"Tell me how you got out of Parrot's clutches first. And bend over."
"I suppose bird claws do clutch. Like eggs."
"Stop talking nonsense. Bend over."
Jay closed her eyes and bent, her hands on the sofa. I lifted the remains of her dress over her hips and quietly unbuckled my belt again. I unzipped and poised at Jay's moist entrance.
Simultaneously I looped the belt around her neck, held her firmly by her hair, and slowly entered her. The belt tightened around her throat for long moments. I held my own breath then let her breathe again. I was still and waiting inside her.
"Parrot. Tell me."
There was a catch in Jay's voice.
"He told me off for going AWOL. And the Captain told me off for going AWOL. He wagged his finger at me."
A little convulsion went through Jay's body.
"Parrot wanted to know where I had hidden the gun. I said, what gun? He said, the gun you shot Raoul with."
I tightened the belt and thrust slowly in and out for thirty heartbeats.
Jay gasped as I released the pressure. Her voice was low.
"I said I didn't have a gun and had never even held one. And I had nowhere to hide one last night. I didn't have any secrets. The Captain said, yes, that's true, there was no hiding place in your state of dishabille."
Squeeze again, holding her head steady by the hair. I hardly moved.
Another gasp, followed by fast breathing. I knew Jay's eyes were tight closed.
"Parrot said, we know it wasn't you anyway. No powder burns on Raoul's clothes or skin. The bullet was fired from at least ten feet away."
I thrust further into my wife than I had ever done before. The cabin was very quiet. There seemed to be a source of the quiet somewhere in the room.
I sensed a presence nearby. It was in my wife's shopping basket, sitting beside her spread hands on the sofa. I twisted the belt behind her neck and freed her hair to reach into the basket.
The two fetishes were waiting for me. I put the black female part on the sofa and forced Jay's lips to it. She moaned and tried to twist out of the belt's embrace. I took the male part in my hand. The cabin faded away...
* * * *
"Hell fire, Jaybird, that was a close one!"
"You're not kidding! I thought I was a goner. Good job you kept at least a bit of control."
We lay back on the sofa, Jay pale in my arms.
"I only just managed to let go of the belt before the lights went out. Do you remember anything after that?"
"I remember kissing a warm wet pulsing pussy. And I remember you hosing my cervix like a water main had been turned on. What the hell happened?"
"The Black Widow's fetishes, that's what happened. The damn things are possessed. They want blood – I could feel their fury when I flung the belt through the porthole."
I shuddered. When I woke, still impaled in Miss Lawrence, I had flung the fetishes after the belt. They landed on the deck outside with a crash and must then have rolled over the side into the clear water. Let the fishes have some fun – or otherwise.
"It seems to be black magic day. First wax images now this. I laughed at the wax stuff, but now..."
Jay snuggled tighter and I held her close. We could both do with a bit of TLC right then.
"Don't knock it, my dear. Voodoo, juju, black magic, obeah, whatever you call it. It's powerful stuff. There were a couple of reported cases of obeah in Antigua a year or so ago. One of them scared some poor policemen shitless. And Haiti of course – they put an act on for the tourists, but up in the hills some mighty strange things go on."
Jay shivered again.
"Did Boner really believe he could kill Raoul that way? And why, for crying out loud? I can understand Boner using some sneaky underhand method instead of frontal assault. Dueling isn't his style. But why should he want to do in a Dago singer?"
"I might have said on principle, but I suspect Boner doesn't have any. He had to have a motive somewhere."
"Yes, and a diamond toothpick to a pinch of sand money is involved somewhere. His meanness is legendary from Boise to Cripple Creek."
I looked at my watch. The short tropical twilight was nearly over.
"Time to dress for the party. Whatever Boner's motive, the means didn't get off the ground. Raoul died of acute lead poisoning before the pins did for him. They do tend to be a slightly longer term measure – promote fatal bowel constrictions and that kind of thing."
"I bet he's disappointed. And you watch your back, Harry Neptune. If you keep needling him he might needle you!"
"At the first twinge I'll chuck him overboard. Come to think of it, I might make an effigy myself. Handy thing to have around."
