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The Good Ship Venus
by Naughtysamantha (address withheld)
***
I'm neither a recovering nymphomaniac nor an amateur
easy-after-a-few-drinks-take-me-home-and-have-your-
nasty-way-with-me nymphomaniac. I'm an ardent,
unabashed, full-fledged, let-it-all-hang-out,
celebrating, practicing, sucking, fucking, raging,
roaring, whoring nymphomaniac. This chapter is about my
voyage on the good ship Venus. (FFM, oral, orgy)
***
It's not exactly true to say I quit the game. More
accurately, I go into semi-retirement to concentrate on
my journalism degree. I still work part-time for Robin
and model his gowns and fuck his fathers a couple of
evenings a week, but business is improving and Robin
needs a girl who can work more regular hours. So I'm
the backup girl, called in when the regular salesgirl
can't make it, business is unusually heavy or it's a
really big potential sale and two girls are more likely
to sell a very expensive wedding dress than one.
Chastity stays my friend and sends me occasional
clients to help pay my journalism school fees. Whenever
she comes across, as she puts it, "someone who wants to
pay real money for a girl who's got really big tits, is
no more than mildly neurotic, can play the lady and the
whore equally well and looks like a queen in a sailor's
dream" I'm usually ready to drop my studies, come out
of retirement for another round or two and spread my
legs for excellent money.
One particularly nasty winter day Chastity calls me
about a very rich American client who's sailing the
Caribbean for a couple of weeks with some friends. He
wants to stock his 72-foot yacht with, as Chastity
delicately quotes him, "a big-titted classy broad who
knows which knife and fork to use, can handle dope, can
suck the chrome off a car's bumper and fucks like a
crazed mink."
Chastity tells me "that's exactly you, my dear. Exactly
you. I thought of you the moment he said those magic
words..." I'm not exactly flattered until Chastity
quotes the rest of those magic words "...and he'll pay
thirty thousand dollars American... and you won't even
have to keep count... it's all-in. One price fits all.
Him and his friends for the whole two weeks, Sam dear."
It's Christmas, the snow drifts down and piles up along
Toronto's streets like dirty, grey ramparts, Robin
doesn't need me to fuck any fathers in the dressing
room and there are no classes at J-school. Most
important, my calendar says no problem for the
duration. So I get a very painful Brazilian wax job,
pack my bikini and suntan lotion and next morning fly
Air Canada first class to Montego Bay in Jamaica.
I wear my Armani suit, dark glasses and carry a Gucci
bag and the flight attendant is very sweet and shyly
asks me if I'm a movie star.
***
A uniformed chauffeur picks me up at the airport in a
ridiculously stretched white limousine and drives me to
the harbour.
The yacht is long, lithe and lovely. Her hull sparkles
white and navy-blue, a gold stripe at the waterline.
Teak deck and polished brass fittings stretch forever.
The sails are neatly furled but uncovered, ready to
hoist. Everything is first-class. Everything sparkles.
There's an awful lot of serious money floating in this
boat.
A good-looking young man around my age dressed in
nautical whites, all blond and deeply tanned, greets me
politely as "Miss Sam". He tells me his name is Mike,
takes my bag, instructs me to take off my high heels to
protect the teak deck, offers an arm to help me on
board and discreetly disappears.
Six men lounge around the cockpit in swim suits,
drinking from frosty glasses shielded by little paper
parasols. They're all in their forties and fifties with
tanned, expensive, slightly-out-of-condition
businessmen's bodies. An enormous bottle of Captain
Morgan rum stands half-empty on a table in the centre
of the cockpit.
The friends are already half-drunk. And singing. Badly.
I stand in the hot sun, sweating lightly in my Toronto
dress, shoes dangling from one hand, while they ignore
me and finish a verse.
'We're on the good ship Venus
By God, you should'a seen us
The figurehead is a whore in bed
And the mast a roaring penis.
We sail with the east wind at sunset. By dawn I've
fucked and sucked all six and am fast asleep in a
tangle of male bodies on a huge, sweaty bed in the
master cabin.
It's going to be a long, hard voyage.
***
Chastity says there are only two rules for me, the
"big-titted classy broad who knows which knife and fork
to use, can handle dope, can suck the chrome off a
car's bumper and fucks like a crazed mink."
