Up River with Debra

Paddling along the estuary of the Bluestone River, Max McAlpine took in a deep lungful of salt-tinged air blown by the breeze off the breakers pounding the bar where the river met the sea.

This was life as life was meant to be, he mused, watching two native grey ducks take off from the semi-concealment of a nearby tributary, alarmed by his almost noiseless appearance into their domain.

"Hi there!" Max hear someone call. He spotted a woman perched on a huge rock alongside the river bank; her arms around her drawn back legs, providing a prop for her chin, golden curls framing her face.

Max had already identified the accent as American, so presumably she was a tourist.

"I have one of those at home, at least mom has. I use it more than she does and love it."

Max thought he ought to make the offer.

"Here, Miss America. I'll come in and and you can take if for a paddle."

"But I wouldn't know where to go?"

"There's only three ways – across the river, down and across the bar though I wouldn't advise that on this state of the tide, or upriver."

"I'd be nervous going upriver in unfamiliar territory. I'm told you have wild pigs and wild cattle that swim rivers."

"Well, just go across the estuary and back a few times – get the feeling of being virtually locked in a bubble of natural environment."

"Will you take me?"

"This is not a two-person craft."

"But it will carry two persons, won't it?"

"Well yes, but only via very close body contact."

"You appear to be a gentleman and I'm not easily embarrassed."

"It would mean you pressed against my lap and me having to paddle with my arms around you. I'm sorry but it's not on to do this with a stranger."

"So are you one of these inhospitable New Zealanders our tour guide warned us about?"

"Not at all," Max said hotly. "I'm a warm, friendly guy and..."

He stopped mid-sentence, aware she was laughing at him taking the bait.

"Come on, Mister; show me some real New Zealand. I've already found there are no tracks alongside the river beyond this point so watercraft are the only means of exploring this forest."

"We call it bush."

"There you go; see why I need a competent guide with his own boat?"

"Kayak."

"My, you are precise. I'll be very comfortable being in your care."

"Body to body?"

"Yes, unless you are going to tow me on a piece of string."

"I'm coming in although I'm really not comfortable about this."

"Oh, I'm soft and cuddly – I think you'll find me very comfortable resting against you."

Max wondered what his wife Elaine would have to say about this, apart from 'You stupid old goat.' She was on a bus tour of the North Island with 43 other women of her horticultural club visiting what they call 'gardens of distinction.'

He grounded the kayak and climbed out to meet Miss America.

"Hi, I'm Debra Jackson from Maryland, USA. I feel this is going to be a rewarding encounter for me. I'm under no restraint as our tour party is staying overnight in cabins in the camping ground at the far end of the beach."

"Hi, Debra. I'm Max Alpine and I manage that camping ground so isn't that one of those common coincidences? Welcome to our part of the world."

"Common coincidences? Coincidences by definition are uncommon."

"You're too educated for me, Miss America, or was it the pecularity of New Zealand understated humour that caught you?"

"Oh."

"Here, you wear my life vest."

"No, I'm fine without it. In fact can I put my shirt, jeans and footwear in one of your waterproof hatches, I've got my bikini on underneath."

The sensible thing would have been to say no, keep your warmer clothes on, we get into tree shading as we go up river and then even go under complete canopy; but Max was never sensible when it comes to sex. So he opened the hatch and watched out for ducks and thought about bared breasts while Debra undressed behind him.

Sex?

Yes, Max was quite sure that he'd be having sex before the afternoon was over. It might seem that everything was against it. He was fifty-three and she was probably only nudging forty and was wearing a wedding ring.

She was forward - a common state of self-assertiveness amongst some American woman in his experience that in no way seemed linked to a relaxed disposition towards casual sex with anything attached to a (human) penis. But she was sex-ready – Max couldn't put his finger on it, but he sensed that was so and it was not simply wishful thinking.

Why would a good-looking American broad be interested in humping an elderly white-hair Kiwi guy in a kayak?

Because, mused Max, she had been watching me and become aware that I was a clean-cut older guy with a muscular upper body, a very erect back, expensive sunglasses, a sharp haircut and a shark-like smile – a guy who looks as if he is engineered to shaft an American woman who yearns for excitement in a wonderful natural environment.

Oh yeah?

