Unexpected Threesome Ch. 12

Here the ocean water temperature had only just fallen back below the 26.5 degrees Celsius at which cyclones can form. The yachts water temperature instrument was showing the shallow lagoon water temperature as closer to 30 degrees and since we'd only planned a short shallow dive for a bit of photography to feed my blog and the yacht's Facebook and YouTube pages, we'd elected for swimwear.

The yacht's social media output had grown a life of its own since Issie had become the effective creative journalist behind it. I originally set it up to feed travelogue like stuff back to my family and very close friends at home, letting the crew do the same. I'd always been a bit careful about photos of women in bikinis, using them only with their permission and usually then, only when they were in a socially incidental context.

It was Issie who had started using bikini pictures in what might be referred to as a more sexually objectifying manner; initially of herself and another young woman who had been aboard at the time. Then when Amy had started dressing more femininely, she too had become an enthusiastic model for the photos; I suspect as something of an 'up yours' to her former boyfriend.

Whatever the reason, our number of followers had exploded to the point we had started being able to commercialise the output; with Issie and Amy having their personal fans. That had simply encouraged the girls more, and there seemed little limit on what they were willing to do for or expose for the cameras; even if I did try and keep it somewhat G rated. Mind you I had noticed some topless photos creeping into recent releases even though nipples were hidden.

The sexual relations on the boat had been kept out of the feeds, although here again Issie had been pushing the envelope. She'd recently taken some phots of the three of us in bed, naked as always. It was taken from the head of the bed with the three of us on our sides cuddled close together. That meant you couldn't actually see any nipples or crotches, but the photo left not the slightest doubt about our nakedness. And with me in the middle it left not the slightest doubt about us being comfortable with a high degree of intimacy. So far I'd vetoed those, but I suspected the issue wasn't going to be left to rest there.

During the just finished ocean trip she'd also been busy taking photos of the crew running around naked. All arty of course, with nothing actually showing. I dare say I was going to come under pressure to release those too.

I had very specific instructions from Issie about the sort of shots of Amy she wanted in the dive; more objectifying than sexual, but with a strong hint that camel toes and raised nipples pushing out bikini tops weren't a bad thing. Of course, they had to artistically done with nice coral backgrounds! It had to look like a travelogue. Just one on an excess of hormones and testosterone.

Amy was still in 'that bikini'. The one I'd madly, crazily fucked her in during the early hours of the morning. The one she'd subsequently slept in with the triangles of the top pulled ravishingly aside from each breast, just like I'd left them when I'd finished with her. The one who's gusset had been left soaked in my seed and her juices which were only just now being washed away or diluted as the spray from the boat splashed us and caused her nipples to be raised into prominent peaks pushing out the thin unlined material of the top. The one that, more than any other of the several sexy bikinis she had, drove me wild with desire for her body.

My own swimwear was far from asexual, for want of a better expression. Yes, they were speedo like men's racing briefs, like all my swimwear. They might be far from fashionable, but they were comfortable, really good to actually swim in without having several meters of material flapping around your thighs and what guys of my generation were brought up with (in Australia at least, I know Americans always had more modest tastes). And they were virtually the only thing I wear on the boat, which means I have a draw dedicated to and full of them of various ages. But of itself I don't think of them as having sexual overtones.

But this particular pair were a bit different. A damaged front end loading washing machine in a marina laundry had a metal dag that had ruined several of my tee shirts and put a long rip in the front lining of these swimmers. They were an old favourite pair, lower slung at the waist and with briefer sides (and thus a higher leg cut) than those I can buy these days and for that reason more comfortable; they sort of just slung the crown jewels a bit better if you get my drift.

Reluctant to throw them out, I'd cut out the offending bit of lining. That was no big deal when they were dry and I was flaccid; you could barely tell the difference. When wet, they did tend to cling a bit more noticeably. Let's just say there was a clear definition of what was beneath. The real difference lay in what happened when I was, cough, excited. The single layer of old stretched material clung to the resulting projection more like one of those body painted on bikini bottoms you see in the swimwear edition of Sports Illustrated than any normal pair of swimmers. And because they were lower waisted, that tightly sheathed projection rose well above the waist band.

