"Quite."
CHAPTER FOUR: "WHAT GOES UP…"
I was less concerned about the deceased Raoul than about the hopeful look in Boner's eye. Miss Lawrence had told me he carried a sports bag around with him filled with paddles, flails, whips, canes and other implements of botty-beating. She also told me that was all he was interested in in the sex department. A few swipes and he toddled off to change his trousers. Frustrating for someone who likes nothing better than brisk cunnilingus and a doggy style pounding after a good bottom reddening. There was a suspicious damp patch on Boner's pants already.
"Thweetheart, it'th time for pre-beddy-byeth yoga."
The ex Mrs. Neptune hauled on her new hubby's arm. He moved reluctantly away, though surely even that thick-skinned idiot must realize that Miss Lawrence was more likely to line him as the next murder victim than let him anywhere near her rear end. I wondered how he managed his peccadillo with Mrs. Boner. She had as much interest in the finer arts of sexual stimulation as a Brussels sprout. She positively shrank from even the most unadventurous foreplay. If Boner had ever raised the courage to threaten her rear end I have no doubt his ears were still ringing with the cry of horror.
"Raooooooul!!!"
Mrs. Goldfinkel reminded us that this was a solemn occasion and some mourning was in order. This seemed to me a little rich for someone who moments before had been massaging my pride and joy while reaming out my ear with a sticky tongue. However, I suppose she was entitled to a wail or two.
All the same, a dead Dago is a dead Dago and no doubt there would be alarums and excursions to come. Self-important ship's officers filling in logs and a West Indian policeman or two. Dashed annoying, murders. They encourage all sorts of people to crawl out of the woodwork and make nuisances of themselves.
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.