Unexpected Threesome Ch. 39

If you walked in mid orgy, you'd probably find one girls straddling my cock, riding it or pleasuring herself on it, one sitting on my face having me pleasure her and one straddling my stomach between them (as far as I can tell) likely being fingered by the one by the one sitting on my cock. If you stayed watching, you'd see them rotate after they all had an orgasm - although, if one of them was taking too long, they might not wait for the straggler.

Amy would almost certainly be screaming, or at least moaning up a storm which would make Meg Ryan's acting look completely pathetic, Liddy moaning quite audibly and Ellen somewhat grunting.

The girls, in mocking reference to the famous 69'er, called it the one eleven.

If Amy and Ellen were the two over my face and stomach, it's very likely the one on my face would be turned around and pashing the one on my stomach, playing with, even sucking, each other tits while the one behind still fingered the one in the middle. In a group sex situation, Amy and Ellen have completely accepted Issie's concept of BOB (Bi on the boat) and embraced it as a way of having multiple orgasms while they wait their turn on my cock. Liddy's happy to go through the motions of fingering (quite skilfully, so Ellen tells me), but less inclined to get into a full on pash.

Anyway, when Amy and Ellen were fooling around like this, because of the way the one on my face was leaning into the one behind her, the girls said the one eleven had become the forty one.

As for me? Well, with my tongue buried in one of their creases or up their sex and the weight of three women on me, I'm barely capable of sound or movement. I liked to use my hands to play with the tits of the one on my face, or sometimes reach back to the one on my stomach. At some stage, the last one to ride my cock would tighten her grip on me and you'd definitely hear some grunting. As I've come, it's been known for the one riding my cock to get thrown off by the throw of my hips; although frankly that's somewhat disappointing as I'm left squirting my seed into the air afterwards, so I try not to react that vigorously.

Most of the time, the somewhat erotically narrow view I've got means I barely know who I've got my cock in. All I know is that I've got to hold it until the third one before I cum. But the girls know that too, so they're not too tight on me until then.

More intimate still is when they all lay down on me; leaving me buried under a pile of three fanned out female bodies, each vigorously rubbing their bodies up and down on and pashing me on whatever flesh each one can access, almost tussling for prime position. I can feel their hips shoving each other as my erection exits one vagina and is pushed into another. Sometimes the angle it's bent at, or the tone of Amy's or one of the others cries, might tell me who bouncing on it, but at least half the time they seem to be in some sort of upside down pussy stack and I don't know which woman I'm penetrated into.

And partly that's because always, those without the cock in them are wetting the top of my thighs with their juices as they rub themselves on them. So they're moving about as vigorously as the one riding my cock.

It's almost amusing as I'm just lying there with three women pleasuring themselves on top of me periodically having one of them go off into an orgasm; or sometimes all three together will be in the throes of one.

In some ways the body pile on is my favourite group sex position. It's just so intimate; the women's lips all over my face, six breasts rubbing up and down on my chest and upper arms, three creases fighting for the attention of my manhood and six beautiful legs entwined around mine. Who could ask for more?

If it sounds a bit passive for me, it is. But that's a positive. I can erotically respond to whatever erogenous zone I come into contact with without having to worry about favouritism or getting it wrong; which takes a lot of pressure off me. The only real issue is it's so overwhelmingly erotic I've been known to cum before everyone's satisfied they've had their turn.

It's nothing that a bit of selective fingering and breast sucking won't fix immediately afterwards, but for that reason, while it might be my favourite group sex position, it's not the girls'. And of course, they're the ones in control.

Of course there are times - many times - when the girls ditch the group sex thing and look for individual attention.

I have to say, that's more my style; even if it means I spend half the day in bed.

As time has gone on, we've all reached a better understanding of how this works with the least friction or jealously. From my point of view, the answer is easy. I'm allowed to respond to a come on from them without having to worry about what the others might think. Essentially it's up to the girls to sort it out and, so far, it seems to work with a minimum of friction.

