Unexpected Threesome Ch. 37

Babes

The battering the boat had got from a single palm frond made me focus on contingency planning and avoided Liddy and Amy getting a chance to ask questions about what had happened in the cabin with Ellen.

That first impact made it hard to imagine any circumstances where we’d be safer outside than in the boat in this cyclone; even if it was tipped on it side and dismasted and reduced to a battered shell by flying debris.

Still, we were in new territory here. Cyclones are not to be toyed with. Especially an unprecedented category five. I insisted we all pack a grab bag of wallets, passports, small valuables and some spare clothing, in case we had to do a dash for it. That of itself is nothing new to a long distance sailor. A grab bag is essential in case you suddenly need to take to a raft. It’s just when you’re ashore, it might have different contents.

I also suggested we sleep at least partly clothed, so we weren’t running through the storm naked.

Ellen laughed at me.

“I’ll bet that’s the first time a man has ever asked a woman to dress to sleep with him. I’m comfortable with running naked if my life depends on it; although frankly it’s hard to think of circumstances where we’d be safer outside in the dark than with the boat. And, for me anyway, it’s too fetid even to put a bikini on. I’ll put one within easy reach and risk it if that’s OK.”

Ellen was right about it being fetid. With the boat closed down, any clothing was going to make you sweat. The dorade vents were howling with the flow of air that they were admitting; but it was 100% humidity. So there was a tug of war between the right answers.

Amy has a thing, well actually a sexual obsession, about bikinis. She likes sleeping in them, and doing much more than that in them. Usually she’d be worried about us thinking her peculiar if she did — and unless we were at sea and likely to be called on deck at short notice — we would, which inhibits her. So she was quite happy to take the invitation to sleep in one of her ‘fuck me’ ones; a particularly brief and very fuckable one in this case if I can be excused for observing that. Just that sort of right shape and colour that provided absolutely maximum tease while complimenting her body.

Liddy watched Amy put hers on and decided to follow suit — to some extent. Liddy’s choice of swimwear fell back to her micro bikinis; which evidently came with a micro, virtually see through, slide tri top I hadn’t seen before. Whether that really offered any degree of modesty protection for any sudden dash, I reserved judgement on. It was a compromise I suppose, offering minimal sweating in exchange for minimal coverage. And who, as a male was I to comment or pass judgement?

Mind you, I’m of two minds about truly micro bikinis — as opposed to the very brief Brazilian cut ones the others girls wear. Sometimes they look almost too try hard to actually be sexy. Liddy has fairly good taste in them as far as they go, and a body that complements them. The thong pants with a crotch patch just big enough to barely cover — well her crotch and maybe a third of her pubis — in the bright red and pink colours she wears can look smoking hot, especially when she’s on her back and it’s wet with her juices and plastered into her crease. I’ve never been a fan of the micro tops which have a postage stamp sized nipple cover held together with the usual bikini string ties. It just looks weird. In this case Liddy’s was a bit more balanced, having enough vertical length that the lower string tie sat underneath her breast instead of cutting across it, even if it was only just wide enough to be a nipple cover.

In the end I was sorry I’d raised the issue. I was a bit with Ellen. Naked would be more comfortable and the risk of really urgently needing something to wear — unless you were worried about a storm surge overwhelming the presently high and dry boat and our bodies being dragged indignantly naked from the sunken vessel — was remote. And if I was to drown, I think being discovered naked would be the least of my worries; and that was assuming anything we were wearing would survive the maelstrom of the storm. It was a somewhat morbid thought that the girls’ bikinis certainly wouldn’t.

I’d look out of the cabin window towards the boats afloat in the lagoon just before raising the issue and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Even through the rain smudged vista I had, you could see the boats rocking crazily at their mooring with the surge coming in the entrance and the force of the wind. It certainly wouldn’t have been very nice for Liddy had she stayed on hers.

And lord help us if there was a storm surge high enough to let the sea breech the entrance and float us off. Yep, clothing would be the least of our worries if that happened.

But I put on a pair of swim briefs almost in penance for setting the hares running on the issue.

