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From: jmp@cyber-mall.com (Joe Parsons)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Celeste's 15:  A Day on the Bay (MF, lite b&d, other stuff)
Date: Wed, 19 Jun 1996 09:11:43 -0700
Organization: Yankee Enterprises
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A DAY ON THE BAY


Joe Parsons

The following text is a work of fiction containing graphic
depictions of a sexual encounter between two heterosexual adults.
If such material offends you, please skip to the next article.  

  **WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**

There is a message at the end of this posting that could be
construed by some as offensive. If you do not wish to expose
yourself to this, please do not read *any* of this text, as you
may be offended.

  **END OF WARNING--BEGIN SMUTTY STORY**





"Jibe, Ho!"  The sudden warning sliced through the steady moaning
of the wind.

Startled, I sat up from my place on the railing and turned to the
Skipper.  Stars shattered the clear summer sky as the boom hit my
head on its swinging path from port to starboard.  The water
jumped up to meet me and suddenly I was swimming in the frigid
water of San Francisco Bay.

The shock of immersion brought me instantly to full awareness and
I treaded water, watching the stern of "Good Faith" sail away from
me, disappearing every few seconds behind a swell.  The Skipper,
now sailing single-handed, was a blur of motion: he snatched the
yellow horseshoe-shaped life preserver from the stern pulpit and
flung it to me with one smooth motion; it splashed down a dozen
yards from me and I began swimming awkwardly toward it.  The boat
was already changing course, bearing away from the wind.  He had
eased the large Genoa, allowing it to run free, and as I was
lifted up on the swells I could see the big sail flogging wildly
in the strong wind.

"Skipper'd better get that Jenny trimmed," I thought stupidly.
"He gets pissed when I let her flog like that."  He was always
making snide remarks about my sailhandling skills, insisting that
no mere woman could ever trim a jib to his satisfaction.  I had
made it a matter of pride to prove him wrong over the three months
we had been sailing together.  Now I had to do something stupid
like getting tossed overboard by an accidental jibe--more
ammunition for his oft-stated conviction that "Women don't belong
on boats."

Bitingly cold salt water slapped my face, washed over my head.  I
could feel my legs beginning to slow their motion as the cold Bay
water stole my strength.  I remembered reading something about
hypothermia a long time ago, and thought how nice it would be just
to take a little rest before reaching the horseshoe.  I let my
arms drift at my side, just for a moment, and felt my body begin
to sink.  Breaking wavecrests and wind went silent as my head went
beneath the surface.

My instinct for self preservation overcame fatigue, and I kicked
my heavy legs and flailed my arms, breaking the surface in
seconds, tasting air again.  The yellow horseshoe floated
peacefully a foot in front of my face.  I flung my arms over it,
thankful that its buoyancy would allow me to rest at last.

I looked around for the boat; the Skipper had maneuvered expertly
to within twenty feet of me and had brought the boat almost to a
stop.  As he drifted nearer, he threw out a line with a loop tied
into the end.  

"Put that around you," he called.  I struggled into the loop,
wondering how I was going to manage to climb aboard from the
water.  I just wanted to sleep.

Suddenly the line tightened around me and I was being pulled out
of the water; he had rigged a line through a pulley at the end of
the boom and was hauling me aboard with a jury-rigged crane.

He deposited me, dripping, into the cockpit and stood over me,
glaring.  The sun behind him highlighted his sunbleached hair and
gave him a fierce appearance. 

"Jesus H. Christ!  How many times do I have to tell you?   You
have to pay attention to  where the fucking boom is!"  He peered
at my scalp.  "You're going to have a hell of a knot there!"  He
prodded the top of my head with his fingers and I winced at the
sudden pain.  I looked dully at my blood on his fingers.  My lids
were heavy and I started to nod off.

