Smitten Kitten

Bending her legs at the knees in what could be described as an awkward crouch, she grasped my shaft and arrowed it into her opening, as I held her outer lips open. I let them close over my red, engorged cockhead. "It's time!" she growled, as she gently started to surge downward, impaling her slender body onto my 40+ aged cock. Her eyes closed, and her head was back. One hip push, then another, as my shaft disappeared into to body. I watched in awe as my penis slowly was engulfed by her willing body. She kept pressing until I was fully seated inside her, but then she rose up and down, up and down, a third and fourth time, until every millimeter of my shaft was coated in her liquid sex, and there was no more to insert.

"Ohhh, yeah. Thas' right. Oh, you fill me up. I want to be filled up. Let me get my legs around you," she said, suiting actions to words, locking her feet and heels behind my back. I looked into her blonde hair and elfin face, black eyed half closed in pleasure. Small, well-formed breasts, topped with passion-stiffened nipples, poked toward my chest. Belly quivering with short, sharp breaths and long, shuddering exhalations. And wonder of wonders, my stiff man meat plunged deep into her slippery girl cunt.

She looked at me, eyes mostly closed with pleasure, as she moved her hips lazily up and down, side to side, and from one side to another. "I don't have a daddy that I know of, and my mommy's gone with a boyfriend. I think she's gone for good. There's nobody else. Will you be my 'Daddy?' Please?"

"Little girl, I want to, but don't you think your Daddy might be in the wrong place, like with his cock inside his daughter's body?"

"Oh, yes you're in just the RIGHT place. You do like what I'm doing, I can tell. I want to call you 'Daddy,' and take this big cock into me all the time. Ohhhh, my mouth is drooling, just at the thought of kissing and sucking you for sex. Ahhh, I love sex, and now that you're in me, we can fuck and fuck. An' I can scream when I cum, and no one's around to hear me. Ohhh, I want to be your little girl cumer. Loud as I can be."

My hips were thrusting into her, as she spoke and murmured. I looked at her, cupped her breasts in my hands, twisting the nipple ends between my thumb and forefingers, saying, "let it all out, little daughter. Fuck your Daddy like you've always wanted to. Like you always fantasized about. Come on, little girl, give it up to me."

And she did. Her screams and squeals rang out over the sea, and were lost in the ocean. How did a girl of eighteen plus come to generate such obscene oral fantasies? And the sheer volume of her sound!

She wanted to fuck in every position, and have me in every hole and part of her body. She wanted me to come in her ears and hair. She wanted to pose for me, and put my special things (wrenches, brush handles, screwdriver handles) in her womanly opening and have me take pictures. She wanted me to use toys on her until she fainted from the fucking.

She wanted to see me fuck another woman, close enough to touch or tongue my shaft driving in and out of a vagina. She wanted to fuck another woman, and then take me, being watched and photographed. She wanted me to expose her body for sexy people to enjoy, looking, touching, and penetrating. She wanted me to give her to other men for sex, and then use her afterwards, exploding my lust into her sex sloppy body. Just so that I stayed near, to make sure I protected her and used myself up inside her, and made her cum until she passed out with pleasure.

And the best part, she wanted to sleep with me in my bed, and cuddle, and kiss me when we woke up.

I had to power-fuck her then, so I turned her over, and drove my raging hard penis into her body, so sloppy wet now that I felt like I was floating. I heard the slurp and suck of hot, willing, wanting woman responding to an invading male shaft and penile head. I could feel the cum sensation building up, as my length started to swell. She encouraged me, thrashing and screaming incoherently as I repeatedly slammed into her. Finally releasing my man spunk into her body, I screamed to, just fragments about 'sluts' and 'fucking teens,' and 'rape you, rape you." I lost count of the pulses of sperm that I released, but I surely went dry, but my cock didn't, as I orgasmed my pile-driving lust into her slender body. She took it all, and ejaculated her own liquid all over my groin and belly.

That little girl was a fucking artist, and I wanted all her art-media output for myself.

We fell asleep in the open cockpit, wrapped in her blanket.