I bet this guy fancies he's going to get lucky with me, thought Debra, unbuttoning her shirt. I'm taking a bit of a risk but nothing I can't handle. Anyway, by now he'll remember he hasn't got his condoms and Viagra with him. Oh, what a shame. But I must say he's in excellent shape – compare him to my dad, they're about the same age – ouch! Nah, he's a little younger.

Bet he's married with the little woman working her butt off at the camp while he's swanning around on the river like Tarzan's grandfather.

Wonder what he thinks of my breasts – they're the first thing a male looks at isn't it? Well, if he hasn't taken a real look he'll soon be resting his paddle over them – wonder what he'll think about that? And why the fuck did I give him the blarney about being nervous about going upriver? I love exploring new territory.

Well at least I'll have some flora and fauna identified for me and he can fend off the wild pigs and wild cattle swimming out to get us.

Max turned round and almost tripped over his feet. Her tits were bursting their way out of her bikini top and for an older woman her belly was still reasonably flat and her thighs not unduly large. In fact her legs looked rather nice. He wondered what she'd do to him had she being aware of being classified as an older woman?

"How do I look?"

Debra had felt tempted to ask that question so only thought it proper that she should ask it. In no way was it aimed at encouraging him.

"You look quite sensational for an older woman," he replied.

A horrified look appeared on Debra's face: an older woman?

"How old are you, Debra. Thirty?"

Saved by the bell she thought grimly, and then silently giggled. What a grease ball; he'd know she was nowhere near thirty.

"My fortieth is at the end of this year."

"Good gracious – just look at your belly, practically flat as a board. Many girls in their twenties will never have a great belly like that."

Debra felt like hugging him; he was good for morale. She and her husband Morgan had been rowing over Morgan's fascination with their young Maori woman driver/guide, who was Miss Personality plus and sang like a bird. Max was lifting her mood.

"Come on crew," he called, screwing up the hatch cover. "This kayak is an estuary design with a more generous cockpit to allow adult and child accommodation, but I think we'll get a good fit."

The 'crew' though that last phrase was rather ambiguous.

"Notice how we've got a fairly wide beam for a kayak," said Max. "That's to provide greater stability crossing turbulent water at river mouths over sand bars.

"I'll need to get in first.

"Look, if you feel uncomfortable or change your mind about this, just say and I'll have you back to this spot in a tick. It will be very close contact – the design is for a parent and child whereas we are too adults, at least I am."

"You are cheeky," giggled Debra, beginning to think Max whatshisname is quite a character.

Max positioned the kayak so the stern was still on the sand, slid into the cockpit and spread his legs. Looking at the gap he wondered how on earth was Debra going to fit in. As she began lowering herself he suddenly noticed she did not have a child-like ass, in fact...

Debra ass began sliding down his chest, over his waist and down, pushing his penis and testicles under his pubic bone, out of the way, and then she was in.

"There, a perfect fit," she said, delighted. "I feel quite comfortable. How are you back there?"

"My legs feel pinned to the sides, but otherwise it's surprisingly comfortable. I don't know that I'm going to get much drive off my legs when padding, but as we're going upstream on the incoming tidal flow I don't suppose that really matters."

Although the kayak had settled deeper into the water with their weight, the slope of the short sandy beach meant that Max was able to shove off with the paddle and they drifted aware from the river edge.

"Right," said Max. "It's best that I paddle as I've got the support of the seat and my feet are on the foot rests; also the kayak turns best with stern-end paddling. But as mentioned earlier, I have to reach round you to paddle and at time, um, I may have contract with, er, your breasts."

"You may touch my breasts as much as you like Max; I really love being out on the water again."

Whew, thought Max. I've done everything to make her aware of the difficulties we face. Here goes.

"Lean right back against me...that's it. Now I am quite free to paddle – you can co-paddle if you wish."

"No, I'm fine."

Max began paddling without real exertion.

"You have a firm body for an older man."

"Compliment me as much as you wish, but I love the fragrance of your perfume."

"That's good. This is so lovely, so tranquil. I'm really glad to have met you Max," sighed Debra, reaching back and running a hand through his hair. Max leaned forward and kissed just behind her ear, burrowing through the golden curls to get there.

