The Sea Island Inn

The Sea Island Inn

Note-- This story began life as a short NC tale in 2015. I have expanded it and placed it in Romance in fond memory of Janet Daily 1944-2013. One of her best was Touch the Wind, which begins with a brutal kidnapping. As often happens in romance, a domineering male figure captures a woman's heart after many struggles and misunderstandings.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monica was bored. Michael had taken the crew onshore for a well deserved break. She had no desire to join the all-male holiday, so here she sat, reading. Throwing the book down, she stood up and looked out the large window. Across Biscayne Bay, she could see Coral Gables, probably 3 or 4 miles away. The hotel jungle of Miami loomed in the haze to her right. Though she had spent plenty of time on the yacht on this trip, Monica much preferred solid land. Terra Firma. Home Firma. New York City Firma.

She also preferred action and people, and sitting here anchored and alone on the 75 ft. yacht offered neither. Why didn't I go? she thought. I could have found a spa or something. Oh well, time for some sun. Shedding her pajamas and quickly changing into her bikini and a light coverup, she headed out the glass door to the aft deck.

She slid the door closed. Something was wrong. The boat dipped in an odd way though there were no big waves to be seen. A blonde head appeared at the stern. A man stepped easily over the rail. Monica backed up, ready to retreat inside. He was quite tall, tanned and wore only a pair of cutoff shorts. His hair was sun-bleached, his body lean and muscular.

"What do you want?" she called. He casually walked toward her, stopping about ten feet away. He stared straight into her eyes. "My boyfriend is on his way back. What do you need?" Her voice cracked a little. He remained silent. "I'm going to call him." Her hand touched the door handle. It was hard to take her eyes off of him. He gave a slight shake of his head, freezing her on the spot. He moved closer, looking directly down on her. His blue eyes mesmerized.

The Sun glinted through his hair and highlighted his chiseled face.

He beckoned her away from the door, out into the sunlight. Monica found herself moving forward. "Please, what do you want?" He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head a bit, as though to say, "What do you think I want?"

"He'll be back any minute!" Her voice had turned into a plea. He waited. Monica was melting. "Who are you?" she asked, weakly. He still had not spoken a word. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and pointed 2 index fingers at her shoulders. He moved his fingers outward in an arc. She knew what he wanted. Her eyes glanced downward, bare feet shuffling on the deck. He waited. Monica's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her resistance melting, her hand moved to the buttons on the front of her coverup. In a moment, it fluttered to the deck.

She faced him in a skimpy blue bikini, her face reddening. She looked up again, expecting some indication of approval. A nod, a small smile. There was no change in his face. His eyes still burned into her. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. Monica cringed. She knew. A tear formed as she reached back to release the clasp. The bikini top joined the coverup on the floor. She knew better than to cover her breasts with her hands. She just stood there, her mind reeling. He was in no hurry. His eyes appraised her breasts before returning to her face.

"Please, Sir, I-"

His power was overwhelming her. He pinched his thumb and finger together and made a pulling motion. Trembling, she reached down and pulled the bows at her hips. She had to part her legs to get the fabric to fall. She stood before him naked and gasping for breath. Again, he waited. A random thought came up in her mind about her tan lines, which were quite obvious at this moment. As if to make that thought worse, he twirled his finger.

"Please, I can't, uh."

Awkwardly, she made a slow full circle. On the way, through tearful vision, she saw their reflections in the glass door.

Can I make it back through the door? No, he would be on me in a second. Again, his eyes raked over her exposed body, his face expressionless. Monica closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think. When they opened, he towered over her, pointing to the floor. With a long sigh, she sank to her knees, her heart pounding.

She had to look almost straight up. The stranger extended 2 fingers. He moved them apart giving an unmistakable message. Blushing, Monica slowly moved her knees apart. "Please! Don't hurt me!" she pleaded.

Slowly, he stepped right up to her face. She could feel him through his shorts. Monica knew what he wanted without any hand signals. The sun was now behind him and she was in his shadow, the sunlight turning his hair into a kind of halo.

She reached up to unfasten his shorts and pull them down. No underwear, no tan lines. His hard organ flopped out against her cheek. His male smell, though not too strong, drifted to her nose. Monica had done this many times though not under these circumstances.

