Never one to resist a bargain, I snatched a box from the top of the pile as we cha-cha-cha'd by. This could be interesting. I glanced over my shoulder as we careered through the exit and headed for Santa's Grotto, cheerfully setting off the shoplifting alarms with assorted items of unpaid merchandise. The security guard stopped hunting for the Phantom of Ladies' Intimate Apparel and waved his arms at us.
'Hey! You'll have to pay before leaving the department!'
'Don't worry! I'm a Loot Club member! Just put it all on my account!' trilled the Black Widow, making a bee line for Santa, a rather short and skinny chap whose red and white suit looked about three sizes too big for him. I began to wonder where on earth Harry had got to.
'Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!'
Mrs. Goldfinkel shimmied out of the conga line and virtually threw herself at the poor unsuspecting Santa impersonator, elbowing several pre-schoolers and a nanny out of the way to be first in the line-up. I glimpsed the look of horror in the man's eyes and his knees buckled as a large tiger print bottom landed on his lap. In fact, you could see little more than the white pom-pom on the top of his red hat once the Black Widow had ensconced herself. A small boy began to wail loudly in protest but the vision in satin was undeterred.
'Ooh, Santa baby, I've been ever so naughty this year! Will I get nothing but a birch switch in my stocking?'
There was a muffled, rather wheezy mumbling from behind Santa's cotton wool beard which sounded rather like 'get off my knees, you old trollop' but the Black Widow merely giggled and bounced up and down like a wallaby on a trampoline. She might have been carrying a few too many extra pounds but she was fit with it.
'Oh, Santa, Santa, Santa, don't you have anything for poor little Gigi? Hee hee! Oh! Oh! This is so much fun!'
Grimacing, Santa reached down to rummage in the large sack of parcels by his tinsel-trimmed throne. Just at that precise moment, the Black Widow executed her biggest bounce, ripples from which sent some rather fascinating currents through her shiny tiger print coated bottom. For one brief moment, it was unclear what was heading up and what down until both buttocks landed with a fulsome squishy thump. What was more, the resulting shift in weight and balance caused Santa to make a frantic grab for the nearest handhold, which just happened to be Mrs. Goldfinkel's seasonally augmented boobs.
BANG!
'Aaargh!'
There was a minor explosion, accompanied by a small shower of tiny gold foil stars, shreds of scarlet tinsel and strands of cotton wool. Santa slumped semi-senseless on his chipboard throne, a dazed and strangely silent Black Widow sprawled across his hapless lap. The tiger print gown could no longer take the strain and the twin meringues of her large soft breasts erupted from the satiny wreckage. A tiny voice piped up from the gathering crowd.
'Mummy, why did the fat lady have balloons down the front of her dress? Did she want to look fatter? Ooh, look mummy! You can see the lady's boobies!'
'Hush, Emily!'
'Yes! Nnnnyurrgh! Yes!!'
A familiar sound issued from somewhere close by and I wrested my gaze from the desecrated grotto. I knew that sound. Somewhere between the mating call of the duckbilled platypus and a constipated moose, it was a guttural grunt I'd heard on multiple occasions. Harry Neptune was having an orgasm. But where? How? Perplexed, I scanned the milling festive crowd for H's large form but there was nary a Neptune in sight. Then I spotted another sign.
Bliss Day Spa
Pooped out? Pop right in!
'Oh, yes! Just a little to the left, Angel, my love. Mind my appendectomy scar! That's it. Right there. Mmm. Dreamy…'
'Well!'
I stood in the doorway of Bliss, still clutching my unpaid merchandise. A veritable bacchanale greeted my incredulous eyes. The spa was decorated in the manner of a Roman bath house, all trompe l'oeil columns and bunches of plastic grapes. Harry Neptune lay in naked, oily splendor, surrounded by several nude and equally well- greased handmaidens. Giggling, they rubbed their glistening breasts against his hairy chest as he swatted their bottoms with a mitt on a stick. A trail of bright green tunics and jaunty hats littered the path from steam room to massage table.
'So that's where the Pixies got to. I wondered. You're a bad lad, Harry Neptune. What is that gunk on your belly?'
Harry contemplated his navel.
'I think it's called Ho-ho-joba Festive Fun Oil. Strip off, Lawrence. Join the slick.'
'No thanks, sweetie. I'm still recovering from Santa's Grotto. You just wouldn't believe…'
'After this afternoon, nothing would surprise me, I assure you! How do you like my tattoo?'
A ripple of laughter tinkled through the pixies and, with a gleeful grin, Harry thrust his freshly swelling manhood towards a pert little brunette.
'Another squirt of Ho-ho, please, Angel, my sweet. That's it. Now, give Horace a nice little massage. Ohhh! That hit the spot. What do you say, Jaybird? What do you think of that?'
I appraised the member. A neatly stencilled sprig of mistletoe decorated Harry's toothsome love-shaft.
'It brings a whole new meaning to 'kiss me under the mistletoe'!'
'I hope that's not permanent!'
'Nah. It'll wash off after sixteen showers, apparently. Pretty nifty, eh?'
'Seems like a Christmas to re-member!'
'Ho, ho, ho!'
'What happened to Sugar? I think I discovered the source of her magnificent decolletage on sale in ladies undies.'
Harry grinned ruefully.
'Yep. I hate to admit it, but you were on the money with the fake tits, Shortie. I tried to rip off her bra in Garters and G-strings. The resulting explosion almost blew me into the food hall.'
'Serves you right! So, what did you do?'
My large friend smiled to himself.
'Oh, I gave the minx the spanking she so richly deserved, gagged her and tied her helpless naked form to the window display in Household Utensils. That'll teach her to go after Harry Neptune with a spatula. It was very artistic. A red-bottomed bint with some copper-bottomed pans. I expect Security will let her out at closing time.'
I began to giggle uncontrollably at the mental image and Harry grasped me with oily hands, planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead.
'Merry Christmas, Jaybird!'
'Merry Christmas, Harry. And a Happy New Year, should we live that long…'
LUST AT SEA
A Slightly Sexy Novel
CHAPTER ONE: 'METHINKS HE DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH.'
'Mmmmmm… Whassup? Not guilty, go 'way…'
'It's all right, darling, I'm not the I. R. S. You have to wake up, Harry. Now! Something dreadful has happened.'
