified by the remains of the mission walls.

"No, I don't know what happened to it, Will. Perhaps that nathty thpider ate it. Don't be tho suthpithush! What would I do with your voodoo doll?"

"Well, if you haven't touched it, who did? There were no signs of a break in."

Frippery laughed, a callous, mocking crow:

"Maybe Raoul came back from the dead and thtole it. I don't know, Will. But thith much I will say. I'd like to make a model of that Jay to match the one of my wretched ex-huthband. Filthy little thlut."

A surge of indignation rallied my weary body as I heard Will murmur in assent. I remembered the hurt of his violent rejection of my womanly juices, my feminine essence. The man had actually recoiled in unconcealed disgust. Then and there, I vowed to dunk him in a veritable bath of girlie love juice. Retribution would be mine. Gritting my teeth in determination, I resumed my scramble up the bank. I didn't care if they saw me. I was angry enough to give them both a swift right hook on the chin. Rounding a crumbling wall, I stopped dead in my tracks. The Boner-Drippits were stark naked in the midday heat.

Good heavens!

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Silently, I drew back behind the mission wall and tiptoed to a narrow, vine-draped window, which formed a perfect vantage-point. Peering through a small gap in the greenery, I watched Boner and Frip lay out what appeared to be some form of voodoo shrine. It seemed that Will had brought Yorrick along in his backpack and he reverently placed the skull in the center of a circle of black candles.

"I hope you remembered the matches."

I hope you applied lots of sunscreen!

Frippery rummaged in the backpack, then looked up at Boner in dismay.

"Oh dear!"

My former partner glared at his hapless wife and I stifled a giggle. This was getting better and better! I wondered if he'd resort to the Boy Scout trick of rubbing a couple of sticks together. Will was furious, his face rather red above the pallor of his body. Of course, he would be very careful about exposing himself to the sun and was doubtlessly slathered in Factor 45. Suddenly, he stomped over to a nearby tree and broke off a long limber twig.

"That's it, Frip. I've had about enough of your disorganization. Bend over. I'm going to switch your bare bottom."

Frippery snorted and drew herself up to her full height, which was basically the same as her husband's.

"Over my dead body, you will! If I've told you onthce, Will, I've told you a thouthand times, I'm jutht not that type of female. In fact, if there's any thwitching going to happen, it'll be your backthide, not mine."

Boner bristled and brandished the twig like a riding crop. So, there was a bit of a power imbalance at work in the Boner-Drippit marriage. Actually, it looked as if "imbalance" was the understatement of the century. Frippery's apparent public compliance with her husband's many edicts seemed to be merely window dressing. I watched, enthralled, as Harry's ex marched over to the same tree and selected her own green twig. Twigs at noon in the old mission ruin.

"Bend over, Will! I know you like it. After all, it'th not ath if it'th the firtht time!"

A steady spray of spittle issued from Frippery's mouth. She was getting quite put out. Boner stood his ground, slowly tapping his twig against the palm of one hand. They both looked very thin and very white, like a pair of dueling tapeworms. I listened intently as my ex went through a familiar speech.

"I admit I enjoy the occasional bottom warming. And why not? A man can still be manly when he lies across a woman's knees."

Frippery snorted derisively and, for once, I had to agree with her. I couldn't imagine Harry going for a ride over my lap. Not in a million years.

"Maybe I thould hath married Raoul. He knew his plaith!"

Boner threw his head back and guffawed.

"Hah! Six feet under. That's his place, all right. That boy could never satisfy you. He was a mere prop to aid your writing process. You might be Domina Dark when you write your little fem-dom ditties but I know you're really looking for a dominant male. You just don't know it yet, you poor misguided fool. The mere fact that Raoul laughed his head off when you tried to whip his little brown bottom should tell you something. Shouldn't it, my sweet?"

Frippery looked as if she might explode with fury. Suddenly, she cracked Boner over the head with her twig.

"He wath a no-good thlave! And you are a no-good huthband! Jutht like my exth!"

His jaw set in determination, Will wrestled the branch out of his wife's wildly flailing arm and bent her forwards over a low wall. I began to almost get aroused, even if it was the Boner-Drippits. Frantically, Boner began to whip Frippery's bony little bottom as she howled in anger.

"Take that! And that! I'll teach you to misbehave. I've had to resort to spanking Heidi from the gym, you know, to assuage my needs! I didn't like being unfaithful but you left me no choice. I just can't lead a spank-free existence. I've had to spank the Avon lady and that fat little girl at the corner store. Not to mention a couple of bank tellers and…"

"Enough! I don't want to hear any more! You utter bathtard!"

It was Frippery's turn to retaliate. With a sudden Herculean effort, she threw Will off her back and picked up her fallen switch.

"Pig! Monthter!"

"Stuck-up Pollyanna!"

I decided that enough was enough. A little marriage guidance was obviously the order of the day and I began to muse upon a devious plan. Leaving the terrible pair to thwack at one another in frustrated frenzy, I sidled around the perimeter wall of the mission until I reached the front entrance, then nonchalantly strode off down the track to the beach.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE JOYS OF PARENTHOOD

The capital of St Kitts is Basseterre, and the centre of Basseterre is The Circus. It is supposed to be styled after Piccadilly Circus in London but I have never been able to see the resemblance. Instead of the statue of Eros there is a clock tower, a memorial to an illustrious former politician. The clock often shows the right time twice a day.

The Circus more closely resembles a French town square than the London meeting of thoroughfares, and given the French colonial history of St Kitts that is hardly surprising. Here four or five streets meet and so does everyone on the island. The Circus is the centre of Carnival (immediately after Christmas, just to be awkward), and it is where taxis breed. A yellow telephone attached to a telephone pole is the hotline to the taxi rank. It sometimes rings but is seldom answered.

The bars and restaurants of The Circus are conveniently arranged on the second floors of the buildings. I sat at a balcony table in Ballahoo to watch the world pass by while refreshing myself with a cold Carib. Carib is a Trinidad beer, but the best Carib is brewed in St Kitts. It has something to do with the softness of the water. The Circus Grill across the way was packed with refugees from the cruise ship being serenaded by a soft reggae duo.

Below me taxi drivers played warriwarri and dominoes. A smart young lady in an official looking t-shirt swept litter into a wheelbarrow. A dog slept in the middle of the road where the shadow of the clock tower lay. I took a long pull at my beer and leaned back. Harry Neptune was at peace with the world.

Now, did I really expect that to last?

"Daddy!"

I looked round hastily but the ecstatic cry had come from the square below, not from my shaded eyrie. All the same, I pulled my Panama down over my face before peering over the paint-peeled wooden rail.

Captain Ahab stood in full uniform at the entrance to Ballahoo. I could not see his face beneath his cap, but the set of his shoulders looked distinctly defensive. He appeared to be looking around as if for a route of escape.

"Daddy!"

Surely the first cry had been from a girl? This sounded more like a boy? And the first had been from below, while this one was from across the square. The intrigue factor was rising. I waved for another beer and settled down to watch the fun.

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

A small girl in a red floral frock ran out of the shadows and clung to the Captain's leg. Across the square a boy about the same age with a puzzled expression on his face stared at the Captain from under a Miami Dolphins baseball cap.

"Daddy?"

A woman appeared behind the boy. She was dressed in a brightly patterned frock with a deep cleavage, shaved head, and a frown.

"Daddy?"

Another woman put in an appearance, this time below me. I recognized her as my waitress. She wore a short black skirt and white blouse, and long braided hair.

Captain Ahab tried to shuffle away, but the little girl hung onto him fiercely. The waitress grabbed him by the arm and swung him round to face her.

"Why dat boy say Daddy? Who he?"

Shaved Head strode across the square and stood in front of the Captain with her hands on her hips.

"Why dat girl say Daddy? Who she? And who dis trollop in de fancy clothes?"

The small boy had followed her over and now he picked up a fistful of fallen leaves and threw them at the Waitress.

"Trollopy! Trollopy!"

Ahab tried again to back away but by now he was surrounded. The little girl retained her grip on his leg and gazed up at him seraphically. The small boy, not to be outdone, stopped yelling at the Waitress and grabbed Ahab's other leg.

The little girl glared at the small boy round Ahab's uniformed leg and tugged. The small boy glared back and tugged as well.

I had heard stories from ancient Greece of execution by teams of horses running in opposition directions whilst attached to the limbs of the victim, but this was the first time I had seen it in action. Ahab did a creditable impression of a turkey's wishbone at Christmas and with an anguished cry collapsed to the ground. The two children collapsed as well and started crying.

Shaved Head and the Waitress looked at each other and solicitously helped the stricken Captain to his feet. Shaved Head brushed the back of his uniform and the Waitress brushed dust off the front.

Suddenly Shaved Head grabbed both Ahab's arms in hammer locks. The Waitress ceased brushing, drew back her fist, and landed a blow Cassius Clay's daughter would have been proud of in what must have been his solar plexus. Ahab would have fallen despite Shaved Head's grip on him when the one-two uppercut landed on his jaw. He shot bolt. I heard his teeth click together and wondered who his dentist was.

"Why dat child say Daddy?" demanded both women simultaneously.

Ahab gasped but could make no intelligible sound. The women realized it would be a while before he made sense and shoved him into the old British red telephone box on the street corner. They closed the door and leaned on it. The two children reconciled themselves to the situation and started searching for ants to insinuate under the door.

The Waitress started.

"T'ree year ago, Carnival." The stress on the last syllable betrayed her Jamaican origins. "He marry me here in St Kitt' on Boxin' Day."

"Four year ago, CropOver." Shaved Head was clearly from Barbados, the stress now on the penultimate syllable of the annual Bajan festival a dead giveaway. "He marry me in Bathsheba on de beach."

"An" after de weddin' night I never see he again!" they chorused as one.

The two women contemplated the imprisoned Ahab, beating on the door made immovable by a rope the children had thoughtfully wound about the telephone box.

The Waitress looked at Shaved Head.

"I know bon lawyer in Port o' Spain. He get us plenty alimony an' plenty maintenance!" Again the accent on the last syllable. Never mess with a Jamaican woman. She knows how to look after herself.

"An' my cousin he chief of police station here in St Kitt'. When we get all de Capt'n money my cousin t'row he in de jailhouse!"

The bigamized pair looked at Captain Ahab in his prison with satisfaction. The Waitress reinforced the knots the children had made in the rope, then the pair of them linked arms and headed up the road to a rum shop to celebrate. The children waved to Ahab and skipped after them.

****

OK, Harry Neptune. Which coconut palm are you hiding in?

I already knew the answer, without recourse to scanning the lush green hinterland of the beach. My dear husband had done a runner again. Or, given the gimcrack condition of his kneecaps, perhaps "hobbler" was a more apt description. Impatiently, I took in the idyllic Caribbean scene. I've never been one for lounging around on the sand, largely because my skin is such that a prolonged sunbathing session is liable to render me as crispy as a barbecued chicken. The sun was still high in the sky and the available shade was occupied by a motley assortment of senior citizens playing Bingo and making an incredible amount of noise, like a hen house with a randy rooster on the rampage. It was stay out and fry or retreat to the tree line. I decided to beat a retreat, but not before I had experienced the simple pleasure of squishing a little soft and silvery sand between my toes. I sat down on a rock and unfastened my sandals. The whiteness of the beach was almost dazzling, quite breathtaking against the glittering turquoise of the curving bay. This was Paradise indeed. Gleefully, I stood up.

"Owowowowowowowow!!!"

The perfect, pristine sand was too hot to stand on. Hopping madly from one scorched foot to the other, I beat an unexpectedly speedy retreat to the beckoning shade. Once safely in the shade, I threw my sandals to the ground and jumped up and down several times.

"Bugger you, Harry Neptune!"

The degenerate lout was no doubt comfortably ensconced in some picturesque local den of iniquity, while I was forced to lurk in the undergrowth until the sun went down. Suddenly, I remembered Hermione and I glanced over my shoulder for outsize arachnids. To my surprise, I spotted that spider's namesake, the Black Widow, pressed up against the trunk of a nearby tree. Unbelievably, a good-looking young man crouched before her, enthusiastically licking and kissing her large, soft breasts. The bright pink swimsuit was pushed down to the woman's thick waist and her plump little legs ended in matching high-heeled mules. Voluptuously, Mrs. Goldfinkel raised her arms above her head and moaned softly.

"Oh yesss, Darrin! Oh, you are such a good boy! Now, if dear Troy will only add a little stimulation to naughty Gigi's love nest…"

Good heavens! There were two of them! Another young man, just as handsome as the first, although as dark as the other was Scandinavian blond, came forward from the shadows. Swiftly, he knelt between the Black Widow's legs and wrenched her swimsuit down to reveal her well-padded hips. With typical Latin gusto, he applied his face to the squirming woman's crotch.

"Oh, good boy! Oh! Oh!"

If I hadn't seen what they were doing, I would have sworn she was training a pair of dogs. They were far too involved to notice the silent observer who lurked nearby and I quietly crept behind the trunk of a tree to conceal my presence. It was quite exciting, even if it was Mrs. Goldfinkel. It wasn't long before the woman was naked and blond Darrin extricated a ten-inch dong from his skimpy, bulging thong. He was tall, deeply sun-bronzed and muscled in that clearly defined way which showed he spent his free time in the gym, shifting weights. Bit of a cliche but each to her own. Roughly, he pushed the Black Widow down onto her hands and knees and forced his rigid cock between her large, plump buttocks to give her a sound doggie-style pounding. There was a lot of slapping and a considerable amount of wobbling, and I stifled a giggle. Troy looked on impassively, a similarly impressive if redundant swelling in his skintight shorts. The Black Widow's breasts flopped wildly and a large collection of gold chains tinkled musically as she ground and bucked her ample rump against the young stud's frantic thrusts.

"Owowowowowowowow!!!"

A familiar squeal but, this time, nothing to do with burning sand. Mrs. Goldfinkel had attained orgasm. The blond immediately withdrew, seemingly unconcerned about his own satisfaction. I saw him exchange a knowing glance with the waiting Troy. The Black Widow looked rather dazed and, for once, seemed lost for words. Finally, she carefully eased herself back into her swimsuit and reached for a large floral beach-bag. I knew what was coming. The brace of gigolos' eyes lit up with the unmistakable glint of impending payment. Playfully, Mrs. Goldfinkel stuffed several one hundred-dollar bills into each young man's swim-shorts.

