Bi Family Zone Of SilencebyCoxswain©
Since the beginning of recorded Canadian history, sailors have warned each other about a place near Vancouver Island. Near Race Rocks (the modern walrus preserve) is a remarkable place called the Zone of Silence, a "dead air" spot that shuts out sounds of fog horns and bell buoys. The Zone of Silence is off the very southern tip of Vancouver Island, due north across the Juan de Fuca Strait from Port Angeles, Washington.
I sat behind the helm of the Tres Equis, my rented sailboat, watching the sail taut in the brisk wind. Brenda and I were on a vacation/adventure sail from Ketchikan, Alaska, back to Seattle. I hoped to straighten out a few things.
I married Brenda in 2009. Gorgeous woman. Born in England, her large, almond-shaped eyes were silvery gray, like two pools of mercury. She had platinum blond hair, a long, wondrous, shimmering cascade of metallic silver over her shoulders. With full lips and perfect teeth, her face was intoxicating, like an elf princess from Lord of the Rings ... and her figure was a turn-on for any man. Tall, slim, statuesque. All the pieces were there. Firm, pointed breasts that cried to be touched. Round hips, full ass, long legs to wrap around a man's back.
Brenda was something.
But she was also something less. She was hot sex, but somehow we didn't "connect," like we were two people living parallel lives. Even though she fried my brain every time we made love, I could never tell if she had the same experience.
We never talked very much anyway, only about current fashions, a new Audi, or the wine cellar, which I figured was just "English reserve," and she never spoke during sex. No moans, no sighs, not even grunts when I got rough. But she would reach up her hands to hold me. She would fondle my dick during foreplay. She even blew me a few times -– but not voluntarily, only after I kept maneuvering my penis in front of her face. Once I came right out and asked her to suck my cock.
I know she reached orgasms. Her eyes would close, she'd suck in her breath, and her legs would wrap around me. But always in silence. The only sound effects came from me. I wasn't exactly sure what changes I wanted, but somehow I knew we were not communicating at the deepest level. We were like--business partners.
By way of taking the pressure off the trip as a Summit Meeting of the Rulers of the Two Halves of the Marriage, the third member of the crew was Brenda's father. Cedric had turned 65, retired, and moved to the States to be near his daughter. He lived in Seattle where I set him up in an apartment. I took care of him. No problem, really; even with the financial crisis, my family holdings in the area prospered.
Brenda's mother died when she was born, and Cedric never got serious with another woman. We invited him for dinner from time to time, telling the gate guard to let his taxi into the drive at our Medina house. It was always funny (to me) when the butler introduced him: "Sir Cedric Walford!" He told me he was a "Sir." Knighted for something or other. Never did say exactly what.
I took a week off, sent Brenda shopping for new clothes (and a couple of bikinis), sent arrangements for the sailboat, and we flew from Seattle to the Ketchikan airport. A quick taxi ride to the port, the keys to the rental sailboat, and we were off on our seacoast adventure.
Strange man, Brenda's father. An eerie, disfiguring bald streak across his scalp above his left ear. Grazing gunshot wound. He never talked about it, but once while wearing his business suit, he bent over to pick up something, and his suit coat rode up over his butt. There I spotted the handle of a pistol stuck down the back of his pants. Cedric put me in mind of a beautiful but dangerous Lionfish.
Like his daughter, Cedric had almond-shaped eyes, but his were jet black. And cold. Like a shark's. Fine, wavy yellow hair -– except in the bald streak -– and very pale skin like many Britons. He reminded me of a Peter O'Toole who never smiled. High-energy man, though. A typewriter of a person, constantly ticking creativity and self-expression. But not a blabbermouth. Quiet. Very reserved like his daughter.
He was a grandiose man, bigger than life, 6'3", heroic physique, and with his own scent: Egoiste Platinum by Chanel, $50 a bottle.
When I was dating Brenda, he took me aside in an unusual bit of intimacy. Apparently dissatisfied with my heavy splash of Calvin Klein cologne, "Arnold, please have care never to apply cologne to your clothing. The fragrance lingers only a few hours, and your shirt does not contain pheromones."
I had to give him snaps: he smelled like the Gladiator Maximus defying Emperor Commodus in the Coliseum, but he did not smell of vulgar sweat, rather the indescribable spice of power, fearless Power. "When you spray the cologne on your body in the right spots," he went on, "pheromones mix with it to create an original aroma ... your original smell." He smiled, and I'll be damned, he made me feel like a yokel farm boy. Nobody ever did that before.
