Stormy Weather

I was worried about going too fast because of squishy fucking noises. Apparently she was too, because we fucked super-slowly. We continued for ages, which, once again, was actually kind of nice. It gave me plenty of time to acquaint myself with her tits. She let them brush my face, and I nibbled and tweaked her nipples to my heart's content. I still didn't get the whole Jekyll/Hyde dynamic, but this part was fine with me.

A tread creaked. We froze. Someone was quietly coming down the companionway ladder. He sat at the nav station and focused silently on a chart. We were maybe 5 feet behind him, with our coupled parts aimed right at him. We could hear everything he did, even the scratching of his pencil on the chart. He sat there for so long that Courtney eventually had to lower herself ultra-carefully onto my chest to rest, letting her big tits crush slowly against me. She lowered her head and rested it beside mine, cheek-to-cheek, which seemed uncharacteristically intimate.

Unfortunately, all I could think about was her breasts squashed against my chest and my dick motionless in her tunnel. As the minutes went by, I developed an overwhelming urge to fuck her. It was hard to conceive of a better chance. I decided that I should try, as long as I could keep it totally quiet. I began, excruciatingly slowly, just pushing in as gradually as possible, then withdrawing carefully. Courtney responded in kind by slowly rotating her hips at me. It felt good, even if the whole maneuver took most of a minute. We kept it up.

This, too, had advantages. I could feel the minute sensations of sliding through her, inch by inch. I also thought I might be driving her crazy, which seemed only fair. But it had a big disadvantage, too: no one was going to get off this way.

I slid a hand between us and got a finger on her clit. I rubbed it with a circular motion.

"NO!" she whispered ultra-quietly in my ear."No, no no no! Dave...!". She tried to move off my finger, but she had to move carefully and I was able to keep it in place. I did stop the clit-tickling, though, because the nav guy had turned to look over his shoulder. Courtney gave me a little hug to keep me extra still. He was looking directly at her pussy with my cock in it and at everything else that view entails, but apparently he couldn't see much in the dark. Maybe he was blinded by the nav light. He expected people to be sleeping here anyway, so after a quick glance around he went back to his chart. Courtney let out a long, silent breath.

I rubbed my fingertip over her clit again. She twitched, and I heard a stifled "Nnnnnnggghh."

I had her in a nice predicament. She couldn't get off my finger quietly, and she seemed worried about coming if she didn't. Two can play annoying games! I swirled my finger around her clit some more, feeling clever.

She chomped down on my ear and held it in her teeth, gradually increasing the pressure until I had to stop. I moved my hand away in surrender.

After that we just hugged, waiting him out. Unfortunately another guy came down the companionway first. He stumbled around blindly before settling into a lower cot and then started reading by flashlight. I quietly pulled the blanket over us, and, still connected, we eventually dozed off.

****

Once again, she was gone in the morning. That girl was a genius at getting in and out of other people's beds, which gave some amusing credence to the rumors, I thought. And once again, I was bare-ass naked. I hastily made myself presentable, grabbed some coffee and went up on deck, kind of missing my briefs. With Courtney around, going commando was uncomfortable.

The wind was very light. The boat was ghosting along over a smooth, dark sea, an awesome 20-ton, six-story monster making nary a sound and barely a ripple. The clouds were brighter. Courtney was wearing her tiny cut-offs and a tight, chopped-off tee shirt that hung far out in front of her. She was sitting there next to a Swedish guy who was warming up his fingers between her thighs. The navigator came up and sat next to her, probably hoping for a close-up of her butt when she stood back up. I could almost have sympathized with her plight if she weren't playing the field so obviously.

"Good morning, asshole," she said to me sternly.

Boss Dad was on his way up the companionway. "Courtney!" he erupted. "We already discussed this! That's no way to talk!"

The Swedish guy looked unruffled, but not as unruffled as Courtney. "Dad, Dave was doing something unsafe last night! He could have embarrassed us both! I stopped him but he wasn't grateful, so he was being an asshole again!"

Boss Dad stood over her and pointed a finger. "Just stop it, OK?! Dave is a nice young man! And while we're at it, put some fucking clothes on! You look like a goddamn...!... Anyway, we're gonna have some real weather today!... Then you can come back and explain your problem with Dave. I'll decide who's right."

