The Big Tease

Sam stepped back to let me be the first to mount the podium placed there to help one step off the jetty, over the lifelines and onto the yacht. That could be a case of courtesy on his part or just wanting a good look at my arse as I went first.

Sam has always been one to do the gentlemanly thing of holding doors and letting me go first, so in this case I gave him the benefit of the doubt; and a subtle wiggle of my bum as I stretched my legs to get over the rail. Indeed, the tight little mini hot pants I was wearing had been chosen just for that moment.

Picking up the gear bag which I'd already thrown onto the deck I headed for the cockpit while Sam followed me onto the boat. In a moment I had the companionway unlocked and was down the steps. By the time Sam joined me below I was unloading our lunch out of my bag and into the fridge before chucking my bag the short distance onto the bunk in the aft cabin.

In the confines of the narrow passageway in the main cabin of the yacht, Sam stood helplessly in the way as I went about preparing the boat. Even now, at 9.30 on a glorious February morning the cabin of the boat was predictably hot and stuffy; something I commented on as I slipped off the string shouldered top and shorts I was wearing and tossed them over my bag; leaving myself in just my bikini.

Numerous times I moved past him as I opened deck hatches and blinds, secured lockers, turned on relays and generally put the boat in a fit state to leave the dock. If I was careful about Sam's personal space as I moved about, it was generally to make sure I invaded it as much as was possible; using it as an excuse to brush physically against him whenever the narrowness of the passageway justified it. At first I moved behind him; brushing my crutch on the arse that his instinctive tendency to bend forward to try and get out of my way presented to me. But a couple of times when the dynamics of the situation justified it, I pushed past the front of him; satisfied with the good start of an erection that my crutch felt in his pants as they slid past each other.

There was good reason for what might come across as my slutty behaviour. Sam and I had been going out for six weeks now. We'd first got to know each other at Uni where we shared classes. After breaking up with a previous girlfriend, Sam had called me during the holidays to ask for a date and things had sort of moved on from there. Or they had moved on to a point.

We both still lived at home and so as our relationship had progressed we'd come up against the problem of where to make out. The small cars we had weren't ideal; sure he'd fingered me to a couple of climaxes as we pashed in the car before going inside and I'd jerked him off in return. But in the crowded streets of Bondi, even on the darkest of nights, that was a far from ideal arrangement; not to mention the mess it tended to make of his pants and the sloppy feeling it left in my panties. I couldn't even bend across to give him head without having my chest punctured by the gear shift.

Neither of us were virgins and we'd both had people sleep over at home. But it was always hard to cross that threshold where you drag him inside and tell your parents that he staying over to root the arse off their daughter that night if that's OK with them. And in this case the fact it was mid-summer with everyone home on holidays and with the long daylight hours all complicated matters. It just hadn't happened.

I'd been trying to get him to myself on Dad's yacht for a couple of weeks now, but things just hadn't worked out; work schedules, other people using it and the weather had all conspired against me. Now at last the day had arrived and I was determined to make the most of it. There was no doubt in my mind and could have been little doubt in Sam's that a large part of today was about the sex. A fun day on the yacht too; but definitely sex.

I could have just opened up the boat, thrown him on the bunk and had him there and then; but I wanted to make a nice day of it; one where by the time we got down to it we'd both spent several hours in a state of heightened arousal. Thus my behaviour; which I warn you now was about to get worse.

There came a point where there were just two things left for me to do below. The first was to bend down under the chart table and turn on the master battery switch for the engine. The second was to lift the companionway stairs which acted as the engine hatch and bend under there to check the engine and saildrive oil levels and open the sea cock.

Unless Sam was up on deck - and there was no way I was going to let that happen - both actions would unavoidably entail him coping an eyeful of minimally covered bent over arse. It was all pre-planned. I'd even taken a selfie of myself between my legs as I bent over back to a mirror to see what it looked like.

