


Warning, contains strong sexual content. Our stories are written for fun and are free.  Permission is not granted to post anywhere for profit.

Captain Steve and Linda

FFM

Our web site at: http://www.asstr.org/~Captain_Steve

Sail-three



"Steve, I can't figure you out. You're going all the way down there for 
a week of sailing, and no sex?"

"She's a wonderfully intelligent woman with a fine appreciation for the 
arts. She's a better writer than I, and a semi-professional viola 
player to boot."

"I know, I know, you've told me over and over about her viola playing."

"So that's why."

"I guess you must really like her. You've talked about her so much. She 
sounds a lot better than the usual spaced-out bimbos you chase in here.  
Let's see if I've got this straight.  You plan to invite a gay British 
woman to sail with you for a week in the Virgin Islands?"
 
"Well yes.  It's her mind I love.   Sex is easy to get. Intelligent 
conversation's another."

"So, Steve, you're saying I'm not intelligent?"

"Uh."

"You hate it when women ask questions like that don't you?"

"Yeah."

"So why didn't you invite me?"

"Well...I..."

"Got you again.  You men are so easy to manipulate."

"We are?"

"Not only am I a woman Steve, I'm a bar owner.  I know all the lines 
and the comebacks.  You can't compete."

I sipped my beer and watched Sharon work the other end of the long bar.  
As usual, she had me with her quick tongue.  But then I liked that 
trait in her.  At least once per week, I dropped by to have a beer 
and...to see her.  So why didn't I ask Sharon? She was a beautiful 
woman and a good friend. Because I'm fascinated with Oosh, I answered 
myself.

She walked past me, long blonde hair waiving, shorts clinging to her 
round butt.  I sipped my beer.  What the hell.

"Sharon."

"Yes, Mr. Cool."

"You're invited."

She turned and fixed me with her liquid-brown eyes. "Oh sure.  Two 
women?  You couldn't handle us Steve."

"No, I want you to come as a gift for Oosh."  I couldn't believe I said 
this.  Sometimes things just pop out of my mouth.

"So, you plan to insult us both.  I'm not available as a gift, and from 
what you've told me about her, she'd be highly insulted if you brought 
her a purchased-women.  Damn Steve, I ought to kick you out of here."

"Sorry Sharon, I didn't mean to insult you.  It was half a joke and 
half-serious.  And you're right about her.  I didn't mean anything 
about sex.  It's just that you're so damned pretty and intelligent to 
boot. She'd enjoy meeting you.  As far as I know, she doesn't 
indiscriminately pursue any woman she meets.  And besides, I need help 
sailing the boat. Oosh doesn't know how."

"You're kidding about all this, right?   I hope your not planning on me 
for sex and her for talking?

"Not a bad idea, if that's a proposition..."

"Damn Steve, you don't quit. The beautiful brown eyes rolled back in 
her head. Tell me, what kind of name is Oosh?"
 
" Oosh is her pen name.  I haven't made her the offer either, and who 
knows, she may never speak to me again."

"Is she pretty?"

"I don't know and don't care."

"And she's gay?"

"Does that bother you?"

"Not at all.  Quite a few of my customers are gay.  The `women' are 
good tippers." 

"I guess so, the way you look."  I saw her give me a disapproving look.  
"Ever do it with a woman Sharon?"

"No, you dirty ole man.  Just some practice kissing with girlfriends 
when I was very young."

Interesting I thought.  Oosh and I had discussed young girls, and the 
fact that many engaged in heavy kissing sessions with their friends 
before they were ready for boys.  "Did you enjoy them?"

"Steve, thought this wasn't about sex."

"Sorry again.  Guess I've pretty well blown this."

Sharon walked to me and leaned over the bar. Her long blonde hair 
framed her deceivingly innocent face; her brown eyes stared into mine.  
"Dear Steve.  Sometimes you engage mouth before brain.  I forgive you.  
I know you little boys get all hot and bothered by thoughts of women, 
ah, well doing it?  I won't be a gift, but I will "think," got that, 
"think" about going with you and her.  You've been talking about her 
for six months.  I'm actually dying to meet her. But please don't 
insult her like you did me.  She sounds like a real lady."

