Catch of the Day
-- by lightswitch © November 2010

[Lesbian, F/F, F/M, femdom, bondage, breath control, gas mask,
toys, watersports, non-consensual, female cuckold, implied
enslavement, threat of snuff]

Synopsis: A young Greek woman charters her boat to a wealthy man
and his domineering trophy wife for a SCUBA outing, when a
fortuitous mishap provides an opportunity for some payback and
life-changing reversals.

==================================

Lysandra stretched her long legs, which were deeply tanned from
years of outdoor work, and wriggled her shapely butt to get
comfortable in the lawn chair set out on the pier, next to her
boat.

"Her boat" ... she still felt a lingering sadness when she heard
those words. This had been her father's boat, until he had passed
away unexpectedly, two years ago. At age 18, she had found
herself with an inherited boat and the accompanying charter-boat
business that went along with it. The business didn't bring in
big bucks, but it had successfully kept them on the right side of
the poverty line. All in all, she thought, her father had done
quite well for an uneducated Greek immigrant. She was very proud
of him.

Despite being so late in the season, she was dressed in a
revealing, white thong bikini. Her mostly exposed breasts dimpled
with gooseflesh in the cool Autumn air. She may have been only 20
years old, but already she knew what sold -- and nothing caught
the eye, she knew, like an attractive dark-skinned girl in a
skimpy bikini. True, her boobs were a bit on the small side, but
she knew that her exotic, darkly tanned, olive skin; long,
tapering legs; and young, attractive face would catch the eye of
any white man who happened by. She flicked her long, black braid
and wondered if maybe she should consider wearing her hair free.

This area had once been a haven for wealthy vacationers, but the
traffic had declined a lot, over the past several years, due to
the sour economy. She closed her eyes, shivering in the cool
breeze and relished the weak morning sun, all the while hoping
male passerby's would notice her stiff nipples and consider
chartering her boat for the day, if only in hopes of seeing more.

A shadow fell over the relaxing girl. A customer?

"Get your lazy, illegal immigrant ass up," a woman's scornful
voice commanded. "We want to charter a boat and my husband seems
to think your pitiful bucket may do."

"I'm not Mexican," Lysandra bristled, without moving. "I'm Greek.
And I'm not an immigrant -- illegal or otherwise -- I was born
here."

Lysandra opened one dark brown eye, ready to let loose on this
arrogant, unpleasant bitch who had disturbed her meditation. But
what she saw made her mouth drop open in silent awe.

The short-tempered voice belonged to a striking woman, who
towered over Lysandra, probably standing about 5'11". The woman
was about nine years older than Lysandra, give or take three, and
had exquisitely coifed bleached-blonde hair. Despite being out on
a weathered pier, the woman was dressed as if she were heading
out to an expensive nightspot.

It would probably take me eight years of saving every penny to
afford just what she is wearing right now, Lysandra thought,
ruefully. And that wasn't counting the jewelry, which she'd
*never* be able to afford.

The woman had an incredible figure -- one that Lysandra was
convinced had to have been surgically enhanced. The woman's waist
was unnaturally slender and her hips full and curvy. But what
immediately caught the eye was the woman's bust -- her boobs were
ridiculously large, looking as if someone had used over-inflated
basketballs as models. They were unnaturally round and defiantly
oblivious to gravity, despite their size.

"Fake," Lysandra decided. Unlike her own, which were a nice,
natural C cup.

Well, maybe a B, Lysandra admitted, feeling a flash of envy.

Behind the woman stood a timid, mousey-looking white man. He
looked to be in his 50s and was about four inches shorter than
Lysandra. His balding pate brightly reflected the morning sun.
Although he was also expensively dressed, Lysandra intuitively
sensed this man was thoroughly and completely pussy-whipped by
the dominant blonde he accompanied.

Must be the husband, Lysandra reasoned. And he must be the one
with the money, otherwise these two would never be paired
together. I wonder what he does for a living, she pondered. He
didn't seem very assertive or charismatic. Perhaps he was very
smart?

"Are you deaf or just stupid," the blonde demanded. "I said we
want to charter this piece of shit."

Well, he couldn't be that smart, Lysandra decided. He had married
this bitch.

"Of course," Lysandra said, trying to regain her professionalism.
"May I have your names?"

"My friends call me Claire," the busty blonde airily informed
her, "but you may call me 'Mrs Peterson.'"  Lysandra bristled,
but focused on gathering the information.

"That worthless piece of shit over there is Harold," Mrs Peterson
sneered, jerking a thumb at the older man, trailing behind.
Harold winced and blushed in obvious shame. "His one redeeming
quality," Mrs Peterson continued, "is that he was born to better
people and thus inherited money when they passed."

Lysandra scowled.

"Very well then, Mr Peterson," she said, turning to the man. "If
I could get your credit card ..."

"All financial dealings go through me," Mrs Peterson interrupted.
"Harold is even more stupid than you."

Lysandra swallowed her anger and quoted them a price three times
what she'd normally have charged, looking forward to an excuse to
argue under the pretense of negotiation. Mrs Peterson didn't even
blink and waved a credit card.

Lysandra did blink, but recovered and quickly processed the
transaction. They're paying triple fee?!? For that, she'd endure
the arrogant bitch for the day! Or a week!

"Welcome aboard the Windjammer!" Lysandra announced, forcing a
wide grin as she gestured for them to board. "What's your
pleasure today? Fishing? Snorkeling? Sight-seeing?"

Lysandra helped the struggling short man with their luggage,
quietly wondering what kind of idiots would take so much luggage
on a charter boat trip.

"I want to go SCUBA diving," Mrs Peterson announced.