Normally they were consigned to the very bottom of the draw for wearing when it had been a bit too long between visits to the laundry. Both Amy and Issie had seen me wear them, indeed, seen me get excited in them, and it was no big deal. They'd noticed the difference and were at most amused by them, and in the case of Amy, clearly fascinated by and wanting to play with them. But they weren't something I'd wear ashore. I don't know why they'd been sitting on top when I'd rushed below to put something on for coming into port, but I hadn't really noticed until I was back up on deck that's what I was wearing. After that it didn't matter enough to change them.

Sitting opposite Amy as the inflatable bounced through the chop was somewhat distracting. Her breasts rose and fell with every movement of the boat, threatening to escape from their minimalist coverings. It seemed like only her projecting nipples provided the resistance needed to keep them in the top and they conveyed the sense they were partly being teased up by their movement against the top; a thought I found strangely arousing.

Her legs were spread wide apart to brace herself but offered me and the camera a broadacre view of her crotch; arousing of itself because of the wide strip of delightful golden crotch flesh that sat either side of the gusset of the pants. As she'd been bouncing up and down on the flexible side of the inflatable, the strip of crotch flesh had grown progressively wider as the material was drawn into her crease and bum crack with every movement of the boat.

You'd think that after what had transpired during the last 24 hours, and especially after what I'd done to Amy, I might have been impervious to her sexualised display. But I was anything but. Like Amy, I'd been sitting legs braced wide apart on the inside edge of the tube; partly because Issie wanted a video of Amy bouncing in just the manner described above and I'd been trying to film while she steered; keeping the camera steady with both hands, leaving nothing for me to hang on with.

Contained within my swimwear, the old fella had started by dangling down between my legs. Now as I had become partly aroused, this sheathed projection was bouncing up and down in an arc that spanned between the bottom and top of my thighs. While Issie's instructions for the filming were to look purposefully towards where she was steering, increasingly Amy's focus was on the area between my legs; grinning at it like a Cheshire cat.

But, under Issie's direction, I also had to be in this segment of the film. Amy demanded the camera to get shots of me; I reluctantly handed it over with strict instructions to keep the frame of the shot above the waist (and knowing, despite that instruction, I'd probably have to crop the shot afterwards).

So I was doing my bit of looking meaningfully forward as I steered the boat when Amy called out my name. I looked at her to find she was filming with one hand while the other is between her legs. Two of her fingers have pushed the material of her bikini pants into her snatch and are buried as deeply as her knuckles. In the process they've drawn the gusset inwards to expose her labia and the front of the waistband far enough down to expose the top of her crease. As she attracted my attention she pulled a face at me as she started finger fucking herself, using her thumb to rub the area of her clit for good measure.

With a video camera running or not, the effect on me was predictable. My manhood hardened into a tall, thick rod and the sheathed projection was quickly bouncing against my stomach with Amy clearly having the camera focused on the result.

As she turned the camera down to take a shot of what her fingers are doing and then back on the area between my legs, I was just hoping I could pull enough footage out of the porn film she's creating to get the story line Issie wanted.

Things took an even more bizarre turn when she dropped to her knees off the side of the boat onto its floor, still finger fucking herself. That unbalanced the boat enough that I needed to slow it down and initially shift my bum inwards. But that wasn't sufficient, so just as an intuitive seaman like response, I too was forced into kneeling on the floor of the boat, waiting to see what's she's after (still imagining it's a physical object in the cockpit of the boat that she's reaching for while still intently filming).

Now these boats are pretty narrow. That's brought us into almost chest to chest contact. With the camera still focused on me, but now virtually in my face, I was staring at her wondering what she's was trying to do, keeping half an eye ahead as the boat continued to move up and down over the chop at a slow pace.