"The best spots to apply cologne are the areas of the body producing the most heat, my boy"--and I understood very clearly that "my boy" did not translate as "my son" but rather "you infant/idiot." "Body heat activates the cologne and increases the strength of it."
Again the condescending, "you poor fool" tone: "Apply it to your wrists, neck, armpits, and behind your ears. Do not spray it onto yourself; spray it onto your hands and wipe it on." He looked at me with his lip curled up over an eyetooth. "The last thing you want is to smell like you took a bath in your cologne."
A 'bahth' in your cologne. So sorry, your Majesty.
At 220 pounds or so, he was a big man. His suits fit him perfectly, conforming to shoulders broad enough to carry a woman on each and a chest bigger than the one in my bedroom. But nothing prepared me for the day he showed me everything as he stripped to his swimming suit on the deck of the Tres Equis.
I met Brenda, Cedric's daughter, at a cocktail party. Gorgeous woman. Gorgeous. When she came on to me, I was overwhelmed. I never scored that well with women--until they learned where I lived or saw what I was driving. Brenda was--what--shallower. Uncomplicated. No tics. I took that as a plus at first. After the marriage, though, I grew tired of the sound of silence. Conversations of nothing much more than your-turn, my-turn.
Cedric came aboard the Tres Equis wearing what he'd worn on the plane, a pair of white linen trousers, woven sandals without socks, and a Cuban shirt in a pale color. Brenda had gone below to put things away. Cedric unbuttoned the shirt and slid it back from his shoulders. Damn. I hope I look that good when I'm 67. He was not "Aruba-tan," more like an ivory statue, but an ivory statue of Hercules.
He didn't say a word, just looked into my eyes and unbuckled his belt. I gulped. Damn it, get control of yourself!
His dark eyes were softer, somehow, but still fathomless, like a starless midnight. He pulled open his fly. I wasn't gay, but neither could I tear my eyes away. He dropped his pants--No underwear!--and I saw his cock. As my University of Alabama roommate would say, "Shee-yut!" Even soft, what a python. More than the usual seen in the showers. Like a thick rope in a white leather case. A good five inches even asleep. What in his Oxford accent, he would call a "comely cock."
I wondered what it would look like angry.
I was already in swimming trunks, my favorite white boxer-style pair (with jockstrap underneath). But as he reached for his own swimming suit, his dragon's eyes bored into mine, and his lip curled (again). I glanced down. A wet spot between my legs. Oh my hell! I had a hardon, and precum drooled through the jockstrap mesh. I was busted. Wait a minute! I'm not "busted"! I'm not gay!
I was pissed. Who's paying for all this, anyway? Needless to say, I didn't think Cedric approved of me.
Sailing south from Alaska along the Canadian coast, the summer weather was fair, sunny, warm--temperature about 80˚, winds easterly at 8-11 knots. The forecast for the next 18 hours was continued fair and calm. Perfect.
Brenda and Cedric lay about the deck sunning themselves. Making Margaritas. Around 4:00 p.m. we dropped anchor about 200 yards off Bull Harbor in 13 feet of water. The swimming was excellent. We rigged the boom tent, great for shade on a hot day. The scenery wasn't bad, either. Brenda looked super-sexy in a new, black one-piece.
Cedric again outdid me. I wore the usual American boxer trunks, but his European briefs, like a Speedo but no linings. Everything he had was on display. Thin cloth stretched tight over his ass like it was sprayed on. I saw not only the crack of his ass but also the dimples in each cheek. And damn, when he turned around! Like he'd collected a big conch shell while snorkeling out there and had nowhere else to carry it.
That made me a little sheepish. I've never really paid attention to this sort of thing before.
That evening, a good way south of Ketchikan, into Canadian waters, Brenda whomped up a great barbecue off the stern rail grill: shish-kabob, baked potatoes, beer, all the fixings. We dropped anchor, and it was terrific. It occurred to me that I'd never before eaten in public while so nearly naked. For all that, I couldn't remember when I'd been "so nearly naked" for so long. We killed a bottle--two bottles--of a nice Cabernet.
As the sun set, an outboard with three men aboard passed by. As they looked up at us, Brenda pulled down her swimsuit, flashing her tits at them. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Their eyes grew wide, and they clapped and cheered as they putt-putted away into the darkness. "Damn, Brenda, you're really drunk." I looked over at Cedric. Seated behind her, he hadn't seen anything.