She took his cock in her mouth and started swirling her tongue. She moved her lips slowly over the head. Rinse and repeat. He remained still for a few moments, then started moving his hips in time with her. He put his hands behind his back. Monica realized that, in a way, she was volunteering for this. She put her hands on his thighs and kept bobbing. She felt a familiar tension in his body. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and began pumping.

Monica glanced upward. He was looking right into her eyes, his mouth tightening into a grimace. Before long, he began a series of groans. "Uh, uhh, uh, uhh, umm, uh, ahh!" As he spurted into her, she thought, "That was the first sound he has made." Softening, he pulled away and bent down to pull up his shorts. He turned and padded away, stepped over the rail and disappeared. Monica, breathless, stayed in her position for long moments. She stood, leaving her garments on the floor, and headed indoors for the shower, one hand already rubbing her crotch.

A massage head on a personal shower is a girl's best friend. Since their fling had now stretched into a year of living together, Michael had regularly rocked her boat, but this encounter with stranger danger aroused Monica beyond recent memory. The delicious pulse produced a groaning apex that propelled her against the shower wall.

With lungs still heaving, she retrieved her clothing from the deck and collapsed on a daybed. Had it really happened? The pungent aftertaste in her mouth confirmed it. There is no taste on earth comparable to warm, slimy man-milk. She began to cry. The images flashed through her mind. She could have been killed or kidnapped! Just wait until they return. This had to be reported!

Monica sobbed and napped for two hours. As Michael boarded with the crew, she greeted him, dressed and clean, with a lingering kiss. "Mmmm, I missed you today. I'm so glad you're back."

"With a kiss like that, I should have stayed here! I hope you weren't bored here all day. Any shark sightings or sea monsters?"

"Sea Monsters? Uh, no! I um, just relaxed and finished my book." She looked away for a second.

"Are you OK? You seem a little nervous."

"No, I'm fine. I think I'll go for a little swim. What did you guys do?"

"We went to a game! The Marlins are in town. They lost, but we had a great time. Watch out for those sea monsters!"

She impulsively hugged him and whispered, "After dinner I want to show you how much I missed you." She bit his ear, scampered out to the deck, shed her cover, and stepped off a small diving platform. Starting a strong crawl stroke, she swam along the side of the boat, instinctively moving away from the twin screws. She thought, "I almost lost it there, but I can't tell him yet. I have to think." The water cooled the blush that had formed as he said "Monster."

Monica had just seen a glimpse of the stranger's runabout. It had a dark blue bimini top. There weren't that many boats this far from shore. She might spot him! At this thought she felt the heat return to her face. Stop! You're with a good man. You had a wild daydream. That's all. Ducking her head underwater, Monica tried to ban the images of the day from her mind. She completed a full circle of the yacht, finishing with a sprint back to the platform. Oh. He stood right here. He climbed up this ladder. I was standing right there, frozen. I did exactly what he wanted. No, commanded. She pictured herself, kneeling, dumbly following his gestures like a mindless puppet.

Wait, he made me strip and kneel, but he didn't make me suck his cock. That was on me. He didn't make me get so hot I had to rub one out. OK, OK, dinner, attack Michael, tomorrow's another day.

She strolled into the dining room wearing a strapless black dress and red heels. Dinner, filet mignon and asparagus, had just been served. Monica walked up behind Michael and nuzzled his neck. "Darling, I'm really hungry. Could we ask Luis to keep this warm for a while? Hmm?"

In a split-second, Michael got the drift. "Uh, sure Sweetie." Monica grabbed his hand and started away. "Wait a second." He swerved toward the wall. "Let me tell him on the intercom." She half-dragged him to the master suite and sat him in an easy chair. "Sweetie, I'm kinda sweaty. Let me hop in the shower."

"No time for that. Besides, I like your smell." She raised her dress a bit, straddled his lap, and started sniffing his chest. "You smell like a man. My man." She stood and turned around. "Please." He reached up to lower the zipper. She stepped a few feet away and turned to face him. One side at a time the dress slowly descended to the floor. Only a pair of stilettos and a matching red bikini panty remained. Her breasts were not overly large, but as Michael often said, "More than a good handful is a waste."