"Aw, Jesus!  Now you've got hypothermia!"  I wasn't sure whether
it was anger or concern I was hearing in his voice.  "Let's get
you below before you go into shock."  He lifted me in his arms
like a baby and carried me into the small cabin.  He laid me on
the wide settee and took off my dripping windbreaker.  I wondered
why he was talking about hypothermia; I didn't feel cold.  I
didn't feel much of anything.  I was very tired.  I closed my
eyes.  I felt the Skipper pulling my sneakers off.  The gentle
rocking of the boat was so peaceful, I just wanted to go to sleep.
He pulled my soggy sweater off, then I felt his hands pulling on
my tee-shirt.  I waved my hands aimlessly in feeble protest.  

"We have to get you warmed up," he said.  "You remember the
drill."  It was true--a victim of hypothermia has to be brought to
normal temperature gradually, and that would be done first by
removing all clothing.  Wait a minute--ALL clothing?
Relentlessly, the Skipper was undressing me.  Suddenly my bra was
gone, and in one swift motion he had pulled my shorts and panties
off.  I lay limply naked on the cushion as he retrieved a sleeping
bag from a storage locker.  He unrolled it and stuffed my
unresisting body into the bag.

I heard more clothing falling to the wooden deck.  Through my
half-closed eyelids I saw that he was naked, too, and he climbed
into the sleeping bag with me.

"Why, Skipper," I cooed drowsily, "This is so sudden."  He wrapped
his long arms and legs around my body, giving me his own warmth.
I remembered reading about this lifesaving method.  I felt warmth
beginning to return to my body, and I became more aware of my
surroundings: the slight smell of his sweat, the wiry hairs of his
legs against mine, the feel of my breasts pressing against his
smooth chest.  I nestled my face into the hollow under his jaw,
feeling safe and warm.

As my body warmed in response to his, I clasped him to me more
tightly.  I was conscious of the feel of his skin against mine.  I
moved my pelvis slightly against him, squirming gently.  I could
feel a firmness growing between us.  I held him more tightly.

"Seems like you're recovered pretty well," he said abruptly,
reaching for the zipper of the sleeping bag.  I wrapped my arms
around him more tightly.

"Do you really have to leave right now?" I asked.  "I think I'm
still a little chilly."  I pressed him, feeling him begin to
respond.

"Well, I suppose we can trust the autopilot for a while longer,"
he said, settling down.  The boat bobbed gently in the swells of
the Bay.

I reached between us, finding his half-erect cock, feeling it
harden instantly at my touch.  I rolled the Skipper to his back
and lay on top of him, conscious of the hard length of his cock
pressed between us.  I unzipped the sleeping bag from the inside,
throwing it open.  The cabin was pleasantly warm, and I sat on his
chest with my legs splayed out, spreading the slick juices from my
pussy onto his skin.  I leaned over him to kiss him, brushing my
hard nipples against his hairless chest, feeling the insistent
stirring of his penis.  I moved downward, leaving a path of small
wet kisses down his chest, to his navel, over his belly.

Finally I was inches from his cock, grasping it firmly in my fist.
I saw his chest moving up and down as his breathing increased.  I
moved my hand up and down the length of his shaft, feeling the
ridges under the surface of the skin.  One small drop of pre-come
emerged from the tip, followed by another.  I rested my lips
against the tip, tasting the faint saltiness.  My head was filled
with his smell--the slight tang of sweat, the plain soap he'd
bathed with that morning, the muskiness of his arousal.  I opened
my lips slightly and took another millimeter of him into my mouth,
then another.  The slippery pre-come was a steady stream now, and
I lapped gently at it.  Another millimeter, and my lips were
fastened around the ridge where the sensitive head of his lovely
cock joined the shaft.  I began to suck gently.

