The Sea Island Inn
Note-- This story began life as a short NC tale in 2015. I have expanded it and placed it in Romance in fond memory of Janet Daily 1944-2013. One of her best was
Touch the Wind
, which begins with a brutal kidnapping. As often happens in romance, a domineering male figure captures a woman's heart after many struggles and misunderstandings.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Monica was bored. Michael had taken the crew onshore for a well deserved break. She had no desire to join the all-male holiday, so here she sat, reading. Throwing the book down, she stood up and looked out the large window. Across Biscayne Bay, she could see Coral Gables, probably 3 or 4 miles away. The hotel jungle of Miami loomed in the haze to her right. Though she had spent plenty of time on the yacht on this trip, Monica much preferred solid land. Terra Firma. Home Firma. New York City Firma.
She also preferred action and people, and sitting here anchored and alone on the 75 ft. yacht offered neither.
Why didn't I go?
she thought.
I could have found a spa or something. Oh well, time for some sun.
Shedding her pajamas and quickly changing into her bikini and a light coverup, she headed out the glass door to the aft deck.
She slid the door closed. Something was wrong. The boat dipped in an odd way though there were no big waves to be seen. A blonde head appeared at the stern. A man stepped easily over the rail. Monica backed up, ready to retreat inside. He was quite tall, tanned and wore only a pair of cutoff shorts. His hair was sun-bleached, his body lean and muscular.
"What do you want?" she called. He casually walked toward her, stopping about ten feet away. He stared straight into her eyes. "My boyfriend is on his way back. What do you need?" Her voice cracked a little. He remained silent. "I'm going to call him." Her hand touched the door handle. It was hard to take her eyes off of him. He gave a slight shake of his head, freezing her on the spot. He moved closer, looking directly down on her. His blue eyes mesmerized.
The Sun glinted through his hair and highlighted his chiseled face.
He beckoned her away from the door, out into the sunlight. Monica found herself moving forward. "Please, what do you want?" He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head a bit, as though to say, "What do you think I want?"
"He'll be back any minute!" Her voice had turned into a plea. He waited. Monica was melting. "Who are you?" she asked, weakly. He still had not spoken a word. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and pointed 2 index fingers at her shoulders. He moved his fingers outward in an arc. She knew what he wanted. Her eyes glanced downward, bare feet shuffling on the deck. He waited. Monica's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her resistance melting, her hand moved to the buttons on the front of her coverup. In a moment, it fluttered to the deck.
She faced him in a skimpy blue bikini, her face reddening. She looked up again, expecting some indication of approval. A nod, a small smile. There was no change in his face. His eyes still burned into her. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. Monica cringed. She knew. A tear formed as she reached back to release the clasp. The bikini top joined the coverup on the floor. She knew better than to cover her breasts with her hands. She just stood there, her mind reeling. He was in no hurry. His eyes appraised her breasts before returning to her face.
"Please, Sir, I-"
His power was overwhelming her. He pinched his thumb and finger together and made a pulling motion. Trembling, she reached down and pulled the bows at her hips. She had to part her legs to get the fabric to fall. She stood before him naked and gasping for breath. Again, he waited. A random thought came up in her mind about her tan lines, which were quite obvious at this moment. As if to make that thought worse, he twirled his finger.
"Please, I can't, uh."
Awkwardly, she made a slow full circle. On the way, through tearful vision, she saw their reflections in the glass door.
Can I make it back through the door? No, he would be on me in a second.
Again, his eyes raked over her exposed body, his face expressionless. Monica closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. When they opened, he towered over her, pointing to the floor. With a long sigh, she sank to her knees, her heart pounding.
She had to look almost straight up. The stranger extended 2 fingers. He moved them apart giving an unmistakable message. Blushing, Monica slowly moved her knees apart. "Please! Don't hurt me!" she pleaded.
Slowly, he stepped right up to her face. She could feel him through his shorts. Monica knew what he wanted without any hand signals. The sun was now behind him and she was in his shadow, the sunlight turning his hair into a kind of halo.
She reached up to unfasten his shorts and pull them down. No underwear, no tan lines. His hard organ flopped out against her cheek. His male smell, though not too strong, drifted to her nose. Monica had done this many times though not under these circumstances.
She took his cock in her mouth and started swirling her tongue. She moved her lips slowly over the head. Rinse and repeat. He remained still for a few moments, then started moving his hips in time with her. He put his hands behind his back. Monica realized that, in a way, she was volunteering for this. She put her hands on his thighs and kept bobbing. She felt a familiar tension in his body. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and began pumping.
Monica glanced upward. He was looking right into her eyes, his mouth tightening into a grimace. Before long, he began a series of groans. "Uh, uhh, uh, uhh, umm, uh, ahh!" As he spurted into her, she thought, "That was the first sound he has made." Softening, he pulled away and bent down to pull up his shorts. He turned and padded away, stepped over the rail and disappeared. Monica, breathless, stayed in her position for long moments. She stood, leaving her garments on the floor, and headed indoors for the shower, one hand already rubbing her crotch.
A massage head on a personal shower is a girl's best friend. Since their fling had now stretched into a year of living together, Michael had regularly rocked her boat, but this encounter with stranger danger aroused Monica beyond recent memory. The delicious pulse produced a groaning apex that propelled her against the shower wall.
With lungs still heaving, she retrieved her clothing from the deck and collapsed on a daybed. Had it really happened? The pungent aftertaste in her mouth confirmed it. There is no taste on earth comparable to warm, slimy man-milk. She began to cry. The images flashed through her mind. She could have been killed or kidnapped!
Just wait until they return.
This had to be reported!
Monica sobbed and napped for two hours. As Michael boarded with the crew, she greeted him, dressed and clean, with a lingering kiss. "Mmmm, I missed you today. I'm so glad you're back."
"With a kiss like that, I should have stayed here! I hope you weren't bored here all day. Any shark sightings or sea monsters?"
"Sea Monsters? Uh, no! I um, just relaxed and finished my book." She looked away for a second.
"Are you OK? You seem a little nervous."
