Unexpected Threesome Ch. 34

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There’s a category of YouTube Travelogues pejoratively referred to as “girls in bikinis on boats”. As the name infers it usually deals with the travels of a cruising yacht with at least one woman sailor frequently seen in a bikini.

They can range from the OK to the downright awful; with probably a separate rating given for the degree of exploitiveness. You can measure exploitiveness in any number of ways. The percentage of bikini time and the smallness of the bikinis relative to the largeness of the breasts might be one, although for the reasons mentioned below, I’d argue that of itself is the wrong one.

While not any expert on them — after all it’s not that easy to browse the internet at sea — the ones I find most exploitive are the ones where the boyfriend/ director wants to be the star of the show and the girlfriend in a bikini is used as an, often patently reluctant, eye candy backdrop.

Complementing an Instagram feed, Issie had started one of these bikini travelogues in Hawaii. If you wanted to sub-categorise it, you might kindly refer to it as a girls having fun exploring the world, directed, narrated and performed by the girl stars; with their male skipper being an occasional (and definitely not decorative) backdrop. The feminist complaint might be that there’s even more eye candy than normal. Much, much more. Almost the only time the girls aren’t in bikinis is when they’ve half fallen out of them and the framing of the shots always seem to have a sexually inspired angle to them. The comment would be accurate even if you disagreed with the pejorative intention.

Personally, I’ve avoided the exploitive word, because the only girls being exploited are those exploiting themselves; something of an oxymoron.

Like the current crop of Instagram influencers, Issie certainly set out to entertain a male audience while trying to inspire the female one with a girl power theme. She took it right to the edge of what might be thought of as soft pornographic without going (very far) over it — at least in what was actually published. The beach games and other playfulness where the girls all but stripped each other — and me – were bad enough. But sometimes what was published was also the prelude to actual sex; I’ve got the film to prove it.

Either way, the girls succeeded in targeting the market while still making a reasonably entertaining travelogue from anyone’s point of view. It proved to have an immense on line following and, back up by an Instagram feed, produced some nice pocket money for the girls through advertising revenue, sponsorship and even product placement.

When Issie left, it was Amy who took over the creative direction and in some ways she even sexualised the product further. Since, by her own hand and actions, she often came across as the most sexualised, I sometimes even wondered if she wasn’t producing it from the point of view of delivering an ‘up yours’ to her former abusive boyfriend.

As we explored Fiji, the production of these videos continued. And surprisingly, when Liddy joined our group, she was as willing as the others to play up to the camera as she and the other girls (and me) were filmed diving, snorkelling, playing on the beach with the others and generally exploring Fiji. We were filmed doing other things too; but they never made it to publication and everyone understood and agreed they never would be. They made for some amusing film nights on the boat though!

Mind you, Fiji is a very different country to some of the other Pacific Islands, and you had to be careful to be respectful of their social mores. The missionary influence has been much stronger in Fiji than it was in, say, Tahiti. The unwritten rules vary somewhat with where you are — the tourist areas are much more relaxed than the capital city of Suva. But in the non-tourist area, even girls in shorts and showy t shirts would be frowned upon. And bikini tops in downtown Suva would be a definite no no.

Up until the boat was put into its cyclone storage before Christmas, the summer was spent exploring the many beautiful Islands and reefs of Fiji on day and short overnight trips from our central base at Vuda Marina. The filming was a part of this, but incidental to the exploring itself.

Shortly before Christmas, the boat was craned out of the water and deposited in one of the cyclone dry storage pits adjacent to the marina lagoon.

These are a very simple, but ingeniously effective way of protecting a boat from a cyclone. A pit is dug in the ground which is intended to take the keel of the boat. As the boat is lowered in, the pit and area is padded with old car tyres which leaves the hull of the boat level with the land, well supported, and pretty well immune from being blown over in a storm.

There is some other preparation required if you are going to leave the boat for a while. It’s prudent to take the sails completely off (instead of leaving the jib on its roller and the mainsail in the boom bag) and generally bring in covers, dodgers and other canvas usually left out, because if a storm hits you want as little ataköy escort windage as possible. But that meant we could all go home to have Christmas with our families without having to worry about what might happen while we were away.