His breath was coming more quickly now, and he stroked my cheeks
with his roughened hands.  I took more of him into my mouth,
loving the feel of my lips sliding over the smooth veined surface.
I moved his cock slowly in and out of my mouth, each stroke taking
him more deeply, caressing the sensitive underside of the organ
with my tongue.  I grasped his balls in my two hands, squeezing
them gently as my mouth moved over his cock.  He was beginning to
make inarticulate sounds now as I took his whole length into my
throat.  As I felt the head of his cock at the back of my throat I
growled, knowing that the vibrations would create new sensations.

Finally I felt his balls tighten in my hands and heard a long
keening sound coming from him.  The warmth of his semen spurting
from his hard cock coated the back of my throat, filled my mouth,
overflowing onto his belly, as hard as I tried to swallow it fast
enough.

I kept sucking and licking at him, swallowing as much of his sweet
fluid as I could, finally feeling the spurts slow, then stop,
until at last his penis softened in my mouth.  I released him and
lay on top of him, kissing him deeply, spreading his own semen
from my lips to his.

"Did I ever say thank you for saving my life?" I asked,
innocently.

"I'm not sure," he said, wrapping his arms around me.  "Did you?"
I nestled my body against his, still tasting him in my throat.
The boat continued its peaceful progress across the Bay, guided by
the silent autopilot.  We dozed for a while.

I felt the slight roughness of his hands against the smooth skin
of my back, traveling the length of my spine, tracing the crack of
my ass.  I purred contentedly under his touch, pressing my hips
against his.  I pushed myself up on my elbows, grazing his chest
with my nipples.

He brought his hands to the cheeks of my ass as I sat on his chest
and pulled me to his mouth.  My legs were widely spread, and he
pulled me to him, bringing his mouth to my cunt, which was already
wet and slippery from wanting him.  His tongue explored the
outlines of my delicate inner lips, probing into my pussy, lapping
at my sensitive clitoris as it began to emerge from behind its
fleshy hood.  I could feel my juices flowing, and my hips began to
move rhythmically as his mouth adored me.

He encircled my clit with his lips, coaxing it, teasing it with
his tongue, sucking at it.  I threw my head back as I forced my
pelvis hard against his mouth.  I ran my hands over my breasts,
pinching the hard nipples between my thumbs and forefingers,
creating exquisite pain.  I ground my cunt hard against the
Skipper's face, feeling his bared teeth against my sensitive inner
lips.  

I wondered for a moment if perhaps I had not survived my ordeal in
the Bay, and this was really Heaven.

As the Skipper's mouth and tongue worked their magic on me I felt
the familiar electric warmth in my belly that spread through my
intestines, engorging my pussy, quickening my pulse until I
thought my heart would burst.  My eyes rolled back in my head as
though I would swoon and the electricity swept through my body in
waves and shudders, controlling me.  My legs clenched
involuntarily against his head.  His mouth and tongue kept up
their marvelous work, never slowing.  My long piercing wail filled
the small cabin, fading to punctuating sobs.

At last I went limp, falling backward, lying with my back against
his knees, his mouth and tongue still a vivid memory.  We lay
there motionless for a long while.

Incredibly, I felt his cock stir under me.  I turned over to see
it beginning to come to life again.  I stroked it gently, feeling
its smoothness, tracing the small veins under the skin.  The
Skipper grabbed my wrist, looking into my eyes.

Without a word, he drew me to my feet and pulled me to the forward
part of the main cabin, where the mast comes through the deck.
Gently he pushed me against the cold aluminum of the mast and
pulled my hands over my head, behind the spar.  I felt a rope
looping firmly around my wrists, then secured to an eyebolt on the
overhead.  I pulled against the bonds, but the Skipper's knots
were too strong; the harder I pulled, the tighter they became.

"You don't want to pull too hard on those," he cautioned.  "It
would be uncomfortable if it got too tight."  I stopped
struggling.  He looped a line around first one ankle, then the
other and pulled my legs apart, securing the bonds to cleats on
either side of the cabin.  He stepped back from me to inspect his
work: I was tied to the mast with my legs far apart, my arms over
my head, helpless.  He smiled, satisfied.  