Monica went to all fours and wormed her way up his body. She started a rain of kisses around his neck and face and lightly humped his leg while unbuttoning his shirt. His arousal commenced rapidly. She faced away. In a husky whisper, "Please."

He started to peel the red panties off her hips. As often happened, the sticky crotch part stayed in place. He reached over to pinch it lightly. "Mmmm." As the last part gave way, he reached up to touch again. "Mmmm, not so fast, big boy." nudging the panties off her ankles, she turned and started to work on his trousers. Monica knew that for any man, having a naked woman undress him was a major turn-on. Michael was no exception to that rule. His penis sprang up to salute her passion.

"What do we have here?" Lightly licking around the head and then taking him in, she heard his intake of breath. His smell, musky from the long day, radiated pure maleness. The taste was not great, but she was on a mission: erase the morning's memory. Without a shower she wasn't going to teabag him, but her scratching and tickling fingernails made him gasp. She took his hands one at a time and guided him to a "good handful," and started bobbing in earnest.

Monica could recognise certain shudders and gasps, and she chose the right moment to rise up, straddle him, and bury him to the hilt. She began the slowest possible ascent, ending with a tight clench and a little wiggle. On the fourth repeat of this excruciating move, he came with great grunts and gasps. She knew to continue moving to prolong his delicious tickle.

After a moment, he slid his hand along her thigh. "No, darling, not tonight. This was for you. You have never failed to satisfy me, but it's time to eat. Please take your shower." She went to the intercom and asked the galley to bring dinner to their room with one set of silverware. After cleaning up at the sink, she slipped on a robe and waited for Luis.

For the next hour Monica knelt beside Michael in bed enjoying the steak supper. She dipped each spear of Asparagus in butter sauce, slid half in her mouth, and let him nibble his share, ending in a greasy kiss. A bite of meat for him, one for her. She opened her robe to receive butter kisses on her breasts. He picked up the last stalk of Asparagus, dipped it in the butter sauce, and began sliding it along her slit. The little nubs on the tip rubbed across her clit. "Ahh...mmmm..." In the back of her mind she knew that butter was not the best substance for this, but it certainly felt like the best. "Ohh, Michael."

He rolled the stalk as it teased along each side of the target. Monica lay on her side and raised one leg to give him full access. "Oh my God, that feels so good!" Mmmm. He replaced the stalk with a buttered finger, using a circular motion. By this time her clit was so sensitive that she couldn't handle direct contact, but he knew how close to graze. She started moving her hips and gasping. The smell in the room, a mixture of her secretions and butter, added to the sensual atmosphere.

He sensed the right moment and began a light, rapid motion right across the tip. Monica exploded in a frenzy of pants and wheezes. Her hand flew to his, trying to push it off, but he kept up the pressure for another half-minute. Finally, her deep sighs faded to silence. After a few moments of cuddling and sweet talk, she headed for her second shower in four hours. In the confines of the stall, her body began to smell like french toast.

"Thank you Michael. I guess I did need that."

"Sweetie, I don't know what came over you today, but I like it! I can't decide whether I should leave more often or just hang around you to see what happens." He pulled her into a tight spoon. "G'night."

Monica gave out a big sigh. "G'night Darling."

They were scheduled to stay in Biscayne Bay for another few days. Monica spent much of the time on the aft deck with a book, but she spent increasing time scanning the bay for an unfinished tale, known only as "Blue Bimini." She managed to keep up her charade when Michael would appear on deck, but her cheeks would often redden at what, in another setting, might be called the elephant in the room. But two 'sea monsters' kindled her anxiety: One was named Guilt, and the other was Curiosity.

On the afternoon of the second day, three possibilities sped by at a distance. One came back. Twice. Monica froze. It had to be him. The silent stranger circled her boat at 200 feet, then sharply angled toward land. She let out the first breath in over a minute. Heart racing, she thought, It's him! I have no way to contact him. Let it go. Let him go.

Michael chose that moment to walk on deck with a small toolbox. "Hi, I thought you finished that book."