Being a nice young man wasn't going to help me with Courtney. True to form, she snorted and went back to ignoring me.

I decided to ignore her too. But then I thought, why? I shifted over to directly across from her and sipped my coffee while perving on her barely-covered crotch as obviously as possible.

Distractedly looking all around to show she wasn't paying any attention to anyone, Courtney opened her knees a little. The Swedish guy took the opportunity to move his hand further up the inside of her thigh, almost all the way up. It sent another pretty clear message that they were fucking. Maybe I was an asshole, but she was annoying... a perfect match, actually, now that I thought about it.

Then, right behind her father, who was cleaning up lines and pontificating on comportment, she opened her knees all the way, to roughly fucking angle, and locked eyes with me.

Hmmm.

She didn't smile, or wink, or even nod at me, or remove the enormous hand from high inside her thigh. She just stared at me. I focused as obviously as possible on the tiny strip of fabric between her legs, and she kept her knees wide. Maybe she liked teasing me, or challenging me. Maybe she wanted to fuck me, or maybe she wanted me to watch the Swedish guy molest her. It was impossible to tell. As the seconds went by, though, it started to feel like an invitation. At least she wasn't ignoring me any more. We just surveyed each other from across the cockpit for a while, about ten feet apart, each sipping our coffee and contemplating what we would like to do with the other's body, while her father continued his harangue and the Swede kneaded the soft, white flesh of her naked upper thigh.

I wanted to be all over her. Like kudzu.

****

We had tracked West of the storm, and now the wind was blowing from slightly behind us, as planned. For extra speed we hoisted a spinnaker, or "'chute," the huge, colorful sail that hangs from the masthead and balloons out in front of a boat. To catch the wind, one lower corner has to be held out to the side with a pole, which on this boat was almost 20 feet long and as big around as a volleyball. The pole is anchored a few feet up the mast and held in place by an uphaul, a downhaul, and a line running back to the stern. Keeping a spinnaker properly trimmed is an exacting job, especially when the breeze is strong and shifty and the boat is pitching and rolling.

The wind built all morning, and by lunchtime it was blowing so hard that all the lines were humming. The chute was straining at its shackles and rigid as steel. Our enormous boat was surfing down the backs of the waves at over 20 knots, which sounds slow but is plenty exciting in a huge racing machine, given the forces and instabilities involved. Boss Dad had us put on our rain gear, life preservers and safety harnesses, which was smart. Conditions were deteriorating.

All hands were on deck. Courtney and I were trimming the pole uphaul and downhaul, the least exciting jobs, so we had a chance to look around. We were nearing Bermuda, and other boats were converging on our course. Six others were directly behind us at various distances. Courtney was, of course, talking only to the Swedish guys, but once when she had to slide past me to get up to the bow, she intentionally raked her tits across my chest. It was over in a flash. A minute later, as she raced back toward the cockpit, I held up a hand at tit level and stupidly said, "High two!" She dodged me with a frown. Boss Dad, who was in the cockpit, was eyeing me suspiciously. I turned the gesture into a wave.

All was going well and we were reeling off the miles until Courtney suddenly turned to her father in mid-sentence and yelled, "BROACH!", pointing astern.

A broach is rare, but really bad. It usually happens when a rogue gust overpowers the spinnaker and pushes it so hard that the boat tips all the way onto its side, dumping the spinnaker down into the water, where it acts as the most effective sea anchor ever. The boat stops dead and, because the rudder has been lifted out of the water, does a quick 180°. People can be thrown off, the pole can be bent double, and the boat can be dismasted or even sink.

I looked aft where Courtney was pointing and saw five spinnakers and, in the far distance, a bare, rocking mast. As I watched, the next furthest boat was slammed onto its side.

We looked at each other. "Mayday!" I yelled. "Dump the chute!" Courtney hitched her safety harness to a shroud. I ran for the companionway hatch cover and slammed it shut. Boss Dad, who was driving, looked over his shoulder just as the next boat went down like it had been hit by a train. Three were left.

Lowering a big chute back into the boat isn't easy, especially in heavy air. Without about five people in the right positions and coordinating perfectly, it can drop into the water in front of the boat and get run over by the keel, with deleterious consequences. As I watched, the next boat went over, only about a quarter mile back. Now you could see a diagonal line across the water -- normal whitecaps on our side; nothing but white water beyond, with foam going airborne right off the surface. A meteorological oddity, a sharp-edged front. I'd seen one before, but they're rare. Dangerous.