"Well, I...

"Don't talk, just shut up and drink your beer." Her beautiful smile 
told me all was well.

I shut up.

But my mind wandered.  How to break this to Oosh? I wanted her to come 
sailing, but I hadn't planned on inviting Sharon also.  So now I had a 
mess on my hands."

"Sharon?"

"Thought you were being quite."

"Just one more thing.  You wouldn't have a picture of you I could send 
her?"

"Damn Steve, why do I put up with you?"

"Because I buy your beer?"

"Well Steve, tell her from me that you're a nut.  I nice nut, but I do 
urge her to go.  She'll have a nice time.  Meanwhile, I'm thinking.  
Yes, I have a picture.  Let's go into the office."

Sharon had owned the bar for many years, since she had thrown her  
husband out.  He was a professional photographer, so I knew she had 
lots of pictures from the days when she posed for the Florida tourist 
magazines.  I saw her fumbling with computer disks.

She looked confused then handed me one. "Here, these are some that my 
ex took for the Miami magazine layout.  There're only two years old.  
Now get out of here you idiot.  I've got work do."

Later that evening I wrote an email invitation to Oosh.  Note finished, 
I put Sharon's disc into the A: drive and opened my photo editor.  Oh 
hell, I saw only one image.  Sharon must have given me the wrong disk.  
I clicked the image and opened the file.  Damn.

*************************************************************


   Note to Oosh

O

I know this is highly irregular, but I wish to make you an online 
proposition.  I'm planning a sail from Tortola, in the British Virgin 
Islands. I would be most honored if you would accompany me.  The boat 
is a 40 foot Beneteau, and you will have a choice of one of three 
cabins.  I will send you more details, if you choose to come.  We will 
spend the week sailing, sunning, eating and enjoying the local culture.  
The boat has an excellent stereo system, so please bring as many CDs as 
you can.

There is one complication.  I  also invited my friend Sharon.  I'm not 
quite sure how I ended up inviting two women, but-well -I did.  You 
will like her.  She is a university philosophy graduate, and now owns 
her own beach bar. (Quite appropriate for a philosophy major, I think.) 
You will like her; I've included her picture.  Unfortunately, the 
picture is not the one she thought she gave me. But then you will enjoy 
it since she seems to have forgotten her clothes before the picture was 
taken.  Don't tell her I sent it to you.

Let me know as soon as possible.  Packing will be simple.  All you need 
are shorts, swimsuits, and lots of sunblock.

Love

Steve




*************************************************************

Oosh replied a day later:

"Well, Steve, I would love to be able to turn down such an 
invitation. The Spice Islands were so called because spices were 
to be found there, were they not? Is that why the British Virgin 
Islands were so named? Are you intending to set me ashore to see 
if I run amok? I can see that this is to be a test of character. 
You write that I am to bring sunblock, and then send me such a 
very distracting picture of Sharon, so that now all I can think 
of is how I could very carefully protect her from any risk of 
sunburn - how on earth am I to converse intelligently with such a 
beguiling creature? Perhaps I shall leave it to the experienced 
crew to show me how one truly sails close to the wind, and I 
shall watch and learn, and try to be good. Dear Steve, it was 
very sweet of you to invite me: I can only accept with joyous 
thanks; I shall indeed bring some delightful CDs - I had no idea 
that yachts could have such creature comforts nowadays. This will 
be a revelation! - I may, however, pack just a very little more 
than you suggest." 

__________________________________________________________



Sharon and I waited at the Beef Island airport the after a short taxi 
ride from Roadtown.   I was a bit nervous about this two-women trip. 
When one deals with multiple women, who don't know each other, anything 
can happen.  Suppose they hated each other at first sight? I'd seen 
that happen, in which case, it was best to stay clear.

Then I saw the signal we'd arranged.  A tall woman wearing a bright red 
top cleared customs and looked around, seemingly somewhat bewildered.  
Oosh, it had to be her.  I grabbed Sharon's arm, and we moved through 
the crowd.  The woman was, I guessed 5'9."  Her short dark hair framed 
a beautiful face.  With a snap, her piercing green eyes met mine.

"Steve?"

"Oosh." 

"Thank goodness you're here."

