MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission

by J. J. MacGuire

  "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 dou
ble, 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.