In fact, he said, "Well, I think I'm in for it. I shall retire. Good evening, all." He disappeared below. I'd been waiting for that.
Brenda's skin-tight one-piece (back up over her tits) hugged her curves lovingly. Oh, yes! Great tits and nice round ass. I'd been horny ever since looking at Cedric's package, for some reason, and when she smiled, noticing my line of sight fixed on her tits, I knew I had to have her.
"Am I trapped with a horny sailor?" She smiled.
I smiled back and pulled down my swimsuit. I may not be the "biggest" guy in the shower room, but I get along. Women I've laid haven't complained. On the other hand, by the time I got them to the bedroom, I'd spent usually $1000 on dinner, flowers, and jewelry.
I grabbed Brenda and pulled off her suit. Again silent, she lay back on the deck and spread her thighs. With no other foreplay (it had to be a quickie with her father only 20 feet away), I slipped my cock directly into her, and in a few minutes I had her quivering, and I knew she was in an orgasm.
Then I tightened up, my white sailor-grease shot out of my throbbing cock, and waves of pleasure rolled through us as we lay there, a perfect (if quiet) ending to a perfect day.
But when we looked up, Cedric was standing there, staring at us, breathing a little deeply, and he had an even bigger bulge in the front of that tiny suit.
He's so damn handsome. He might have been 67, but his looks told a different story. Magnificent condition for a man his age. He smiled. "Surprise." His voice was a whisper.
"Oh, shit! Dad, did you see..."
"Why yes I did. I rather enjoyed it too. So, brazen young people, where are we going with all this?"
"Damn, Cedric, I can't believe this! Please forgive us. That was so bad."
He smiled again. "Well, when you think about it, neither of you are showing me anything I have not seen before. Brenda, I gave you baths until you were 10." He looked at her intently. "I have seen you before."
He looked at me. "And you don't have anything I have not seen, either in the gym showers or in the mirror."
Long pause. Brenda and I looked at each other, then back at Cedric. Finally, Brenda smiled. "You are the only one not ... skinny-dipping, Dad."
That seemed to take Cedric off-balance, which was surprising. "What? I, but, we shouldn't, maybe if..." Then that horny little smile. "What the hell. Why not." He pulled down the little scrap of black.
Damn! Hung better than any football player I ever saw in the showers. And he had hardon! A little eerie: bent to the right. Not only huge, it bent to the side like a gearshift. What does the woman feel with something like that inside? It would be rattling up her ribs.
What would that feel like? I bit my lip. For hell's sake, I don't care what it would feel like!
Couldn't stop staring at it, though. The big torpedo was a tawny column sculptured with huge veins and smaller skin ripples. Darker than his body, the skin molded around his cockhead, which stood proudly out of the sandwiching folds of foreskin--Purple. Royal, masculine purple. And hard-glowing, shiny tight. Never saw anything like it. Certainly not like mine.
"Dad ... I ..." Brenda, too, was overwhelmed. "I ... I've never ... seen your ..."
The man's body was a magnificent male cathedral, and from the steeple oozed a clear, syrupy liquid--holy water, his precum. Damn, he's turned on!
Almost swooning, Brenda fell back against some pillows, and when Cedric turned to look at her, he stood between her legs. He knelt down over her (still between her legs) and moved close to her face. He kissed her.
She opened her eyes with surprise, then closed them again, kissing him back. "Daddy!" she gasped, "Daddy I'm so turned on, I can barely control myself!"
He moved back and looked her body over once again, moving his hands over her--not groping, but caressing, gently touching. A father's blessing.
Then I couldn't believe my eyes. When he ran his tongue over her pussy lips, I could feel the heat from her cunt from where I stood. The man was a master cunt-lapper--soon he had Brenda's head rolling back and forth in desperate frenzy.
When he rose up, Brenda looked up at him glassy-eyed. "Take me, Daddy, take me!"
I saw him bite his lip. "No!" His voice was hoarse. "Not my own daughter!" He looked from side to side, lust-drunk, and in the same frenzy as his daughter, he looked at me. "Come here, Arnold! I'm going to mouthe the both of you!"
A blowjob from Cedric! That was more than I could resist. I dropped to the pillows beside Brenda, looked up at him, and spread my legs. He moved over and knelt between them, and my cock almost exploded with lust. I could almost feel his slurping mouth over my cockhead before he even bent down.
