Blondie's Kinky Cruise

"Boy, you really are horny, aren't you, hotpants?" I said as I looked at the card for the Nauti Buoy, a thirty-three foot cabin cruiser: Delmar Ducote, Captain, Bay, Gulf and Inland Waterway Pleasure Cruises. It was berthed at a marina on the Dog River, a short distance down Dauphin Island highway from our home.

I ordered more drinks as Blondie finished hers, murmuring, "An' I do believe he is a naughty boy the way he was flirtin' with me all afternoon behind that couple's back. If you get him on the phone, you remind him of the blonde business lady an' the couple he took across the bay back in October." She winked,

"Way that boy was checkin' out your wife all day, I betcha he's gonna remember me just fine."

When I just grinned, she said, "Tell him I was very, very impressed with both him an' his boat an wanted to go out with him again for a purely pleasure cruise, but haven't had a chance 'til now."

"My clients were impressed, too, an' when they complimented him on his boat he told us he bought it with the proceeds from an' insurance settlement—he was a cook on an offshore drillin' platform an' was one of the survivors of that helicopter crash out in the gulf a coupla years back. He still cooks offshore but runs charters when he's off shift.

"That boat has a gorgeous cabin, all done in teak, with beige vinyl an' deep brown suede, very rich lookin' an' very sexy—a nice place for foolin' around, not like your usual fishin' boats. He won't do fishin' charters—said he hates the smell an' the mess—so just pleasure cruises."

She smiled wickedly, "If he's not offshore workin' an' you get ahold of 'im, tell him your wife thinks the Nauti Boy looks like a very sexy playpen, okay?"

I called early Friday morning and Captain Del sounded a bit hungover but perked up smartly when I told him I was calling on behalf of my wife, the beautiful blonde realtor who'd chartered his boat three or four months ago, and he perked up even more when I dropped her "very sexy playpen" line on him. Del assured me he remembered my wife quite well, both that she had been a very fine looking lady and that she had been a very generous tipper.

I told him she was looking for a relaxed, sexy cruise around the bay and anchoring up for a while in some private spot for a little party. I asked him if drinking, smoking a little weed, nudity and maybe even some sexual activity in his playpen were a problem. He cheerily assured me they were absolutely not, that he was a very laid back captain, running a pleasure boat.

The mention of sexual activity further intrigued him when I said there would be another man accompanying my wife and me. It was suddenly all, "You bet" this and "Sure nuf" that, with effusive assurances that he was entirely at our disposal and at a discounted off-season rate.

When I called Blondie with the news, she chuckled, "I knew he'd remember me..." then paused before saying, "I called Bertie an' he'll be here by ten tomorrow mornin'. He wanted to come on over tonight,,," she paused, then whispered,

"An' I really am horny for him, but we wouldn't get any sleep tonight an' I just think it would be so cool to fuck him first out on the water in that oh-so-sexy boat, don't you?"

While that conjured up some very interesting images in my mind, all I could think of to say was, "Hey, babe, this is your show and you're running it so we're going to play it your way."

That evening when she got home, I greeted her with a Crown and water and the good news that the warm weather was going to hold for the weekend—the marine forecast was for mild seas and temperatures in the low eighties, not quite a record but almost. Her reaction was a pleased,

"Yeah, I checked the weather, too, to see if I could wear a bikini an' catch a few rays."

She grinned as she stripped off her business attire, "An' give that bad-boy boat captain even more to look at than the last time."

We ate early so we could get to bed timely and while we were eating I casually asked Blondie if she weren't at least somewhat concerned about how her brother might react to her screwing a black guy, boat captain or no, if indeed that very likely event came to pass. I'd never seen a man turn Blondie down when she offered it and there was no question she was going to offer it: that was the whole purpose of chartering his boat. Bert, however, was...after all...a full-fledged member in good standing of a fairly racist Cajun clan, and just might take offense at his sister putting out for a black man. She just scoffed,

"If big brother wants any pussy himself, an' we both know the answer to that, he better damn well keep his big mouth shut. Besides, I've been thinkin' about it an' I believe Bertie's such a pervert he'll be turned on watchin' his little sister fuck a black guy, you know, cher?"

She grinned, "He used to love watchin' me fuck his buddies..."

