Setting Sail

From the distance, Amy Lynn Steele's smile looked genuine as she stood on the dock in front of the chartered yacht, the Magpie, and greeted the new guests in turn. Beside her stood the rest of her crew, smiling brightly as well, and shaking hands with the people that would be their shipmates for the next few weeks.

Fortunately the guests spent the majority of their time questioning the Captain, whose role was certainly more noble than that of the ships Engineer. Amy was thankful for that, and let her stare turn from the guests to a piece of paper stapled to one of the many pilings that held up the lavish dock. As its upper right corner flapped in the stiff off-shore breeze, she marveled at how it managed to keep from blowing away altogether. Even as its edge flip-flopped back and forth, she was still able to read the advertisement with its bold red print.

Wanted: Harbormaster it said in big bold print. There were other words printed in black ink across the page, no doubt describing the details of the job and what they were looking for in the way of ideal candidates, but these words were far too small for Amy to read at this distance.

For Amy, what she could read, was really all she needed to read. While many regarded her presence aboard a ten million dollar yacht as priceless, inwardly Amy was becoming more and more disenchanted with it with each voyage that she embarked upon. The owners demanded professionalism from the crew, and even now that image was manifested as each one stood at attention, their uniforms matching in both color and style.

As the Captain watched the last passenger crest the gunwale, Amy looked at him with jealousy. Of the twelve member crew, ten were men and had the luxury of wearing light blue double breasted shirts, matching trousers and shoes polished up to a gleaming shine. Amy and the Stewardess Alicia, both got to wear the same light blue cotton shirts as the men, but below that knee length skirts had to be worn, with beige nylons and a pair of black heels. It was the latter that completely repulsed Amy. Granted the shoes had a rather chunky heel that made them semi-wearable upon the heaving ship, but they were still difficult to wear at times, and completely unneeded in the din of the engine room.

Once down inside the bowels of the ship, Amy seldom wore them, preferring instead to go barefoot. In reality she would have kicked them off now if she could have. The ones she now wore were a bit too tight around her toes and pressed unmercifully into the ball of her feet. She cringed at the pain, hoping the guests would soon disperse and the ship would set sail, leaving her to roam the engine room devoid of her painful shoes.

"Ms. Steele, you are needed at once in the Engineer room," suddenly came a cry from Cynthia, the yacht's owner as she thrust her head over the gunwale of the boat and looked down at her entrusted crew. "I was showing Anthony the engine room and there is a big puddle of oil coming from the front of the starboard engine."

Amy immediately jumped into action. Oil was the lifeblood of the powerful diesel engines and any leak could lead to catastrophe. Still, as fast as she was now running, she did not forget the paper stapled to the dock's piling. Grasping the ear still flapping in the breeze, she made quick work of pulling it free of its remaining three staples and shoved the piece of paper into her pocket. She did it so fast, so quick, that her fellow crewmembers did not even see her grab it.

Even in her heels, Amy slipped quickly towards the stern of the yacht, ducking in the passageways and sliding down the shiny stainless steel rails that lined the ladder that lead into the engine room. Swooping down in one deft movement, Amy's attention immediately turned towards the starboard engine, and peered at the front of the engine. Just as she had been told, a small trickle of thick black oil oozed down the front of the stark white engine block.

For a moment, Amy surveyed the problem and came to a quick conclusion on what the culprit was. Reaching into her toolbox, she found the ratchet, socket and extension she needed, and began to climb up the giant engine to tighten the loose bolt that was making all the mess.

It was not an easy task. Marine engines have a slew of pipes to funnel water and oil in and out of the block, and Amy found herself squeezing her way up and around these labyrinths of pipes to gain access to the bolt. Some were hot, while other had bolts and protrusions that Amy had to wiggle her legs around to avoid. It was this act that irritated Amy to no end.

As she wiggled her way up to the top of the engine, she thought about her previous schooling. Breaking the gender barrier at the Maritime Academy was not an easy task, and she took pride in the fact that she had graduated with top honors. Fixing this oil leak hardly taxed her knowledge of marine diesel systems, but doing so without catching her nylons on anything was another matter altogether. Amy was equally sure that it was a problem that her other classmates did not have worry about, and she resented her uniform more and more with each passing day.

Finally reaching an area of the engine where she could reach the bolt, Amy could easily see the problem. Grasping her tools, she placed them on the head of the bolt, spun the bolt deeper into the block with ease, the ratchet singing out its familiar clicking as the bolt easily seated itself back into place. The repair was going well until she went to give the bolt a final twist to snug it up. Placing her foot on a incoming coolant line, Amy went to give the ratchet a final tug when her foot slipped off the round pipe. She could herself before she feel against the hot engine, but it did not stop her temper from flaring. Grabbing a hold of her high heels, she flung them across the engine room.