"And there's plenty more where that came from if you take good care of your Auntie Gigi!"

The three emerged from the shade of the tree line and sauntered nonchalantly off across the sand. I noted that Mrs. G had substituted a more practical pair of beach shoes for the high-heeled mules. Suddenly, I noticed that a discarded book lay near the scene of the menage a trois. Aflame with curiosity, I wandered casually over and picked it up. It was just the type of trashy paperback novel I could imagine Mrs. Goldfinkel reading, some lurid 1970s Hollywood bonk-buster with a glitzy cover. Idly, I opened the book and spotted a sprawling signature in a large, multi-curlicued hand.

Lily May Scroggins

The handwriting was familiar, often seen embellishing checks on my little shopping expedition with Gigi Goldfinkel. Thoughtfully, I replaced the book and, noticing that the Bingo had finished, I decided to brave the crush in the shelter and have a long, cold drink. Maybe, while my errant spouse was AWOL elsewhere on St. Kitts, I would solve the case of the mysterious Lily May.

****

I propped the bicycle against a bollard with a certain sense of achievement. It wasn't far from The Circus to the cruise ship dock, but there were many and various obstacles along the way to be avoided. Considering my sight was a little blurred after the afternoon's entertainment it was no mean feat to arrive without biting the dirt even once.

I had ruled that discretion was the better part of valor and left the good Captain in the telephone box. Someone would let him out when the tourists had tired of taking snaps.

"Good evening, Mr. Neptune."

The Third Officer stood in his immaculate whites beneath the awning at the top of the stone steps leading down to the tenders. The Caribbean Conch lay at anchor a mile offshore, wisps of smoke already drifting from her high raked funnel.

"Good evening, Admiral. Seen the memsahib anywhere? She went hunting rhino or something in the hills and hasn't been seen since."

The young man looked at his feet.

"Mrs. Neptune went aboard on the last tender, sir. She gave me a message for you, but as I am Plymouth Brethren I fear I cannot pass it on. Not that I fully understood it, anyway."

"Don't bother, old boy, I can guess. Well, off we go. Where's the next port of call anyway?"

"Antigua, sir. Wadadli in the old Arawak tongue. Sugar mills, Nelson's naval dockyard, and a rather splendid museum."

"Indeed, yes. I recall the place. Not the spot for a bit of bird shooting."

The Third Officer winced. The Birds, father and son, have ruled Antigua for fifty years, before, during and after independence. The once rich sugar island is now almost entirely dependent on tourism, the fledgling offshore finance industry having been largely shut down by international pressure and online gambling going the same way with the help of outrageous demands for fees and licenses from the government. It's a pity. Antigua should have a lot going for it.

"Never mind, the beaches are still there I imagine. 365 of them it's said, one for every day of the year. And I dare say the rum hasn't gone off."

"Indeed, sir," muttered the Third Officer in barely disguised disapproval. The Lord knew what his idea of fun was. W.C. Fields had something when he said, "Never trust a man who doesn't drink." I discretely checked my wallet though I couldn't really see Young Upright doing anything more dishonest than cheating at Happy Families.

"We must get on, sir. This is the last boat. We nearly went without you."

He gave an officious glare that was rather out of place on his pink face. I made my way down the steps and onto the tender.

"Cast off forrard! Cast off aft! Full speed ahead to that big bateau yonder!" I struck a pose in the bow.

The crew ignored me but managed to follow my orders anyway. I suppose they knew what they were doing.

We arrived at the gangplank with what I considered unnecessarily violent application of the brakes. I leapt aboard – twice, because the ship lurched and moved away the first time and a crew member rescued me by the shirt collar from a briny fate – and breezed up the gangplank to the hole in the ship's side that doubled as a portal for returning passengers. I was beginning to feel thirsty.

"Where the hell have you been, fish face?"

"Welcome home the wandering sailor, my love! Let the whole world know you have been pining for my return! Don't hide your relief under a bushel – embrace me!"

"Have you been drinking?"

"What a stupid question! Of course I've been drinking – drinking is what I do. You should know that by now."

Miss Lawrence didn't bother pursuing the issue. She knew well enough. She looked remarkably sober for twilight after a run ashore, so I guessed the question might have had something to do with being miffed at not having shared the nectar.

"Come, my dear, let us toast St Kitts as she disappears into the sunset."

I took my wife by the arm and led her glaring but not resisting in the direction of the Sharp End Bar.

"You wait 'til you hear what I found out today," she said with venomous glee.

"Not as juicy as what I found out, I dare say. Not as juicy at all. Why, Captain…"

"Watch it, buster. Ladies first. Unless you want those shiners touched up?"

My black eyes had reduced to barely discernible bruises by now, and I had no desire to recreate the panda look. I watched it. Ladies first it was.

We collared a couple of steamer chairs and in a trice a waiter with a good memory delivered margaritas. He went straight off to collect a couple more – he had a very good memory.

"The Black Widow got rogered by a couple of beach lotharios. She gave them wodges of money for the pleasure."

"That's hardly news, my love. Happens all the time. A well known industry in the West Indies. Frustrated honky women pay for a good seeing to then dump the poor buggers and go back to their secretary swiveling chairs or whatever. Services rendered, and a few more greenbacks into the local economy. Supply and demand."

I leaned back with the air of a man of the world who has imparted wisdom. The second margarita followed the first.

"That's not it, you fool. I couldn't care less how many beach boys she deflowers!"

I raised my eyebrows but refrained from comment.

"Lily May Scroggins!"

"Lily May who? What are you wittering about?"

"That's the name she had written in her book! In her Jackie Collins shopping and bonking book! In the same handwriting she wrote Gigi Goldfinkel on her checks! Have you got it yet?"

"No." I looked around for the waiter.

"You half wit! Her real name is Lily May Scroggins! Not Goldfinkel at all."

"So what? Elizabeth Windsor likes to be called "Your Majesty," but no one's arrested her yet. Now shut up and listen to some real news."

Jay's lips pressed together in a thin line, but she shut up like a good girl. I guessed she had more revelations to come. They could wait.

"Ahab has two wives and two sets of children!" I leaned back triumphantly.

"So do most Hollywood stars over the age of fourteen. What's the big deal?"

"They didn't know about each other, that's what the big deal is. They didn't know about each other until this afternoon, when they both bumped into him in The Circus. I had a grandstand view – best cat fight I've seen since From Russia with Love."

Stretching the truth, but I knew that would get my Jaykins going.

"So Ahab's a bigamist and you got your rocks off watching two women knocking each other's lights out. Move on, big boy – men are deceivers, in case you hadn't noticed."

I took a breath.

"Listen to a few facts from Detective Chief Superintendent Neptune.

"One – Ahab dropped a piece of paper, an unsigned note telling him to be outside Ballahoo at three o'clock if he knew what was good for him.

"Two – one of his paramours is a waitress at Ballahoo.

"Three – the other paramour made a long bus journey from the far end of the island in response to another unsigned note, which also fell into my hands in the melee."

Jay looked determinedly uninterested, but there was a glint in her eye that told she had made the connection.

"Add one, two and three and you get…"

"…a blackmailer's bluff called!"

"But it wasn't any bluff. Now all we have to do is find out who it was."

"Bravo, Sherlock!"

I puffed on my imaginary pipe. I really must give it up – it looks stupid.

The third margarita disappeared and I was feeling peckish.

"It's a short hop to Antigua. I suggest, my dear, that we partake of dinner in our cabin tonight. I bought myself a rather spiffing new belt today. Heavy, embossed…"

Miss Lawrence looked up at me. Her lips parted and a tip of pink tongue appeared.

"I'll put up a fight…"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RUMBLE IN WADADLI

"And this time, you're not abandoning me with a cart load of Bingo-obsessed senior citizens! I want to see something of your blessed Wadiddly."

"My wadiddly is always at your command, as you very well know, my love."

I gave Harry a disparaging look and he winked, his eye already firmly fixed upon the varied delights of St. Johns, Antigua. We stood in a small square, freshly deposited by yet another kamikaze cab driver, and I swayed slightly, still regaining my land legs. My other half scanned the milling crowds, as if looking for something specific. Finally, his face lit up and he took me by the hand and strode off towards a small wooden cubicle with a brightly hand-painted sign.

Hardy Tours

The Isle in a Day

"I shall treat you to a tour worthy of Her Majesty!"

"Well, oi'll be damned!"

It took me some time to discern that there was, in fact, a person concealed within the shadowy confines of the rather rustic erection. It was a very small and wiry looking man with a thick Irish accent. Predictably, the leprechaun recognized Harry and leaned over the little counter of the hut to shake his hand enthusiastically.

"Oi'll be damned. Harry Neptune. Oi tot ye'd bin run off the oisland for good, ye wicked divil ye! And who, might oi inquire, is the comely young lady?"

The little man was as full of blarney as a Limerick bar at closing time. He was anywhere from fifty to sixty years old, his rather cadaverous looking face deeply creased by the sun. Bright blue eyes squinted from beneath reddish brows and he somewhat reminded me of Peter Pan. Harry turned to me.

"Jay, I'd like you to meet Kismet Hardy, an old friend of mine. Kismet Hardy, this is my new wife, Jay."

Mr. Hardy's sparkling peepers almost popped out of his little head.

"Oi'll be boogered! Are ye pregnant, dear?"

"Certainly not!"

I felt quite put out that he should imagine unplanned parenthood would be the only cause for our impromptu betrothal. The leprechaun scratched his thinning ginger hair.

"No, that's never got our Harry down the aisle before. Are ye rich, then?"

This time, I glared at them both, Peter Pan and Captain Hook, who was doing his best to look innocent.

"Alas, no. And considerably better off before I encountered this rum-soaked reprobate!"

Mr. Hardy laughed, a high-pitched wheeze.

"Ah, but ye're in love! Oi can see that as plain as the pretty little nose on yer face! Harry, ye're a lucky man to be so utterly despoised and adored by this sweet wee creature here. Ye've never had that before, oi'll warrant, with yer barrow loads of trollops."

Harry adroitly changed the subject, picking up a badly Xeroxed pamphlet with a smiling sun on the front page.

"Ahem, anyway, it's dandy to see you, Kismet, old chap, but we're actually here to partake of one of your superlative sight-seeing tours. What's on the itinerary today then, old boy?"

The leprechaun placed a pair of rather rakish pince-nez on the end of his nose and peered at a dog-eared timetable. My impressions moved from the creations of J.M. Barrie to something straight out of "Oliver Twist."

"The Lord Nelson Experience is scheduled to commence at 10 o" clock, the good Lord and Rufus the relief bus driver willing. Ye're lucky oi've got just two tickets left – got a large advance booking from a party of Texan history buffs."

"Kismet, Hardy."

I looked up at Harry, as he delved in his wallet for a few notes. He had that look in his eye again.

****

I blinked my eye until the bit of grit worked its way out, then contemplated the bus ride to English Harbour and Nelson's Dockyard. A competent European rally driver in a well-founded jeep could make it in forty minutes or so. An Antiguan bus driver would barely leave you time to do the crossword in the Daily Observer – say five minutes. I nerved myself.

"Now where the bejabers has that rascal Rufus got to? Oi can only droive one bus at a toime. Rufus! Rufus!"

Kismet Hardy raised his voice to a fog horn bellow, the legacy I happened to know of thirty years in the Royal Navy as a Chief Petty Officer and the scourge of ratings and midshipmen.

"Drunk, no doubt, and asleep in a shebeen somewhere. If his last name weren't Bird oi'd never…"

I saw an opportunity to survive the day's outing without becoming a road traffic accident statistic.

"Never mind, Kismet old pal. I'll take the second bus – know this island like the back of my hand."

Hardy looked at me suspiciously. I plastered an innocent expression on my face.

"And look at the state of the back of your hand – all hairy. Can oi trust youse to decant my paying punters in the right place? Hmm?"

"Of course you can, old thing. I'll take them up Fig Tree Drive and show them the sights. A guided tour of the best Antigua has to offer in the way of hinterland. Not to mention the drive along the coast to get there. And what a day for it!"

Hardy had to admit I had a point there. The sky was clear deep blue, nothing but a few stray blobs of cotton wool cloud to provide a welcome contrast. The Caribbean Sea would be many shades of lighter and darker blue, broken by little waves and the splash of diving pelicans.

"Are we all going to this here Nelson's Dockyard or are we all going to stand round here all day getting our butts roasted?"

A large woman in a Stetson and hideous clothes loomed over Hardy with an expression of Texan impatience on her face.

"Git goin' or we'll take our money back and find some other crook to take us to the sights."

"Now, now, milady, dere's no need for dat. Dis here crook'll take you everywhere youse need to go. All aboard for Nelson's Dockyard!"

Hardy indicated a pair of dilapidated buses (did you expect anything but dilapidated by now?) with Kismet Hardy Tours in barely legible letters on the side. He grasped me by the shirtfront and pulled me down to his level.

"Youse hired, Harry Neptune, but youse keep to the straight and narrow, youse hear me?"

I nodded seraphically.

"Come along my dear, I shall treat you to the full guided tour in the company of our new colonial friends here."

"Not likely! You're not driving me anywhere, Harry Neptune. I'll go in the other bus with Mr. Hardy."

I managed to look hurt, but it didn't wash. Jay climbed into the lead bus and settled herself down in the front seat next to the driver. Hardy ushered half a dozen Texan historians on board and climbed behind the wheel.

I rounded up the remaining seven or eight tourists, as mixed a bunch of Texan historians as you would care to meet, and started up bus number two. No one sat next to me in the front.

"Wagons roll!"

I thought a little bit of home might have put the Texans" minds at rest, but the effect seemed minimal. They looked doubtfully around them, both inside and outside the bus.

A Caribbean bus has as little in common with Greyhound as a Caribbean taxi has in common with a limousine. They are all Toyotas, modeled on the Volkswagen minibuses popular with hippies a generation ago. A sliding door at the side, seats for six to sixty depending on size and desire to breathe, torn upholstery, holes, and rust. Tire tread is optional.

The buses have names like Dread and Too Fast, which sums up the mentality of their drivers. Hardy had evidently picked up the local ambiance, evidenced by the rate at which he took off through the narrow storm-drained streets of St. John's with horn blaring. I put my bus into gear and followed suit.

A hand-lettered sign on the dash above a red switch proudly announced, "Air Conditioning." I flicked the switch and sure enough lukewarm air streamed from various vents.

