by Ben Boswell
“For the night,” I added defensively.
She grinned. “More or less,” she replied cryptically. “I’ll definitely be yours again once we reach dry land, but who knows if I’ll ever be the same.” She stroked me harder.
I pulled away from her and brought my finger to my mouth, tasting her excitement. “I’ll take that risk.”
Another grin. “Okay, have it your way. Why don’t you shower first while I get my clothes together?”
She turned and walked toward her closet, her sexy, naked ass swaying. Without looking back at me, she rifled through her lingerie, holding up slinky, skimpy items, then against her, checking out how they looked in the mirror. It was all a show. She already knew what she was going to wear, but this was part of the tease, letting me see her preparing herself for him.
I showered. I resisted the urge to jerk off for the same reason I didn’t want her to take care of me earlier. I didn’t want the release. I wanted to ride the wave of tension and excitement to the end, and I knew if I came I’d immediately start having second thought, doubts. I rinsed myself in cold water, which got my raging hardon under control, though I remained chubbed up with anticipation.
When I exited the bathroom, Jennifer, wrapped in a towel, squeezed in after me. She locked the door behind her, and I heard her softly humming to herself as the water ran in the sink. I dressed in khakis and a white cotton shirt, and realizing that she was going to take her time, I went out on deck.
***
I was on my second martini when Jennifer appeared. She was dressed for clubbing, in a tiny, tight, black dress with a lace panel to expose her cleavage. It ended just below her ass, her legs looking even longer and leaner than usual in her four inches heels. Her lips were glossy, liner making her eyes catlike, her hair flowed down over her shoulders in loose spirals.
She approached me. In her heels we saw eye-to-eye, she may even have an inch on me. I forced myself to stand extra tall. She leaned forward and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Message received. Tonight, her passion was reserved for another man.
She picked up a champagne from the table and asked, “so where is the guest of honor?”
Before I could answer, Captain Wallace approached. He was dressed in grey linen slacks, a tucked-in, short-sleeve pale blue knit polo that managed to show off both his trim physique and his muscular arms. He smiled.
Fixing me, he said, “It was very generous of you and Mrs. Howard to invite me to dinner, but—”
Jennifer interrupted, “Don’t get silly, we’re looking forward to it.”
He gave her a quick nod, but returned his attention to me.
I smiled. “We really are.”
He gave me a moment, reading my expression for any doubts. I could tell Jennifer was annoyed that he was deferring to me in that instant, but I appreciated it. He tilted his head slightly. I gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. He gave me a quick raised eyebrow. You sure? Yeah. I don’t get it, but okay.
“If you two are done flirting….” Jennifer snarked.
I turned toward my wife, but spoke to Reg. “Jennifer needs to be the center of attention at all times.”
“I do not!” she replied in amused outraged.
“Well, it is only appropriate,” Reg said, “her type of beauty deserves contemplation.”
She batted her eyelashes and took Reg by the upper arm. “At least someone understands.” She looked back at me at and stuck out her tongue again. “Now, Captain, will you please show me around the ship? It all seems so complicated, and I want you to tell me everything.”
Reg snagged a beer from Thom and I followed behind as he led my wife on a circuit of the boat, describing the various sails and equipment aboard. It was actually fascinating, at least when I could focus on it, but mostly I was transfixed by the two of them, the gorgeous, slender blonde and the handsome, ripped, black man. Two amazing physical specimens, it seemed almost natural that they should be together.
When we had completed a circuit, we returned to the bridge. Thom motioned us to the table, set for three. He’d again outdone himself. Our appetizer was a delicious caviar canapé with a nearly-frozen vodka chaser, then an amazing crayfish soup, followed by a tart lime whitefish ceviche, and finally a main course of seared squid over manioc polenta. We shared three bottles of a creamy, vanilla-spiced chardonnay. The wind breeze was moist, sultry, the sound of the waves lapped at the hull hypnotic.
Reg regaled us with stories of growing up in the Bahamas, of learning to sail and working on bigger and nicer yachts. He told us of his own boat, a sleek 33 footer that he’d sailed all around the Caribbean. He was a wonderful storyteller, peppering his account with tales of storms and perils at sea, of beautiful passages between moonlit islands, and harrowing close encounters with drug runners in the waters off Florida.
Jennifer was rapt, hanging on every word, and when he prompted me to tell my story, I could see them both devouring each other even as they nodded politely to show they were paying attention.
Thom served us a rich rum cake and strong island coffee to perk us up. He then came around with generously filled brandy snifters and bid us all goodnight. Jennifer picked up hers.
“This looks delicious, but my dress is cutting off my circulation. Will you two join me downstairs for the nightcap?”
Without waiting for a reply, she rose and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She sashayed toward our cabin, her tight little ass swinging seductively. I looked up from her bottom to see Reg looking at me. I raised my glass.
“So what do you say?”
He glanced back toward the darkened salon where my wife had disappeared. “I’m not sure I understand,” he replied.
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I don’t want to offend you, but I am not sure I can do what you want.” He held my gaze for longer than comfortable.
It clicked. “Oh. Not me,” I reassured him. “I would just watch.”
