MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission

by J. J. MacGuire

  I wondered who dunnit. I knew I didn't, but everyone else I could think of had at least one hand free at the time. My detectiving skills had become a little rusty since the Kuala Lumpur affair, but I was sure I could dust them off. I always like to be helpful. I thought searching Miss Swat would be a good start.

  "Take me to my cell, husband. Bind me to the bed and punish me for my wickedness. Beat me! Beat me!"

  Miss Lawrence wiped her brow with the back of one hand and feigned a swoon. I rapidly withdrew my hand from her panties to take the weight while maintaining a grip on Miss Swat. I hadn't forgotten my duty as a detective.

  "Ah'll go and freshen up after all this excitement. Ah do declayuh mah underwear has dissolved!"

  Miss Swat retrieved her hand and headed for the ladies room with a farewell twiddle of her fingers. I felt another set of fingers dig into my gluteus maximus.

  "Take me to prison. I'm horny as a mountain goatess. Tie me up and never mind the bruises!"

  Despite our occasional spats Miss Lawrence are of like mind on one thing, and this was it. I would keep the bruises within the bathing suit line seeing as we were on holiday, but they would be good bruises. Not for nothing am I known as Thrasher Neptune in some of the more interesting houses. And unlike Boner, I come back for dessert.

  The Captain had disappeared and no one else but the wailing Mrs. Goldfinkel was still around to say "Thanks for the lovely evening" to. She was well into crying on the shoulders of a couple of olive-skinned stewards so I steered us in the direction of out, snagging a couple of bottles of champagne from an abandoned table on the way.

  I gripped Jay's upper arm as I opened the cabin door and threw her through the doorway. She landed in a heap on the floor, her dress around her waist.

  "Show me up with your dirty dancing, would you? Cuckold me with a Marbella beach bum? I can see I'll have to teach you a lesson, Mrs. Neptune." I quickly put the champagne down.

  Jay leapt off the floor and swung a fist at my head. I caught her hand and twisted it behind her back. She glared up at me and kicked my shin. The sharp toe of her pump dug in and I felt a drop of blood trickle down my leg. I slapped her cheek open-handed and twisted her arm further.

  "A lesson, Mrs. Neptune. A lesson to remember."

  Still holding her arm I swung her onto the table and pressed her face and breasts to the mahogany. I hauled her dress up as far as it would go and took hold of the waistband of her panties. With a sharp tug the sound of ripping satin revealed her bottom. Jay gave a small shriek and twisted in my grip, to no avail.

  Whack!

  My hand, still tingling from slapping her cheek, landed on her up-ended rear.

  Whack! Whack!

  Her bottom was already turning pink. I redoubled my efforts, raining blows on the unprotected rear of my brand-new bride. She struggled ever harder and I whacked ever harder.

  I got into my rhythm and saw the pink turn to red, then deep red. I felt sweat run down my neck.

  There was still plenty of spanking left in me when Jay convulsed and let out a long and loud cry.

  "Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

  She slumped on the table making more little cries as the aftershocks flowed through her. When Miss Lawrence has an orgasm she goes for a few encores as well.

  I gave her a few more wallops for good measure then let go of her arm. She staggered to her feet holding on to the table then me for support.

  "Harry, that was ... ooh, Harry..."

  I gathered the job had been well done. And the evening was yet young.

  Jay flung her arms around my neck and kissed me fiercely.

  "I'm going to dress," she said with a last nip at my lower lip. She pulled a leather valise from under the bed and disappeared into the bathroom closing the door after her.

  I stretched my fingers to ease my aching hand and put it back into shape to uncork one of the champagne bottles. Neither task took long. In a jiffy I was pouring myself a revivifying flute of Brut.

  As I sipped a movement caught my eye. I saw the tail end of a mass of blonde hair pass the porthole. Miss Swat taking the air after doing whatever 'freshening up' is.

  Aha! My bride's present on the hoof and requiring only to be lassoed and brought back to the ranch.

  I drained the glass and slipped out of the cabin. This would only take a moment.