Wanting to conserve power, we retired to the bunk soon after dark. Even though the bunk is large, four of us in it is always a crowd and certainly escort araban highlighted the fetid air and sweating issue the night would bring. But on this night no one wanted to sleep alone in the centre cabin, and so no one really complained.

The harder issue was the sleeping order. If there’s just three of us, I sleep in the middle with a girl on either side. Four means one of the girls is out of contact with me, and they usually aren’t pleased about it. I leave it to them to organise and, in a system I haven’t quite worked out because Liddy is only an occasional guest, they have their turns. In this case it was Amy who drew the position away from me and next to the lee side of the boat, with Liddy between Amy and myself.

Still concerned about making up with Ellen, I settled down facing her and she responded by lying on her side facing me and cuddled against me. That meant my erection — the tip of it poking out the top of my swimmers – was quickly once again separating the flesh of our stomachs; but that was a familiar enough situation it passed without comment. I could feel Liddy’s butt against mine, meaning she was facing towards Amy.

There was no way the storm was going to let us sleep. It was going to be a long night.

As you lay there, you could sense its centre getting closer. The noise was overwhelming and just got louder and louder. Initially certain noises would stand alone and above the general background cacophony; the distinctive whine of the wind through the rigging and the howl of the flow of air through the narrow, baffled opening of the dorade vents being two. But then, like an orchestra adding a new instrument, a new sound would rise as the wind passed a certain threshold while it bypassed some object. A screeching off somewhere towards the stern, a caterwauling somewhere off to port.

Soon after midnight, it reached a new level. It was like it became malevolent and violent and it felt personal; directed individually at you as if the storm had a vendetta against you. The background noise was like a large, loud train, constantly getting closer and closer and threatening to demolish the boat as it swept unthinkingly through it. Sometimes, just sometimes, the build up of noise would climax in a particularly vicious gust which would make the whole boat shudder and rock on its mountings, making you wonder whether all 20 tonnes of it might be picked up and carried away.

It was difficult to remain rational. To know that it was physically impossible for that to happen. To know there was no actual train, however much it sounded like it. Even to know there wasn’t that much upwind of us to be picked up and thrown at us in a way that would pierce the side of the boat, break through the intervening cabin and get us where we lay, were all rational conclusions that gave little comfort.

I couldn’t help but wonder how the girls were faring. I even wondered if we might not be better getting up and distracting ourselves with a game of cards or something. I managed an occasional ‘are you OK’ exchange with Ellen as we lay with our faces pushed against each other and my arm wrapped around her. Even though I could sense Liddy moving around enough to indicate she was awake, communication with the others would be a major event.

About 1 am I felt Liddy rolling over against me. When her breasts could be felt pushing into my back and her hand came over my hips and found my erection buried in the soft flesh of Ellen’s stomach, I just thought she was changing position. But a moment later I sensed her lips next to my ears…

“Amy’s having a panic attack and I can’t seem to help her.”

I repeated the words to Ellen and rolled over to face Liddy, lifting myself up on an arm to be able to see Amy in the soft red glow of a night light we’d left on, curled up into as much of a foetal position as the limited space would permit, her body heaving and shaking violently. With no small amount of intimately personal contact, I managed to roll across Liddy to bring me next to Amy.

Almost as soon as I put an arm around her, she sensed it was mine, straightened herself and wrapped herself around me; her arms tightly binding my head, thrusting it into her chest, and a leg over my hip pulling me against her. For a moment it brought to mind being attacked by the facehugger in Alien. I half expected a proboscis to be shoved down my throat; a not unreasonable feeling since she’d latched on high on me and a breast was caressing my lips.

I was still completely aroused from being cuddled up against Ellen, but Amy was clearly in significant distress. I tried to put sex out of my mind; although with a raging erection and a breast in my face, wasn’t entirely successful. She was shaking violently and even over the storm, I could hear her heaving sobs interrupting her rapid shallow breathing.

As I wrapped her up in my arms and turned my head sidewards to get it out from between her breasts so I could breathe, I could hear her araban escort bayan heart racing and felt how chilled she was.

