Unexpected Threesome Ch. 19

[There's a change of pace with this story and Amy gets to narrate the next few days and in the process provide a bit more of her back story]

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As the last shudders of Ned's climax fell still and the contractions of my own orgasm stopped pummelling his shaft, he slowly withdrew leaving a pool of cum collected in the depths of my sex. Easing himself onto his feet, that let Ellen peel herself off the stack, which in turn released me and finally Tash.

Ignoring the cum that started running down my thigh, I tied the string of my bikini pants up tightly again; leaving for the moment my exposed breasts. Bending into the boat I retrieved Ned's discarded swimmers. Exchanging grins with him, I bent down to slip them over his feet and up his legs where I used my hand to tuck his sticky but still impressive residual wood into his pants; pushing it down until it stuck out horizontal like a crotch level Pinocchio nose.

After readjusting each of our bikinis, Ellen, Tash and I ran into the water to freshen up after the pussy stack; soaking Ned with splashes as he more slowly followed, before tackling him and making him grope and handle us just to keep his head clear of the water. When I put my hand under the water to try and grope whatever was left of his wood, there was another female hand already encircling and jerking it.

I'd never heard of a pussy stack. And even if I had, I could never have imagined myself being part of one. Well, at least until a few months ago anyway.

It had started so playfully. As we'd been walking to the RIB with some gear, Tash had been telling me about how Ned had been perving at our pussies as we'd been bent over the side of the RIB taking videos in the shallow channel on the way up. I was quite pleased when she'd said he'd been especially transfixed by mine nearly every time she'd turned around to look at him; all the more so because I knew from the times I'd come up to get my bearings that the view he'd had of hers was straight up inside the loose leg seam of her pants at her exposed one. I was even more please when she told me he was woody as a result.

When we got to the RIB, Tash rushed in to put the board she was carrying into it; bending over the side of the RIB where the thwart was to position the board. I had just wanted to stow the picnic hamper under the same thwart of the RIB. So I just playfully bent over the top of her, resting my weight on her while my arms wrapped either side of her to put the hamper in its place.

I was about to get off her again when she asked...

"Why don't we give Ned a pussy stack?"

"A what? Oh!"

She didn't need to answer. The penny dropped. Before I could even process the concept, Ellen came along with the other board and Tash roped her in...

"Jump aboard, we're going to give Ned a bit of a poke about on a pussy stack."

"Really? Do you think he'll even know what to do with us?"

So before I knew it, I was the meat in a sandwich. And in the context of a pussy stack, 'meat' is not exactly an inappropriate expression.

But I was surprised by a few things. Where did Tash get the concept? She might try and come across as fairly sexually experienced and permissive, but when we really explored her history, she couldn't be called virginal, but she was no raging nymphomaniac either. And Ellen? I've always thought of her as so prim and proper, even if flirty and sexually playful with Ned at times, and yet she immediately knew what Tash was taking about and just complied.

But I didn't really have time to contemplate the questions because almost immediately Ned had come along and Tash had invited him to party with us. I've known Ned for longer than any of them. I wasn't at all sure how he'd react. I knew he hated to do anything that came across as exploitive; almost being paranoid about it. So being offered our pussies to just have a bit of fun poking about in and then unloading into one of us didn't strike me as his cup of tea.

As it turned out, it wasn't. We were each given multiple orgasms before he took his own. And I was quite chuffed he chose to take his in me.

But the experience went beyond just another round of sex with Ned.

I've always loved the way the closeness of his body communicates the pleasure Ned is experiencing when we share sex; the way it tenses and shudders for such a long time as he climaxes, his grunting and groaning and even just the joyful enthusiasm with which he gently pounds me sometimes.

Frank, my abusive previous partner, denied me even that. He treated me as nothing more than a hole into which he dumped his cum in the most emotionless and unpleasurable way. In retrospect, there were little things that now let me see he enjoyed it, or he wouldn't have sought it so often, but at the time he denied me even the ego boost of knowing that; let alone helping me get something out of the sex directly.