He seemed surprised by that. “Yeah?”
I nodded vigorously. “No, I don’t. I mean, nothing wrong with it, but I’m not interested in that. It would just be you and her.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“And what will you do?”
“I told you. Just watch. Stay out of the way. It’ll be just you and her.”
“What are you expecting to happen?”
“That’s up to you two.”
He hesitated. “Do you do this often?”
I shook my head. “No, never.”
“So why me?”
Because I want to see your big, black, dick stretching out her married, white, pussy. I couldn’t bring myself to say that. I shrugged. “I think it would be hot?”
I picked up my glass and stood. “See you soon?”
He regarded me impassively. But I knew. He just needed a few moments alone to think it through, but he was too worldly a man not to realize what he was being offered and how precious it was. I crossed the salon slowly, contemplating the looming end of my conventional existence while at the same time aware of the excitement growing within. This was really going to happen!
I entered the stateroom. Jennifer peeked out at me from the bathroom, a look of disappointment crossing her face.
“Is he not…?”
She stopped. A smile coming across her face. I turned to look behind me as Reg entered the room.
“I thought this would be more appropriate than cognac,” he suggested, holding out a white shoulder bag.
I took the sack from him and looked inside to see a bottle of champagne along with three long-stemmed flutes. I stepped behind him to the sideboard and looked back at Jennifer as she slipped from the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She’d dimmed the lights to a romantic low, and slowly maneuvered herself into the middle of the room stepping into the circle of illumination provided by the ceiling light.
She’d changed out of her party dress into a wispy, white negligee. She was naked benea
th the diaphanous fabric, her full breasts topped by dark red, swollen nipples, the curls of her blonde public hair clearly visible.
I popped open the champagne, but neither one of them spared me a glance. They were both locked in on each other. I poured myself a glass and settled down into the corner of the sofa facing them.
Jennifer stalked over to him with feline grace. She was barefoot, so he towered over her, but there was little doubt that she was the predator and he was the prey.
“Thank you for coming,” she breathed softly, running her hand along his muscular arms.
He just smiled as she circled around him.
“Would you take off your shirt?” she asked.
He nodded and gracefully pulled it off over his head.
“Mmmm,” she sighed appreciatively.
She circled around him again, more slowly this time. Her fingers traced the outlines of his muscles, the ridged hardness of his triceps, the smooth, kite-like expanse of his traps, the bulging roundness of his powerful delts. As she came around to his front, she palmed his firm pecs and let her hand slide down to trace the outline of his well-defined abs. She leaned forward and I could see her little, pink tongue flash out and begin to circle his nipple until he let out a soft, excited moan and began to shiver despite the warm, salty air.
She smiled at his reaction. The last few days had been a reminder that Jennifer got off as much on getting a rise out of others as the actual pleasure in the act itself. As she continued to suck on his nipple, her hands went lower, sliding down over his abdomen and hips, and converging on his crotch. She massaged him gently, moving both hands in wide circles that explored his upper thighs, the gap between his legs, before finally closing in and rubbing his shaft through his pants.
They exchanged flirty grins, and then she dropped to her knees, his slacks impressively tented at her eye-level. She gave the bulge a gentle pat, and then bent down low and slipped off his loafers, neatly placing them aside like a well-trained Geisha. It was submissive and weirdly erotic. She straightened up and patiently unbuckled his belt. She unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper and then slowly pulled down his slacks, leaving just his patterned boxers to shield his impressive bulk. She folded his pants and placed them beside his shoes.
She rose up again and seized his boxers at the hip. Only now, so close to the end did her sangfroid falter. She yanked roughly, exposing him. Her mouth opened as she let out a small gasp. Her eyes widened and she looked over at me.
Oh my god, she mouthed silently, grinning.
She looked back up at him, heavy-lidded as both her hands gripped his shaft. His huge, ebony tool looked even larger in her dainty hands. It was long, but even more so obscenely thick, uncut, heavily veined, an impressive instrument.
“This is a perfect cock,” she cooed. “Big…” she stroked him up and down. “Beautiful… and a little scary.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he replied gently.
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can take it, and if I can, I don’t know that I’ll be able to live without it later.”
She shot me a quick glance to make sure I’d heard. Then, slowly, deliberately, she opened her mouth wide and began sucking on the tip of his cock. She sucked on him loudly, wetly. I knew she was exaggerating the slurps and lip smacks for my benefit, but it was obviously having an effect on him as well. His prick stiffened and remained projecting outward even when she released her grip.
She licked his shaft up and down until it glistened in the dim light of the stateroom. Then she leaned in and began licking and sucking his heavy balls, swallowing them as she pumping her hand up and down the length of his cock.
Jennifer sat back on her heels and admired her handiwork. His huge prick was now rock hard, pointing skyward, twitching menacingly. She slipped off her negligee and scooted back toward the bed, her eyes remaining glued to his erect phallus.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and placed her hands on her knees. Slowly she spread apart her long, lean legs. Below her triangle of blond muff I could see her pussy, already swollen with excitement. She ran her hands up her inner thighs, her perfectly rounded nails crimson against her pale, creamy skin. She brought her hand to her pussy and traced her slit, exposing the moist, pink flesh.