We shot up St. Mary Street and turned right onto Independence Drive. From there it was a straightforward if hair-raising drive past the Memorial Garden and the new hospital (if it ever gets finished) and out onto the road to Jennings, Bolan's Village and Jolly Harbour. From there our route would take us past Darkwood Beach to Old Road, then up Fig Tree Drive to the interior followed by a leisurely (you must be joking) descent to Falmouth and English Harbors and our destination, Nelson's Dockyard.

"On our right, folks, the road to Five Islands and that delightful nightspot and cocktail bar, Henryk's. We are about to pass over the Chinese Bridge, so called because Beijing built it at minimal cost in exchange for some favor or other in the United Nations.

"Straight ahead, a cow. Notice that the cow has detached its chain from the stake it was attached to and is dragging it along the road in order to trip up cyclists. Hold tight…"

I swerved around the cow and regained the road just in time to avoid a goat.

"Thyat is th' ugliest sheep I ever did see!"

Stetson glared at the goat through the window. It glared back at her. They have acute hearing.

"That, madam, is a goat."

"How in the hell do yuh tell the difference?"

"Goat tail up, sheep tail down. There is no difference in taste."

Mutterings from the rear indicated that the Texan historians were not impressed by the bus, the scenery, the wild life, nor the driver. The scenery I could understand – Antigua's hinterland is somewhat scruffy – but we had the beauty of the beaches to come.

I was driving on the wrong side of the road now to take advantage of the less pot-holed side (as opposed to the very pot-holed side) when a tall figure in dreadlocks and cut off jeans appeared out of a bush at the side of the road. He waved a hand vaguely in West Indian hitchhiker style.

I had an empty seat and I was getting fed up with twanging dissension.

"T'anks, mon. Yo goin' Old Road?"

"Certainly we are. Blow the smoke out of the window would you?"

My guest had a large hand-rolled cigarette cupped in his hand. The smoke smelled sweet. He rolled down the window and exhaled.

"Ah do declayuh, we all have paid fo' this excursion and ah see no reason to shayuh our conveyance!"

Stetson drew agreeing murmurs from her companions. I was getting really rather fed up with them, and we weren't half way there yet.

"A courtesy folks, a little Southern hospitality."

"We are from Texas, not Louisiana!"

There was a smaller switch beside "Air Conditioning," to bring in flow of air from outside or to recirculate the air inside the bus. I flicked the switch to "Recirculate."

"Exhale into that vent there, would you, old boy?"

Rasta grinned amicably and bent down. Nothing if not generous he reduced the joint by two or three inches and shared his bounty. I stuck my head half way out of the window to catch the draft.

The chatter and complaints in the rear of the bus died down until there was silence broken only by the sounds of the vehicle negotiating an Antiguan road at speed. Hardy and Jay were already way out of sight.

Rasta held up three fingers, then two, then one. As the last finger dropped a giggle came from the rear seat, followed by another, then another.

"Tail up goat, tail down sheep! Tail up goat, tail down sheep!"

Within a mile the passengers had put the words to music, something resembling The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Rasta beat out the rhythm on the dashboard and I punctuated the end of each line with the horn. We hardly noticed the speed bumps in Bolan's Village, but we had reduced speed to ten miles an hour by then.

A skinny man in a Rifle Association t-shirt was telling his third dirty limerick when we turned the corner and beheld Darkwood Beach. The limerick tailed off amid oohs and aahs. The view never fails to amaze me, as well, brilliant white sand and every shade of aquamarine water you can imagine. With the added stimulation my passengers had taken on board the effect was obviously even more magical.

We rolled along the beach in appreciation until we reached a small clump of buildings.

"Anyone thirsty?"

The loud reply was incomprehensible but affirmative. I turned off the road into the yard behind OJ's Beach Bar (Oliver and Jean, not the one you are thinking of).

"Rum punch for my friends and Red Stripe for Rasta and me!"

****

A hooting horn dragged my attention back from the spectacle on the beach.

Rasta had organized the limbo dancing and Stetson was busy digging a pit under the bar so she could get her substantial bosom under it. The skinny gunman was chatting up the cook, while the rest of the party rumba'd to Bob Marley.

I sat on the deck on a palm-frond decorated throne, with a Red Stripe in one hand and a conch shell in the other. I waved imperiously to my subjects to carry on and turned to face the interruption.

"Harry Neptune! What the hell have you done this time?"

****

My decision to take the trip with Kismet Hardy proved fairly pointless. We had barely traveled half a mile before he glanced sharply in his rear-view mirror and started shouting and swearing about "that roody Neptune" having taken a wrong turn. There was a sudden slamming on of well-worn squeaky brakes, accompanied by a rather impressive skidding U-turn, which I wouldn't have thought achievable in a large and cumbersome vehicle like Hardy's bus. There was a chorus of screeching from the Texans, who had been nervously clutching their seats, baseball caps and camcorders during the rattling ride through the center of town. I was beginning to get used to transport, Caribbean-style, and just giggled every time I got bounced out of my seat. At one point, my sun-hat flew off and slid away down the aisle but I knew better than to attempt to rescue it until the bus had come to a halt.

"Land sakes! Y'all need to take some driving lessons, Mister Hardy!"

Kismet muttered something blue under his breath and we took off in the same direction we had come from, then made a turning onto a road sign-posted "Darkwood Beach."

"Oi should've known better! What was oi thinkin' of? Oi must've been temporarily insane!"

I reached out to pat the little chap's arm.

"It'll be all right, Mr. Hardy. Harry's a dreadful mischief-maker but he wouldn't do anything really nasty. I don't think. Unless he's got it in for Texans or something. He never did like Dallas, come to think of it."

After much bumping, vociferous complaints from the Southerners and a steady stream of grumbling expletives from the driver, we arrived at an absolutely gorgeous beach. Spotting the other bus parked beside a waterfront bar, Kismet's expression relaxed a little.

"Oi could do with a nice cold glass of Guinness."

Without another word, he hopped out of the driver's seat and disappeared inside the building, which was, apparently, called OJ's Beach Bar.

"Well, that's just wunnerful! Highly educational, ah'm sure!"

I decided to make some attempt to save the day and, picking up my rather dusty hat, I struck a tour-guide pose at the helm of the bus.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it would appear that we have made an impromptu stop for refreshment. Hopefully, Mr. Simpson is not at home, but if he is, just keep your heads down and don't mention speeding violations. I would like to add that all drinks are courtesy of Mr. Harry Neptune, who will be the large gentleman in the Panama hat, propping up the bar. Have fun and please avoid putting ice in your drinks unless your hepatitis shots are up to date. Thank you."

There was a general fussing, the gist of which was related to the early hour of the day, so I left them to it. The bar was pulsing with reggae music, cranked up to full volume, and I ducked through the strangely giggly crowd to a large deck overlooking the bright blue sea. My beloved sat on a makeshift throne, in splendid isolation, looking every bit like his namesake, old man Neptune. All he needed was a trident and a team of horses.

"Harry Neptune! What the hell have you done this time?"

My husband grinned and I noticed that the pupils of his eyes were somewhat dilated. He had a can of beer in one hand and a large shell in the other. I wanted to laugh but I put my hands on my hips and pretended to be the outraged wife.

"Come here and sit on my knee, little girl. Santa has something special in his stocking for you."

I looked at the bulge in his shorts and smiled sweetly, hitching my sun dress up to my waist, then letting it fall.

"So I see, Santa baby. Well, now. I'd love to sit on your knee but I don't think this is quite the place for it. What a perfect view, my darling, quite sublime."

Harry squinted at the glittering water. He definitely seemed to be under the influence. Odd. I wouldn't have thought he'd had time to imbibe enough Red Stripe to make his eyes go funny. Suddenly suspicious, I leaned forward and sniffed at his breath.

"You've been smoking pot! You naughty boy!"

"Merely indulging in an intrinsic ritual of Caribbean culture, old girl. Get your knickers off, I want you."

Two large hands reached up my flimsy skirt and began to tug at my thin cotton panties. I took a quick step backwards and bumped into someone.

"Buenos dias, senora!"

"Clara! Good heavens!"

I turned to see the Colombian tour-guide, her slim, tight body rather deliciously presented in a deep blue sarong and a burnt orange bikini top. Harry leered and I pinched his thigh, but he wasn't to be silenced.

"Ah yes, the latest conquest in Mrs. Neptune's endless entourage of hapless victims! Am I to join the queue, old girl? Or does your dear old man come top of the list? Hmm?"

I planted a loving kiss on my pouting spouse's forehead.

"You know very well I wouldn't trade you in for anyone. God only knows why but that's just the way it is. Now, shut up. Clara understands me. That's all. Now, is there time to have a drink here or do you have a packed program in store for this crowd?"

I looked at the Texan historians, who seemed to be having a wonderful time in a most un-academic manner. Harry smiled, enigmatically.

"I know just the place. Fuck Nelson. He can wait for another day. I'm going to take you to Henryk's brothel and get you naked. Your understanding girlfriend can come too. I'll call ahead and get them to rustle up one of their infamous buffet lunches."

My husband eased himself up from his throne and staggered off into the shady bar in search of a telephone. Clara slipped one arm about my waist and I wondered how accepting the Caribbean was when it came to single-sex relationships. Her nipples were hard and clearly defined against the thin orange cloth of her bikini top and she still wore her glasses. I turned to face the bright blue expanse of sea and leaned over the deck rail, enjoying the warmth of her skin against my thinly clothed body.

"Of all the gin joints in the Caribbean, you had to walk into this one. What are you doing here, Clara?"

Clara laughed.

"Actually, I live in Antigua, my dear Jay. I help out at OJ's when I'm not doing island tours. You could say I have fingers in many tarts. Talking of which, I had better warn you that Henryk's is something of a den of iniquity."

"Perfect!"

Ignoring the crowd, I kissed her softly on the mouth.

"Come to lunch with us, Clara."

"Oh all right, Jay, you talked me into it."

Her dark eyes were hungry again and I surreptitiously reached up to fondle her breasts. I knew what I was having for lunch and it wasn't fish cakes.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GOING OUT WITH A BANG

It took Harry quite a few attempts to extricate the Texans from the cozy conviviality of OJ's Beach Bar. He eventually managed it, finally having to borrow a megaphone from mein host, Oliver, and clambering up onto the bar to make a Very Important Announcement involving a Tsunami warning and the delights of Henryk's (which apparently included the talents of two young ladies called The Boobsy Twins). To our surprise, we bumped into the Black Widow, freshly arrived on a shocking pink Vespa, with bimbo toy boys in tow, while herding the historians back onto the buses, and Gigi decided to join the tour.

****

At this point in the narrative Mrs. Neptune succumbed to the temptations of Sappho. As her tongue was half way down the tour guide Clara's throat, I must pick up the slack.

My stoned and inebriated cargo hoisted themselves into the bus with the air of Texans about to grab a few minutes shuteye. Jay and friend clambered onto the front seat beside me and started snogging. Disgusting, I call it. They didn't invite me. Just wait though, Harry will have his moment…

"Put the bus back where you found it, Harry, me old mate! Oi'll take the survivors on to the delights of Nelson's Dockyard and a bit of fresh air."

"Enjoy yourself, Hardy! Pop in for a swift half on the way back."

"Oi might well do that, Harry old lad, oi might well indeed. Give me regards to Henryk!"

That latter request, as Kismet Hardy well knew, would be difficult to accommodate. If there ever was a Henryk he was long gone, and Henryk's was now owned by a Cabinet Minister, a senior police officer, and a democratic sprinkling of ladies of ill repute, waiters, and cooks.

As I started the engine the passenger door slid back. Mrs. Gigi Goldfinkel and toy boys clambered aboard, shoving a couple of Texans to the rear to make room for themselves.

"Press on, you naughty boy! Gigi's had a cocktail and she'll want a tinkle when we get there!"

One toy boy picked her up and plonked her on his lap, so I guess we all know how they were going to while away the journey. I was starting to feel quite left out.

I bade Rasta farewell and he trotted off up to the road to find his next lift. No doubt a new tale about loony honkies would be born tonight in the rum shops of Old Road. As I drove off I saw he had commandeered Gigi's scooter and was flying up the road with dreadlocks streaming in the wind.

The last time I was in Henryk's was for a wake. An Irishman had perpetuated the legend by drinking himself to death in the record time of eleven years on the island (most go much quicker). There was much crying, much drinking, and much giving of solace. Or so I am told.

I headed back past Jolly Harbour, Bolan's Village and Jennings until I came to the road to Five Islands and carried on instead of turning into town. My head was clearing with the breeze and I felt ready for the next challenge.

"Oh, Clara!"

"Oh, Jay!"

OJ? Oh, I see. Jay had Clara pressed up against me and was vigorously doing something under the guide's sarong. I had a surreptitious feel of her thigh and no one complained. There was a stirring in the trouser department. I pressed on the loud pedal and reached across for a fondle of an orange bikini'd breast.

In a jiffy we juddered to a halt in front of the big low building known to all and sundry as Henryk's.

"Missah Neptun'! Missah Neptun"! You got plenty stamina today?"

A double vision in double bounty stood guard at the wide front door. I never could work out which Boobsy Twin was which, but I had had a lot of fun trying. They wore short dresses with the deepest of deep octoroon cleavage, the better to air their magnificent assets.

"Darling girls!"

I leapt out of the driver's seat and into their arms. Jay and Clara were still at it, now sprawled across my newly vacated seat. I made up for their lack of attention by kissing first one Boobsy then the other, then all four Boobsy boobs.

"Gigi's coming!"

"I bet she is… Girls, meet Mrs. Goldfinkel, Toy Boy One, and Toy Boy Two. Call them Humpty and Dumpty for short. Where's dinner? I'm starving. Must be something I smo… drank."

"Weed! Weed! Little weed!"

Miss Lawrence and Clara had decided to rejoin the world, and the former was regaling me with a ditty from an ancient children's television program. No doubt she thought it was appropriate.

A Boobsy unzipped my shorts and slipped a hand inside.

"Lunch, Harry! Got to keep yo' strength up to keep Harry up!"

"Indeed, my dear. I phoned ahead for the famous buffet. You might send some of the boys out to waken the rest of our passengers. They seem to have been overcome by the heat or something. I'm sure some lobster and jerk goat will bring them back to life. They're from Texas you know – everything is very big in Texas."

"Not as big as this thing, Harry! You been exercising!"