  * * * *

  I examined my thoroughly chastised bottom in the bathroom mirror and wondered if the Flyswat would be up to anything kinky. I remembered her as decidedly pussy-oriented, forever with some eager guy's mouth glued to her fully shaven snatch. That's right, she was the one who complained her nether lips were permanently swollen from an excess of cunnilingus! Always looked for a cushion when she sat herself down. Somebody even made a documentary about her called "Licked But Not Beaten." It was all coming back to me. She was rumored to have made a minor fortune in a tongue-fest flick called "Lickety Split", in which she basically just lay back, spread her legs and allowed a succession of cunning linguists to lap her crack to a screaming conclusion. Apparently, she was so multi-orgasmic that she'd earned a place in the Goodness! Book of XXX Records. Personally, I reckoned she faked 50%. She was certainly noisy to work with. Slowly, sensuously, I began to unfasten the remaining buttons of my dress, easing my boobs out of their silky lair, teasing my reflection as if it were the audience in a private club. I desperately longed to dance again, to slowly strip naked before a crowd of cheering men whose lustful eyes felt hot upon my shimmering, well-oiled skin. There was little that I wouldn't do in my performing days. Titty Boomboom was wild. I even posed naked with a python for my professional portrait, an image that graced the frontage of many a gentlemen's club across the land.

  Wild Titty!

  She'll Drive You Insane!!

  Lost in my memories, I opened the smart new leather case and appraised the contents. Mmm. A pervert's treasure chest. A black fishnet body stocking. Two cans of spray-on latex, in rampant red and porno blue. Handcuffs and matching ankle cuffs, both the genuine article, no Christmas cracker imitations. The biggest, thickest dildo I had ever seen (Acme "Challenger" model), a half-pint bottle of super-lube, edible panties, a ball gag, a set of graded nipple clamps in 'ooh!,' 'ouch!' and '* * * **!' and an innocuous looking silvery trinket called a clitorizer. Oh, and the ubiquitous length of rope. This collection was a little gift from me to me on the occasion of my marriage. For years I'd coveted the Deluxe Vixen Valise by Hornee of Hollywood. I'd ordered it delivered to the ship from Porn-Mart, an adult supplies warehouse that was conveniently located near the docks of Fort Lauderdale. Harry would get a little surprise on his credit card but hell, a girl didn't get hitched every day of the week! And I just knew he'd love the body stocking.

  "Hmm, what's this?"

  I was just slipping out of my dress and was poised to ease my flesh into the fishnet creation, when I spotted the little book in the bottom of the case. It wasn't included in the list of contents so it seemed to be a free gift. How nice. There was an arty photograph of a well-trussed Japanese girl on the front cover. "Self Bondage" by Ty Tilasing. Now, there was something I'd never tried before. Never really saw the appeal, to be truthful.

  I peered round the bathroom door but the cabin was empty. My other half must have nipped out to fetch some supplies. A wicked thought entered my mind. I'd gift-wrap myself for my husband's pleasure. Eager to prepare myself for Harry's return, I wriggled my warm and willing body into the fishnet body stocking, then replaced my high-heeled shoes. The busty creature in the bathroom mirror squeezed her bodacious DD-cups through the silky spider's web and wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue. I remembered a particularly popular stage routine in which I wore a very similar suit. I'd invite a guy up onto the stage and offer him the end of the thread. He had three minutes to unravel what he could and what flesh he uncovered he could lick when the time was up. Most guys got hopelessly tangled, to widespread amusement, but usually managed to reveal a boob or two. One smooth mover actual
ly got me naked. It was the only time I had my pussy licked to orgasm on stage and it was really rather incredible. I always wondered whether he made fishing nets for a living.

  Flipping through the little bondage book, I opted for a wildly draconian yet relatively simple to achieve option called 'Up & Under.' In the accompanying photograph, the long-suffering Japanese girl stood stoically on a wooden chair, her wrists attached to an overhead rail. There were small metal clamps on her nipples and her clit and a bright blue ball gag in her mouth. Her legs were spread, the ankles rather fetchingly roped to the back of the chair. A huge pink dildo, just like the one in my Vixen Valise, had been inserted deep into her sweet little pussy and her eyes were glazed. Smiling to myself, I fetched a footstool from the cabin and placed it beneath the shower curtain rail. Then I set to work with the book propped open for reference and the box of sensual delights...