The first rule is that any of the friends can take me
whenever and wherever he wants, for whatever he wants.
I can't say no. Ever. The second rule is that I'm not
allowed to have anything to do with the crew, Jabulani
the Jamaican captain or Mike, the Canadian chef and
deck hand. While the voyage lasts, I belong to the
friends, body and soul. I'm a wholly-owned property.
When I'm not fucking or sucking I'm free to take the
helm — just so long as Captain Jabulani is nearby —
help with the sails, read, watch a huge selection of
movies and porno on the VCR, sunbathe, swim, eat, sleep
or do nothing.
All of this is great in theory. But when a girl's
trying to keep six highly competitive, alpha-males
sexually satisfied it does cut into her time for
sailing, reading, watching VCRs, sunbathing, swimming,
eating, sleeping or doing nothing.
But I don't complain. After all, I'm getting more
leisure time and servicing fewer clients than when I
work in Josh's whorehouse. And Josh's johns don't sing.
There's fucking in the cabins
Sucking on the docks
You can't hear the music
For the swishing of the cocks
When any of the friends gets horny, my mouth, hands and
pussy are there — ready, willing and able.
At first, it's fairly discreet. One of the friends
suggests quietly that maybe we can find somewhere more
private and we make out in one of the cabins.
Discretion doesn't last long. By day two I drop the
bikini top. By day three the bikini's bottom's gone
too. By day four, I'm naked almost all the time and
fucking openly on deck in front of the friends and
crew. Sometimes one friend at a time, sometimes more
than one friend at a time. I'm always available for
whatever the friends want, whenever and wherever the
friends want it.
I fuck and suck and drink and smoke ganja while the sun
pours down like honey and later, in the warm darkness
of night, do it all again. That's the deal. As the
Jamaicans say, no problem.
Do I cum a lot? Of course, but not often during the
daylight sessions. They're pretty much straight
business. Open mouth, thighs or both, show professional
enthusiasm, moan and groan at the right moments, offer
some version of "that was great, honey" at the end and
go back to whatever I was doing when I was interrupted.
Most of the cumming is done at night when, with enough
dope (Jamaica's own splendid sensimilla) and wine
(Domaine Comtes Lafon's Meursault Charmes chardonnay),
I slip easily into the zone and once or twice even
threaten the world record for multiple orgasms.
All the while, the two-man crew, Jabulani and Mike, go
about their work discretely pretending not to see or
hear.
And the friends sing.
The captain's son, he is here
But he is only eight
He can't fuck the ladies
So they help him masturbate.
***
Behind my back in the cockpit five of the friends tuck
into bacon and eggs, drink the first rum of the day and
joke about a woman one of them knows who, he claims,
can cum by sucking her own clitoris.
I'm naked, on my knees on the teak deck, sucking off
the sixth friend.
"She's a ketch" explains the owner of the cock, holding
me firmly by my nipples while I suck. "Seventy-two foot
long, fore-and-aft-rigged with a mainmast forward
carrying a mainsail and jibs." I speed up the tempo.
I'm hungry and want my breakfast. "She has a mizzenmast
aft, stepped forward of the rudder post." I grunt
encouragement and suck deeper. He squeezes my nipples.
From the corner of my eye I see Jabulani at the wheel
and Mike scrubbing the deck. Their bodies are young and
hard and beautiful. The friends' bodies were once, no
doubt, young, hard and beautiful.
The cock ejaculates. I stand up, smile for its owner,
run a hand through his thinning hair in appreciation of
his contribution to my morning and we join the rest of
the friends for breakfast. I wash the cum down with
fresh orange juice and the splendid chardonnay.
We sail on.
Mrs. McGinty — she is here
She has the crowd in fits
Jumping off the quarterdeck
And bouncing on her tits.
***
One evening on our sixth day out, while the sun sinks
into azure sea like a fiery, dying meteor and the wind
dies to a sweet, gentle caress, we sail under spinnaker
into a bay fringed by white, sandy beaches and leaning,
top-heavy palm trees.
