Unexpected Threesome Ch. 18

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Withdrawing the residue of my erection, I rolled off Tash, slipping my swimmers the rest of the way off me and chucking them onto the floor for the morning.

She just continued to lay there, face up, arms out to her side, staring at the roof. The giant T shaped tear in her one piece completely exposed her breasts, which now rose out of her red swimmers like towering light brown mountains surrounded by a red ocean. It took only the slightest elevation to see the rest of what was exposed. The flaps of the tear were peeled back revealing a V of flesh that extended from under her breasts to where it came to a point as it turned her mound into her crotch. The material around her crotch looked scrunched up from the pounding she’d just had; wet and stained by sweat, her juices and cum.

She looked completely, alluringly, ravished and was making no attempt to strip herself out of the now useless suit.

Her hand slid across the narrow distance between our bodies, brought it over my hips and cupped my flaccid, sticky cock; playing gently with it.

“Ned, I’ve never had sex like that before.”

It was clear it was intended as a positive statement, but “like that” covered a broad range of possibilities. My ego wanted to explore them but my common sense said ‘not yet’.

Not wanting to disturb the hand on my cock, I lay as still as I could while I bent my arm around the top of her head and stroked her hair in a silent appreciative recognition of her words. Gradually the movement of her hand stopped. I raised my head just enough to see she’d slipped off to sleep.

I brought my own arm to a more comfortable position and let myself drift off to sleep too; the hand cupping my cock never far from my mind. I vaguely recall drowsing into semi-wakefulness in the middle of the night with her hand now covering a night hard-on, but the next clear memory is of being woken at first light to find her turned on her side towards me, propped on her elbow, running her finger up and down a full erection as she kissed my cheek. She was still in the destroyed swimsuit; the triangular upper flap now draped down partly closing the torn gap

“Morning Ned.”

“Morning.”

“That was pretty good last night. Where did you learn to do it?”

“What?”

“The role play. The sex.”

“I’m sure many young studs your age would know stuff on the sex side that would blow your brain compared to me. But a good professional spends his life role playing.”

Then I added with what I hoped she recognised as a self-depreciating grin…

“I just repurposed the skill. But did the role play really make that much difference?”

Tash thought for a moment. It was clear she knew the answer. She was just trying to formulate it in a way she was happy to admit to.

“Yes, a big one. You sussed me out disturbingly quickly on where I was coming from. But the simple fact is that, while you might be too knackered after 5 hours swimming a day to get up to much, the brain didn’t stop. You had a mixed group of nearly naked young adults spending all this time together and a hero figure in the coach.

As you’re swimming up and down the lanes the brain is looking for entertainment of its own. If you’re following a guy with a cute butt – and in a swimming squad they all have cute butts – and you can see the bulge of his balls and dick in his swimmers trailing between his legs, you’re going to start imagining things. If one is swimming toward you with a bit of a hard on, you’re going to imagine even more because you know he’s got randy thoughts too. And when there’s no cute butt or hard on to focus on, there’s always the coach.

Thinking about sex was my favourite way to entertain my brain while I was swimming. And five hours a day leads to some pretty heavily imprinted fantasies.”

“So now you’ve done it, does that let you tick it off a bucket list or is it like a video you keep wanting to replay occasionally?”

“It definitely a play again video; but then there’s some others to put on the play list too.”

Tash had a grin a mile wide as she teased me with the last statement. I turned towards her and immediately she closed the small gap between our bodies, slipping my erection inside her torn swimsuit and into the wet warmth of her crease.

Instinctively I brought my hand up, peeled back the flap of material covering her upper breast and covered it with my hand; tweaking her nipple between two out stretched fingers.

Tash put and arm around my neck and pulled my head in towards her breasts and she started rocking back and forwards on my hardened shaft as her other hand held it tight into her crease and against what I reasonably assumed was her clit.

Her bosom was no less inviting for the fact it was surrounded by the remnants of her swimmers. I licked and nuzzled at her upper nipple while my hand fingered the lower one; quickly turning them both into attractive jutting peaks which made the upper one all the more attractive to suck.