I smiled, as might any man with a beautiful hand caressing his pride and joy while affording a view of the most delightful chasm north of Dominica.

The other Boobsy took my hand and we led the crocodile of lust indoors.

Me and Boobsy's in the van, Jay and Clara holding hands behind, then Gigi in a chair of the toy boys" arms, and finally a straggling procession of Texans supported by Henryk's grinning bouncers.

****

"Who's for a nice game of Charades?"

I reluctantly disengaged myself from my sultry South American compadre and stared at the large man in the loud shirt. He looked vaguely familiar. Oh yes. My husband. He had a half-naked busty black beauty under each armpit and a serious swelling in his shorts. I swiftly adopted my supportive wifely role of chief heckler and straight sidekick.

"Have you gone completely nuts, Neptune? This is a brothel not a holiday camp!"

Harry pretended to ignore me and the Black Widow uttered a piercing shriek of delight.

"Oh! Oh! I do love party games! Don't you dare start until I'm back from my tinkle!"

The vision in bubble gum pink shorts and matching sparkly T-shirt disappeared through a door marked "Sluts." I couldn't see the gentlemen's washroom and wondered what the sign on that door read. For a sex-themed restaurant and club, it was certainly to-the-point. Meanwhile, my spouse had procured a large cloth bag labeled "TOYS" and was rummaging feverishly. The buxom brown brace began to giggle as Harry stood up, brandishing a large strap-on dildo in one hand and a set of handcuffs in the other. Things were looking up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Bambi and Botti Boobsy, the dynamic, nay, pneumatic, duo who have single-handedly reinvented the humble party game as we know it. What shall it be, girls? Postman's Knockers? Hunt the Fondle?"

The girls conferred briefly and I took in their outfits. They both wore bottom-skimming skintight mini-dresses with lace-up bodices. Bambi's dress was metallic blue, Botti's a similarly shiny bright pink. Six-inch stiletto pumps completed the look, although both girls were already anything but short in stature. In their heels, they stood as tall as Harry and he is well over six feet. Idly, I wondered how Botti got her name and how long it would take their monumental breasts to escape from the straining lacing of their tightly stretched bodices. Finally, Bambi whispered in Harry's ear and he grinned and patted her bottom.

"An excellent choice, my dear. OK, pardners, it looks as if we are going to have a spot of Hide amp; Seek before we partake of Henryk's delicious buffet lunch. Who's going to be It?"

"We should draw straws, Harry, sweetie. That's only fair. Oh, I do hope it's me!"

Mrs. Goldfinkel had re-emerged from the ladies" powder room. She rushed over to the partially laid buffet table and swiftly plucked a large handful of brightly colored plastic straws from the drinks section. Executing a rapid head count, she carefully selected the required number of straws and slipped them into an empty beer jug.

"Now then! Everyone closes their eyes when they take a straw from the jug, then stirs up the pot for the next person. Most of the straws are pink but there's one blue one in there. The person who takes the blue straw is It. Oh! Oh! I can barely stand the excitement!"

Obediently, we formed a straggling ring and passed the jug. It wasn't long before one of the Texans, a rather overweight chap named Chad, drew the blue straw and the game began. Bambi Boobsy found a sequined blindfold and a set of Mickey Mouse headphones in the toy bag and Chad was divested of two of his senses. I turned to Clara, who had slipped a friendly arm about my waist.

"This looks more like Blind Man's Buff than Hide amp; Seek."

My Latin lover smiled knowingly.

"Watch!"

Botti Boobsy added a pair of large furry mittens to Chad's regalia. They looked as if they'd been made up from an old fake-fur coat. A mental image was beginning to emerge and I recalled some of the more interesting "party games" we used to play at the Pink Pussy Lounge.

Suddenly the lights went out and we were plunged into a surprisingly dense darkness. Although it was daytime and dazzlingly bright outside, the windows were completely obliterated by heavy blinds. Harry's voice emanated from somewhere behind me.

"Righty-ho playmates, time to scatter and find yourself a nook or cranny. Chad will stay put and loudly count up to sixty before commencing the hunt. The kitchen's out of bounds as the cook is Greek and somewhat temperamental. Off you go!"

There was a general scuffling, liberally punctuated with inebriated Texan mumbling and the excitable high-pitched squeals of the Black Widow. A smooth, cool hand grabbed mine and pulled me in one direction. I bumped into several well-padded torsos as dark figures stumbled hither and thither in the gloom. The clutching hand artfully maneuvered me through a heavy door and down a pitch-black staircase. It seemed to be Clara but I wasn't certain. Her hands had given out a lot more heat. Whoever it was seemed to be female at any rate. Suddenly, we reached another door and my shadowy captor pushed it open and pushed me inside. This room was dimly lit by a lurid red lamp, and I immediately recognized it as the brothel's dungeon. The couple on the low, darkly draped bed were familiar too. I gasped as Frippery Boner-Drippit glared up at me from her satin-sheeted vantage point. She was dressed in a black latex jumpsuit and wielded a rather vicious looking riding crop. Will lay prone on the bed, trussed up like the proverbial Thanksgiving turkey, a scarlet ball gag filling his mouth like an apple in the mouth of a roasted pig. He wore a short, floaty chiffon baby doll nightdress with matching panties. The cool hand thrust me further into the room and I turned to see Botti Boobsy smiling down at me.

"Maitre Neptoon want you here. He say this where you belong."

I looked from Botti to the Boners then back to Botti. Frippery remained silent, a rather unpleasant glint in her eye. Will writhed and grunted on the slippery sheets. I prepared myself for a hasty retreat but the big Boobsy blocked the door.

"Look, Botti – why do you call yourself Botti, by the way?"

"Is short for Botticelli."

"Oh, of course, silly me. Look, Miss Botticelli, normally I live for a good flogging but, as you can see, the rack's already taken and…"

A pair of enormous brown breasts descended upon my face and the cool, now surprisingly strong hands grasped my bottom. What was more, a long, thick phallus protruded from beneath the hem of the skintight mini-dress. With a surge of excitement, I realized that Botti Boobsy was wearing a large strap-on dildo.

"Ah got everyting you ever dreamed of, honey!"

She might have had a point there and I made an impromptu decision to let her impress it upon me. Finally, Frippery erupted, a lavish mushroom cloud of spittle liberally spritzing the little basement room.

"I booked thith dungeon for the day! Take that, that whore away! I'm not sharing thith spathe."

Botti Boobsy released me and, rather menacingly, drew herself up to her full stiletto-augmented height. Flexing a pair of well-defined biceps she strode over to the Boners and picked up one in each hand, as effortlessly as if they were a pair of soft toys. I helpfully opened the dungeon door and she promptly threw them out into the dark of the stairway.

"Now, baby, you gonna give me your sweet little ass."

My excitement melted and my stomach turned over. I realized why they called that Boobsy Botti.

****

Chad was a-whoopin' and a-hollerin' as he stampeded blindly round the room. He may have born and raised in Ditchwater, Texas, but he was doing the Lone Star state proud.

"Ooh, who's that! Naughty boy!"

Gigi Goldfinkel's shriek overlaid the merriment at regular intervals. I had a feeling she was doing some Seeking of her own, toy boys or no toy boys. I also had a feeling the toy boys might have been more interested in the bouncers than the pink beclad yelping Mrs. G. Henryk caters for all tastes.

I had taken the precaution of establishing my bearings before the lights went out. There were a few parties in the room I would not have minded being caught by, but Chad was not one of them. I had done my duty in setting up the entertainment. It was time to head for the bar and a preview of the buffet.

"Viens ici!"

A hand grabbed mine and I felt myself dragged with considerable force across the floor, considering the voice spouting Dominican patois was undoubtedly female. Plan A, the bar and early buffet raid, went by the board. Harry Neptune is nothing if not flexible. And curious.

I heard a door close behind us then nearly stumbled as we descended a short flight of stairs. I stumbled again at the bottom of the stairs over what appeared to be two inarticulately moaning bodies, than a door opened and I emerged into dim red light. The door slammed behind me.

Plan B was revealed. My still-new bride was tied by the wrists to the brass head of a large and luxurious looking bed. She was naked from the waist down and her legs were wrapped around Botti Boobsy. Botti was also naked from the waist down, on account of her tight pink dress had ridden up over her hips. A black leather strap was visible round her waist. Her hips were pounding up and down and she made a grunt like an East European tennis player with each frenzied thrust.

All the clues were there. Neptune made the deduction and took appropriate action.

"Stop fucking my wife!"

I stepped forward and landed a stinging slap on Botti's gyrating rear end.

The next thing I knew I was whirled round by a taloned hand gripping my shoulder and a fist thumped furiously into my stomach. I gasped for breath and heard a voice through a mist of pain.

"Don't you hit my sistah!"

Bambi glared incensed at me and drew her fist back to land another blow, this time on my head. I grabbed her wrist before the blow could land and twisted her arm behind her back. Her knee rose viciously toward my crotch but I was ready for her and deflected the testicle-cruncher with my thigh. It still hurt. I put an arm round her waist and lifted her off the ground.

I staggered across the floor with my burden of the big black girl. I shoved her against the wall and leaned heavily on her to regain my breath. The Neptune midriff is fairly well padded, but the Boobsy fist had been applied with strength and precision. Her spare hand beat at my back. Abruptly she lunged to rip my throat out with her teeth.

That was it. I suddenly released her and stepped back, then before she could take advantage of her freedom I launched a roundhouse open-handed smack to her cheek. Before she could react I matched it with one on the other cheek, then two more. She sank to her knees looking dazed.

I turned to the bed where Botti if anything was humping even harder, sweat flecking her buttocks and her hands flexing under Jay's top. Jay's wide eyes were fixed on me.

"Harry! Help!"

Before I got halfway to the bed a fury landed on my back and hurled me to the floor. Bambi's arm encircled my neck and squeezed while she dug a knee into the small of my back and scratched at my face. Then I felt her fingers entwine in my hair as the beginnings of blackness spread from my crushed carotid.

Botti grinned at me through the red haze. She reached back to grasp Jay's ankles and push them up toward her head. Botti drew her hips back and paused for a moment. She looked into my eyes and licked her lips.

"Harry!"

Botti thrust mightily between Jay's legs.

"Harry!!!"

Jay shrieked as the dildo penetrated her deepest place, Botti yelled in triumph, and Bambi howled as she redoubled the pressure on my windpipe.

With what I may modestly describe as a heroic effort I struggled to my knees and then my feet with the manic Bambi clinging to me and howling like a dervish. I twisted round and lurched backwards at increasing pace to the wall of the dungeon and some useful looking ceiling-height shackles.

I had reached a fair old clip in the three or four paces it took to reach the wall and was rewarded with a satisfying "Oof!" from Bambi as she took the brunt of my irresistible object meeting the immoveable architecture. The grip on my neck broke and she sank to the floor.

Not far though. I lifted and twisted her, and grabbed one wrist and a shackle.

"You bas…!"

Bambi regained her senses, but not in time. I caught hold of her other wrist and stretched her to tiptoe. Snap! She was pinioned with her face to the rough dungeon wall. I stepped smartly back to avoid a wildly swinging foot.

"Harry…"

The small voice from the bed was barely audible above the sound of twanging bedsprings and Bambi's snarls. I ignored it. There was work to be done.

I looked around for a suitable implement of retribution. There! Perfect – a sjamboek, the short handled whip beloved of cruel South African overseers. I took the whip from its hook and tested it with a sharp crack.

Bambi glared at me over her shoulder. I gripped the neck of her shiny blue dress and ripped it in half. Her magnificent back and buttocks were sheened in sweat.

"Harry! No!"

Bambi's eyes had fear in them now. I drew back the whip and lashed it across her shoulders. Bambi cried out in pain, then again and again as I whipped her back. Weals appeared and almost merged. She twisted and turned but the shackles held firm.

Her head began to fall and I shifted my aim. The rawhide bit into her muscular behind and thighs. She arched her back and her lips drew back from her gleaming teeth. I rained down blow after blow, concentrating now on the tender tops of her thighs.

At first Bambi cried out with each blow, but now she whimpered with eyes tight closed. I stopped for a few seconds, considering the raw stripes on her sweat-slicked skin. She trembled and her knees sagged.

I drew my arm back and brought the rawhide down from on high, all the Neptune beef brought to bear on her reddened backside. The crack of leather on sweat and flesh echoed round the dungeon.

Bambi's back arched impossibly. She screamed. Her head was thrown back so far her face hung upside down looking into the room. She hung at that angle for a full half minute, her terrible cry filling the room longer than any human had the right to feed it with life breath.

At last she convulsed forward and lay with her face against the wall, all her weight on the shackles. She panted desperately and tears poured down her cheeks.

At last Bambi half raised her head and looked up at me through swollen eyes.

"Harry – that was de best ever!"

I kissed Bambi's forehead and released the shackles. She sagged against me with her arms around my neck. I kissed her again and looked over her shoulder at the bed.

Jay was still tied to the brass bed head, but now she was twisted face down with her knees drawn up to her side. A pair of legs with flexed knees protruded between her thighs. Jay's bottom was moving up and down to a familiar rhythm. I caught a glimpse of rumpled blue sarong and recognized Clara.

Botti lay on the bed beside them, the dildo gone. Her wet cleft gleamed through dark curly hair. From the angle of Jay's and Clara's hips, and from various movements, noises and other subtle clues, I gathered that Clara had commandeered the dildo and had adopted the recumbent male position to Jay's girl-on-top.

Jay's legs were spread over Clara, the black dildo just visible between her spread buttocks with each thrust. Jay has a lovely bum, well enough cushioned to be one of Ruben's less statuesque and more attractive models.

Yes – a lovely bum.