I gently tried to exert some downward pressure to being our faces into better alignment. At this point verbal communication could only be carried out by almost screaming; and I wasn’t sure that would be helpful. Call it egotistical if you want, but I was hoping some tight cuddles from me might help calm her down.

Slowly ever so slowly, I managed to squirm up against her until my eyes were somewhere between her breasts and chin. By this point, her crotch had come up against the tip of my erection; two unyielding objects which unless something gave, prevented further alignment of our bodies. I’d tried to bring my hip back to tilt my erection down and let it be pushed horizontal between her legs, but her grip on me was too strong even to permit that.

I struggled against her iron grip to tilt my head back so I could actually look her in the eyes. Tears were streaming out of it as she continued to heave and shake.

I desperately wished I could talk to her. But to simply scream out “are you OK?” or “what’s wrong?” was going to get nowhere; especially as I couldn’t get my lips anywhere near her ear without fighting her grip on me. She was clearly not OK and desperately scared, or something like it. And screaming supposedly soothing words over the storm noise didn’t seem productive.

All I could hope was my hug would have some calming effect — which seemed a rather optimistic wish.

But it was difficult to ignore the way her crotch was shaking and hammering against the exposed top of my shaft as she shook and heaved. It just seemed wrong, but it was extraordinarily stimulating; more so as I felt it push its way into her crease where it was embraced by her bikini bottoms and then rapidly moistened by her body. While it let me ease her face down just a little bit closer to mine, that it turn found the tip relocate itself into a depression in her swimwear matching the opening to her sex.

With her bikini obsession, Amy had actually caused us to have sex this way on more than one occasion — my shaft pushing her bikini pants into her vagina. I knew it could go a fair way in before the tension in the material stopped its progress; especially with the ones she was wearing because the narrowness, stretchiness and thinness of the crotch material meant that, simply by the fact it pulled the waistband down, there was almost no limit to the depth of penetration.

For one last time, I tried to move enough to let my shaft pop out between her legs or at least between our stomachs, but she simply wasn’t allowing me that freedom of movement.

Amy was now pushing down on me — causing me to penetrate her. In so far as her face moved closer to mine, that was good. But it just all seemed wrong. I might just have been able to get my hands down there to pull the gusset of her pants aside, but that seemed to acknowledge sex was happening in a way I wasn’t comfortable with. And the deeper I went, the less of the chance a quick pull of her leg hem would pull it aside. Indeed, with what felt like at least a quarter of my length in her, it was soon too late; unless Amy helped by lessening her downward push and letting me withdraw.

Still Amy pushed down on me. I could feel the tension in the material bearing down on the tip of my erection even as her juices saturated it; but nothing stopped it until I was fully penetrated.

At least at last we were face to face. I stroked her hair as I tried to speak comforting words into her ear as I rested my check against hers.

As I hugged I tried to get her to focus on her breathing. The hyperventilating she was doing couldn’t have been good for her.

“Breathe deeply and slowly Amy. That’s it, follow me…”

It helped, but was far from a solution. As we bound ourselves tightly together, she was still shaking like crazy, but at least I did succeed in getting her to focus on her breathing and I hoped that might eventually distract her from the cause of her panic. Not that there could be any doubt what the cause was.

The sound of the storm was unrelenting and every time one of those express trains came through and made the boat shudder and shake, she’d jump in my arms and just about crush me in her grip. I could sense she was fighting the panic but still overwhelmed by it. For an hour I lay there with her. The amount of energy she must have expended with her continuous shaking must have been incredible; compounded by the effort her body put in jumpily reacting to those bigger gusts. I wondered if I shouldn’t get up and get her some sweet drink to replenish her blood sugar, but there was no way she was letting me go.

But by now I was battling my own demon; and it had nothing directly to do with the storm. I was in danger of cumming. There’d been an hour of unrelenting stimulation of my hardness, every shake and jump of Amy’s adding to the pressure. escort araban And the bikini pants weren’t helping. The folds of the now slippery material, which tightly embraced it, seemed to magnify the natural effect of her vagina.

