It was getting late in the cyclone season. It was time to leave Fiji. We’d explored it to death and the next leg of our journey could be protected by good forecasting and route planning with just an appropriate amount of luck thrown in. That and a full dose of Ellen’s navigational and planning skills.
The next stop was the island chain of Vanuatu. We be sailing in company with Liddy and the yacht she was on. That didn’t necessarily mean always being in visual range. Indeed at night, that can be more of a hazard then a safety benefit.
No, with the boats nearly the same size and approximately the same speed, it meant leaving together and keeping in contact; knowing each was only ever a shortish distance away from the other. Ideally, one would always be able to track the other on the AIS.
The day before we left, while Amy and Tash were ashore with Liddy getting last minute supplies for both yachts, Ellen sat me down at the dining table in the main cabin, laid out all the charts and her notes, and gave me her usual detailed navigation briefing and trip plan.
Sailing in these tropical areas isn’t something to be taken lightly. Quite apart from cyclones, many yachts have come to grief on a reef. We were already aware of one that we’d sat on for sundowners (evening drinks shared between yachties) that had suffered that fate; as had the yacht we’d saved Ellen from. Mind you, with the gaggle of beauties I have on the yacht, we’re a popular target for sundowner invitations.
Modern chart plotters are great, but all too easily breed complacency. If zoomed out to large scale while crossing ocean distances, a reef in the way can just disappear from their display altogether. Ellen spends hours poring over the charts covering our intended routes, identifying any potential hazard, working out current flows that can affect our course made good, integrating all of that with the weather forecast and generally making sure the trip will be as safe as possible.
Then she gives me a download like this. The intellect and attention to detail she brings to the job is incredible and absolutely invaluable to my sense of security as the skipper of the boat. Which is why it has always embarrassed me that I’m usually sitting there alongside her with a massive boner under the table while she’s going through it. It sort of just reinforces any prejudices about men only being able to think through their cock.
Superficially, the problem has always been that she usually only has one of her ‘fuck me’ bikinis on as she briefing me and for us both to see the features on the chart she’s pointing out, we tend to be sitting incredibly close. As she bends over the chart to point something out to me it often puts her teasingly covered tits hanging right in my line of vision and if I point out a feature on the map to ask her about it, I often find my forearm brushing against the underside of her breast.
But it’s deeper than that. There’s just something so special about Ellen. Part of that is the aura that surrounds her. Just sitting next to her feels inappropriately intimate, as if, already being inside the force field of her aura, I’m violating her body. Violating with permission maybe, but even more sexually exciting because of that.
The other part is our intellectual bond. She can play my brain like a fiddle, challenge me in debating the most obtuse topic, banter amusingly with me and then leave me awe struck as to how someone so young can know so much and apply the knowledge so intelligently.
And being a mere male, all of that translates into a sexual desire for her.
There have been times it’s taken all of my self control not to bend her over the table and have sex with her on it. But l have always hidden my arousal simply because I didn’t want her to feel I was devaluing her work. And that usually meant sitting at the table for a while after she’d finished and got up – me apparently studying the chart, but as much in reality waiting for the boner to go down.
I had of course revealed this weakness to her as I attempted to mollify dikmen escort her jealousy about my giving vent to a moment of extreme lust towards Amy. To my relief she’d seemed to have got some comfort from my admission instead of being offended at my lustful weakness.
This briefing was following the usual script.
Half way through it I was sitting there with this great boner stretching my swimming briefs well over the waistband and I could feel it weeping pre-cum. Ellen’s body was pressed against mine from her hips to her shoulder and as I looked to where she bent over the chart pointing out a reef, I could see just an edge of her left areola peeking out from the hem of the tiny triangle bikini top covering her breast. I was trying desperately to focus on what’s she saying and all I could think about is undressing her and giving vent to my lust.
But none of this was new. All I could really do was try harder to concentrate.
It was mid-sentence that Ellen drew back from the chart, sat upright and without saying anything, put her hand under the table and brushed it lightly through my crotch. Immediately detecting my balls standing firm and proud from the hard base of my erection, she used two fingers to touch up the length of my shaft, judging its hardness at various points and overall length before circling the tip and feeling the pre-cum that had permeated through the material.
She turned and looked at me…
“You do get excited don’t you. There’s nothing half-hearted about that, is there?”
