Service With a Smile
Copyright© 2011 by Harvey Marcus
Sex Story: Chapter 7 - Mr. Marcus's wife Harriett arranges for a young woman to perform a ministry (service) to their household, especially because of her new business trips. The story builds from simple voyeurism to fulfilled lust over a series of chapters.
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Consensual Reluctant Coercion Blackmail Humor Cheating Group Sex Harem Hispanic Female First Safe Sex Oral Sex Masturbation Cream Pie Voyeurism Big Breasts Slow School
Harriett disclosed that her new boss, a woman named Rianne (pronounced Ryan), touched her in inappropriate ways, and pleaded for Mr. Marcus to accompany her on a trip to Nashville and set Rianne straight.
After the company car was repaired, Reese and I completed our trip back to Chicago. I got a warm kiss goodbye in the company garage before Reese left. "Now that I'm working here, we can see - and do - each other regular."
I'd never given any serious thought to an ongoing affair. The random and frequent one-offs with Annie's friends, affectionate neighbors and willing strangers had kept me sexually satisfied. Did I really want that kind of relationship with Reese, especially given that she was Tashun's niece? Probably more risk than reward.
I used the company car to get home, since Harriett had taken our only working vehicle from the company lot. I wondered if the insurance agent had decided between "fix or don't fix" yet. There was one call on the answering machine at home, not from our insurance guy but from Clara across the street. She said she wanted to "introduce me" to one of nieces, coming in to visit the following week, and what day might I be available. "Introduce" was Clara's codeword for "fuck." I erased the message. How many nieces did Clara have, anyway?
The primary purpose for me making the trip to Nashville was to confront Harriett's new boss Ryan (I learned it was spelled Rianne by reading Harriett's notes, scattered on the dining room table) about her sexual approach to my wife. Basically, Harriett wanted me to stop what she considered harassment without getting her fired. Harriett tried to spin it positive for me. "You can get away from the drudgery and put some color in your cheeks." Ah yes, the dull and petty existence of having sex with young women, where the color in my cheeks comes from pumping into their tight pussies until I'm exhausted.
Because of the delay from downstate, packing for Nashville was an immediate priority. I checked the Internet for a weather forecast. Bright and sunny, unseasonably warm. Harriett said we'd be at a waterfront resort. I didn't know of any lakes near Nashville, but took Harriett at her word. To the best of my knowledge, she'd never lied to me. I packed accordingly, including a pair of baggy swim trunks. The tight ones always failed to conceal my dick, especially when I'd get an erection. Around a beach with bikinis and scantily clad women, getting a hard-on was a certainty.
On the plane, I finally read the itinerary Harriett had prepared. Although she and Rianne were meeting in downtown Nashville, family members were directed to Nashville Dunes, a brand new resort built on a man-made lake about an hour out of town. Sitting alone, I began to fantasize about Harriett's old boss Ed and his daughter Erica. I'd fucked her, not only with his permission but with his pleading. The only question remaining was, had he? Erica had been determined and must have gotten him in a compromising position by now. Confronting him just as he got out of the shower? Spilling a pint of milk down the front of his pajamas and then wiping it up with a nearby dishtowel? My mind swam at the possibilities. Too bad they were down in Florida. She would have been a terrific distraction.
After I landed, I shared a shuttle bus with other resort-goers. The landscape was rolling and gorgeous. Just around one of the hills, we arrived at Nashville Dunes. My mind couldn't comprehend how much it must have cost to build the hotel, a massive curving structure, let alone excavate and construct a lake and import sand.
When I tried to check in, the desk clerk told me that I'd have to wait until our entire party arrived. In the meantime, I was offered the use of a room to change clothes and enjoy the facilities as compensation for my inconvenience. While Rianne and Harriett were at their client meeting, I took advantage, changed into my bathing trucks (no, not the octopus ones from Clara!) and perused the pool. Several women looked tempting, but they were all with gentlemen, or at least, male companions.
