The Literotica Olympics Day 24

The Literotica Olympics

Event: Sailing

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #665 - Team Scandinavia | I. M. Liar,

skipper

; Nicola BluePen,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 14:05:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.189' N 23° 40.031' E; mainsail; 0.2 kt 17º T

The air is stilled. It doesn't even feel like real, breathable, air. It burns, a searing breath of fire that comes in silent waves and suffocates us from within, and crawls underneath our skin.

There are no clouds. The sky, as a kaleidoscope of reflections that paints the void in splashes of pearl, as a celestial window, a glimpse at something more, a towering, terrible beauty, lingers eerily untainted by a single string of white.

The sun shines down on us with all its strength, relentless, burns through my skin, evaporates my sweat before it forms. It just stays there, hanging in the sky, refusing to move, to tone down the intensity of its torture.

It slows down time itself.

Minutes ago - it feels like hours - the last wind flogged our sails, and since then the sea has only grown calmer, the wind going from erratically weak to non existent. The Aegean now resembles a continuous cerulean sheet, evenly spread out in every direction.

Any headway being made is riding on pure momentum.

Until the wind returns, we're little more than high tech flotsam. All we can do is wait.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #155 - Team Canada | Charley H.,

skipper

; Rebecca Leah,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 14:15:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.188' N 23° 40.030' E

We had just entered the shoals when, all of a sudden, I felt my ears popping with the change of pressure. The wind died - just like that - the mainsail deflated, the boat - by design usually completely overpowered and almost uncontrollable – stopped.

My first reaction - unfair, I don't need anyone telling me - was to look at Rebecca. What the fuck did she do now? Yes, unfair, but she had already cost us some time.

Before the wind fell, we were slightly off course and well behind the other teams, all because she doesn't have a clue about what she's supposed to do aboard. I doubt she has ever been on a boat before, but does she admit it? Yeah, right.

I'm starting to wonder - well, not really, but you know - if it was such a great idea to select an American for the team. She's stubborn, opinionated, rebellious, way too young-

Hm.

Well, to be honest, I didn't exactly choose her for of her sailing expertise...

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #245 - Team U.S.A. | Sea Cat,

skipper

; Claire Blossom,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 14:20:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.191' N 23° 40.032' E

I think we're slightly ahead in the race, and damn, it feels good. There's no wind, so our lead doesn't seem likely to increase anytime soon, but on the other hand, I don't see how anyone could catch up with us.

Everything was going smoothly before the sudden weather change. We managed to keep the wind ahead, reacted fast to any shift, and rounded the first buoy with haste.

Up 'til now, Claire has been instrumental in our performance. 49ers are such demanding bitches, that without her help I wouldn't have had a chance. I don't think she has that much seafaring experience, but she's a quick learner if I ever saw one, and follows every instruction I give her promptly and without questions.

She's just so eager.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #155 - Team Canada | Charley H.,

skipper

; Rebecca Leah,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 14:55:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.188' N 23° 40.030' E

I'm keeping my cool. Not letting it get to me. Showing no emotion. All I need to do is to stare at her and she knows. She can feel my eyes burning through her.

Rebecca is like a child, prancing around the boat, supple and lithe and sexy and

absolutely oblivious

to what she's doing! She just can't stand still, and this hull is so unstable without wind that we almost flipped twice already.

I tell her to furl up the jib, and she stares back at me with those big innocent eyes, like a little girl who knows she has been caught. I tell her to freshen the nip of the port stay, and she just blushes furiously and tangles another two lines together.

Seriously, I swear half the knots of the rig were made by her tripping over the lines. If she doesn't get her act together quickly, I'm going to have to teach her a thing or two.

I stare at her, coolly.

But inside - inside I am grinning.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #245 - Team U.S.A. | Sea Cat,

skipper

; Claire Blossom,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 15:25:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.191' N 23° 40.032' E

There's something about Claire. I mean, beyond her bright and breezy ways, her outgoing nature, and her drop dead gorgeous body, there's a raw, sexual energy that I hadn't seen before.

Maybe energy isn't the right word.