Noting that plural...buddies...I remembered that she'd previously admitted to only one. Clearly she still hadn't told me the entire truth yet about their early adventures.

Before retiring, I got out our tonsuring tools and while Blondie reclined on the bed, gave her hairy bush a neatening trim, although at her instruction I didn't remove too much of her prolific pubic hair. She said she'd read that the French style of allowing a fringe of pubic hair to show around the edges of a bikini was a huge turn-on for most men. When I reminded her that Bertie stayed in a perpetual state of "turn-on" she informed me with a crafty smile,

"Bertie's not who I'm thinkin' about, sugar—it's that hunky black captain. You know, he may be a little bashful with you an' Bertie there, so mama's gonna give him some visual persuasion."

"An' I've been thinkin' about Bertie an' the race thing an' I just don't think it's gonna be a problem. You gotta remember that with Bertie, it's gonna be all about fuckin' me as often he can until I finally tell 'im to get in his car an' get the hell outta here, n'est-ce pas (right)?"

She was right of course; when he was around his beautiful blonde sister, Bert let his little head do all of his thinking. I put the issue out of mind.

Saturday morning, I rose early, made up a big basket of club sandwiches with lots of chips and assorted snacks, iced down a cooler of beer and along with a half case of Blondie's favorite Beaujolais, loaded the day's provisions in the trunk of the convertible. By the time Bert arrived, surprisingly on time, my wife had made herself ravishing in her favorite pink and purple flowered white mini-sundress, one that barely came to mid-thigh, showcasing those great legs, with matching pink and straw wedge sandals.

With her blonde mane pinned up off her neck, highlighting a white puka shell necklace and matching dangly earrings, and a generous application of frosted pink lipstick, she was a head-turning knockout. Bert was almost salivating as soon as he entered the house, unable to keep himself from pulling her to him for a long tongue-swapping kiss while pulling up the short dress and cupping her creamy ass, her cheeks essentially bare in the itsy-bitsy bikini underneath.

My little Cajun wife was just as horny as her bayou-bred brother and their lustful kissing continued for several minutes with her massaging the outline of his swollen cock through his khaki cargo shorts. She finally broke off the kiss with a loud gasp,

"Mon Dieu, grand frère, je veux tellement ta grosse bite (My God, big brother, I want your big cock so bad) but we have a boat to catch so you're just gonna have to keep it in your pants for a while, d'accord chérie (okay sweetheart)?"

I could have watched them make out for another hour. As stated many times previously in these tales of my sexy wife's adventures, I loved watching her give that succulent mouth to other men. This being her brother with whom she was hungrily swapping tongues made the kissing even hotter, even more so by hearing her openly telling him how badly she wanted to fuck him.

A short time later, our captain for the day had a similar reaction to Bert's when we approached the Nauti Buoy's slip...me pushing the marina's utility cart down the dock with Blondie out front, leading in that short dress with those gorgeous legs on display in those sexy high-heeled sandals, and Bertie shuffling along behind. Poor Delmar's head seemed to be on a swivel as he loaded our provisions and prepared for our departure while seemingly unable to keep his eyes off my bewitching wife.

As he assisted her aboard, she gave him a warm hug and effusive greeting like they were old friends. When they pulled apart, I was not at all surprised to see a slight swelling in his khaki cargo shorts. This little sexual excursion was beginning precisely according to plan, I reflected.

With the boat idling from the marina, heading toward the bay, Blondie followed me down the broad steps of the teak ladder to the cabin. She hadn't exaggerated in her description: it was spanking clean and lushly appointed in oiled teak, overstuffed creamy vinyl seating, dark brown suede fabric and gleaming stainless steel. In the open bow section was a large, very comfortable looking V-berth with a thick mattress covered by a striking African-motif, black, brown, beige and orange cover and several chartreuse decorative pillows.

Blondie smirked, "See what I mean about a playpen?" She gloated, "Specially for one very horny girl an' three horny men, hmm?"

Flicking her eyes upward, she said, "I was right about him, too, wasn't I, cher?"

Indeed she was: Del was a lean, muscular, six-foot-plus, medium light-skinned black man of a pigment shade seen frequently around New Orleans, with its myriad racial variations, which we would soon learn, was where he was raised. Under a long-billed, khaki fisherman's cap, he sported wavy black, processed hair and a thin mustache which lent him a bit of a roguish, young Chuck Berry resemblance that just added to his bad-boy sexual allure for my naughty little Southern belle.