Time was standing still, but so were we all. As we watched, the front enveloped the next boat and whacked it down like a kid's toy. One left, then us.

The sailmaker yelled at the Swedish guys to smoke the halyard, the line that holds the top of the spinnaker up. That was a good idea. Even if the spinnaker were only partway down, it would exert less force on the boat. Seconds were left. The last boat behind us went down, spun, and slowly rocked back up, spinnaker in tatters. They were lucky.

The extra length of our spinnaker halyard was tied in a nice, neat coil. Bad technique. As the Swedes tried feverishly to free it, there was a howling sound like a jet engine and a huge gust hit. Over we went. The pole went straight down into the water along with half the chute, the masthead hit the water, the rudder came up and the boat stopped and spun violently. Everyone was thrown sideways, then forwards, as water filled the cockpit up to the centerline. For a few endless seconds, the ocean was lapping against the closed companionway hatch. People on the low side were up to their necks. Courtney and I, up on the cabin top, grabbed a line that ran along the deck and dangled from it, submerged up to our knees. The boat creaked and groaned. Somewhere a line snapped, and a shackle ricocheted off the aluminum mast like a gunshot. Then the spinnaker was ripped into shreds and the boat slowly righted itself, pointed back toward Rhode Island. We rocked in the waves, going nowhere.

"We're losing time," shouted Boss Dad, pointing at the ruined chute. "Get that fucking thing down and get the jib up!"

Yes, distance racing is lots of fun.

****

The front passed, and normal routines slowly resumed. It was still blowing hard, but under only the jib we were able to take turns going below to dry off. Everyone seemed a little shaken, realizing we could have sunk. It took a while to get back to our regular selves, but eventually Boss Dad thought to ask, "Where's Courtney? It's her watch."

She had disappeared. With no spinnaker up and everyone still jangled, she hadn't been missed. I shrugged when he looked at me.

"And where are Lars and Erik?" Boss Dad continued. He was getting steamed. Courtney had deserted her post -- for what? He had the sailmaker take the helm and went below. I followed.

There was no one around.

"She didn't fall over, right?" he asked me, disbelieving.

"Nope."

"Well...." He looked around, puzzled. He knocked on the door of the head and checked inside, even though three people wouldn't fit. He was about to check the forecabin when the door opened and Courtney trooped out in just her tank top and micro cut-offs, followed by the Swedes. She looked stunned and disheveled, and braless, of course, with her pants button open and her hair gone wild. Her top had migrated up almost beyond acceptable levels. It was her most convincing just-fucked look yet. She gave Boss Dad her very best impression of wide-eyed innocence.

"Where the FUCK have you three been?" Boss Dad demanded. "This better be good."

"Looking for the other spinnaker," Courtney replied promptly. That was a pretty good answer... except for one thing: the second spinnaker was for light air. If Courtney was really trying to fool him, she should have thought harder.

Perhaps compounding the damage, Courtney thought to pull her tank top back down. Then she spent a moment carefully boosting her boobs back up. When she was done, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. The gravity of the challenge was slightly impaired by a strap falling off her shoulder.

Boss Dad was furious. "Courtney...," he spluttered, "We've talked about this! And we had a deal! I told you, stay away from those guys! And get some real clothes on! Christ!... Dave, you're on her shift... Would you fucking keep track of her for me, please? Don't let her anywhere near these guys. Tie her up if you have to. Courtney, stay with Dave and do what he says. That's an order!" He glared at her again and stomped back up on deck.

"Anything he says?" Courtney called after him. "Anything at all?"

****

When our watch was over, Courtney sat me down at the dining table in the dark. "Well, now that we're officially meant to be together, I guess we can talk," she whispered.

"That was a good save today."

"Which one?" she asked.

"Well, saving the boat is always good, but that 'looking for a spinnaker' excuse was pretty transparent." I explained the problem.

"Thanks. Of course he knew about the spinnaker! I wanted him to think I was lying! You get it, right?"

"Uuhhmmmm... give me a minute.... So... in the forecabin... you weren't looking for a spinnaker?"