I opened the gate to the beach, which crawled with locals peddling their cheap merchandise. Evidently, the resort had shared access to the lake itself, which allowed undesired peddlers to hawk their goods legally. As I left the confines of the resort and stepped out onto the sand, a bent gentleman with dreadlocks handed me a coupon. GOOD FOR ONE JETSKI RIDE. I thanked him and sauntered along the beach. Fancy watches for $10 or less, designer bags for $15. Further down the beach was a pier, for the water adventures. Parasailing? No thanks; I'm afraid of heights. Fishing? Boring.
I showed the jet ski pass to several proprietors, but all I got were negative headshakes. Seems the pass was good for a weekend ride, and it was Thursday. Just my luck.
It was the sign that caught my eye, followed immediately by the attire of the owner/operator. PARK N' RIDE, BEST F##KIN' JETSKI RIDE ON THE PIER. She wore an abbreviated park ranger outfit: The hat seemed authentic, from which blonde hair flowed. Her top was a standard off-green shirt, sleeves removed, tied under her breasts, which filled out the shirt nicely. Instead of pants, a short skirt of matching color completed the outfit. No boots or shoes of any kind on nicely shaped legs. She was built well enough to be the lead model in a Playboy feature, "Women of the Park Service." Except, she was only pretending. Mirrored sunglasses hid her eyes from mine. Was she checking out my package?
"What makes your ride so special?" I knew from her sign, but I wanted her to say the obscured word, out loud.
Her head nodded a bit, as if she was scanning me from head to toe. If she checked out my crotch, even the baggy one I wore, she would have seen that I had an erection. Her smile made me suspect she appreciated my physiological response to her exhibition. "My jet ski is a custom job. No seat. We ride standing up."
The handlebars were mounted higher on her vehicle than the others nearby. There were two places on the floor with straps. One, for the operator, at the far edges of the board. Which meant that she would have her legs spread. The other straps were for the passenger, closer together and immediately behind where the operator would stand. A perfect arrangement for doggie style. How could she get away with such a blatantly suggestive offer? I showed her my free pass.
"That's no good anywhere." She lifted her mirrored sunglasses and took an obvious look at my crotch. I pushed my hips forward as I straightened my posture. She swallowed hard. "Except here. Climb on, Oscar."
So I was getting a complimentary ride because of my Wiener? I could live with that. I hoped she could.
Blondie tossed her hat. It spun around on one of the pier pilings before settling. Two points! She extended her hand. I didn't know if it was for shaking or helping me aboard. "Name's Falen."
She turned her back and planted her feet in the outer stirrups. "Your turn. Don't rock the boat."
It wasn't a boat, it was a jet ski, but I understood. I wedged my feet in the rear ones, putting me behind her. Close enough that with no effort at all, our bodies were touching.
"Ready to ride? Hang on."
There were no grips for the passenger. I reached for the only part of the jet ski available - the handlebars, or whatever they're called.
Falen slapped at my hand. "I'm the driver, you're the passenger. Got it? Here we go." She revved the engine, and we took off, perpendicular to the pier, straight out into the lake. I threw my arms around Falen's waist. That made my arms a shelf for her tits and stuck my dick against her ass. With every bump, I either rubbed or poked her with my prick.
"Enjoying the ride?" she asked over her shoulder. "I am."
Sure, just like every other woman who'd sampled my sausage. I looked back towards the pier and shoreline. The sun worshipers were like ants. I couldn't see them, so they couldn't see us. Okay, good a time as any for the promised fucking. I slid one hand down, between her thighs and cupped her mound.
"What are you doing?" She slapped my hand, which remained in place.
What a tease. She knew perfectly well. "Taking advantage of your unique service." I reached under her skirt, slipping my fingers into her panties. On the next wave, I slid my hand down the outside of her thigh, taking her panties with them.
"Hey! Stop that!"
Was she used to pulling her panties aside for her fucking clients? I found that inconvenient and chafing. As Falen steadied our course, I slid my trunks to my ankles. My erection rebounded under her skirt. The uneven movement poked my erection at the junction of her thighs.
"What's wrong with you? Are you some kind of pervert?"
"I'm getting us ready for that fucking-good ride you promised." I glanced over her shoulder. My dick was sticking out between her thighs. I rocked back and forth.