The crew drop anchor in ten feet of crystal-clear
water. On the other side of the bay an enormous power
yacht rides importantly at anchor. Not long after we've
furled our sails for the night the power yacht sends a
Zodiac alongside. As is the custom among cruising
people, we're invited on board for sundowners. The
Zodiac will wait for us. No dressing. Whatever we're in
is fine. Since I'm naked, as always, I decide I'll
ignore the instructions, go shower and get into a
bikini and wrap.
The power yacht is heavy with oiled mahogany, polished
brass, chrome and money. Five crew — all in nautical
whites looking like California surfers in a schoolgirl
fantasy — courteously help us up the ladder to the main
deck.
Two people wait on deck to greet us. We recognize both,
of course. She's a famous movie-star who sleeps with
all the right directors and producers and trades on her
gorgeous face, violet eyes and astounding breasts to
collect seven husbands and millions of dollars. He's
husband numbers four and five, a famous British actor
and world-class drinker. Both are around my parent's
age, a little past their best-by dates.
The friends are hugely impressed by the famous movie-
star. They cluster around her like bears to honey. She
pours them drinks, flirts and flaunts her legs out of a
vivid, flowered Fijian sarong. Her still-splendid
breasts pour out of a brilliant pink bikini top that's
designed to flash occasional nipple unless she keeps
her shoulders firmly back.
The famous British actor-husband is hugely impressed by
me. He's tanned and shirtless and wears a sarong slung
low around a thickening waist. He stands very close and
asks in one of those splendid British-actor voices, all
diction and seduction, "will you believe me if I tell
you that you're one of the most beautiful women I've
ever seen... and my wife doesn't understand me?"
I flirt back. With him, it's easy. "On the contrary,
kind sir. I'm sure she understands you very well. Every
woman would." He laughs. It's not a pleasant laugh.
It's cynical, lonely and oddly hurt. His wife hears it,
glances back at us. I can't read her expression.
For some reason a wave of sadness floods over me. I
feel terribly sorry for this rich and famous man who
can buy anything and anyone he wants. I study his face,
a touch bleary and out of focus. His eyes are bloodshot
and red-rimmed and he's puffy from too much good life
and too little moderation. Even so, there's still
something beautiful, even vaguely noble, about this
face. I picture him in all his glory on film where he's
magnificent and commands the camera more like a god
than a man. Blue eyes to drown in. A voice so rich and
male and seductive that just the sound of it makes my
uterus contract.
His eyes caress my breasts, nearly as naked as his
wife's but even heavier. "Jesus, you're beautiful" he
says sadly." I should have met you a thousand years
ago." He reaches out, cups one bikinied breast in his
hand. I don't move. His fingers caress my nipple
through the thin material. The nipple hardens. Still I
don't move. Abruptly he turns away, back to the bar
behind him, refills his whisky glass.
I hear the famous movie-star tell him quietly
"Darling... not too much whisky please." She walks over
to where I'm standing. "Come... let me show you around
the boat, my dear." She takes my arm firmly in one
hand. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" It's not a
question.
"Of course..."
***
"Which one are you with?" she asks. "Which of the men?"
I offer the diplomatic answer. "David... the guy who
organizes the cruise. He's my boyfriend."
We stand together in the bow, drinks in hand and watch
the moon rise, remote, mysterious and female, over the
horizon. The movie star examines me over her wine. "I
think you're lying" she says flatly, with no more
malice than if she's criticizing my wrap. "You're too
young. Probably still at school. Anyway, I think you're
a professional" She smiles "sometimes it takes a pro to
know a pro."
I like her explanation. "So?"
"You're with them all. They've rented you. You're their
little playmate."
"So?"
She pauses, looks out over the shimmering water. "I
want you to look after my husband. I'll pay you, of
course. Pay you well. Very well."
I haven't expected this. Chances are, knowing the
friends by now and knowing something of the reputation
of this couple, a gangbang is already on the cards. If
that happens I'll fuck the famous British actor anyway.
I glance back at him. Glass in hand, he's watching me.
I smile seductively mostly out of habit. I turn back to
my new best friend. "What do you mean? Look after him?"
"I love him very much... but he's lost his confidence.
I want him to get it back."
"I don't see..."
She interrupts. "He can't keep it up... not for long,
anyway. Not long enough. And he hasn't cum. Not for
months. He's a proud man... he used to cum like a
bloody volcano. So he drinks instead. Then he's not
interested in me. You know what I mean?" She gazes out
over the water, darkening now. "And I love him so
much... I want him to be strong again."