They say the brain is the most important sex organ of all and I can attest to that. The difference to my enjoyment of sex that Ned's gentleness, kindness and love made after Frank's selfish possessiveness and indifference is difficult to believe. Organs that were dead and unresponsive have come alive in the most incredible way. I have trouble accepting it's the same body, even though my occupation of it leaves no alternative possibility.

But what really struck me about the pussy stack - other than the fact Ned unexpectedly delivered some great orgasms - was being in such close body contact with Ellen and Tash as they climaxed. I don't mean some sort of clit rubbing intimacy which in the end conveys nothing about the other person's feelings. No, it was the full body contact that counted. I could feel them tense and quiver; first in their rising excitement, then in their orgasm. I felt how hard and sensitive Tash's nipples became as I played with them through the throes of her arousal. I heard Ellen and Tash moan and groan right in my ear. It was almost like sharing their orgasm and letting them share mine. I thought I'd only ever want to do a pussy stack once in my life, if that. And yet I came away thinking it might be something to repeat occasionally.

I'll be interested to find out what Ned thought of it when I get a private moment with him.

Every time I'm surprised by Ned's thoughtfulness as a lover, I find myself contrasting that with my former life with Frank. Ned says I saved myself from Frank. I give him the credit. In a way we're both right.

Physically I got myself out of harm's way. I was a fool. A complete fool. Frank captured me with his superficial charm in my innocent late teens and I was too enamoured of him at first to see what I'd got myself into. He was possessive, jealous, dominating and sometimes violent. For years I always thought if I was just a better girlfriend and partner, it would all be OK. In effect that it was all my fault. And Frank did everything he could to encourage me to that view.

During work hours I was a successful, well paid professional. At home I was an ill-treated slave who was convinced by Frank that even my professional success was because of him. He vacuumed up everything I earned and spent it on himself; criticising me for not earning more. He made sure my work hours didn't leave time for socialising - even with work colleges - and kept me away from any work function designed for team building that might have facilitated me making friends there. And the only outside friends I was permitted were his; who weren't really friends of mine.

Sex was a joyless imposition. On him by me, if you really believed what he told me. And so was my company. He'd make me undress and contort myself into every position imaginable for him to have sex with me. But always I was told I'd mucked it up and spoilt it. Foreplay? Well I suppose sometimes he'd suck my nipples, but most of the time he'd penetrate me without any and call me frigid when he found me dry and unready for him. Technically, what he often did to me was nothing short of rape; but difficult to prove as such because my lack of consent was suppressed by me in the interests of not getting a beating.

I was expected to give head on demand and god help me if I gagged instead of taking his whole length into my mouth. Ned expresses surprise when I do that or even that I'd want to. The short answer is I taught myself how to do it without too much discomfort and that makes it a pleasure to do it for someone who appreciates it and loves me.

Slowly, despite his brainwashing and control, I grew up and saw what was happening. Escaping was a different matter. Given the violence I'd already witnessed, I came to realise, my moment of departure was a matter of life and death. I secreted away money from pay rises and bonuses I didn't tell him about and decided that the safest escape was just to disappear overseas instead of going to work one day.

It took a lot of planning and secrecy. Only my boss knew what was happening and why, because I needed his help to divert money from my salary and to be able to give notice without making it public. He also was the postal address for my passport, travel arrangements and separate banking accounts. Not even my family knew, because a single misspoken word could be fatal.

From the outset, I'd planned to fly to the US West Coast and find passage on a yacht through the Pacific. That way it would be impossible for Frank to follow or track me down. I would be physically safe from him. I linked up with a yacht and its owner on line and made the arrangements. Then one day I said goodbye to Frank as I purported to go to work, left for the airport and was gone. No luggage. Nothing to give my intentions away. I left it all behind but didn't care, because he didn't allow me anything of value anyway.

