WaterWay -- Chapter 8
There's Something in the Water
By: WaterLuv@etzine.com   Copyright 1996, by ET!zine   All rights reserved

During our taxi ride from the airport, I explained a bit about our hotel.  "We have reservations at The Alexander.  It's a 4-Star resort about 10 minutes from downtown.  We have a two bedroom suite, two full baths, an elegant living and dining room, fully equipped kitchen -- which I intend to use only for drinks and fresh-brewed coffee -- and a private balcony overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway.  Aside from the location, looking down on the yacht basin where I'll pick up my boat, I like this spot for its subdued elegance, and for its slogan, 'There's something in the water.'  I think they mean this to praise their waterfall, their pools, Jacuzzis and private beach, and I find no fault in that interpretation.  I just carry the phrase a step or two further."  A quip I hoped sailed over the taxi driver's head -- it brought private snickers among the three of us.  I prattled on thus, attempting to entertain -- to sidetrack thoughts from the morning's intrigue.  It's not that I had any illusions of making it go away.  I just wanted to hold further discussion till we were out of earshot of others.

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The Entrance of the Alexander>

Once we cleared the front desk, settled into our new accommodations, and freshened up from our travel, we turned our attention immediately back to the matter of Rashad.  No vote had been taken during our earlier discussion, and I was eager to see how you felt.  Jazmand, I was certain, had been ready to go.  Of course, she would be.  It was in her interest to get the creep out of her hair.  But you had seemed to have reservations about meddling in official police business.  So I turned first to you.  "Mary, you've had some time to think about things.  How vote ye?"

"Well, as I remember, we were going to hear some more details of your plans, Master," you teased.  

"Yes, that we were," I admitted, making a mental note not to let this little impertinence go unanswered.  "What I've got to offer is mostly in rough-sketch form just yet.  We'll need to stay flexible and tailor our plans as the details emerge, but here's the framework on which we'll build."

"This guy wants to own Jaz as his personal sub, right?" You both nodded in agreement.  "So we convince him that he can get what he wants if he plays his cards right.  We act like we're scared to death of him and we're going to do whatever he says.  Only we set up circumstances seemingly outside our control so he never quite arrives at the right time or place.  When we have him about ready to cut his right arm off to get past all the roadblocks, we trap him.  Here's how." 

"We convince him Jaz is a nun in a tres secret and chic S&M society, a group whose training has rendered her one of the most desirable lovers in the world.  So far, we're pretty close to the truth," I added, with a little goose up her silk-clad rear.  "We lead him to believe, to rather discover, that you and I are part of her novitiate training.  We throw in lots of pomp, religious ceremony and shamanistic symbols, just to pique his Jamaican sensibilities.  He may not believe in the church or Voodoo, but if he grew up in Jamaica, he had to have been touched by the images.  They'll effect him."

"We convince him that he must go through a secret initiation to be allowed into the society.  No, better than that, we set things up so that he discovers about the secret initiation, and he comes demanding that he be allowed in.  In the initiation, we let him play the top, but of course, he's got some folks watching, so he can't get out of line.  Now, while he's doing his topping, we secretly video tape the whole thing.  We script the scene so that we catch him saying certain key phrases on the video."

By the attention that this little discourse was demanding, I took it that both you and Jaz found it at least mildly interesting.  And so I pressed on.  "The plot thickens.  In the other half of the initiation, he has to prove he has the courage and will-power to be a bottom.  He's set to replay the same script he ran with Jaz.  At first, things will seem to him to be going right as expected.  Again, we will be secretly taping his scene.  This time, we'll get him on tape begging for punishments, counting strokes of the lash, kissing his Mistresses shoes, her ass, her whip.  You get the picture.  Only Rashad's session won't wind up quite the same as Jazmand's.  We drug him.  Give him some of his own poison.  And while he's out, we put him in REAL bondage.  I mean bondage Samson couldn't break out of."