I was quite pleased with the perspective. My family's build runs more to the tall and skinny and with my fairly intensive participation in everything from sailing and yachting, to swimming and surfing and tennis, my body stays reasonably toned without being gym sculptured. Personally I think I've got a nice arse; maybe not so much if you go for the Kardashian style enormous booties, but being skinny doesn't mean I lack a feminine figure and the curves that go with it and that includes what I always thought was a nice little turn of my arse.

But of course a standing up arse is one thing. As any causal observation at the beach as people bend down for their towels will tell you, a bent over one is altogether different. The bikini I had on was tiny and low slung while still being sufficient to be regarded as decent just about anywhere. With string tie sides it was made of this really soft suede feel material in a light brown colour; a step above your standard lycra material. I liked what I saw in the photo; nice cheeks and nicest of all was the way the bikini moulded around my freshly waxed lady parts; avoiding the flat plate look that heavier bikinis have while not being so prominent as to look like I've got a cock folded up down there. And with just a little bit of tanned bum crack to top things off.

Wasn't there a possibility that Sam would take all this the wrong way and I'd end up flat on a bunk with him between my legs before we even cast off? Maybe. But that wouldn't be a complete disaster; just not quite the same. Anyway, until we were under way, my plan was to keep busy enough he never got the chance.

As I closed the companionway steps down, I tossed the paper towel in the bin and went straight up on deck; allowing Sam to follow me. In one respect things were already off track, but I was about to fix that. By now, he was supposed to have taken the hint to have removed his shirt too.

There was a large tube of sunscreen in the cockpit locker and I grabbed it and proceeded to cover my front in it; slipping my fingers teasingly under my bikini to make sure I didn't get burn lines along the hems. Then I handed him the tube, turned around and asked him to do my back; peeling down the back of my bikini bottoms to make sure he adequately covered that area too.

As soon as he'd finished, I took the tube back off him and asked whether he'd like me to do him too; not even waiting for an answer before I was lifting his t shirt over his head and had moved around his back to start the process.

Maybe I was a bit disappointed to find as I creamed his waistline that he had a pair of speedos under his boardies. Not because I don't like speedos; I do, especially on a nice body like Sam's. But the boardies were made of that really soft, really thin stretch material they use on better quality ones these days and let's just say the double layer reduced the visual and feel advantage that sort of material offered.

I left Sam to finish creaming himself while I tended to the mainsail cover and started the engine to let it warm up. Then it was time to teach Sam how to use the winches. I demonstrated wrapping two turns on it and talked him through the process as I pretended to pull the sheet furiously on as if the boat was tacking; but instead letting the line slip through my fingers. Then another turn on the winch, a turn around the self-tailer and in goes the winch handle. Finally I demonstrated how you can get better leverage on the winch if you straddle between the toe rail and cockpit coaming to let you bend right over the top of the winch.

It was hard to know how much Sam was taking in. Everything I was doing was creating a bit of boob wobble and he was clearly distracted by it; especially with the risk one of them would pop out of the smallish triangles covering them. As I bent over the winch with the final part of the lesson I noticed as I spoke to him that his eyes were transfixed on looking down the front of my bikini top as it fell away from my body and the nipples walked themselves progressively towards the top of the triangle as my boobs moved with every turn of the winch handle.

In all that he was just being a male. I fully understood their power to distract and was deliberately using it. But just to make sure he'd heard me notwithstanding the distraction, I made him demonstrate the action back to me.

Finally I showed him how I wanted him to act as mast-man to help hoist the mainsail smoothly shorthanded as we were.

When that was finished, I put the engine into gear and the rudder hard to port so that the aft spring line held the boat tight against the dock while I got him to help me go around the boat and cast off the shore power and every line except that spring; leaving them neatly on the dock like dad had taught me to.

After all that preparation I could at last bring the engine back to neutral, straighten the rudder, slip the boat into reverse and ease it out of the dock; getting Sam to drop the spring line over the podium we'd used to board the boat to make it easier to pick up when we returned.