- - - - -

I was prodded awake by an excited young voice, urgently saying, "get up, lazybones, and look at the sunrise. It's beautiful." And it was, with concentric bands of brilliant reds and red-gold colored clouds on the horizon. She ooohed and ahhhhed while the sun climbed up to a full sunrise. Only then did she pick up on my mood of forbidding. Asking why, I recited the old sailors verse:

Red sky at night, sailor's delight:

Red sky in morning, sailor take warning!

"So that usually means that we've got a storm coming," she asked with a little shiver to her voice. "Pretty sure," I replied.

"So what can we do? How far's the nearest motel?"

"The nearest motel is back on shore, and we're not gonna reach it in time. So we fix up the boat to take some bad weather, and we ride it out. Maybe we can reach Catalina before it hits. Maybe not. But first, let's try for breakfast."

Suiting action to words, I set up the camp stove in the cockpit (not wanting the cabin to be full of cooking smells, if we had to be cooped up there for a while). I served her an omelet, sausage, OJ, English muffins with butter and marmalade and coffee. She ate enough for three people, as I expected. After you starve, and get a little food in you, the next day there isn't enough food in the world. I prepared sandwiches for the expected mid-morning little girl snack, some fruit for in-between and a hefty lunch for two.

Putting the cooking stuff away, I checked around the horizon, and then did a dirty, nasty and completely illegal thing; I pumped the contents of my marine holding tank into the open ocean. My only excuse was that having a full holding tank on a small sail boat, sloshing around in bad weather, was a bad idea. I did use the large-diameter hose I had along to pump it 15 feet deep in the sea, as the boat drifted with the wind and current. I flushed the head until it was clean and sweet ... and empty.

Finally, I pulled in the sea anchor, and raised sail. There was just a slight breeze, moving us along at a knot or so, a slow walking pace on land. As the morning strengthened, the breeze picked up to a fair wind, and we started making good time. My new first mate and teen lover slurped and munched her way through the time. She already knew how to use the marine head (toilet) from her time stowing away on board. Lucky that I'd brought extra paper, 'cause she'd gone through it all before I arrived.

As I sailed, I told her how to stow things aboard, emphasizing that the drawers had to be locked in place and then lashed closed with light nylon line. Everything had to be fixed in place so that it couldn't be moved when the boat was slanted steeply to the left (port) or to the right (starboard), or tilted to the front (bow) or the back (stern).

The breeze started to get fresh, and I did something that very few pleasure sailors ever do these days; I "shortened" sail by "tying in a reef". In other words, I dropped the sail down, and tied about 10% of the bottom of the sail to the boom, and raised the sail again. The boat didn't move as fast, but she (the boat) didn't tilt over quite so far, and did move through the water more easily.

About another hour later, it was raining, and there were "whitecaps" (white foam) on the tops of the waves, kicked up by the increasing wind, and the sky was getting ominously black. I did the procedure all over again, with a second reef, cutting the exposed sail area by 25% overall. It was pretty obvious by now that we couldn't keep going much longer, but I wanted to sail for as long as we could. But the Smitten Kitten was being pushed down into the waves more and more often as the wind delivered up strong gusts, and it was getting cold. We'd both put on motion sickness patches earlier. My first mate was clutching a plastic bag around her.

I warned her to keep a good hold on to the boat, started the little engine, and gave her a fast lesson in handling the boat with the power on. Then I dropped sail, tied all the loose cloth down with nylon line, and tied down the boom to the boat. Then, with my little lover at the wheel and engine, I set out the sea anchor again, and motored slowly back until the entire line was paid out (released), and tied securely to the anchor cleat up front, and then again to the base of the mast, for double protection. I set up the anchor light, a strobe, and the radar reflector. We stowed the cockpit cushions under the seats, and tied them in place, and shut down the motor.

Then, with everything done that could be done, we got into the cabin, toweled off pretty dry, and ate a light meal. I told the little girl (got to find out her last name, particularly since I came in her last night) that there was nothing much to do now but sit and wait it out. I showed her the chart of the Catalina area, and the surrounding water. I pointed out the symbols for the current and the direction the winds came from. Then I showed her the little, hand-held GPS (Global Position System) that gave latitude and longitude, to pinpoint where we were on the chart.