As a final precaution, I topped up the fuel tank and ran a dehumidifier in the boat for a couple of days before we left

But only most of us went home to our families. Amy had no desire to fly to England, so came home with me and joined my kids and their spouses and my grandchildren for Christmas lunch.

But in a way that was the start of a whole cascade of arrangements which otherwise wouldn’t have been made.

My original plan had been to return in late February. While the boat was in the pits, there wasn’t really much we could do. I figured if I limited the unoccupied layup period to about two months, with a few precautions, the boat would be OK.

But it quickly became evident that both Ellen and Liddy were somewhat put out by Amy having a free go at me for two months. They were too nice and noble to throw a tanty about it, but some attempted repositioning started to occur to reduce Amy’s advantage.

Ellen’s parents live only about 8 km from my place at Bayview Heights in Sydney and originally Ellen was going to stay there for the break. But when she found out about Amy, she gently enquired whether she might transfer up to my place after Christmas day. I had no problem with that — although Ellen’s parents might have had a different view. Had it been the only issue, that still might have been how things panned out.

But then Liddy came into play. Her original plan was to come back to Fiji two weeks after Christmas to look after her friend’s yacht. When she asked me if she could instead fly to Australia to join me, I could see she was torn. She felt some obligation to her friends to fulfil her original arrangements and yet, if she did, she was certainly missing out on whatever the group of us might share — in the bedroom or otherwise — in her absence.

Tash didn’t care as much and was simply happy to rejoin us at the end of February.

In the end, I thought it was easier to bring forward my return to Fiji to coincide with Liddy’s, assuming correctly Amy and Ellen would come too. In the mean time, Amy and Ellen would get through the awkward process of meeting my kids (where Ellen was younger than all three of them) and see what my (and maybe their future) living arrangements were in Sydney. In anticipation of that, I’d pre-ordered to have my previous Queen sized bed swapped out for a King Size one.

In many ways the trip brought into focus many of the challenges that we’d face settling into domestic life when we got back to dry land. And that started on the first day when Amy and I lobbed into the house where the young lady, Kate, who was my house sitter was still residing.

She was a University student who I knew quite well from the yacht club. Indeed, she was a frequent member of my racing crew. Her parents lived at the tip of the Palm Beach peninsular and my house was a much shorter trip to both Uni and her part time job. When you combined that with the freedom of having her boyfriend come to stay whenever she wanted, you could see the attraction for her of minding the house. But the boyfriend thing also demonstrated she was no innocent vestal virgin. And I had been entirely relaxed about her staying in the house while we were there. After all her room was down the far wing of the house and I had hoped she might be useful in introducing Amy and the others to the local young persons’ social scene.

At dinner that night I was pleased to see that she and Amy got on fantastically; it was an evening of merriment and fun; although I did see her countenance drop momentarily when she suddenly realised that Amy was my lover, not just another member of my crew staying with me. Had that been the end of it, no harm might have been done.

But there was little doubt Amy’s screaming orgasms both that evening and the next morning could be clearly heard down the other end of the house and when Kate dropped a comment at breakfast the following morning, even that doubt was removed.

The problem was, Amy was treating this visit a bit like an extended version of the one on one live in date we’d shared at the luxury hotel in Bora Bora. And I could see that, until Ellen joined us after Christmas Day, she was going to make the most of it. And for Amy, a big part of that was having my body for herself and using it to its fullest. I don’t mean that pejoratively, just as a statement of fact. As best as I can read it, after ten years of an abusive, loveless marriage, she was feeling decidedly deprived of good, loving sex and was determined to make up for it.

Probably the real damage was done as we sat around and swam in the pool the following day. To put it bluntly, Amy was all over me like a rash. Now by my age one has learnt to deal with an involvement in normal public displays of affection without getting aroused. I was no longer the 17 year old who ataköy eve gelen escort grew a boner just holding the hands of a girl as I walked down the street.

But what Amy did went well beyond the normal.