Initially there were some Ioose rules between them to make sure things didn't get out of control. But as they got to know and trust each other better, the rules fell away and it's become a much more 'we'll sort it out' approach. I know there are days they'll basically have a schedule for me, others they'll be operating on a whim; but then a whim that will generally inspire the others to follow.

All I have learnt my cost is that it's better if I don't surrender to a sudden rush of lustful blood to my head. That can lead to jealousies. But then, with my balls constantly drained, that's hardly a major problem.

Perhaps what was most surprising was the fact that things hadn't really settled into a more normal routine. And by that I mean even newly minted couples get over having to have sex every day in a relatively short time and girls, the ones controlling our relationship, are meant to have lower sex derives than men.

.

And yet, the intensity of the sexual relations on the boat stayed as high as they'd always been.

As much as these things can be analysed - and you can be sure that Liddy and I have - the catalyst for this seems to be Amy. She admits that after the horror of her marriage, good sex in a loving relationship is simply something she can't get enough of. It's like she's discovered sex - real sex - for the first time and found, not only does she like it, it's like she's addicted to it.

When she first joined the boat, Liddy described Amy's need for sex as being like the effervescence you get when you open a well shaken pop bottle. But what has surprised Liddy is you sort of expect that effervescence to burn itself out fairly quickly. Patently, Amy's hadn't. It might in time - I'm sure it will - but has shown no sign of doing so yet.

That seems to do two things that sets the tone on the boat. Firstly, the sexual environment that Amy creates on the boat - and with the noise she makes, there's no getting away from it - seems to be somewhat contagious amongst the girls. Even Liddy admits her libido runs at a level she never expected to see again, or even experienced before, and Ellen is just as likely to instigate sex as Amy.

But secondly it creates a pressure on the girls that Ellen has described (and Liddy has concurred) as a fear of missing out. Whether that's a fear of missing out on good sex or a fear that not participating at Amy's level with somehow disadvantage them in whatever competition might exist for my affections is a bit ambiguous. I'm not sure even the girls know, but suspect it's a bit of both.

Liddy doesn't always want sex every day and will often excuse herself, or just not demand it when Amy and Ellen seek individual attention. In that both her libido and mental strength to overcome the fear of missing out when it suits her to are probably reflecting her - shall we say - more mature years.

Tash of course stands apart from all of this. Clearly the sexualised environment generates a sexual frustration in her that she, from time to time, seeks relief from me for. But without any emotional connection to me, the whole fear of missing out thing doesn't seem to affect her.

As for what it means for me? To state the obvious, I'm being asked to ejaculate between once (but only after penetrating three women) and four (when Tash puts up her hand too) times every day. And sometimes even more than that when they're in a particularly frisky mood. When it's four times in a day, given my far from fast refractory period, it means no small part of my day is spent rolling around in a bunk with a woman. It's lucky I'm retired and I have a sufficiently large crew that, even at sea, my absence can be dealt with. But I admit, it doesn't seem normal; more so at my age. And I can only be amused by the thought of how pathetically mean my squirts of cum must be by the time I've serviced four girls in as quick a succession as my body will allow; not that my climaxes are any less enjoyable for it.

The group sex at least shortens how long I spend in the bunk (and I would guess means someone gets a decent cum shot), even if I do feel it lacks emotional involvement.

But I'm no superman or stud. As I've admitted many times before, the only reason I can carry it off is because of the girls. Issie initiated a thought process where the girls took it upon themselves to constantly 'boost my testosterone' as Issie so delicately put it. When they're dressed at all, it's in what she (and now the others - including me) called 'fuck me' bikinis and other clothing. Basically clothing that's so brief and suggestive that any normal man in close proximity is going to be, if not actually aroused, completely distracted by the feminie display.

Back that up with their constant sexualised playfulness and contact with me with an explicit intention of keeping me in something close to a permanent state of arousal in their presence and somehow having sex four times in a day doesn't seem like such a tall order.

