Anne was in a ferment of indecision. Her position - between Kate and the side of the boat - made it very difficult to move. She would have to push past them - and where would she go? They were only allowed on this deck, and the galley, but Sofia had locked the hatchway to the galley so that she could have her siesta in peace.
She watched as Marco continued his massage. Suddenly, she realised that his fingers were disappearing under Kate's upper arms to stroke the sides of her chest. In fact, it dawned on her, the tips of his fingers must be in contact with the base of her friend's breasts. She glanced, again, at Kate. Her eyes were closed again and her breathing had quickened.
As she looked back at Marco, she could see that his whole hand was now between Kate's arm and her torso and, daring a glance at his face, she saw a look of frowning concentration as he stared down at his probing hands. Then, Kate moved her arms away from her sides and, pulling them back in, used them as levers to raise her upper torso some six inches from the deck, then as supports, to hold herself in that position.
Anne, still not daring to move, stared from her prone position at Kate's breasts, dangling just above the discarded bikini top. As if hypnotised, she watched Marco's hands run slowly up and down Kate's sides, moving, with each stroke, further under her body, until the tips of his fingers were glancing against the yielding flesh on the side of her breasts, and then, with long sweeps, running up from her belly, right over her breasts, his roughened palms rasping over her taut nipples as they continued their upward journey.
Anne thought of the Kate she thought she had known - the bright, cheerful, apparently contented Home Counties housewife, doing her shopping at Sainsbury's, joining Anne's family at a late summer barbecue, singing happily in the chorus at the latest village Gilbert and Sullivan production. That couldn't be the same person she was looking at now, half-naked, being fondled intimately by an ill-educated and none too clean Mediterranean fisherman she had never even clapped eyes on two hours previously.
Marco sat back on his heels and, with one swift movement, peeled off his T-shirt and threw it to the side. As he did so, Anne whispered urgently - "Kate! Kate! Stop this! You must stop him!"
Kate's eyes flicked open and met Anne's. She blinked once, then shook her head. She mouthed a silent "No!" at Anne, then her eyes closed once again as Marco bent over her back and, this time, took her breasts firmly in his hands and squeezed them. At the same time, he bent his head and brushed his lips against the back of Kate's neck, and Anne heard a low moan of pleasure escape her friend.
Kate twisted her head, her open mouth seeking Marco's. His lips came down on hers and, at the same time, he used his hands to turn her body to face him. Supporting herself on her arms, Kate's mouth locked on to his and her taut-nippled breasts stood proud on her arched chest until his hands claimed them once more, grasping her nipples tightly between thumb and forefinger.
He wrenched his mouth away from Kate's and, pushing her back down on to the deck, closed his lips round her left nipple, his hands roaming over her belly and her deep, dimpled navel.
Then he found the ties for her bikini bottom and his fingers groped, blindly, to undo them. But he succeeded, only, in pulling them tighter and, with a curse, sat back so that he could see what he was doing.
By now, Anne, without quite having been aware of doing so, had risen from the deck and was sitting, arms clasped round her knees, with her back to the side of the boat. Despite the sunshine, she was shivering as she watched the passionate scene being enacted almost literally underneath her.
As Marco wrestled with her bikini ties, Kate struggled to a sitting position and, Anne thought, was, at last, about to come to her senses and try to call a halt to this - this . . . . . madness! Kate stretched out an arm towards Marco, but, just as she did so, he succeeded in untying the second bow and pulled the front portion of her bikini bottom away from her belly, revealing the magnificent bush of her pubic hair.
His dark eyes widened in pleasure and admiration and his mouth split in a huge grin of appreciation, revealing impossibly white, even teeth. "Ah, Mamma mia!", he breathed. "Bellissima!" And his right hand slid between the tops of her thighs, and Kate gasped and closed her eyes. Her hand fell back to support her upper body and her thighs parted slightly to allow a probing finger to enter her receptive vagina. Marco's grin widened as his middle finger disappeared inside Kate and she moaned, loudly, as it probed deep within her. One of her hands lifted to massage her own breast and her thighs snapped shut as Marco withdrew his finger.
Scarcely daring to breathe, now, Anne could see the shiny moisture on Marco's finger as it emerged from between her friend's thighs.
As Kate's thighs closed together again, Marco lifted his right leg over them, so that he was kneeling beside her. Momentarily, Anne wondered why, then realisation dawned as his hands went to the top of his jeans and snapped open the brass button. Feverishly, he tugged at the zip then, as it descended, pulled his jeans down over his buttocks, down to his knees.
His was only the second erect male penis Anne had seen. Almost clinically, she observed that, while it did not seem to be any longer than Clive's, it was much darker, more gnarled, and at least half as thick again. It reared menacingly out of a huge nest of black curly coarse hair, almost parallel with Marco's stomach.
At first, Anne had wondered if she would be able to accommodate Clive's erection, but, now, the memory of his pink circumcised member paled into insignificance at the sight of Marco's angry-looking weapon. Anne's insides liquefied at the thought of being invaded by such an organ.
Then her thoughts snapped back to the present. Marco had shuffled round to position himself, on his knees, between Kate's legs, which he was holding apart, a hand on the inside of each of her knees.
Anne looked at Kate's face. Her eyes were fixed on Marco's penis, jutting up from his hairy belly and, Anne saw with a sense of shock, there was only anticipation in her expression, and no apprehension.
Kate lay back on the towel and, of her own accord, spread her thighs as her hands closed round her breasts, pinching and squeezing. Her voice rose. "Come on then, Marco - fuck me! Come on, you bastard - fuck me - hard!"
Her voice rising to a crescendo, she stopped, suddenly, as Marco guided his penis with his hand to the mouth of her vagina. He let the tip penetrate just enough for her to feel him poised at her entrance, and she stopped breathing.
Then he entered her slowly, deliberately, so that she was aware of each separate centimetre filling her, and her breath inhaled in sharp gasps as she took him closer and closer to his root.
Anne watched until the two magnificent pubic bushes were completely fused, then, as he fell forward on to Kate's nakedness, and her splayed legs locked round his driving buttocks, she picked her way carefully round the two writhing bodies and rushed over to the other side of the boat, where she stood, trembling, staring out to sea, trying to blot out the sounds behind her.
But she could not erase the images seared on her mind, of Marco's hands grasping Kate's dangling, naked breasts, his fingers stimulating her nipples to taut erection, his finger emerging, shiny, from between her legs, and, most unforgettable of all, his rampant penis jutting menacingly, powerfully from the thick tangle of black hair coating his belly . . . . . .
Gradually, her legs stopped shaking, and she leant against the side of the boat, staring at the reflection of the bright sun on the blue water. Her thoughts, strangely, dwelt mainly on her past romance with Clive - and, for the first time ever, she knew she had no regrets. If it had done nothing else, Kate's astonishing behaviour had proved to Anne that an unsatisfactory marriage was not for her.
She thought, with sympathy of Kate's husband, Philip, working at home. What would he have made of what Anne had just witnessed - or of the striptease for the sad German, or the episode at the filling-station? She sank into a deckchair and closed her eyes against the searing sunlight, her mind dwelling on Philip, fondly. What would he think if he could see his wife at this very moment?
