Yacht vs MotorbyAshson©
The only thing more useless than a yacht is person who sails them. They go on and on about iron men in wooden boats, driving before the wind, but what happens when the wind dies? The iron men sit there, with all the manoeuvrability of a stick, waiting for someone smarter and an engine to come to their rescue. Some of them, of course, are prepared to sit there stranded for hours on end, rather than admit they have a problem.
Me, I like motor boats. If I want to go somewhere, I go. Sure, if I run out of fuel or break down I'm in the same boat as a yachtie, so to speak, but fuel and maintenance are under my control. They are constants and can be allowed for, unlike the fickle wind.
There's a clubhouse at the local marina where the yacht lovers gather from time to time. They tried to get me banned at one stage, after I made a few acerbic comments about idiots floating on sticks. That was the day my boys had to go out and haul in four yachts that had run out of wind late in the evening and the yachties were panicking that they might be stranded all night.
The motion was defeated after it was pointed out that if they banned me, I probably wouldn't arrange to have their toys towed to safety, but they didn't like it and most of them don't talk to me anymore.
Don't think I hate all yachties. There are some nice blokes amongst them, even if I do think they have a screw loose, but it's their screw, after all, and if they want it to be loose, it's their choice.
It's the supercilious bastards that get my goat, with their presumption of superiority just because the wind blows for them. Part of my objection is the Commodore of the yacht club is the biggest horse's arse it's ever been my misfortune to meet.
Brendan, sorry, Commodore McClintock, is about forty, has a fortune (inherited from daddy), a trophy wife (and she is a honey), the morals of a rabid weasel, and a yacht that is a serious contender for the America's Cup (in his opinion only). He also has a superiority complex so large that it's a wonder his little boat doesn't sink under the weight of it.
Shortly after trying to get me banned from the clubhouse, the son-of-a-bitch stiffed me for some work my yard did for him. It was only a minor job and he knew I wouldn't chase after the money as it would cost me more in time and fees than the amount was worth. That didn't mean I wasn't going to stick it up him and snap it off if I ever got the chance.
The chance came several weeks later on a hot Saturday afternoon. Anyone who knew anything at all about the local weather patterns would have known that the morning wind would drop to a flat calm about midday, staying like that until nearly sunset, when they'd start blowing the other way. Not the type of day to go yachting.
So of course Brendan did. He took out a smaller yacht, just him as captain and his wife, Debbie, crewing. He rolled up about eleven and took sail, and by midday he was well out on the bay, quite a distance from shore. And at midday, almost on the dot, the wind died and left him sitting out there, and out there he would remain until the evening, as none of my boys were going to tow him in.
Now I tend to stand out at the marina. I wear a sort of standard outfit and people know who I am by that outfit. You're looking for someone to fix up your boat, motor or yacht, and they're told to see the guy in the odd outfit. I get some good custom that way. Another side effect of the outfit is that people tend not to know me if I'm not wearing it. I wore a suit into the clubroom once and was asked three times who I was. By staff, who should have known me.
Idly looking over the water to where Brendan was sitting becalmed, a thought came to me. A wicked little idea, actually. I fought the temptation for a good second or two, then happily yielded. I went to my yard and changed into a more standard type of outfit. Then I went and boarded the newest addition to my little fleet of hire boats and set off.
My immediate intention was to go visit Brendan. I knew as soon as he saw a boat with some decent power he'd hail it and ask for a tow. It was only fair to give him that chance. If he didn't ask, I'd concede the game to him and go away again, letting him wait for his wind.
Sure enough, as soon as I started to get close Brendan started waving and yelling, indicating he wanted a tow. First point to me. The second step of my little game would depend on his arrogance. If he came to the bow to take the tether and tie on I'd again concede the victory and tow him in. I was betting that he'd have Debbie do the job. I'd never yet seen him do a job that he could delegate.
As far as I was concerned it was Bingo. Debbie came up to the bow to take the tether and tie on. Instead, I caught her arm, jerked her off the bow and she came tumbling down into my launch. I gunned the motor and I was fifty feet away before Brendan realised what had happened.
I grinned at Debbie, who was looking at me astounded, and totally ignored Brendan's angry yells. I have to give full marks to Debbie. She knew who I was, even in standard type clothes.
"What are you playing at, Frank?" she demanded to know.
