Chasing my BDSM soul mate, a stunningly beautiful woman.
HOW WE MET
Chapter 10:
Undeliverable
That night I endured a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, waking every hour. My mind was on fire. Even though Heather had brought me to a satisfying climax, I was haunted by some of the things she had said. Did she really play in that sandbox? She said that there were multiple variations on the activities practiced. Which variations did she enjoy? My mind went on and on, twisting reality into sometimes absurd fantasies.
I climbed out of bed before the sun rose, unable to sleep. With my coffee in hand, I sat in the cockpit to watch the day begin. I wondered when, or even if, I would see her again. She had challenged me to “bone up” on this new world and she had suggested that I have some rope handy for her next visit. When was that going to be? I had no clue and no way to reach out to her. No phone number, no email address. I guess I could go old school and send her a letter through the snail mail system. Or just hope to run into her at the pub.
In the interim, I started my research. I visited website after website, link after link, going down one rabbit hole after another. I learned tons about BDSM. More than I probably wanted or needed to know. There was a clandestine club in town that met sporadically to gather and share their experiences. Their website was reasonably complete, aimed at people such as myself – beginners. I toyed with the idea of attending one of their “open houses” but abandoned that idea upon second thought.
After a few hours of research, my stomach started rumbling. I realized that I had skipped breakfast, being engrossed in my investigation. I closed my laptop and made myself presentable to visit the pub for lunch. It was ahead of the usual lunch hour, but it was one of Zoey’s work days. I liked Zoey, even though she had blabbed at school and gotten Heather in trouble. Guess I should have anticipated that.
“Hey, Zoey! Got your land legs back again yet?”
She gave me a puzzled look, my question coming from left field. “Land legs? These are the same legs I’ve had my whole life.” She showed off her shapely legs, twisting to include a view of her tush. Her display was not my intended reaction, although it was a lovely, tempting sight.
“Ah, Zoey. Forgot you’re not a boater. When on a boat, your body adjusts to the motions of the boat leaning and rolling on the water. When you get back on solid ground, it sometimes takes a few hours for your body to re-adjust.”
“Oh, I guess it did feel a bit unusual as I left your boat walking to class. Yes, my land legs have returned. And I wanted to thank you for taking me and my friends out the other day. We all had fun. It was all we could talk about. Some of the other students wanted to know if they could go out on your boat. Would that be possible?”
“Sure, I guess so. It would have to be kept to a minimum, though. No more than, say, 4 or 5 at a time. Otherwise, people begin falling all over each other. It gets crowded and it’s not as much fun. Plus, there’s always the weather to contend with. Mother Nature has a habit of sneaking up and ruining fun times on the water.”
“Cool. I’ll start working on it.”
“Say, Zoey, has Professor Harmony been in lately? I had some questions for her about her program and possibly a lead for a project she may be interested in pursuing.”
“Honest, Sailor, I haven’t seen her in several days. Of course, I don’t work every day, and she might have come in on my day off. I’ll ask around.”
When she presented my check, she told me that nobody had seen her in nearly a week. I paid and approached the door to leave. I opened it just as Ms. Harmony was pushing it open from the outside to enter. I froze as she stepped inside. Looking up at me her expression changed from a furrowed brow frown, lost in thought, to a milder, more pleasant look. “Oh, excuse me, Mr. Sailor.”
“Greetings, Ms. Harmony. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Why don’t you join me for lunch? I surmise that you’ve just finished but maybe you can destroy another chunk of your liver and have a drink while I eat.”
We got settled in a booth and the waitress took our order. “Have you done your homework, Sailor?”
“Yes, teacher” I said in a childish, sing-song voice.
“Good. Have you discovered that the ‘horrifying’ scenes you’ve seen on those rancid porn sites are mostly manufactured or conducted between willing participants?”
“I didn’t really explore that as much as getting a fuller picture of the depth and breadth of the subject. Everything you said seems to be right. Many of the sites I visited emphasized the strong bond between participants and the need for a clear understanding of the boundaries. Being able to express what gives you pleasure, from both sides, and what’s off limits is important. But I have so, so many questions.”
