Unexpected Threesome Ch. 16

"Hey mate. Can I come aboard?"

I was a sweet female voice with an Australian accent. Amy and I looked over onto the stern swim platform to see a young woman, dripping wet in a heavily cut away and nearly transparent yellow one piece, emerging from the water.

Given my compulsion to sarcasm, I tried to make sure my voice was as friendly as possible.

"I think you already are."

"Yer, well I didn't want to hang around as shark bait any longer than necessary."

"What can we do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you guys."

"Come on up then. We're just having a glass of wine. Would you like one?"

"Yes please."

As we sat there watching, she emerged over the transom and came fully into view. She was young, probably in her early 20's. OK, let's put on the table the elephant in the room; the thing that had drawn my eye the minute I saw her - and I'm sure Amy's eye too. She was stacked. Anything over DD and I lose track; but she was definitely over that. Way over. The deeply plunging swimwear showed a virtual cavern disappearing down the front of her costume between her breasts, the material stretched to bursting as it struggled to contain them before its dripping wetness caused it to cling delightfully to her underboob. Her slightly raised nipples sat just below the neck line almost anxious to explode out, their darker pigment projecting through the transparency of the tautly drawn light coloured material.

The fact that they still thrust themselves confidently and perkily forward, perfect spherically melons with only the flimsiest support from the stretched spandex that encased them, of itself suggested she couldn't be that old.

As she momentarily stood confidently over us on the aft deck before joining us in the cockpit, I got to evaluate the rest of her figure. It was a classical, voluptuous, poster girl, hourglass. Straight off the nose art of a WW2 bomber or a 1970's girlie calendar; something the Kardashian sisters might have more recently tried to repopularise, although this young lady made the Kardashians seem like a very third rate version of the look. And as for her legs? They seemed to account for half her height; slender, shapely poles on which the rest of her figure delectably perched.

Her waist slimmed to a tightly drawn circle before her hips flared out into a womanly bulge. Not a bulge big enough to compete with her breasts, and in that regard her breast to hips ratio was way more flattering than the Kardashians. But it was enough to give her a neat, well fleshed out butt.

Taut is how you might describe her overall appearance, notwithstanding her overwhelming figure. Maybe her muscles were merely pumped by the swim from wherever she'd come from but they sculptured her body better than Michelangelo could ever have achieved in a statue.

It seemed her swimmers had as much trouble accommodating her height as they did her breasts. They were stretched so tight vertically they looked as though they could rip themselves in two at any moment; the high cut, hip circling leg seam descended in a narrow strip of stressed material at the front that was pulled tightly into her crotch. From our line of vision below that, her substantial thigh gap disclosed that the stressed spandex was pulled up into the full length of her cease from where it started in the front of her mound, right through to where it flattened out across her pelvic floor, before it was drawn up again between her butt cheeks.

Her wet long blonde hair clung to her body. It also framed one of those rounded, cherubic, doe-eyed, faces with the sort of warm, pouty lipped smile that went from ear to ear and whose soft child-like beauty immediately melted the heart.

It brought back some memories of my university and professional days. At Uni I was always drawn to girls more of my own genotype. Slim girls, a bit like Amy and Ellen. Of course, ones like the lady before us always drew my eye; often to the point of distraction and arousal - especially given the revealingly brief fashions of the 70's and tutorials sitting around tables set out in a U-shape, with the panoramic under-table views that offered. But I never tended to seek to go out with them. I always had some doubt in my mind whether that was because I perceived them as being out of my league, or whether even then I was taking a longer term view of what was attractive in a future wife.

As a highly successful married professional in a large firm, I also got to deal with a string of them emerging into the firm as graduates; a few of them quite willing to throw themselves under an older male higher up the professional food chain, married or not. I never was sure whether that reflected the most basic primitive attraction to an alpha male or was a purely exploitative attempt to ingrate themselves with the powers that be.