But he didn't bend down. I thought he wanted to suck me, but I was wrong. He lifted my legs up with an elbow under each knee and rolled me up, my ass exposed to him, and – Ohmigod, I will feel that monster curve in me! He said nothing, simply worked the glans of his cock, slick from all the precum, against my rectum. When he began to push it in, the pain was intense. Never felt anything like it.
As I lay there realizing I was giving up my manhood to my father-in-law, he stretched my ass-ring with such pain, I didn't think my hole could stand all that meat. I was just about to scream stop, get off, when through the slurping sounds, slowly, gradually, somehow it didn't hurt as much. And through all the lunges, the pumping, the humping me, everything was in dead silence. Only the sound of heavy breathing.
"I have got it, Arnold," he finally grunted, and I felt his python spitting out a gigantic load of jizz. By then I was liking it, and I tightened my ring around him, milking it. I had to admit it--I was enjoying what he was doing to me. It felt like he was spraying my guts with gasoline.
When his big bone slipped out, I reached down and felt the globs dribbling out of me. I was spent. Drunk and fucked, I passed out.
I woke up the next morning lying on the cushions with a hell of a hangover and a very sore ass. Brenda and Cedric were nowhere to be seen. I pulled on my white swimming suit. Damn, how can I face them this morning??
Cedric was first to come up the steps. Naked. The great equalizer between his legs soft, at rest. Couldn't stop looking at it. That thing fucked me last night.
"Good morning, son-in-law." Damn, he's never called me that before.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" What meaningless chatter. All I want to scream is YOU FUCKED ME LAST NIGHT!
"Yes, slept very well, thank you." With that, he moved over to me, took me in his arms, and kissed me. At first I struggled, astonished, but soon I relented. He had fucked me, after all. I kissed him back.
"Arnold, removed that foolish swimsuit."
I obeyed, and he went back to kissing me, slowly maneuvering me back to the cushions strewn about the deck. Once I was on my back, he lifted my legs. Again! Damn, he wants me again!
Soon my buttocks aimed up at him, my legs spread, and again his big, purple flare sank into me (thankfully already greased with some lube--obviously he'd come on deck intending to fuck me again). There was a sharp pain as he burst through my gate, but nothing like the night before, and as he sank into my love-tunnel, the stretch was actually a pleasure. As he pushed deeper, I couldn't hold back a happy, lust-filled groan--which he met with silence.
Again, I could barely accommodate all that handsome boner, but I didn't care. I loved the pain, and whatever first-time finesse of the previous evening was gone--I got the sports-car treatment, hard driving, vicious turns and side-pressures, the roaring feel of a racing engine, all that monstrous organ plowing my farm-boy back-path into a grateful, gouged-out superhighway!
Couldn't stop myself. Heard my own voice begging him to go harder, faster. I reached up to feel the sweat on his arms and shoulders, then to hug him, encourage him, let him know I was at his mercy.
About that time Brenda came up from below. Also naked. Perky tits already hard-nippled. "I see you've started without me."
I couldn't say anything. For one thing, I couldn't imagine what to say. For another, Cedric's evil snake had me electrocuted, helpless, paralyzed to anything but the slurping magic the stalwart older man was pounding into me.
In fact, as his enormous cock slammed into me, jolting my hips, shaking my whole body, I couldn't think about Brenda anymore. Finally he spoke. In a sneer. "Yes, Arnold, we're getting close now, are we not?" The gladiator-general. Always correct.
My blood ran cold. I was panting, sweating, in a lust-drunk frenzy, but the man above me, thrusting me into the stars, was not even breathing hard. His body functioned perfectly, though. His iron stake spread even wider, and again I felt a colossal load of jizz surge into me.
I didn't want to. I really didn't. I did not want to cum for him, to show him he had control over me, but I was helpless. My own cock, so hard it was brittle, throbbed with the beat of my pounding heart. I could not withstand the constant, unstoppable waves of pleasure coming from my asshole, and alone, untouched, unrubbed, and unjacked, my cock shot off into an orgasm even stronger than the night before.
Complete surrender. The mere sensation of being bred by Cedric backpacked me into a chugging, pounding steam engine of ecstasy, and all I could do in the magic triangle of his cock, my ass, and my cock was to wrap my legs around his back, hug him closer, and submit all I was to his mastery.
Nearly in a swoon, I felt myself cumming all over my chest, everything in a red haze, almost floating out of my body--but not quite. My whole life depended on lying there, spread-legged, a worshipful slave to him.