“This might not be the time or place to discuss and answer your questions, Mr. Sailor. I hate to put you off like that, but I simply can’t risk having someone overhear. If word of this got out it would completely ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“Totally understood and agreed. But you must understand that I’m still outside in the dark. I have no way of contacting you. And your random surprise visits to my boat come at odd times. Maybe you could give me a way to contact you or set up a time for you to visit?”
“That makes sense coming from a barrister. But it’s just not possible, Mr. Sailor. There are many reasons, many of which I can’t go into. I’m sorry but it’s just going to have to be catch as catch can. And when we leave here today, please do not walk me back to campus or follow me. I’m suddenly on the radar at the University, thanks to your stunt with the General Counsel. This may be the last time we’re seen together in public.”
With that, she placed a folded fifty dollar bill on the table, rose, and left. I hesitated just a moment, then stepped outside. I watched her backside as she swayed down the sidewalk. Her walk was two and a half blocks. At the first side street crossing, I saw her reach into her bag and answer her phone. She talked on it, gesticulating with her hands as she walked. When she got to the University entrance, she paused, turning to look my way. Just for good measure I waved, my hand held high above my head. She simply bowed her head and continued into the halls of academia.
Days passed, flowing into weeks without even a sighting of Heather Harmony. I was distraught to say the least. My goddess had vanished, disappeared from my life. As a last straw, I even went old school and sent her a hand written card. It was returned marked “Undeliverable. No Such Recipient.” The next time I accessed the University website, I saw in the “Announcements” section a blurb heralding the appointment of a new Director of The Research and Development Department. There was no mention of Ms. Heather Harmony.
I tried my best to abandon that dream, that fleeting brush with English royalty. I found the bottom of the scotch bottle an inordinate number of times. I wept uncontrollably.
Chapter 11:
ABANDONED
The thought of Heather Harmony echoed in my mind. She had disappeared, vanished, abandoned me. I had done my best to get beyond her, to erase her from my mind. I tried scotch, I tried drugs, I tried to fill the empty hole in my soul with one night stands with some of the University coeds. They were stunning, they had young, tight bodies and some of them even knew how to give a guy a decent fuck. But my life was empty without Heather. There was a void like the emptiness of space, the nothingness of gazing across the limitless ocean, nothing in sight. I was hollow and in despair. Nothing I tried even came close to what she had instilled in me. I had to do something.
Heather had been very successful in keeping herself insulated from me during our brief flirtation if you could call it that. I had no phone number, no email address, no nothing. All I had was her name and a mental image of her beauty etched in my brain plus a few fond memories. The closest I had gotten to her was through the sweet coed girls who tended bar at the local pub across the street from the marina. After months of no contact and reading the announcement of her replacement on the University website, I had to do something to try and track her down. I simply had to find her. I could not exist without Heather Harmony.
“Hey, Zoey. How’s things been, darling?”
“Same old, same old. Getting used to the new head of the Research and Development department. It’s my major, you know, and the new guy is a real ball buster. I mean, Director Harmony could be tough, but she had a soft side, too. This new guy … holy shit, Sailor. It’s like he’s from a different planet. Zero personality, zero give-and-take, zero everything.”
“Damn, Zoey. That must be hard. Sorry to hear that. How about a burger, fries, and a cold draught, please.”
“Coming right up, Sailor.”
When Zoey served me I off-handedly asked “So, Zoey, what ever happened to Director Harmony? She just seemed to disappear. Any word on where she went?”
“Not much, Sailor. The scuttlebutt is that she got canned at the University. Something about improper this or shady that. You know, gray area stuff. Nothing specific, nothing, like, bad, you know? Why? Have you heard something?”
“Not a thing, Zoey. I was hoping that you could help me. She had loaned me some books and papers on something I was researching, and I’d like to return them if I could. You sure you don’t know where she’s gone?”