In San Francisco I joined a yacht heading for Hawaii. The owner was still preparing the boat, so it was a good two months before we left, giving me time to take scuba and surfing lessons. The trip to Hawaii had been a nightmare; long, rough and with an owner and crew who were moody and often cranky. It was an interesting introduction to oceanic cruising, but wasn't really the post Frank therapy I needed. While we were spending a few months bumming around Hawaii, I'd met Issie off an adjoining yacht at the Marina. She'd introduced me aboard Ned's yacht with a crew that at the time included Louise, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Ned quickly became the man in whom I put all my faith for the future as I'd sought a place of refuge.

But my real escape from Frank was still months in the future. My body had escaped him, but in many ways my mind was still shackled. At a leisurely pace we left Hawaii, bound for Fanning Island. Then by a process of easy sailing and Island hopping, we eventually ended up in Papeete, having lost Louise along the way (in port, to another yacht after she split from Ned; not at sea).

Frank had left me as a sort of asexual hetro-romantic. The pleasure of sex had been denied to me and the message had always been I was crap at it anyway; a message I'd all too easily absorbed. In what I can now look back as being a very manipulative way, I'd also been persuaded I was an ugly duckling who must cover up her femineity in asexual clothing. I say manipulative because I can now see Frank was grooming me for his pleasure while making sure other men didn't see me as attractive. He encouraged me to grow my hair long enough to go down to my waist, but made me tie it up in a severe bun whenever I went out and release it and let it go free as soon as I got home with him. I've kept it long because I actually think it does look fantastic and enjoy the sensuousness of brushing it every day. Now I do it for me.

He also brought me all my underwear. It wasn't frilly, lacy or expensive. But it was minimalist and close fitting. I can now see he used it towards his visual pleasure of me because it wasn't that different to the style of the 'fuck me' bikinis I now choose for myself to flaunt my body to men. He'd make me strip down to it when I got home from work 'so I didn't spoil my good work clothing'. But at the time I never had the slightest hint from him that he found it attractive. There was always another reason he made me do what he did; never one that flattered me.

The winter and work clothing I was made to wear when I went out might best be described as frumpy or dowdy. Figure hiding, old fashioned in its modesty and in drab colours. In summer, when I needed something lighter, he'd make sure it was shapeless and suggestive of me trying to hide a weight problem underneath.

And in each case I say 'made' even though, in the end I might be the one choosing it when we went shopping. I'd just been so conditioned to choose the styles he set me on the track to; although the ramifications I suffered if I got it wrong and bought something he'd call slutty (which I can now see was nothing remotely of the sort) were enough to keep me in line.

I can also see he was clever in how he went about running me down. He never called me fat or thin; because that might have been something I'd try and do something about. No, it was always inferred nature had just been unkind to me and I'd have to live with it but I was lucky because Frank would put up with me if I behaved myself.

But my natural human emotions hadn't been completely crushed. After I joined the yacht, I was still attracted to guys and I wanted them to be attracted to me. But for some reasons they weren't. Walking around a town with Issie, she'd get the attention and it was like I was invisible. I was just unable to see that Frank had conditioned me to act and present myself in a completely unattractive way. The pressure built until that night when as much as I'd flaunted myself, I couldn't even get Ned to hit on me.

And then, in a single epiphany Ned had led me out of the dark, let me see where the issue was, awakened my sexuality and made me realise my own value.

There was just something about how he went about it that completely released me and awoke in me the more confident easy-going person I was as a teenager. If I'm a bit over the top now, that's probably because I feel the need to relive my teenage years, years of exuberance and innocent sexual freedom that I missed out on.

Dear Ned. He constantly worries about me; is scared that I'm damaged by my past and that I should somehow be treated delicately. I know he really frets about anything that might be interpreted as the sexual exploitation of me. But I don't think I'm anywhere near as damaged as he thinks and certainly nothing he's done to me is bad. I needed to explore my sexuality after what Frank did to me and Ned has let me do that; really in a way I don't think a guy my age would have achieved.