A little insurance never hurt.
"Come on, Lawrence. It's an old colonial theme tonight. Cross-dressing. Where's my girdle?"
CHAPTER TEN: A BIT OF A DRAG
"Good heavens! It's just like Fagzindragz on a Saturday night."
I stifled a giggle. I hadn't seen so many middle-aged men in glittery frocks since I worked as a hat check girl in a San Francisco drag club. Harry looked blase.
"An old Caribbean custom, my dear. For the white settlers, that is, not the natives. The steamy heat of the tropics does funny things to your head. I say – just look at Swat and Dunnett!"
I followed my husband's amused gaze. That time, my laughter could not be contained. As mentioned, the theme for the evening was cross-dressing, and the vast room was filled to bursting point in more ways than one, the ladies Chaplin-esque in outsized dinner jackets, their male partners painfully squeezed into miniscule cocktail dresses. Apparently, the good doctor had eschewed a chance to get into the Lush's skimpy apparel and had opted for a full-length lady's evening kilt and a silk blouse with a prim high neck and frilly jabot bodice. Someone had curled and lacquered his lank red locks into a bouffant do, and he carried a matching tartan drawstring bag, which no doubt concealed his medicinal Glen Tipplet. Miss Swat appeared to be wearing a straitjacket. Helpless, I clutched at Harry's skirt and gasped:
"Dunnett looks just like Moira Anderson!"
(Cultural note: Miss Anderson was a popular Scottish singer during my impoverished 1970s Old Country childhood.)
Harry snorted.
"What's with the Lush in full bondage gear? It's supposed to be an evening of cross-dressing, not Halloween. That's a real straitjacket she's wound into, by the way. Curious."
I decided not to ask my nearest and dearest how he could determine a real loony restraint from a phony one. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Miss Swat resembled an Egyptian mummy, her arms tightly folded across her chest. When she moved, she had to take tiny little bird steps like Morticia Addams, as the strange white garment bound her ankles. Her feet were clothed in fetching hospital issue bed-socks.
"I guess there wasn't much to choose from in the sick bay and Dunnett was too mean to let her pinch his scrubs. Come along, Mrs. Neptune. I spy the Droners in drag. Let's go have some sport."
"Not to mention a nice cold drink."
I plucked a couple of tall glasses from a tray born by a passing steward in a tangerine mini-dress. He smiled, an outlandish apparition in a Cleopatra wig and heavy false eyelashes.
"May I be so bold as to suggest that you sip those slowly, madam. It's a new creation of Ramon, our head bar steward, called a Hermaphrodite. Quite a potent little concoction."
"Sounds divine!"
I clasped the drinks in my hot little hands as I followed Harry through the smoky, noisy crowd. Passing close behind Dunnett and Swat, I overheard a snatch of another intense conversation.
"You sure this get-up will bring 'em back again? I can't hardly breathe."
The Lush's dulcet southern belle tones appeared to have taken a quick trip to Brooklyn.
"It should help. If not, well, we'll have to consider a remodel job. I'm afraid it will mean some reduction in size."
"As if I'd let you at me with a knife again! I wanna refund!"
My
eyes opened wide and I melted further into the milling throng, thoughtfully taking a sip of my Hermaphrodite. It was quite delicious, a subtle melange of tropical fruit flavors with what seemed to be just a hint of cream and chocolate. Mmm.
The Boner-Drippits were rather artlessly attempting to schmooze Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted Publishing. Will's face darkened as Harry approached and Frippery frowned.
"We're talking bithneth, Harry. Can't you come back later?"
A wicked glint entered my partner's eyes.
"Later? Why, I wouldn't want to take up any of your spanking time, Mrs. Boner. No, I think now is as good a time as any."
"Thpanking?"
I looked very closely at Frippery. She wore one of Boner's old suits (I recognized the patches on the elbows) and a profoundly bemused expression. If he really hadn't initiated her in his over-the-knee fetish, who the heck was he spanking the other night? Hmm...
Boner himself was a vision in floaty lilac, Nike running shoes incongruously peeking out from a daintily ruffled hemline. I couldn't contain an impromptu jibe.