As Tash quickly worked herself up into kolej escort a state of excitement, her initial gentle rocking on my cock soon turn into bunk shaking full thrusts, bending my cock down further so that it maintained its own firm pressure in her crease without the assistance of her hand. She first thrust herself forward slipping right along its length until my cock was pushed deeply into the back of her torn swimsuit, then pulled herself back until the bell itself was playing against her clit.

Five or six of those in very quick succession and she came; nearly suffocating me in her cleavage as she held my head in a crushing grip.

Almost immediately she used her hand to introduce my shaft into her sex, only looking for a shallow penetration before rolling me onto my back and mounting me with her legs outside mine with her arms extending her torso into the air. From there she pushed down to bury me in her until her mound was hard against my pubis. I could only watch with delight as her breasts bounced up and down like a pair of basket balls as she ground herself against me to a second orgasm.

Then squeezing me tightly, she changed her previous grinding movement to a longer stroke one, until she had me squirting my seed into her again. By the standards of the morning romps on the boat it was something of a quickie.

As she rolled back off me it wasn’t hard to imagine that my cum and her juices were again filling the much abused crotch of those ripped red swimmers. We both lay there for another hour until I heard the first sounds of one of the other girls in the main cabin.

I excused myself from Tash to get up, put on the pair of speedos I’d thrown on the floor last night and slip out of the cabin. It was Ellen, dressed only in one of her fuck me bikinis, filling the kettle.

“Can you put on some water for me too?”

“Sure Mr Smith.”

“So you heard, did you?”

“Let’s see now.”

Ellen walked up to me, wrapped her hands around my butt, pulled my crotch against hers and started vigorously dry humping me.

“No Mr Smith, No Mr Smith, don’t fuck me Mr Smith, don’t, stop, Oh Mr Smith, don’t stop.”

Tash opened the door and walked into the cabin, smirking at what was going on, even if with something of a red face. She and Ellen are both Australian, so know that humour between mates can be at times a bit brutal. Leaving me to the erection she’d created, Ellen walked over to her and put her arms reassuringly around her; bringing her crotch more firmly against Tash’s than I was used to seeing Ellen do.

“I’m sure you know you’re going to get teased about these things don’t you. It’s a small yacht and it’s our way of breaking down any barriers and inhibitions. But that shouldn’t stop you. We all have our little things and you’ll get your chance to tease too. But it does sound like Mr Smith was very naughty. Does he need to be punished?”

Ellen turned towards me, giving me the sort of wicked grin that tells you she’s contemplating something naughty.

“Tash, you know on the boat we can do a good line in walking the plank and keel hauling for naughty boys don’t you. I’ve always wanted to experiment with a bit of tying to the mast and flogging too, but the local police might take objection.

My goodness. What happened to those? Oh, OK, come to think of it, you don’t have to answer that question. Just out of interest, was Nigel’s surname Smith?”

Ellen had spotted Tash’s shredded red swimmers cascading from her hand, the damage fairly obvious; as indeed was a certain yuckiness in their torn crotch. As Tash folded them up and consigned them to the bin she looked back at Ellen and nodded her head.

“Yes.”

Ellen walked over to me, drawing a line down my naked chest with the fingers of one hand, while those of the other drew a line up the erection that was pushing out my swimmers.

“Ned, I had quite a crush on one of my third year professors. I reckon you’d look a bit like him in a pair of hospital scrubs. I might have to see what I can rustle up.”

It was about now Amy emerged from the centre cabin.

“What’ all this about.”

It was Ellen who responded.

“Have a look in the bin.”

Amy went over and pulled the red swimmers from the bin; holding them up by one of the shoulder straps to let their full length drape down in a way that showed the damage. Then she held them higher as she examined their crotch. Even from where I was standing I could see globules of dried cum on the patch of material stiffened by dried body fluids.

“Oh dear, they’ve seen a bit of action haven’t they. Explains what we heard last night. Nice one Tash. You may have given me a few ideas too.”

Amy reconsigned the swimmers to the bin and we settled down for breakfast.

We had a big day planned. Issie’s departure had sent the boat into a bit of a funk. With the week spent on the diving course and then the week before and after her departure spent doing maltepe escort little more than mopping around, there’d been far too little time spent exploring the incredible beauty of Huahine, the island on which the town of Fare, where we were anchored, is based. On our original schedule we were meant to be long gone by now; yet in some ways we’d barely started our stay here.