"You took that literally? Shit, it's just a marketing slogan. We can't - oh God - you thought -" The motion of the jet ski humped us back and forth, sawing her pussy against my prick. "God, you're so big - I don't know if - We can't -"
"Sure we can. Your sign promised."
The action was under the cover of her skirt, but I felt naughty as our genitals toyed with each other. I squatted so the head of my dick was pointed up at her pussy.
"Are you serious?" she asked. "You're really going to -"
"No, we are." I reached around and slid one finger along the crease, parting her outer lips. One good bounce, and I'd penetrate.
"Oh shit!" Her thighs were naturally spread. Was she a willing participant in this mutual adventure? "Hang on!" she shouted. "Rough water ahead."
Pleasure boats left churn in their wake. Falen had no choice but to attack choppy waves and drive through them, bouncing us. My dick, no longer in position for penetration, was pummeling her crotch. Did she want sex, or just repeated incidental contact? It was my turn to make a choice. I slid one hand from her waist down past her belly. I caught my prick poking past her cunt, bent lower, and nestled the head against her pussy so on the next bump, I'd be in. It was now Falen's choice.
"I can't believe it. We're really going to-"
On the next series of impacts, the jet ski rebounded. Our bodies jerked up. When we came down, my dick thrust up, pushing me into her pussy. "Oh God. I've never had a ride like this!" she cried.
I agreed, although her skirt zipper was jabbing me. I slid the zipper down. Except the skirt unzipped completely and flew off into the water. With her groin exposed, I used one hand to play with her pussy from the front as I attacked from the rear. Falen's driving became erratic, jerking our direction from one random heading to the next.
Her breasts thumped against my arm, and they deserved attention as well. I untied the knot that held her shirt on and her breasts enclosed.
"What are you doing now?"
I thought the answer was obvious, as my hands groped her breasts. Holding her tits was so much better than holding her waist. Her shirt flapped against my face. She was reaching back, either to touch me or gather her shirt tails to retie her top. The jet ski changed direction again. We were heading towards shore, and getting mighty close. The people's faces were distinct, so if I could see them, they could see us. Falen's attempt to get her shirt closed backfired, as the shirt slipped off her arm. It fluttered from one shoulder, then plastered itself across my face.
I felt the jet ski swerve ninety degrees, which would have put us parallel with the shore. We must have gotten close, because I heard catcalls and whistles. People on the beach were cheering us on. I wondered how many dozens of bathers witnessed two adults, fucking on a jet ski? I did my best to hide her breasts with my hands, but my hands were only so big. They didn't see her nipples, except when I cupped her tits and raised them up for display.
With our feet in the stirrups, her undressed situation, and me still inside, Falen didn't have much control, except over the jet ski. She must have swung our transportation away from shore, because the shouts got softer. I pulled her shirt from my face. We rode behind a small motorboat for cover, but the boat's wake was an unending series of sharp waves that rocked our jet ski up and down, continuously. Which became the rhythm of our intercourse. Embarrassed or not, shouts of encouragement from the folks on the motorboat or not, Falen was enjoying the fucking, at least from her moans and downward thrusts each time I pushed into her.
"God, this is nasty!"
I pulled at her nipples as I made my final assault. Given no choice of alternatives, she got a cunt full of my sex juice. My worn-out cock shrunk and slipped from her pussy. I squatted and pulled up her bottoms and my trunks before she headed to her slip on the pier. She held one arm across her tits until I jumped off the jet ski and tossed her the ranger hat, which barely covered her chest. I pushed my way through the mob of onlookers, many waving cash for the next ride out. I was convinced she'd be busy for the rest of the season, and sexually satisfied as well. I hoped she appreciated the favor.
At the poolside bar, I opened a tab and charged a cold fruity drink. Guests on adjacent stools whispered about some couple who had sex on a jet ski in plain sight from shore.
Just as I choked on my blended concoction, Harriett walked up. "Terrific! You're going to meet Rianne and you're drunk."
"Nice to see you too. It's fruit juice. Want a taste?"