Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
I stood on the veranda of the cabin wearing nothing but a towel, which covered me from nipples to snatch. Eight or ten decks below, two burly men, each wearing a hard hat, were the only living things in sight on the creaking scow, larger than a football field. They were scanning the side of our ship, checking each veranda for life, especially female life. Their eyes kept coming back to me, trying to see through the Plexiglas below the railing, straining to see my bush from under the towel, fantasizing surely what they would like to do to me.
I watched the vessel, heavy with diesel fuel, pushing up against the port side of our cruise liner. It was held there by the tug boat Lover Girl, a name which seemed fitting under the circumstances. The deck of the scow was strewn with ladders, hoses, lights, tank covers and the like. Around the edges were huge booms, ready to scoop up the drippings in the event of a spill. I had the impression that these ships didn't refuel in the States because of the fear of spills.
Huge black hoses, appearing to be six or twelve inches in diameter, throbbed on the deck of the scow as they carried thousands of gallons of diesel to fuel the balance of our cruise. All I could think of was my lover's cock. It wasn't that big of course, nor was it black, but I love it so when it throbs its own brand of fuel into my pussy – or somewhere else.
To my right, in front of the ship, I could see the downtown shopping area of the foreign island at which we were docked. The streets would soon be crowded with my fellow passengers, racing from store to store looking for bargains. Men would search for Duty Free liquor and their wives for perfume, linens and jewelry. But a few of the couples were different.
Those women would be attractive, thirty-something single mothers, real estate saleswomen, secretaries, teachers. The men would be divorced lawyers or doctors out for a fun time. The women had spent months giving the men each and every one of their orifices, servicing them in unimaginable ways, just as I serviced my lover. The only difference was that my lover is also my husband. The women would be dragging the men from jeweler to jeweler, hoping beyond hope for the hardest substance known, a diamond set into an engagement ring. The men on the other hand, whose hardest substance was a blood-filled cock, spent the time dreaming up excuses about why is just wasn't yet the time. The only fear each man had was that his desperate woman might finally accept the truth, that all he wanted to do was to fuck her blind, and that she would spend the rest of the cruise sleeping on a chair in the cabin.
Directly ahead of me, over the scow and behind the beaches lining the bay, stood a number of luxury hotels, likewise occupied by lovely women and the men using them, the sole difference being that the hotel guests came by air, not by cruise ship. I wondered how gallons of cum they collectively accepted each day, how much anal intrusion, in vain hopes of matrimony.
Noises behind me made me turn my head. Through the open sliding door, the naked girl knelt on the bed, face on the pillow, and ass in the air. Behind her, my beloved, my husband was busy lubricating her with his fingers, stretching her sphincter, exploring the darkness which would soon know, for the first time ever, an invasion of eight inches of aroused manhood. The look on his face was one not of lust but of caring and concern that the pain he was about to inflict would not be too severe.
The girl's breasts hung down, swinging as her body shifted under my husband's fingers. The girl was only fourteen, conveniently my lover's favorite age for the fantasies that he likes to carry out. I on the other hand prefer them a little older. Though her nipples were firm, the fourteen year old breasts themselves had not yet grown to their full maturity. Her ass however was already perfect, whether fully clothed or naked as she then was. It compared favorably with – nay, it outclassed – any of the seventeen or eighteen year old asses gracing the pool on the Lido deck, as well as those thirty-somethings now on shore.
He whispered my name. Like the song from West Side Story, 'say it soft and it's almost like praying.' It was time, his voice said, for me to go back inside the suite, to join them in that brand new experience that the girl was about to undergo.
I dropped my towel and leaned over the railing, giving the two workers – the only people who could possibly see me without the aid of a telescope – a good look at my tits. They began to whistle. I blew them each separate kisses and turned toward the room, knowing that down below they were imagining scaling the side of the cruise ship with knives in their teeth, like old time pirates, and having their way with me. My husband would enjoy watching that, no doubt. I'd probably also enjoy them doing it.
Well, if I have your attention now, maybe I should begin my story.
JAN – YEARS AGO
I'm Jan. I had what you might call a standard childhood, sexually, that is. I watched a lot of television and saw more and more girls with big tits – I didn't even know the word then - hanging out of their bikinis and pimply guys with clothes on acting stupid around them. Which I guess is what guys have been doing since the beginning of time, because they still do. But I digress. Then I started to rub my cunny – what a yucky word they teach little girls – and play with my clit. There was no special reason to do that, none of the girls in school had mentioned anything about it. It just came naturally and I did it because I enjoyed it. I really, really enjoyed it.
Sure enough, one day Mom walked into my room while I was doing the nasty with myself – her words; I've come to believe that the expression requires two people. Anyway, it was time for the talk about the birds and the bees, only she never mentioned either of those species. No, she started right out with a man and a woman. Cock, cunt, fuck, cum; that's what she talked about. Oh shit, no, not with those words, silly; I learned those later in school. With Mom, it was penis and vagina, it was 'puts it inside her' or intercourse, and it was seed and egg. Well, I guess we still say egg.
Now, the dumb part of her speech had to do with waiting until I grow up, meet some boy, fall in love, and get married. It never occurred to me that Mom must have masturbated when she was my age, but I sure as hell knew that her speech wasn't going to convince me to stop playing with myself. I was going to keep doing it forever, or so I thought, every day, twice a day. And I was going to talk to all the girls at school about it. And that's when they taught me the real words, the ones we use in real life, not in textbooks in Health class.
Well, I waited until I 'grew up' because that didn't take very long. From undershirts to training bra to real nice tits – or so they told me, and yes, I had good reason to believe them – seems from where I am now to have been the mere blink of an eyelash. It was a pleasant feeling, twisting my head to look over my shoulder and see in a mirror what the boys were always staring at, the way my tits stuck out there. I got to that point faster than a lot of my friends, and I could tell that some of them were jealous of the attention that my girls got me from the boys. And from more than one teacher, you may be sure.
After that, it became more than just enjoying the boys peek sideways at my body. I actually started to talk to them, more than 'hello, how are you, how do you like the weather'. Rather, growing up was listening to them, hearing what they thought about real stuff, letting my own hair down just a teeny bit. And those boys fell into a number of different categories, though they shared one commonality. They all wanted to play with my tits.
There were the athletes, with IQs ranging all over the place. They had the impression that a varsity letter on sweater or jacket entitled them to have every girl in the school swooning over them, falling down before them. (That was before I learned about kneeling down before a guy to suck his cock, which had advantages and disadvantages.)
Alongside them were the hunks, the guys with extremely good looks. For reasons that I've never figured out, most of them were among the better students. As with the athletes, the hunks knew that they attracted girls, and many of them were not above making some sort of sexual demand on a girl in return for his paying attention to her.
We also had the usual collection of nerds. These were nice enough, smart enough but simply not exciting. Those were the ones that we girls described as 'I'd rather use a vibrator.'
Lastly, and best of all, there were some boys in school who just 'had it, ' the skill to make a girl feel as if she was the center of the conversation, guys who knew not to talk about themselves and their achievements but rather to ask about hers, about her family, her friends, her hopes. Those were the ones who made me wet, who caused me to change my panties the moment that I got home from school. Todd was one of those boys.
Understand that every boy, in any of those categories, was only interested in getting inside my pants. And when I say 'my' pants, I'm not just talking about me, Janice Michaels, but about everyone in the building with indoor plumbing, students, teachers, lunchroom biddies and probably stray cats. But Todd was the first one to tempt me.
.... There is more of this story ...