Lysandra nodded, surprised that someone as petty and
self-centered as Mrs Peterson had shown the dedication and
aptitude required to take lessons for such a pastime.

"Of course, Mrs Peterson," Lysandra smiled. "May I ask who you're
certified through?" Lysandra was certified through NAUI and PADI.
She prided herself on being knowledable enough to act as a
divemaster for her charter groups, when the need arose.

"Certified?" Mrs Peterson frowned. "What the hell is that? Is
this another cheap con to extort money out of your betters?" On
the deck, the big white woman began stripping her clothes,
revealing an expensive designer bikini underneath. "Fine," the
exasperated blonde snapped, "if that's what it takes, I'll double
your payment, you grubby wetback. Now go get the stuff I need to
go diving."

Lysandra stopped, stunned. Double? Double the fee she had already
tripled?!?

"Yes maam," the young Greek girl nodded, deciding this was one of
those times where it made sense to cut corners and swallow her
indignation. "Will Mr Peterson be accompanying us?"

Mrs Peterson laughed. "Harold?" she mocked. "He'd only end up
drowning." A contemplative look crossed her face. "Harold,
sweetie," she purred, "would you like to go SCUBA diving and make
me a happy widow?" The older man looked embarrassed and shook his
head. Mrs Peterson's mocking laughter rang out over the harbor
and Lysandra decided she did not like this bitchy white woman at
all.

Ignoring the malicious blonde, Lysandra expertly sailed the boat
out to a sandbar she knew of, where the wreck of an old World War
II German submarine lay. This site was always a favorite among
casual divers.

Dropping anchor and shutting down the engines, Lysandra then left
the bridge to go below and fetch SCUBA equipment for her and the
obnoxious Mrs Peterson.  "It's a good thing I provide rental
gear," the pretty Greek girl thought, selecting the largest
wetsuit set she had in stock.  She selected a wetsuit jacket,
pants, hood, fins, mask, snorkel, regulator, buoyancy
compensator, weight belt, and air tanks. Pleased with the
completeness of the selections she brought them up on deck to her
impatient passenger.

The older woman wrinkled her nose in disgust as Lysandra dropped
the gear in a pile at the taller woman's feet.

"Ugh!" she spat. "This crap stinks! I can't wear it!"  Sighing,
Lysandra took the gear and rinsed it out, knowing that this
wouldn't really make the gear any cleaner, but the neoprene would
give off less of an odor when wet.

Mollified, Mrs Peterson began donning her wetsuit. However,
problems soon surfaced. It seemed that none of the available
wetsuits had been manufactured for someone of Mrs Peterson's
height, stature, and ... generous ... proportions.

With almost superhuman effort, they tried to stuff Mrs Peterson's
ample hips and big, curvaceous ass into a pair of wetsuit pants.
But although Mrs Peterson was far from fat, her long, curvy
calves -- much less her thighs -- were just too thick and
well-muscled to slide into the wetsuit pants. The white woman
stripped naked and again tried to force them up over her shapely
calves. The neoprene stretched to its limits, but she just
couldn't get them on.

"That's OK," Lysandra soothed. "Manufacturers tend to make
women's wetsuits too small anyway. We can try one of the men’s'
pair."

Mrs Peterson gave the young Greek a scathing look. "Do I *look*
like a man?" she demanded, cupping her big tits.

"Er, no ... no you most certainly do not!" Lysandra agreed. "Tell
you what -- let's forget the pants. The jacket has  a ‘beaver
tail' that comes up from the back, and goes between the legs --
that will cover anything that needs covering. You can just go in
with bare legs. The important thing will be that we keep your
torso warm."

Unfortunately, the wetsuit jacket proved even more problematic.
It soon became apparent that the wetsuit jacket hadn't been made
that could successfully encase an enormous pair of tits such as
Mrs Peterson sported. They successfully forced the constricting
neoprene over the big blonde's arms and got the jacket over her
shoulders, but there was no way in heaven or hell that they'd be
able to zip the jacket up over the white woman's mammoth
beachball breasts.

The jacket was technically on, but only the bottom inch or two
could be zipped, resulting in record-breaking amounts of cleavage
showing and a deep "V" all the way down past the bitchy white
woman's navel. On each side. at the top of the V, you could see
Mrs Peterson's big, pink aureoles, only partially covered by the
wetsuit.

Lysandra brought the beaver tail up between Mrs Peterson's legs
and covered her naked butt and blonde muff, fastening the tail
with the two twist-studs at the front-bottom of the jacket.

I think her stiff nipples are the only thing keeping her boobs
from popping out completely, the younger girl chuckled to
herself. She's lucky she's doing this in the Autumn, where a
chilly breeze can come to the rescue!

"You know," Lysandra said, trying to banish the mental image of
an exploded can of biscuit dough, "that is an incredibly sexy
look! I could swear I saw some supermodel with almost the exact
same gear, on the cover of last month's Cosmo!" Naturally, the
young Greek was lying through her teeth; she had never read a
glamour magazine in her life and had absolutely no interest in
vapid models.

But the line worked in reframing the situation for the
self-centered white woman. Mrs Peterson's tense body relaxed and
she smiled. "Really?" she asked. "I'll bet I pull it off better!"
Lysandra nodded, relieved.

"The jacket covers your back, shoulders, and arms," the Greek
girl said. "With your ..." the younger girl choked on the word
'natural, but recovered quickly, "... 'insulation' in front, you
should be in good shape!" Lysandra nodded with satisfaction at
her assessment and helped the big blonde tuck her hair inside the
tight neoprene hood, before turning to don her own gear.

"Woah, woah, there, chica!" the tall blonde snapped, frowning.
"And just where do you think YOU'RE going?"