“Let me think … I do remember hearing something about her moving to another University. I’m not really sure. Let me ask some of my friends. Maybe they’ll know something.”
“Thanks, Zoey. Not only are you super attractive, but you’re very helpful as well.”
Zoey blushed a crimson red as she slapped my check on the bar, giving me a tender look.
Another University? It was the most information I had gotten in weeks of my despair. I nearly dove into my laptop doing search after search, falling down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, looking for any university with a research and development department making any announcements. The results went on for pages. I clicked on every link, every bio, every underlined URL. I even searched in England. I mean, after all, that’s where she had come from.
I went backwards, too. I went back to the school where she had presented her doctoral thesis. I researched all the noted R & D societies. I turned over every stone, even some pebbles. I was a man possessed, researching every possible lead I could imagine. It felt like I was preparing for my biggest case ever to be argued before the Supreme Court. With every click, with every email, with every unanswered voicemail I left, I came up empty. But I knew she was out there, somewhere. I felt her vibe.
I had gotten to know the attractive staff at the pub by now. And after taking Zoey and her classmates on a day sail in the harbor, I also had an “in” with most of the Class of Gen Z at the University. As expected in a pub next to an Urban University, there was cross-over.
The following day was Zoey’s day off, but Priscilla was working and served me lunch. Priscilla was a coed majoring in Graphic Arts. She always had something “snazzy” on, know what I mean? Just a little something, somewhere, like a sparkle to catch your eye. She moved her slender body slowly, seductively, almost like wafting from place to place. She radiated a warm positive vibe, and you were captivated in her presence. Everybody loved Priscilla. Long, flowing, blondest-of-blond hair, hanging in curtains around a slender face, crystal eyes, and a cherubs innocent grin. She was adorable. Great in bed, would fuck like a bunny, but she couldn’t suck dick for naught. Don’t think she ever got me to cum with her mouth. Damnedest thing.
“Hey, babe! What’s shakin’?” I groaned in apology for using such an outdated, worn-out greeting.
“Usually my tush. I can put some bells on it so you can hear, too, if you’d like. What may I interest you in today, bearded boatman?”
“Just my usual. And I love your swag” pointing to several buttons and badges she had adorned herself with. It was obviously today’s snazzy statement.
“Ditto, Sailor” as she held both thumbs up.
“Listen, ‘Cilla, I want to know what happened to Dir. Harmony. Remember her? Any lead or information would result in good things for you.”
She tipped her head down and cast her glance up, riveting on my eyes, like looking through me in another dimension. “What sorta good things?”
“There’s always good tips and boat rides. And you know how boat rides end.” I gave her a wink as she drifted away, muttering “The usual, the usual.”
After I had eaten, ‘Cilla came to give me my check. She had a busboy in tow.
“This is…” She turned to him saying “Who’d you wanna be today?”
The college boy said “Jim, uh, yeah, Jim.”
The story I heard was obviously hearsay, “roommate’s uncle teaches there, knew a guy who knew a guy” sort of hearsay. But it was all I had to go on. He had heard that she had bought a mid-size camper truck and had driven up the coast. Something about wanting to be near the water, cabins, boats, and stuff. Kinda wanting to get off the grid, get away from life sort of thing.
I still didn’t know where she had gone, but if this was true, I could look at RV sales and registrations. But in which state? She could easily have taken a bus across the state line to buy it. And with months of a headstart, she could be anywhere. I got busy. I found new RV registrations in this city within a month of my last sighting of her. Being a state database, I could only see the purchasers first name; there were three Heathers. Every RV park in this state and for two states north heard from me, inquiring about one of three very specific RVs. Only two RV parks had seen one fitting the de***********ion. They were both in the next port up the coast. I made plans.
I knew it was a cockamamy idea, but I was bored with University Marina and needed to escape the memories, the sights and sounds reminding me of her. The next port north was only a half day sail. I made a marina reservation online and cast off. Bye-Bye University.