Certainly the snorkelling and diving around Fare had been spectacular and the girls had tried out the surfing on the famous nearby beaches, especially Ava Mo’a Pass. But all the surfing this side was a reef break and really only Ellen was up to the standard that required. Dedicated though they were, the others had quickly decided the risks weren’t worth the benefits.

A lot of what we wanted to look at was on the east side of the Island, opposite where we were anchored on the Western side. Given the choice of hiring a car or trying to get there by boat, we chose the latter. I say trying because, unless we wanted to go back out to sea and circumnavigate the island, our trip would entail using the tender to navigate some shallow internal passageways. With several days’ worth of activities planned there we decided to move the yacht to the closest deep-water starting point in Bouyarne Bay. From there we could use the Rib to navigate the narrow channel between Huahine-Nui and Huahine-Iti (which translates as big and little Huahine), down Maroe Bay and around towards the town of Faie, the starting point of our adventure.

The maps told us the trip to Bouyarne Bay should be safe enough. Just the same, we hoisted Ellen up to the spreader and Amy manned the bow pulpit to keep an eye out for coral heads; Tash watching out for their signals while I concentrated on steering.

Anchoring as close as we could to the narrow passageway between the two islands, we piled into the RIB; myself, three girls, two surfboards, a backpack with towels and clothing and a picnic basket. The girls are light, so weight wasn’t a problem with the 15hp motor easily pushing us along at planning speed. Keeping everyone and everything aboard and the girls’ breasts in their bikini tops as the boat bounced about in the choppy water was a bit harder.

As went entered the narrow and shallow channel between the islands we slowed right down; Ellen and Tash in the bow, kneeling on the floor and looking forward and down to give warning of any obstacles. But it quickly turned out that the underwater wildlife rather than navigation hazards became the focus of attention.

Numerous rays, turtles and small reef sharks seemed to have sought shelter in the relatively safe waters of the channel. The girls got all excited and Amy pulled out the GoPro to get some underwater footage for the blog and video pages. Attaching the camera to a long pole, she bent deeply over the side of the RIB to let her hold it under the water, resist the pressure on the pole from the forward movement of the boat and see what she was filming. Ellen and Tash quickly joined her in bending over the side to look at what she was filming and direct her to notable sights, rather than keeping an eye forward.

All I could do was slow the boat down; both to help Amy by reducing the pressure on the camera pole and to account for the fact somewhat less attention was now being paid to navigation. Mind you, the girls weren’t the only ones whose attention to that was flagging.

Opposite me on the RIB, Amy, in nothing more than a tiny bikini, had her arse in the air as she lay face down across the inflated side tube of the RIB, with her knees spread wide apart to brace herself as she filmed the beautiful world under the water.

In my own opinion anyway, nature’s most beautiful attraction wasn’t under the water. It was just across the RIB from me. Amy’s judgement was right. For all Tash’s voluptuous beauty, it was Amy’s body I was always drawn back to.

Soaking wet from the spray we’d all been drenched with as we’d crossed the more open waters of Bouyarne Bay, the gorgeous azure material of her scrunch back, tie sided, Brazilian cut bikini bottoms clung to the sculptured light olive skin of her bum like it was painted on. The scrunch back drew the material into the fold of her bottom from where it spread out to partly cover her bum checks like a pair of delicate butterfly wings; the waist band arching up each side from where it just exposed the top of her crack to where it met the high cut legs seams and continued on to form the tightly drawn side tie which hitched delectably over her hip.

But as always with Amy, the piece de resistance lay between her legs where the prominent bulge of her mound screamed out her sexuality at me. From every angle, but especially from this one, it was a goldilocks mound; large and prominent enough to bring any male to cross legged frustration with its fecund femineity but not so large as to be gross or distorted. Down the centre of it, the seam of the material snuggled into the faintest hint of the mamak escort line of her crease; nothing as crude as a camel toe, but enough to never let you forget what lay within.

