[This is a sequel to –
"Emily: Seduced on the Foredeck",
"Emily: Fingered on the Beach" and
"Emily: A Good Long Root"
(in that order)
But you don't need to have read those to (I hope) enjoy this story]
It started, as these things do, after a few drinks.
The race series we'd taken the boat up to Pittwater for had all gone well. Late in the series, Adam and I were sharing a few drinks with some of the crew around our age from other boats.
Somehow we'd got into a sort of truth or dare game, which in turn led to a question about your kinkiest sexual fantasy. With a few drinks under my belt, I'd answered honestly; even added more salacious detail in response to questioning. It wasn't anything like the kinkiest fantasy revealed that night, but then I suppose I'll never know whether the others were actually played out.
By the next morning, I'd forgotten all about my indiscretion, never guessing what would follow.
A week later, with the series over, it was time for the boat to be brought back home. Unsurprisingly, Adam and I were more than willing to do it. A very early bus up from the city found us prepping the boat for departure just as the day started to warm up; around 9.
A little bit to tease Adam, and probably more than a little bit as a mild up yours in response to the various annoying pretensions of a Yacht Club with the word "Royal" in its name that had irritated us during the series, I found myself reversing the boat out of its pen dressed in nothing more than my tiny blue bikini and a large white sunhat. So I'd substituted a good lathering of sun screen for my normally more protective clothing.
Don't try and question the logic of flashing a not unattractive bikini body around the club as a way of punishing them; quite apart from the scarcity of members who actually were there to see it at that time on a mid-week morning. There is none; or at least none that can be explained. You have to have suffered through the minor slights and the petty rules and their application during the last few weeks to understand the reaction.
But there is also a satisfaction in handling, and being seen to handle well, a large yacht in a tight marina situation; more so when you're young, female, reasonably attractive and blonde. Being dressed in a minimalist bikini just added to the up yours factor. Anyhow, Adam was there and the bulge in his pants signalled he wasn't complaining.
I thought he might have wanted to stop at the little beach near Longnose Point we'd had such fun at last time; but he seemed keen to get to sea. Pity I thought. There's some good beaches in Sydney Harbour too, but none private enough to get away with what we'd done last time on that one.
And so, in a light but slowly building Nor'Easter I motored down Pittwater until Adam hoisted the main near Barrenjoey Heads. Then turning seawards, we eased the main, rolled out the genoa and polled it out with the spinnaker pole, setting a course far enough out from the coast to easily clear Long Reef.
The last few weeks with Adam had been torrid. He had his own house and, apart from the time spent racing the yacht, my parents had barely seen me during that period. The only reason we hadn't got down to another root on the yacht while it was still in the Marina Berth, instead of just setting sail, was that we'd had one when we'd first woken up that morning. But it was all about far more than the sex, good though that was.
That connection we'd made on the first day was still going strong. It was like we never ran out of things to say to each other or laugh together about. Sometimes serious, sometimes verbal games and sparring, it was never vicious or trying to get one up on the other. We were co-conspirators in a most delicious love affair.
And the sex?
Like wow! I thought good sex was where you had a fair chance of having an orgasm at the end of it. Adam had changed the rules. I'd come three times during our love making that morning. And it wasn't because it was some marathon session with Adam going through multiple refractory periods. It was a quickie before we got up. That was in the ten minutes between first penetration and Adam blowing his load.
Why?
I can only start to guess. Yes he had a good technique. He cared and tried. But so did other guys. It seemed that when you added that to something in our emotional connection it just blew my mind; and all my sexual organs too. Adam reckons he's had other girls have multiple orgasms occasionally, but I'm completely over the top. But we both like it. It really turns him on when I'm going off, so to speak.
The sail had been going normally until we were several miles out at sea; me on the helm and Adam attending to the various sail trims. Then he disappeared below, reappearing dressed in nothing more than a tattered pair of long white pants with the waist held up by a tied length of rope and the ends of the legs somewhat shredded. He looked straight out of some Captain Hornblower saga. Still, even as he dropped another bundle of white cloth on the front of the cockpit seat, I didn't really twig that he was up to something.
Suddenly he rolled up the genoa. When I asked him what he was doing, he just told me I'd see soon enough before disappearing forward where he lashed the still hoisted spinnaker pole to the rolled up foresail. The he came back to the cockpit. Separating the white material from something rolled up inside it, he handed it to me and told me to turn on the auto pilot and put it on.
Now Adam's not in the habit of telling me what to do (he knows better than that); so I knew something was afoot. I held up the garment. It was an old tattered business shirt with both the collar and cuffs cut off. The buttons had also been removed; the front roughly sew together. If there had ever been a breast pocket, it also was gone, as was the bottom hem.
I put it on over my bikini. Adam came around behind me, put his hand up inside it to undo the strings of my bikini top and pulled it out from under the loosely fitting shirt.
I was starting to be a bit overcome by curiosity.
