Unexpected Threesome Ch. 52

As the breakfast gathering broke up, Ned, Liddy and I cruised the resort hand in hand, checking out he pools and shops in a way we hadn't had time to before.

We had a couple of hours before race time, so, with the day rapidly heating up, we went back to the unit to change into swimwear for a dip in the resort pool. It was tempting just to put the white bikini top on to match the pants I was already wearing. But I knew how transparent they went when wet, so changed into one of the boat uniform mid-blue ones; putting the white lace dress back on for the walk to the pool.

It is in situations like this that I'm sure I test both Ned's and Liddy's boundaries for public displays of affection.

If I have to share Ned with another woman, then I'm incredibly lucky it is someone like Liddy. Both she and Ned come into the relationship after long and happy marriages ended by the early death of a spouse. But they brought to it something of the habits of a long married couple.

When it comes to displays of affection, their public ones, over and above walking holding hands or with interlocked elbows or waists, tends to be limited to momentary pats of each other's butts or quick, almost teasing cupping of each other's crotches or Liddy's breasts. Just maybe a hand might be placed high on the other's thigh when they're sitting side by side on the beach. And kisses, in these public situations are momentary pecks on the lips.

I don't like explaining anything I do in terms of my past relationship with Frank, because then Ned worries he's taking advantage of my damaged self. But until I met Ned, it would be fair to say my life was completely and utterly devoid of physical -- or emotional for that matter -- displays of affection, over and above what my parents provided in my childhood. Public or otherwise.

I missed completely the early adult experiences of lying on the beach with a boyfriend, nearly naked in our swimwear, one laying over the other, passionately kissing, visually aroused and doing everything short of having wild penetrative sex. And sometimes even doing that.

I've been lucky that, as we've cruised remote locations with Ned, there's been no shortage of beaches we've had all to ourselves where we've done all of that -- the wild penetrative sex, and a lot more, included.

But that's not quite the same as getting romantically lost in the moment while lying on a crowded beach or on sunbeds around the pool of a resort hotel; let alone while fooling around in the pool itself. So I feel I have a lot of making up of missed experiences to do; probably exacerbated by the fact I've been watching too many young Australians spending a lot of time with intimate partners on their glorious, sandy sun drenched beaches, with little memory of the more infrequent visits associated with my chiller native England.

So I have trouble leaving Ned's body alone when we're together in this situation.

We might start out with Ned sprawled out between Liddy and myself, Liddy and me with a hand high on his thigh and him with a hand on each of ours. But with his semi naked maleness permeating my very being, I get randy, my hand slips up his thigh to be brushing his balls, I move his up to press against the gusset of my bikini pants, and the next thing I know, my body is half over him madly pashing him.

Leaving Ned the problem of some or all of an erection publically tenting up his speedos and Liddy the problem of lying there as her life partner gets publically eaten by another woman close to half her age.

And even if I wait until Ned and I go for a dip in the pool, Liddy has to watch while I press him against the wall of the pool and publically sexualise his body right in front of her.

And quite apart the PDA issues, that's even before she has to deal with our different sexual demands on Ned. Liddy's happy with something between two and four times a week. My desires more run to twice or more a day; and I'm not talking about quickies either.

I don't think there a many women, even among those willing to be part of a stable polygamous relationship, who would tolerate that disparity in approach.

I'm incredibly lucky that Liddy does.

Some of that might be because of our shared history. I had ten years of a very abusive, loveless partnership where sex was little more than rape. After her first husband died, Liddy was sort of railroaded into a second marriage with an abusive husband by her religious community. She had the sense to get out after a bit more than a year, alienating herself from her religious community in the process but discovering a whole new Liddy as she threw off the shackles imposed by the religion as she emotionally divorced herself from it.

And what a difference that was. I don't think the highly conservative group from which she came would recognise the Liddy who now prances around in tiny bikinis or body conforming micro miniskirts with plunging necklines and stringy shoulder straps with her D cup breasts -- ironically enhanced for the very reason her mother thought she needed a bosom to display under heavy figure hiding clothing -- sitting up perkily and tenting out her dress in a way that gives an extensive down skirt view.