She was surprised to find we were only about five miles away from the southern tip of the Island. "So why don't you just turn on the motor and run us into the shore?" I had to tell her the truth of the matter: that the little engine was OK for moving us around in a calm, and provided an 'iron breeze' when needed, but that the motor wasn't near enough powerful to cope with the waves throwing themselves against the bow. If it had to be done, I could run the engine for a night, easing the strain on the sea anchor, but I just couldn't carry enough fuel to do what she wanted.

Her eyes got really round with astonishment when she found that, in a calm, with no current, running the motor for a full hour meant the boat would only move about 2 or 3 miles forward. She'd been thinking about car speeds, where putting the pedal to the metal got you from San Diego to Los Angeles in the same amount of time.

If you're not accustomed to sailing in small boats, it's hard to understand that you can get tired and achy just sitting around doing nothing. Your body is always bracing against the next lurch, and it can happen in any direction: sideways, front-to-back, diagonally, up-and-down, or any combination. My little teen lover started to yawn and nod off while sitting at the table beside me. Carefully putting the charts away, and listening briefly to the marine weather report, I bundled her in to the under cockpit berth, wrapped up in a blanket, and went back on deck to check the lines to the sea anchor.

"Chafe" or rubbing is the secret disaster maker on a boat tied to anything: sea anchor, dock, rigging or line to a sail. It can slowly wear away a rope's diameter, weakening it until it snaps. There didn't appear to be any damage when viewed under the Maglite's white beam, but I checked it anyway, then made it back into the cabin, toweled off again, snuffed out all but one candle, and slid down beside my little girl. Deciding that everything that could be done now was done, guess who nodded off almost immediately, too.

I woke up to dimness, to feel myself being clutched and slithered on by a warm but fearful companion. I re-fixed the blanket around her, but she needed holding and cuddling right then, and meaningless reassurances in her ear. Those I could do, since my ear and the boat's motion, although strong and fast, told me that nothing had "carried away" (been blown or washed off) and that the water coming aboard over the bow wasn't serious. A quick peek through the little port window looking out into the cockpit showed the "scuppers" (drain holes) handling the water that rained or blew into the foot area. We were a pretty tightly corked bottle.

But I was worried about Miss Stray Kitten, clutching me. Abruptly I realized that she was little Miss very-bare-and-horny Stray Kitten. I discovered this when my abruptly risen cock slid into her body, as she forced herself down on me, moaning and humming in pleasure. We both lazily thrust our respective sexes toward each other, and I saw, over her shoulder, her blanket covered ass humping up and down on my penetrating pecker.

Then she started to talk, interrupting herself numerous times with little gasps and hums of pleasure. "I never met my real dad. Mom kept some pictures, but they were of different guys. Then Mom was alone for a long time, and then she had a lot of boyfriends. I kinda went to school and took care of the house, and that was about it. I went to middle school and to Mission Beach High. I had some friends, but didn't go out much, 'cause I never knew what mood Mom'd be in when I got back. I had a couple of boyfriends, and the last one popped my cherry for me, after I got some birth control pills. Then something seemed to happen. Mom got kinda distant, and she kept her last boyfriend for a long time. He called me his niece. He got to be 'Uncle Chuck'. Then he started to come into my room and feel me up, and then he started to fuck me. All the time. I didn't know how to say no, cause Mom was watching him from the doorway, touching herself and grunting, while he banged me. Then he and Mom started going off on long 'vacations,' leaving me alone in the house. I'm pretty sure they both were into meth or crack. A couple of weeks before graduation, Mom and Chuck went on another vacation and didn't come back. The sheriff came to the house and evicted me the day after graduation; nobody'd paid the mortgage. We didn't have any other relatives or family friends. I got out with a suitcase, and some money, but my best girlfriend got it on with my boyfriend: they took my money, my stuff, most of my good clothes and split for Vegas. By a week past graduation, I was living on the beach.

She groaned louder, and told me to go in deeper. I did it, and she clung tighter, memories spilling out of her.

"I learned fast, but I still lost about all the rest of my clothes. Then I got smarter and remembered my first boyfriend, in middle school. His father (he's dead now) had a little key-duplicating stall in a shopping mall. Anyway, this guy learned how to pick locks from his dad, and he taught me. So I found some stiff wire and stuff from the trash, and tried out breaking into houses for food and stuff. But a lot of the houses had alarm systems, and here I was, running around at night dressed for the beach in that outfit I have. Then, when I was sitting out on Shelter Island about a month ago, eating half a hot dog that no one wanted, I saw all the boats tied up at the docks, with nobody on them."

