by Ben Boswell
After our “date,” she’d sent me a copy of the story she’d written about us. It was tough, but fair. Jennifer would have made an excellent business reporter had she stuck with it. I asked her out again. I told myself I wanted to convince her about our business model. She accepted but with a condition that made that my plan moot – that we not talk business. I bridled. Business was my life. I lived and breathed it. Except… I didn’t. And she became my escape, the one person in my life who wanted to talk about something other than marketing “social.”
My net worth went from nine figures to eight to seven as we took in new capital to fund our wild growth. We had almost 500 employees by the time we went belly up. By then Jennifer and I were dating. She’d graduated and moved in with me and almost immediately ended up pregnant. Dumb luck. Brilliant luck in retrospect. Dumb at the time.
We married. That was thirteen years ago. Lucky thirteen. My ship had finally come in. Finally turned paper wealth into actual, no shit, money in the bank. Not enough to retire on in luxury, but enough to be able to afford a week on this amazing yacht with my beautiful wife.
The red-eye had left us drained. So we’d gone below for a quick nap, which had turned into some very fun sex.
***
When we re-emerged from the master cabin after a shower and nap, the ship was under full sail. Thom, the cook, a squat, older, black man with white hair, handed us each a glass of champagne.
“Capt’n said to go on up when you’re ready.”
We took our glasses and climbed up onto the bridge. Captain Reginald Wallace was at the wheel, surrounded by a high-tech console full of digital readouts. In his crisp white shorts and shirt, he looked every inch the competent professional, and yet even as he checked the gauges and periodically spoke instructions through a microphone to Denny who was up front trimming the jib, his animal physicality burst through.
I cleared my throat.
He turned and gave us a broad smile.
“Mr. and Mrs. Howard. I hope you’re both refreshed.”
I felt myself blush. Yes, Captain, we just had a lovely time fantasizing about you. Luckily, Jennifer was more poised.
“Yes, thank you. The stateroom is lovely.”
It was. A surprisingly large suite, with a king size bed and a sitting room.
“Since you’re our only guests this week, we were able to open it up. But even still, there is no place like being on deck.”
He waved his arms across the vista of choppy sea, blue skies, and white, puffy clouds.
“I thought you might enjoy running with the wind for a while,” he added.
I nodded. “It’s gorgeous out here.”
“No place like the sea,” he replied. “Why don’t you take your drinks onto the forward deck. I’ll have Thom bring you some snacks.”
“Thank you Captain,” Jennifer said as we left the bridge.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Just let us know how we can make you comfortable. We’re completely at your disposal,” he said.
I nodded and followed my wife forward.
***
The “snack” Captain Wallace spoke of turned out to be a delicious Lobster Nicoise served on white linen and fine bone china. Thom was a gourmet chef and it showed in both the food and the presentation.
Jennifer laughed.
“What?”
“This is crazy. Is this our life from now on?”
She was smiling broadly, looking, as usual, gorgeous in a sheer, flowered sundress, her hair in a ponytail, her cheeks reddened from the champagne and sun. She was wearing a pair of mirrored aviator glasses, a look she somehow pulled off.
“Well, maybe not like this. Not yet at least. The next one will set us up for good.”
“So what is the next one, Jeremy?”
I shrugged. Truth is, I had no idea. But I knew that with the success of my now-sold company, Trion, I wouldn’t have any trouble finding investors, and I’d be able to drive a harder deal, keep a large equity share. But there was time for that later.
“I don’t know. And I don’t want to think about it. I just want to enjoy a week at sea with the most beautiful woman in the world.”
She frowned. “You bastard. You invited Scarlett Johansson to join us?”
I laughed. “I should have. I mean, you get Captain Wallace to drool over. Doesn’t seem fair that it is just you and four guys.”
“The four of you together couldn’t handle me. No room for another girl on my ship.”
I rolled my eyes. “Last of the red hot mommas, eh?”