As I motored slowly down the finger wharf and out into Rushcutters Bay I was aware that I had attracted the attention of every male in and around the vicinity of the Yacht Club. It wasn't that the club lacked females; even tall long blonde hair ones in their early twenties. It just that these days they tended not to run around the boat in minimalist bikinis; more a case of being sun safe then especially modest.

I normally would be wearing a long top and knee length pants; but today was different. And with lots of sunscreen and the combination of a Bimini and dodger offering a fair bit of shade, I was willing to compromise this once.

Still, it made me very careful about my boat handling. There's nothing worse than an audience if things go wrong.

Having pulled in the fenders over the side of the boat, Sam had settled himself into a comfortable position, learning back against the bulkhead, feet up on the cockpit seat in a very man like legs apart manner. Between bouts of taking in the serenity of the morning he was taking shots of me on his phone.

As he shuffled about he settled into a position that gave me a view straight up the leg of his pants. But instead of seeing his speedos I could actually see the end of his cock pointing straight back out at me. Somewhere he had slipped below and lost the inner layer. Good. He was getting the message or at least picking up the vibe of the day.

It was partly aroused and I suspected that he'd sat like he was with a knee up thinking that would disguise the bulge in his pants; not realising he was showing a lot more than that. I couldn't help thinking that it was about time us girls got something back for all the upskirts we have to suffer or try and avoid. On the spur of the moment I picked up my phone off the cockpit table in front of me and took a photo back of him; maybe closing up the focus more than I should have on the displayed member, before wondering if I hadn't just broken some sort of law.

As we proceeded down Rushcutters Bay and the waterway became less crowded with jettys and moored boats, the pressure of not making a public mistake diminished and I could think more about my day with Sam. The up-pants view was a constant distraction and I found myself looking for way of enlarging the display; subtly flicking my hair, readjusting my bikini, doing stretches and dancing about a bit - all with apparent valid purpose but really with only one intended end. It worked too. By the time we turned the buoy that marked the entrance to the bay I had it to the point it was nearly emerging from the bottom of the leg of his pants.

There was no doubt Sam was intensely aware of the state of his arousal; gently change his posture thinking he was better hiding the external bulge and perhaps dealing with the discomfort of an erection growing downwards in his pants but in reality just opening up the display I had further.

Turning East down the harbour it was like I was setting a course directly for the morning rising sun surrounded as it was by the deepest blue sky. The water lit up with flashes of light reflected off the wavelets as the boat cut gently through the clear green tinged liquid. A dolphin momentarily came to play with us; swimming along our starboard flank before hitching a ride for a distance down the harbour on our bow wave and then veering off.

Its rays coming in under the bimini, the sun washed the length of my body. On this sensuously and sexually charged day, it caused my skin to pleasurably tingle and erotically warmed the cloth of my bikini and the erogenous zones it was in intimate contact with. A feeling of arousal permeated my body as I felt my nipples push out against the thin material of my top as my swelling clit filled the fold that was its home. Maybe it was the sight of my nipples, maybe it was some sort of hormonal vibe I was giving out, but I watched as a drop of pre-cum emerged from the end of Sam's cock, dribbled across the bell and fell onto his pants.

Until now we had both been operating in relative silence; Sam letting me concentrate on the delicate job of getting out of the bay while soaking up the natural and feminine wonders that were being presented to him. Perhaps for the first time aware my focus had been suspiciously south of his torso Sam obviously felt he was presented with the task of changing positions without displaying the bulge of something close to the full erection in his pants; standing and turning to face the front of the boat in a single action as if he was suddenly fascinated by the issue of where we were going.

Maybe it was just as well the sexual spell was temporarily broken. We'd come out to sail and now we were mid harbour it was time to set them. I looked around the harbour to see if we were well clear of dangers. The large bulk of HMAS Adelaide accompanied by an ANZAC class Frigate was just turning Bradley's Head. Apart from that we had the harbour to ourselves.