Lysandra looked at her in confusion. "I'm donning my gear to go
out with you," she said. "SCUBA requires a buddy system when
diving; if your husband isn't going, I have to go with you --
especially since you're a novice diver."  The blonde shook her
head angrily.

"No way, Josefina!' she snarled. "I'm not paying all this money
for YOU to spend the day having fun diving. Today is about ME,
got it?"

"But ... but ...," the young Greek girl stammered.

"No 'buts,'" the narcissistic white woman insisted. "*I* am going
in and *you* are staying here!" Muttering, Lysandra dropped her
gear and helped Mrs Peterson don her air tanks. She gave the
white woman a quick primer on SCUBA, but suspected it was going
in one ear and out the other.

"All right," Mrs Peterson huffed, "I know enough. And I can
barely breathe, standing around in this damned tight wetsuit. I'm
going in the water." The big blonde awkwardly climbed the rail
and sat there, teetering precariously. With her fins hanging over
the edge, she reminded Lysandra of a big-titted frog.

"Remember to dive in head-first!" Lysandra called, maliciously.

The bitchy blonde did just that, and received a stinging slap to
the face that stripped her mask off when her head hit the water.
The pretty Greek girl tried to stifle her laughter as Mrs
Peterson surfaced and looked around in stunned confusion before
re-adjusting her mask and diving under.

"Would you care for a drink, Mr Peterson?" Lysandra asked
solicitously, turning to the neglected husband. The short man
seemed surprised and quickly assured her he didn't want to be a
bother.  Lysandra smiled and brought him a margarita, anyway. The
look of gratitude in his tearing eyes almost made Lysandra weep.

What was a nice guy like this doing with a bitch like Claire
Peterson?!?

Much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't just let Mrs Peterson
go diving alone. If Lysandra couldn't accompany the arrogant
white woman, the least she could do was watch from a distance.
Dutifully, the pretty Greek donned her gear and sat on the rail,
facing the boat. Holding her mask in place, she allowed herself
to fall backwards, letting the tank absorb the impact of hitting
the surface of the water. Twisting, she floated face-down on the
surface where she could keep a watchful eye on the novice diver,
in the distance.

After about 20 minutes, she saw Mrs Peterson swimming rapidly for
the surface.

"Exhale!" Lysandra thought angrily. "I warned you to exhale as
you surface, you stupid bitch! Do you *want* an air embolism?!?"

The white woman surfaced, looking excited.

"I found a chest!" the big blonde exclaimed breathlessly, her own
chest billowing out like some overinflated flotation device.
"Come help me get it!"

Lysandra nodded. "We'll probably need the winch to bring it up,"
she said. "Let me get the cable." She clambered up on deck,
released the catch on the winch, grabbed the end of the cable,
and fell back into the water.

Following the big blonde down, Lysandra saw the chest that had so
excited her client. It was a fairly large, corroded, metal box,
in standard military grey, with stenciling on the side, reading
"Gasmasken." The dark-skinned girl roped the cable through the
handles on each end and then swam to the surface.

Once on deck, Lysandra pushed the lever that started the winch.
In less than five minutes, the box had been hauled up and set on
the deck. The pretty Greek girl unfastened the cables, but was
pushed aside by the impatient white woman.

"Get away," Mrs Peterson snapped. "This chest is mine!"
Grimacing, Lysandra slowly retreated. "It probably has treasure!"
the blonde gloated greedily. "Or maybe jewels!"

"It probably contains old military supplies," Lysandra pointed
out. "Maybe old field rations or uniforms." Mrs Peterson glared
at her and Lysandra, realizing it might be better to be
diplomatic than right, kept quiet.

The chest was fastened, but unlocked. The big blonde opened it
eagerly, but her face fell in disappointment as she looked at the
contents.

"What the fuck?" Mrs Peterson cursed, in disappointment. "what
the hell are these?"

"Gas masks!" Mr Peterson piped in, looking at the contents with a
strange fascination.

Maybe he has a fetish for such things, Lysandra thought,
examining one of the weird, alien-looking devices. The big, round
eye lenses and the proboscis-like extension made her think of
giant bugs.

Lysandra unfastened her air tanks and set them aside. Then she
kicked off her fins and stripped off her wetsuit -- jacket,
pants, and hood -- and dropped them on the deck to air. Free of
the constraining neoprene, she stretched her dark, lithe body.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Peterson ogle her young
body with wide eyes. Pitying him, she pretended not to notice and
put on a little show. She smiled when she heard him groan softly
as he watched her adjust her breasts within her bikini top. He
quickly turned and fled below deck, but not before Lysandra
noticed his raging erection, pushing against his shorts. She
chuckled, happy to have given him a little pleasure in what must
be a miserable life.

"God dammit!" Mrs Peterson swore. She had set her air tanks,
weight belt, and buoyancy compensator aside, but appeared to be
struggling to get out of her wetsuit. The beaver tail had been
unfastened and the front of the jacket was completely unzipped.
The white woman's enormous boobs, free of their nominal
restraints, now jutted forth proudly.

"Fake," Lysandra affirmed to herself. The beaver tail had been
unfastened, as well, revealing the big blonde's damp muff. The
pretty Greek girl averted her eyes, trying to avoid looking at
Mrs Peterson's casual display of full frontal nudity.

But the big blonde was still unable to get out of the too-small,
wetsuit jacket. The wet neoprene clung to her lush, pale body --
especially gripping her shapely arms -- and the bigger woman
found she couldn't position herself adequately to peel it off.
Lysandra desperately tried to repress her giggles.