"Huh? Oh, it was so good I wanted to read some of it again," she lied, hardly even realizing it was the same book. "Is something broken?"

"Oh no, I'm just tinkering. I thought we might head out tomorrow, spend some time at Hilton Head. What do you think?"

"That's fine. I would like to go ashore to that fresh market place on South Bayshore, pick up some shrimp and veggies, OK?"

"Good idea! Take Luis. He says the freezer is empty. You can go in the morning and we'll leave early in the afternoon. Oh and get some more Asparagus." He winked. "And butter."

As he walked toward the stern, she blushed again. She thought, What am I doing? I can't betray him, and I can't stop wondering about HIM. OK, I have a day to decide. Decide what? I won't see him again, and if I do? What? Run up a white flag? Throw myself overboard?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

About halfway to Coconut Grove, she spotted him off the port bow, practically leading her in. As they tied up she lost sight of the blue escort. Catching a Lyft, they walked into the market in minutes. Luis headed for seafood while Monica spotted the produce section. Was he here? She took a quick glance around the cavernous building. Nothing. OK, get busy. Baby beet leaves. Check. Bell Peppers. Check. What's this? Jicama. Ugh. No. Oh yes. Asparagus.

Someone, a tall someone, brushed by, dropping a note on the lettuce stand. He left a faint swirl of cologne in his wake but kept walking. Monica leaned on the edge of the counter and looked to the left to see a broad back heading away. Shaking, she grabbed the little yellow note, balled it up and dropped it under the stand. No. This can't happen! I can't throw everything away on that self-centered jackass! He got all the pleasure. What did I get? Nothing but humiliation. I might as well have been a knothole in a fence. He got the goodies, I got the goo. Walk. Away.

Luis joined her at the checkout, immediately spotting her tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. "Hold my basket, Luis. I forgot to get some Romaine."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The note stayed in the bottom of her purse for days, through stops at Hilton Head and Virginia Beach, and back home to West Islip, Long Island. For a week, opening the house up and running errands pushed the dilemma to the rear. But her purse was radioactive.

Temptation triumphed when Michael left on a four-day business trip to Philadelphia. Alone in the house, she still fled to the bathroom, turned the lock, and turned the purse into the sink. Lint covered the sticky residue on the note. Her shaky fingers tore the note a couple times in the unraveling, but ten characters, in pencil, assaulted Monica's eyes. A phone number.

912. Savannah. That was easy to find. I can't contact him. He'll know my number and where I live. Let it go.

The next day she found an application that let her send an anonymous message. Time to get off the pot.

-You live in Georgia?-

Two hours later:

Who wants to know?

-You know who-

Give me a clue... Please

-You didn't introduce yourself-

Oh!.. Neither did you

-Couldn't talk with mouth full- :-o

So yes I live in Peach Central... You?

-Northeast-

That narrows it down!

-Risky-

Risky... or frisky?

-Gotta go-

We're going to meet again... think it over... I owe you one...get back to me next week.

-Wow... arrogant much?-

Yes... submissive much?

She clicked off, almost dropping the phone, and collapsed on the floor. Monica's self-image did not include the word "submissive." At least, not until this moment, as his texted words produced a blush. Michael was the all-American male, but had never ordered her around or treated her roughly.

For the hundredth time, she replayed the, what was it? The Event? The Episode? The Encounter? No, it was an assault. He had taken her by surprise and forced himself on her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monica played the responsible, loving housemate for two long months. She knew he couldn't find her through the app. Michael played the traveling businessman. He represented a group of investors and venture capitalists looking for opportunities in construction, agriculture, and mining projects in South and Central America.

He was traveling for a couple of weeks every three months or so, but Monica always arranged a lover's welcome: Candles on the table, candles on the nightstand, and candles around the hot tub. Making love in the warm, swirling, whirlpool always left him drained and drowsy.

She resolved to send one more message: "Forget it." She couldn't bear to send it while Michael was home. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Dinner parties. Auld Lang Syne. January blizzards.

On a bleak February day, Michael left for Panama. "I might be gone a little longer this time. Panama is always difficult because of our history with them. "I hate to leave you in the snow, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

Once again, locked in the bathroom:

-This isn't happening. I'm with someone else-