Five miles offshore, sailing at 5 knots, healed over at 20 degrees, I searched for her vibe. I sensed her somewhere ahead. It felt like I imagine a bird feels, as it’s guided by some inner magnetic force, the stars and moon, winging it over continents to find their target. The feeling was strong; I was drawn to it.
The marina was acceptable. All facilities in working order, nice office staff, good boat neighbors. I started with the RV stores in town. At one of them I visited, “Yup, bought a nice class C off a lady as you describe. Short little thing, very pretty. She looked pretty silly driving that big old C class onto the lot. It was nearly brand new. Said she was tired of roadin’ it. Wanted to buy a boat, try that for a while. Nice lady. I sent her over to Jake’s for her boat. Jake’s got the best boats in the harbor. She even spoke with an English accent and everything, just like you describe.”
I had her! A solid lead! I nearly fainted. Tears welled up in my eyes, I had to turn away.
The Uber driver didn’t take well to my protestations to go faster, faster man, time’s awastin’. Jake’s was a small shack a couple hundred yards from the waterfront, an empty field away from a beat up tiny marina. Jake was a portly man, pre-retirement, and had a cigar stub permanently stuck in the corner of his mouth. I explained who I was looking for. “Sure enough, captain. Sold her a wicked boat. Most unusual boat I’ve ever seen. Beautiful lines, nice layout below, intricate woodwork both above and below deck. One-of-a-kind boats, you know? All hand done, stem to stern. Odd name, too, Q, painted on the transom with a black raven next to it.”
OMG! That’s her!! “When was this and which way was she headed?”
“Wellll … let’s see. A couple of months ago, maybe. Didn’t file a float plan with me so I don’t know where she was headed.”
I tracked her from marina to marina going up the coast. But there was no pattern. Two nights here, one night there, but then nothing for ten days. Then she’d backtrack. “Yup, that boat was here on the 1st and 2nd, then again on the 15th, one night only.” A week later, her boat would be much farther north. What was she doing? Where was she headed? She was either brave or stupid. To get that far north in that length of time would have taken round-the-clock sailing. That’s done well offshore and is dangerous to attempt solo. Did she have a companion?
It didn’t matter. She was nearby. I could sense her. Finding a boat out on the ocean is much like finding a needle in a haystack. I didn’t have satellites. I didn’t have her call sign, no ATS signal. Only a vague whereabouts of where she had been. Who knows? For that matter, we could have passed each other on the high seas, two ships passing unaware.
With no real plan, I cast off for the farthest port north that I had tracked her to. It would take several days to get there, and I was on a wild goose chase. All I hoped to get was information on how she was and where she might be headed. It was all I had.
Chapter 12:
PLEASANT INTERLUDES
I spent two and a half days getting to the last marina that I could pin Q to. I knew that she had been here within the last month or so. I arrived mid-afternoon, and once secured and plugged in, I visited the office. The clerk was a tall drink of water, about 40 or 45 years old. Over 6 feet tall with long brown hair and a stout but not fat body. Her looks were middle-of-the-road. After I gave her copies of all my paperwork and signed my life away, I asked if she could recommend a good restaurant nearby.
“The Oyster Shack is the only place to eat in this God forsaken town. It’s a hike if you’re walking, too short for a taxi. I can take you there if you can wait until I get off at 5.”
“That’d be great. It’s only a half hour, I can wait. I’m Sailor, but you know that from my registration. What’s your name?”
“I’m Nicole. Nice to meet you, Sailor. I’ll see you at 5.”
Nicole drove me to the restaurant, asking along the way if it was okay for her to join me.
“Absolutely, Nicole. I’d love the company.”