"I knew that the docks were gated, but the guards, if there were any, didn't check out the inside of the boats. Next night, I got three black plastic sacks from the trash, put my stuff in one, tied it out, and put that into the second, and that into the third. Then I waded into the water, and swam out to the dock, with a fourth bag tied around my hair to keep it out of the dirty water, and to keep my yellow hair from showing.

I found a lot of boats that were just sitting there, almost never visited. Some had three or four business cards stuffed into the windows, one after the other, from some dork advertising SCUBA boat-bottom cleaning services, so I knew the owner's were almost never coming back. Then I had a protected place to sleep, and I could usually scrounge up something to eat somewhere. Pretty moldy and musty, but sure beats sleeping in an alley, with some horney guys looking for a little piece of tail to gang rape and cut up.

I found that if I got up early and was real casual coming out, through the gate, no one noticed or cared, just as long as I looked like I belonged there. I'd scrounge for food from the party people having picnics on the grass at Shelter and Treasure Islands, and worked on a tan."

"I never heard from Mom or Chuck again."

"A couple of weeks ago, I came across this boat. It was clean, and neat, and the padlock was simple. I had it open in a few minutes. The blankets were clean, there was canned food in the bin underneath us, and there was a radio and fresh water. And a toilet that worked, and paper, and a lot of stuff that I could use. I always kept the area as neat as I could, so no one would suspect that I was hiding out there. I kept myself looking like ... us, you know ... an airhead friend of a daughter of an owner. The food ran out yesterday, and I was about ready to pick some more locks. I was asleep in this bed when you pitched your stuff over into the cockpit, untied the ropes, and banged around on top of the cabin. I couldn't get out without you seeing me."

"By the time I got all my stuff packed up in the plastic bag, we were out of the dock and the motor was on, and we were moving. I looked out at you, and then I had to be brave and pretend that I was there to do, uh, you know ... and, well, I threw up and you were good and didn't fuck me, and then I wanted to, and you know ..."

We were still gently moving against each other, more urgently now. She put her lips against mine, to shut me up, and we made gentle but insistant love for a long time. Of course, she came insistently a couple of times—I said the girl was an artist—and I flooded her slender body with free, orgasmic jism, but gentle and slow. We slept again.

The Smitten Kitten (the boat, damnit!) was still thrashing around, when I awoke again. I checked for chafe, but found none. My companion-lover hovered gently half dozing, while I made more sandwiches, and we renewed our motion sickness patches.

Following on her revealing story, I told my deliciously nude fuck toy (my exact words, which got a big grin and a nod) that I remembered what she said when I first had her in the cockpit, a day and night ago, and that I didn't expect her to keep any of those prom ....

I got cut off by a delightful set of soft lips, a probing tongue and a lovely set of stiff-nippled breasts pushed into my chest and waiting hands. Then the lips and tongue pulled away (but not the breasts), as I heard, "This little fuck toy remembers everything she said, too, and she's gonna do EVERYTHING she said, an' then some, over and over. I love how you fit inside me. You don't force me. Everything you do is 'we' loving, instead of 'you' fucking. It's only been a couple of days, and you make me shiver and tingle. I've never had a Daddy, and now you're elected. I say so. You and that long pleasure pole I want so much, now."

I firmly affixed said pleasure pole in its designated socket, there to begin the long and slow (at first) loving that we had both come to like the best,

She added, questioning, "where do you live, when you're not sailing?"

"I've got a little house over in Ocean Beach. It's pretty small, but it can handle a new daughter. There my bedroom and office, and a spare bedroom for you, a living room and kitchen and bathroom. The usual, nothing special. But there's a hot tub and a little sauna in the back, and I'm pretty close to the beach. You might like it."

Despite having her face inches from mine, my hard cock in her pussy, and giving me lots of kissing, and having her chest supported by my two-handed grip on her boobs, she put her hands on her bare hips, and somehow managed to look indignant. No small task, considering her position, and the fact that I could look over her shoulder and see the curve of her back and butt, slowly rising and falling in the delicious rhythms of sex. An indignant naked little felt-out hoyden.