Summer Sailing
Chapter 10

Copyright© 2017 by HAL

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 10 - My name is Chris, this is a 'true' story about my flotilla sailing holiday in Greece with a bunch of girls.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual  

DAY NINE

Five nights to go, and five girls (I thought of Cheryl as ‘one of the girls’). But that last night would be chaotic as everybody tried to pack and find their clean knickers and work out where to pack the ouzo that only three of us were technically allowed to bring back. So...

“Well, I want to sleep with him tonight” said Fred “That’s fair” Typical young girl, by ‘that’s fair’ she meant ‘that’s what’s best for me so it should happen’

I decided to make myself scarce, which is difficult on a boat. We were scudding along at 7 knots with a lovely breeze on the port stern quarter. I ‘popped’ below to check something, and stayed there, making the bed, tidying my socks (I had 5 socks with me, it had been 6, I never found the other one. Probably in the bilges, waiting to block the bilge pump in the next storm Puffin is in), looking at the charts, making a pot of coffee. Anything to stay out of the way and leave 5 luscious ladies to argue/discuss who should get to sleep with lucky old me. I invented a rather rude term for this, one which I would not repeat to the girls, I was ‘cunt-neutral’; in other words I’d happily find myself embedded in any one of their lovely bodies. Obviously there were exceptions where Fred was concerned.

I did think that Cheryl should have first dibs, since she had made this all possible. If she wanted me, she should have me. Of course, maybe she didn’t want me! Maybe I was rubbish in bed! Maybe they were all arguing for who could avoid having to sleep with me! Typical male insecurity ambushed me when I was least expecting it. Maybe, in leaving them to discuss me alone, they were finally able to admit how fucking hopeless I was, how small my cock was ‘could hardly feel anything’, how -”Chris, you got a minute?” Cheryl shouted down.

I went up with coffee and a packet of Hobnobs. How is it that in the middle of nowhere in Greece, a corner shop could have McVities Hobnobs for sale? The world is a strange place.

“Chris, we’ve worked out a kind of rota, hope that’s okay?”

“Right, I think”

“Tonight, you get to sleep with Fred, but the essential word is sleep. You need a good night’s sleep, so ... well to be honest, none of us think we’d be able to keep off you. Since Fred is forbidden territory and you managed that last time ... Could we re-instate the pillows to be sure? You don’t mind?” I didn’t, the idea of a rest was quite attractive actually.

“Tomorrow night, I’m up, if you can put up with an older woman?”

“Cheryl, I really -” I was going to say I thought she was a sexy, eminently erotic lady, or something like that. But Tony interrupted me

“Yes, yes! Lets remember she’s still our mother!”

“And you’re my daughter, and the things I’ve had to listen to this week ... well...” Cheryl was laughing at her two daughters, apparently they found the idea of their old mother – 35! - having sex was gross, but her having to hear them being fucked to oblivion by male or female was quite acceptable. “Anyway. Next night you get a, umm, a threesome. Stop grinning! Yes, well Joanne and Tony thought they could share you. Then comes Sarah and then on the last night we’ll be packing and having the flotilla meal and things, so there would probably be no time. Okay?”

“I think I’m okay with all of that, Cheryl. If you all are”

We made it to a pretty harbour with multi-coloured shops on the front. This was Parvitan, one of the ‘must-see’ places for tourists. Therefore the harbour was jammed with boats, we made our way through the old harbour, onto the new harbour, on to the narrow channel that circles inland of the island that protects the harbour. Half a mile out from the town, we found a space and reversed in gently. We watched, amused and vast Italian cabin cruisers came along, found spaces half the width of their beam. Ha! they’ll be lucky, we thought, and then watched, amazed as they used the same mooring technique as the used for parking. The boat would wedge its over-sized aft end between the bows of the moored boats and slowly (or not so slowly) ram itself in. “Like you did to me” whispered Joanne. “My arse isn’t that big is it?” I whispered back, she squeezed my hand. It was clear she had really enjoyed being de-cherried by her pirate.

Slowly, slowly the boats all moved sideways to accommodate the new one. The small gaps between boats filled up and the new arrival made it back to the quay. If the boats on either side were British, the occupants just scowled (we did that); if they were Italian, a furious handwaving competition would take place and shouts and catcalls and slapping of elbows. Sometimes the occupants won, sometimes the newcomers did. If the boats on either side were Greek, the men would simply stand on the shore and throw the ropes back onto the arriving boat. They wouldn’t speak much, but their expressions were as meaningful as the Italian shouts. The Greeks inevitably won. I imagined that each Greek boat had an ancient blunderbus on board to be brought into action if needed.

 
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