belly button. I'm just amazed the vengeful party didn't realize that Raoul was doing the male population a major favor, keeping the Black Widow at least partly amused.'
I snorted into my husband's armpit. Once at Raoul, then again at his new name for Mrs. Goldfinkel. It suited her perfectly. She was calming down quite nicely, taking a strengthening gulp of Champagne and letting a steward fan her soothingly with a menu card. He'd better watch himself or he'd be the next victim. Tenderly, Harry brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face and I smelled the distinctive musky scent of rampant pussy on his fingers. That was it. The final straw. Several crew members carted off the draped and lifeless form of my dance partner as I thumped furiously on my spouse's chest.
'Adulterer!'
Effortlessly, Harry grasped my wrists and grinned down at me as I wriggled wildly.
'You're just put out because someone shot the poor bugger and you thought you'd sexed him to death!'
I pouted. Harry knows me so well. Nevertheless, we were officially man and wife. Frigging the Lush at our first formal dinner was below the belt. Waaay below the belt…
'And what about the irreproachable Mrs. Neptune?' Harry continued, increasing the vise-like grip on my wrists. 'I've seen tamer dance routines at some pretty sordid strip joints! You were all over that grease ball like a nasty little rash. I've a good mind to pull your panties down and give you a damn good thrashing. Teach you who's boss and all that.'
My tummy turned over again. This time, in a good way. I love being turned over a strong man's knees for a sound bare bottom spanking.
'Did someone mention spanking?'
Boner had acute hearing when it came to anything buttock related. Harry was spot on when he called my ex 'Bummer.' While H was a confirmed 'tit man', B was an ass. I sighed deeply.
Harry grinned, reading my thoughts.
'Don't worry, dear. You'll get a thorough going over later. No stone will be left unturned, I promise you that much.'
A piratical hand grappled its way up my garter belt and broached my drenched panties. I noticed that the other hand had recaptured Ms. Swat, who gave me a 'howzabout it?' look. Well, I might and I might not. It depended on the mood of the moment.
A solemn Captain Ahab returned to his table.
'Mrs. Neptune, I'm afraid I must insist that you return to your cabin and do not vacate it until some questions have been answered. A mere formality, I assure you.'
I fervently hoped the Captain himself would perform my debriefing. I certainly wouldn't mind going over his knees. I smiled sweetly at Harry.
'Right then, darling. Looks like I'm under house arrest. Time to find the handcuffs.'
The Flyswat gasped, pretending to be shocked, while thrusting her tits out to 'they're gonna blow!' dimensions. The tension was incredible but nothing broke loose so I guess she had the dress taped to her nipples.
'Why, hellzapoppin'!'
Harry feasted his eyes on the Grand Canyon.
'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!