But I digress. The bottom line is that Liddy understands what I've been through and what I've missed out on. She's inclined to regard my present high sexual needs as a sort of effervesce; the equivalent of what happens when you shake a soda bottle and open the lid. In effect, a post abusive relationship release of pent up frustrations.

Implicitly, this means it's of short duration; something that will burn itself out once the pressure is released. I have my doubts. I don't like to use a word that usually has pejorative connotations, but I suspect I'm more of a genuine nymphomaniac. You'd think after several years there'd be some tapering already if this was just effervesce, but there's not.

What I don't know, and are to an extent exploring during this week, is whether my overblown sexual response is limited to Ned or applies to men generally.

None of which was particularly relevant as I asked Ned if he'd liked to go for a swim in the pool with me. He knew what he was in for when he replied with raised eyebrows...

"So it's just a swim is it?"

"Well a cooling off at least."

"So things are going to get cooler not hotter?"

"Oh all right. If you're going to be difficult, the question is whether you like to come into the pool with me"

"So we're talking about cumming now are we?"

"You are in a difficult mood."

"You're the one asking ambiguous questions."

Ned was smirking from ear to ear with his teasing of me. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up out of the lounge...

"Let's go."

"Now I'm confused. Are we coming or going."

I turned back to him and poked my tongue at him before flicking and wiggling my butt under his eyes as I continued to lead him into the water.

We eased ourselves into the coolish water, breast stroking individually out into the middle of the pool. I rolled on my back, paddling with my feet and hands as I glided alongside Ned asking him about the race course for the day. As I hoped he would, he did the same and rolled onto his back.

Back peddling, I let him get a bit ahead of me before I flipped back onto my stomach and breast stroked gently over his front up torso. There was nothing particularly novel about that. I've done it many times in the pool at home and not infrequently as we've frolicked in the ocean. It's usually a prelude to me herding him against the wall of the pool or into the shallows where, given a modicum of privacy, I fuck the cock off him.

There's a good reason both of our erotic dreams have a water theme.

At its best, it's a very erotic way of swimming together; not that different really from Ned's dream of us being intertwined as we made love underwater. When I'm far enough over his body, I reach down and draw his hips up against me; letting my nipples rub on his chest and my crotch on the bulge in his pants the gentle kicking of our legs and Ned's paddling hands slowly move us through the water.

As best I can, I steered him towards a part of the pool wall adjacent to a garden bed in a narrow part of the pool, not too overlocked by the other side nor in the direct line of those doing laps.

As he back up against the wall Ned squatted in the water, letting it support his weight as he's submerged up to his neck. I sat over him, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as I sat on his thighs. As Ned reciprocated by holding me around my lower chest, I brought my head alongside his, whispering in his ear...

"That's better. I've got you to myself now."

Ned made an exaggerated point of casting his eyes around his visual horizon and with a smirk, replies...

"Yep, all to yourself and the ten other people in the pool and the twenty sitting around it."

"Near enough."

Like a smitten teenager, I brought my lips to his and thrust my tongue in his mouth, kissing him with almost manic enthusiasm.

I let my right arm drift from around his neck and slowly down his flank it came to the point that simple human ergonomics had created a small gap between us. Within that gap lay his manhood.

I sometimes worry that Ned is growing immune to me. When we first became intimate on the yacht, Ned would respond to almost any contact with my nubile body with an instant erection. Now we'd just swam across the pool with our crotches rubbing against each other and the most I found was a half mongrel, if that. Still, it didn't take too much hand playing with it to induce a full erection. Bending it down, still sheathed in his speedos, I lifted myself to position the tip under my crotch, firmly against my clit.

Now as I continued to kiss him, I could rub my clit slowly against his erection. It was nice; really erotic really. But anything too vigorous and little wavelets emerged from between our bodies making it far too obvious what was going on under the water.