"Don't just stand there grinning, you Mexican jackass," the white
woman hissed. "Help me out of this thing!"  The attempt at an
insult sobered Lysandra, who reluctantly stepped forward and
tried to help. The young Greek got behind the big blonde and
tried to pull the tight jacket off the bigger woman's arms,
hoping it would invert and peel off the older woman's lush, curvy
body.

"Stand still!" Lysandra yelled, trying to wrestle the tight
jacket off. But Mrs Peterson wasn't used to following orders or
letting others take charge -- she continued to twist and turn,
cursing the recalcitrant wetsuit like a sailor.

The big blonde slipped on the wet deck, her bare foot sliding
into the pile of loose winch cable lying coiled on the deck. Off
balance, the white woman's ample ass thrust out, slamming into
the young Greek girl, who lost her footing and fell backwards
against the winch levers.

The winch engine fired up and the loop of cable around Mrs
Peterson's ankles tightened, hoisting the big blonde into the
air. The white woman screamed in surprise and dismay. Lysandra
quickly grabbed the lever and pulled, stopping the upwards
motion.

Turning, Lysandra burst into laughter.

There, swaying upside-down suspended by her feet, was the
once-proud Mrs Peterson. The cable had wrapped around both the
white woman's ankles and the big blonde now swayed back and
forth, her head only about two or three feet from the deck.
Complicating matters, before she had been pushed, Lysandra had
succeeded in partially pulling off the tight wetsuit: It had been
peeled back just past both of Mrs Peterson's biceps, almost to
her elbows. This now resulted in both the white woman's arms
being stuck behind her, firmly caught in the arms of the tight
wetsuit.  The wetsuit had been peeled back sufficiently to free
the older woman's big tits though and Lysandra burst into
laughter, seeing the obnoxious white woman hanging, mostly naked,
upside-down and helpless, with her big boobs hanging out.

"You CUNT!" the incensed socialite shouted. "This is your fault!
You get me down this instant, you flat-chested wetback whore or
I'll slap the brown right off your ugly face!"

Lysandra stopped laughing, a cold anger stealing over her.

She had had enough.

"You know," the pretty Greek girl muttered, ambling over to the
suspended blonde. "You really are a bitch." She slapped the
arrogant white woman as hard as she could, right across her
pretty face. The suspended white woman's body flew backwards,
spinning. The older woman spewed forth a stream of obscenities
and Lysandra sighed wearily. She really had had it with this
foul-mouthed bitch.

"Hmmm," the younger girl murmured, the potentials of the
situation slowly dawning on her, "there's not a damned thing you
can do about your predicament, is there ... Claire!"  Mrs
Peterson writhed and scowled, obviously finding the pretty Greek
girl's casual familiarity to be abhorrent.

Lysandra smiled at finding herself in such a superior position to
the bitchy white woman. A cunt like you deserves come-uppance,
she decided. Lysandra spent a few minutes slapping the arrogant
blonde's big tits, watching the inverted white woman spin
helplessly back and forth. Lysandra felt powerful.

And vengeful.

"You know what spoiled little rich girls like you need?" the
pretty Greek conversationally asked, seeing the older woman's
big, beautiful, white, round ass hanging out, over the flopping
neoprene beaver tail.

"A good spanking!"

With that, the younger girl brought her open palm down sharply on
the bigger woman's pale ass in a stinging slap. Mrs Peterson's
body went rigid and she screamed in indignant rage.

"Self-centered bitch," Lysandra scowled. "You think the world
revolves around you and that that you're raising yourself up when
you bring others down." The white woman cursed loudly and writhed
helplessly in protest.  Seething with righteous indignation, the
pretty Greek girl continued spanking the big blonde, increasing
the force of her blows. She spent the next 10 minutes beating the
white woman's shapely ass until it was red and puffy, marred with
the younger girl's hand prints.

Beating the helpless white woman had inexplicably turned Lysandra
on. She wanted to abuse this bitch and take her down a peg or
three. Let's start with her 'pride-and-joys,' Lysandra thought,
grinning evilly.

Pressing her advantage, the younger girl began fondling Mrs
Peterson's big, exposed boobs. The suspended blonde howled in
protest and struggled futilely to free herself.

"Keep your dirty hands off me, you little brown dyke!" Mrs
Peterson screamed. "Fucking, perverted whore!"

"Can you still feel anything in these big mounds of silicone?"
the young girl sneered, ignoring the older woman's venomous
tirade. "Or are your big tits as unfeeling as the rest of you?"
The big blonde jerked and twisted in anger and humiliation, but
was unable to free herself.

Lysandra was distracted by a soft "fap, fap, fap" sound from
behind. Glancing in that direction, she saw Mr Peterson, shorts
around his ankles, jerking off as he watched the pretty young
Greek girl humiliate his domineering blonde wife.

Lysandra decided to put on a little show for the poor henpecked
sap.

"You like when I touch you, Mrs Peterson?" Lysandra murmured loud
enough for Mr Peterson to hear, as she lewdly fondled the
helpless white woman's big boobs. "You ever done it with another
woman?" Mrs Peterson screamed in outrage, almost drowning out Mr
Peterson's moan of arousal.

"This is nice," the younger girl pondered aloud, "but what could
I do that would *really* push you over the edge?"

Lysandra smiled and ambled over to Mrs Peterson's luggage, still
piled against the cabin wall. "Maybe if I help myself to some of
your things," the pretty Greek taunted. "You wouldn't mind if I
took some of your things, would you?"  Mrs Peterson went
ballistic, screaming obscenities.

"Keep out of my things!" the big blonde shrieked, eyes wide with
anger and horror. "They're mine! All of that is MINE!"

