On the Open Sea

He sits at the stern. Nude.

She sleeps near the bow. Nude.

It's just past eleven in the morning. She's stirred a few times, but otherwise she has slept restfully.

The breeze moves them slowly. They're in no hurry.

She sleeps under the white shade covering on the blue webbing on the port side.

Their sixty-five foot trimaran is aptly named, Sleepy Days.

She's a night owl. She read until nearly 3:00 in the morning. Before that was two familiar movies and two ruckus card games.

If he doesn't wake her first, she'll stir sometime before noon. This is their morning routine.

He sits in the stern and steers. And he masturbates. Often. And vigorously.

Sleepy Days is all but fully automated. It can practically steer itself and trim its own sails all day long.

Yet he like to do the job himself.

He tends to think he's at the peak of his sexuality. Erections come quick and hard and often. His imagination and desires and lusts are strong and powerful and seemingly unlimited and uninhibited.

They are three days to the next port. And they've been at sea for seven months. Seven days ago they left a small island full of charm and beauty.

For seven days they have not worn clothes. And for the next three days clothes wont even be a thought.

He awoke at sun-up with a rock hard erection and promptly stroked hard and fast while watching the sunrise. They haven't slept below deck in months.

He stands and steps off the main hull onto the webbing on the port side. She sleeps on her side, knees slightly bent, facing the main hull. His erection and his desires lead him.

Without a word he kneels, then goes to all fours, then turns his head and all but crams his face between her legs digging with his tongue for her vagina.

She's not a morning sex person. But she is a morning pleasure person. But at first she is as good as a wet noodle. She sleeps peacefully.

He finds vagina and pushes in as deep as can go. He loves the taste. He loves the position. He loves her tan ass. He loves her warm skin.

He withdraws and bites both sides of her butt gently. He'd like to bite harder, and he would if she was awake, but now is not the time.

She stretches her leg. It's not a sign that she is awake, but it opens the door for him for gently roll her onto her back.

And he does. He wastes no time. He climbs between her legs, lifts her knees, and pushes them apart. And he dives again deep into her vagina with his long tongue.

The position is better. And he can probe and lick deeper. He's vigorous at it. And loud. And intense. His sexuality is in fifth gear. He can't get enough.

Except for her head, she has no body hair. And neither does he.

His penis slides through the webbing and he can feel it sticking straight down and rubbing against the edges of the webbing. It's a sexual hazard with life on the boat.

He lifts his hips and in the same motion pushes his face harder into her body.

She stirs a bit, but she is slow to wake.

He reaches down and his penis is wet with drops of sperm. He kneels and masturbates zestfully onto her stomach and breasts. And just as fast he returns his tongue to her slowly swelling clitoris and vagina. He can't get enough. He can't get deep enough. He can't get her legs spread wide enough. He wants more and more and more of her naked warm body.

She stirs and reaches down to her chest slowly feeling the sperm with her fingers and then touching the sides of his face with them. He doesn't slow down. He pushes into her harder.

She mumbles. It's unintelligible, but he knows what she is saying. Or more accurately, what she wants.

As he brings his head up to her well-tanned breasts she slides her hand down past him. She want to finger herself. Not where he's been. But where he hasn't been. Just the tip of her finger. That's what she wants to feel. That's what she wants to do to herself.

But the sensation is lost on her because he takes to her breasts like a starving infant. He would, if he could, inhale her ample breasts. His mouth is wide, but not wide enough. But if it was, she'd lose a breast down his throat.

In his raging desires gentleness is rarely exhibited. He goes from one breast to the next and back, then back again, then back again. And all the while he pushes his head into her cleavage and pushes in on the outside of her breasts. He truly cannot get enough.

In his aggression his erection comes back. She feels it before he does. She feels it on his leg. And she whispers, "Put it in." She says it slowly many times.

When he hears her, at about the fourth time, he slides up and inserts himself into her. And with equal energy he pushes in and out. Hard. Fast. Loud.

His mind is so focused on where his penis is, what his penis is doing, and what his penis is feeling, that he is not aware that she has he index finger two knuckles into his butt.

She wont say it, but it is her quirk of the moment. Having the finger into his ass and into her own. It intrigues her. Interest her. It's not particularly a turn-on. It's more of a experiment of her reaction and his. So far, so good.

And right now he has no reaction. And in reality he has no idea. So she pushes a little harder. A little deeper.

He comes hard. He pushes hard. He moans hard. He's spent twice now in less than fifteen minutes with her.

She's had no orgasm. She's not a morning sex person.

He rolls off of her and she says, "Good morning, honey."

He warmly and sweetly returns it.

They lay beside each other. She begins to slowly doze off again. And he is playing out lewd sexual scenes in his mind and before long another erection comes.

He truly is at the peak of his sexuality. He masturbates slowly onto the webbing and into the ocean.

Their afternoon will be more sex. And more sex. They'll eat some. He'll sail some. She'll read most of the time. And she'll read even when he gets between her leg again. Romance novels go quite well with a man's tongue in your vagina.