So I asked Sam to go forward to the mast while I set the autopilot to a slow course directly into the wind so I could slip between the twin wheels to tail the halyard winch next to the companionway. Even though Sam was still ineffectually trying to hide the sight of an erection trying to push out the front of his pants as it tried to escape its down the leg position to the vertical, our combined efforts had the sail up in moments and I left it to Sam to tighten the luff according to my directions. Then we rolled out the Genoa for a pleasant sail down the harbour into what was still a light northeast seabreeze.

Sam came and joined me at the wheel; first standing next to me and then at my invitation taking the wheel with me directly behind him.

Until now I had avoided serious physical contact except for the teasing brushing as we prepared the boat. That was just so that Sam didn't get ahead of me in stripping me out of my bikini and going to town on me. Now we were under way and under sail, the rules could change. As he came to stand next to me I put my free hand around him; pulling him closer to me.

As I brought him around in front of me to let him take the wheel, I stood behind with my arms around him. At first that was just to let me also hold the wheel while I instructed him how to steer the boat. But as he gained some skill in the task, first one of my hands, then the other instead wrapped themselves around his waist; finger tips sliding under the waistband of his pants where I could feel the tip of his now upright erection rising up to meet them. Sam lost any pretext of hiding his male reaction to what I was doing to him; happily sailing the boat while his pre-cum slimed my fingers and his cock surged as I from time to time I circled the tip and lubricated the bell with what he'd discharged over them.

As he became more confident he held the wheel with one hand and moved the other behind his back to where my crutch was pushed against his butt and slipped his fingers between my legs to gently touch up my clit through the material of my pants.

Long tacking up the harbour we talked as we fondled each other; breaking off to tack the boat and then resuming our contact. Sometimes after I'd steered the boat through a tack he'd come and stand behind me again, easing his fingers inside my bikini top and playing with my nipples as he nuzzled my neck; once even penetrating inside the leg hem of my bikini bottoms to get a measure of just how aroused and wet he'd made me and taking the chance to have a good finger play with my clit and pussy while he was there. And when he was steering I'd given up all pretence of subtly; my hands now down his pants and circling his member as I bit into his flanks and neck.

During the course of the nearly two hours it took us to sail to Quarantine Beach we got bolder, and bolder, getting more and more intimate and letting up only when a Manly Ferry or other vessel came close enough to intrude on our public privacy.

Somewhere off Watsons Bay he had his hand down the front of my pants playing with my clit and another playing with a nipple as I steered when with little warning I climaxed; gripping the wheel, arching against him and panting hard as the contractions of my orgasm filled my body. Then swapping roles and letting him steer I played with him until with a groan he filled his pants with his cum.

By the time we dropped the anchor off Quarantine it would be fair to say we were both hot and sweaty and our swimwear a bit yucky. I lowered the hydraulic swim platform, flipped the ladder over the edge of it and without give Sam a chance to change the course of events, dove into the warm late summer water.

Sam said he wanted to dive off the platform on the bowsprit; about three metres off the water. I asked him to wait a sec, got out to grab my GoPro off the cockpit table, checked the depth gauge to find we had a comfortable and safe five metres all up - amazing since I'd been able to see the anchor on the bottom - and jumped back in to swim up to the bow to film him.

My motives weren't entirely pure. I'd had my hand down his waistband for half the morning. I knew it wasn't exactly tight and I was suspecting he was underestimating the effect of a straight dive that far; my main fear being that he would squib it and jump instead of diving. So it was the underwater landing I wanted to get as much as the above water dive. The moment he left the platform I put the lens underwater and aimed it in the general direction of his landing spot. I wouldn't know what I had captured until I got home, but I do know his pants were around his knees by the time he came back up to the surface.

Then I did something I was only willing to do because I owned the camera and the footage would be going home with me. I gave him the camera and asked him to film me diving too; making sure he knew to get the break through the water shot, rather than just the above water stuff. Why I wanted a shot of me getting striped by the water I don't know; bikinis aren't exactly designed for that sort of stuff. But on this sexually charged day I did and this was my one chance to get it.