"So what makes you think I can make him strong when you
can't?"
"You're a pro, aren't you?" She studies me as if she's
checking out a Christian Dior dress. "You're young and
gorgeous... huge boobs... and obviously good at what
you do... those guys you come with are no boy scouts.
They must be getting their money's worth."
She puts a hand on my arm.
"Also, because you're a pro you won't get hurt.
Emotionally I mean. Not like the other women. And he
likes you. I can see that." Her violet eyes are close
to tears. She gives me advice. "He likes to play a
little rough... only a little... you won't mind, will
you?" A tear runs down her famous face. "Help me try to
save him... that's all. Help me... please Sam..."
***
The sound of the Zodiac dies across the bay.
"She's my present to you" says the famous movie star to
the famous British actor. She kisses him on the cheek.
"I want you to enjoy her, darling."
We're in the master cabin. It's bigger than my whole
apartment back in Toronto. The famous British actor
sits down on the immense bed, his tanned body dark
against stark white sheets. "That's very kind of you,
my love, my jewel." He examines me. A little smile
curls his lips. "Can I keep her or do I have to throw
her back in the water when I'm done?"
The famous movie star pretends indignation. "Certainly
not... you beast... you satyr... you monster." She sits
on a chair at the side of the bed. "She's just for
tonight... because I love you."
"Her friends don't mind?"
"Her friends were very happy to contribute to a good
cause. Anyway, I think you scare them. But they want
her back tomorrow morning."
"She doesn't mind?"
"Ask her."
He turns to me but before he can speak I curtsey like a
Jane Austen debutante and announce primly "I'm yours to
command, my lord."
He smiles, puts an arm around the famous movie star's
shoulders. "I suppose so... if I have to... not because
I want to, of course. Just for you, my sweet. Tell her
to get undressed."
The famous movie star asks "will you take it off,
please Sam."
I ignore her, smile at the famous actor. "You want me
to undress?" He nods. "Yes, Master." I drop the wrap to
the deck.
"I'll do the rest" offers the famous movie star. She
gets up from her chair, walks over to me, unhooks my
bra, helps me out of the bikini bottom. They join the
wrap on the carpet. Slowly, naked, like a runway model,
I turn around, breasts swaying, for his approval.
"Holy fuck" he says. "Holy fuck..."
"If that is your desire, my lord."
The famous movie star's voice is a whisper. I think
she's close to tears. "Be good to him, Sam..."
***
I kneel in front of the famous British actor, unknot
his sarong, pull it open. His cock lies soft between
tanned legs.
I gaze into his eyes. Suddenly, to me, they're not
bloodshot any more. Suddenly they're clear and blue and
focused. Suddenly his face is lean and strong again,
his body taut, like an athlete. Suddenly he's thirty
and magnificent again.
Gently, I push him back onto the bed. Softly, barely
touching, I run hands around his face, down his chest
and back up to his face. I kiss his forehead, his
eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his ears. I kiss his
lips without passion. My nipples skim his chest. His
hands come up to cup my breasts. I shudder.
Taking my time, I lick my tongue down his neck to his
belly. And back again. "You're so beautiful, my lord...
so beautiful... I want to love you... I want your
body... I want you in me... I want you... so strong...
so hard... so beautiful..."
In the half light, the famous movie star watches us
from a chair at the side of the bed.
I kiss him on the lips. "Do you like my breasts?" I
ask. "Suck my breasts for me. Bite my nipples... be
gentle... lick my breasts." I thrust a breast at his
mouth. "Swallow it... suck it in all the way, my lord."
His hands hold me tight around the waist. Half my
breast disappears into his mouth. I push against his
face, touch his nipple, harden it with careful
fingernails.
I pull my breast from his mouth, kiss him on the lips.
My fingernails graze his face. "You're so strong... so
beautiful... I want you in me, my lord... more than
anything else on earth... I want your body... your
cock, my lord..."
Out of the corner of my eye I see the famous movie star
unhook her bikini top, drop it to the floor. Her famous
breasts are low, full, heavy. They sway when she moves.
Her nipples are hard, purple, like her eyes.