"Now, the real fun begins.  I've never busted a bronco before," I admitted, "but we're going to break this man.  We're going to take him out into pain and fear like he's never known before . . . Then we're going to take him beyond there . . . Take him out to where he craves it.  All the while, we're going to be making our video.  When we're through with Rashad, we will edit the tape, mixing his begging for punishments in the scripted first scene with the real punishments from the runaway scene that follows.  In the tape, Rashad will look like the most bizarre, panty-waisted freak ever to be born.  He'll beg Jazmand to fill his mouth with shit, then she'll do it and make him swallow.  I mean, really out-there stuff.  I don't know what all, yet, but I know we can come up with some lulus."

"As a side issue, we'll hire an investigation firm to build a criminal-activity file on Rashad.  If they really concentrate on him, that shouldn't be too difficult to do.  Before we turn him loose, we'll have a dossier ready to put him and a bevy of his gang-member friends permanently into jail cells -- put 'em away and weld the door shut.  We'll set it up so that, if it is ever released, it will look like Rashad's a snitch and he cut a deal to bust the others.  That way, he'll be praying he does go to jail if that file ever gets turned over to the authorities.  Otherwise, his own gang will kill him for sure.  We'll set things so that, if he does anything to any of us, or if we even have an unfortunate accident, both the smut video of him being a fruitcake and the crime file are delivered into hands where they'll destroy him forever."

"Now, I don't know this guy, so this plan may take a lot of rethinking, but that's my first cut.  What do you think?" I asked, glancing at the two of you.

Jazmand was quiet, deep in thought about Rashad, his personality, his temper.  She was weighing carefully the potential for pulling off such a dangerous ploy.  You, my dear Mary, were not so reticent.  Beaming your interest in the game, you declared, "Interesting.  Very interesting.  But I get to play a role as Mistress with him too.  Jazmand can't be the only one shitting in Rashad's big mouth.  OK, I was down on taking the law into our own hands, but make it a game like this, and it's a whole different affair.  If we can hone this plan so it looks like it will work, and put some safeguards in place to protect us if there's a screw up, I'm voting we go for it."

"Done," I said.  "You will get your turn as his Mistress."

Jazmand cautioned, "When you push Rashad that far, he can be very dangerous."

"I understand that," I said, "but then, so can we . . . So can we."

"We could just let the police handle it," Jazmand said.

"Jaz," I patiently argued, "you said yourself that the police weren't going to do anything till he has stepped well beyond the stalking.  You may not get a second chance with a guy like Rashad.  He may kill you, maybe without even meaning to.  He probably doesn't have any S&M education.  He could do you in a fit of passion, or a scene gone wrong, or another scare play like today, but this time his aim is off and the bullet hits you, not a door frame.  I mean, shooting up someone's home is not small-time naughtiness.  If you're right about this guy, Jaz, then he's a member of one of the most violent drug gangs on earth.  He's certainly killed before, and probably places little or no value on human life.  His only interest is in how to manipulate people in order to get what he wants from them.  His tools to do that are not just words, or even sexual passion.  He uses fear, threats, violence and murder as calmly as we use nipple clamps."

"Well," she countered, "I could just go back to him and let him have his way."

I saw you rolling your eyes to the ceiling. You argued, "Sweetheart, are you forgetting Abuse Survival 101.  Abusive men don't become docile giants just because you come back home and play daddy's-good-little-girl for them.  What Jim said is exactly right.  Abusive men are used to getting whatever they want whenever they want it, and they are totally willing to use any weapon they find to get their own way.  He's probably got hidden psychological trip-wires that set him off with women, and they don't even have a clue what made him go mad.  You go back to him, Jaz, and I got a real bad feeling we'll be identifying your body in the morgue.  No, Jim is right.  We gotta do something to derail him."

"God, I love the two of you," Jaz sighed, a new round of tears wetting her big eyes.  "I'd rather live with a rabid pig than go back to Rashad, but I really had to know you two wanted to take up this fight.  It's going to be risky business.  I don't want you doing it without thinking through the danger, and thinking of other approaches." 

"Why don't we set it aside for a time, and get to the shopping?" I suggested.

"Ummm, that was why we came to Miami, wasn't it.  A woman's place is in the mall," Jaz quipped.