I spotted a tube of SupaLoob on a shelf by the bed…

****

I've been to some hectic orgies but even the most frenetic tangle of sex-crazed bodies could barely rival the melee in Henryk's dungeon. Bound to the bed and manically shafted by Botti Boobsy, who had an up and down stroke like the piston of a high-speed locomotive, I was already struggling to catch my breath when my dear husband burst into the room with the matching Boobsy. Sometime during the ensuing sadomasochistic fracas, which made a Bruce Lee movie look like The Sound of Music, a familiar Latin figure slipped into the room, snatched Botti's monster dildo and insinuated herself beneath my writhing body. Things were looking up. Actually down, as there proved to be just enough slack in my wrist bonds to allow me to turn over and straddle my South American amor. I had a feeling I shouldn't be turning my back on Botti but as she was at least temporarily disarmed, I decided to let down my guard. I eased my traumatized pussy over the enormous dong and began to grind rhythmically, with less speed and strength than Botti had employed, but a good deal more feeling. Clara pushed her fingers through my sweat-soaked hair and I kissed her, keenly aware of a sudden, rather portentous silence in the dungeon. It seemed that Harry had stopped thrashing Bambi and I was just about to turn my head to see what they were doing, when something slippery and cool pressed against the cleft of my bottom. Strong fingers pulled my head back, out of Clara's grasp, and upwards, making me arch my spine until I felt it would break. I felt a warm, hairy torso against my naked back. This was no Boobsy. Slowly, as if seeking to imprint some message indelibly upon my mind and body, Harry pushed his cock into my ass. I felt my face burn, a fine sheen of perspiration misted my skin as he entered me, filling me full, stretching me painfully wide. I could feel where the hard shaft of the dildo met his cock, separated by the merest slippery wall of flesh. Suddenly, I was incoherent, my insides crammed full of wet, solid, thrusting. Afterwards, Harry told me that I cried and swore, but all I recall is being entered, smooth and sweet and sharp and hurtful, painful, piercing, endlessly wet and full, so full… it wasn't long before we came, all three of us, although it was quite impossible to determine whose orgasm came first or lasted longest in the achingly beautiful vortex of desire. Eventually, one of the Boobsy's voices filtered through my consciousness and I realized that I lay alone on the bed. Dazed, I looked up as Harry leaned over me to unfasten my wrists and I shivered violently as the dungeon door opened and a large figure loomed in the entrance.

"Found ya! Jumpin' Jehosophat, watcha bin doin' down here? Y'all look like you bin ten rounds with Mohammed Ali."

I manfully focused on the rotund form of Chad. His baseball cap was rather rakishly skewed over one eye and there were several lipstick kisses of varying hues upon his chubby cheeks. The Boobsy Twins adjusted their miniscule dresses to a remote semblance of pseudo-respectability and linked their arms through his.

"We'll come quietly!"

Chad grinned.

"Ah doubt that, ladies. How'd ya think ah found y'all? Ah never heard such a whoopin' and a hollerin'…"

I appeared to have lost the use of my legs. Clara had disappeared again and I thought I saw a brief glimpse of a blue sarong vanishing up the stairs to the main floor of the building. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and wiggled my toes to regain the circulation.

"The lady vanishes. My goodness, that was quite a session."

I looked up at Harry, who was ruefully examining his shirt, which was missing a couple of buttons and sported a semi-ripped sleeve. I slipped into Mae West mode.

"Goodness had nothing to do with it! I'm afraid you're going to have to carry me, darling."

With a primeval grunt, my beloved swept me off the bed and over his shoulder. With luck we would conquer the stairs without a hernia.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: COMING TOGETHER

Fortunately there weren't too many stairs, or my Himalaya act may have come unstuck. Thrashing Bambi had been a strenuous process, and having Jay's ass without squashing her and Clara into immobility had put stress on yet another set of muscles. I was still half-hard too – I ration my entries to Jay's rear end and this had been one of the best.

Upstairs the lights were back on and the company had expanded. The Boners, still in costume, stood in a corner casting glances nervously at Botti who was tucking into jerk goat and looking lasciviously at my ex-wife's unfortunate new husband. I could guess what she had in mind for him, if Jay had tipped her off.

"Moah, boys! Moah!"

Miss Loretta Swat, doyenne of weather ladies and purveyor of Books of the Months, would have given her many fans a salutary shock. She lay full length on a beaten-up Victorian sofa, the boobs, which had so recently collapsed suspiciously pushing like minor foothills against a leather bodice.

"Next! Don't keep a Southern lady waitin'!"

An assortment of Texan historians and other spare males formed a masturbatory queue at the head of which (so to speak) la Swat was accepting donations. Her face was already slippery with what looked like a dozen healthy ejaculations. Another landed squarely in her open mouth as I watched. The next figure in line looked familiar from the rear view, but I couldn't quite place him. Then when his hand produced the source of the next contribution his identity was obvious…

"Oh mah gods! That, sir, is thu… never mind mah face, honey, yo'all are the first man I ever did see that could fill mah place of paradise, and that's where yo'all are goin' right now!"

Miss Swat whipped down a pair of rather tasteless rose-trimmed panties and spread her legs. Biggin knelt on the sofa with a bashful but pleased expression on his face. La Swat took hold of his mammoth manhood in both hands and wrapped her legs around him. She tugged and he descended…

"Oh maaaaaaaaaaaaah…!!"

There's nothing like a mutually satisfactory solution to two separate but related problems. This solution looked very mutual. The remainder of the queue dissipated disappointed in the direction of other entertainment.

The toy boys were standing in a corner with their backs to the room. Their trousers were round their ankles revealing well-exercised pale buttocks contrasting with their deep tans.

"There's nae substitute for a regular physical examination, laddies. Nae substitute for a thorough going over by a distinguished alumnus of the respected medical school of Invermuchie…"

Dr. Dunnett's voice disappeared into an incoherent mumble. If I didn't know better I would have said he had his mouth full. I turned my attentions elsewhere. Harry Neptune is tolerant to a fault, but confines distribution of his bounty to the distaff half of the human race. As much of it as possible.

Captain Ahab sat in an armchair with his uniform jacket buttoned to his neck as usual and a schoolgirl on his lap, not as usual. On closer examination she was the oldest schoolgirl this side of St. Trinian's, but no matter. She was whispering something in his ear and he was sliding his hand up her knee length white socks in the direction of her short skirt. Her plump black thighs parted accommodatingly. Ahab's R amp;R looked to be organized.

"More games! More games!"

No need to guess who was the owner of that girlish shriek. Mrs. Goldfinkel was backed up against Inspector Parrott with her bottom rubbing vigorously against his groin. She had a firm grip on his hands and was shoving them up her pink top.

"Ooh, what's that poking into Gigi's botty! You naughty boy!"

Parrott had a bemused expression on his face. I wondered if his libido was up to a Goldfinkel goring.

That seemed to be a full house. In fact overfull for my purposes. I beckoned to a couple of bouncers and issued instructions. In moments we were divested of toy boys, Biggin, Chad, assorted Texans, schoolgirl, Boobsies, and grinning bouncers. The door slammed and there was the sound of the lock being firmly closed. Bouncers and Boobsy's were to stand guard outside.

The company was down to the night of Raoul's demise, plus the Inspector. I cleared my throat.

"I expect you are all wondering…"

"What the hell are you up to, Neptune?"

My beloved had regained her senses and her feet and was glaring round the room.

Miss Swat lay on the sofa with her legs spread and a deprived expression on her face.

Dr. Dunnett knelt in the corner with his mouth open and a deprived expression on his face.

Captain Ahab sat in the armchair with a distortion in his trousers and a deprived expression on his face.

The Boners lurked by the buffet with perpetual deprived expressions on their faces.

The bouncers had separated Gigi and Parrott on principle and parked them on opposite sides of the room. They had deprived expressions on their faces.

Miss Lawrence stared up at me with what would have been a deprived expression if she had not just suffered a surfeit of non-deprivation.

I seemed to have done a pretty good job of depriving. Made a change from depraving.

I cleared my throat again.

"I expect you are all wondering why I have called a halt to the festivities. A temporary halt, I hope and believe. It may have escaped your memories in the flushes of excess, but it has not escaped my memory nor, I have no doubt, that of the redoubtable Inspector Parrott, that we are all under suspicion in the matter of the tragic and regrettable death of young Raoul the chanteur not so many evenings ago. I have been bending my intellect to…"

"Get on with it, Neptune!"

"All right – who done it?"

That got a predictable response. The silent population of the room stared at me.

"Right, let's try again. If no one will own up we'll have to do it the hard way – or the harder way. Grab a seat, ladies and gentlemen, and I'll begin."

The company adjusted its collective clothing. It drew seats up into a semicircle with H. Neptune Esq. as its focal point.

I produced a crumpled envelope from my back pocket and held it aloft.

"With the benefit of my extensive experience of criminal investigation-" Miss Lawrence snorted in a most unbecoming fashion "-I have weighed the evidence, carried out some inspired detection, and documented the inevitable result on the sheet of Caribbean Conch note paper in this here envelope."

All eyes were glued on the envelope including, curiously, those of Inspector Parrott. For a man whose assigned and preeminent role in the investigation was being so comprehensively usurped, the policeman was remarkably silent.

"A choice is before us, shipmates. Confession – or listen to me explain the chain of deductive logic that leads to the long drop. Which is it to be?"

Miss Lawrence shuddered.

"Someone better confess or I'll volunteer them. Where are the thumbscrews?"

"Here," volunteered Boner, holding up a deluxe pair. He had obviously purloined them from the dungeon in the manner of a house guest stealing the silver. However, a thief was not necessarily a murderer – yet.

"There is no call for such crudity. I have a subtler and more foolproof method. Or rather, my unbeloved ex-wife has. Get 'em out, Frippery!"

Frippery opened and closed her mouth in a fish-like fashion.

"Come on. I know you saved them before they rolled overboard. Out with 'em."

I held Frippery's gaze but she didn't move.

"Okey doke. This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me…"

I pulled the wax doll out of my shorts pocket. A few strokes of finger nails on the head, a pinching at the waist, and a blobbing at the chest, and Boner's juju doll was transformed to Frippery's juju doll.

A sheen of sweat appeared on Frippery's brow. The rest of the suspects apart from Boner looked puzzled. He appeared to have an expression of sly anticipation on his prune-ish visage.

I cast around for a sharp implement or fire. Neither was to be found, but…

With three rapid strides I was at the buffet and thrust the doll's head into a dish of Judy's Extra Hot Antiguan Sauce. Frippery screamed and ran after me. She grabbed a large bowl of ice cold punch and tipped it over her head. The Hot Sauce bubbled.

"Here are the beathtly things!"

Frippery extracted an oilskin package from the depths of her catsuit and flung it at me. As I caught it I felt it throbbing. I gestured her back to her seat and held up the package triumphantly.

****

There was a sharp intake of breath from the circle of suspects. I lavished a rare but genuine expression of unbridled admiration upon Harry's triumphant form. I wasn't sure how he'd reached his conclusions but it probably had a lot to do with his passion for cryptic crossword puzzles and Angela Lansbury. Seldom passing up an opportunity to perform in a melodrama, I struck a glamorous bimbo assistant pose, all wide eyes and bright smile. My husband shot me a brief glare, then slowly began to unwrap the package. Two familiar objects emerged from the folds of the oilskin and Mrs. Goldfinkel cried out in dismay.

"Why, those are the fetishes I gave to Harry and Jay as a wedding gift! How could you, Mrs. Boner? Purloining a pair of valuable antiques – not to mention defiling the sanctity of matrimonial bliss!"

Frippery stamped her latex booted foot.

"I didn't purloin anything. They were on the deck outthide the Neptune's cabin. Pothethon is nine tenths of the law."

The Black Widow wagged a plump little forefinger at Harry and me.

"Now, really, my dears! That's no way to treat a nuptial gift! Get a little carried away in the heat of the moment, did we, so they popped out of your porthole?"

Harry frowned.

"You could say that, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Mrs. Neptune and I were remiss enough to leave our porthole ajar and fell foul of a stiff front from the Antilles. Rest assured that no disrespect was intended. Perhaps you would be kind enough to examine the fetishes carefully and ensure that no damage has been done."

Mrs. Goldfinkel shot Harry a rather sharp look then swiftly segued into simpering benefactress mode. She took the two pieces of finely carved and polished wood. There was a faint buzzing sound, not unlike an approaching swarm of honeybees, and her bleached blonde coiffure floated upwards. Miss Larry Swat giggled.

"Y'all need some serious styling gel, Mizz Goldfinkel! Oh my! Ah never did see…"

The Flyswat's amusement was rudely interrupted by a sudden rather violent outburst from Gigi Goldfinkel, who held the fetishes as tightly as a starlet on Oscar night.

"Dontcha Mizz Goldfinkel me, honey. Lily May Scroggins don't take no crapola from no one!"

There was another group intake of breath. Miss Swat gaped. The Black Widow's prim Happachappabunket tones had been replaced by pure Noo Joisy with more than a hint of the Bronx added for extra gritty texture. Knowingly, Harry stepped forwards and addressed the trembling figure in pink. The buzzing sound was intensifying, Mrs. Goldfinkel/Scroggin's hair swiftly unwound from its tightly permed curls and attained vertical status. Harry looked his victim in the eye. The tension was palpable.

"Tell me about Raoul, Lily May. The boy done you wrong – didn't he?"

The Black Widow screeched in a harpy-esque cackle.

"Done me wrong? Done me wrong! The little black-eyed, snake-hipped, two-timing blackmailing son of a bitch. He got what was comin' to him. No more. No less. No one tries to put one over on Lily May Scroggins, whose dear old daddy was One-Eye Olaf of the Greasegun Gang. Little squirt tried to blackmail me when he found out my Family connections, so I shot the fucker."

"Oh no, you didn't!"

There was a chorus of gasps and everyone turned to look at Captain Ahab. He smiled, a little apologetically.

"I'm afraid, dear lady, that you are very much mistaken. You may well have tried to plant a fatal bullet in the young man's chest but the winning shot was fired by none other than yours truly, Captain Herman Melville Ahab. I cannot allow you to take the blame for my action – or, if you'll pardon my immodesty, the credit for a damned good aim. I dispatched the Dago. He was blackmailing me in regard to some complex legal issues concerning my marital status."

"Ach, ah canna hold it in any longer! Ah killed the laddie too."

Everyone turned to stare at Dr. Dunnett, who shrugged and took a fortifying slug from his hip flask. Miss Swat kicked him on the shin but he continued regardless.

"The wee bugger found out that ah was struck off the medical register for malpractice in cosmetic surgery before ah took this job on board the Caribbean Conch. In fact, ah'm no a medical man at all, ah'm a plumber. The toe-rag was also blackmailing mah wee chum Loretta here, on accounts that she used to go by the name of Larry before she had some major reconstruction circa 1983. Alas, mah surgical craft was in its infancy and she willna forgive me. Loretta was counter-blackmailing me to pay off the slimy Latino. We bribed one of the other band members to shoot a wee poison dart in the back of the bugger's neck when he was shaking his maracas. Ah'm no sayin' which one did it. That'll stay a secret 'til the day ah die."