Blondie glanced out a porthole and seeing that we were nearing the entrance to the bay turned her back to me saying, "Unzip me, sweetie—time to give my crew a little peek."

"Sooner the better," I replied, looking up to the cabin door, "But I think it might be sexier to drop the dress out there with your crew watching."

She grinned, "A little striptease, hmm? I do believe you're right—help me back up the steps. I know these heels are impractical but I wanna keep 'em on for that beach bimbo effect, okay?"

Emerging from belowdecks onto the bridge, Blondie flashed her "crew" a dazzling smile and looking back over her shoulder instructed me, "Unzip me now, sweetie."

I did and she proceeded to make the removal of her sundress a slow, provocative striptease, a feat at which she had become rather adept through her many years of seducing strangers. Her hot pink, almost-micro bikini was devilishly small and the shiny synthetic material scandalously thin, concealing very little when dry and virtually nothing when wet. As I squeezed past her, I could see her nipples clearly through the taut pink triangles covering the aureoles of her conical, slightly pendulous breasts, leaving the sides and bottoms enticingly exposed. Her nipples were hard and prominent, carnal evidence of her arousal at disrobing in front of this attractive black man and her brother.

I also noted, just as she'd planned, the quarter-inch of dark, furry fringe outlining the small triangle of material covering her vulva, with a good half-inch of dark brown curly hair escaping from the top, starkly evident against her creamy-pale lower belly.

She was right—it was a huge turn-on—Captain Del's dark eyes demonstrably widened behind his shades. When he glanced toward me, I winked and smiled, causing him to give me a double thumbs-up. Apparently he found a dark bush on a bleached blonde as decadently alluring as I always have.

In the port side of the cockpit, left of the captain's chair, was a wide, six-foot long, padded, sunbathing bench where a passenger could recline facing the stern and Blondie chose to repose there, much to Del's delight. Because it was February, he had the marine blue canvas top over the cockpit and the clear plastic side-curtains up so that she was sheltered from the wind. He threw me a delighted glance over his shoulder and when I responded with a palms-up help yourself gesture at my little bayou babe's reclining figure, he grinned toothily, flashing me another thumbs-up, acknowledging my gift of my beautiful wife to him.

Blondie sealed that offer by pushing her over-sized sunglasses up into her blonde tresses and with a heavy-lidded, seductive wink, puckered those full, lush, frosted pink lips into a sexy pout and blew him an air kiss, a couldn't-be-clearer promise of the depraved delights awaiting him. By this time in our hot wife/cuckold relationship, I'd seen Blondie do this countless times to men in bars, nightclubs and parties, that she'd decided to bed, and never had it failed to make them putty in her hands. Nor would it here on Mobile Bay on this beautiful Saturday afternoon either.

Clearing the channel, our gleefully grinning driver goosed the boat up onto a plane, heading out into the open water at full throttle, quickly getting us well away from shore before backing it down to a more leisurely cruising speed. The bay waters were almost flat so it was a smooth ride and Del had his eyes on my nearly naked wife far more than the boat's course. I opened a bottle of Beaujolais for Blondie and poured her a healthy portion in a stemmed, plastic wine glass. Bert, cold beer in hand, had moved up from the fantail bench to stand looking down at his sister's nearly-naked body, a wolfish leer on his face, an obvious erection in his cargo shorts.

I grabbed two beers from the cooler and handed one to Del, leaning in to speak into his ear.

"My wife says that you and that African bed cover down there are causing her jungle fever to spike, giving her that itch that a white woman can only get scratched a certain way, diggie vous (you dig) mon capitaine?"

He grinned, "I sorta figured that's what was goin' on here. You gimme a little time to get us to a private spot I know to anchor up and I'll scratch it for her—scratch it nice an' deep for as long as she likes, diggie vous, monsieur?"

Laughing, I said, "She sort of figured you'd like to scratch it after the way you checked her out on that first charter." Slapping him on the shoulder, I confided, "She's had the hots for you since then, but we just haven't had an opportunity to do anything about it until now."