Over dinner I peppered her with questions about Heather and Q. I learned that Q was, in fact, skippered by Heather. There aren’t too many people on the east coast of the United States who fit her physical de***********ion and spoke with an English accent. And Q was a noteworthy vessel, unique in design, unmistakable. It looked somewhat like a pirate ship only smaller. Lots of beautiful varnished wood railings surrounded the cockpit with wooden capped gunwales and a bow pulpit to die for. Even the dorades, four of them, were beautifully sculpted out of single blocks of wood, all beautifully varnished, shining in the sun. It was the kind of boat that people stopped to admire, taking pictures and exclaiming “Looks like something out of a movie. What a beautiful boat.”
I had her in my sights now but there was nothing I could do about it tonight. I had to control myself and get in the moment. I had been on the run for a couple of weeks now and was getting “lonely” if you catch my drift. Nicole looked fuckable and she was being open and nice to me. I decided to try my luck and turned on the charm.
After dinner she took me to her apartment, and we had raucous sex. For a middle-aged woman, she could still rock it. And she had few off-limits. She didn’t particularly care for her nipples to be ravished. She said they were much too tender, too sensitive, and mauling or pinching them hurt. My ministrations to her nips were ultra-tender, feather-like, gentle. She responded well to my touch. Her pussy was generous, with large labia and an oversize clit, hard and firm. She was a tremendous fuck, all night long. A deep, sloppy cunt, industrial strength, able to withstand hard pounding for hours, it seemed. I took full advantage.
In the morning, she made coffee and breakfast for us. I resumed my questioning about Heather and Q. “What is it with you and this Heather chick? And that boat of hers. Is it yours or does she have something that belongs to you? Are you some kind of Federal Marshall or a bounty hunter? Why all the questions about this?”
“Nicole, I’m connected with Heather in an unusual way. We’re not married or anything; I’m single. But, it’s too complicated and I wouldn’t be able to explain it correctly, so that you’d understand. Just leave it that I need to find Heather and her boat. Did she leave any other clues where she might be headed?”
“We did talk some, mostly about the weather and boat stuff, you know. She mentioned a lot of places she wanted to go. Bermuda, Bahamas, Jamaica … you name it, she rattled off most of the Caribbean Islands.”
“Bermuda? Fuck. That’s a thousand miles out in the middle of the ocean. Did she have any crew? Did she ask about crew? The Caribbean I can understand. A straight shot down the coast, then a jog over to Bimini, you’re in the Bahamas, front door to the Caribbean. But Bermuda? Holy fuck. That’s a much different passage.”
“Yeah, she wasn’t specific and she didn’t file a float plan with me. She didn’t have any crew that I saw, and she didn’t ask about any. She could have gone anywhere. Now, can we stop all this nonsense about some mystery woman sailing out of your reach and, maybe, have a little more fun?”
“I’m sorry, Nicole. Why don’t you come sit on my lap and let me make it up to you?”
She settled in sideways across my lap, and we began making out. I gently kneaded her fleshy breasts through her sleepwear, stroking and tickling her nipples with a light touch. Then I slid my hand up under the bottom of her short nightshirt, finding her bits right where they belonged between her thighs. She was moist but not wet until my fingers split open her lips. My thumb found her clit and worked it up hard while my fingers started spreading her wetness around. I finger fucked Nicole, hard and fast, getting her to release on my hand and arm. She writhed around on my lap, arms around my neck, kissing me feverishly. She was on a mission, just like me. Hit it hard and hit it hard again. No stopping now.
Back aboard I tried to figure out what Heather was doing. Where would she be going? If it was Bermuda, whoa. That was a serious undertaking. But down the coast toward the Caribbean, that was doable. I canvassed all the marinas south of here. After all, winter was sliding southward, and we were above the frostline at this latitude. Telephone call after call, email inquiries, messaging to every marina I could identify. Finally, the numbers game paid off. I got a hit some distance south. A three night stay at a marina about half way to Miami. She was making good time and obviously doing some night sails. I feared for her. I didn’t know if she had the boating skills to be successful on a 24/7 passage solo. But I also had faith that she was smart enough to figure it out. She was capable and crafty if nothing else.