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.  This was not what I
had expected.

"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain," he said, drawing
a drawing his finger between my breasts.  He cupped a firm breast
in his hands, gently twisting a nipple between thumb and
forefinger.  "One moment it's pleasure--" he pinched sharply,
bringing a cry from my throat--"the next, it's pain.  What's the
difference?"  He brought his lips to my bruised breast, kissing
it.  

He traced his fingers from the tender underside of my breast, down
my belly, sliding them into my slippery slit.  He exerted more
pressure, feeling for the firmness of my clit, spreading my
juices.  He brought his slippery fingers first to his lips, then
to mine, making me taste myself.  Back to my pussy went his
fingers, this time insinuating themselves inside me--first two
fingers, then three, then four.  

I felt my flesh stretching as his fingers entered me.  What should
have been pain was now only pleasure, and a desire to bring more
of him into me.  I spread my knees apart to give him freer access
to my slippery cunt, willing him to come further into my body.
His gentle fingers probed ever deeper into me, four fingers
stretching the tender skin of my vagina, caressing my womb,
reaching even to my cervix, until finally I felt him fold his
thumb against his palm and push harder into me.  

A  resistance, a feeling of submission, then of fullness.  His
left hand, pushing against the small of my back, my buttocks, his
right hand inside me, exploring, probing, caressing.  His mouth on
my mouth, on my breast, biting my hard nipples.  I sagged against
my bonds, hardly aware of the cold mast against my bare skin.
Looking down, I could see his hand, buried to the wrist in my
pussy.  His cock, now fully erect, jerked slightly with his pulse.

"Please," I said.  "I want your cock inside me.  Please fuck me;
please."  Gently he withdrew his hand from my body, leaving me
with a feeling of emptiness.  I began to sob.

"Please.  Please.  I just want you inside me.  Please.  Please
come inside me.  Please just fuck me.  I want you inside me.
Please."  I struggled against my bonds, trying to bring my body to
him.  He reached behind me and loosened the line securing my hands
to the eyebolt in the overhead and lowered me to the deck.  My
arms were still tied over my head, but now I was almost face down
on the deck.  He stroked my back with his fingers, tracing a
gentle path from the nape of my neck, down to my ass cheeks,
cupping them, caressing them.

Whack!  A sudden sting, bringing an involuntary cry from me.  I
twisted my head around and saw that he had a short whip, an
abbreviated cat o' nine tails, with small tendrils no more than a
foot long.  He stroked my buttocks with the leather.

Whack!  Another sting.  Whack!  Whack!  I could feel the blood
rushing to the punished area.  Whack!  The sound and the stinging
of the whip brought a pulsing to my ass cheeks, but a strange
sensation of warmth in my pussy as well.  It felt as though my
vagina were being inflated, swelling with each blow of the whip.
I felt tears streaming down my face.

The Skipper lifted me up to my knees, kissing my face, caressing
my breasts, clasping me to him.  I was very conscious of his erect
penis rising between us, pointing skyward.  Suddenly  he lifted me
as though I were a feather and brought me down, impaled perfectly
on his stiff cock.  I strained against the ropes as his organ was
buried to its hilt in my pussy.  He lifted me up a few inches,
then dropped me again, lifting me, dropping me, each time burying
his rigid organ more deeply inside me.  I clenched the muscles of
my cunt, trying to grasp his hard cock, and he grunted with each
thrust.  Rivulets of sweat coursed down the smooth skin of his
hairless chest.

His thrusts came faster and more urgently, and I felt my own
climax approaching.  Suddenly there was warmth and slickness
inside me as the Skipper filled me with his essence.  I strained
against my bonds as my own orgasm took hold of me, filling the
cabin with animal sounds of pleasure.