"Fucking high heels," she yelled and began to squirm her way out from the front of the engine.

"Amy," rang out Cynthia's voice, as one of the shoes sailed just in front of her face and bounced off an electrical panel. "Whatever on earth has come over you?"

"It's these bolts. They are made of Stainless Steel. Whoever built this yacht did not know anything about engines. Stainless steel is pretty all polished up, but the threads don't stretch. All these Stainless Steel bolts have to be replaced or they will just keep vibrating loose."

"Oh my, this is serious."

"Well I can keep tightening them up, so its nothing we have to fix before leaving port, but when we get back to Maine, you should have the builder replace all these bolts with mild steel ones. They should have known that."

"Well I know you are doing the best you can Amy. If the engines fixed, then why don't we go topside and fix us a drink. I think you need a little break."

"I'm okay. I just got a little upset that's all."

"A little upset? Amy I watched you take that poster off the piling," she said and reached into Amy's skirt pocket to pull out the crumpled and dog eared piece of paper. "You're thinking about getting another job huh?" Amy looked sheepish as she turned to gather up the high heels she had thrown, and slipped them on her feet, more of an excuse to avoid looking at her employer than to actually put the shoes on. "Come on, I want to talk to you about this."

Amy reluctantly followed her employer up the ladder and out of the engine room. It was only a short walk to the master bedroom, a location chosen away from the other guests and where Amy and Cynthia could talk in private.

"What would you like for a drink," she asked of her Engineer acting as the perfect host as she did so?

"I'm fine," Amy said nervously; a reaction she often displayed when she was topside and out of her mechanical element in the lavish confines of the ships interior.

"Rubbish Amy. Then Gin and Tonic is shall be," the woman said as she splashed in a heavy amount of Gin, then a lesser so amount of tonic and handed the tumbler to Amy. As Amy took it with trembling hands, she tried to cross her legs and look nonchalant as the woman poured her own drink and sat in the settee across from the bed. As her right leg crossed over the left however, Cynthia noticed a small blotch of oil that had stained her nylons. "Oh Amy, you got oil on your stockings, here change out of them before that oil irritates your skin."

Amy had to push the hemline of her uniform up a bit to see the stain Cynthia was speaking about, but knew Cynthia was more concerned about the oil staining the linens on her bed than she was having the oil irritate her skin. Still Amy reached up under her skirt to pull the offending piece of clothing from off her hips and then quickly kicked off her shoes. Tugging the semi-opaque fabric down her long legs, Amy noticed Cynthia's gaze never wavered from her legs even as she walked across the room to a small trash can located next to the nightstand.

"Now tell me Amy, why would someone even consider giving up a job such as this? We only sail in good seas; we have only the best food, not to mention the very best yacht in the marina?"

"I know," she said looking down. "You have been wonderful to work for, but I am just getting tired of it"

"Tired of what Amy? If it's the pay, we can change that. This is our third yacht Amy, and you are the best Engineer we have ever had. Do you know how long it would have taken other engineers to figure out why the bolts are loosening up on that engine? You figured it out in no time, and that is what we need when we are underway."

"Perhaps, but I am just not comfortable here. I did not go through four years of college at the Maine Maritime Academy to tighten bolts on a diesel engine wearing a skirt and stockings. It might be alright for some people, but it's just not for me Ms. Myers."

Cynthia tipped her tumbler up and sent the remaining contents of the drink into her mouth, then stood up and began to laugh; a hearty deep laugh that lasted for a minute before she stood up only to sit next to Amy on the bed.

"Amy, Amy, Amy, my dear girl, you have so much to learn. You make it sound as if wearing a dress and heels is a punishment. Men are such blubbering fools for a woman in heels and a dress. Tomorrow you will put on my little black Marciano dress and a pair of my black stiletto heels, and we will go ashore and see how many men take notice."

"Ms. Myers, it's not about whether men like me in a dress or not."

"Then what is it Amy? Shore time? Vacation? More chances to meet men," she asked with a smile?

"No, but the latter would be nice," she joked back, the alcohol now giving her stomach a warm glow to it that also relaxed her. "I hate to admit it, but it has been awhile."

"Amy, you don't need a man," Cynthia said with a smirk and reached out to pull at her chin and steer Amy's lips tightly against hers.