Either way, I studiously avoided those opportunities that came my way. Not wanting any problems, I found it prudent to develop a defence against their charms which went beyond a simple "don't touch them". Something I labelled strictly for my own benefit as the 10/3 test. As in 'what will they look like after 10 years and three babies?' It worked in reducing their distractive value; even if I did mentally exaggerate the toll of the years. While I often got to see the longer term outcome as their careers progressed through the firm and many of them still looked pretty good, it was a technique that effectively dealt with the cross-legged, frustration inducing, fecund beauty of their youthful selves.

But that was the past. I no longer had reason to try and devalue such youthful beauty and for the moment she stood there I could bathe in the wash of testosterone that simply gazing on such perfection stirred in my body.

I motioned for her to join us on the cockpit seats, waving away her concern about leaving a wet patch on the cushion as Amy quickly ducked below and returned with an extra glass. As she sat opposite me I tried not to stare at the barely concealed body that lay underneath that translucent wet swimwear. It didn't help that the breeze now blowing across her wet swimmers caused her nipples to gradually tighten before my very eyes until they projected forward on high beam. Their darker colour, indeed their every feature, became more and more pronounced as the wet material stretched tighter and clung ever more desperately to the jutting extensions. Nor did it help that a single twirl of her long hair hung down the front where it just kissed her nipple; the wind blowing it distractingly back and forth across the sheathed projection, as if playing with it.

She sat in a comfortable pose with her legs slightly apart and only the most minimal gusset lining hid her lady parts, the rest was almost fully exposed; enough to show she was devoid of pubic hair, even if it was the same natural blonde as her mane.

I'd foolishly remained in the leaned back position I'd had while talking with Amy. I quickly regretted it; caught in the conundrum of having her see if the flood of blood knocking on the door of my cock resulted in a partial swelling or me needing to no less obviously lean forward to hide it if it occurred.

"What would you like to talk about?"

She drew breath.

"I'd like to join your boat. The German owners of the one I'm on have been called home and are about to sail back to Papeete to lay up the boat and fly out."

As she spoke, she looked back over her shoulder at the yacht anchored about 150 meters off our stern.

Amy and I looked at each other. You could see our brains processing the same thing; the thought this girl didn't know what was happening aboard the boat. Even assuming she wasn't part of it, it could be more than a little confronting for her.

The girl detected our hesitation and decided to add to her case.

"Issie told me she was going home and that there was likely to be a spot aboard for me."

Again Amy and I looked at each other. We might have guessed that Issie had a hand in this; her governing of the boat was to continue even after she'd gone. But it gave us an opening for the discussion.

"Where did you know Issie from?"

"The scuba diving course. I did it with Issie and Ellen."

"How much did she tell you about the boat?"

The young woman broke into a broad smile, almost a giggle, as she correctly perceived the direction of our question.

"Enough to explain the noises that boom across the anchorage at us every morning and periodically during the day. Let me say, it's done wonders for the love life of the German couple who own the boat. They're rooting each other silly because of the effect it has on them even as they express a degree of outrage at the goings on."

That certainly laid the cards on the table and left both Amy and myself barely able to supress a laugh. But where do you go from there? I fumbled about looking for the next question.

"And what do you think of it?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"I'm easy. I can be a participant or a spectator, whichever works for you. Although Issie did say if I wanted to be a participant I should insist on sleeping with you the first night to break the ice. Otherwise she said you'd get all formal and proper with me because you'd think I was too young for you and nothing would ever happen."

Amy couldn't contain herself. She burst into laughter. I unsuccessfully tried to maintain a shred of dignity as we continued the conversation.

"And aren't you too young for me?"

"I think I'd put it in terms of you being way too old for me. But Issie tells me you're a pretty good root, a massive spunk and a really nice guy and all in all I'm much better off joining the party than being the wall flower. But she went further than that. She also said I was better off joining this boat than any other she'd ever seen."

She reached across and put a wet hand on my knee, glancing down periodically at my cock where its outline lay on display in my swimmers as she continued.