Debra left her hand resting against his neck while Max attending to accelerating their progress upstream faster than the tidal flow. It was an idyllic passage – no wind, no sound of vehicles - just noisy birds and the occasional fish jumping and splashing, doubtless being chased by a larger predator.

"What a gorgeous sound – what is it?"

"It's a native bird, our national emblem in fact – called a tui and sometimes known as the parson bird. There it is, see that white tuft of feathers under its chin."

"Yes, what a beautiful bird – is it black? It seems to change color."

"Yes, its plumage contains metallic hues – it's quite an aggressive bird but its voice is heavenly."

"What a beautiful thing to say about a bird," said Debra, turning and raising her lips to be kissed.

Max obliged.

"Eeek, are those wild bulls?" cried Debra, as they emerged from the bush to paddle through half a mile of pastureland.

"No, they are Jersey milking cows, a breed as about as docile as they come."

As they come? Debra wondered if she were missing something here. It was a bit of a battle to understand Kiwi humor.

They re-entered the bush, totally green as all were native trees and ferns and pongas. Max paddled over to his usual resting spot – a glade with the ground covered in moss.

"We'll stop here," he said and they drifted in and grounded on mud.

With effort, Debra attempted to get up and out with dignity, not assisted by Max's nipping her inner thigh as it moved near his mouth.

"Stop it," she giggled.

He held her hips to steady her and received an appreciative thank you.

"Are you cold?"

"No, just beautiful. It's a very warm afternoon," answered Debra, aware Max's eyes were on her breasts.

"Are we just stopping here for a stretch?"

"Yes and for seafarers' rations," replied Max, unscrewing one of the other watertight round hatch covers and extracting half a loaf of French bred and a half-size bottle of Merlot wine.

"I'm sorry about the meagerness of rations, but I was not expecting to be boarded by crew. Shall we share, or do you want the lot?"

"We must share, and I've got to come up with some way to repay you for your hospitality," Debra ventured, flirtatiously.

Their eyes locked and smiles had a touch of shyness.

Max fell into the moss bed and Debra came alongside him, far closer than perhaps one would expect, though right now Max was expecting a much better offer.

"It's dry bread, the only thing to go with it is wine, and there are no plates or glasses, I regret to say."

"It's just as I adore it – crusty bread of the day with warm red wine. It feeds me and makes me feel sexy."

Max through years of experience knew the supreme moment had arrived; one false step and he'd be lecturing tourism to a disintered stranger; it was up to him to haul her in – with subtlety if he could manage that.

"Rest against me, my guest from Maryland, and I shall feed you bread and allow you to sip wine from his bottle if I were offering it from my breast."

"I'll have the wine, please," giggled Debra, lifting up and sprawling against him. "Dear gallant sir, my provider and entertainer for this afternoon: would you care to undo the top of my bikini?"

Max was in no rush; he did no answer. Instead he leaned forward and kissed Debra deeply, his hands remaining passive.

They parted and she said thickly, "Wine please."

Max unscrewed the capt of the half bottle and raised it to her lips. The red fluid ran sensually into Debra's open mouth, over her tongue and disappeared.

"Bread," she said huskily, looking at Max with almost hooded eyes, her chest now rising and falling a little quicker than before.

For the next few minutes Max fed his guest bread and wine, also imbibing a little himself. He watched her tongue lasciviously curl to capture each morsel of bread followed by a brief chew and then a swallow – a captivating process that was being enacted beyond her luscious red lips. Only to be expected, his blood-fueled penis threatened to burst from his beach shorts.

Max lifted Debra forward, untied her bikini top and freed her expansive boobs. With a devilish grin he held up the remaining wine in the bottle, provoking from her an eye flashing "I dare you" look.

In an instant Max had pulled out from under Debra, lowered her on to the moss, and then poured the wine to run between her breasts.

In three simple movements, contemporaneously executed as Max poured the wine, Debra pulled the side bows of her bikini bottom and removed the flimsy little garment completely, then raised her upper body to facilitate the flow of the deep red rivulet.

Everything then happened quickly, appearing spontaneous rather than orchestrated.

Max growling throatily began lapping up wine as well as tonguing two very erect nipples.

Realizing the flow was streaming away from his control, he lapped up a tiny reservoir trapped in Debra's navel. His head then darted down to capture as much as he could before the wine flow dribbled like a waterfall into the moss.