This was her first kiss; at least her first passionate kiss with another woman. She watched in silence as the woman tilted her head towards her, but Jennifer was expecting her to whisper something to her, or at the most, give her an understanding peck upon her cheek. Instead her lips landed squarely upon hers, open and embracing. When her tongue probed, Amy parted her lips, and allowed the woman the pleasure of swirling her tongue about her mouth, lashing her teeth with it until Jennifer returned the passion with her own sweet tongue. The kiss had lasted for a full ten seconds, and now that the other woman had broken it, she was waiting for Amy's reaction.

Jennifer's mind reeled as the woman pulled her mouth away from hers, the woman now searching Jennifer for an expression... any expression, to prove whether the kiss they just shared had been consensual.

"Another woman is...is...is so very romantic," she said softly and took her hands into hers.

"I've never...I never imagined I..."

"I know, me either, but there is something special about another woman...a woman's touch...a woman's kiss.." the lady said, and gripping her hands in the manner that she did, Jennifer felt secure as the beige comforter seemed to melt around upon her bottom as the other woman moved beside her, then tilted her head and moved in for a second kiss.

Jennifer leaned towards the older woman, her hands going around Cynthia's back, pulling her closer in an unmistakable display of consent. Cynthia's lips did not waste precious time and quickly found the young woman's, her probing tongue stealing all thoughts that homosexuality was somehow wrong. Jennifer's lips parted in turn, quicker and more open than they had the first time, as she accepted the wave of passion that now overwhelmed her.

"No", Jennifer cried when Cynthia broke the ten second kiss, her lips trailing off hers to draw a path down her chin, over her neck where it paused to suck, to nibble, to tease...

"Yes," Cynthia said in response, for she knew Jennifer was not referring to disgust over their steamy moment of passion, but from the retreat of her tongue from deep within her mouth. 'Yes Jennifer, oh yes" she repeated, and smiled a wantonness smile as she sunk to her knees on the floor of the boat that rocked on the bay's gentle seas.

Cynthia never unlocked her gaze from Jennifer's pleasure derived eyes as she swooned down into the most submissive of positions and covered her slightly hairy sex with her lips in one deft move. For an instant, Jennifer had the urge to run for the woman was so smooth, so gentle, and so seductive, that Jennifer knew she was in the presence of an experienced woman; a woman whose gentleness and reassurance radiated from her smile, her lips, and now her tongue. Jennifer could only coo as she flicked it expertly upon her sex. She even moaned aloud as the woman placed her hands on her inner thighs and pushed her legs further distant, gaining access to her most secluded of body parts.

She went limp at the ministrations she felt upon her neither region. All thoughts of fleeing escaped her as feelings of love, tenderness and lust began to well up after months of dormancy. "It's been so long," she thought. "So very, very long," as a liquid fire began to eminent from her depths. She felt her lover dab at them with her tongue, then flick in time with the moisture that was increasing proportionally with her feelings, until Cynthia's tongue had to lap continuously at the trickle of lust that was leaking from the young woman's very core.

For minutes Jennifer fought the urge, but then gave in, reaching between her outstretched legs and lustfully grabbed Cynthia's hair with her hands. Holding it in clumps, she guided her, first a bit higher, and then harder upon her mound so that it was pinned with pleasure and pressure like no man could ever do.

Then she felt it. Cynthia's hand sliding under the foam of the mattress to settle between the crack of her bottom. As it toyed at her anus, Jennifer twitched and felt a single finger enter her anus. Jennifer squirmed, feeling her lover's feminine mouth bounce over her sex as her finger settled deeply inside of her, feeling it fill a void she never knew she had.

Then no sooner had her finger probed the ribbed passage of her bottom when Jennifer's orgasm exploded within her. It was an explosion without warning, an explosion without build-up, and an explosion without the crested wave that occurred with the men in her life. This time it was just the all-knowing knowledge of another female that gave her an orgasm she had never experienced before, and she heard herself screaming in ecstasy in the aft cabin. As tears streamed down her cheeks at the pleasure of it all, Jennifer looked at Cynthia, her faced speckled with her fluids.

"Jennifer you're crying."

"I needed that. Oh how I needed that, but..."

"But you're confused. I know, I felt the same way once myself. But now...now I know what I need. I need you Amy, as an Engineer for our yacht, and as a companion. Please don't leave this yacht Amy."

Looking down through blurry, tears filled eyes, Amy looked at her employer as she never had before. Without question, the woman had the means to acquire anything she wanted, from the finest linens, to the most lavish yachts, and yet now she looked at Amy with a need so profound, it almost scared her. As Cynthia shifted on the gently rocking floor of the moored yacht, Amy could not help but feel the power she held as Cynthia did not move from one of the most submissive positions of mankind. As a smile spread across Cynthia's face, Amy realized it was a position she truly revered.

"I guess having to wear a skirt and heels on this yacht isn't so bad after all," Amy said with a big grin.