The younger girl laughed. "I think I hit a nerve there," she
chuckled as she began pawing through Mrs Peterson's belongings.
The suspended white woman shrieked threats and curses, which the
pretty Greek conveniently ignored.

"Oooh," the younger girl murmured, holding up a bejeweled
necklace. "This looks expensive! Did your husband get any, as a
reward for giving you this? I'll bet he didn't, you cock-teasing
old gold-digger. I'd have sucked his cock and fucked him blind if
he gave something like this to me! But I'll bet the only thing
YOU gave him was a hard time."

Lysandra continued rummaging through Mrs Peterson's things,
keeping up a running commentary about how much she appreciated
the older woman "giving" all of this to her. Trapped by the
wetsuit and suspended by the cable, Mrs Peterson was livid with
rage, but helpless to prevent the pillaging.

"And what have we here?" Lysandra chortled, opening the older
woman's handbag and pulling out a long, thick, tapered vibrator.

"Leave that alone!" the big blonde shouted, face flushing with
embarrassment.

"Damn, Mrs P!" Lysandra whistled, regarding the huge sex toy.
"This monster has to be at least a foot and a half long! How big
and sloppy IS that slutty cunt of yours? I'll bet Mr P could
crawl inside you with his whole body and you wouldn't even feel
it, would you, you gold-digging slut!"

Continuing to rummage through the handbag, Lysandra drew out a
12" dildo and a tube of lube.

"Good thinking," Lysandra giggled, running her hand up and down
the realistically veined shaft of the dildo. "Bringing a back-up
in case you're in a place where a vibrator would be too noisy!"

The enraged white woman was almost foaming in fury.

"You little bitch!" Mrs Peterson screamed. "When I get down, I am
going to RUIN you!"

The swaying white woman's eyes riveted on her mousy husband.
 Harold!" she shrieked. The mousey man looked up, suddenly
terrified, cock still in hand. "Harold, put your tiny useless
dick back in your pants and get your worthless ass over here to
get me down!"

Mr Peterson anxiously nodded and started to pull up his pants.

"Yes dear," he mumbled.

"You stay right where you are, Harold!" Lysandra commanded.
"Don't let this cunt boss you around and make your life
miserable! You deserve better!"

Mr Peterson looked like a deer caught between the headlights of
two oncoming trucks. However, years of conditioning made him
respond to his domineering wife's demands. He continued making
his way to the winch levers.

"As long as she can tell him what to do, he's going to do it,"
Lysandra realized. "I have to find a way to allow him to break
free -- a way to shut her up!"

Almost without thinking, the pretty Greek reached into the
retrieved chest and drew out one of the vintage WW II gas masks.
Stooping, she fastened it tightly over the cursing blonde's face.
This mercifully muffled the bitchy white woman's tirade.

Lysandra stepped back. Practically nude, but still wearing the
neoprene hood and the old gas mask, Mrs Peterson looked like some
sci fi human-bug hybrid.

"A bug with big white tits!" Lysandra laughed, slapping one of
the enormous boobs hanging out. Mrs Peterson writhed in her
accidental bondage, her muffled curses unintelligible. "Were you
caught by a spider, Claire-bug?"

Now, Lysandra thought with a malicious chuckle, how best to hurt
this bitch?

Spinning, the younger girl turned to confront Mr Peterson.

"You!" she shouted. "Sit! Now!"

With no conflicting directions, Mr Peterson succumbed to the
nearest dominant female and sat as ordered.

Lysandra felt so sorry for him. She knew his bitchy wife must
have played him for a fool since they were married.  It was time
someone made it up to him, she decided.

Stepping close to the hanging white woman, the pretty Greek
fondled one of the blonde's big, white tits.

"Does she let you play with these?" she asked Mr Peterson.
Glumly, the little man shook his head.

"Come over and play with them now," Lysandra invited. Mr Peterson
looked dumbfounded, as if he couldn't believe his ears. He
glanced cautiously at his wife; but seeing no reprimanding looks
and hearing no angry warnings, he grinned and crept forward.

"That's it," Lysandra encouraged. "Play with them! Squeeze them,
suck them ... do anything you want with them.  The young girl
smiled to see the older man look so happy.

I'll bet I can make him happy *and* abuse this cunt, the pretty
Greek thought.

"Here," Lysandra instructed, "lift her up a bit to relieve the
pressure on her legs so I can get them apart a bit." Mr Peterson
looked hesitant, but did a she was told.

Lysandra lubed the vibrator and pushed it deep into the
restrained blonde's cunt. The bound white woman howled in
protest, but it was muffled by the gas mask.

"Turn it on," Lysandra urged.

Mr Peterson regarded her with wide, wondering eyes.

"Do it!" she whispered. "Flick the switch and watch her squirm!"

Smiling like a mischievous 12-year-old, Mr Peterson did as he was
told, flicking the vibrator switch.  The big blonde's body
stiffened and went rigid.

"I think she likes it!" Lysandra giggled. "We have one more toy,
Harold," the younger girl said, lubing up the big dildo. "Where
shall we put it?"

"In her ass," Mr Peterson whispered, to Lysandra's shock and
delight. "Shove it up her ass!"

The pretty Greek girl nodded.

"As you wish, Harold," she nodded. Mrs Peterson was writhing
furiously trying to escape the indignity of penetration, but was
in no position to prevent the dark-skinned girl from sliding the
big dildo between her pale ass cheeks and then further up her
virgin asshole.

The pretty Greek thought she heard a muffled "Oh God!" as the
head of the big dildo pushed past the blonde's tight anal ring. 
The younger girl pressed firmly and slid the big toy deep up the
older woman's ass.