With the previous growl of the motor and loud slap of the waves reduced by our slower speed I could at least ask...

"What are you after? What are you trying to reach for?"

Naively, I was caught by surprise when the fingers of the hand that was previously finger fucking herself wrapped their delicate selves around my sheathed shaft, bent it down and shoved the tip into her snatch as she used a bounce of the boat to move towards me enough to bury it as deeply as the combined material of our swimwear would allow. Concurrently, she tilted the camera down and lowered it to waist level to film the whole thing.

"I've always wanted to try this."

Actually it felt pretty good. Different from naked sex, but it wasn't the same sensation as wearing a condom either. It was warm, a bit damp (especially after Amy had played with herself) and the material strangely sensitised my cock, if only because of the novelty of the feel of it. When Amy started using the rise and fall of the boat to effectively start thrusting it I thought I was going to cum prematurely.

Things were brought to a halt when I noticed a launch approach as it transited from an outlying settlement to the main town. They weren't heading straight for us, but close enough to possibly wonder what we were doing.

"I think we'd better go back to just driving the boat."

Amy looked up, followed my eyes and immediately withdrew from me. With a wicked grin she returned to the side of the boat, still filming, leaving me hoping that, with a very rampant and obvious erection, they would continue on their current course behind my back and not seek to stop for a chat.

It was only five minutes later we were at the intended dive site.

We helped each other into our tanks; letting me appreciate once again the virtues of the particular style of buoyancy compensator I'd chosen. For the boat, I was looking for something light and most of all compact for storage. The ones I ended up with had shoulder straps and a low waist band, with most of the buoyancy around the tank, instead of looking like the middle garment of a three piece suit.

It hadn't occurred to me that, when worn by a woman, that meant her breasts were nicely framed and displayed, instead of being hidden. Before Amy, my dive buddy had been Louise and her almost pendulous breasts had been lifted and pushed into an impressive cleavage display by the straps. It had been a constant distraction under water.

Until that fateful night in Papeete, Amy's diving outfit, when not a wetsuit, had been either a granny like swimsuit devoid of sexual display or her shapeless shorts and t shirt. Since we hadn't dived since she'd changed her style, I'd almost forgotten about how well the compensator fitted a woman.

We did a coordinated back flip off the side of the boat, a countdown ensuring we went at the same time to avoid flipping the boat. I felt my partial erection drag through the water like an air brake, recovering in good time to see Amy tucking her breasts back into the top from which they'd been dislodged in the entry.

Amy has always been something of a bolter underwater, swimming ahead and generally leading the way and I let her do that this time. But what had changed was what she was wearing as she did it. In her previously figure hiding outfits, it made no difference. Now I was confronted by her cute little butt, clad in the tiniest of bikinis pulled tightly into her crack, pumping its glutes right in front of my eyes.

The other habit she has underwater is spreading her legs and bending her torso under to look down between her legs to see where you are behind her. I do it too, it's a good way of looking behind, so it's not normally a big deal.

But now she was wearing those tiny bikinis it was a totally different experience; especially as, apart from quickly pulling the front up to something semi decent, she never did restore her bikini pants to sit properly on her after the motor launch passed us by. So every time she did it I just about ran straight into the impressive swelling of her mound, her pants deeply bisected by a camel toe with a pucker of pants still pushed into her snatch.

Much of this was exactly the sort of stuff Issie was after. As we swam slowly over some truly beautiful coral, I was kept busy filming; although I figured the pucker of material in her snatch was a step too far and would need to be edited out. Then I moved around the side to film her from that angle too.

As we crossed over a large expanse of sand I raced ahead and lay on my back on it to let her swim over me. Amy dutifully performed, offering me and the camera a panoramic shot of her taught little body as she gracefully glided over the top of me with the dappled surface of the water and a sparkling blue sky overhead.