Her raised eyebrows widened the appearance of her eyes and the smirk on her face had a ‘come fuck me’ invitation about it. That’s my problem. I’ve never really been an entirely impulsive person. I’m always inhibited by the myriad of questions that are attached to any course of action. That’s why I let the girls instigate the sex. That’s also why, when I gave into a lustful impulse towards Amy, Ellen felt slighted as me never having responded to her that way.
Even now, even after the incident and subsequent discussion with Ellen, even with her ‘come fuck me’ look, I had to mentally rip out the nails that had me pinned to the seat in indecision.
I put one arm around her shoulders and the hand of the other inside her bikini top where the barest sliver of exposed areola had been teasing me as she worked through her plan. Pulling her in for a kiss, I tried to bring her delightful breasts against my chest; although really as nothing more than the first step in getting my erection into her body. To my relief, rather than surprise, Ellen immediately responded, bringing both arms around me and rubbing them up and down my back.
We wrestled briefly on the seat, groping and caressing each other, as I urgently tried to overcome the obstacles preventing me from bringing my aching hardness into play against her. But the limitations of human geometry and the way the table overlapped the seat made it impossible to get our legs from a sitting position to a lying one without doing significant injury to ourselves or the table.
With an extreme impatience born of mutual unleashed lust, I instead drew her up onto the table. As she got her legs onto the seat cushion, turned to face me and rose against me to sit me with her legs straddling me, her crotch half over the side of the table and her feet still on the cushion, I sucked and nuzzled her breasts as they passed across my face and rubbed my hand deeply into the gusset of her bikini pants, pushing the material into her open crease and feeling her already swollen clit as juices permeated through the cloth to dampen my fingers.
Now it was my turn to draw my feet up onto the seat, still rubbing her crotch as I rose; kissing her passionately as my free hand pulled the lower string on her bikini top to free her breasts from the top’s teasing embrace and leave them exposed for my carnal viewing.
As I hastily elevated myself up on my knees on the seat, the tip of my erection hooked under the edge of the table. Too impatient emek escort to backtrack, I simply continued to rise, letting it bend down below horizontal within its swimwear sheath until it slipped off the edge, flicking upwards. As it released I thrust my hips forward, driving the tip of the shaft, whose return to vertical was slowed by the swimwear, into where it was captured by her crotch.
Dry humping her to give some outlet to the aching demands of my erection, I laid her down on her back on the table with my body over her. I continued to dry hump her as I shuffled us both further onto the table to bring my legs to a position where they could drive the lustful pounding I was about to give her.
Satisfied with our position on the table, with the clumsy impatience of a teenager who’s suddenly realised for the first time a girl has consented to actually have sex with him, I reached down each side to pull the side ties of her bikini pants. With my hips already raised to facilitate my dry humping of her crotch, I slid my hand between our bodies to pull the now freed material from between her legs. With one of the two layers of material separating our bodies removed, as I brought the tip of my erection back into her crotch, I immediately felt the warm juices of her body soak through.
As I’d pulled Ellen’s bikini pants off her, the back of my palm had brushed seductively against the back of Ellen’s as she slipped her hand into my swimwear to undo the drawstring and let her pull the waistband wide open. She slipped her hand inside my pants again, wrapped her fingers around my shaft and slid them down towards the tip, pulling it momentarily away from the contact with her crease to let her flip the material over it and expose it my naked shaft for the real action.
Then she guided it into her sex.
I can’t describe the pleasure and sheer relief I felt as my shaft rapidly and easily penetrated fully into her beautiful body.
As I lay on top of her, she started to peel the pants off my bum, but I was already thrusting and in too much of a hurry to risk a hernia going through the contortions required to get the pants down my legs and over my feet while lying penetrated on top of her. And I certainly wasn’t going to delay things by withdrawing and sitting up to do it.
Instead, with the waistband tucked loosely under my balls, I rapidly banged away at her; encouraged by the hands she had on my partly exposed bum and the way she lifted her hips to throw them back at me to meet each thrust. With the weight of my upper body supported by my elbows and forearms, my head was suspended a mere inch over hers, each of us staring intensely into the eyes of the other, stupid grins on our faces.
Normally I’d bring myself up on outstretched arms to let me stare down at her beautiful body as I fucked her. But there was something too raw in the lust I felt for her to follow the normal script. To raise myself up felt like it would be too cerebral, too missionary even. No. What I wanted, what we both wanted, was for sex that was fast, dirty and hot.