Smiling, Lysandra stretched the neoprene beaver tail up over the
white woman's round white ass and up between her straining legs,
fastening it to the bottom-front of the wetsuit jacket. The
tightly stretched neoprene pressed against the base of the
vibrator and dildo, pushing both in as deeply as they could go. 
The big blonde went rigid as both toys speared deeply into her.

Smiling, the pretty Greek took Mr Peterson's hand and ran it
gently over the two bulges that jutted obscenely beneath the
skin-tight wetsuit.

"Feel those?" the young girl whispered, her lips close to the
older man's trembling ear. "Those bulges are only a few inches
high. Know where the rest of those toys are?"

Mr Peterson trembled and nodded, trying to steady his shaking
legs.

"You like those big titties of hers, don't you, Harold," Lysandra
whispered, her breath hot and moist in his ear. Slowly the Greek
girl fondled one of the enormous white boobs, caressing the big
pink nipple.

Mr Peterson nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Have they always been this big?" Lysandra murmured, guiding his
hands to cup the white woman's big boobs. Mr Peterson shook his
head.

I knew it, Lysandra thought. Fake!

Using one hand to keep Harold's hands massaging the bound
blonde's tits, the pretty Greek girl slowly unfastened the
shorter man's pants.

"You bought them," Lysandra whispered, gently massaging the white
man's cock. "You should be allowed to fuck them!"  Mr Peterson
looked at her with wide eyes.

Gently, she guided Mr Peterson's straining cock between the
inverted white woman's mammoth mammaries.

"Fuck them, Harold!" the younger girl urged, pressing the
helpless blonde's enormous tits hard around Mr Peterson's swollen
member. "Fuck Claire's big, beautiful titties!" Almost
mesmerized, the older man did as he was told and began stroking
his cock in and out between his wife's tightly pressed cleavage.

It didn't take long. In less than a minute, the short man groaned
and spewed his load between the suspended white woman's big
boobs. Mrs Peterson's boobs were so big that her tightly pressed
titflesh kept most of the cum from escaping, but when Lysandra
released her hold, she could see copious amounts of cum dripping
from between those big white boobs, down onto the white woman's
chest and chin.

"Good thing you have that mask on," the younger girl laughed, "or
you'd have all of that dripping right down on your pretty face!"

It was obvious that Mrs Peterson was mortified at this treatment
and the big white woman struggled helplessly to escape the
wetsuit that was so tightly wrapped around her forearms.

Lysandra looked at her captive and smiled. She wanted to hurt the
malicious blonde -- bad. And, as Lysandra had discovered when
pawing through the arrogant blonde's possessions, the best way to
do that would be to take what Claire considered hers. Squatting,
the Greek girl put her lips close to the white woman's hooded
ear.

"Know what I'm going to do now, Claire?" she whispered to the
irate, straining white woman. "I'm going to take your husband.
Right here, in front of you. I'm going to show him who the better
woman is." The big woman thrashed wildly and Lysandra had to step
back to avoid being bludgeoned by one of the older woman's
enormous tits.

Turning, she regarded Mr Peterson. He seemed like a nice guy, but
it was obvious the guy was a hopeless submissive, helpless
against any dominant woman who realized she could use him. Most
dominant women were self-centered bitches like Mrs Peterson,
Lysandra sighed to herself. But now she was going to teach
"Claire-the-bitch" a lesson, while throwing a mercy-fuck Harold's
way.

Mr Peterson was still fondling his wife's enormous, well-slimed
tits, his gaze riveted on the buzzing bulge visible between the
big blonde's tightly pressed legs.

"You like her titties, don't you Harold," Lysandra purred. She
slowly reached back and undid her bikini top, allowing it to drop
to the deck. "Do you like mine?" The pretty Greek girl struck a
pose, hip jutted forward and pert dark breasts thrust out.

Mr Peterson froze in place, his wide eyes fixated on the young
boobs being presented to him. Unable to speak, he nodded dumbly.

"Do you really?" Lysandra asked, pouting coyly. "They're not as
big as your wife's. You really like them?"

Unable to look away, Mr Peterson could only nod vigorously.

"Would you like to touch them, Harold?" Lysandra whispered. She
could hear muffled screams of outrage from the suspended woman
behind them, which made her smile.

Mr Peterson looked at her, as if fearful of being tricked.

"Touch them, Harold," the younger girl murmured, pressing her
pert boobs together and out, as if offering them to the older
man. She had positioned herself so Mr Peterson had his back to
his bound wife. But Lysandra could see Claire clearly. She could
see her bright blue eyes behind the buglike lenses of the gas
mask, blazing with fury.

"You can't stand to see anyone else take your 'possessions,' can
you Claire!" she thought, taking malicious delight in the white
woman's anguish. Gently, she took Mr Peterson's hand and pressed
his quivering palm against her young breast.

"Mmmm, yes!" Lysandra moaned. "I like that Harold! I like when
you touch me." Mesmerized, Mr Peterson brought his other hand up
and began enthusiastically fondling the young Greek girl, inches
from his restrained wife.

"Oh Harold!" Lysandra moaned, eagerly pushing him onto his back,
on the deck. "I want you! I want you inside me!" The suspended
white woman was gyrating in rage, trying desperately to free
herself so she could reclaim what was hers. Her muffled screams
of anger sounded strangely distant. Lysandra's and Claire's gazes
were locked on each other -- the Greek girl's expression smug,
the bound blonde's expression furious.

I want to make this good, Lysandra thought -- both to infuriate
Claire and to bring a little satisfaction into poor Mr Peterson's
life. The young girl pulled the surprised older man on top of
her.

"Fuck me, Harold!" she begged. "Let her see what a man you are!"
The short man looked flustered and apologized repeatedly.
Reaching down to help, the pretty Greek girl grasped his limp,
white cock.

