tagGroup SexThe Silver Seas Ch. 01

The Silver Seas Ch. 01


A Re-written Silky Adventure

I pulled Jessica's right nipple into my mouth by using my tongue on the silver ring she has pierced thru it. My sister in turn sucked my left nub into her mouth, and then used her teeth to pull on the bar that goes thru my umber point. She had an easier job, as I was on top, and my tits are bigger.

She stretched out her arm and ran her fingers through what she calls my 'fire crotch,' my flaming red pubic hair. She calls it that because of its color. I mirrored her movements, and slid a finger into the wetness that lay beneath her 'shaved naked pussy.' I call it that because it's, well, duh.

We were relaxing on a Friday afternoon after the end of classes as Spring Break began. A whole week with no studies! Then George walked in on us, without knocking or anything!

"You two don't have time for that, you've got to get packed. We leave for Orange Beach in the morning."

"But George, puh lease, we just want to have fun," I said, my green eyes pleading.

"Three days sailing on the ocean isn't fun?"

"We don't know how to sail, and we don't know your friend Doug. Why can't we just hang out here, and sleep late?" That was Jess. She always wants to sleep late, like every day all day.

"I'm going to teach you how to sail," he replied. "And all about sailing."

Study over Spring Break! He always makes us learn stuff! So he started telling us about boats, and ships and waves and stuff. One thing I learned very quickly was that the back of the boat is the stern. 'Cause that's where George spanked us, every time we made a mistake, on our sterns.

Doug, George's old friend, planned to meet us there. Sailing has lots of strange terms. Like,-- the place you drive the boat -- steer, whatever -- is the "cock pit." George didn't find that nearly as funny as Jess & I did; the main sail? That's called the Mainsail, duh! Only you like don't say "main sail" you say "main'sil." It's hard enough to learn a new language, but then to cheat on the pronunciation is rancorous.

And sailors don't understand left & right; sitting in the bed, facing the headboard, our left was "port" and our right was "starboard." Only when Jess turned around and started kissing me, guess what? Her RIGHT was port, but my right stayed where it was! We got to learn more about sterns then. You're supposed to say "sta'bod," but port stays port. How does that make sense? The front is the bow, where the jib sail is, of course, it's just called the jib or "jib'sl." We started rolling our eyes and yawning.

Then there are the lines and sheets. Everybody sleeps on sheets, right? Wrong! In a stupid boat the stupid sheets are stupid ropes and the stupid beds are bunks, and you can't pull on a rope, you have to haul a line. Or you could go piss up a rope. Or get your stern spanked.

Then George told us about the battle of Trafalgar and Vice-Admiral Horatio Viscount Nelson; when he got to saying, "whore ate she 'ho," we fell out with the giggles, and I think George got pissed off. Especially when Jess said all Nelson did was get killed, even an idiot could do that. We got another lesson on where the stern is before he finally settled down and fucked us.

He started in again on the importance to the world of the British Navy in the 1800s. Thankfully, we were driving topless in his Volvo C-70 convertible in our tiny little bikinis, so we couldn't hear much. George said we could, but he had to put sun block on us. All over us. I didn't know that UV rays could burn you even on your butt when you're sitting down! He had to put lots and lots of sun block on us. Both of us. For about an hour! I mean, honestly! I think the companies that sell sun block should be more accurate in their advertising. Oh, I mean the car was topless, not us!

Jess and I discussed who would drive, I'm a better driver, but she convinced him that we should share, so every damn hour we stopped and then it was run the seat all the way up for me or all the way back for her; those damn long legs. Anyway, we drove down.

Everybody in Alabama knows that the beach is impossible to get to; the interstate goes from Huntsville to Mobile, but the beach is miles away from there, so everybody has their own secret route. I can't tell you ours, it's secret! I do prefer to travel down highway 69, just so I can interject something like I spent two hours doing 69 in conversations.

George's friend Doug met us at the marina. He apparently knows something about sailing. He said he was like a deep water sailor, and I told him that we would be in the ocean with water more than 100 feet deep. I think that's deep enough! He was a hunk, about 6 feet tall with curly blond hair and eyes as blue as Jessica's.

He has the élan of a Southern Gentleman, and has nice manners and like a soupcon of an accent. Three nights at sea seemed less of a problem with Doug along.

Once we started -- sorry "got under way" -except we didn't go under anything except a bridge (which on a stupid boat means something else) and that happened long after we got... going, anyway, I asked Doug if he would be so kind as to apply even more of the slippery, slick sun block on my body since we were getting naked... like avoiding those tan lines..

We were "motoring" which means driving --sailing -- going on the stupid boat- with the engine on, like any normal person would, when George & Doug decided in some special manly way that we had gone far enough "offshore." So they turned off the engine, and we sat there, bouncing up and down, and the wind made all the ropes-lines-sheets go whap-whap on the pole (mast) that the main sail (mainsail - main'sil, argggh!) attached to. I'm not even sure what I just said; we sat there. And then they did something magic.

