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&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 tig
htly 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."
MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission Page 33