"Great!" I declared.  "While we were freshening up, I made a few calls.  Anthony Rueger is a personal friend.  He's also one of the brightest criminal attorneys in the South East.  On top of that, I first met him at an S&M munch here in Miami, so I knew I could be open with him.  I told him the whole plot.  Everything.  He has an investigative service that works for him.  Rashad's already got a tail.  If Banton figures out where we are, and tries to head over here, we'll know it before he leaves Key West.  I'll keep my cell phone with me.  For now, let's not unpack too much.  Leave things so we can go on short notice."

"The investigators will also be building a file on Rashad.  Contact names, evidence of illegal acts, enemy lists, the whole shooting match.  So we're off and running.  I figured these precautions wouldn't hurt, even if we couldn't agree on what action to take."

"OK," Jaz said.  "Sounds as if you've done a thorough job.  To the mall.  What is thy bidding, my Master?" this last part spoken in her best imitation of Darth Vader.

"Well, my pretty pets," I answered, "we're all going to get some sexy underwear, some custom latex, and maybe a turn in the toy store."

"Adult?" she countered.

"XXX or better.  Best Miami has to offer.  And this is the city of sin in the sun."

"But before we go, Mary, pull up your skirt and bend over." 

Ugh!  you thought, remembering back to your teasing me about the vote.  Here it comes.  You expected a spanking or a goosing.  I gently tugged your lacy panties down to your ankles and tapped each leg, indicating for you to step free of them.  Waiting for the first blow to fall, you were surprised when my lips folded gently around your sex, my tongue probing into you.  You were dry, and I was thus given the incentive to dig into your woman flesh searching moisture like a parched, thirsty plant sending down deep roots.  My tongue borrowed into your sensitive opening.  In the full mirror across the room, you were treated to a clear view of your knit skirt, bunched around your waist, your buttocks brazenly on display and my face shamelessly buried between those twin hillocks as I feasted on your pussy.

As your feminine juices began to pour from you, I broke away.  "Jazmand," I commanded, "Mary is getting wet.  She must be licked dry before we can go on our shopping spree.  Get you face between her legs, young lady, and clean her up."

Jaz knelt behind you and began to nurse like a suckling babe at your love lips.  I believe if this woman had to choose between pussy juice and air, she'd drown happily.  Her sucking sounds were loud, salacious, titillating.  I pulled her lower body up so she was bent at the waist like you, face still wedged between your creamy buttocks, tongue deep in your feminine folds.  I slid the see-through silk dress up over her big rear.  She was already soaking, no panties to catch her flow. 

"If we're going shopping for love toys," I announced, "we need to wear the right perfume.  Let's not leave till we all reek of sex.  But nobody cums.  Got it.  We're going to look, smell and act the part when we traipse into the Pleasure Chest." That said, I slid my hard cock right to the hilt in Jazmand's steaming pussy.  I stroked into her deeply, banging against her upturned butt, driving her face into your sex.  She moaned louder with each new stroke, and I knew I must let up or she'd fail the no-orgasm rule.  Of course, making her fail could be fun in itself, but that's for another time.  Today, while we're shopping, I want us all hot and bothered.  No orgasms yet, I thought

So, good as Jazmand's tight love canal felt to my thirsty cock, I pulled out of her.  I was dripping with her love dew.  I walked around to your face and instructed you, "Mary, look what Jazmand put on me.  I want you to clean Jazmand's sex juice off my cock so we can pull our clothes back into position and get to the Mall."

With what Jaz was doing in your vagina, you needed no prompting to suck cock.  You had me down your throat to choking depth before I could finish my speech.  "Ah, lord that's good, girl.  You are one fine cock sucker," I said in pure admiration.  Some men may say such things by way of demeaning a woman, but not me.  In fact, I thought, I'm a pretty fine pussy slurper, too -- a claim I plan to prove later.  But now, I must pull my hot meat away from you or it will be me that violates the no-cum zone.

And so, your panties still sitting on the living room floor, we were off to taste the thrills that Miami shopping would offer.
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