I was surprised that Liddy succumbed to joining in the fuck me clothing and playfulness as readily as she did. She can be as cheeky as any of the younger ones when she decides to. While the yacht she was on was essentially a clothing optional one at sea and I think Liddy's style is a naturally showy one, it struck me the blatant sexualisation of it was probably novel to her; something she confirmed when I had a chance to discuss it with her. And it certainly didn't concur with her modest, good Jewish girl, upbringing. But she says it's fun and makes her feel young again to be part of the young girl group.

And even though Tash has chosen to be emotionally separated from the rest of us and has something of a (perfectly reasonable) hang-up about having sex with someone nearly three times her age, she has no hang ups about the fuck me clothing or sexual playfulness. In fact she's often a ring leader with the playfulness. Maybe she's just a natural tease; something I've always thought was a woman's prerogative.

They say that all good things must come to an end. There's no doubt that for all of us, the yacht trip had been a good time; for most of us life changing. We'd already extended the trip by close to a year. But as we left New Caledonia, we knew the next stop was Australia, and that meant home.

We'd dallied in New Caledonia for as long as we could, sort of waiting for the Australian summer to catch up with us again. It was fun. Lots of snorkelling, diving, surfing, swimming (a definite water theme there) and generally touristing around.

The girls got lots of footage and photos for their popular (and profitable) YouTube and Instagram feeds and more than once Amy sexualised underwater displays for the camera turned her on so much she did her impression of a shark and predator and hunted me down for underwater sex. The others preferred theirs on the surface; and even more so on the boat.

But as summer approached, so also did the tropical cyclone season. Either we had to make for Australia now, or it would be another half year. And with jobs awaiting for the girls, they didn't have that time.

So with something of a heavy heart we set sail and left New Caledonia behind.

Ellen plotted us a course to intercept the Australian Coast near the Queensland border; the idea being to go through customs at Southport Port of Entry, then cruise down the NSW Coast.

So it was that at 5.30 am at the start of a calm sunny day, Ellen shook me awake from a sound sleep. We'd agreed that she would. She'd plotted to bring us within first sight of the coast at dawn.

"The sun will light up Mount Warning in ten minutes."

Originally named by Captain Cook on his voyage of discovery, the name means what it says. A high feature, visible from well out at sea, the coast nearby has a number of dangerous reefs.

Tash had been a bit blazie about it, but as the other Australians on board, this first sighting certainly had meaning for Ellen and myself. With both of us naked - as we usually were at sea - she held my hand as we walked up to the bow. Motoring to the West in the calm conditions, you could feel our beautiful boat and home carving its way through the water; seemingly as excited as we were.

Ahead of us was just the gloom of the early morning western sky. But the air seemed to be clear of sea mist and with luck and Ellen's expert navigation, we hoped to see the moment the sun rose high enough to light up the top of the mountain.

We stood there anxiously, Ellen holding onto the pulpit next to the rolled up genoa, her delightful naked body resting back against me as I cuddled up behind her, my arms around her, my chin over her shoulder. Very much like Jack and Rose in the Titanic for fans of the movie. Except they weren't naked.

It wasn't meant to be sexual, but it aroused me anyway. But I doubt she expected anything other than to feel my erection pushing into the cheek of her bottom.

Slowly the dark western sky started to lighten.

There, just a few degrees to the South of directly ahead, a shape emerged. Then it lit up. Brown at first, then an increasingly intense shade of green. Mount Warning.

Ellen looked back at me, a tear in her eye.

"It's nearly over isn't it?"

I was choking up myself. All I could do was mouth a sympathetic 'yes'.

What Liddy did next made it a moment I'll remember for the rest of my life. Through the speakers of the boat's entertainment system, there started up the unmistakable sound of Peter Allen's song from the early 1980's, "I Still Call Australia Home." Softly at first, there came the opening verse...

"I been to cities that never close down

From New York to Rio and Old London Town

But no matter how far or how wide I roam

I still call Australia home"

Copyright prevents me from setting out the words in full here, but if you want to see the power of the words in the context of our arrival, they can easily be found...

By the second verse, the tears were streaming down both our cheeks; the words just too close to the completion of a long boat journey. I was already heaving in the knowledge of the next verse, which Liddy turned the sound up for...