"Yes, it's me; this is Sharon."

"Hi Sharon."

"Hi Oosh."

Good start I thought.  No problems so far.  I grabbed her bags and 
staggered.  Damn, what did she pack, rocks? Between her stuff and 
Sharon's, the boat might sink.  The three of us headed for the taxi 
stand.

I watched the two women move through the tiny airport.  Oosh's long 
smooth form and Sharon's shorter, rounded frame. Well hell, Steve, I 
thought. Maybe it will be a good week.

Then it started.

The talking that is.

I put the bags in the cab, walked around and found both women in the 
back seat.  Shrugging, I slipped in next to the driver as we began the 
trip to Tortola Island.

Shopping.  We were supposed to be on a sailing venture and Sharon was 
filling Oosh in on the shopping opportunities in Roadtown.   I wasn't 
sure this conversation could last all the way to the dock.  It did.

Sharon and I had arrived a day early and had the boat stocked and 
ready.  Minutes after arriving at the pier, I stowed Oosh's gear in the 
large "V" birth up front.  I occupied the starboard aft bunk and 
Sharon, the port bunk, aft.  I was ready to sail.

"Steve honey," Oosh's eyes met mine.  "Would you mind terribly if 
Sharon and I went to the little shops around the corner? I really 
didn't know what to pack, and Sharon knows just the place. I just need 
a few things."

It's actually kind of fun to sit in a marina at times.  Lots of sweaty 
looking guys working on their boats and, of course, one can always 
entertain oneself by listening to the marine forecasts.

Finally we were on the water.  Hot Damn, I was in heaven.  The sloop 
responded well to the helm, as we sailed southeast against a quartering 
breeze.  Both women had disappeared below, but I paid little notice.  
The breeze freshened, and we heeled at least 10 degrees.

"Steve, we're coming up.  We have a present for you."  In my mind an 
image...two naked women slip into the cockpit...they stop...they admire 
my rippling muscles...

"Well, how do you like our purchases," said Oosh.  Both women stood 
before me wearing huge cotton tents festooned with flowers. "I had to 
have at least one `cover-up,' as Sharon calls them.  I haven't been in 
the sun too much and one must be careful.  But here's your present."

She handed me a large glass. I sipped it: Pusser's rum diluted with 
just the right amount of tonic -- well made.  I knew Sharon was at 
work. The world relaxed.  "Join me ladies?"

The day went well, and soon the ladies discarded the cotton smocks as 
we worked the boat up Sir Francis Drake Channel.

I got a better look at Oosh. She really was pretty.  Her slim body was 
very athletic looking, which contrasted beautifully with Sharon's 
curves.  She kept the CD player and my rum drinks (with Sharon's expert 
guidance) full.

The day was beautiful.  The wind held steady, so really wasn't much to 
do except enjoy the scenery.  The two women continued talking.  
Shopping, clothes, music, movies...  By late afternoon, I was glad when 
the two of them went up front to sunbathe.

The week went well.  On Monday we passed Fallen Jerusalem, anchored and 
swam at The Baths. The ladies shopped in Spanish Town. Over dinner, 
Sharon steered the conversation to Sartre and proceeded to debunk his 
existentialism.

On Tuesday, we anchored off Virgin Gorda, and the ladies shopped in the 
resort stores. At dinner, Oosh played music and gave us a grand tour of 
Debussy's works.

On Wednesday, we passed Pull and be Damned point, then Throw Away Wife 
Bay and made Cane Garden Bay. The ladies shopped. After dinner, I 
steered the conversation to diesel maintenance.  But somehow we got 
back to discussing shopping.

Thursday was different.  I dropped the hook off Jost Van Dyke, and we 
went to dinner at Foxy's.  Foxy's is a ramshackle collection of wooden 
buildings, open to the air, from which music and laughter spill most 
every night.  The ladies and I partied.  At least the ladies partied, 
that is. It was race week, and the boat crews were all at Foxy's that 
night.  Every available male ran alternatively after either Sharon or 
Oosh. The music started, and I watched both women besieged with offers.  
Neither could get off the dance floor and neither seemed to mind the 
hands, male and female, that caressed them at opportune moments.