Debra was practically screaming as this sensuous bout of bawdy behavior continued to unravel.

Anticipating what was about to come she threw her legs wide and lifted them, opening her wine dripping vulva to Max's probing tongue. In it went, deeply, with Debra beating her fists on his back as she was swept by a series of shuddering orgasms.

Feeling Debra's abandonment, Max responded like a red-blooded man he was; he pressed her legs out wide and lifting them high, which rolled Debra's pelvis upwards.

Then without bothering to remove his shorts, he simply reached in and pulled out his aroused penis and sheeted it home with a satisfied grunt, drawing a deep sight from Debra.

Max began thrusting and Debra began rocking back at him; one of her fingers found her clit and began scrubbing at it.

Debra and Max had very different thoughts as they journeyed towards their conjunctional climax.

Debra's thought was brief, and self-serving. "Oh God, I hope Morgan can be this good when he's Max's age," she gritted, feeling her emotions beginning to rampage.

Thoughts of morality were sweeping through Max's mind. Some critics would regard this as marital betrayal. That's simply a moralistic stance, he argued. What I am enjoying here is perhaps the best fuck I've had in thirty years. Moralistic banner waving should be banned; it's a crime to deny anyone this extreme pleasure.

Max recognized he was simply thinking of himself, ignoring his wife Elaine. But then was this something that Elaine needed to worry about? Hopefully he'd not return home with a disease, a thought which reminded him that he and Debra had not discussed preventative sex measures. A pity, but that's how it is. As for Debra's husband, he should be thrilled that his wife was enjoying a great seduction; it's the duty of any husband to ensure his wife remains happy, isn't it?

Debra's vagina seemed to be tightening, increasing friction. Accelerating his thrusting Max began to sweat more markedly. Debra was also heating up and moaning. He bent in to suck a breast; Debra anticipating well grasped it with both hands and attempted to force it into his mouth, saying "Here, here," and tossing her head about with her tongue lolling out of one side of her mouth.

Moving up a gear Debra was almost hyperventilating. Screwing her very flushed face she regained control of her tongue to make a mini-speach despite the culminating pressures. She urged, "Come on, Max come on! Oh fuck, I'm ready to burst. Relieve me, relieve me Max!"

Max screwed both hands down hard on her breasts and felt his balls begin to churn.

"Here it comes, baby. Wads of thick juicy cum are about to be blasted...now!"

He squeezed her tits hard and bellowed, "Aaaawwwaaaaaagh."

As he was about to start firing Max felt Debra's body start to convulse and she was screaming "Kiss me, Max!"

They kissed into mutual ejaculation, Max getting away the first shot to take a slight lead.

After that was over, Debra with surprising force rolled him, and turning about straddled him and began sucking Max's still dribbling cock.

Meanwhile, semen mixed with her juices dripped from her vagina on to Max's face and chest, making him feel quite horny despite just blowing a big load.

Instead of sucking her, Max inserted two fingers and hooking them into her vagina attempted to massage her G-spot. Whatever he found seemed to work because within a minute she was heaving and pumping against his fingers although he did not notice any extra discharge.

Soon after that he felt his balls contract and away he went, delivering another round which Debra took and swallowed.

"Good baby," crooned Max, "What a great and enthusiastic fucker you are."

They paused for a few moments, catching their breath. Then Max picked Debra up and carried her into the warm water where they hugged and kissed for quite some time before they began hand-rinsing each other's body.

The river was deserted as it was mid-week, so they floated back in the kayak leisurely as the tide had turned; they remained undressed.

Debra stretched out to allow Max to finger her into another orgasm while he played with her breasts with his other hand. After a short time for receovery she turned to be kissed and urged him to bring her into orgasm again, which he did, impressed at the vigor of her sexuality.

Before entering the estuary which was likely to be populated with walkers on its fringes, they beached to dress. Debra seized the opportunity to go down on to her knees and suck off Max, leaving him in no doubt that she had splendid technique. As he tensed to spew she popped his hard-worked cock out of her mouth and, staring intently at Max, enjoyed his expression at seeing his near exhausted supply of cum splatter on to her breasts.

Max paddled down to just inside the river mouth where he loaded the kayak on to the roof of his 4WD wagon in the Beach Road parking lot.