Harry nodded, sagely.

"And, to the put the final twist on the S-bend, my dear doctor plumber, you and Miss Swat tracked down and appropriated Raoul's ill-gotten gains."

"What???!!"

Everyone turned to glare at the doctor, who shrank down into his chair. Miss Swat looked furious. Frippery's thin, sharp voice piped up.

"We're none of us guilt-free. Will wath thticking pinth in a voodoo doll of Raoul. In fact, it wath probably the voodoo that weakened him enough for the bullet wound to prove fatal. Raoul wath blackmailing us too. He dithcovered that I write fem-dom ficthion. Not the done thing for a Puker Prize winner. And he knew that Will likes to dreth up in a frock."

Harry grinned.

"Not the done thing for a pseudo Dominant who's trying to launch a macho pulp fiction career."

Boner's face went red, then quite white with anger but he remained silent. There was a faint sound of grinding dentures.

Harry carefully took the fetishes from a thoroughly frizzed-up Black Widow and gently laid them at his feet.

"So. You all done it. Will and Frip cast a black magic curse. Dunnett and Swat bribed an assassin to shoot a poison dart. Lily May might have had her way, if her little bullet hadn't ricocheted off the bongos and ended up embedded in one leg of the dessert trolley. But the Captain it was that really cracked him. It's always the quiet ones."

Captain Ahab bowed modestly, an enigmatic smile playing about his lips.

Inspector Parrott finally broke his silence, reaching into his shirt pocket for a cell '"phone.

"All we need is Charles Aznavour and we've got a remake of Murder On The Orient Express. They'll never believe this back at headquarters. Never in a million years…"

"Plenty of spare handcuffs down in the basement, Inspector."

I couldn't resist a quip. Inspector Parrott grinned and winked.

"Don't worry, Miss Lawrence. The gang isn't going anywhere. I have had Henryk's surrounded for the last half-hour. Mr. Neptune, I take my hat off to you, but I will confess that I wasn't too far behind the game."

Harry bowed in an egalitarian fashion.

"Elementary, my dear Parrott. Elementary."

I looked at the circle of guilty parties, their faces showing assorted degrees of resignation and/or anger. All was not yet over. I had my own personal retribution to achieve. I whispered my desire in Parrott's ear and watched him smirk briefly then nod in assent. Slowly, meaningfully, I walked over to Boner. My ex lover stared up at me with a mixture of curiosity and acrimony, as I stood before him, hands on hips. I chose my words carefully.

"So, you don't like pussy, eh?"

Will flushed, then began to look really annoyed.

"What are you going on about? This is hardly the time…"

I interrupted him, placing one foot upon his scrawny thigh.

"Oh, but it is, Wilberforce, my dear. There is no time like the present for a little, shall we say, initiation."

I smiled enigmatically as I overheard Harry calling for the Boobsy Twins. To be totally truthful, I really didn't care to do this little job myself, but I would set the ball rolling. As it were. Boner shrank back into his chair as Bambi and Botti swayed towards him, all endless bronzed thighs and heroic cleavage. Quick as a flash, Botti whipped a pair of handcuffs out from behind her back and clipped my ex's wrists to the legs of the chair. Harry commandeered the sound system and it wasn't long before the raunchy sounds of "The Stripper" filled the room. Boner scowled as the twins began to bump and grind, their tiny dresses (or miniscule shreds in Bambi's case) riding up over their broad, firm asses.

"Very funny. You know striptease does nothing for me, Jaylene. Never has done, never will."

"Just you wait, Will, sweetie."

Big boobs did nothing for Boner either. I recalled his joy when my hard work at the gym paid off to the extent of dropping a cup size. I was devastated, he almost danced a jig. I watched with satisfaction as Bambi expertly popped her tits out of the straining skintight bodice and squatted down to thrust them into my ex's face. He tried to avert his gaze but the Amazon grasped his grizzled head tightly in both hands and effortlessly thrust it between the big brown pillows of her breasts. Anyone but Boner would have been overjoyed to go that way, crushed beneath a mountain of firm, dusky boob flesh. There was a spluttering sound and he came up for air before being unceremoniously shoved back into the bouncy crevasse. Botti grinned and moved behind the victim's chair, then firmly clasped Boner's cranium as her sister stepped back a little, then began to tug at her skimpy panties. All eyes were fixed upon her as she slid the tiny G-string to her ankles then delicately stepped out of them. The music ground on and Bambi's hands strayed to her naked crotch, clearly visible beneath the hem of her dress. She was very wet, her labia as plump and moist as a dew-soaked tropical flower. Again and again, she squatted down before Boner, giving him a full frontal view of her hungry snatch. Her long painted talons teased her clit and she moaned loudly. Will sat upright and rigid, a look of utter horror and disgust on his face. For one moment, I almost felt sorry for him, then I remembered the voodoo doll business and my compassion dwindled. Time for some action.

"Pussy him, Bambi!"

With one big bump and grind, the groaning girl thrust her pussy against Boner's face and squirmed her hips up and down frantically. I could barely contain myself and cried out again.

"Ride his face!"

Bambi's broad brown buttocks worked furiously as her twin held my ex's head in a grip of steel. I watched him struggling violently, heard him grunt and gurgle, saw copious beads of sweat erupt from his forehead. Bambi continued to fuck his face with consummate glee, her tiny dress riding up to form nothing more than a broad shiny belt about her waist. Her boobs flopped heavily and rhythmically against her chest, she arched her spine and triumphantly yelled out a rousing climax. When she stepped back, Boner's face was wet, his eyes and mouth tightly closed. Pussy juice glistened from every corner of his face, forehead to chin to ear and ear. Revenge was sweet. Soon he would have to stop holding his breath and feminine essence would broach the barriers and conquer Boner Land.

"Thank you, darling. I needed that."

I tucked a fifty-dollar note into Bambi's cleavage and left the room without a backward glance.

****

"I wonder what kind of a sentence they'll receive."

Harry and I sat together on the deck of the Caribbean Conch, as it began its return journey to Fort Lauderdale with a substitute master at the helm. My partner shrugged.

"Gawd knows! I pity the judge. It'd certainly be fun to be a fly on the wall, "though."

I laughed as I watched the misty silhouette of the islands fade into the horizon.

"A literary cruise, indeed! We didn't attend a single lecture."

"Neither we did. Quel dommage. So, do you still want a divorce, Shortie, or are you content to stay half-hitched to Sherlock Neptune?"

"I'm not sure, darling. Tell me – how did you know that Frippery had the fetishes?"

Harry smiled.

"No great powers of deduction involved there, I'm afraid. I simply saw the silly bint surreptitiously stuffing them down her catsuit. She was trying to get Boner to beg for a doggie biscuit."

"I see. And what made you think they would reveal the truth so accurately?"

My husband looked thoughtful.

"I'm not sure. They were certainly potent. Remember the night we tried to throw them overboard? We were carried away, you and I, as if we were caught up in the eye of a storm. It was incredible but scary too. Somehow, I knew they'd get to the heart of the matter, one way or another."

"I see."

Quietly, I reached down and retrieved two familiar objects from my beach bag. Harry frowned.

"What on earth are you up to, Lawrence? Trying to get us killed again?"

I shook my head and passed Biggin and Elvira to my partner, feeling a deep tingling thrill electrify every cell of my body. I was quite getting into the fetish effect. Harry braced himself and I watched his hair begin to stir. If the fetishes were elicitors of truth, I would put them to the test. I chose my question with care.

"Do you love me, Harry Neptune?"

A brisk wind chased around the legs of our deck chairs and my husband's hair began to curl. He looked deep into my searching eyes.

"I love you, Jay Lawrence. Married or not, you're the girl for me."

I pressed my case.

"The only girl, Harry?"

Harry's hair continued to twirl, Medusa fashion about his grinning face.

"Quit while you're ahead, Lawrence."

I slapped my husband then kissed him deeply on the mouth.

"No divorce then, Mr. Neptune."

"Connubial bliss, Miss Lawrence."

We looked at one another and decided it was time for a good stiff drink…

The End

Trouble In Paradise

"Hey, shortie, there are a couple of topless bathers down there. Naked boobies bouncing around in the surf. Fancy heading down for a lech?"

I thought of giving my husband a disapproving look but libidinous curiosity got the better of me. He sat out on the balcony of our hotel room, a pair of pocket sized binoculars glued to his sunglasses and a conical distension in the front of his white linen shorts.

"Lovely brown boobies. Decent sized too. Much better than the usual fried eggs."

I briefly toyed with the notion of forcibly wresting the optical equipment from Harry's face, then thought better of it. Shading my eyes with my hands, I squinted into the bright Tobago sunshine. Our hotel sat on a cliff top, overlooking a small beach fringed with giant palm trees. A Pepto Bismol pink palace, once the haunt of Hollywood starlets in the golden age of glamor, it now appeared to be favored by well-heeled senior citizens. I focused on the frothing waves steadily rolling in from the Atlantic, in which two girls and their male companions were gamely attempting to play catch the beach ball. One of Harry's hands strayed to his crotch.

"Damn that big palm tree. It's in just the wrong place, blocking the view. This will wake the Colonel up. Look, there he is, pretending to do the crossword in the Times. The randy old bugger'll have a heart attack!"

"Serve him right."

My gaze strayed from the arousing but distant spectacle of wet, wobbling tit flesh to an elderly gentleman in a rather loud Hawaiian style shirt. I had taken a prolonged dip the previous afternoon during a refreshing rain shower, wearing a white cotton lace-up top. Somehow, the combined action of copious water and the powerful waves had managed to achieve a rather exciting off the shoulder transparent effect. Thoroughly refreshed, I strode magnificently up the beach a la Ursula Andress in Dr. No, to find a hyperventilating senior citizen lurking behind my sun-bed, libidinous intent oozing from every wrinkle. I do like older men but I draw the line at hearing aids and white knee length socks. Harry sighed.

"This place has gone downhill. It's high season, for God's sake! This hotel should be buzzing. Wait 'til I get my hands on that big Welsh oaf. He must think I've got one foot in the bloody grave."

I looked at our light, airy white room, with its hardwood floor and four poster bed. It wasn't so long since I was bound by my wrists to one of those tall dark bedposts, a mess of warm sticky semen coating my upturned face.

"Darling, I'm sure it's not Cadog's fault. Anyway, I'm perfectly happy, even if it is a bit quiet. We could use a bit of r and r after Trinidad."

My husband grunted in grudging admission. It had been quite a year. A serious financial blow had left us virtually penniless and with the stark, cold knowledge that we would have to actually work for a living. Deciding that we had a better chance of being poor but happy in warmer climes, we headed south, in search of the big break that would be our salvation. Our hopes were high, our resumes elaborate and almost entirely fictitious. Somehow, via a convoluted process too complex to recount, we had ended up in Port of Spain, Trinidad, running Sudsy's, a laundromat cum massage parlor. This salubrious establishment was owned by one Cadog Madoc, a skinny redheaded Welshman, whose larger than life West Indian wife overshadowed him in almost every way imaginable. I don't recall actually accepting the job. Most likely, Trixie simply reeled us in. Now Harry spent his evenings surrounded by buxom brown beauties liberally coated in coconut oil, while I passed my days loading industrial sized washing machines with soiled laundry, while dressed in skimpy shorts, stiletto mules and a diamante trimmed halter top. I think it was known as the fuzzy end of the lollipop. For some months a revolution had been brewing in my steamy tropical laundrette, with many a putative game plan hatched amongst the towering piles of shirts and socks. But what could I do? Go home to Aunt Harriet in Poughkeepsie? Jump a freight train and join the circus? Harry had warmed to the tropics in more ways than one and had become downright Latin American in his style of husbandry. And that, dear reader, was what really kept me in the suds. What can I say? I became a full card carrying submissive, the willing recipient of a stringent daily spanking and frequent stern lectures about Knowing My Place. Oh, another minor coup would raise its argumentative little head each time I witnessed my dearly beloved beached like a whale with a six pack of Carib lager and his nose stuck in Massage Weekly, only to melt into helpless, happy acceptance the moment he glared at me over the top of his spectacles.

"No argument! Do as you're told or I'll give you something to cry about."

Hmm, it was just as well we weren't twenty-somethings or we'd have six squalling brats in no time. Maybe the sun had gone to my head but I was even going all hormonal. Anyway, next time, we wouldn't put all our eggs in one financial basket. Or at least not a Venezuelan basket. Oops.

"Can I fetch you something, sweetcakes?"

I had taken to inquiring after my Lord and Master's welfare at regular intervals, as the Caribbean seemed to give him quite a thirst. Harry stretched out in his plastic chair, the spyglasses dangling limply from one sunburned hand. The small tent in his shorts had collapsed and he had that post smorgasbord slump look about him. So much for the party animal. I picked up a brightly colored cushion from the bed and sat cross-legged by my husband's feet. I had taken to doing this as a matter of course. There were times when it almost felt strange to occupy a chair. Harry seemed to be asleep and I sat for a while, listening to the brisk breeze swish the huge feathered leaves of the coconut palms and watching the distant action in the surf. I was just about to carefully extricate the binoculars from my partner's limp fingers when a snatch of conversation drifted up from the lawn beneath our balcony. Two men spoke rapidly in Spanish. I'm not a fluent speaker but have spent enough time in Latin locales to get the gist. The word "muerto" stood out-dead. What or who had gone belly-up? Cautiously, I crawled forwards, just close enough to peer through the gap at the base of the canvas "sail" which formed the balcony screen. The voices were indistinct, now carried away by a gust of salty air, but I caught a glimpse of the two hombres. One was quite tall, heavy set, with a swarthy complexion and fleshy lips. He was dressed all in black and resembled a Sicilian Godfather type. The other was smaller, lighter, fairer, expensively dressed in a monogrammed designer shirt and sharply creased pants. A state of the art cell 'phone dangled from a cord about his neck and a tiny ear-piece protruded from one side of his closely cropped head. It was to this gadget the man talked, an endless unintelligible babble of words. Whatever was dead, it certainly wasn't the art of conversation. Hmm, this was interesting. As my immediate superior was temporarily lost to the conscious world, I made an instant executive decision. Quickly, I slipped on my espadrilles and, grabbing a beach towel and my bathing costume, left Moby Dick to dream of whatever perverts dream of. Whatever it was, he was starting to drool.