I had to be satisfied with a slow gentle pleasuring of myself; something that would leave me hot and randy rather than orgasmically satisfied. I could deal with that.

All too soon it was time for us to go and get ready to head down to the yacht; Ned having to do a couple of laps of the pool before he got out, to let his erection settle rather than make a public display of it.

By the time we got down there the marina was a hive of activity. A quick trip below to strip out of our hot pants and crop tops and down to our bikinis and speedos in accordance with the rules of the boat and the six women and three men were soon busy preparing the boat for the race; although not lacking interruptions.

Julie's friends from the TP52's all came around to wish us well and those who shared the marina arm with us seemed to make a point of stopping and getting to know us. But what really took a lot of our time was the press.

Having discovered us as eye candy for their reports, they seemed determined to make the most of us; both the women and male journalists.

So Julie, Ellen and myself seemed to spend a lot of time on the dock in tiny bikinis, talking to journalists and giving interviews for the TV cameras. It probably helped that both Julie and Ellen made good interview subjects. Between them, they knew their sailing and their racing and their commentary was all of interesting, informative and amusing. I wasn't entirely sure what I added to it, other than another pair of barely covered tits.

But both Ellen and Ned pushed me to be part of the interview team; nominally me being there as the owner's representative, although they encouraged me to think of myself as a part owner. I suppose I was able to answer a fair number of questions without making a fool of myself. After all, I'd spent a fair bit of time sailing around the Pacific and knew the yacht well. But I wasn't as expert as both Julie and Ellen were and I let them do most of the talking.

And of course, many of them wanted another line up of the crew along the side of the deck for a photograph -- women to the front of course - and for us to give them some action footage of the boat being prepared. All of us were getting plenty of practice at developing our acting skills as we repetitively redid stuff that had already been done.

They were there filming and taking pictures of the boat as we undocked too -- now redressed in our uniform hot pants and crop top. Ellen had wanted the boat to have a distinctive vibe and it hadn't gone unnoticed.

The course for the day included a starting line to the East of Hamilton Island this time with a windward start. That meant, instead of setting the spinnaker on the gun, we'd be close hauled, trying, with the other 20 boats in our division, to hit the line at full speed and in the best position. This of course was an ambition shared by every other yacht and only one could get there.

I'd noticed as we'd gone below to put our uniforms on before we'd undocked that Julie had taken off both parts of her blue bikini and put on a tiny flesh coloured pair of bikini pants as the only thing she wore under the blue hot pants and top. It was only as a gun went, setting off the division ahead of us and giving us the start of our five minute countdown that the implication of that change became evident.

On a yacht like ours, more so in a crowded fleet, you send someone up to the bow at the start to let you know exactly where the yacht is in relation to the line and to keep an eye on surrounding boats to try and keep your position clear and the boat safe.

Julie was the best at that, having both good judgement and enough aggression to make the right calls. She wasn't shy about calling out boats pushing the rules either.

But this time, before going up the bow, she stripped off her top and hot pants, leaving her in nothing but the flesh coloured bikini pants; and there wasn't much of those. Being a fairly extreme Brazilian cut, the back disappeared into her butt crack until it emerged at the top as a fairly small whale tail and the front was the typically small triangle of material common to the bikinis worn on the boat; held up by a single spaghetti thin elastic circling each hip.

The colour of it was close enough to her own skin that, from more than 10 feet away, she looked completely naked.

With the hand held radio again on a lanyard around her neck to call back to Ned on where he should steer and the distance to the line, her presence certainly softened the attitude of other boats as we edged into something close to the position we wanted and distracted others to the point they fell behind.

As we jostled towards the start line, Julie could be heard alternatively calling instructions back to Ned and persuading any other boats who persisted in being too aggressive notwithstanding her visual distractions not to push their luck beyond the rules.

Finally the call came back from Julie to pull the sheets on and get the boat up to speed.

We didn't necessarily get the absolute best start, but it was pretty good by our usual standards and we at least had clear air.