“Where does that phrase come from anyway?”
“Ooh, ooh, I actually know that. Sophie Tucker. She was like a vaudeville star or something. Sort of an early Mae West.”
She shook her head. “Oh my God, I married a nerd.”
I reached out and pulled her into my lap. “That’s us, the nerd and the cheerleader.”
I put my arm around her and held her tight, enjoying the feel of her slender body against mine. The weather was gorgeous, luxuriant, and this was a perfect moment. I wished I could bottle it and keep it with me forever.
***
Captain Wallace kept us running with the wind almost due north for the next couple of hours, and then as the sun started to set he began to curl the boat northeast and our first destination at Harbour Island. The plan was to anchor at Harbour and then depending on the forecast either tack our way down the ocean-side coast of Eleuthera toward Cat, or if the ocean was too rough, double back and do the same thing on the leeward side of the Island.
Either way, most of the sailing to Harbour would occur after nightfall so we were still moving almost due north when we began dinner with a stunning open ocean sunset off the port side of the yacht.
The main course at dinner was a seared grouper, with a surprising subtle tropical salsa. It’s a dish I’m always skeptical of. The salsa is usually too heavily spiced, which masks the flavor of the fish… which is probably the intention with the deep frozen crap most places serve. The more mellow flavors also allowed Thom to pair it with a lovely Pouilly-Fumé, a much better use of Chardonnay than the over-oaked California version. Chocolate mousse for dessert. Gourmet coffee. After, we moved to the rear deck, more sheltered from the wind, to sip our cognacs.
I yawned. It had been a long day.
Jennifer rapped me on the shoulder. “Oh no mister. I need you awake for a while longer.”
I chuckled. “Didn’t you get enough this afternoon?”
“Not by a long shot. I told you, you couldn’t keep up with me. Do we need to call for reinforcements?”
“Oh you’d like that.”
She grinned. “I think you would too.”
I gave a big fake sigh. “Alright, let’s get it over with.”
I stood to rise, but she pushed me back down.
“Give me a few minutes, big boy, I need to freshen up.”
I watched her walk away. I’ll be damned if she didn’t get sexier every year. She was less “perfect” than she’d been. At thirty-five, she had a little sag in her boobs, a few lines beginning around her eyes, and her butt was firm rather than rock hard as it had been. And all of that just made her that much more appealing.
I heard some voices coming from above. Wallace and his crew probably talking about the night watch. They’d taken down most of the sails, left just enough to keep us moving slowly toward our destination. The boat was super advanced. Except in a storm, it could sail itself, but I knew they’d still be keeping watch. Though the crew was exceptionally skilled at being unobtrusive, or maybe because of that fact, Jennifer and I needed to remember they were still around. We’d been at full sail during our afternoon lovemaking so they probably hadn’t heard us. But if she started screaming, fuck me, Captain Wallace at night, we’d probably get our share of funny looks… and more… the next morning.
I could feel my cock beginning to stiffen as I replayed our last session in my mind. And now she had something else planned for m
e. A dark thought crossed my mind. Now that I’d struck it rich, Jennifer was going to fuck me to death for the inheritance. Not that it would be a bad way to go. I drained my cognac and went inside.
I edged my way through the salon, past the big wide-screen TV, down the steps toward the master suite. As I approached the door, I heard music coming from inside, a soft, sultry Jazz beat. I stepped inside. The lights were dimmed, the bed turned down.
I turned to see her stepping out of the bathroom. I let out a low whistle.
“You like?”
“Um, yeah.”
She was wearing a white, fishnet bodysuit, with ties down the front. Like a gift-wrapped present. She’d brushed out her hair, and it hung in a silky wave, draped over her right shoulder. She had reapplied her makeup. Her lips were shiny, very, very red.
She stepped closer. “I didn’t lie about the shopping spree. I have expensive little surprises for every day of this trip.”