Outside, the path was wet from an earlier squall and I picked my way carefully, having come to an impromptu slithery halt the previous night, when returning from an outing to a local tapas bar. Harry was most disappointed when he realized that the waitresses were fully clothed from the waist up and the spiciest thing on the evening's agenda was the Shrimp Salsa. I still had the grass stain on my sarong from being dragged across the hotel lawn by a disgruntled rhinoceros doing a passable impersonation of my dearly beloved.

"Good morning, Mrs. Neptune."

I jumped, guiltily. There was no sign of the two Latinos and my path was blocked by the Colonel, on the way back from his constitutional leer at the beach. His sharp blue eyes immediately focused on my cleavage and I realized I was both bra-less and wearing one of my more transparent and skimpy tops, a salmon silk halter-neck. My nipples stood proud and erect through the slippery pink fabric and I waited for the Colonel to take the salute, idly thinking that it probably looked as if I was half-naked from a distance. Hmm, maybe it was time to ascertain whether military intelligence really was an oxymoron.

"Good morning, Colonel Shagfast."

I pointedly looked about me and then, seeing that the coast was clear, dropped my voice to a confidential whisper.

"Tell me, you wouldn't happen to have seen a couple of men, would you? Only I think that they might be up to no good."

The old man's bushy silver eyebrows shot up into his receding hairline and he rattled his dentures excitedly.

"Hah! Up to no good you say? Been rum running? Contraband? Slave trade?"

I paused for dramatic effect, then pushed my silk clad nipples under the old reprobate's aquiline nose. The tip of his tongue protruded and I prayed that he wouldn't let his false teeth drop into my decolletage. I panted slightly, as if quite overcome with the thrill of it all.

"I think, Colonel, that there may have been a murder."

The old man straightened up, his eyes flashing fire.

"Murder! Seen a body, have you?"

I nibbled my lower lip pensively.

"Well, not exactly…"

Just at that moment I spied the two Latinos climbing into a whorehouse red convertible sports car. There was no time to lose. I grasped the Colonel's arm and propelled him towards the hotel parking lot.

"We can't let them get away! Follow that Mustang!"

The keys to our hire car were in the hotel room. A mere detail. I scanned the parking lot, looking for inspiration, which swiftly arrived in the form of a canary yellow moped, cheerfully ridden by Michael the hotel porter. There was no time to exchange pleasantries. He sat dazed in the dust as we putt-putted off in a cloud of blue smoke, only just squeezing under the entrance barrier as it came down in the wake of the speeding Mustang. I caught a brief glimpse of the attendant's startled face as we throbbed off up the steep and twisting coastal road.

"Mind that pothole!"

The Colonel had taken it upon himself to drive, with yours truly riding pillion. I suspected it had been some time since he was in charge of anything other than a golf cart. The Mustang picked up speed and disappeared around a corner. We would simply have to make up time on the downhill stretches. I tossed my head back, nonchalantly allowing the brisk ocean breeze to blow through my hair, only to make a frantic grab for the Colonel's waist as he swerved around another sizable hole in the road.

"Hah! Bloody minefield. Hold on tight, girlie, they don't call me Shagfast for nothing, y'know!"

We reached the brow of a hill and immediately began to gain momentum. I prayed the brakes weren't faulty. The road was quite tortuous and swiftly left the affluent residential area in which the hotel was located for more basic locales. Ramshackle wooden buildings advertised cold drinks, ice cream treats and juicy fruits, frequently in creative West Indian spelling. I barely had time to read the signs as we zoomed past, a rather worrying burning smell beginning to emit from Michael's bike. A gang of laughing children cheered and waved as we passed through a tiny village, closely followed by the frenzied gesticulations of the proprietor of Jules' Garadge. The acrid smell had swelled to a plume of choking smoke but we were gaining on the Mustang. Suddenly, the sports car made a sharp left turn onto a rough track, which disappeared into the lush interior of the island, away from the sea. A battered wooden sign read:

Casa Melvin

We just made the turn, narrowly avoiding a Land Rover with "Praise The Lord" emblazoned on the hood. Slowly, wary of revealing our presence to our prey, we chugged up the stony track, our progress artfully concealed by a thick pall of exhaust fumes. It wasn't long before the road opened out into a large clearing and a huge and ostentatious house came into view. Tall wrought iron gates slowly swung shut on the retreating end of the Mustang. The Colonel dismounted, staggered slightly on his bowed legs, then fumbled in the pocket of his shorts for a hip flask. He took a strengthening gulp of the contents then glared at the Mediterranean style edifice.

"Now that's what I call a den of iniquity! More security than bloody Fort Knox."

So far, the biggest crime I'd witnessed was the life-sized fiberglass replica of King Tut that guarded the entrance. Curiously, I tiptoed up to the gates. Voices echoed from a tiled courtyard and I caught a glimpse of bright blue water. A swimming pool.

"Spanky! Spanky!"

"Not a bad idea," I murmured, swiftly ducking behind Tut as the smaller of the two Latinos hove into view, still talking volubly on his cell 'phone. Somewhere in the vicinity of the courtyard a disembodied female voice called out.

"Here, baby!"

"Hah! They're not all Dagos then."

The Colonel had joined me behind the Pharaoh and had procured a tiny pair of binoculars from his other pocket, through which he squinted fiercely. A Chihuahua trotted into the courtyard, jingling softly from the bells on its collar.

"Ah, Spanky, baby! There you are, darling!"

The owner of the voice appeared and the Colonel gasped and almost dropped his spyglasses. My lower jaw did a close approximation.

"Bloody hell! I've never seen anything like it in my life!"

"I have."

The young woman tottered into a dazzling patch of sunlight and crouched down to pet the little dog. She wasn't especially beautiful; in fact, her features could almost be described as homely. Her mousy brown hair was brushed straight back from her forehead and braided into a thick plait, the tail of which skimmed the top of her sturdy buttocks. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose, giving her an absent-minded look. Few would give the girl a second glance but for one unmistakable fact. She had the biggest pair of natural boobs I'd ever seen and they weren't unfamiliar.

"It's Sadie Brown, the girl next door!"

The Colonel leaned against King Tut's gilded chest, hyperventilating, as Sadie straightened up and turned to one side, giving us a perfect silhouette of her bumptious attributes. I couldn't begin to imagine her bra cup size but her vast tits resembled ripe golden melons, each boob crowned with a dusky, almost velvety looking aureole. She wore nothing but a pair of semi-translucent white cotton panties and flat, demure looking leather sandals.

"I'd love to say hello."

I was actually quite a big fan of Sadie Brown, whose outsize assets regularly appeared in the glossy pages of such mammary obsessed publications as Bazookas! and Tit-anic. So far, she had eschewed a feature tour on the nude dancing circuit but had made Over His Knee, a rather interesting little blue movie that was rapidly becoming a hard-to-find collector's item. Sadie Brown was not just your average porn star. Sadie Brown was decidedly kinky. Her chosen niche was that of the chastised schoolgirl but her body type was far from typical for that genre. Most naughty schoolgirls were A- cup adolescents.

I sighed softly as my heroine wandered off into the shady recesses of the courtyard, the aptly named Chihuahua trotting along behind her. Once upon a time, I too had been a big boob model, dancer and porn star, plying my trade under various aliases including Betsi Bouncee and Titty Boomboom.

"Are you all right, Colonel Shagfast?"

It looked as if the randy old goat had finally met his match in Sadie Brown. He still slumped against the impassive frontage of Tut, a glazed look in his eyes and a small damp patch on his baggy shorts. I was just about to suggest that perhaps we should give up the game and go find a nice reviving rum punch, when there was the crunching of gravel and a vehicle could be overhead, approaching up the rough track to the house.

"Quick! We'd better hide!"

Briskly, I maneuvered the Colonel and the moped into the deep shade of the surrounding trees. In just a matter of seconds a large white mini-van came to a halt in front of the ornate gates, which slowly swung open. At that moment, I made a reckless decision. I knew what was happening at Casa Melvin. It was not unusual for the owners of large and ostentatious houses in exotic locations to rent their property out to adult movie producers. A quick appraisal of the van's passengers only added fuel to my fire. I would just have to bluff it and mingle with the bounteously boobed. I gave the Colonel a swift peck on the cheek and slipped between the gates, shielded from the courtyard by the van.

"Lotta Dumplinz! Haven't seen you since Hamburg!"

"Sadie, you vixen. You keep a low profile for someone in this business. How heff you been, darlinck?"

I lurked behind a fake Corinthian column, watching, with growing amazement, an incredible scene unfolding before my eyes. It was like a Who's Who of the cream of the adult movie business. Lotta Dumplinz was a legend, a tall, sharp-featured impresario from Berlin, whose arty black and white BDSM films had won many awards. She was wearing her trademark Louise Brooks style wig, a thick, heavy coal black bob. Her lips and talons were a glossy blood red and she was obviously tightly laced into a stringent corset, despite the heat. I wondered just what kind of movie was in the pipeline. Lotta was no lightweight. The subsequent appearance of a grinning Dirk Dastardly confirmed my suspicions. Sadie was moving into the darker side of adult films. Dirk was a master with the flogger, whip and cane.

"Come along – get yourself naked, girl. We haven't got all day."

I was startled by the harsh voice immediately behind me. A tiny, rather disgruntled looking man sporting a camp sun visor and carrying a clipboard, prodded me in the ribs. Without pausing to draw breath, he continued:

"You must be Iota, the whipping girl. Lose your clothes and stand by the column with the rope."

"Yes, sir."

I wondered where the real Iota was and how severe a whipping she was scheduled to take. Well, I'd come that far… I slipped out of my skimpy top and wraparound skirt, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on my naked body. Maybe this was my last chance to make a comeback, and what a comeback, with a cameo part in a Lotta D. production. The dwarfish little man stomped off to harass a bevy of buxom beauties, who were switching their beachwear for mini-togas. Casa Melvin was to be the backdrop for a cruel Roman orgy. But no thigh-length toga for the whipping girl. Respectfully, I approached the column with the rope. Fortunately, it was shaded from the intense heat of the mid day sun. A lengthy flogging session followed by a bad case of sunburn would be just a bit much.

"Iota! There you are, darlink. Give Auntie Lottie a nice big kiss!"

Damn. It was too much to expect my ruse to work so easily. I surreptitiously stepped behind the column as a small, dark, rather wiry girl rushed up to embrace Lotta Dumplinz. I would just have to switch to Plan B. Behind me, a maid was preparing a buffet lunch in a large, well-appointed kitchen. Scanning the room for a makeshift toga, I spotted an apron hanging on a hook by what appeared to be a door onto a terrace. The maid opened an enormous stainless steel refrigerator, almost disappearing into its cavernous depths. I seized the moment and scuttled across the kitchen. The apron was mainly white but for a heart motif on the pocket which bore the legend "Kiss the Cook". I snatched it from the hook and was just about to repeat my silent sprint across the room when the maid emerged from the 'fridge with an armful of salad stuff. Quick as a flash, I slipped through the door and out onto the terrace.

"Hel-lo!"

A woman in a tiny white bikini was artfully arranged on a sun-bed just outside the kitchen door. Every detail of her presentation appeared to have been contrived by a stylist, as if she was posing for a photo spread in a glossy home and garden magazine. Her microscopic bathing costume matched the navy and white cushions of the chair she reclined upon, her long acrylic French manicured fingernails looked dazzling against her dark oiled thighs. Her hair was bleached and curled, Marilyn Monroe style, and her pert breasts, which threatened to escape from the confines of the translucent bikini top, were augmented.

What to do? What to do? I surmised it was the lady of the house and she seemed quite pleased to see me, so I approached the perfectly color coordinated vision with a friendly demeanor. On closer inspection, the woman looked to be forty-ish but well preserved by regular maintenance and the occasional comprehensive refit job. Marilyn stretched out a be-taloned hand and smiled broadly. I noticed that she hadn't added cosmetic dentistry to her overhaul and had a gap on one side.

"Baba."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name is Baba. I'm Melvin's wife."

I took the proffered hand and squeezed it politely. It felt divinely cool and as smooth as silk. I gazed down at Baba's smiling face, then my eyes wandered off into the firm, uplifting land of pumped-up cleavage. I fingered the stolen apron sheepishly.

"I forgot my toga."

The languid sunbather appeared to come to life.

"Ah! But I can help you with that. Come with me. What did you say your name was?"

I swiftly racked my brain for a suitable nom de guerre.

"It's Bo. Bo Delicious. You have a toga?"

Baba laughed and led me by the hand along the beautiful terrace. I paused to admire the stunning vista of the distant bright blue ocean, then let my new friend guide me through a vast pair of sliding doors and into an opulent master bedroom. She disappeared into an ensuite walk-in closet and I sat on the edge of the enormous bed to await my toga. The bed sloshed and moved beneath my thighs. A waterbed.

"What about this?"

A slender brown arm appeared round the closet door, waving a filmy white baby doll nightdress. More Valley Of The Dolls than Roman Empire. I bit my lip, not wishing to offend my generous hostess.

"Um…"

"Or what about this?"

The other arm dangled a skimpy Spandex mini-dress. Very sexy but not in a way that Caligula would recognize.

"I know! I will model for you, then you can decide."

Before I could protest, Baba had vanished into the capacious closet. I began to grow a little suspicious of her motives. The spoiled wife of a wealthy man with endless time on her immaculately manicured hands… I was her afternoon plaything. What was worse, I could use a shower…

"What do you think, Bo?"

"Mmm…"

Baba reemerged in the diaphanous nylon baby doll, which she had paired with the tiniest G-string I'd ever seen. The clingy see-through fabric revealed a fully shaven pussy and my mouth began to water for a suck on Mrs. Melvin's juicy peach. Her breasts were full, golden brown and almost perfectly round, with perky upturned nipples. She advanced towards me until she stood by the bed, the sweet musky scent of her moist pink cleft drifting in the warm atmosphere of the boudoir. Her voice was husky, full of pent-up lust.

"Play with me, Bo. Melvin won't let me watch the movie making. I have to sit outside. It's not fair."