"Nice frock, sweetie! I always suspected you were into women's clothes."
To my intense surprise, my ex turned scarlet and flashed me a "one more word and it's curtains for you" look. And he was always such a manly man. But appearances can be deceptive...
* * * *
That straitjacket brought back memories. I just hoped there were no Koreans on the ship...
My floor-length purple dress had been left on board by a statuesque but second-rate tennis player rounding off her career by coaching flabby brokers in sun visors on the finer points of serve and volley. She was looking for a decrepit millionaire to ease her middle years but fell instead for a Belgian sous chef and married him in Martinique. Some stories have a happy ending.
I hooked my evening bag over my elbow and adjusted my auburn wig. A glance in a mirror told me my make-up was perfect and my boobs in place.
"My make-up is perfect and my boobs are in place, darling."
"So they should be. I painted it on you and stuffed them up your dress. How's my mustache?"
Mr(s) Neptune sported a thin penciled line above her upper lip, the two halves meeting in a sweep at her nose. Very artistic, though I say so myself. Her hair was plastered back and bunned. The ship's wardrobe had produced a very decent set of evening clothes with a genuine do-it-yourself white tie. Shining patent leather shoes rounded off the effect. All it needed was a cigarette holder, but Neptunes don't smoke even in jest. Not nicotine, anyway.
"Give me your arm, my dear. I feel in need of a little support."
"You'll have to bend down!"
God only knows where my shoes came from originally. Maybe also left behind by the tennis player. They were a size or so too small and sported sturdy four-inch heels. I felt like that odd basketball player with the strange hair, the lisp, and the multiple ear piercings.
Talking of lisps...
"Thpanking?"
Frippery Drippit seemed genuinely nonplused by my new wife's sally. I could see this turning into an interesting evening.
"I'm thure I don't know what you're talking about!"
Frip stalked off, Boner's well-worn brogues making slapping sounds on the deck as her feet flopped around inside them.
Boner glared at us as Mr. Deal took advantage of the exchange to sidle off in the direction of anywhere but the Boner-Drippits.
"I've had quite enough of your innuendoes! Just because you're obsessed with your own perversions..."
"Oh, but I learned my perversions at the master's knee, didn't I, Will?" said Jay sweetly. "Or at least learned that it took a better master than you to turn a peccadillo into a perversion."
Boner hitched up his floating skirts and looked as though he might take a swing at someone with his brocaded evening bag.
"I wouldn't if I were you, Bonehead! I'll belt you with my handbag!"
My spouse giggled.
"Now, now boys – or girls! Handbags at five paces is not the done thing at respectable parties. You can go out on the promenade deck later and I'll take bets on the winner."
Boner drew himself up to his full height, which was quite a bit less than mine especially in those shoes.
"I must warn you that I was middle weight boxing champion of Upper Podunk. I shall thrash you to within an inch of your life!"
I put on my best wolfish grin and loomed over him.
"And I am a Technicolor belt in the ancient martial art of Durti Trix! Bid farewell to your vulnerable parts..."
Boner had the sense to blanch under his thin make-up and take a step backward.
"Before that though, Willy baby, we have something of mutual benefit to discuss."
I linked my arm through his as though we were matrons at a ball and drew him to one side.
"Mutual benefit? What benefit could we possibly have in common?"
"Silence, old thing. Got your check book handy?"
"What the hell are you talking about? A contribution to the Deaf and Dumb Society?"
Boner was definitely quivering now, but so far it was just at the thought of parting with money. Not why. I went on.
"Or rather it wasn't very silent. Not through our cabin wall and with that well-known hearing aid the toothbrush glass. Dealing out a good old thrashing, weren't you? And if it wasn't Frippery, who was it? Hey?"
Boner wriggled but I clamped his arm tight.
"What's it worth, Boner? Silence is golden, and all that. How many zeros, do you think?"
Two bright red spots burned on Boner's pale cheeks.
"Not you as well! Oh no, I should have expected it. That hellcat has had it in for me ever since..."