I run a hand down the famous British actor's body all
the way to his cock. He's half erect. I leave his cock,
cup his balls in my hand, squeeze gently, scratch with
sharp nails. "You're so big" I tell him. "So big... so
very big... so strong... I want your cock... soon I'll
want your cock in me... soon... not yet..." I pull his
head back to a breast. "Bite me... bite me... hurt
me... just a little... hurt me..."
He bites. I hump my hips towards him, slide a hand down
his belly, stroke his belly, move slowly closer to his
groin. Touch his cock. Scratch lightly. Pull back. Do
it again. And again. Tease him. Tease him. Scratch
fingernails up the inside of his thighs toward his
groin. Just touching. Pull back. Do it again. And
again. Closer each time. Brush his cock. Tease his
cock. Talk to his cock. "You're so strong so
beautiful." His teeth bite into my nipple. "I'm going
to drain you cock... drink all your cum... and you're
going to make me cum 'till I can't cum any more... ever
again... ever again... you're so beautiful... so
strong... so hard... I want you so much, my lord... I
want you to cum in my mouth..."
I'm not working, not pretending. I'm in the zone.
Nothing matters except this beautiful man. And his
beautiful wife who watches from the shadows.
The famous movie star unties her sarong, sits back in
her chair. She's naked now, plump and beautiful. One
hand caresses purple nipples.
The famous British actor's cock is hard. He turns,
tries to mount me. I push him away. "No... not yet..."
He draws back. "Play with my pussy... make me cum with
your fingers... I like that."
His body half on top of me, he slips fingers into the
soft, moist flesh of my pussy. My body opens for him.
One finger, then two, three, all four. Fingers push,
slide in and out. In and out. In and out. He fills me.
I groan, push against his hand. I tremble, vibrate. My
world centres on the hand stretching, filling my cunt.
"Touch my clit" I whisper. "Touch me."
"You do it."
My fingers go to my clitoris. Caress it, circle it with
two fingers while his hand thrusts, pushes deeper, in
and out. In and out.
We lie together, bodies entwined, his four fingers
ramming my cunt, my fingers frantically working on my
clitoris, until I cum, groaning, moaning, sobbing.
I push his hand out, curl my body up next to him,
breathe hard. We sweat and touch and whisper in the
thick, hot Caribbean night.
***
I whisper to his cock "you're so strong... so
beautiful... so hard... so good... you make me feel so
good..." He thrusts his cock towards the heat of my
pussy. "Not yet... not yet." Again I push him away.
"Not yet... wait for it, my lord... wait for me..."
At the side of the bed the famous movie star runs a
hand over her famous breasts, down between her famous
legs. Even in the gloom, I can see her skin shine with
sweat.
My mouth goes down to his groin. I run my tongue up and
down his rigid cock, take his balls in my mouth, suck
on them. I let his balls go, murmur "I love you cock...
I want to suck you cock... so hard... so strong..." I
take the cock-head just inside my mouth, set up an easy
rhythm so he's happy just lying there, splendidly
erect, not over-excited. I play with my clitoris while
I lick and suck his cockhead. I cum again. The sound of
my cumming excites him. Again he pushes me back on the
bed, tries to mount me.
"Not yet..." I tell him. "That was fabulous... but not
yet..." I sit up, face him, straddle him, slowly lower
my pussy down onto his cock. He goes in easily. I
squeeze. He grunts. I lower my breasts to his mouth.
"Bite me" I tell him. "Bite my breasts... bite my
nipples... gently... gently..." He bites. He groans. He
groans again, louder. His cock pushes deeper into me.
"Not yet." I stop moving until he calms. "Slap my
breasts... pinch my nipples" I tell him. "Slap my
bottom... I've been a naughty girl... spank me... be
gentle... spank me... your cock's so beautiful... so
strong."
The famous movie star spreads her legs. Her hand
flutters on her pussy.
The famous British actor's cock stays deep in my cunt.
Teeth bite my nipples. Hard hands slap my breasts, move
to my buttocks, slap harder and harder. The pain — not
really pain at all — excites me, moves me to another
place, a deeper level. My juices flow. I scream little
screams and cum again. I almost always cum when I'm
spanked.
He groans. I climb off him, take his cock in both
hands. I tell his cock "I love the taste of you,
cock... you taste of me too... now it's time to cum...
for her..."