Finally it was over, and he withdrew from me, sagging backwards
onto the cold deck, his half-erect penis flopping slickly onto his
thigh.  The ropes had loosened somewhat, and I managed to pull my
wrists and ankles loose as the Skipper lay inert on the deck.  I
picked up the cat o' nine tails from the deck and swished it
experimentally though the air.

"Hey!  Skipper!  I think you've got a mutiny on your hands."  I
stood over him with my arms crossed, planting my bare foot on his
chest.  "You know what they say, Matey:  'Payback's a
motherfucker.'  Now roll over."  The Skipper looked at me,
smiling, as he rolled onto his belly.  I caressed he white skin of
his ass with the whip, then raised it high.

Whack!  Whack!  Pink streaks appeared on the Skipper's ass.  

Whack!  I raised the whip a fourth time, beginning to enjoy
reddening his pale flesh.  The Skipper looked up at me calmly.
"Aren't you curious about where we are?" he asked.

I poked my head out the companionway hatch and saw houses on the
shore.  We had sailed into Raccoon Straits, between Angel Island
and Tiburon, in posh Marin County.  I wondered if the Skipper had
planned all this.

"Think we ought to get ready to land somewhere?" he asked
innocently.  I was suddenly conscious of my lack of clothing and
of our proximity to civilization.  I pulled on a tee shirt and
sweat pants and jumped into the cockpit.  The autopilot steered us
placidly toward the rocks of Belvedere.  I disengaged it and
turned the big wheel to head us south, toward Alcatraz Island.
The Skipper stood in the companionway, still naked, smiling at me.

"You'll want to ease the main a bit and bear away," he said.  We
could fetch Hospital Cove with no problem from here.  I looked
over my shoulder at the imposing height of Angel Island as I swung
the boat's bow around.  Hospital Cove, well sheltered from the
strong afternoon wind, appeared behind a small rocky promontory.
The Skipper pulled on faded khakis and came to the cockpit in one
step.  With swift, practiced motions he secured a mooring line to
the bow cleat, dropped the large jib neatly onto the foredeck and
rejoined me in the cockpit.  

"There's your spot," he said pointing at a buoy in the middle of
the quiet cove.  I sailed downwind past it, then spun the wheel to
bring us into the wind.  The boat came to a luffing stop within a
yard of the mooring, and the Skipper cast the bow line around it.
Once the boat was secured, we dropped the big mainsail and furled
it against the boom.  I congratulated myself, wondering if he
would be as pleased with my seamanship as he was with the other
skills I had demonstrated earlier.

He went back down the companionway to the cabin, reappearing
moments later with a bottle of Pusser's Rum and two plastic cups.
"Ration of grog," he grinned, pouring.  "Old maritime tradition."
We hoisted our cups to each other and downed the drinks on one
gulp.  The rum's warmth spread quickly through my belly, and he
poured us each another drink.  We lounged on the cockpit cushions,
watching the sun disappear behind the tall hills of Angel Island.

Soon a comfortable darkness enfolded us as our boat swayed
placidly in the cove.  The lights of the Tiburon waterfront
twinkled before us as we sat quietly in the cockpit, and as I
snuggled closer to him I knew one thing for certain: I was one
woman who definitely belonged on this boat.

The Skipper didn't seem to disagree.




(c) 1996 by Joe Parsons
This document may not be reproduced or distributed by any physical
or electronic means without the express written permission of the
author.





     **WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**WARNING**

Below this line is a message which some may deem inappropriate.
Reading the text below may invalidate the entire text you have
just read.

       ---------------- "THE LINE" ---------------



For the best, hottest live conversation available, call the women
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Congratulations!  You've just found it (sort of like "Where's
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It's an international call, but the cost can be well under a buck
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If you'd like to learn more about telephone sex, find
"Phonesex--the Straight Scoop" and "Phonesex--the FAQ" at a
newsgroup near you. The author will try to fulfill requests by
email, but he would appreciate requests for reposts instead.

               Joe Parsons
           jmp@cyber-mall.com
  =============================================