"What do you mean, not me as well? As well as what? As well as whom?"
Boner's eyes narrowed.
"Blackmail, you..."
With a sudden movement he whirled his handbag like a bolas and caught me on the ear. The game no longer seemed worth the candle, in public at least, so I let him go with a crafty kick at his ankle in parting. I watched him go, thoughtfully.
Jay reentered my orbit, one hand thrust into a trouser pocket and the other gripping a fresh glass of Hermaphrodite.
"So what was that all about?"
"I really don't know. I was having a bit of fun putting the shits up him by threatening to spill the beans about his botty-smacking tryst, and he completely lost his sense of humor. Accused me of blackmailing him. I mean, would I do such a thing?"
"Yes, but only if he had enough money."
"True enough. But you told me yourself that miser though he is, he never earned enough to be worth putting the squeeze on."
I took Jay's glass to wet my lips. Something alcoholic lurked under the secondary ingredients. My lips went slightly numb.
"That's not the point, anyway," I continued. "Then he said, 'Not you as well?'"
"You mean, as in, 'Not you as well as another blackmailer?'"
"That's the ticket. It seems someone else has been putting the black on him. Why? More illicit corporal punishment? Hardly seems like a serious enough slip for a proper blackmail bid. What's he been up to? He's your ex-lover, what could that boring fart possibly have done to merit grade A extortion?"
* * * *
I suppressed a powerful urge to rub my painted mustache, which was starting to itch. I do like to get it on with another girl but I've never been inclined towards dressing for the manly role. Playfully, I massaged Harry's bottom through his evening dress and he slapped my hand away with a petulant pout.
"Don't be so sexist! We're in public! Do you want to ruin my reputation?"
"What reputation would that be, gorgeous? Anyway, the plot is getting so thick we'll soon have our boots stuck in it. I overheard a rather interesting snippet of conversation en route to the Boners. Dunnett did Swat's tits."
The statuesque creature in purple shrugged.
"So? Who wouldn't?"
"No dear. The sozzled Scots sawbones created Jezebel."
&
nbsp; "Is this a cryptic word game?"
Sometimes Harry Neptune can be so obtuse it makes me want to scream. I took a restorative draught of my Hermaphrodite. Interestingly, it didn't appear to be affecting me at all. My head was clear, if filled with enough clues to keep Scotland Yard busy for a month.
"Listen to me, you big puce tart! Dr. Dunnett is or was a breast enlargement surgeon. Swat's boobs are about to hit her bony little sun-kissed knees and she's ready to sue for malpractice. And, just to put the icing on the cake, Boner flushed like crazy when I made that joke about him being into ladies' frocks."
Harry tossed his stunning auburn locks.
"So you're saying the old master's a closet queen and Swat's continental shelf is drifting south thanks to the professional shortcomings of another closet queen who I strongly suspect didn't have to rent his outfit for the night. There were no evening kilts in the ship's dress hire store, I can tell you. I had to go through the entire inventory before they exhumed this rag from the Lost and Found. Bloody tight it is too."
A wicked thought entered my mind.
"We need to go look in some closets, my darling."
"I thought clothes bored you."
"It depends. Sometimes they can be quite revealing. And I'm not just referring to the Lush's little cocktail outfit. How are your burglary skills, Raffles?"
Grinning broadly, my partner in crime extracted a hairpin from his faux coiffure.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: OUT OF THE CLOSET
A little breaking and entering never did anyone any harm. Or not me, anyway.
The party was building up a head of steam around us. All the denizens of the Captain's table the night before were present and correct, apart from Ahab himself. He was probably off somewhere detecting with Inspector Parrot. Mrs. Goldfinkel had buttonholed Mr. Deal and was lecturing him about something or other over glasses of Hermaphrodite.
"Let's do Boner and Frip's cabin while they're stocking up on free grub."
The oddly matched pair were stuffing carrots and various greenery into their mouths at the buffet table. As I watched Boner glanced around and slipped a handful of assorted nuts into his evening bag.
We slipped out onto the deck after snagging a couple more glasses of Hermaphrodite.
MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission Page 26