I knew all too well what lay within. I’d explored it with my fingers, cock and tongue. I’ve separated her engorged labia and stared lustfully at her swollen clit and the opening to her sex; a wet, dark open void anxiously waiting for whatever I was about to thrust into it. I’ve watched as my hardened manhood plunged in and out of her body, its length emerging glistening with her juices.

But still that most innocent sight of it delicately covered by a bulge in her bikini bottoms only released my eyes from their fixation and my mind from its desire to plunge my cock into it for long enough for me to take in the sight presented by the other girls.

Tash was on the same side of the boat as Amy; opposite me. Turned to look over the angle of the blunt bow, she also was nearly square onto me, even though further forward. Like Amy, she was kneeling legs apart, bum up as she looked over the side.

I’d been trying, since she arrived on the boat, to work out what it was that felt so familiar about Tash. It was only staring at her butt now that the penny dropped. Appearance wise she very much reminded me of Kate Upton in the movie “The Other Woman” even if she was the complete opposite of the bimbo like character Kate was given. And that extended to the small white tie side bikini she had on to day.

Tash didn’t have the prominent mound Amy had, but had a pretty cute butt just the same; broader than Amy’s as befitted her more curvy figure. But as Tash had positioned herself to look over the bow, she must have dragged down the front of her bikini pants because unlike Amy’s almost painted on ones, Tash’s were hanging a little loose. The weight of the wet material had pulled the leg seam away from her thigh, giving me a view straight into her crease and at her sex. Distracting to say the least.

Ellen was alongside me, looking over the opposite side of the boat to the other girls, giving me more of an elevated profile view of her. She too was wearing a tiny scrunched back, Brazilian cut, string sided bikini, a bit like Amy’s except it didn’t have tie sides. In profile, her butt, capping as it did her long slender legs, was every bit as cute as Amy’s; the distraction value increased by the peek down her bum crack given to me by the low slung waist band.

Unlike the others, Ellen was wearing a light gauze, white suntop over her bikini. It too had become wet from the trip across the bay and now clung transparently up against her bikini top, revealing the jutting nipple that the wind across the wet material had raised.

With the girls apparently completely distracted by the underwater sights, I thought I could safely perve at the above water ones without being sussed out; enough that I’d grown a bit of wood that sat as a ramrod straight bar pushing out the front of my swimmers. Not a full on one, but obvious enough even when I was sitting down.

But twice I was caught by Tash. Once when I was staring straight up Amy’s butt and looked up to see her eyeing me off. The second time when I’d been staring up the gap in her bikini and suddenly realised she was looking straight back at me; she giving me a cheeky grin and a wiggle of her butt as our eyes met. And there was no doubt she could see the wood.

After we safely navigated the channel, we entered the more open water of Maro’e Bay. With a couple of km to travel down the Bay, Tash decided she’s like to give wake boarding a go; something she actually come prepared for with a tow rope.

This was meant to be a fun day, so there was nothing lost in giving it a go. It turned out Tash was pretty good at it; having done a lot with her family. Still, on the choppy waters she wasn’t immune to falling and quickly proved that a string tie bikini is not the ideal garment for it when you have a figure like Tash’s. The first time she fell she only had a blowout in her top. As she regained confidence, she kept signalling for us to go faster. So the second time she fell she was just about stripped out of her bikini all together. Her pants ended up around her ankles and her top came off completely.

We pulled her aboard stark naked where she tied her pants back on before we turned around and retraced our steps looking for the lost top. Fortunately it had swallowed a lot of air in the fall and we found it floating in our wake.

Each of Amy and Ellen wanted their turn too. Less skilled, they had more falls, but the speeds were slower and after Tash’s example they’d tied their bikinis on more securely. The only additional exposure we had was a top blowout from Amy.

At the head of Maro’e Bay we turned left and navigated another shallow channel between the main island and the outlying sandy cay of Motu Vavaratea. Then we travelled North up the deep sheltered bay which forms the harbour for the township of Faie, past the Huahine Pearl Farm and across to a low scrubby cay to the north called Motu Mahara.

We delicately navigated around to the exposed South East corner of it, where we beached the RIB within sight of what we’d come for; a famous left hand breach break. It might be famous, but out here on a small island in the middle of the Pacific we still had it completely and absolutely to ourselves.

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