Yachtsmens Ball

Dressing for the annual Yachtsmen's Ball, Dave stares intently into the mirror as he ties his white bow tie, the finishing touch on his tuxedo. He smiles at the image. He doesn't look too bad for 39. His hair is graying, but not receding and while his face is slightly wrinkled, he has retained his youthful grin. With his 6 foot 5 inch frame he is still naturally good at being tall. Turning to his right he takes in the vision of his wife, Jean, who is just getting into her ball gown. It is a black, sleeveless gown with an oval window that reveals just enough of her two assets to drive any males mind to wild fantasies. Jean works the zipper up her back, the fabric shimmering hugging her hips and waist, accenting her curves, drawing attention to her beautiful figure. Stepping over to help her with the last third of the zipper his fingers trail along the warm skin of her back and his lips gently kissing the back of her neck as he fastens the clasp.

Thoughts of their first Yachtmen's Ball when they were still dating drifted into his head. Jean had worn a black velvet dress with a silk aqua marine lining. The dress had a long slit up her left leg and a very low cut back that showcased her smooth skin. His mind drifted back to that night. His stomach felt the nervous butterflies, of taking a such a beautiful woman to a formal affair.

At the table drinks were served and Dave placed his napkin on his lap and his my right hand brushed across the slit in Jean's dress. His hand lingered under the table and wandered over to her leg, feeling the lace boarded at the top of her stockings and the clasp for the garter belt.

The salads were served and Dave ate quickly as the discussion, lubricated by ample liquor, moved from the difficulties of sailing Orca to the mundane intricacies of sail trim, to the topic of women. Dave finished his salad and his hand again descended below deck to Jean's partially exposed leg. Carefully his hand moved under the fabric of her gown and slowly moved up her thigh. Under the silk , he felt her toned muscles from years of horseback riding. Above her stocking the warmth of her skin on his hand was quite a turn on. Her legs parted slightly and his hand was drawn further up her leg, seeking more warmth. It reached the point where her leg stops and Dave could feel the heat from her loins. His pinky brushed over her panties and could feel her wet pussy through the silky fabric.

“The secret to trimming the spinnaker is keeping a two panel curl and continually playing with the sheet, always keep it moving, teasing it in and out. Just like pleasing a woman's pussy,” Paul said across the table just a little to loudly after a few too many drinks.

Dave froze. Did they know what he was doing? He moved his hand back to his napkin and glanced over at Jean who was smiling, her eyes bright and sparkling.

“With language like that, it is no wonder you don't have any women crew members,” she tossed back across the table with a wide grin on her face.

“No, it's because women are distractions,” Bill the owner said. “We want the crew thinking about the boat and the race, not how to impress some young woman in hopes of getting her in the sack.”

“Oh, but surely the guys can concentrate on sailing fast during the race even if there were women on board,” Jean said coyly.

“I doubt if any of the crew could possibly keep his mind off getting his hands on a sweet young thing like you,” Bill retorted.

Dave looked down at his plate, his face turning red.

“Well, I wouldn't even have to be on the boat to influence some peoples minds,” said Jean, smiling broadly. She was enjoying the attention and continued, “I can communicate my wishes to Dave without even being present.”

“Hmmm, I bet you could. I bet you can. You could write him a love letter,” said Bill.

Jean stood and wrapped her arms around Dave's neck and said, “I don't need to use words to tell him what I would like.”

She excused herself to go and powder her nose and was joined by Bill's wife and Paul's girlfriend. Soon the dinner was over and awards for the fastest boats in each division were handed out and the band started playing. Dave and Jean made their way to the dance floor that swirled with color, the women in their bright gowns contrasted by the black of the men's tuxedos.