"I thought you looked pretty good from a distance and now you're right in front of me, I find I've even got a bit of a lady boner just talking to you and contemplating the future. So I'd probably prefer to join the party; but I'm happy either way."

It was more than Amy could stand. She doubled over as she fell into an uncontained laughter, losing her balance and ending up half on the cockpit floor while still trying not to spill the wine she held in one hand. Me? I was just trying to make sure the electric touch of her hand on my knee didn't translate into a boner of my own. But I wasn't entirely successful. I saw the girl smirk in obvious satisfaction as she noticed the slight swelling and movement in my swimwear.

And yet the smirk itself lit up her face in a way that simply multiplied the difficulty of keeping my cock under control. Something in the open mouth smile hinted at the willingness of those pouty lips to pleasure me; brought to my mind the image of them sliding delectably along the length of my shaft. She was looking me straight in the eyes, then glanced downward momentarily before meeting my eyes again.

She'd seen the further enlargement. She raised her eyebrows momentarily; openly acknowledging the effect she was having on me before breaking into a wide, almost benevolent smile. A little crunch of her face and turning up of her nose silently but effectively communicated I'd be seeing a lot more than that if she was allowed aboard.

Amy was just getting herself back up off the cockpit floor; inhibited by still holding her glass in one hand. The girl offered hers by way of assistance. But as her hand stretched out towards Amy, the back of it brushed across Amy's nipple enough to raise it. It could have been accidental; plausible deniability perhaps, except for her words that accompanied it.

"I'm even willing to experiment with a bit of the BOB'ing Issie tells me goes on."

BOB is the girls' shorthand for Bi on the Boat; a bastardisation of the US undergraduate LUG's (Lesbian Until Graduation) and in this case simply acknowledges the girls tend to play with each other while waiting their turns in the group sex. I could see why Issie and this girl might have hit it off. Neither of them minced around when it came to getting what they wanted.

Amy and I conducted what amounted to the standard interview one does for potential crew. Age; 23. Reason for being out here; a law graduate on a gap year. Sailing background; several months cruising the pacific, a lifetime of small boat sailing before that. Seasickness; almost never. Previous yachts; generally happy boats, but sometimes going the wrong way.

Amy went a bit further and explored previous affairs on her boats; something that never occurred to me you could or should do. But there'd been none. It almost sounded like she was parroting a conversation she'd had with Issie. The few single guys she'd met were on the whole disappointing; unfuckable jerks - a very Issie expression. And, while I could only sit back in surprise as Amy and this girl conducted the most intimate of conversations, she admitted to feeling, not just a degree of sexual frustration because of it, but more importantly a deprivation of any sense of human intimacy.

Amy explored whether what was happening aboard our boat would offer the intimacy she desired. She replied she didn't see why not. Issie had told her that she'd never before felt the degree of intimacy she had, not just with me, but with all of us; sort of like a close incestuous family.

Through this conversation, it emerged that Issie had been talking to this girl about her contemplated departure almost from the start of the course; well before she'd raised it with us. And while the young lady was circumspect about the exact nature of the conversations, it was also clear Issie had discussed the epiphany that had driven her home; but in a way that had reflected well on her experience on the boat.

But I also got the impression that Issie had almost been grooming this girl as a replacement for herself. It was clear that the impending crisis that was driving her German owners home had been brewing for some time too and it seemed Issie had matched this girl's needs with her own intentions and pushed her our way. Typical Issie in a way.

It was only as the conversation was nearly over that I realised we hadn't exchanged names; partly because it was clear she already knew ours. Hers was Tash. We said we'd discuss the question with Ellen, who was having an afternoon nap below, and get back to her, and with that the conversation wound up.

I offered her a lift back to her boat in our tender, but she said she prefer to get the exercise of swimming, which left me staring at her butt in the deeply plunging back of her swimwear as she lined up and then bent forward to dive in off the gunwale. The dive suggested she'd done a fair bit of racing in her time; a smooth almost splash free dive that projected her a good length underwater. I watched her body glide effortlessly through the crystal clear water before she emerged and took up a fast, powerful stroke.