"Lars and Erik thought we were. I just needed a moment to muss myself up a little."

"Are you just trying to piss off your dad? It's working!"

"He deserves it, the control freak! I'm nineteen! But actually, it was more about misdirection."

"Misdirection?" My head was spinning.

"We had a problem. Dad told me he was going to have me swap shifts with one of the Swedes!"

"Why? What changed?"

She sighed. "Here's the deal... Y'know, for obvious reasons I'm not crazy about these long races. I declined this one, initially. But when I heard you were crewing, I thought it might be interesting. I always kind of liked you in school. You were respectful and never unkind or part of the rumor mill, but flirting a down a grade would have made me look too slutty, on top of all the other rumors about me. So I thought this race might be a good chance to reconnect. The problem was that my folks know about the rumors, from other parents, and they thought my change of heart right after you signed on was suspicious. So... I may have told them you were a disgusting little twerp."

"Thanks."

"Anytime. Anyway, when I convinced them of that, they let me on board. Then I had to get on your watch, so we could play around at night. That was the whole point in coming, after all! Fortunately, I knew Dad wouldn't want me on his watch, 'cause I'm a back seat driver. I get on his nerves. The nav guy took himself out of contention on Day One by being creepy. But to disqualify the Swedes, I had to act like I couldn't be trusted alone with either one of them. That meant convincing Dad that both of them were more fuckable than you. That got us on the same watch."

"But, but... you kept ignoring me, even afterwards!"

"Well, obviously I couldn't be seen acting friendly with a twerp! We had to keep up appearances so Dad wouldn't change the shifts again and split us up. So I ignored you and complained about you every chance I got. 'Course, I didn't want you to think the complaints were serious... "

"You could have clued me in, at least, though!"

"Yeah... but I was worried that you might blow the whole thing. Like today, after I couldn't resist tit-strafing you, you got familiar and tried to grab a boob. Dad saw that and told me he was going to separate us, so I had to take emergency action."

"So... you weren't really fucking in the forecabin?" I asked.

"What!? God, no! They're dumb as rocks!"

"But, but... the rumors? They're why I thought you might be getting it on with them," I added lamely.

"That's why Dad did too! My reputation helped me sell it! But actually I'm a lot more bark than bite. Those old stories about me are mostly a product of my look. I just like being... noticed. It's fun. Sorry to disappoint you."

'Noticed.' Hmmm. "Well, in that case... are there any plans for tonight?" I asked.

"Well, yeah! This is your night for payback! I have to stay with you, you get to tie me up, and I have to do whatever you say. Captain's orders.... Brilliant, huh?"

Sometimes, manipulative bitches are the best kind.

****

As far as I knew, we were alone below. I felt my way over to the empty leeward side bunks this time. Per Captain's orders, Courtney came with me, following me in the dark with a hand in my belt. I whispered "Strip! That's an order!" and waited to see what would happen. It was dark in this corner, but again, not pitch black; the nav light reflecting around the corner was still enough to trace the outline of shapes once your eyes got adjusted. I could vaguely make out her motions as she obediently stripped herself completely naked. I reached out and confirmed the result by feeling up two big, soft, bare boobs. I played with them while she removed my shirt and shorts and stiffened my dick for me. Then she knelt and sucked while I folded down the top back cot. She climbed in, and I fastened the anti-rollout strap over her as tightly as possible. "Oooooo, Dave!" she whispered, "I'm defenseless!" I climbed up and straddled her, and after a little kissing and rubbing, I started playing my dick over her slot.

"Dave! Hey. Wait a minute!" she whispered.

"What!?"

"You can't make me come! I'll make noises!"

That was annoying. I had definite, unbreakable plans to make her come. "I don't see the problem. You like getting 'noticed!'"

"Yeah, but.. not like that! Not when I'm naked and being fucked and moaning and coming on the dick of some little twerp!"

"Oh, I dunno...," I said skeptically. "If you're not into a good public fucking, I wonder why it's all wet down here.... Maybe you'd like to have a viewing party. Or get done at a sex club."

"Oh, god... don't tell, OK?... Please?"

I slid my dick into her.

She fell back in resignation. "You'd better have a plan!" she whispered as she wrapped her legs around me.

I did, but maybe not the one she expected.