He also worries about me being too emotionally involved and thinks I need to hold myself emotionally open to someone more age appropriate for me. He's scared I've latched to him on some sort of rebound. Maybe. I love him, I need him and I need him to love and need me in return. I can't imagine the day we reach Sydney and we somehow have to bravely go our separate ways because it's supposed to be in my best interests. I've been denied the unconditional love that Ned gives me for so long, it's not really all that surprising that I don't want to think of it as a mere temporary interlude in my life. If the love I feel is on the rebound, that doesn't make it any less real. Anyhow, I suspect he's not going to find it any less painful than it will be for me. We'll cross that bridge when we get there, if we ever do.

But it's the value I put on his love that creates whatever tension there is in the polygamous relationships on the boat. I know, and I've admitted to Ned, that I need to feel there is something special about me, something that sets me apart from the others and gives me an advantage over them in holding Ned's affections.

Issie, while she was aboard, had a special intellectual bond with him that I couldn't compete with. She'd known him longer and he trusted and relied on her in a way that I was never going to catch up with. It was Louise's inability to accept that bond that caused her to storm off the yacht. Issie and I were glad to see her go. Ned was always going to be able to do better. She wasn't that nice and certainly wasn't that attractive; however big her saggy tits were. And after she left, Issie and I started contemplating the possibility we would be the replacement (actually, we may have even contemplated it before she left if the truth really be known).

I had no trouble with the fact that my special bond came from Ned's obsession with my body. After being told for the best part of a decade I was an ugly duckling, and a sexually incompetent one at that, to simply be made aware of how beautiful he found me, indeed, how beautiful and sexy I was, did more for me than any other single factor. I like it when he is transfixed by me. The thought of him staring lustfully at my pussy with wood on as I was bent over the side of the boat left me wet with sexual anticipation. And if the feminists don't like that, then maybe one day they should try releasing their inner sexual selves and see it can be as good for them as it is for the men around them. Nature designed women's bodies to be attractive to men and if I have been given one that has that little bit extra, I intend to exploit it to my own benefit for all its worth.

I wasn't being crazy when I approved someone with a body like Tash's being included on the boat. I know what Ned really likes. Physically Tash is now what Louise probably was like at the same age and I more than suspect Ned knows that. He can drool over her tits, and indeed her whole womanly figure, but I know I only have to wiggle my butt at him and he'll come drooling my way; especially after Issie introduced the whole concept of 'fuck me' bikinis.

Issie's departure has done funny things to all the relationships on the boat. Both Ned and I, and even Ellen, felt her departure like a death in the family.

It drew the three of us much closer; as if by finding more in our interpersonal relationships, we could somehow fill the hole left by Issie's departure. Physically too, things changed; especially the sex. As Ellen and I shared Ned in our bunk every night, there was for a time this need for this incredible intimacy. We just wanted to be together; the full length of our naked bodies in contact with each other. Ned's hardened manhood became, not so much a giver of orgasms and seed, as a stake that bound one body to the other and made us temporarily one. With both Ellen and I feeling the same need to be bound to him, it seemed only natural that his shaft should be shared. As Ned lay on his back with the two of us over him, I'd embrace him in my body for a while before surrendering his manhood to Ellen for a turn and then taking him back; all the while the three of us being bound in a tight little ball of humanity. Somehow the knowledge that Ellen's and my most intimate juices were being transferred between us every time Ned changed bodies only increased the intimacy.

Of course it would end in orgasms all round; but they weren't the focus, just an end result.

Tash has filled a little bit of the hole left by Issie. She certainly brings a strength of personality to the boat which is no less than Issie's; maybe more. And with that she has also brought a heightened youthful playfulness over and above anything that existed before, even from Ellen; something that has let me rediscover and embrace the joyfulness of my younger self and has raised Ellen's playfulness to a new level. But I don't really see Ned giving up to Tash the sort of control over the boat that he had surrendered to Issie.

Indeed, I haven't yet seen evidence of any real emotional bond between Tash and Ned. It's only a slight exaggeration to say she uses him for sex and he willing complies. Crew with benefits so to speak.