Doug started pulling on a rope --hauling a line -- the main halyard, and the big mainsail went up, and it billowed taut out in the wind. George hauled the main sheets in, and the boat took off like a scalded cat. Suddenly everything was totally quiet; you could hear seagulls a mile away. The deck beneath us tilted as we hove to, and we skated on the ocean like an eagle on a breeze. Jess and I looked at each other and started smiling these really big grins, and couldn't stop.

I went forward to help Doug with the jib halyard, and then we cleated the sheets in the winch and 'cranked her down.' The deck tilted more as we came up into the wind, and there was nothing on the horizon except a small ketch two points off the larboard bow, windward and going hull down as we watched.

When I made my way back aft Jess had the wheel! Of course, being a boat, it's not a wheel, it's a stick of wood, but they call it the wheel anyway. She was driving, and when she brought us closer to the wind we would tilt more, and then she'd get scared and let off, and we'd flatten out and yaw. George pushed her arm, and she tightened up, and ultimately held us close hauled on a bowline course; we could have gone forever.

I swallowed my jealousy because neither of us had ever been sailing before, and I knew I'd get my turn; it's just that I found a new and unknown feeling, a need deep within me to put my little hands on that long rigid shaft and stroke it and feel the throbbing it controlled. I wanted to make it give up every drop of jetsam to me as the foaming spray hit my face.

Since we were sailing on the wind and steady as she goes, George said I could go below with Doug. They have known each other for so long that we had no condoms. That says much about their friendship. I started fooling around with Doug, who had tented up nicely when he helped me apply sun block. He had been especially helpful on my well rubbed tits, and on my ass. So I impressed upon him that his suit was superfluous, and he shed it like a second skin.

His protuberance showed a proud definition. He began to kiss me deeply, and I enjoyed the exemplary reeving of his tongue into my mouth. We pressed along abaft the foot of the mast and his Martingale struck proud. His hand first became the futtock shrouds of my breasts, then dropped to my thigh, and then skipped around to my foward parts and found an open scupper.

He had well remarked my flaming bush anon, and now I saw with half an eye that he had followed fashion and had no bush at all. Having never touched a bared dick before, I quickly put my little hands around his girth. I let my fingers check his balls, also bare, and measure the tumble home back to his warm affirmed flesh. He would not need to put lotion on me now, as I had enough of my own, as well he knew since he was athwart my beam.

Yare he was in abetting my wantonness with delicious foin of his fingers, and soon enough introduced that velvet member which had been deprived of its natural feathering. He broached abreast my backstays, and followed with a beam into my beal, frapping me completely. We became an internal cockling sea as we dashed against each other. That able seaman catted and flooded my bilge with his semen and I carried away in his gale.

Our fucking had not disturbed the crew above, and they smiled knowing smiles as we came through the after hatch. The inclinometer showed no deviation. Jess was learning; but now it was my turn, since my turn was over, so to speak.

George put his arm around me and guided my hand along his wooden tiller. I could not reach my fingers all the way around it was so thick. I trembled as I felt the tension in this connection to the very ocean beneath me. As I pulled on the stick, I could feel it push back, and I had to strain to hold the boat on a line. As had Jess, I fell off the wind, and then came back, a dance as old as the mistral itself.

"OK Silky, you held your impatience well, so I'll give you a treat."

My heart beat sounded in my throat.

"Prepare to come about," Captain George said loudly. Doug un-cleated the jib sheets, and held them. He kept a protective hand on Jessie.

"Ready! About ship!"

George guided me to pull the tiller completely across the cockpit, and then we moved across to the windward side ourselves. The boat hauled into the wind, trembled in irons, and came about. The boom above our heads flashed across thwart ship and the mains'il sheeted home. Doug cleated the jib sheets on the lee rail and we were on a new course.

At dark, we dropped anchor and furled the sails. Since we were awash, we could all go below, a place of deep shadows since we had only tiny luminescence from the lunar light. George guided me again, and I assumed the knee-chest position so he could enter me from behind. Jess kissed me as his hardness filled my void, and then Doug moved over so that I could taste his hairlessness (and Jess's juices) from his member.

In my opinion, there are good and bad aspects to this. The boat is small below decks, so it warms up fast, and it would take a typhoon to funnel enough air to keep us cool. (Afterwards, lying in the wind on deck is nice.) When I am really aroused, I want to be fucked in every orifice, and to have cocks to touch as well; I want my universe to be filled with a plethora of them.

But as I come, and wail in my extremity, I cannot focus on two dicks. The one in my lucifugous hole gets the attention, as it causes the spasms, and so the molten love in my mouth goes unappreciated, and paints my face, and chin, and breasts.

The deck was not beamy enough to truly dance a Tango, but we could play our music and make do. If you have never swayed on the foc'sl of a ship as you listened to soft music while bathed in moonlight with a naked soul mate, then life still has pleasures to offer you.

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