I am a Jimmy Buffet song.
The Caribbean sun warms me as I lay on the bow deck. The thought crosses my mind lazily: it's a good thing that I spent hours preparing for situations like this by exposing every conceivable spot of my 5' 8" body to the sun's rays. My skin is already bronzed, from my toes to my rosy nipples to my rounded ass. This carefully maintained base tan, plus the sunscreen I've applied every few hours since I got here, will keep my skin ready to welcome touches and caresses, whether from the sun that seems to stream down hotter and clearer than anywhere else on earth, or from the men who move so confidently across the boat's decks and cockpit.
Cockpit- now that's an appropriate word. As soon as we cleared the harbor, I removed the tiny scraps of cloth that are considered city and beachwear here on the islands. Their eyes were riveted on the few square inches that covered the acreage of my tits. Just slowly enough to grab their attention, to make sure they missed no movement, I untied the strings across my back that secured the fabric. I had made sure to tie them tight enough that they were partially supporting my massive mams. I'd spent a pretty penny "enhancing" them, but I'd been born with the genes that naturally created D cup boobs. The doc just needed to add a little lift and bulge to create the very firm EE tits that now captured men's attention wherever I went. And since my natural assets kept them jiggly and mashable and the doc's work kept them lifted high, the loosened strings allowed the lower orbs to drop slightly and show clearly beneath the floating fabric. But enough coverage remained while I slowly released the upper strings to build desire and curiosity in the men who watched. And there demonstrated the appropriateness of "cockpit": Cocks were definitely rising in the jeans and shorts of the men who steered the boat and manned the lines.
I delayed the next removal long enough to feel the appreciation for those male members rise in my own body. A little tingle started deep in my pussy. The tightness grew deep and higher, anticipation building with the knowledge that the eyes that were riveted to my tits and the rest of my body wanted me, now, not the "later" that the sea and wind demanded. And the sight of the growing bulges in their pants and the knowledge that we truly had to wait- a little while- started my own sex engine.
I couldn't stretch it out any longer. The strings loosened, and slowly I lifted the bikini top to reveal bronze mounds, then brown areolas, and finally the huge rosy-brown nipples that pointed skyward.
The wind from our forward progress carried sound away from my position on the bow, but their faces showed the groans that escaped them. A thrill of sexual power ran through me. My tits were, I knew, in many men's eyes the height of perfection. Bigger than a large man's hand, still full of movement but with just a tiny sag that invited a man or a roomful of men to cup and lift them. I shook them slightly, just allowing them to be free. But I could tell the effect they had on the men watching.
It's work to sail a boat. We were still in what could be considered traffic lanes, with a few other boats within sight. The men had to tear their attention from my massive mounds and attend to the constant challenge of the sea. Yet I knew that this fact would simply build the anticipation and the knowledge between all of us that at some point before we returned to this harbor, they would each have any part of my body and my sex that they desired. They'd be relieving the strain on their cocks and balls, in whatever way they wished.
As I settled back slightly and allowed the movement of the boat to shake my tits and my small but rounded belly, the men's hands were rubbing their dicks as they grew long and hard within the confines of their clothes. But quickly, as we passed into more open and empty waters, those hands moved from rubbing their erections to shedding the offending clothes.
The larger of the men was even more tanned than I, which off-set his sexy blond hair. Worn short, it showed the beginnings of curls. A strong face with green-tinged eyes matched the impossibly wide shoulders and muscled arms. The daily tasks of sailing and diving had sculpted this man in a way no gym-rat could match. Not thin, but with a chest and belly that showed he worked hard for his life on the sea and hinted that he played equally hard. His browned legs were set slightly wide apart, to naturally adapt to the rhythm of the sea. And what legs- I had appreciated them from the first moment he welcomed me aboard his boat with a nod, a widening of his eyes and a long look that appreciated my body.
One hand was on the tiller wheel. One hand moved from the large bulge in his shorts to the closure at the waist. One smooth movement and the shorts dropped from his hips. The natural movement showed that he dropped the shorts without a thought, without a care. This man sailed the Caribbean Sea freely, both in his heart and in his nudity. As soon as he shed the shorts, I forgot completely what he looked like wearing clothes. His natural state was nude, and it was clear that this was the way he lived. Wearing shorts or any clothes was a costume that he donned for "civilization", and did so as seldom as possible.
Obviously, one need he'd brave civilization for was sex. And most immediately, sex with me, long, hard and often.
The size of his cock didn't surprise me. A man who looked that massive in clothes had to have a dick that matched his muscled hips and thighs that instantly told you of his strength. This guy was all about strength. And his dick didn't disappoint me one iota. Nor was my effect on him any less than I'd dreamed of.