She pulled on the first tie and it slipped open, completely exposing her left breast, her lovely nipple hard and begging to be sucked.
There are times when I just can’t resist her. When I just need to devour her. I leaned forward and swallowed her engorged nipple into my mouth. She gasped at my hunger. Her arms wrapped around my head. I pulled open the other side of her outfit, and sucked strands of hair as well as her nipple into my mouth.
“Easy tiger,” she moaned. “I want to take care of you.”
“No,” I growled.
I reached around, lifted her off the floor, and carried her over to the bed. Placing her on the mattress, I resumed my attack on her boobs, sucking each nipple until it was wet and shiny, her areolas reddened and puffy. I undid the second knot and moved lower, kissing and licking her belly, my hands replacing my mouth on her tits, tweaking her nipples as she squirmed excitedly. I was close enough that I could smell her excitement. It was more intoxicating than a dozen cognacs. I looked up at her, staring down at me, heavy lidded, silky strands of hair draped across her beautiful face, caught between her pursed, shiny lips.
I pulled on the final silky strand and peeled open the bodysuit. I slid lower still and from between her legs looked up at her naked body lain out before me. She was squirming slightly, her hips shimmying from side to side on the soft, finely woven sheets. I could see her smiling at me between the valley formed by her lovely breasts. I glanced down at her blonde muff, downy, trimmed short. I sometimes fantasized about her being completely shaved, but that almost seemed like a waste of a natural blonde.
There is nothing I enjoy more than eating her sweet pussy. I would do it all night if she’d let me, but after a few minutes it gets to be too much for her. So I like to take my time. I traced her soft lips with my fingertip. A quick lick. She shuddered. I spread her open, exposing her delicate pink. I think it’s weird to make it one’s life work, but I totally get Georgia O’Keeffe’s obsession with the beauty of a woman’s vulva. It is really a work of art. I ran the tip of my tongue around her labia, tasting her excitement.
“Oh God, stop teasing me,” she hissed.
I laughed. “You want it, huh?”
She nodded.
“Say it.”
She hesitated. She likes to talk dirty sometimes, but her kinks tended to be submissive. Offering to be taken was one thing. Asking to be serviced was more difficult. I kissed her pussy gently, little teasing, butterfly kisses. She moaned. I looked up and our eyes met. I tried to signal her with my gaze, Do it.
Jennifer groaned in frustration as I continued to withhold what she wanted. And then she cracked. “Eat my pussy, you bastard.”
I chuckled. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she growled. “Eat it. Unless you want me to go on deck and find someone else who will.”
I groaned. She’d found the right button to push. I lowered my mouth to her mound and sucked her hard. She bucked, thrusting her pussy against my face. I gave her firm licks, pressed my tongue inside her, flicked at her clit, then sucked her engorged little nub into my mouth. She reached down and grabbed my head with both hands as if trying to pull me inside. She moaned and shuddered and I knew she was getting close.
She rarely lets me finish her off like that, but I thought she might this time. Instead I felt her fist close painfully on my hair as she pulled me off.
“I want you inside me.”
I hesitated, really wanting to finish what I’d started with my mouth. Her eyes flashed.
“I need a cock. Any cock will do,” she taunted, her eyes looking upward toward the ceiling and beyond to the bridge where Captain Wallace was stationed.
I had a fleeting, searing vision. Of me refusing. Of her rising from the bed and exiting our stateroom naked. Of her approaching him. Lying back on his instruments console, legs spread, inviting him to take her.
I fumbled with my pants, pulling them down just enough, and then I launched myself upward. She spread her legs wide, welcomed me with her arms, and I thrust inside her roughly.
She gasped, then moaned, “faster.”
Not that she needed to ask. I was already an enraged bull. I pounded my prick over and over into my wife’s drenched cunt. She craned her neck upward and sucked on my earlobe, her breath hot and moist on my cheek.