  * * * *

  I shot down the corridor and out onto the deck with a beckoning cry on my lips. It was stillborn as no one but a bunch of staggering Cleveland pensioners met my roving eye. They seemed to be trying to imitate Jay's dance. I averted my gaze rapidly.

  A quick reconnaissance would do no harm. I knew that Jay getting into war regalia could be a time-consuming procedure. She was nothing if not a perfectionist. All the same, I would have to keep my skates on to be back in time for some serious kinkiness.

  The nearest door led to the Sharp End Bar. As good a place as any for a lady to seek shelter from the night. I pushed open the heavy weather-proof door and cast my eyes around. Some late revelers I had not yet had the pleasure of meeting slurped their late night bourbon. I marked them down for introductions and jollies later in the cruise.

  I was about to resume my search elsewhere when I caught sight of a solitary figure propping up the bar. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a lugubrious expression on his face. A brief diversion with my detective hat on was called for – seize the moment, and all that.

  "Good evening again, Doctor. What will you have?"

  "Glen Tipplet, and I thank ye, sir. Mr. Neptune, isn't it? My eyes are nae what they used to be."

  His eyes were nae what they used to be a couple of hours ago, but everyone to his own. This looked like a nightly performance. I ordered the same.

  "So what's the story on the deceased Spaniard? Who pulled the trigger?"

  "That's a mystery, laddie. A complete mystery. Ah'm baffled."

  Befuddled more like. He leaned toward me confidentially.

  "Och, and there's another mystery. When the clumsy sailors dumped his deid body on the sick bay table a sliver of wood fell to the floor. The silly Jack Tar who picked it up pricked his fool finger and fell in convulsions on the floor. He's a lucky wee boy it was no more than a prick. He'll live wi' a tale to tell."

  "Are you telling me someone fired a poison dart at Lothario? As well as the bullet? How did they do that in those few seconds of darkness?"

  Doctor Dunnett waved a hand vaguely and more whisky appeared. He did the confidential lean again.

  "It's my theory there were two assassins!"

  I was fascinated.

  "I'm fascinated, Doctor. On what do you base your theory?"

  "On the fact that the bullet entered the front of him and the wee dart was stuck in the back of his neck!"

  The Doctor leaned triumphantly on the bar.

  The plot thickened. So Raoul had two enemies aboard, or at least two people with a practical bent who wished him deid – sorry, dead.

  I tried to place everyone in the dining room at the moment the lights went out, but that would have to wait for tomorrow and a corroborator. My attention had been on Miss Swat's imminent orgasm and my wife's wild dance.

  Talking of Miss Swat – that was enough sleuthing for one evening. I had my wife's wedding present to round up. I bade Doctor Dunnett good night, though I doubted if he was still capable of registering my presence. I returned to the deck and immediate reward.

  Miss Swat was in the bow of the ship, hair blowing back and dress pressed against her body by the wind of our passage. This was a moment for long gazing at the horizon, for secretly held hands, for adoring looks, for romance and everlasting love.

  I grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

  "My cabin, now, fucky-fucky time!"

  "Oh my, Mr. Neptune! This is such a suhprise! What is a po' Southern girl to do?"

  "Drop 'em and lick everything in sight."

  That idea didn't seem to horrify her. She followed me eagerly to the cabin.

  Miss Lawrence had had plenty of time to change and titivate, but there was no sign of her. Well, I had been rather a long time with the Doctor, but it was in a good cause. I was sure she would understand. Anyway, it looked like she had taken the hump and gone for a constitutional or some other entertainment. As a dutiful husband it was my beholden duty to search her out and make the peace. I turned to instruct Miss Swat to make herself comfortable while I searched, when my hair was grasped in two taloned hands and I was pulled off balance and down.

  From tell-tales such as a yielding surface and the smell of hot sex I gathered Miss Swat had pulled me down on top of her on the bed and was doing her best to insert me head first into her pussy. In such a situation there is only one thing a gentleman can do. I pushed my tongue as far into her vagina as it would go and got licking.

  Miss Swat was already making a fair amount of noise when I moved north and addressed her clitoris. In no time at all her legs were wrapped around my shoulders and she was bucking and yelling in the throes of a mighty climax. Her heels drummed against my back. It was a good job my hair is thick and strong or she would have pulled out handfuls of it.