Jennifer is one of those few women who is super hot, knows she is, and yet isn’t supercilious because of it. She’d often shown off for me before, but never quite like this. Skimpy clothes and sexy lingerie, but not legs spread, split beaver. Jennifer had always been hot, sexy. Now she was being pornographic.
Reg was staring at her rapt. My own gaze alternated between them, between the over-the-top eroticism my wife was putting out and the object of her desire whose own excitement was so prominently on-display in the form of his world-class erection and heavy breathing.
Jennifer slipped a finger deep into her pussy, letting out a heart-stopping gasp of pleasure. She pumped it in and out, slowly, opening herself wider, her snatch glistening now even in the dim light. She withdrew her finger and then raised it slowly. Her eyes fixed on his. She crooked her finger, beckoning him closer.
For a second he looked almost like a marionette, lurching forward in response to her invitation. Or maybe, since we were in the islands, a zombie responding to an invisible summons. I chuckled inwardly. Who was I to talk? I was sitting on the very edge of the sofa myself. She shot me a quick glance, checking my reaction. My posture was all the reassurance she needed.
With his eyes now drawn to her pretty pussy, he covered the distance between them in an instant. He began to stoop, angling lower, prepared to dive toward her snatch. He licked his lips in anticipation of devouring her juicy slit.
She put out her hand to slow him and slid back onto the bed, her legs still spread wide. He seemed momentarily puzzled at the mixed-signal.
“I need your cock,” she cooed in clarification. “Inside me. Is that okay?”
I wondered to whom that last question was addressed. Was it to Reg? Another bit of submissiveness, asking for permission to get fucked. Was it to me? A last chance for me to call it off. Was it to herself? Asking permission from her Superego to proceed. Or was it just some empty words, uttered in a moment of passion, as much to break the tension as to convey meaning? I shook my head in amusement. Who knew that seeing my wife about to take a huge, black cock would turn me into a fucking philosopher?
My contemplation of Platonic ideals came to an abrupt end as Reg climbed onto the bed and crawled between my wife’s widely spread legs. She reached out and seized his cock, and in one fluid motion pulled him toward her. She guided his huge prick to the target and as Jennifer sighed and shuddered he quickly sank inside her.
“Oh God,” Jennifer, and I, moaned simultaneously.
He was inside her, balls deep, the ease of entry a testament of her level of arousal. She’d angled herself carefully, so that I could see up, between their legs to his body joined to hers, his balls resting against her asshole. There was a moment of calm, all of us momentarily shocked at what had happened. And then nature, instinct took hold.
He withdrew and thrust inside her.
She moaned in pleasure. “Oh God, do you feel how wet you make me?”
“Yeah,” he groaned.
“I’ve never been this wet.”
She shot me another quick glance, the playful twinkle in her eye making obvious the comment was directed at me.
“I love your cock,” she added.
“You’re so beautiful,” he replied.
He slowly churned his big, thick piece of meat inside my wife.
“You won’t break me,” she said. “Fuck me harder.”
He chuckled, but his real response came in the form of deep, hard thrust.
She gasped. “Harder.”
He pulled almost all the way out and them slammed back inside her, their bodies slapping against each other.
“More,” she groaned.
She reached around and grabbed his big, musc
ular ass, urging him on. He pounded into her again and again.
I should have been mortified or threatened, and maybe I was at some level, but none of that could penetrate the intense, sexual fog that enveloped me. I had to rub my eyes several time as excitement blurred my vision. It was even hotter than I had fantasized. God, just a few feet away, my beautiful, gorgeous, blond wife was getting fucked silly by a wildly hung, ripped, black stud.
It would have been hot just as a visual, but it was Jennifer’s reaction that really got me off. Not so much her words, which I knew were partially calculated to inflame me, but rather the way her body responded, the stuff she couldn’t control. The way the veins in her neck bulged each time he hammer into her. How the pussy clung and stretched around his thick shaft. The way her fingers dug into his firm ass on each stroke.
I realized I was close. I’d been rubbing myself through my pants. It would have been so easy to just let go. But I didn’t want that. There were lines I didn’t want to cross, and one of them was jerking off while my wife fucked another man. I forced myself to take a deep breath, then I refilled my champagne glass and settled back into the sofa to watch.
I looked up from between her legs to her face. They were kissing, passionately. When had that begun? I felt a surge of jealously flow through me. I beat it back. It meant nothing. With his fat cock hamming her tight pussy, they were both going on instinct.
He wedged his hands beneath her, cupping her ass as he pounded her cunt. It created a gorgeous symmetry. His black hands on her white ass, her pale fingers digging into his ebony cheeks. Her legs spread wide around his thick torso, and over and over and over, that dark phallus churning into her wet, pink, pussy.
I hadn’t realized how close she was, but suddenly she was bucking and gasping.
“Oh God,” she cried out.
Her hand released his ass and seized his head.
“I need a second,” she exclaimed desperately.
He nodded and then slowly, slowly withdrew his huge prick from her battered cunt. He rolled over onto his back on the large bed. She leaned over his body. Her eyes found mine, and with a smile she began sucking on his slimy prick.