"Found ya! Jumpin' Jehosophat, watcha bin doin' down here? Y'all look like you bin ten rounds with Mohammed Ali."
I manfully focused on the rotund form of Chad. His baseball cap was rather rakishly skewed over one eye and there were several lipstick kisses of varying hues upon his chubby cheeks. The Boobsy Twins adjusted their miniscule dresses to a remote semblance of pseudo-respectability and linked their arms through his.
"We'll come quietly!"
Chad grinned.
"Ah doubt that, ladies. How'd ya think ah found y'all? Ah never heard such a whoopin' and a hollerin'…"
I appeared to have lost the use of my legs. Clara had disappeared again and I thought I saw a brief glimpse of a blue sarong vanishing up the stairs to the main floor of the building. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and wiggled my toes to regain the circulation.
"The lady vanishes. My goodness, that was quite a session."
I looked up at Harry, who was ruefully examining his shirt, which was missing a couple of buttons and sported a semi-ripped sleeve. I slipped into Mae West mode.
"Goodness had nothing to do with it! I'm afraid you're going to have to carry me, darling."
With a primeval grunt, my beloved swept me off the bed and over his shoulder. With luck we would conquer the stairs without a hernia.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: COMING TOGETHER
Fortunately there weren't too many stairs, or my Himalaya act may have come unstuck. Thrashing Bambi had been a strenuous process, and having Jay's ass without squashing her and Clara into immobility had put stress on yet another set of muscles. I was still half-hard too – I ration my entries to Jay's rear end and this had been one of the best.
Upstairs the lights were back on and the company had expanded. The Boners, still in costume, stood in a corner casting glances nervously at Botti who was tucking into jerk goat and looking lasciviously at my ex-wife's unfortunate new husband. I could guess what she had in mind for him, if Jay had tipped her off.
"Moah, boys! Moah!"
Miss Loretta Swat, doyenne of weather ladies and purveyor of Books of the Months, would have given her many fans a salutary shock. She lay full length on a beaten-up Victorian sofa, the boobs, which had so recently collapsed suspiciously pushing like minor foothills against a leather bodice.
"Next! Don't keep a Southern lady waitin'!"
An assortment of Texan historians and other spare males formed a masturbatory queue at the head of which (so to speak) la Swat was accepting donations. Her face was already slippery with what looked like a dozen healthy ejaculations. Another landed squarely in her open mouth as I watched. The next figure in line looked familiar from the rear view, but I couldn't quite place him. Then when his hand produced the source of the next contribution his identity was obvious…
"Oh mah gods! That, sir, is thu… never mind mah face, honey, yo'all are the first man I ever did see that could fill mah place of paradise, and that's where yo'all are goin' right now!"
Miss Swat whipped down a pair of rather tasteless rose-trimmed panties and spread her legs. Biggin knelt on the sofa with a bashful but pleased expression on his face. La Swat took hold of his mammoth manhood in both hands and wrapped her legs around him. She tugged and he descended…
"Oh maaaaaaaaaaaaah…!!"
There's nothing like a mutually satisfactory solution to two separate but related problems. This solution looked very mutual. The remainder of the queue dissipated disappointed in the direction of other entertainment.
The toy boys were standing in a corner with their backs to the room. Their trousers were round their ankles revealing well-exercised pale buttocks contrasting with their deep tans.
"There's nae substitute for a regular physical examination, laddies. Nae substitute for a thorough going over by a distinguished alumnus of the respected medical school of Invermuchie…"
Dr. Dunnett's voice disappeared into an incoherent mumble. If I didn't know better I would have said he had his mouth full. I turned my attentions elsewhere. Harry Neptune is tolerant to a fault, but confines distribution of his bounty to the distaff half of the human race. As much of it as possible.
Captain Ahab sat in an armchair with his uniform jacket buttoned to his neck as usual and a schoolgirl on his lap, not as usual. On closer examination she was the oldest schoolgirl this side of St. Trinian's, but no matter. She was whispering something in his ear and he was sliding his hand up her knee length white socks in the direction of her short skirt. Her plump black thighs parted accommodatingly. Ahab's R amp;R looked to be organized.
"More games! More games!"
No need to guess who was the owner of that girlish shriek. Mrs. Goldfinkel was backed up against Inspector Parrott with her bottom rubbing vigorously against his groin. She had a firm grip on his hands and was shoving them up her pink top.
"Ooh, what's that poking into Gigi's botty! You naughty boy!"
Parrott had a bemused expression on his face. I wondered if his libido was up to a Goldfinkel goring.
That seemed to be a full house. In fact overfull for my purposes. I beckoned to a couple of bouncers and issued instructions. In moments we were divested of toy boys, Biggin, Chad, assorted Texans, schoolgirl, Boobsies, and grinning bouncers. The door slammed and there was the sound of the lock being firmly closed. Bouncers and Boobsy's were to stand guard outside.
The company was down to the night of Raoul's demise, plus the Inspector. I cleared my throat.
"I expect you are all wondering…"
"What the hell are you up to, Neptune?"
My beloved had regained her senses and her feet and was glaring round the room.
Miss Swat lay on the sofa with her legs spread and a deprived expression on her face.
Dr. Dunnett knelt in the corner with his mouth open and a deprived expression on his face.
Captain Ahab sat in the armchair with a distortion in his trousers and a deprived expression on his face.
The Boners lurked by the buffet with perpetual deprived expressions on their faces.
The bouncers had separated Gigi and Parrott on principle and parked them on opposite sides of the room. They had deprived expressions on their faces.
Miss Lawrence stared up at me with what would have been a deprived expression if she had not just suffered a surfeit of non-deprivation.
I seemed to have done a pretty good job of depriving. Made a change from depraving.
I cleared my throat again.
"I expect you are all wondering why I have called a halt to the festivities. A temporary halt, I hope and believe. It may have escaped your memories in the flushes of excess, but it has not escaped my memory nor, I have no doubt, that of the redoubtable Inspector Parrott, that we are all under suspicion in the matter of the tragic and regrettable death of young Raoul the chanteur not so many evenings ago. I have been bending my intellect to…"