Then it happened.  A tall man ran his hand across Oosh's back, and my 
friend stood accused of committing a cardinal sin-she was wearing a 
bra.  Bras are not allowed at Foxy's.  The entire nightclub stood and 
toasted her.  With a smile, she unbuttoned her blouse and managed to 
shrug out of the offensive contraption.  With great ceremony, the bra 
was hung in a place of honor alongside countless other bras and female 
accoutrements of various shapes, sizes and colors.  One of the women 
then questioned Sharon, who quickly unbuttoned and demonstrated that 
she was not guilty of Oosh's sin. As she proudly displayed her well-
rounded breasts, I decided that she probably hadn't even bothered to 
take such a garment on the trip. 

Thursday we fell back into our routine. It was just a short distance 
from Jost Van Dyke to Sopers Hole, so we fell into impromptu races with 
other boats.  The breeze was a gusting 15 knots, as we lined up against 
two others and made for Cane Garden Bay.  Sharon steered, while Oosh 
and I worked the sails.  It was hot, and Oosh and I worked to 
exhaustion as we tacked across the bay.   As we completed a port tack, 
Oosh and I leaned back to rest for a few minutes.  We both saw Sharon's 
dilemma.  With both hands on the wheel, she was fighting a weather helm 
and her suit strap had fallen off her left shoulder.  Her left breast 
floated free.  Not just a breast, it was a beautiful round breast with 
large nipple and areola, brown on top and white on the bottom.   Sharon 
didn't seem to notice, and Oosh and I were soon back at work adjusting 
the traveller.

Race over, we all collapsed.  I took the wheel and Sharon lay face down 
on the starboard settee and moaned, "Oh god that was a workout. Oosh, 
would you be a dear and rub sunblock on my back."

Oosh seemed startled, but moved to comply.  As Sharon stretched, a drop 
of moisture formed at her shoulder blades and pooled on the small of 
her back.  Oosh's large hands smoothed the lotion on Sharon's shoulders 
as she worked the warm oil and sweat into the smooth skin and tired 
muscles.  Sharon moaned and appeared to sleep. The hands moved to 
Sharon's legs.  Starting at Sharon's feet, Oosh continued the soothing 
motions. 

Minutes later, Sharon appeared to wake, and her arms went behind her to 
untie her top.  She rolled and lay topless on the settee. "The other 
side please.  That feels so good."

I'm used to women touching each other, because that's how they are.  
But this was different.  Sharon appeared to sleep, and I knew Oosh was 
in heaven.  With the front of Sharon's legs done, she moved to oil her 
stomach and lower chest, while solicitously avoiding her breasts.  Her 
hands moved to Sharon's shoulders.

"Don't be shy dear," came from Sharon's lips. " I can't afford to burn 
anywhere." 

Oosh didn't need a third invitation.  Hands shaking, she applied more 
oil and rolled Sharon's nipples between her long fingers.  She turned 
to me, smiled and blew a kiss before returning to the round softness 
below her.  A long sigh came from Sharon and Oosh sat back to admire 
Sharon's well-oiled body shining in the sun.

"Good job Oosh," I commented.  "My friend is in good hands." 

That evening we were all exhausted from the day's races.  The ladies 
made a valiant effort to shop at Sopers Hole but gave up after an hour.  
Too tired to move, we all went to bed.  Friday would be different.  We 
were to anchor at the Bight on Norman Island.  There was no shopping 
available.

A lazy sail up the channel from Sopher's to the Norman Island was 
accomplished under full sail with minimum breeze.  Sharon abandoned her 
top all together, and soon Oosh followed her.  I sensed Oosh's 
nervousness, not at Sharon, but with me. With a deep breath, she opened 
the clasp and threw the top down the companionway.  Quickly, she stood, 
faced me, put hands on hips, arched her back and assumed the haughty 
look professional models utilize.  