"Someday we'll all be together once more

When all of the ships come back to the shore

I realise something I've always known

I still call Australia home..."

It was more than either of us could take. Ellen turned to me, her whole body heaving as she hugged me and sobbed into my shoulder. But I was no better; just a crying mess.

The song must have eroded Tash's composure too, because suddenly she joined us on the bow; wrapping her hands around both of us as she too sobbed and heaved under the emotion of it all.

Liddy played it one more time. As I found myself quietly singing along, through my tears, the all too familiar (to me anyway) words, the girls joined in until we finished the last verse in a crescendo of loud sobbing voices.

"But no matter how far or how wide I roam

I still call Australia

I still call Australia

I still call Australia home"

I turned back and blew Liddy a kiss.

We stood there a few more minutes, taking in the sight of our native land coming up over the previously darkened horizon.

As we came back to the cockpit, Ellen altered course a few points to the North to set us on the course for the Southport bar. I took the moment to get Liddy alone...

"How did you know about that song?"

"I flew Qantas into Australia while I was visiting there a couple of times in the 80's and they played it over the plane's sound system on final approach. I saw how many of the Australians cried, so I thought it might be nice to play as we approached the coast. I downloaded a copy in New Caledonia."

I gave her a kiss.

"Thank you."

With the throttle wide open and surrendering our nakedness for swimwear, we reached the customs station at Southport just after breakfast. For the first time in I don't know how long, we were on a schedule - and a tight one at that.

The bright lights and heavy traffic of the Gold Coast held no interest for us. Fortunately we cleared customs and refuelled fairly quickly, letting us pass back out over the Southport Bar to set a course South for Byron Bay.

Ever since she's holidayed with her family there as a teenager Ellen had fancied the idea of spending a night or two in a yacht anchored in the bay; and frankly, so had I. The practical issue was that Byron Bay is sheltered from the South and West, but completely open to the North and East. The forecast was for two days and nights of light SSW'ers, with a reversion to NE'ers after that. Which is why we were suddenly on a tight schedule.

It's an interesting town. The coastal centre of hippie culture in Australia, the low rise town centre is perpetually full of foreign backpackers. And yet just outside the town centre is some of the most expensive coastal real estate in Australia owned by some of its most famous celebrities.

On a boat where we usually only use the motor to enter port, we again we opened the throttle heading South. Skirting the rocks at Point Danger (Cook was nothing if not literal in his naming of geographical features), we reached Byron mid afternoon; anchoring in the SW corner of the Bay, far enough out to be safe from breaking waves and falling tides, but well tucked away from the wind and swell.

I had some serious plans for the next two days but first it was time to dive in to enjoy the Byron surf. The girls dug out the two well used surfboards we had on board and we used one to transport some towels and money ashore in a waterproof sea bag. After all those months cruising the remote corners of the Pacific, the first priority was ice cream, chocolate and real cappuccinos.

Swimming ashore, we stashed the surfboards and bag (too decrepit to be attractive to anyone), dried ourselves as best we could, I conformed to millennial standards by donning a pair of board shorts over my speedos (the girls won't let me be seen in speedos more than 50 metres from the beach) and we headed down the main drag of the town in search of our long deprived luxuries.

We certainly attracted a lot of attention. And it wasn't because of my bare chest (because in Byron a bare male chest is not that unusual). There was no shortage of girls walking around in bikinis, but few had bikinis as revealing as our groups'. And I might be biased, but there were even less worn by girls as attractive. Every male in town turned their head to follow us as we walked past them. Far from being put out by it, I got the impression the girls were lapping it up; especially Amy.

I suppose most people thought we were a family group; me and Liddy as the parents with three daughters. Certainly you could pass Amy and Ellen off as our children; similar tall lanky body shapes as Liddy and myself with maybe Amy having inherited Liddy's olive complexion and Ellen my more pale one. And Amy's breasts might be thought to have come from Liddy if you didn't know Liddy's weren't real. But voluptuous Tash? Definitely a ringer there.