I’d tried focusing on her, tried to shame myself with guilt, tried to pretend nothing was happening; I’d tried every delaying trick in the male inventory, and while I had managed to delay it considerably, there was a limit to everything. My shaft had been awash with that pleasurable pre-climax feeling for longer than any man could hold.

Finally I knew it was going to happen. I was embarrassed by it and didn’t really want her to know, although the evidence of it would be there to see and feel on her bikini bottoms when this was all over, let alone that provided by the collapse of my erection afterwards.

I knew it was going to be a big one. It just felt too good and had for too long. I bound her even tighter into me and suppressed my body’s natural desire to thrust and groan as I felt my seed rush up my shaft and into the material of her pants. I held her there as it felt like rope after rope of cum came to an inglorious stop in those pants. I could only hope that with all the ejaculations I’d had in the last 24 hours my balls were relatively dry and it was all pumping action and no juice.

I didn’t soften immediately. Indeed I stayed firm for longer than I expected. But it happened. Amy quickly noticed. At first I could feel her vagina squeezing me, as if trying to stop me going. Then as I fell completely out, she put her hand down there and wrapped it around my balls, as if confirming there was no more erection to be had. I also felt her pull her pants out of her vagina; which no doubt would have revealed to her they were smeared with my cum.

And all of this while she was still shaking like crazy.

It was what she did next that surprised me.

She pushed me down onto her nipple. Now when a woman pushes your lips onto her nipple, you tend to take it as an invitation — make that a demand — for it to be sucked or played with. I might, in the circumstances, have been confused by the request. But I wasn’t going to refuse it.

As presented to me, it was still covered by the diaphanous material of her tiny bikini top. It was also not yet tightened; identifiable only as the slightest bulge in the material. The latter only added to my uncertainty of what was happening with Amy.

Her nipples are extraordinarily sensitive, well at least in a way a male finds attractive. They tighten and jut to an enormous edifice at the slightest provocation and upon her first arousal, and they are well capable of giving her an orgasm just by playing briefly with them. And yet, after her vagina had readily and willingly swallowed up my cock for the best part of an hour — which to my simple male mind requires a certain degree of arousal — her nipples were showing not the slightest reaction.

With my arms still around her back and my head bound up in her iron grip, it was easier just to touch her nipple up with the tip of my tongue through the thin material of the top, rather than try and get a hand in to move the top aside. And knowing Amy, that’s probably what she preferred.

I poked my tongue out and flicked it across the dimple in her top marking its location. I was immediately rewarded by its hardening; pushing out the material as it jutted towards my mouth. The way she was still shaking I could have got away with doing little more than holding my tongue against it and letting her shaking do all the work of stimulating it. But to have done that would have missed all the fun that any play with Amy’s nipples offered.

As her breasts and areola swelled up, I took the engorged areola between my lips and rubbed my tongue vigorously along the length of her nipple, encouraging it to grow to full length and hardness, pouring as much saliva onto it as I could to saturate the material to plaster it to the nipple and let me get the real feel of it underneath.

Then like a baby drinking its mother’s milk, I could push the large, thick, elongated nipple against the roof of my mouth with my tongue and just suck on it. This wasn’t part of some quick sex play. It was clear Amy was finding some sort of strange comfort in what she was getting me to do, but there was no reason to think this wouldn’t be going on for some time. It might seem like some sort of male fantasy to have a nipple to suck on for hours, but you still had to be comfortable.

I had one arm squashed under Amy from when I first bundled her up. When we were face to face, it was under her neck where it wasn’t particularly pressured. But as I’d slipped down her body, it was under her arm with her full weight on it; uncomfortable for both her and me.

I pulled it out from under her and cupped her lower breast with it; taking the time to pull the top aside to give me flesh on flesh contact with that nipple. It too quickly reacted; jutting up between my fingers to make playing with it relatively effortless. But it also let me use the flat of my palm to push back against her crushing grip a bit. Dying suffocated on the breast of a young woman might sound like some sort of dream, but the reality is less desirable. Amy took the hint and eased up enough that her breast could sit comfortably in my mouth.

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