Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Coercion, Group Sex, Slow,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Prologue - Las Vegas - The City of JUICE. The mobsters coined it but left it to the politicians. The politicians used it to enrich the usual suspects. Their families and friends for sure. Some claim it's dead after the recent conviction of several county commissioners for taking bribes. They're wrong. JUICE is alive and well. Sometimes it's money. Sometimes it's sex. Sometimes it's just an introduction. The currency is immaterial. It's called JUICE!
The yacht "Viper" was thirty-six feet long and cutting through the water at just under four knots. The owner had it fitted out so that one could sail it alone although he usually preferred a crew. He was with crew tonight, about a days sailing from his home port of Newport Beach, California.
The sky was black and blended with the dark ocean. The stars standing out in the blackness like the lights of Las Vegas. Mike Minter took a strong hit off the pipe he was holding in his right hand. The rich, pungent odor of marijuana wafted away with the breeze as Mike held the smoke in his lungs. The stars seemed to twinkle brighter. Some movement below decks alerted him. Her head appeared at deck level.
"You've got some weird email again, Mike. You want your lap top?" Mike took another hit off the pipe and just stared at the young lady who was talking to him. Not hard to look at... Dark eyes, short, dark hair. What he couldn't see was tall and slender with small breasts.
"Yea..." He exhaled as he talked, the smoke disappearing into the night. "He say anything interesting?" He laughed.
The girl was up the stairs and putting the lap top into his lap. He kept one hand on the tiller and the other wrapped around his pipe. The bright white of the email program destroyed his night vision. He had to squint just to see the screen. And decipher the text!? Shit! It was still encoded, just a jumble of letters, numbers and symbols. He put the pipe down on the railing and brought up his PGP interface with a couple of key strokes. He turned down the screen brightness and entered his password one handed. The unscrambled text filled only three lines:
Challenging project for you. Hope your trip was successful!
"Who's 'Snake' again?"
"Just an old friend."
"And you're the 'Yachtsman, ' right?"
"Yea... Something like that."