MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission Read online

  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!

  We bet 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 sett
led 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!"