"Magnificent, my dear Oosh, magnificent," I said.  Indeed she was. Tall 
and spare, she wore only a bikini bottom which, cut high on the sides, 
emphasized her long legs. Naked from the waist up, her small breasts 
with tiny nipples rode high on her chest.  As she imitated a stripper's 
moves, the soft orbs rotated provocatively.  Sharon laughed and clapped 
at her impromptu show. What could be better?  Plenty of rum, and two 
beautiful topless women. I tried to conceal my erection, but caught the 
two women leering at me, then laughing.  We passed other boats during 
the day. The crews, women and men, all looked jealously at my Amazonian 
crew.  Not at all a bad day for my ego.

We made fast to a buoy at the Bight, took a quick swim, then sat for 
evening cocktails. Soon Sharon went below.

"Steve, I'm sorry, we've spent so much time shopping and talking," said 
Oosh.  "Sharon's really nice, and it's such a lovely vacation. I just 
couldn't help myself." We both leaned back and watched the sun go down.

We talked, and thirty minutes later had covered so much. Emails had 
flown between us for six months, so we knew a lot about each other, but 
it was nice to do it face to face. She was just as nice in person in 
the flesh, as in her correspondence.  We talked of music, art 
literature. The sun turned golden colored, as it approached the 
horizon.

"She's very, very nice Steve-Sharon I mean."

"Hope I didn't insult either of you, by bringing the other?"

"Absolutely not my love. I have no secrets from you. You know I love 
women as much as you do. She's so pretty and intelligent.  Are you two, 
ah, romantically involved?"

"No just friends.  Sharon and I have known each other a long time.  
Sometimes you just need a friend.  She's it."

"Hey, you two. Quit talking and let's hit Mr. T's," Sharon's voice 
evoked adventure, as she came up the ladder. 

Mr. T's is a permanently anchored boat-party boat that is. Food, 
drinks, music, drinks, men, drinks, women, drinks-you get the picture. 

I steered the dinghy to the loading dock. Immediately several male 
hands reached to help Oosh and Sharon climb out. The same race crews 
from Foxy's were there again.  Both women disappeared up the ramp while 
I, alone, managed to get the boat properly secured. 

Apparently, the assumption was that one guy with two women...one must 
be up for grabs.  Sharon, who appeared to be naked under her semi 
transparent cover-up, was immediately the center of attention.  At 
least three men stumbled over themselves to buy her drinks.  I wasn't 
worried about her; she knows how to handle men in a bar.  Where was 
Oosh?  Then I spotted her.  One man on each arm, she was being escorted 
on a tour of the boat. The tour was totally unnecessary, of course, as 
the boat is only 150' long, but she appeared to listen attentively as 
they whisked her around.  As she came by with her tour group, I could 
not help but notice Sharon's influence on Oosh's attire. There was a 
great deal of fine looking Oosh showing from the ingenious looking 
piece of cloth she had wrapped seductively around herself.   I felt 
immediate excitement at her body so beautifully on display-too bad she 
was gay.

The party continued.  Body shots were the name of the game. A beautiful 
redhead lay on the bar and a man licked and sucked a shot of rum from 
her navel.  Soon she offered a shot to another man...then a third.  

"Hang on there," came from a large fellow at the rail. "If my wife is 
giving out free shots, then I need to get my share." He stepped forward 
and removed her top and licked her nipples before sucking the rum.

I felt a hand take mine.  "Wow, Steve, I hadn't imagined," Oosh 
whispered in my ear. I don't think I'm up to giving shots."

"Don't worry my love, it's all voluntary."

Then it was Sharon.  The entire male (and female) population of the 
boat couldn't keep their eyes from her.  They encouraged and pleaded 
with her to climb on the bar.  Instead she came over to us.

Damn she was beautiful.  She had been dancing and body heat caused her 
cover-up to turn even more transparent. As she stood before us, I could 
feel Oosh's grip increase on my hand.  "I think we had better go," said 
Sharon. "I'm not getting on that bar."  I felt disappointment.

To my amazement, from Oosh came, "Oh Sharon, be a sport.  Give it a 
go." 

Sharon raised one eyebrow, turned and climbed onto the bar.  With a rip 
of her hand, she pulled the cover-up and lay naked for all to see.  The 
bartender immediately squirted a shot of rum in her navel. Sharon 
arched her back.

To my surprise (maybe I wasn't) Oosh's hand left mine, and she strode 
to the bar.  Behind her three men lined up.

