MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission Page 14

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…"

  "@*%& 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.