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…"
"@*% amp; 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.