"Ah, that's right," she smiled at him. "You already jizzed your
wife's tits, haven't you. You need some time to recover. And
besides that, you're a submissive. You need a dominant woman to
take control. But 'dominant' doesn't mean 'bitch.' I think I can
give you the domination you need without crushing your soul." She
smiled at the inverted white woman.

"Watch how it's done, Claire," she laughed.

Lysandra rolled on top of the shorter man and pinned Mr
Peterson's arms beneath her dark legs.

"You belong to me, now," she told him, reaching down with one
hand to roughly grab his flaccid member. She reached out to
firmly grab his throat with the other. "I *own* you Harold," she
told him. "I own your body ... your heart ... your soul." She
smiled as she felt his cock stiffen in her grip.

"You're going to be my little fuck-toy," she moaned, positioning
his now-straining cockhead under her moist, young slit. "I own
every part of you."

He was ready.

"And this," she sighed, slowly sliding herself down on the older
man's now-stiff prick. "I own your cock, Harold. It's mine to
milk as I desire."

It didn't feel bad, all in all, she decided. Despite being short,
Mr Peterson sported a good, stiff 5 inches. It felt nice, without
hurting or feeling uncomfortable. Plus, since she was on top, she
could control the action -- the pace, the pressure, the angle ...
it was really surprisingly pleasant!

The Greek girl slowly ground herself down on the older man's
cock, fucking him with long, slow strokes. He groaned loudly and
Lysandra smiled at the bound white woman, who was glaring
murderously at the pair.

"Mmmmm," the younger girl moaned, sneering at her rival. "I love
fucking your husband Claire! And the only thing I like better
than fucking him is fucking him in front of you! I'm going to
make him cum inside me, Claire. I'm going to make him my personal
fucktoy. I'm going to force him to cum like you were never able
to."

To Lysandra's surprise, her running monologue of taunts, although
aimed at Mrs Peterson, seemed to push Mr Peterson over the edge.
With a loud groan, his body went rigid under her and he shot his
load deep inside the dominant young girl.

"Ah, that was nice," Lysandra murmured, slowing her strokes, but
keeping Mr Peterson's overcome prick inside her. "You see how
much I excite Harold, Claire? You see how quickly he got hard
again -- how much he enjoys my young, dark, tight pussy more than
your old, pale, stretched cunt?" Mr Peterson let out a happy sigh
and closed his eyes in exhaustion. "I guess we know who the
better woman is, now. This is one more thing that used to be
yours but is now mine!"

Chuckling, Lysandra slid off her conquest and padded over to the
bound white woman. She hadn't achieved release, herself, but felt
good that she had brought some pleasure to poor Mr Peterson's
life.

"You see this?" the Greek girl taunted, displaying her
well-filled pussy to the upside-down woman. "This is your
husband's cum, dripping down my thighs." She regarded Mrs
Peterson with mock pity. "Aww, but I won't be greedy. Let me
share it with you!"

The Greek girl unscrewed the cap from the nose of the gas mask.

"You fucking Mexican whore!" Mrs Peterson shouted, her words now
intelligible, though funneled through the gas mask nose piece.
"I'll fucking kill you!"

Lysandra laughed and used the now-open nose-piece to scoop
dripping cum from her inner thigh.

"Here you go, Claire," she purred. "Have some second-hand cum.
You'll like the taste, especially since it now tastes like my
pussy, too." The irate blonde screamed obscenities and it was
obvious that the smell of the mingled secretions must be
permeating the small space within the gas mask.

"You're a bitch, Claire Peterson," Lysandra stated, turning to
face Mr Peterson and leaning down so as to position her crotch
over the open nose-piece of the gas mask. "And you have a filthy
potty mouth. So I think this is only fitting."

The Greek girl smiled seductively at Mr Peterson and the older
man's exhausted cock twitched as he realized what was about to
happen.

"You'll never think of Claire as 'dominant' again, Harold,"
Lysandra murmured, pursing her lips in an exaggerated kiss. The
Greek girl placed her pussy over the gas mask opening and let
loose.

The suspended white woman went crazy, thrashing and twisting in a
furious attempt to escape. But the pretty Greek girl had a firm
grip on the gas mask and continued emptying her bladder -- not
even stopping when the nose-piece overflowed.

Mr Peterson's cock was hard and rigid again, as he watched with
wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Oh my God," he gasped, face flushed with arousal. "You're ...
you're doing it! You're really doing it to her!"

Sighing with contentment, the younger girl emptied herself,
submerging the white woman's pretty face in warm, golden piss.

Smiling in smug satisfaction at the brimming gas mask opening,
Lysandra squatted near the bound white woman and gazed into her
masked face. The big blonde hung motionless. Lysandra knelt down
so she could look into the lensed eye holes of the mask. Her
rival had her eyes, clearly visible through the golden liquid,
clenched tightly shut.

"Looks to me as if you have only two choices," the Greek girl
murmured, a cruel smile stealing across her pretty face. "Either
be known as the woman who drowned in a cup-and-a-half of a more
dominant woman's piss, or ..." Lysandra paused, relishing the
moment.

The bound blonde's eyes shot open in horror as her situation
became clear.

"Start drinking," the pretty Greek girl whispered. "That's right
bitch: Drink my piss or die."

The two women stared at each other, their faces separated by two
glass lenses and a half-inch of the younger girl's urine.

"So, what's it going to be, Claire?" Lysandra whispered. "Death
or the ultimate debasement and submission?"

A warm, liquid stroke of pure pleasure coursed through the young
girl's body, interrupting her taunts. Mr Peterson had crawled
over to her out-thrust ass and buried his face in her pissy
pussy.