That eagerness I'd noted before, there's more to it than meets the eye. A very slight but noticeable shift in her, every time I brush past. Her body tenses up, her breath catches in her throat. She always looks straight ahead, as if ready to spring into action at my order. I can tell her heart is racing during those few seconds.

And after that, the way she looks to and addresses me, "

Captain

Cat", the words rolling from her tongue, unhurried, as if trying to stress the hierarchy. "Captain Cat,

sir

".

My cock stirred the last time she said that.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #665 - Team Scandinavia | I. M. Liar,

skipper

; Nicola BluePen,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:00:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.190' N 23° 40.031' E

So turns a tide, the sun shines hard and more, and rays of day leave tender trails on the skin of my battered shell, dried out and bruised. I can't breathe, I can't swallow, my mouth feels dry and thick. I can't move. My whole body aches.

I don't understand how Nicola can remain so cool and calm. Even being only half Finn, one would expect her to be less than comfortable in this scorching weather, but no.

She took control of the boat when strengths abandoned me, confident and playful, moving with ease on the platform. After securing all the lines and sails, she even joked about the situation.

'If there's no wind,' she said, 'I might as well enjoy the sun and the sea.' With that and an histrionic sigh, she turned her back to me and, hugging herself, and pulled her shirt up and over her head, unveiling her violin figure.

For a second that seemed to stretch beyond all time, her golden tanned skin naked except for the small dark blue bikini bottom. She stood there, backlit by the sun and the sun's thousand shards reflected on the sea surface.

She twirled, smiling, and handed me her shirt. I couldn't turn my eyes away. With an elegant motion, she disappeared in a swift dive that barely disturbed the surface of the water.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #245 - Team U.S.A. | Sea Cat,

skipper

; Claire Blossom,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:15:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.191' N 23° 40.032' E

I needed to find out how far she was willing to go with it. I needed to know if she was for real or if I had read the signs all wrong.

Claire stood at attention, straight backed, at the stern of the boat, chewing her bottom lip as I moved closer, looking into her eyes. I could sense she was instinctively holding her breath, in expectation, not moving a muscle. I stepped behind her. I brushed her hair aside and leaned to her ear.

"Don't move," I said.

Her reply came at once, in a faltering voice: "Yes, sir."

I smiled with renewed confidence. Almost without touching her, I took her arms and stretched them out to each side, tracing a line along them with my fingertips. Her body felt small and frail, her back snug tight against my chest. The bulge of my erection pressed against her ass.

Leaving her outstretched arms, my hands moved smoothly down the sides of her body, hugged her waist and the curve of her hip. The muscles of her stomach felt tense beneath her skin as my left hand glided under her shirt and up across her round breasts. She tried to hold back a soft moan when I rolled her nipple between my fingers, and as I squeezed it more forcefully, I used my right hand to undo the top button of her shorts.

A sudden jolt of energy burst through her body when I slipped my fingers inside her panties, and she fell back onto my chest, gasping for breath. I could feel her heart drumming. I could feel how wet she was as my fingers swam along her lips and dipped into her.

She brayed her ass back against my cock.

Moving slow and calculatingly, with one arm wrapped tight around her neck, I pulled my fingers out and brought them, coated with her juices, up to my lips to taste her.

"You will do as I tell you," I stated in a low and flat tone.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

With a sudden jerk, I threw her down to the floor, making the whole skiff vibrate. She turned to look up at me, a wild fire burning in her eyes.

"Get up on your knees," I said as I unzipped my pants.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #665 - Team Scandinavia | I. M. Liar,

skipper

; Nicola BluePen,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:20:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.190' N 23° 40.031' E

Now, under normal circumstances, if I had been given the choice between being

in

the water and staying on a boat

above

it, I'd go with the latter. Not that I'm a bad swimmer, or in any way

afraid

of being surrounded by all that big wet stuff, mind you, but it always sounded a bit hazardous to me.

I think she's doing it just to taunt me. It's only a game.

Nicola wanted me to jump in the sea with her before, but she took it as a personal challenge when I said no. I felt shaky, dehydrated, and frankly, I couldn't stop looking at her slender, near naked body as it glided elegantly just under the surface for the clear waters.