Julie stayed there as we tacked in close company with the rest of the still tightly packed fleet; calling starboard on those we had right of way on and, when we were on port tack, her charms getting us waved through on at least two occasions when it was a very close call and we usually would have tacked away. It was something she reciprocated with a giant smile and a breast wobbling wave; storing up the goodwill for next time.

With the wind only moderate and her light weight not being urgently required on the side rail, she stayed there for most of the work out to the turning mark at Pentecost Island; for all the rest of the world appearing as a naked figurehead on our yacht.

The real work fell to Ellen; who as navigator/tactician was responsible for picking the lifts and knocks while also making sure playing them didn't lead us into an adverse tide situation.

As we approached Pentecost Island Julie used her post at the bow to she set up the arrangements for the spinnaker set for the long run down to the base of Pine Island.

With a fair and constant wind and long distances between marks, Julie's unusual approach to dealing with crowded situations became less relevant and she drifted back to the cockpit, where her main distracting value seemed to be on Ned as he alternated turns on the helm with Ellen; with Julie standing right in front of him. Yet for a while, she seemed reluctant to get dressed again and no one felt brave enough to suggest she should.

Near the end of the long run to Pine Island, it was a decision she made herself. There Julie made sure we did a perfect gybe for the run along the island and an equally perfect letterbox drop as we turned the top of the Island for the work back to Dent Passage and the finish.

As, stripped once more to bikinis, we tidied up the boat as it sat back in its dock after the race, Julie's acquaintances and friends from the TP52's once again got themselves invited aboard for a post-race beer and social. Forewarned of the rules, this time no one was commando under their pants as they followed Julie's instruction to strip down to their undies to meet the boat's post-race dress rules, and more of them had speedos instead of just plain undies on.

This time I had a better idea of some of their personalities. As the guy who'd got drunk and ended the previous night abusing me for prick teasing when I wouldn't go back to bed with him seemed to be making a bee line for me, I closed the gap he was heading for; reopening it again only after he'd settled elsewhere. Whether he remembered it or not, I've had enough of that sort of treatment in my life already. He was on permeant exclusion.

One of the other guys who'd hit on me but had sanguinely accepted my refusal was one side of me. A new guy -- tall, slender and closer to my age I would guess - sat on the other.

With the extra bodies, we were even more compacted together and we were barely one beer in before the guys either side of me decided the only remaining place to rest their lower arms was on my thigh. It was a fairly common tactic among the guys as they sat around the cockpit. And predictably, it meant the game of creeping hands had begun.

I was especially vulnerable because, apart from Julie, I seemed to them like the only unattached female. Ellen's husband was there making sure no one misunderstood Ellen's playfulness; and playful she certainly was. Shelley clung to Adam like a limpet mine and everyone just accepted that Liddy was with Ned and in any case, too old for them, however stunning she was.

Issie made her married status well known and firmly enforced her boundaries.

Which sort of left Julie and me for those feeling optimistic.

I frequently enough made known my partnered up status; especially when some guy had the courage to directly ask if I'd participate in carnal activities, or even just for a date (although frankly, the environment seemed to encourage the former more than the latter). But because for my own reasons, I knowingly avoiding Issie's strict approach to boundaries, I was still left as a possible target. Little did they know that my vaguely declared partner was sitting right opposite them; benignly watching as I tested my own reaction to men closer to my own age.

Let's just say that, even as I used the excuse of playing host to circulate the cockpit to sit next to as many different guys as possible, the hands still managed to find enough time to work their way well up my thighs; sometimes until they could go no further.

More so when I was even bold enough to sit on a couple of their laps when I couldn't find a gap between the bodies to squeeze myself into.

How I managed to drop my inhibitions to that extent, I'm not quite sure. There's nothing in my past to suggest I am by nature a playful minx sort of girl. I somehow decided it just didn't matter. There were boundaries, just ones that weren't tested, even when some guys started subtly rubbing my crotch with the side of their little finger.