"Oh FUCK, Harold!" Lysandra moaned, not acting this time. "Oh
that is good! Keep going! Don't you dare stop!" The older man
slavishly licked the younger girl's befouled pussy, lovingly
running his tongue along the folds of her labia and deeply
exploring her moist hole before turning his attention to her
engorged clit.

"Oh Harold," Lysandra moaned. "You didn't tell me you were such a
talented little cunt-licker! She gazed into the dethroned white
woman's eyes, submerged in her piss, as Claire's husband eagerly
lapped the Greek girl's young pussy. Each of the women's noses
pushed against the forehead of the other woman as they gazed into
each other's eyes.

Claire saw smug triumph, arousal, and sexual excitement in the
Greek girl's eyes.

Lysandra saw defeat, fear, and repressed sexual excitement in the
humiliated white woman's eyes.

Then the pretty Greek girl saw the white woman's throat begin to
work furiously.

Claire had chosen humiliation and life over pride and death.

"She's drinking my piss!" Lysandra realized, in triumphant
wonder.

The completeness of her triumph over the bitchy blonde, coupled
with the talented tonguing of the white woman's stolen husband,
pushed Lysandra over the edge. The pretty Greek girl climaxed
hard and loud, gripping the bound white woman's head and
screaming her pleasure into Claire's masked face.  The white
woman's body began trembling and Lysandra realized the hilted
vibrator must have taken its toll.

"That's it Claire," the pretty Greek girl moaned, clutching her
rival's head close. "Cum with me! Cum with me while you drink my
piss and watch your husband lick my pissy pussy!"  The white
woman looked as if she was crying, but with her upper face still
submerged in urine behind the mask, Lysandra couldn't tell. But
the gulping noises coming from the humiliated blonde continued,
despite the unwanted orgasm coursing through her suspended body.

Within a score of tense moments, both women's climaxes ran their
course.

The dark-skinned girl collapsed on the deck, panting, and
regarded Mr Peterson with new admiration.

"Fuck, Harold!" she gasped. "I didn't know you could do that with
your mouth!"

The older man beamed with pride.

"I did well?" he asked.

Still gasping for breath, Lysandra could only nod as she patted
his bald head.

"I could get used to that!" she grinned.

The thought stopped her short.

I *could* get used to that, she realized. That was the best oral
sex she had ever had! She had never had a partner so into it ...
even to the point of enjoying it after she'd pissed. It had been
incredibly arousing, in a weird, kinky way.

She'd never seriously thought of partnering with a man over twice
her age but ...

Why shouldn't I get used to this, she asked herself. Sure, he
isn't much to look at, but topping him was an unexpected turn-on.
And if his tongue is always this good, I want to spend a lot of
time sitting on his face. And wouldn't that be the ultimate
defeat for that bitchy Claire ... to steal her meal-ticket?

He *is* rich, she reminded herself.

She glanced over at Mrs Peterson, who was hanging, motionless.
Had she drowned? Or had she succeeded in drinking enough piss to
lower the level to where she could breathe again?

Lysandra found she really didn't care. If Claire had drowned in
piss, she was out of the picture and had met a fitting end. On
top of that, Mr Peterson would be a widower and Lysandra could
step in, taking the sweet life Claire once enjoyed.

She could give poor Mr Peterson all the dominance he craved,
without being a bitch about it.

If Claire *was* still alive, she had been dethroned and could
serve as a nice kick-toy/slave, to further humiliate.

Lysandra stood, nude, with her hands on her dark hips and smiled
at Mr Peterson.

"Harold," she commanded, "you're going to marry me. If that bitch
is still alive, then you'll divorce her and we'll keep her
prisoner, using her as a rug to fuck on, when she isn't serving
as my personal toilet."

The white man didn't even blink.

"Yes, my goddess," he nodded, his hard-on bobbing in front of
him.

Hard again, already?!? Lysandra smiled and gently kicked him onto
his back.

"You're going to make me a widow within the next six months to a
year," she warned him. "Because I'm going to smother you every
night by sitting on your face and it's only a matter of time
before I fuck you to death."  Mr Peterson groaned with fear and
arousal, his exhausted cock once-again unwillingly rigid and
straining. The Greek girl straddled his hips, engulfing his
throbbing meat in her demanding, dark, young pussy.

"Your cum belongs to me, Harold," she whispered, pressing her
firm, dark body down on him, pinning his arms to his sides with
her legs. "Give it to me, Harold! Give me what I want!" Mr
Peterson groaned in exhaustion, fear, and arousal. "I'm going to
milk you like a fucking cow, baby," she whispered, wrapping both
hands around his throat and gently choking him. "Every day, I'm
going to milk you until you have nothing left to give."

A rich old husband and a cunty slave, the Greek girl thought,
relishing the older man's groans as she savagely fucked him, yet
again. Not a bad catch for the day! True, there was no way poor
Harold would be able to survive the young Greek girl's insatiable
dominance. A month ... a year ... it was only a matter of time
before she was a wealthy widow and Mr Peterson died a happy,
satisfied death.

Then Lysandra would have all of her time to devote to Claire.

"I think I'll keep her as a toilet slave," the young girl
laughed, even as she felt her new fiancé tremble beneath her as
he was slowly forced towards yet another climax. "Would you like
that Harold? Would you like me to keep your ex-wife as a toilet
slave?" She leaned heavily on top of him and whispered what she
planned to do to Claire.

The mental image was too much for the older man. Crying out, Mr
Peterson felt the dominant dark-skinned girl wring yet another
load from his overworked cock and dangerously drained balls
before he passed out in exhaustion.

Definitely the catch of the day, Lysandra grinned.