"Hi, Debbie. I'll tell you in a second. Just confirm something for me. According to my memory, Brendan swims like a brick and you swim like a fish. Correct?"
"Correct on both counts," replied Debbie. "Now, an explanation, please?"
"You may have heard that I owe Brendan one," I said. "I've decided that this is my chance to collect. We're in plain sight of Brendan, but there's no way he's going to try to swim over here and, with no wind, he's stuck there.
I'm going to rip your bikini off while you scream and struggle and make all the right protests and then I'm going to ravish your lovely little body. Brendan will be able to see the whole thing going down and won't be able to a damn thing about it. Afterwards I'll cut over close to the yacht and you can suddenly jump overboard and swim to safety."
"You're crazy. Brendan will crucify you when he gets back to shore, and what makes you think I'll let you ravish me anyway."
"First, Brendan doesn't know it's me or he'd never have hailed me. As long as you don't tell him who I am I'll be a mysterious stranger who acted like a pirate. Do you seriously think Brendan is going to tell anyone about what happens? He'd rather die, and he'll be desperate for you to shut up as well. You may get a nice piece of jewellery from him just by doing as he says and keeping your mouth shut.
Second, I have no idea if you'll play along or not, but I've been wanting to do this to you for a while, so I was hoping you'd go along with it. Make up your mind fast. Either jump overboard and swim back to the yacht, or start screaming."
With that, Frank reached over, his hands closed upon Debbie's bikini pants and pulled them down. Debbie squealed, loud and long, but apart from waving her arms about made no attempt to jump overboard.
A furious shout came booming across the water, totally ignored by the pair on the launch. Twisting Debbie around, Frank pushed her up against the side railing, holding her there facing it, while he undid her bikini top, to the sound of more outraged protests and squeals from Debbie.
Frank started playing with Debbie's breasts, to the sounds of her wailing protests. Transferring a hand to her pussy he carefully explored and massaged, while Debbie's shrieks of fright and horror reached a new pitch.
A few minutes later Brendan had to watch in helpless fury as he saw that damned pirate slowly ramming his cock into Debbie, whose shrieks of protest seemed to redouble.
Feeling Frank sliding deep into her, Debbie groaned with relief.
"About damned time," she grumbled. "My throat is getting sore from screaming."
"Well, now you can give an honest performance. Squeal as much as you like, as all Brendan will hear is the noise, not why you're squealing."
With that, Frank thrust heartily into Debbie, driving deep and drawing an involuntary squeal from her.
"Very good," he laughed. "Now let's get to it in earnest."
With that Frank settled quickly into a practiced rhythm, driving eagerly into Debbie's willing pussy. Responding just as eagerly, Debbie's bottom jiggled and bounced, surging to meet Frank's driving need. Accompanying their hot action, Debbie's squeals of pleasure drifted away in an endless stream, while Brendan's outraged bellows provided a musical counterpoint.
Debbie's squeals pitched higher and higher as she neared her climax, unlike Brendan's bellows that stayed at a constant and furious roar. Finally feeling Frank letting himself loose inside her, Debbie gave a scream of satisfaction, clamping around his cock and letting her own climax rip through her.
Breathing hard, Frank asked Debbie an important question.
"Can you make it to the yacht if you jump overboard here, or do you need to be closer?"
"Easily," scorned Debbie.
"Then why don't you grab that pole over there and apparently hit me with it. When I fall down you can jump. When I stagger back to my feet you should be at the yacht, so I'll take off."
Laughing quietly, Debbie did as suggested, abandoning the launch and swimming swiftly to the yacht. She had tears running down her face as Brendan helped her aboard, and both turned and glowered after the fast vanishing launch.
That evening, Frank was sitting at the bar in the club house, having a beer and wearing his normal outfit when Brendan came storming in, followed by a demure Debbie.
"You, Frank," he snarled. "Why didn't you send out a boat to tow me in when any idiot could see I was becalmed."
"Because, Brendan, you stiffed me on the last bit of work I did for you. Remember? I certainly do. I just assumed that if I sent someone out to tow you in you'd probably stiff me for the towing fee. You should always keep your accounts current, or someone just may stiff you in return. You made it back safely didn't you, without any mishaps?"
Surviving the killing look, Frank drank his beer.