I was so close, but I was too excited to slow. Luckily, she was just as far along as I was. I felt my balls tighten, and just before my first spurt, I felt her pussy clench my cock rhythmically. I joined her climax an instant later. I collapsed, gasping, onto her.
“I like what the sea does to you,” she teased.
“It’s what you do to me.”
“You know the thing with,” she nodded toward the ceiling, “is just a game.”
I rolled off her. “I know.” I almost said more. It doesn’t have to be. But those words didn’t make it out of my mind. Still, her comment had invited a fuller response from me and by not providing one, I was leaving things open.
“So you have more of these outfits?” I asked, changing the subject.
She giggled. “Yup. Now that you’re a multimillionaire, I need to up my game. Otherwise, you’ll leave me for some twenty-one-year-old Berkeley journalism student.”
Jennifer actually manages all our finances and does our taxes. She knows that California is a community property state, which means that what is mine is hers. So I knew that this was just an act on her part. Still I appreciated the sentiment.
“Bikinis too,” she added.
“Yeah?”
“You can’t actually swim in most of them. They are for lying out. And being seen.”
“Sounds impractical.”
She laughed. “Depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”
“And what are you trying to accomplish?”
“I told you. I want to keep my husband interested…. And, well, if other men notice, then that just contributes to the goal. Doesn’t it?”
And I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel my cock twitch again at the thought of Denny, Thom, and especially Captain Wallace, admiring those new, impractical bikinis of hers.
Chapter Three
We woke the next morning to the sun shining brightly through the curtains, creating ribbons of light across the bed. There was a weird grinding noise coming from the front of the boat. Curious, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. Jennifer drew her hair into a ponytail and wrapped herself in a robe. Anything more was usually too much to ask of her before her morning coffee.
Thom had set up a table on the forward deck, under an awning for shade. With the boat at rest, it was a nice spot to eat, a great 360 degree view, and a lovely breeze. We were anchored off Harbour Island. Or least trying to anchor. That was the source of the noise. Denny and Captain Wallace were turning some handles up front.
“Electric winch burned out,” Thom explained as he poured coffee. “They’re setting it manually and we’ll fix it while you’re at the beach.”
He pointed out to the west, to a stunning stretch of pink sand beach.
“There’s a path through across the Island, so you can go into Dunmore Town for lunch. Cap thought you might enjoy that, and we can sail around and pick you up from the harbor in the afternoon.”
I looked over at Jennifer to see if she was on board, but she was in her own world. I followed her gaze and smirked. She hadn’t even glanced in the direction of the beach. Instead, she was staring hard at the two men at the bow. Both Denny and Wallace were stripped down to their shorts, working hard at turning the cranks. Despite the cooling breeze, they were both sweaty, their ebony skin glistening in the sunlight. Wallace’s muscles were bulging and straining. Even his back was ripped. Denny looked smaller, but that was only in comparison to Wallace. I hadn’t realized how young he was, probably eighteen or nineteen. He was even leaner than Wallace, wiry even, but his muscles were equally well defined.
“That sounds like a plan,” I replied to Thom, who also had a grin on his face.
“Would you like omelets? I make a tomato-cayenne version for myself, but can do something less spicy if you prefer.”
I waited a moment for my wife to reply. She was still in a trance, so I replied for her.
“That sounds delicious. And could we have some Bloody Marys to go with that?”
He nodded. “Exactly what I’d have recommended myself.”
As Thom disappeared, I sidled closer to Jennifer.
“Imagine what those two could do to you. One at each –“
“No, don’t,” she interrupted, her tone grave.
I jolted upright. “Baby, I’m sorry, I was just kidding around, you know—”
She turned to me and after a moment, smiled, “I mean, don’t tempt me.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “Would you really?”
“What? You mean now? Or if I was 21 again, on spring break or something?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Either? Both?”
“Well, now, of course not. Because we’re married. And it would be wrong and dangerous.” Why did it sound like she was trying to convince herself of that? “But back then?” She grinned. “Probably.”