After a lot of teasing foreplay by her In the solar heated pool, she had me pressed up against the wall of it grinding her crotch against me while she pashed me so enthuasticly Kate probably thought she was trying to eat me. And if it wasn’t a full erection she was grinding herself against when she started, it certainly soon was. There can’t have been the slightest doubt in Kate’s mind that she was watching Amy rub her clit up and down the full length of it. Swimwear still on maybe, but it was blatantly sexual just the same. When I thought Amy was about to start moaning, and maybe even pull our swimwear aside and have me penetrate her there and then, I gently broke away with a…

“Maybe we should get out. Things are getting a bit hot.”

I sort of guided Amy to the steps before I did a couple of laps to let my erection settle down before I exited the pool too. I wasn’t entirely successful and the bulge that Kate saw the wet swim briefs clinging to as I climbed out of the pool was way more than I like to display in public; but at least it wasn’t the full stretched version that had existed a few minutes before.

As I dried myself, I tried to let it settle right down under the cover of the towel, before lying on the sun bed between Amy and Kate. But Amy clearly had the hots, and wasn’t going to leave it there. She came and sat beside me on the sun lounge and bent down to start kissing me again. Initially she had her hand on my chest; but she progressively slid it down until she was playing with my manhood. My body had already been primed by the earlier encounter. Before I knew it, Kate had a full profile view of my spandex sheathed full erection stretching itself well over the waistband of my swimwear with my balls very likely hanging out of where the legs elastic had been pulled up in the process.

I was aware the sight of that, and of a girl not much older than herself pashing a man twice her age, would be enough to make any self-respecting 22 year old vomit. It was time for Amy’s evident needs to be taken private. I pulled my lips away from Amy’s just long enough to get out…

“I think we should take this inside.”

With absolutely no dignity I then had to get up and walk past Kate with that erection bouncing and surging in its swimwear covering as we headed to the bedroom. There Amy demonstrated her swimwear sex fetish and desperation by pressing me against the wall just inside the closed door, pulling aside the crotch of her still wet bikini pants, peeling free my own erection from its spandex covering and taking me there; bringing herself to another screaming orgasm before vigorously squeezing out mine.

After Amy put on another screaming performance that night and the following morning, Kate politely decided she might go home to her parent’s for Christmas and was packed and gone that day however much Kate and Amy continued to seemingly get on fantastically as if nothing had happened. Was that Amy’s intention? It’s hard to say. Amy’s demand for sex didn’t let up until my kids arrived for Christmas a week later, so that hadn’t been put on.

And with the pool there being warm, very private and freed from any fear of becoming shark bait while in flagrante, she continued to show a particular fetish for water sex to compliment her bikini one. She instigated us making love in it about every second day, even as she resisted my traditional tendency to take advantage of its privacy by swimming naked (once my kids had originally left home) and instead insisted I put on swimmers. I continued to be cautious about Ellen’s warning about “the incompressibility of water” and tried to penetrate her with her crotch above the waterline. Amy showed no such reservation and did everything up to and including making love to me while we held our breaths in bursts completely under the water. The only compromise when she made love to me that way was for her to substitute short jerking and grinding squeezes for the long strokes she normally encouraged me to in bed.

Still, I suspect Amy was more than pleased to have me entirely to herself for that week.

Fortunately, for the couple of days my kids stayed with us over Christmas, I managed to persuade her to supress her screaming as she climaxed; although it was occasionally a near run thing. And I only managed to supress her libido to the extent of cutting out the day time sex. She made sure our morning and evening routines continued. There was something about having me to herself that made her nearly insatiable.

When Ellen arrived after Christmas, Amy and Ellen made sure the new bed was put to good use; as Amy still continued to instigate pool sex on a regular basis, into which Ellen was now incorporated.

But the bottom line was that Amy, Ellen, Liddy and myself were all back at the marina in Fiji by the second week of ataköy grup yapan escort January.

It wasn’t that hard to occupy ourselves. Liddy’s yacht was still in commission and we had permission to use it within reason, which we did.