I gesture to the famous movie star. She gets up off her
chair, sits down on the bed next to us. With one hand I
caress my clitoris, with the other I hold his cock,
suck him deep into my throat, slide him in and out, in
and out, in and out. I tighten, loosen, tighten the
muscles in my throat. Tighten. Loosen. Tighten. Loosen.
I take my mouth off his cock, talk to it again. "Not
me. Her. You want her. You want to fuck her... fuck
her... fuck her... you're so beautiful... so hard... so
strong... fuck her... fuck her... oh god, yes... fuck
her... that's what you want, my lord."
I take the famous movie star's wrist in one hand, the
famous British actor's cock in the other, guide her to
sit on him. "Fuck her... fuck her... oh god... oh
jesus... oh god... fuck her" My voice rises to a
scream. "Fuck her... take her... do it to her... do it
to her... fuck her... fuck her... fuck her, my lord..."
The famous movie star and the famous British actor take
their time. It's lovely to watch. They kiss and stroke
and murmur and gaze into each other's eyes and move on
each other until their bodies stiffen, he grabs her
hair with both hands, she whimpers, he groans, together
they scream.
In the distance, over the water, I faintly hear the
friends singing.
There's fucking in the cabins
Sucking on the docks
You can't hear the music
For the swishing of the cocks.
***
Early the next morning I slip out of the great, sweaty
bed leaving the famous movie star and the famous
British actor asleep, tangled in each other's arms. I
find my bikini, pull it on and go up on deck where the
California surfers are busy preparing scuba gear.
The surfer with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package,
blondest hair and bluest eyes greets me. "Morning miss.
Did you sleep well?"
I wonder how much the crew know about last night. I
guess they know everything. You can't keep secrets on
boats. I smile ruefully. "Not enough. To say nothing of
a slight hangover."
"You want some breakfast, Miss?"
"Thought I'd swim first."
The surfer with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package,
blondest hair and bluest eyes flexes his chest muscles
and tells me "the best thing for hangover is a dive."
He asks "You like to dive, Miss?"
I pretend to be shocked. "Really! I beg your pardon!"
He's flustered. Which is what I intend. "Scuba dive I
mean."
"Oh that. Never tried." I study the bulge in his brief
swimsuit. "How hard is it?"
He's flustered again. "How do you mean?"
I glance at him reproachfully. "I mean scuba diving,
silly!"
He grins. "Oh that. Easy. We'll be happy to teach you."
***
We start in shallow water, just off the beach. The
California surfers teach me the basics. Most of the
basics seem to include a lot of adjusting of the straps
on my buoyancy jacket which is supposed to cover my
chest and back and prevent me from drowning. When one
breast keeps popping out of its cup during the
adjustments, the surfer with the smallest swimsuit,
biggest package, blondest hair and bluest eyes suggests
we forget the top.
The others agree that topless is the best way to scuba.
"Makes you more streamlined... less water drag" offers
one. I ask him to undo my bra strap and he fishes
around under the back of the jacket until he finds the
strap, unhooks it and tosses the bra back to the white
sand of the beach.
***
The six of us glide together under the yacht. Looking
up, the dark hull rocks like a great whale on the
silver surface. Small, brilliantly coloured fish nibble
on the hull.
A coral reef, red, purple, gold and blue, juts out of
brilliant white stretches of sand beneath us. A school
of fish, yellow, black and elegant, swim past in strict
formation, disappear into the hazy turquoise. It's like
flying. It's like dreaming. It's out-of-body, like the
best of all possible sex. Like being in last night's
zone. I feel wonderful.
The California surfers hover around me, circle thumbs
and second fingers in the universal diving signal "ok?"
Like they've taught me, I nod and return the gesture.
"Ok". I look up at the hull again, back to the
California surfers with their beautiful bodies and
remember the famous movie star and the famous British
actor sleeping above us. I smile.
I breathe in, float higher. I breathe out, sink.
Gliding on my back, I watch my bubbles scramble to the
surface. I turn over, kick my legs and the fins fly me
forward above sand, white as fresh snow. I sink lower
and trail my fingers in the sand, draw parallel lines.