I prepared for take-off early the next morning. Flaps down, seat belts buckled, tray tables in their upright and locked position, engines at full bore, tower clearance. I sailed for several days, through sunny days, windy days, rainy days. I’d drop hook closer to shore if the weather was uncooperative. Otherwise, I’d either tough it out on autopilot or drift for a few hours while I got some shuteye. It was grueling. My mind was cluttered with how Heather was doing this. She had only shown me that she was a prim and proper young lady from England. One with some kinks and a highly developed intellect. Not a seasoned, weathered boat skipper. I was worried about her safety.
I arrived at the marina late in the day, too late to make inquiry about Heather having been there. Mid-morning, after coffee and some sustenance, I visited the office. An adorable young girl, just out of high school, and dumb as a rock waited on me. She was typing my particulars into her computer, only using one finger. When she asked my boat name, I replied “Blow Me.” She looked up at me, big brown eyes blank as a freshly washed blackboard, and asked “Right now?” as if this was a usual thing.
I chuckled inwardly. “Sure, honey. Right now. Can we go somewhere a bit more private?”
“Sure, Sailor. Back here.” She led me behind the counter into a small private office and turned the sign on it around, so it read “Helping at the fuel dock, Be back in a few.” Then she closed the door. She sat in the guest chair and looked at me expectantly. “Well, aren’t you gonna come closer so I can blow you?”
She went hard and fast, holding my cock in one hand and my balls in the other. Once she had it fully erect, she moved her hands around to my ass cheeks and dug her fingernails in, pulling my pelvis closer and making my dick tap the back of her throat. She rocked her head back and forth, taking the whole thing in, going fast. She remembered, half way through, to use her tongue on my frenulum as she swallowed my cock. Nature guided me as did my instincts. I thrust deeply, fucking her mouth, making her gasp and spill drool all down her chin. Long strands of it would connect her chin to my cock while she panted and looked at me blankly. Her cuteness and her obvious lack of brains triggered me. I love fucking brainless twits and this was a prime specimen. When I felt that unmistakable feeling overcoming my pelvis, rising like a volcano through my junk, I pushed my cock in half way and held it still while I squirted my load into her wet mouth. Once she had swallowed, she jumped up as if nothing had just happened.
“Back to work. Do you want a map of the marina? Follow me.” She stopped at the door to turn the sign back around, so it said “OPEN.” Amazing to realize that she only had about 5 brain cells connected to each other. Single digit IQ. I wondered how she made it through an average day.
I looked at the map she had given me and saw where the marina repair shop was. I sauntered over just to check whether they had done any work for her on her boat. The shop master, a wiry dude, looked up from the workbench, his hands and arms all covered in dirt and grease. “Can I help with something?” as he turned back to tinkering with the pump splayed out in pieces in front of him. I inquired about Q and whether he had seen it or worked on it.
“Sure. I remember it. What a unique boat, beautiful, and the hand carved details. Wow. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore. And the owner. Pretty little gal. Spoke a foreign language but I could understand what she was saying. She had some issues with her genset. Wouldn’t start. It was just some bad fuel and a clogged filter. No biggie. Got it running in less than an hour.”
“Did she happen to say where she was headed?”
“Yeah. Said she needed it to work at least until she got to Miami. Said something about jumping over to Bimini and what to watch out for over there. I sold her an expensive after-market fuel filter, you know, the ones you run the fuel through before it goes in your tank. Warned her about bad fuel in the islands.”
For the landlubbers, most recreational boats have two electrical systems. One is a low power, 12 volt system. It runs everything on the boat that you’d need when underway. All the lights, both interior and exterior, all the navigation equipment, usually the refrigerator, and other such appliances. This low voltage system is connected to large batteries, like in your car. Only more of them and bigger. The other system is a high power, 110 volt system like in your house. Regular outlets in the wall and connected to things like the battery charger, water heater, microwave, television, etc. The 110 volt system gets its electricity either from a generator or from being plugged into a power source on shore. Generators are either built-in diesel motors or standalone gasoline fired beasts.
