("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- The Good Ship Venus by Naughtysamantha (address withheld) *** I'm neither a recovering nymphomaniac nor an amateur easy-after-a-few-drinks-take-me-home-and-have-your- nasty-way-with-me nymphomaniac. I'm an ardent, unabashed, full-fledged, let-it-all-hang-out, celebrating, practicing, sucking, fucking, raging, roaring, whoring nymphomaniac. This chapter is about my voyage on the good ship Venus. (FFM, oral, orgy) *** It's not exactly true to say I quit the game. More accurately, I go into semi-retirement to concentrate on my journalism degree. I still work part-time for Robin and model his gowns and fuck his fathers a couple of evenings a week, but business is improving and Robin needs a girl who can work more regular hours. So I'm the backup girl, called in when the regular salesgirl can't make it, business is unusually heavy or it's a really big potential sale and two girls are more likely to sell a very expensive wedding dress than one. Chastity stays my friend and sends me occasional clients to help pay my journalism school fees. Whenever she comes across, as she puts it, "someone who wants to pay real money for a girl who's got really big tits, is no more than mildly neurotic, can play the lady and the whore equally well and looks like a queen in a sailor's dream" I'm usually ready to drop my studies, come out of retirement for another round or two and spread my legs for excellent money. One particularly nasty winter day Chastity calls me about a very rich American client who's sailing the Caribbean for a couple of weeks with some friends. He wants to stock his 72-foot yacht with, as Chastity delicately quotes him, "a big-titted classy broad who knows which knife and fork to use, can handle dope, can suck the chrome off a car's bumper and fucks like a crazed mink." Chastity tells me "that's exactly you, my dear. Exactly you. I thought of you the moment he said those magic words..." I'm not exactly flattered until Chastity quotes the rest of those magic words "...and he'll pay thirty thousand dollars American... and you won't even have to keep count... it's all-in. One price fits all. Him and his friends for the whole two weeks, Sam dear." It's Christmas, the snow drifts down and piles up along Toronto's streets like dirty, grey ramparts, Robin doesn't need me to fuck any fathers in the dressing room and there are no classes at J-school. Most important, my calendar says no problem for the duration. So I get a very painful Brazilian wax job, pack my bikini and suntan lotion and next morning fly Air Canada first class to Montego Bay in Jamaica. I wear my Armani suit, dark glasses and carry a Gucci bag and the flight attendant is very sweet and shyly asks me if I'm a movie star. *** A uniformed chauffeur picks me up at the airport in a ridiculously stretched white limousine and drives me to the harbour. The yacht is long, lithe and lovely. Her hull sparkles white and navy-blue, a gold stripe at the waterline. Teak deck and polished brass fittings stretch forever. The sails are neatly furled but uncovered, ready to hoist. Everything is first-class. Everything sparkles. There's an awful lot of serious money floating in this boat. A good-looking young man around my age dressed in nautical whites, all blond and deeply tanned, greets me politely as "Miss Sam". He tells me his name is Mike, takes my bag, instructs me to take off my high heels to protect the teak deck, offers an arm to help me on board and discreetly disappears. Six men lounge around the cockpit in swim suits, drinking from frosty glasses shielded by little paper parasols. They're all in their forties and fifties with tanned, expensive, slightly-out-of-condition businessmen's bodies. An enormous bottle of Captain Morgan rum stands half-empty on a table in the centre of the cockpit. The friends are already half-drunk. And singing. Badly. I stand in the hot sun, sweating lightly in my Toronto dress, shoes dangling from one hand, while they ignore me and finish a verse. 'We're on the good ship Venus By God, you should'a seen us The figurehead is a whore in bed And the mast a roaring penis. We sail with the east wind at sunset. By dawn I've fucked and sucked all six and am fast asleep in a tangle of male bodies on a huge, sweaty bed in the master cabin. It's going to be a long, hard voyage. *** Chastity says there are only two rules for me, the "big-titted classy broad who knows which knife and fork to use, can handle dope, can suck the chrome off a car's bumper and fucks like a crazed mink." The first rule is that any of the friends can take me whenever and wherever he wants, for whatever he wants. I can't say no. Ever. The second rule is that I'm not allowed to have anything to do with the crew, Jabulani the Jamaican captain or Mike, the Canadian chef and deck hand. While the voyage lasts, I belong to the friends, body and soul. I'm a wholly-owned property. When I'm not fucking or sucking I'm free to take the helm — just so long as Captain Jabulani is nearby — help with the sails, read, watch a huge selection of movies and porno on the VCR, sunbathe, swim, eat, sleep or do nothing. All of this is great in theory. But when a girl's trying to keep six highly competitive, alpha-males sexually satisfied it does cut into her time for sailing, reading, watching VCRs, sunbathing, swimming, eating, sleeping or doing nothing. But I don't complain. After all, I'm getting more leisure time and servicing fewer clients than when I work in Josh's whorehouse. And Josh's johns don't sing. There's fucking in the cabins Sucking on the docks You can't hear the music For the swishing of the cocks When any of the friends gets horny, my mouth, hands and pussy are there — ready, willing and able. At first, it's fairly discreet. One of the friends suggests quietly that maybe we can find somewhere more private and we make out in one of the cabins. Discretion doesn't last long. By day two I drop the bikini top. By day three the bikini's bottom's gone too. By day four, I'm naked almost all the time and fucking openly on deck in front of the friends and crew. Sometimes one friend at a time, sometimes more than one friend at a time. I'm always available for whatever the friends want, whenever and wherever the friends want it. I fuck and suck and drink and smoke ganja while the sun pours down like honey and later, in the warm darkness of night, do it all again. That's the deal. As the Jamaicans say, no problem. Do I cum a lot? Of course, but not often during the daylight sessions. They're pretty much straight business. Open mouth, thighs or both, show professional enthusiasm, moan and