A tiny, bright red crab scuttles in front of me. I pick
it up, take my mouthpiece out, kiss the crab, replace
the mouthpiece, watch the crab scuttle away, angrily
waving its claws. A school of angel fish dart away when
I get close. Two barracuda glide past, all teeth and
eyes and menace. My nipples, hard and super-sensitive,
rub gently against the inside of my buoyancy jacket.
I float a couple of feet above the sand. The surfer
with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package, blondest
hair and bluest eyes glides close to me. Through the
masks we smile for each other.
"Ok? he signals.
"Ok" I signal back. Still locked into his eyes, I pull
on the strings on the sides of my bikini bottom. We
watch as it sinks slowly to the sand below. I dribble
air out of my mouth and my body follows the bikini
bottom to the white sand. I stretch out on my back on
top of the scuba tank, smile up at the California
surfers above me, spread my legs and circle my thumb
and second finger. "Ok". Five swimsuits come off five
California surfer bodies and drift down to join my
bikini bottom on the ocean floor.
A grouper and the two barracuda watch curiously while I
fuck the California surfers, one by one. Our bubbles
blend, float up to the surface where the boats rock and
the famous movie star and the famous British actor and
the businessmen who paid a king's ransom to rent my
body sleep off their hangovers.
Singing... I'll do you this time
I'll do you now
I couldn't do you last time
Can I do you now?
***
On the very last evening of the voyage we anchor
leeward of a small island off Negril, only three hours
good sailing from Montego Bay. It's been a long day and
evening of sex, booze and dope. A sort of desperate
farewell for the friends to prove something very
important for the last time. Then prove it again.
Around midnight I yawn and stretch and announce I'm
going to catch up on sleep. "Early plane. Please don't
wake me, guys, unless it's an emergency. Like we're on
fire or sinking... or attacked by terrorists... or
great white sharks."
I climb down the companionway and, on a sudden impulse
instead of going aft to my cabin, turn forward. There
are no lights down here, just darkness. I listen for
breathing, hear it, follow the sound, guiding with one
hand against the bulkhead. I stumble against unseen
fittings, find a cabin door, open it, slip inside,
grope around until I recognize bunks, one on top of the
other. I reach inside the top bunk. Whoever's in it
wakes with my hand under the sheet touching his thigh.
He mumbles, turns over, grabs the hand.
"Fuck off Jabu." I move my hand, scratch with long
fingernails. "Jesus... it's not Jabu. Who's this?"
"A mermaid..."
Pause. "Hi Miss Sam..."
"Shhhh..." My hand searches, finds his cock. It's long
and firm and nearly ready for action. I guess I've
interrupted a dream. I hope he doesn't mind too much.
Above deck, the singing goes on.
The captain has a daughter
They throw her in the water
Delighted squeals show that eels
Have found her sexual quarter.
A hand comes from the lower bunk, touches my calf,
travels up my leg. I hear Jabulani's voice. "I'm
dreaming... tell me I'm dreaming. No... please God
mon... tell me I not dreaming."
The hand reaches my pussy. I open my legs, whisper "we
have to be quiet..." I stroke Mike's cock in the
darkness.
Jabulani climbs out of the bottom bunk, His body is
hard against my back, his hands cup my breasts. His
cock pushes against my buttocks. "Welcome Miss Sam" he
whispers. "You sure are welcome. Just in time... even
Mike's starting to look good." He picks me up in
powerful arms like I'm a baby, lays me down on the top
bunk next to Mike and climbs up to join us.
Their bodies are young, hard, beautiful. Their cocks
are urgent, eager, demanding, tireless. In the
darkness, I don't know who's doing what to me. In the
darkness I don't care.
Above deck, the singing drones on.
The captain's wife, sweet Mabel
Does all that she is able
To give the crew their weekly screw
Under the galley table.
***
The next day in the middle of a snow storm I stroll
through Toronto customs with a marvelous all-over tan
and forty thousand untaxed American dollars tucked
discreetly in my bra.
We're on the good ship Venus
By God, you should'a seen us
The figurehead is a whore in bed
And the mast a roaring penis.
END
(The Good Ship Venus is one chapter in a 109-chapter
autobiography detailing my fascinating life between the
sheets and other places. My story is true, except that
some of the facts have been changed to make it more
interesting. You may reach me at
samanthachaborn@gmail.com)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 54