Leaning forward she kissed each of Sharon's nipples.  Then, with a wet, 
sucking sound, she slurped the rum from the pretty little navel.  Just 
as quickly, her tongue extended and licked Sharon clean.  The crowded 
roared.  Oosh retreated.  More men lined up.  Sharon got off the bar. 

"That's all I can take," said Sharon as she retied the cover-up in 
front of us.  "Let's go." 

To the hoots of the crowd, the three of us got back into the dinghy and 
proceeded to the boat.

It was late. I cleaned up and decided I wanted to talk more.  I could 
see Oosh had crawled into her forward bunk.   I took her a glass of 
sherry and poured a brandy for myself.  A front had passed through 
hours earlier, and the temperature had fallen some 15 degrees. Oosh had 
a sheet pulled up to her neck.

"Sherry, my love?"

"Thanks Steve."

I kissed her.

"Steve, thanks for that also."

We sat in silence.  Her cabin was lighted by one small candle.  The 
shadows danced, as the boat rocked. Under the sheet, her chest, nipples 
erect, rose and fell.

"Oosh, did you have a good time tonight?"

"Yes. I confess, I'm not used to all that male attention and the 
animalistic rituals, but it was so, so enjoyable and Sharon..."

"I know..."

We touched glasses and returned to silence.  She leaned against the 
port bulkhead, and I to starboard.  Another breeze came down the hatch, 
and Oosh pulled the sheet closer. The floorboards creaked, and Sharon 
moved into our view.  She was brushing her long hair.  She stopped to 
look in the mirror just outside the cabin. Oosh and I, both transfixed, 
watched in silence.

Sharon knew we were watching.  Her hips slowly shifted as she combed.   
With her arms up, her breasts rose and both nipples were clearly 
outlined through a thin nightdress. Combing, combing, there was a sharp 
crackle as the brush generated static electricity in her blonde locks.

Sharon turned to us.  I stopped breathing.  Beside me I felt Oosh 
stiffen.  Sharon looked first at me then Oosh.   Oosh made a choking 
sound.

Sharon smiled, put her hands to her shoulders, released the catch and 
the gown fell to the floor.  Sharon was naked.  Combing, combing, her 
hands back in her hair; minutes passed.
I finally exhaled and leaned further back against the bulkhead.  Oosh 
half rose then fell back.  Dreamlike, Sharon dropped the comb, moved 
onto the bed and crawled forward.  The only sound was my breathing and 
gurgling sounds from the water on the boat. The candle shadows caressed 
Sharon's round butt and her breasts dangled provocatively, as she went 
to all fours.  Halting between us she looked again at me, then Oosh.

With a sigh, she reached for the sheet and slowly pulled it down Oosh's 
stiff form.  First her neck was exposed, then chest and finally her 
breasts.  I couldn't help but notice her delicious looking cherry 
colored nipples, tight, extended.

Sharon lay next to her, and both women closed to each other.  Breasts 
touching, they kissed, arms encircling. While Oosh seemed to finally 
relax, Sharon become more animated as she kissed her cheeks, her ears, 
her neck and mouth.  I felt a hand, and Sharon pulled me to her 
upturned naked bottom.  It was so invitingly displayed, with only 
Oosh's hand to cover it. 

"Steve," said Oosh.  "Please blow out the candle."  I did. It was pitch 
black in the cabin.  I rolled back to Sharon's body and pressed myself 
up against Sharon's ass. I could feel my cock against the soft cheeks 
and the hardness of Oosh's hand still stroking, with a finger deep up 
the soft furrow. We three rolled, kissing, touching, feeling...  I lost 
track of who was who. I felt lips and tongues on my body. I kissed many 
breasts, unaware of the identity of the owner. Soft breasts, harder 
breasts, large breasts, smaller breasts, the owners let me have 
possession for only a few seconds. We changed position so many times; I 
was in a delightful daze.

An even cooler wind came down the hatch.  We pulled the sheet entirely 
over us. I heard moaning and could sense that one of the two women was 
enjoying something, in which I was not involved.  From the tangle of 
female legs, it was obvious that one was on her back, and the other was 
pleasing her in a most intimate way. I lay back to enjoy my thoughts of 
the two of them.  But the cries from one, and the wet sounds, as the 
other enjoyed her friend's sweet nectar, were too much. I half rose, 
ran my hand up a leg, and found a well-shaped ass pointing towards the 
cabin roof.