And I swear she read my mind. I swear I saw a smile play over her full lips as she noticed me staring as she swam back to the boat. She raised herself onto the ledge, keeping her legs in the water for a few moments longer, and threw her head back, her long dark hair flying.

Oh, she knew what she was doing.

From where I was sitting, her arms framed her full breasts, pushing them together and up, and crystalline beads of water dripped across her skin, and off her dark, erect nipples.

She never looked at me, but she didn't need to. She knew she had my undivided attention. With a slow, seemingly studied motion, she stood up in front of me and sighed softly. 'The water is exceedingly fine,' she said. 'Exceptionally inviting, extremely hot, and extraordinarily... wet.'

I nodded, dumbstruck.

Nicola leaned back against the mast, scanned the horizon, and started to distractingly hum an aria from Don Giovanni. At that exact moment, she seemed to realise something, and broke into a smile again.

'Vedrai, carino, se sei buonino, che bel rimedio ti voglio dar,' she sang in a coy soprano voice as she walked to the bow and hooked her fingers into the waistband of her minute bikini bottom. She pulled it down her thighs, languidly, and let it drop to her ankles.

Still humming, she finally turned to look me in the eyes with an air of pliant allure, a virgin whore.

Before she dove effortlessly back into the water, I saw the inscription tattooed on her right arm. Veni, Canti, Vici. I couldn't argue with that.

'Are you coming?' she purred.

Those definitely were

not

what I would call normal circumstances...

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #155 - Team Canada | Charley H.,

skipper

; Rebecca Leah,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:30:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.188' N 23° 40.030' E

The truth is this was something I had been meaning to try for a while. So, when I moved to go past Rebecca to the prow of the boat and she leaned against the mast, I stopped and turned to her, effectively trapping her in place. I said nothing for a moment, just stood and looked into her eyes.

'Afraid of me?' I asked.

'Should I be?' she replied in a hesitant but almost defiant tone.

'Planning to answer all my questions with more questions?'

'Am I doing that?'

I had to laugh. She's spunky, I thought as I played a length of deep ruby coloured rope hanging from the mast, twirling and unfurling it with my left hand. I leaned in closer, pressing my breasts to hers.

'I need you to help me with something,' I said, my lips almost brushing across hers. My voice was at once low and firm, sweet and commanding. My knee pushed between her thighs, and I pressed it against her pussy.

'Yes?' she gasped at the sudden contact, her breath ragged.

I could feel the heat of her sex through the fabric of her thin baggy pants. Her eyes closed for a second as she unconsciously started to roll her hips, grinding against my thigh.

I smiled. Just as I thought the day I selected her for my team, a natural born slut. I pulled my leg back a bit and she slid slightly down the mast, trying not to break our contact. She closed her eyes again and moaned softly when I pressed my leg back between her thighs.

'Yes,' I said calmly and carefully lifted her yielding arms over her head. 'Don't worry, I won't bite. Much.'

In a swift motion, I bound her wrists together in a taut coil. Before Rebecca could realise what was happening, I had reached for the overhead rig and hooked one of the strong ropes through the ruby wrist wrap. With a quick tug, she was forced up onto her toes.

She opened her eyes, suddenly aware of her vulnerable situation as I covered her mouth with my hand and held her body in place with my own.

'Don't fight it,' I said. 'If the boat flips over, it won't be fun.'

She nodded slowly, a sense of panic briefly flashing in her eyes. She was straining to keep balanced on her toes, to ease the tension off her wrist restraint.

I smiled and reached in my pocket for my sailor's knife.

'For what I have in mind,' I said as I traced the thin straps of her white tank top with the short, cold blade, 'these will have to go.'

Slowly, I tore her top open all the way from the collar to her waist, and then jerked it off her. Her perky breasts were accentuated by the awkward stance brought by the ropes. She tried to look away, but couldn't stop moving her hips almost imperceptibly, just as she couldn't stop her nipples from hardening when I covered them with my mouth, grazing them with my teeth, biting them.

She moaned.

When I pulled open the cord that wrapped around her pants, unbuttoned and unzipped them, and finally peeled them past her swaying hips and down her thighs, I had to step back just to take in the tremendous effect. Against a backdrop made of the most serene sea I had ever seen, the sheer tension the ropes subjected Rebecca's body to was incomparably beautiful.