I couldn't help it. The plunging line of her swimwear was little more than a giant water scoop. As she dived in, then unless the straps and material of her swimwear had already been stretched to the point that had not an inch more to give, her breasts must have blown out of her top. She certainly hadn't stopped to adjust them. My mind created the picture of her naked breasts being dragged through the water, her nipples raised by the friction. As she bilaterally breathed I watched teasingly to see if a bare breast would emerge from the water; disappointed that her controlled stroke allowed for no such error. Still, it did nothing to settle my already partly aroused state.

She quickly covered the distance to her own yacht; her pace never slackening. It reinforced the impression I'd got that the body and mental attitude of an athlete lay within that womanly figure.

I also quietly reflected on her choice of swimwear for the visit. Now I knew about the girls deliberately choosing 'fuck me' bikinis, I had to wonder if Tash hadn't chosen something similar; albeit suitable for the swim between the boats or maybe just the best she had at hand. She must have known it hid virtually nothing and she was clearly looking for a physical reaction from me. It was easy to guess that Issie, as the instigator of the fuck me bikinis, might have suggested she present herself like that.

It worked too. I would be lying if I denied that the prospect of fucking that body wasn't influencing my decision; however inappropriate my conscience might have thought that was.

While Amy and I discussed our first impressions on the issue, we decided to wait until Ellen woke up to get a better idea of who this girl was and not lock in our opinions until the three of us could discuss it.

When Ellen emerged, she gave us a briefing on what she knew about the girl and Issie's interaction with her during the course. When they started the course they were buddied up with dive partners; the school deliberately breaking up established pairings. Issie had been buddied with her. It meant they spent a lot of time talking, because even as they were getting ready and going out in the RIB to the dive site, they needed to be together.

Ellen hadn't seen her in the swimwear she visited the boat in. While she was often in a highly cut away one piece which showed a lot of cleavage, and a lot of everything else, it was never as transparent as that one. And when she wore a bikini, it certainly displayed her body, but didn't necessarily seem intended to arouse every male in sight.

Evidently Tash and Issie were often deep in conversation, sometimes serious, often clearly highly humorous.

Ellen's own impressions of the girl from the direct contact she had with her was good. She was friendly, happy, easy to get along with and a good conversationalist. Like Issie, she was also very confident and maybe just a bit inclined to take control of situations.

I pushed the decision onto the girls, both as to whether she was taken on as crew and as to whether she got to join our arrangement. I was happy either way; although more inclined to let her aboard. The girls knew I liked the fact that a crew of four gave us two watches of two each; which was a lot safer than having someone on watch alone in the middle of the night. And, while I didn't admit it to the girls, Tash's choice of swimwear had worked. She had stirred up my loins and made me physically desire her. It seemed that my reservations about having sex with women who were way too young for me were dissolving rapidly.

The girls quickly decided it was all or nothing. It wouldn't work to invite her aboard but then exclude her from the relationship unless that was what she wanted. It was funny watching them talk, as if I wasn't there, as they discussed whether she was too attractive and her stunning appearance might upset the balance of the relationships on the boat. They even talked about my preference in girls and my inclination towards slimmer ones; merely casting occasional glances at me to see if I'd contradict what they were saying.

Never the less, they agreed with each other that breasts like those were going to be a distraction to me, regardless of my normal preferences.

Through all of this I was closely watching Amy. Ellen had the self-confidence to deal with whatever decisions she agreed to. But Amy had insecurities that she'd only recently put behind her. She knew that among the three of Issie, Ellen and herself, I had found her body the most attractive and desirable and that had been critical to her in feeling comfortable in the polygamous relationships aboard the boat. It was important she wasn't railroaded into an arrangement she wasn't happy with in the longer term; so not just her words, but her body language and facial expressions needed to be monitored.