Her pretty pink lips pouted petulantly. I placed the palms of my hands on her long toned thighs and my mouth over her Mound of Venus. The fabric of the G-string was so fine that it almost seemed to melt on my tongue as I explored the satiny contours of her plump, smooth quim. Baba panted and uttered a stream of little moans and shrieks. Her hands felt much warmer as they grasped my head. My mouth left her pussy and licked and kissed its way north to caress her beautiful boobs. Hungrily, she pushed me down onto the bed, swiftly maneuvering me into a sixty-nine position. I reached up to tug down her panties as a hot, wet cunt descended upon my face. She was delicious. Not a trace of prickly stubble marred the velvety cushions of her labia. I ran the flat of my tongue up and down, round and around, savoring the divine sensations of her silky perfumed haven. She had a long swollen clit and I nibbled at it, teasing the miniature member to come out to play. Then I felt sharp nails trace the insides of my thighs and a moist mouth sought out my own rampant den of iniquity. Baba proved to have the most incredible talent for oral stimulation, swiftly sucking and licking my dripping pussy to an intense climax. I came loudly, screaming obscenities into her wanton snatch, then redoubled my efforts to ensure that my gracious hostess wasn't far behind. The slut ground her trim little hips against my face, coating my warm cheeks with the sweet nectar of her love juice. I felt her clit swell between my lips, then she convulsed, electrified by her own massive orgasm.

"Oh yes! Yes! Oh, thank God!"

The waterbed beneath us rippled softly as our sated passion slowly ebbed. Baba moaned quietly, her baby doll nightdress prettily askew.

"Oh, thank you, Bo! You don't know what this means to me. I haven't been able to gain any relief since Melvin had his heart trouble last year and this island is so quiet, I just don't know what to do with myself. Bless you, darling."

Poor old Baba. All dressed up and nowhere to go. I wondered if I could steal a large strap-on dildo from the production crew and give Mrs. Melvin the damn good seeing-to she so richly deserved. I reluctantly eased myself up from the bed and collected the Spandex mini-dress and the apron, both of which lay recklessly discarded on a thick sheepskin rug. My partner looked as if she might drop off for an afternoon nap. Probably more excitement than she had seen for a long, long time, poor dear. I tiptoed out of the bedroom and along the lovely terrace, which was bright with splashes of sunshine and deep pink bougainvillea plants in terracotta pots. As I passed what seemed to be a formal dining room, I glanced in to see the two hombres seated at a long table, on which sat a laptop computer and various open files and sheets of paper. A third man had joined them, older, taller and heavier, his corpulent stomach bulging over the waistband of his linen pants. He paced up and down, looking angry and impatient. Beyond the trio, I could glimpse the sunny courtyard and the turquoise water of the pool, in which a selection of topless girls in soaking wet mini-togas were kissing and fondling one another's glistening breasts as the camera rolled.

"I want my full cut, Melvin. Or else."

My gaze returned to the outsize pacer in the tight white pants. He stopped wearing a track in the marble flooring and addressed the man in black. So, Melvin was the quieter hombre. His accomplice still chattered frantically into the mouthpiece of his high-tech phone as if his life depended on it. Hmm, maybe it did… Melvin stared impassively at Mr. Grumpy, then replied in perfect English.

"Or else what, Crapper? You'll play one of your unpleasant little back stabbing tricks? Face it, Crapper, your name is dirt in these islands."

Beyond the scowling Crapper, a parasol wielding Lotta Dumplinz directed a whip brandishing Dirk Dastardly. My eyes slid from one exciting scene to the other. The real Iota was naked, bound and wriggling against the tall stone column, her pert little buttocks veritably dancing at the prospect of the lash. I watched Dirk deliver his trademark sneer for the camera then there was a loud crack and a piercing squeal.

"The deal stinks, Crapper. Musical toilets indeed! 'Lift the lid and listen to a melody of your choice!' My ass! Five hundred dollars for a john that plays hits from the Seventies. A jukebox john! I must have been drunk when I let you talk me into that scam. Or worse. What was I smoking? Anyway, the deal is off. You can take your tinkling toilets and stick 'em."

My eyes slid from the snaking whip and rhythmically jolting buns back to Mr. Grumpy aka Crapper. He had bared his (rather unpleasant) teeth at Melvin and now strongly resembled a hippo with gas. A menacing undertone entered his voice as he meaningfully patted the breast pocket of his shirt.

"You're going to regret this, Melvin. I have photographic evidence of the little XXX sideshow currently playing in your back yard. I'm sure the local newspaper would be most interested in the colorful domestic life of the island's favorite son. Not to mention your priest and your dear old mother."

At that, Melvin lunged across the table to grasp Crapper by the shirt collar but the large man only smiled malevolently.

"Too late, Mel-boy. I've already downloaded and e-mailed a set to a secret address. My personal favorite is the one of you helping Busti Noutalova to apply her sunscreen. Very nice."

Busti Noutalova! The Russian porn star was reputed to sleep with her seriously enhanced, gravity defying assets in a patented sling. I squinted into the dazzling sunlight of the courtyard. Yes, there she was. I had mistaken her pneumatic chest for a set of pink water wings. Meanwhile, Dirk was doggedly thrashing a shrieking Iota up to a shrill soprano climax, his powerful suntanned arms effortlessly wielding a fearsome bullwhip. Her dark hair cascaded in a wild tangle over her shoulders, her slim hips ground against the stone column as if it was an enormous phallus. My fingers strayed to my pussy.

"Blackmail, Crapper, is a serious offense."

Melvin appeared to be standing his ground. Good for him. I wrenched my gaze from Dirk and Iota to judge the state of play in the dining room. Would it be Sir Dastardly in the courtyard with the bullwhip or Colonel Crapper in the dining room with the digital camera? The tension was palpable.

Meanwhile, it was Melvin's turn to smile a sinister Godfather-ish smirk.

"And you are forgetting one simple little fact, Crapola. You are my guest here at Casa Melvin. As the popular song goes – 'you can sign in any time you want but you can never leave'. Or at least, not without my assistance. This house is very secure. Maria – will you come here, please?"

The Hispanic maid left her lunch preparing duties in the kitchen and approached the long polished table expectantly. Melvin nodded at Crapper and murmured something in Spanish. The maid grinned and cracked her knuckles.

"So sorry, Senor."

I watched in amazement as Maria circled Crapper, who looked to be about a foot taller and a good one hundred pounds heavier than his dainty assailant. Crapper threw his head back and laughed heartily.

"You've got to be joking! What's this? 'Attack of the Killer Munchkin'?!"

Just at that moment, all hell broke out in the courtyard.

"Aaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Iota had reached the point of no return.

"Aaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!"

The diminutive Spanish maid launched herself into the air, Jackie Chan style.

"Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!"

Crapper hit the marble floor of the dining room.

Melvin smiled indulgently.

"She's from Caracas."

"It's a wrap, guys and gals!"

Damn! I had missed my chance to appear in "Empire of Sin". Idly, I wondered what Melvin planned to do with Crapper when he came round. Softly, I tiptoed back along the terrace. There was another door near the kitchen entrance and I pushed it open a crack, to see if there was an alternative route to the courtyard and my discarded clothes. Alas, it seemed to be nothing more than a storeroom. I was just about to shut the door when my eyes adjusted to the gloom and I made out the lettering on the side of a large crate.

El Muerto

50 count

Made in China

Hmm, muerto. The very reason I was snooping naked about a palatial residence on a tropical isle. My curiosity well and truly piqued, I lifted the sackcloth that covered the top of the container and examined the contents…

*

"Don't I know you?"

Sadie Brown paused in the middle of applying soothing balm to her well-reddened buttocks. I smiled modestly as I swiftly exchanged the apron for my skirt and top. The girl obviously recognized a porno legend when she saw one. How nice. I preened slightly.

"Why, yes dear. Does Betsi Bouncee ring a bell?"

I wriggled, hoping she would not notice the suspicious swelling in my crotch. Sadie shook her head. Hmm, Betsi wasn't around all that long, just a season or two. I persisted.

"Titty Boomboom?"

The young woman frowned, perplexed.

"I've heard of Titty Little and Titty Galore but not Titty Boomboom. What is that, by the way? It's looking at me."

Damn. It looked as if my secret weapon had broken cover. I had a small power pack in my pocket and I flipped the switch.

"It's my Muerto, Sadie. Guaranteed to set you on fire. Come for a ride?"

"Not bloody likely! It's enormous!"

"Yes it is, isn't it?"

I looked down at the huge vibrating dildo between my thighs. I can't say I've ever been afflicted with penis envy but whoever came up with that gadget certainly possessed the cure.

"It's telescopic. Look."

Turning a tiny dial on the waistband control panel produced a fascinating in and out motion. One didn't even have to thrust. El Muerto thrust for you. And boy did it ever thrust. Fascinated, I turned the dial to Max and watched the rocket roll. Sadie finished massaging her buns and pulled up her panties with a satisfying snap.

"I don't do vanilla. And you're not fucking me with a Scud missile. That's final!"

"Vanilla! Vanilla. You're just chicken!"

"Vot iz dat man doingk?"

Busti Noutalova interrupted our cozy tete a tete. She towered over us, her balloon-like boobs almost blocking out the sun, like a double eclipse. I peered around them to see a rather dazed looking Crapper stagger across the courtyard, clutching protectively at his dangling gonads. It looked as if someone had confiscated his clothes. He glared balefully at me across the glittering blue expanse of swimming pool, then pointed at the whirring gadgetry that protruded from the folds of my sarong.

"Where did you find that? They're not on the market yet!"

The guy obviously had a very short fuse. His temper wasn't much better, ho ho. I stood my ground, hands on hips, legs spread for maximum effect. El Muerto wasn't just a supercharged dildo, it was also a very effective vibrator. I tried to act nonchalant but my voice rose an octave or two.

"Just lying around. Ooh, I say! It's rather good, you know!"

Crapper scowled.

"Bloody Melvin. Switch it off and give it to me. That's a potentially dangerous prototype you have there. It could explode at any moment."

Busti Noutalova shrieked and clasped her super-sized bosoms.

"Nyet! Remember Chernobyl!"

I fixed Crapper with an icy stare; El Muerto relentlessly pointed at his flaccid dick.

"You're bluffing, Crumpet. There's a whole crate of these gizmos out back. This is no prototype. Finders, keepers."

The large man looked as if he might implode with fury.

"I'm warning you…"

"Hang on, girlie! I've got you covered!"

A familiar voice called out, somewhere above and behind me. I glanced over one shoulder to spot the Colonel crouching commando style amidst the branches of a nearby tree. He appeared to be aiming some kind of weapon at Crapper. How on earth he got up there was anyone's guess but I hoped he could get down again without doing himself a mischief.

The remaining members of the cast and crew drifted back into the courtyard, holding brimming plates of pasta and salad. Dirk Dastardly smirked at the naked and paunchy figure by the pool.

"Hey mister – if you're hoping for a bit part, I'd say don't give up your day job!"

A muffled titter ran through the gathering group. Crapper turned a deep and unbecoming shade of crimson and sucked his stomach in as hard as he could. I suddenly became aware of a rather warm sensation between my thighs.

"Fire! Fire!!"

Busti Noutalova screamed at the top of her considerable set of lungs. Everyone jumped then stared at my purloined apparatus. Flames were licking at the business end of El Muerto and an acrid burning plastic smell began to fill the air. For one moment the courtyard was deathly quiet then all hell broke loose. Someone (I suspect Sadie Brown) pushed me into the water and there was a great hissing and spitting as El Muerto proved true to its name and expired. There was a rousing cry of "Take that, you bounder!" and a pellet from the Colonel's popgun hit Crapper squarely on the nose. He staggered forwards, promptly fell in the pool and the resulting tidal wave drenched the movie crew.

"Hey, let's do a wet 'n wild short! Get that camera rolling!"

In no time at all, Melvin's swimming pool was a mass of wriggling, splashing bodies. Skimpy fabric molded to big wet breasts and I found myself sandwiched between Busti Noutalova and a gorgeous East Indian girl with luscious real tits. Smiling, they divested me of the blackened remains of El Muerto, peeled back my soaking top and took a nipple each. I placed a hand on each of their busily suckling heads and gave myself up to sheer pleasure. In a shady corner of the courtyard, I spotted Melvin, a naked and squealing Baba bouncing up and down on his knee. I hoped he hadn't forgotten to take his heart medication. Suddenly, I realized that the camera was upon me. I smiled wantonly into the lens and the cameraman exclaimed.

"I know you – you're Titty Boomboom!"

"Yes! Ohhh, yesss!!"

Teasing fingers eased inside my sodden panties and found my swollen clit. Busti's incredible assets pressed against my own ample chest, threatening to suffocate me. But what a way to go.

"You were in "Nympho Vixen Sluts Do Miami"."

"Mmmm, ohh, yeahh!"

Someone had propped Crapper up on the shallow steps of the pool, where he slumped, Nero-esque with a garland of flowers upon his head. Baba had abandoned her husband and jumped into the frenzied melee with a gleeful war cry. I took the Indian girl's nipple into my mouth and sampled her juicy pulchritude. Titty Boomboom had made a comeback. The villains weren't villains at all. The real bad guy had got his just desserts and as for El Muerto… Well, a little modification here and there and I might just ask Melvin for a few shares in his company. I waved at the Colonel who replied with a smart salute. We'd think of a way to get the old man down. And Harry… Fond as I was of the insufferable clot, my days at the laundromat were well and truly done. Miss Lawrence was joining the circus. Pornywood was in my blood. I'd miss the buffoon but it was time to suck on the fuzz-free side of the lollipop. A bleached blonde head popped up from beneath the glittering waves. I planted a playful kiss on a pair of bright pink lips. Baba laughed.

"Life's too short not to have fun!"

I looked about me at the seething throng of smiling, naked forms.

"You're right, Baba. I might even get myself a boob job…"

Content

J. J. MacGuire
Master and "baby"

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

LUST UNLIMITED Or, The Swingers

LUST AT SEA

CHAPTER ONE: "METHINKS HE DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH."

CHAPTER TWO: "A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE…"

CHAPTER THREE: DEATH IS A CABARET

CHAPTER FOUR: "WHAT GOES UP…"

CHAPTER FIVE: "WHAT MORE COULD HAPPEN?"

SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP.

CHAPTER SIX: THE JEWEL OF DENIAL

CHAPTER SEVEN: A CULTURAL INTERLUDE

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE PLOT THICKENS

CHAPTER NINE: TWO PLUS TWO MAKES FIVE

CHAPTER TEN: A BIT OF A DRAG

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OUT OF THE CLOSET

CHAPTER TWELVE: WHO DO YOU VOODOO?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE JOYS OF PARENTHOOD

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RUMBLE IN WADADLI

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GOING OUT WITH A BANG

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: COMING TOGETHER