I picked another length of rope and caressed her body with it. Along the curve of her neck, her full breasts, down her body, holding back across the moist and puffy lips of her shaved pussy, and finally tugging at her silver clit ring.

'Now,' I whispered in her ear, 'I'm going to teach you all you will ever need to know about ropes and knots.'

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #245 - Team U.S.A. | Sea Cat,

skipper

; Claire Blossom,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:35:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.191' N 23° 40.032' E

Even as I saw her shifting her position, and felt my cock slide further back into her throat, I still couldn't believe this was happening.

Claire continued to swallow, the muscles of her throat tightening around my cock rhythmically. My fingers were lost in her hair, holding her as I thrust into her mouth. She gagged, tried to push me away, only to get back to sucking me the second she regained control of her body and took in a large gulp of air.

Her tongue lashed incessantly, and once again she covered her mouth over my cock's head. She had one hand inside her pants, frantically rubbing her clit, and the sounds and scents of sex were all around us.

There was a popping sound when she let go to breathe again, and she wrapped her lips around my balls as she continued to jerk me off with her free hand. I felt a sudden rush to my cock.

Without saying a word, I pushed her away to the bottom of the boat. She looked at me, confused and frustrated. I reached down to grab her arm and roughly flipped her over. She held on to the white fiberglass ledge of the boat. Grabbing her hips and forcing her ass up in the air, I pulled her shorts down her thighs.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I said, running my hands across her lower back and then parting her cheeks. "Don't lie to me, you whore."

"Yes, sir," she breathed.

I grabbed my cock and slid it along the wet folds of her cunt. I could feel her body pulsing, trembling underneath me, her breath fast and shallow. I forced my cock into her, immediately feeling her inner muscles clasping around it, as she cried out and met my thrust.

I pulled almost all the way out and then drove back in.

"Say it."

"I..." she started, but her voice caught in her throat as I continued to plunge into her. I stopped and pulled out of her, my cock coated with her juices.

"Say it," I demanded.

"Fuck me," she whimpered. "Please."

I circled the head of my cock around her ass, grabbed her hips with both hands, and pushed myself into her tight hole. She moaned, thrusting back, and my cock sunk into her ass.

"Fuck me," she repeated.

I pounded against her ass, increasing the pace of my thrusts, the moisture of our sweat clinging to our bodies, mixing with her juices as they ran down her thighs, as her fingers glided across her cunt.

The boat balanced violently, threatening to overturn.

She moaned, cried out her orgasm, as my cock swelled, hammered furiously, crashing into her. Thrusting deeper and harder. Exploding inside her, my cum dripping through her ass.

A mass of sweat covered flesh, worn out, we lay on the bottom of the boat.

*

SHIP'S LOG

Open 49er | #665 - Team Scandinavia | I. M. Liar,

skipper

; Nicola BluePen,

crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:50:00 [Final Regatta]

Position: 37° 48.190' N 23° 40.031' E

If all the sirens and mermaids of antiquity were as she, the Argonauts were the ones that were tricked. Oh sweet death, to succumb to her song, to be devoured by the luscious lips from which it poured.

Once I slipped into that water with Nicola, all else faded.

She swam, always just outside my reach, still humming her song. Her piercing blue eyes lingered, locked with mine as she glided seamlessly through the water, smiling the content and knowing smile of the conquerors.

Every time I tried to get closer, mesmerised, she would swirl, dive, or swim a little further away. Her body undulated just below the surface of the sea, and even the sunlight bathed her skin as if the water was no more than a crystalline veil.

She disappeared into the water in a gracious movement, and I dove to follow. This time she waited for me, surrounded by light and silence and blue and coral, and her eyes were even more radiant underwater than they had been above. I brushed my fingers across her face, and she smiled and kissed me.

It was a soft kiss at first, lulled by the almost imperceptible underflow, but it quickly grew in intensity. Nicola held my face between her hands, and our lips parted, our tongues found and explored each other. She sucked mine into her mouth, ravenous, and soon had taken most of the air from my lungs.