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.
'You may call me Miss Thwack. I have a second career disciplining naughty boys like you. Sometimes girls, but usually boys. I find them so much more deserving. Get your ass over this stool, my lad. It's twenty strokes of the paddle for you! Don't think I didn't notice you drooling over my bust-line. Lascivious brat.'
I held my breath. Harry's face had gone rather red. I waited for the storm to erupt but strangely, nothing happened. Very quietly, my friend gestured to me and murmured
'Ladies first.'
Quick as a wink, I leapt up and positioned myself over the seat of the stool, my naked buttocks eager to feel the sting of the makeshift paddle. I looked up at Sugar expectantly and could see that Harry had thrown her a curve ball. Miss Thwack was not accustomed to unexpected detours on the route. For one moment she looked rather angry, then she shrugged her shoulders and pushed my head down. Cool, smooth fingers traced the contours of my ass and my pussy began to ooze with juice. I parted my legs and waited for the first blow to fall.
Thwack!
Not too terribly stingy for starters. No doubt the worst was yet to come.
'Is that the best you can do?'
Aha! I knew Harry Neptune would not stay down for long. Upside-down, I watched him through the rungs of the stool, as he coolly appraised the young girl's spanking style.
Thwackk!!
'Oh come on! You're not swatting a fly. Give it some elbow grease, girl.'
Now we were beginning to reach serious bun-warming mode. I wriggled pleasurably, dry heat spreading across my naked cheeks like sunburn.
'Mmm…'
Sugar aka Miss Thwack's thighs brushed against the backs of mine and I rubbed my bottom against her crotch. My familiarity was rewarded with another resounding slap. That time, my buttocks quivered with the shock and I gasped, grasping the rungs of the wooden stool with sweaty palms. I wondered where the Black Widow had got to and whether she could hear the percussion emanating from the pantry.
'That's better. And now it's your turn, Sugar, my sweet.'
I opened my eyes to see two pairs of calves through the pine framework of the stool. The young girl spoke at last, her voice notably high and a trifle shrill.
'It's Miss Thwack to you! Don't even think about it! Oh, you bastard…'
There was a rather satisfying tearing sound and I sensed Miss Thwack's panties had suddenly lost their elastic and found themselves about her knees. Harry Neptune has a peculiar effect on knicker elastic. A frantic