As I pumped away at her, I could tell Ellen was as inflamed as I was. As I watched her eyes roll back in her head as she bit her lips, it was apparent she’d already reached a new height of arousal. I could see she was heading for a quick orgasm. The crotch play and dry humping had got her nicely warmed up. That very special clit of hers; big enough and well enough positioned that it was stimulated against my shaft as I thrust, made this sort of selfish pumping sex with her as guilt free as any you could have. I’ll swear I could feel it drawing up and down the length of the upper surface of my erection with every thrust; adding a little to my arousal but sending hers through the roof.
Her mouth formed into a little ‘o’ just before she put her hand behind my head and pulled my face in to kiss me; thrusting her tongue deeply into my mouth as the up-thrusting of her hips to meet mine became harder and faster. She was groaning into my mouth; eryaman escort just demur little Ellen like groans, but groans just the same. And, with our lips sealed together, almost drawing the breath from my lungs with the depth of her own breathing.
As she came, she let out the slightly less demur little groan that typified her orgasms, pushing her hips up at me and holding my bum in tightly, as if trying to hold me at full penetration. But I was too worked up to stop banging away at her yet. My thrusts were guided by her into a shorter, deeper penetrating version of the full length previous ones, but as I felt her contractions bear down on my hardness, they were no less pleasurable.
Ellen tightened her grip on me, adding to my building excitement. I craved more of the movement of my body against hers, so I brought my legs up under my haunches to let me take some of my own weight. Then I slipped my arm under her waist, lifting her back off the table and bringing her stomach up to mine, also making my chest brush firmly against the nipples that stood proud over her upthrust breasts while touching my cheek against the softness of hers.
There was something terribly passionate about holding her up like that. An intensity of connection. Maybe a male dominance and control sort of thing, but I’d argue against it being toxic. I could feel the effects of my thrusts on her body; feel it slightly rag doll under me with every thrust, even as she pushed back in response.
It also gave me an angle against her tightened vagina that seemed to give her the even deeper penetration she was signalling for; making it easier for me to grind my pubis deeper into her crease and against her clit.
The loose triangles of her bikini top rested between her breasts. As they bunched as I moved against her they, to my lustful mind, despoiled the purity of her nakedness. Still thrusting as I balanced up on one elbow, I flipped it over her head to remove its distraction.
My own groans were signalling to her that my climax was well on its way too.
It seemed she wasn’t ready for that, because in a very un-Ellen like way she started moaning…
“Oooouuu, no…not yet Ned…ooww…ooowww…please…Ned please…”
As she sensed my groans growing a bit more determined, she continued…
“Please Ned, a bit longer…oh yes…that’s good…oooouuu…oouu…oouu…Ou…”
By now I was desperately hanging on; already angling my hard jerking thrusts to try and reduce the stimulation added layer by layer with every one. Just in time, what had been building in Ellen burst forth…a prolonged, deep primeval moan…
That was the end of me. With a bellowing groan I came, hard thrusting into her and holding it there with every surge of cum that rushed up my shaft and sprayed itself against her cervix.
With each of us immersed in the throes of powerful climaxes, we ended up as two writhing bodies, locked in an unsynchronised battle of pushing, thrusting hips and grinding actions, squirming and half rolling, each of us trying to maximise our own pleasures while emitting random groans that came together about as well as a badly out of tune orchestra.
I lay on top of her, both of us panting and sweating, in absolutely no hurry to withdraw my manhood from the delightful embrace of her sex for as long as it stayed hard. But in a very practical Ellen like manner, she eventually unromantically declared…
“Ned, I think we’d better get up. I’m leaking onto the chart.”
It had been all of five minutes since I’d first thrust my hand inside her bikini top. A possible record for a quick quickie if ever there was one.
Laughing at the thought of Ellen’s concern about staining the chart, I eased myself off her, allowing Ellen eventually to sit up and, with no towel handy, causing a significant discharge right onto the main Island of Fiji.
As I grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the worst of a stain – one that would remain as a perpetual reminder of this little interlude with her – I couldn’t help notice her body had left a distinct Turin Shroud like sweaty imprint of her naked body. A shadow of that would also permanently imprint itself on the chart. I’m not going to deny that in the years that followed, I occasionally pulled that chart out and held it to a light that exaggerated the imprint, vividly remembering the specialness of the moment.