He chuckled, "Well I'm glad she didn't forget me." Throwing a quick glance at Bert, he asked, "So who's that dude and what the fuck's wrong with him?"

"That's her big brother from Baton Rouge—her handicapped brother as you can see—the guy you're going to be sharing her with this afternoon."

That earned me the startled response I'd anticipated, punctuated by an astonished, "Huh?"

Leaning closer to his ear, I said, "Yeah, he suffered some neurological damage from a childhood disease and because of his problems, he couldn't get laid in high school so his sympathetic little sister started taking care of his problem for him and got to where she really liked it because he's hung pretty well and has a unique talent for using it."

I paused, looking at him, "So, being the good, sympathetic sister that she still is, but mainly because she just likes fucking him and I don't mind her doing it, she's still taking care of his problem for him. You have any problem with a little brother-sister action, Del?"

He shook his head, "Man, that's some weird shit, but, hey, I'm down with whatever floats that gorgeous lady's boat, dude."

Patting him on the shoulder again, I said, "Good to hear—now, do you have any problem with me firing up a joint so we can all get mellow before we get to this private spot—which is where, by the way?"

Del answered, "Naw, no problem—light up an' gimme a coupla hits if you don't mind—an' my gunkholing spot's out towards the west end of the north side of Dauphin Island, okay?"

Digging into Blondie's large straw beach bag, I extracted two joints—I'd packed several—and lit one for Blondie and Bert and another for Del and me. Five minutes later it felt as if we were skimming across these glassy smooth waters on this unseasonably warm day in some blissful dream. Del looked over his shoulder with a lazy grin on his face and gave me another thumbs up.

I bent to his ear, "That's some special weed we save for when we're fooling around—it makes most folks horny as hell, mon capitaine, and makes the fucking fantastic."

He didn't answer, staring past me at my wife, who had retrieved something of her own from her bag: a battery-operated vibrator that was a lifelike representation of a large, black penis. She smiled knowingly at Del as she turned it on and began sliding the head of it up and down the flimsy material of her bikini. Her eyes gradually closed while her brother's were wide open, appreciatively observing, as were our boat driver's.

After several minutes of self-pleasuring, Blondie's eyes flickered open and she said something to Bert that brought a huge grin to his face. Laying the vibrator aside, she stood, facing Del and me as her brother unfastened the backstrap of her bikini top. With her eyes locked on the smiling black captain's, she slid the spaghetti straps from her shoulders and the tossed the filmy top in his lap. With her erect pink nipples pointing slightly upward and outward, she hooked her long, hot pink thumbnails into the flimsy straps riding her hips and pushed the gossamer bikini bottom down to her knees fully exposing her neatly trimmed, dark bush. Sitting back on the cushioned settee, she peeled the thin material off over her high-heeled sandals then tossed it to Del as well.

Picking up the vibrator she held it out to Bert, saying something that brought a broad nodding grin to his face, before resuming her reclining posture against the cabin bulkhead but now with her left sandal on the deck and her right leg cocked on the settee leaving her brother room to sit between those lovely limbs. With a huge grin at Del and me, he took his place and laid the buzzing dildo on his sister's vulva, causing her to jerk in response then settle back against the cushioned backrest, her eyes closed, her full lips smiling.

Del took the roach and grinned, "Mutha-damn-fucka, man, your ol' lady's smokin-fuckin-hot!"

Laughing, I replied, "Just wait'll you find out how tight that pussy is, cap'n."

By the time we passed beneath the Dauphin Island Bridge, Bert was probing his sister's vagina with the lifelike black dildo and she was bucking her hips and turning her head from side to side in response. Slowing to pass beneath the eighty-foot bridge, Del's head was swiveling between my naked wife and the narrowed channel. Once clear of the bridge he goosed the diesel inboard again and devoted more time to Blondie for several minutes until he spied our destination and dropped his engines back to idle speed.

Shortly we were anchored in a small cove of white beach sand and clear, greenish-cast water. While Del and I set the anchors, my naked wife and her brother went down into the cabin. When I descended, moments later, they were in that plush forward V-berth, on that exotic African motif spread, a folded brown beach towel beneath them. They were both naked now and kissing hotly. As Del descended the steps and saw the action, he looked at me and mouthed, "Wow!" before turning to close the hatch.