  Eventually she let go and lay back on the bed with arms outstretched and black dress around her midriff.

  "Oh, Mistah Neptune! Ah do declayuh mah private parts are positively on fire!"

  Miss Swat inserted two fingers in her dripping cunt then raised them to her mouth. She sucked her fingers and lowered at me.

  Searching for the delinquent Mrs. Neptune could wait a few minutes more. I lifted the dress to neck level for a view of those wondrous orbs. There was a suspicious scar under each, but it's a free world and anyway Neptune had a gusher in urgent need of relief. I hauled Miss Swat off the bed and onto her knees.

  In a moment I was unzipped and in Miss Swat's full-lipped mouth. Her lips clamped around my shaft and her tongue thrashed as I pumped in and out. After all the stimulation I had suffered that night it was not long before I felt the tide rise and flood her hot mouth. I threw my head back and gave a howl of overdue satisfaction.

  When I got my breath back I withdrew from heaven and stood back. Miss Swat slumped against the bed, her dress around her neck and semen dripping down her chin. I looked down with a sense of another job well done. I do like to please.

  The champagne, whisky and excitement combined to produce an understandable desire to relieve another pressure.

  I pushed through the bathroom door, squinting against the fluorescent light Miss Lawrence had thoughtlessly left on. I pointed Percy in the direction of the porcelain and let fly with a relieved grunt.

  I frowned involuntarily. My grunt had been met with another. A high-pitched, angry sounding grunt. I unsquinted a little and peered around, then opened my peepers to their fullest extent and positively gawped.

  Miss Lawrence had got herself into full regalia all right, not to mention somehow handcuffing herself to the shower rail. She teetered on a stool. Her eyes glared – nay, glared malevolently – at me over one of those bondage gags that looks like a refuge from a billiards table.

  Through a rent in a fishnet catsuit protruded a large pink dildo. As I stared, dumbfounded, it slowly slipped out and fell to the floor. My eyes followed its descent and saw under the stool a small key that I had no doubt belonged to the handcuffs.

  A snarl worked its way round the gag. I glanced down and saw that my golden stream had soaked her fish-netted legs and was working its w
ay down to her stilettos.

  * * * *

  That sultry southern night witnessed my first and last attempt at self- bondage. I didn't care what it said on the back of the book. One was not fun, especially when a pumped-up fluffed-out peroxoid was getting the goods from my other half. The bathroom door was only slightly ajar, so most of the action was of the overheard variety but there was certainly aural sex aplenty. It might even have been a major turn-on if I hadn't left the key to the handcuffs under the stool. I had been trussed up for what seemed like an eternity before the cabin door finally burst open and two frenzied forms threw themselves onto the bed and a great slurping and grunting began. It sounded like feeding time at Ol' Pa's pig farm. Oh, I had struggled to catch their attention all right, rattling the handcuffs against the shower rail and calling out, but the noise they were making easily canceled out the faint tinkling and stifled gurgling from the en-suite bath. Once Harry has his snout in the trough, a herd of wildebeest could stampede through the bedroom and he wouldn't miss a lick. Lush was true to her old form and it wasn't long before the screaming began.

  "Land sakes! Oh my! Aaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

  Then there was a bit of scuffling, more slurping and a fresh howl, that time from my husband.

  The swine! The cad! I tried to yell "you bastard, Harry Neptune!" but all that issued was a plaintive raspberry. The ball gag was worse than a trip to the dentist. As for the nipple clamps and the clitorizer, I was throbbing painfully at all three points. Just as I began to get really, really angry, El Porco himself stumbled into the bathroom, squinting and fumbling in the bright neon light. Then he promptly proceeded to pull out his dick and spray my legs in a bad aim for the toilet bowl. The dildo dropped and I lost what little cool I had managed to retain. Yelling "get your prostate checked you greedy old fart!!!" issued as an unintelligible animalistic snarl. Harry gawped. It takes quite a lot to astound the big chap so I added a point to my day's running score.

  "Good grief, Lawrence! What on earth are you doing? Let's get that billiard ball out of your mouth for starters. What happened, darling? Surely, Captain Ahab wouldn't have ordered you trussed and confined?"