After the dance Jean said she wanted to go outside for a smoke. Dave didn't smoke but he would have followed her to hell to roast marshmallows so naturally he followed her outside. At the exit of the ball room, Jean turned and asked Dave to go to the table and get her cigarettes and lighter from her purse. Obediently, Dave went to the table and found her purse. When he opened her purse, instead of cigarettes he found a pair of red silk panties, still warm from her body. Dave smirked and knew Jean was demonstrating he ability to communicate her wishes with him. He grabbed the cigarettes below the panties, closed the purse and placed it back down on the table. Dave strolled past the dance floor and to the exit where Jean was waiting. He took her hand and led her through the lobby of the Sheraton hotel.

Once outside they were on upper Wacker Drive two stories above the Chicago river. Crossing the street to the granite rail overlooking the water, the white marble facade of the Wriggley building shimmered brightly in the rippling water. Dave lead Jean to the stairway and they descended to the riverbank. There were a few trees on a thin expanse of grass, a park bench and boarded by a tall granite wall. Dave pressed her up against the wall with one hand behind her neck, pulled her soft sweet lips to his. He remembered the deep passionate kiss, the feeling of the hum in her throat as she moaned and his body responding to her luscious body pressing against him. He bent his head down and sucked and nibbled her ear lobe, and with a hot breath he whispered into her ear, “I love you.” He felt the pressure of her high check bones as she smiled.

He kissed her neck and shoulders as he sank to his knees, his lips grazed over her partially exposed breasts through the front opening of her dress. Thus kneeling before her, he worshiped her legs. Running his hands up her left leg to the top of her stocking. He kissed her leg above the lace boarder and with his tongue, traced up the length of the garter belt strap leaving a trail of kisses. His lips lingered at the top of her leg where it met her hip , his tongue dancing along the valley they formed.

He heard a motor and laughter as a pleasure boat cruised down the river, but Jean would not relinquish her pleasure to modesty and ran her fingers through Dave's thick hair. Pushing her dress up and to the side, his mouth moved closer to its goal. He lifted her left leg and then her right over his shoulders forcing her to balance between the rough wall and his smooth face. His mouth opened wide to engulf her thick pussy lips, his tongue firmly plunged between them, tasting her juices as it pressed first inward and then up toward her small swollen clitoris. Jean gasped for air, shocked by the pressure of his face supporting her weight and his tongue probing her womanhood. His tongue cupped around her love button, pulled and sucked on it, then circled around it. He repeated this clitoral monologue for several minutes.

Then Dave tilted his head slightly and sucked one of her delicate inner lips into his mouth. He gripped it tightly with his lips and teased it with his tongue. While teasing her lip, the base of his tongue would rake along her clit and with each brush of his tongue Jean tried to control her hips from rocking too violently as she balanced between the cold hard granite and Dave's warm firm face. As her excitement grew Dave crossed his fingers and drove them deep into her begging pussy. Immediately they were clenched by Jean's powerful muscles, but he pressed them deeper still. He cupped and sucked her clit while his fingers probed for her hidden spot that would release her from all control and send her flying into the abyss of orgasmic pleasure. He knew he was close to releasing her as her hips bucked on his face. Then a stifled groan came from deep in jean's throat and chest as she bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Her pussy gripped Dave's fingers like a vise. He increased the tempo of the tango his tongue was performing on her proud sex nubbin.

Then Jean exclaimed, “Oh God,” and she was released with a torrent of rhythmic contractions, each with crushing pressure on Dave's fingers as her hips rocked wildly on his mouth. Her womanhood became hypersensitive and he gripped it with his tongue, her juices dripped down his chin. As the wave of bliss passed over her the convulsing of her body subsided. Dave balanced her as she regained control and then gently lowered her legs to the grass. He stood and held her in his arms and could feel her knees shake.

“I bet you make a hell of a spinnaker trimmer,” Jean said and Dave smiled remembering.

“Are you reading to take me Darlin?” Jean says as she puts down the can of hair spray.

Turning to her, Dave can feel the shape of the small bottle of Astroglide in his Tuxedo pocket, “Dear, I'm always ready.”