But that changed somewhat early to mid-February. A tropical storm had developed off Vanuatu. At first it moved south eastward towards Tonga, skirting the bottom of Fiji; giving us some very wet weather, but no immediate danger. Then it intensified to become cyclone Winston before moving back to the north west where we were, deepening into a category five cyclone.

From the outset, the storm had been intense enough that we had started preparations. The bimini and dodger that we had reinstalled for our comfort on the boat were taken back in and we did everything we could to strip the boat of superfluous topside gear. By the time we were finished, the forward cabin and much of the amidships cabin were crowded with equipment. The RIB was deflated and lashed firmly, but well padded, on deck.

After heavily provisioning the boat, topping up the water tanks, recharging the batteries using a generator I kept on board and dehumidifying it as much as we could, we turned to Liddy’s yacht and did the same for hers. However, Liddy was going to sit out the storm with us. Her yacht might have been in a well sheltered lagoon designed for the purpose, but there were still risks with it being afloat and if things did go wrong in the middle of the storm, there’d be nothing she could do to save the boat.

Of necessity, much of this had been done in heavy rain and moderately strong winds. Now in tropical climates, you sort of have two choices when going out in the rain. One is to don a layer of clothing and wet weather gear over that. The other is just to accept you’re going to get wet and a bit of wind chill and go out in swimwear. As long as it’s warm enough — and summer in Fiji definitely was, even with a cyclone bearing down — I’ve always tended to the latter approach.

The trouble with the full rig is that you come back into the boat with water almost cascading off your wet weather gear, usually with the rain having penetrated through it to soak the clothing underneath regardless. So, either you strip off before coming below, and get soaked to the skin anyway as you stand on deck doing that, or you flood the inside of the boat and are still soaked to the skin and then have to deal with dripping wet clothing. In the end, the human body conveys a lot less water with it and doesn’t flap about in your face while you’re trying to work like the wet weather gear does. The only downside is that sometimes the rain stings in the driving wind. With the wind only a noisy, but tolerable 35 knots, we could put up with the stinging.

Still, it must have made for an amusing sight as, on the 18th, we first worked on our deck, then went across to Liddy’s yacht to attend to hers. Three women in tiny bikinis and a guy in speedos frantically clearing the deck in rain so heavy you could barely see where you were going and then running barefooted through the mud in the rain down to the dock to repeat the process on another yacht.

We took refuge in the cabin of Liddy’s yacht for a moment’s respite; to dry ourselves and boil the kettle, and make final internal preparations on the yacht, knowing full well a return trip to our yacht lay ahead of us. We were an interesting sight. Wet and bedraggled, the girls’ hair was a tangled dripping mess. Each of them had nipples raised to towering peaks by the rain and wind, with their dripping bikini tops and bottoms plastered to them; except for one of Amy’s where a combination of wind and cascading rain had washed and blown her top off one of her breasts.

I was actually watching as that happened to Amy’s top. She and I had been adding an extra lashing to the RIB tied down on the deck of Liddy’s yacht — Amy working one side, me the other. A ferocious gust of wind had brought down a cascade of driven water. Not rain — more like having a bucket of it poured over you while standing behind a jet engine. I couldn’t work out here it had come from. Maybe the wind had dislodged a pool of it atop the radar dome or maybe it had collected in the track on the boom; who knows in those conditions.

But a bit like diving through a wave (or at least I would guess like that — I don’t wear bikini tops), it had peeled the edge of the previously plastered top away enough for the wind to get under it. I watched with some amusement as it filled with wind like a spinnaker as it popped off her breast, flapped viciously twice and collapsed into the lee of her exposed breast in a dripping wad of cloth.

Amy just looked up at me staring at it and gave me a wink before getting back to the job of lashing down the RIB.

To limit the water brought aboard, the four of us tried to dry ourselves while squeezed onto the drip towel many yachts spread out at the bottom of the companionway steps. Even without the floor space restriction imposed by the towel, in the limited standing space of the main cabin of her yacht, there wasn’t really room for the sort of arms out, vigorous drying one normally does with a towel — especially for your back. Pushed close together, after we patted down our own fronts, we took to doing some cooperative drying. You dry my back and I’ll dry yours so to speak. Or at least that’s what it started out as.

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