Now I had a destination: Miami. Miami is a major port, hosting commercial freighters and numerous cruise ships. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of boats in the area. Finding Q and Heather among them would be a challenge. And she might not even be there now. I was still way behind her on the water.
It was approaching 5 o’clock and my belly started rumbling. Remembering the brainless twit in the office, I made my way there. I knew that a few simple words would get her to sell me her undies. I wanted a souvenir.
“Hi, remember me?”
“Sort of. You checked in earlier, didn’t you?”
“Yup. I’m Sailor. I’m on Blow Me.”
“I remember now. Is that why you’re back? You want that again?”
“What I really want is your undies. Can I give you ten dollars for your undies?”
“Sure Mister! Ten Dollars! Wow!” She slid her panties down, bending at the waist to slip them over her feet. Her ass bent over stole my vision. She turned and handed them to me. I stuffed them in my pants pocket. “Well, aren’t you gonna smell them first? All the guys smell them right away.” I pulled them back out of my pocket and held the crotch strap to my nose. I love sweet pussy smell, and her odor was right there. Ummh.
“Well, honey, I thought we could get some dinner if you’re hungry. I’m famished. Then maybe the blow me thing. How’s that sound?”
She drove me to a restaurant a few blocks away. Turns out her name was Tammy, and she had dropped out of high school in the 10th grade. She got pregnant and had an abortion. The grease monkey in the marina repair shop was her boyfriend and the purported baby daddy although she wasn’t positive. She mentioned that it could be any one of the dozen or so boaters and high school friends who had enjoyed her comforts.
After dinner we got back in her car. With no conversation she simply drove to her apartment. When we entered, the grease monkey from the marina was sitting on the couch playing a video game. The apartment reeked of pot and there were several half-smoked joints in the ashtray next to a half dozen empty beer cans.
“Where the fuck were you, bitch? I had to cook my own dinner. And who’s this guy? I talked to him at the marina today. What’s he doing here?”
“Sorry guys. I’m Sailor. I didn’t know that Tammy had a boyfriend, and I don’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to treat her to dinner because she was so helpful checking me in today.”
Tammy piped up. “Yeah, Stu. He was just being nice to me. You just fuck me and slap me around. And he said he wanted another blowjob, so I brought him back here. Where else was I supposed to go, huh? The marina’s closed and you don’t want me to give head to anybody but you in the car.”
Stu turned back to his game mumbling “Well, go on then. Give the man his blowjob. But when I’m done with this game, I want some, too. You didn’t come over to the shop at all today, so my morning fuck was all I got. I’m getting mighty horny. Now hurry up, slut, get going with your old man. Game’s almost done.”
Tammy gave him a blank stare and turned to me, reaching to unbuckle my belt. No foreplay, no kissy face, no explanation. She simply dropped my shorts as if she was getting out of her own pants. She bent over and wrapped her lips around my cock, working to get him erect. Meanwhile, Stu swore and slammed his video controller down on the table. “Son of a bitch. I’ve got to get some better fucking teammates if we’re ever going to win even one fucking game. Motherfuck.”
Stu stood up and approached Tammy’s rear end, sticking out while she was bent over sucking me off. He slid her pants down and she stepped out of them. He just unzipped and pulled his skinny cock out. Grabbing her hips, he worked his bean pole between her legs, swiping it around until he finally gained entry to her pussy. Tammy spread her legs a step wider and paused as he entered her, gasped at being penetrated, then resumed sucking on me. Stu’s thrusts threw her off a bit and she was having difficulty keeping my cock in her mouth. I tried to help by holding her head and thrusting my hips upwards, fucking her mouth. Stu came first, in several hard slams into her cunt, grunting and groaning as he did. Tammy could now relax and finish her work on my dick. This time, however, when I felt my orgasm gaining steam, I pushed my staff deep in her mouth, held her head down on it and unloaded at the back of her throat. Four jerks, four squirts, four forceful jabs.