As the sounds from the woman on her back intensified, I slipped a 
finger into the cunt of the woman on her knees.  She stiffened, let out 
a gasp, then returned to the waiting source of her pleasure.  I 
massaged her clitoris. Her legs opened wider.  A shriek came from the 
prostrate woman, and whoever was accepting my fingers increased her 
tempo.

I got to my knees and pushed my cock against the soft ass.  It was 
moving, grinding, as she licked her friend. I slipped the head lower, 
but had trouble locating her entrance.  A soft hand came between her 
legs and touched my balls.  As I waited, the fingers encircled my cock 
and guided me into the warm hole.

Then there were the three of us.  Whom I was fucking, I had no idea.  
We found a rhythm.  One was licked, one was fucked and one was fucking.  
We could have gone on forever.  The boat rocked gently in the waves. 
The silence of the night was broken as moans and cries escaped us to 
float into the silent harbor, perhaps to the waiting ears of other 
boaters. The woman underneath squealed in orgasm, yet the woman before 
me continued her movements to coax a second from her.  I was grateful, 
for I had really little to do as my partner's ass moved and swayed as 
she worked wonders on her friend and me.

My climax was approaching.  Both women were alternately laughing and 
shrieking. A friendly hand again appeared between her legs to massage 
my balls.  Soon, with grunts of my own, I was pumping into the 
wonderful warmth. I felt her muscles grip me in a way a woman does when 
she orgasms.  Then I heard what I wanted.  She screamed.  Damn did she 
scream.  I was sure every boat in the harbor could hear her.  She 
spread her ass wider, as I gave her a few last strokes.  She shuddered; 
then collapsed.

I awoke in the gray light. Again I was leaning against the starboard 
bulkhead, with only my lower body under the sheet.  There was a tangle 
of naked Oosh and Sharon on me, over me and around me.  I got up, went 
to the head, washed myself, put coffee on, and then went topside for 
the anchor and weather check.  Below, I heard both women get up and the 
water pumps whine as they occupied the heads.

Then silence returned below.  So, feeling a bit, well, horny, I went 
back to the cabin.  Sharon and Oosh were in each other's arms under the 
sheet. Even their heads were covered.  Again, I wondered which was 
which.  I slipped the lower half of my body back under the sheet.

Moments later, a mysterious hand reached from the nearest woman. It 
went up my leg and a finger touched my balls.  I fell back and watched 
the movement under the cloth. The fingers encircled my cock and begin a 
slow stroking. Ever alert, my cock was hard in an instant.  Then, to my 
extreme pleasure, a mouth replaced the fingers.  She (whoever) sucked 
me all the way to the back of her throat.  Damn I love the sound of a 
woman sucking.

I closed my eyes and wondered who.  Sharon had been married and 
certainly knew her way around a penis.  This woman was good. But could 
it be Oosh?  (I hoped it was.) She's a well-educated woman. Who knows 
where her vast talents lay?  If it was she, she was a natural.  I 
decided not to look under the sheet. I enjoyed the mystery.

The unknown mouth also had an unseen tongue.  The tongue assisted by 
soft hands on my balls began a slow coordinated massage. I could 
vaguely see the head bobbing under the sheet.  Minutes later I was 
close.  So close, that I mumbled, "I'm close, careful or..."

The warning went unheeded.  Spurt after spurt went into the warm mouth 
as I emptied myself with shots of pleasure.  Hands and lips milked me 
clean. I softened.  Then with a quiet pooping noise and quick kiss on 
my cockhead, she was gone.

After a short nap, I climbed out of the bunk, amid growls from sleeping 
women.  With the salvation of a cup of coffee, I went topside. An hour 
later Oosh joined me.

She and I sat together, with our backs against the cockpit coaming.  We 
watched the sun break through the early morning mist.  Neither said a 
word.  I sipped my coffee, and she, a true Brit., had made a cup of 
tea, with which she warmed her hands.

I heard a sigh.  I knew my friend was happy.