She played it for the camera too, loitering just momentarily, but not too obviously, where the camera had a fantastic view of her breasts suspended into a gorgeous line of cleavage. Then, as if something fascinating had taken her attention, her body swung to bring her left nipple right in front of the camera, raised enough to push out the material moulded to it in to a noticeable cone. A little kick and she glided forward again to where the camera had a view of her bikini bridge, suggesting the viewer might get a glimpse down the front of her pants before her momentum carried her forward to the point that the noticeable camel toe in her pants stalled in the camera's focus.

I was able to get all of this while the camera was held steady, the bright circle of the defused morning sun creating a fixed point which showed the cameraman wasn't panning the camera for a deliberately sexualised view.

We wanted a few of these -- all sufficiently different to make it clear to a viewer it wasn't the same footage being reused -- to intercut with other footage. So once she'd passed she started to circle around to my right to come over me again. With a coral outcrop behind her I was filming her from the side when I noticed she was teasing up her nipples with her hands; making it unlikely we could use the footage.

This time she initially came across a bit higher and a bit more to the right. As her breasts became the centre of focus of the camera, she angled lower, arms outstretched towards the bottom just above my head and virtually brushing her now impressively fully swollen and hardened right nipple and breast against the camera's lens while in the background between her cleavage her sucked in stomach offered a teasing view along the line of her torso and down the bridge across the front of her pants.

This close, and with her nipple stretching the material of her top out so deeply, I could actually see the dark brown shadow of her nipples through the material. I just hoped the camera picked up the effect.

Then she backed up, a bright piece of shell in her hands. She loitered there looking at it before suddenly turning to the side, holding it out as if to show it to an imaginary buddy to her left and managing a nice bit of breast wobble in the process.

Dropping the shell where she'd found it, she glided slowly forward again, offering a final lingering view of her mound bisected by that camel toe before she accelerated off camera.

In every way Amy had been playing the whole thing up for the camera from the moment we entered the water; wiggling her butt and doing sexy little mermaid strokes. I knew Issie was going to love this stuff.

But my physical reaction to all this had been predictable and very obvious. In the swimwear I had on my partial erection was standing vertically up from my body and Amy had already deliberately brushed it with her legs on the second pass.

On the third, she passed it with an open palm, sliding her hand along the upright shaft like she was running it through sea grass. She stopped with her breasts in front of the camera, dropping her crotch down onto my lower stomach as her chest rose slightly, her arms waving against the water as if she was trying to bring herself to a halt while floating on neutral buoyancy.

The upper half played this game for the camera where it looked as though she had come to a stop, waving in the water to steady herself, looking from side to side to suss things out, while the lower half captured my now fully formed erection under her crotch and rocked it firmly back and forwards, clearly tickling up her clit.

The rocking was reflected in a rise and fall of her torso which gave a delightful floating bounce to her breasts, but without me being in frame, provided no hint of any impropriety. I could see her grinning out the sides of her regulator, no doubt amusing herself with the cheekiness of what she was doing. Indeed, knowing Amy, I suspected she'd like nothing more than to release the footage of her apparently innocent actions, knowing it had an erotic overtone only we knew about.

Her nipples were jutting peaks as big as I'd ever seen them on swollen breasts, which told me there had been some serious stimulation happening down there -- of her as well as me. She was more than flirting. She was in a mischievous, randy, playfully sexual mood and with Amy and her inclination to fetishes, I could only guess where this was going.

Maybe deciding the camera could only sustain the facade for so long she rose up again, the deep cleft, where her pants had been pushed up by my hardened shaft into her aroused and engorged crease, slipping across the camera's lens.

I followed her with the camera as she circled again, eyeing me off with her head turned towards me, like a lioness stalking its prey. This time as she approached, she'd dropped any pretext of film making -- or at least any film you'd want to put on a public page -- even if I was a bit slow to recognise I should probably turn the camera off. She approached just far enough from the bottom to graze along my body, grasping my erection with both hands to pull herself up to the point she was looking me lustfully in the eyes; her facemask giving her a somewhat crazed woman look.