MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission

by J. J. MacGuire

  "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&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 & 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 & 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, y
es! 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?"