groan at the right moments, offer some version of "that was great, honey" at the end and go back to whatever I was doing when I was interrupted. Most of the cumming is done at night when, with enough dope (Jamaica's own splendid sensimilla) and wine (Domaine Comtes Lafon's Meursault Charmes chardonnay), I slip easily into the zone and once or twice even threaten the world record for multiple orgasms. All the while, the two-man crew, Jabulani and Mike, go about their work discretely pretending not to see or hear. And the friends sing. The captain's son, he is here But he is only eight He can't fuck the ladies So they help him masturbate. *** Behind my back in the cockpit five of the friends tuck into bacon and eggs, drink the first rum of the day and joke about a woman one of them knows who, he claims, can cum by sucking her own clitoris. I'm naked, on my knees on the teak deck, sucking off the sixth friend. "She's a ketch" explains the owner of the cock, holding me firmly by my nipples while I suck. "Seventy-two foot long, fore-and-aft-rigged with a mainmast forward carrying a mainsail and jibs." I speed up the tempo. I'm hungry and want my breakfast. "She has a mizzenmast aft, stepped forward of the rudder post." I grunt encouragement and suck deeper. He squeezes my nipples. From the corner of my eye I see Jabulani at the wheel and Mike scrubbing the deck. Their bodies are young and hard and beautiful. The friends' bodies were once, no doubt, young, hard and beautiful. The cock ejaculates. I stand up, smile for its owner, run a hand through his thinning hair in appreciation of his contribution to my morning and we join the rest of the friends for breakfast. I wash the cum down with fresh orange juice and the splendid chardonnay. We sail on. Mrs. McGinty — she is here She has the crowd in fits Jumping off the quarterdeck And bouncing on her tits. *** One evening on our sixth day out, while the sun sinks into azure sea like a fiery, dying meteor and the wind dies to a sweet, gentle caress, we sail under spinnaker into a bay fringed by white, sandy beaches and leaning, top-heavy palm trees. The crew drop anchor in ten feet of crystal-clear water. On the other side of the bay an enormous power yacht rides importantly at anchor. Not long after we've furled our sails for the night the power yacht sends a Zodiac alongside. As is the custom among cruising people, we're invited on board for sundowners. The Zodiac will wait for us. No dressing. Whatever we're in is fine. Since I'm naked, as always, I decide I'll ignore the instructions, go shower and get into a bikini and wrap. The power yacht is heavy with oiled mahogany, polished brass, chrome and money. Five crew — all in nautical whites looking like California surfers in a schoolgirl fantasy — courteously help us up the ladder to the main deck. Two people wait on deck to greet us. We recognize both, of course. She's a famous movie-star who sleeps with all the right directors and producers and trades on her gorgeous face, violet eyes and astounding breasts to collect seven husbands and millions of dollars. He's husband numbers four and five, a famous British actor and world-class drinker. Both are around my parent's age, a little past their best-by dates. The friends are hugely impressed by the famous movie- star. They cluster around her like bears to honey. She pours them drinks, flirts and flaunts her legs out of a vivid, flowered Fijian sarong. Her still-splendid breasts pour out of a brilliant pink bikini top that's designed to flash occasional nipple unless she keeps her shoulders firmly back. The famous British actor-husband is hugely impressed by me. He's tanned and shirtless and wears a sarong slung low around a thickening waist. He stands very close and asks in one of those splendid British-actor voices, all diction and seduction, "will you believe me if I tell you that you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen... and my wife doesn't understand me?" I flirt back. With him, it's easy. "On the contrary, kind sir. I'm sure she understands you very well. Every woman would." He laughs. It's not a pleasant laugh. It's cynical, lonely and oddly hurt. His wife hears it, glances back at us. I can't read her expression. For some reason a wave of sadness floods over me. I feel terribly sorry for this rich and famous man who can buy anything and anyone he wants. I study his face, a touch bleary and out of focus. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed and he's puffy from too much good life and too little moderation. Even so, there's still something beautiful, even vaguely noble, about this face. I picture him in all his glory on film where he's magnificent and commands the camera more like a god than a man. Blue eyes to drown in. A voice so rich and male and seductive that just the sound of it makes my uterus contract. His eyes caress my breasts, nearly as naked as his wife's but even heavier. "Jesus, you're beautiful" he says sadly." I should have met you a thousand years ago." He reaches out, cups one bikinied breast in his hand. I don't move. His fingers caress my nipple through the thin material. The nipple hardens. Still I don't move. Abruptly he turns away, back to the bar behind him, refills his whisky glass. I hear the famous movie-star tell him quietly "Darling... not too much whisky please." She walks over to where I'm standing. "Come... let me show you around the boat, my dear." She takes my arm firmly in one hand. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" It's not a question. "Of course..." *** "Which one are you with?" she asks. "Which of the men?" I offer the diplomatic answer. "David... the guy who organizes the cruise. He's my boyfriend." We stand together in the bow, drinks in hand and watch the moon rise, remote, mysterious and female, over the horizon. The movie star examines me over her wine. "I think you're lying" she says flatly, with no more malice than if she's criticizing my wrap. "You're too young. Probably still at school. Anyway, I think you're a professional" She smiles "sometimes it takes a pro to know a pro." I like her explanation. "So?" "You're with them all. They've rented you. You're their little playmate." "So?" She pauses, looks out over the shimmering water. "I want you to look after my husband. I'll pay you, of course. Pay you well. Very well." I haven't expected this. Chances are, knowing the friends by now and knowing something of the reputation of this couple, a gangbang is already on the cards. If that happens I'll fuck the famous British actor anyway. I glance back at him. Glass in hand, he's watching me. I smile seductively mostly out of habit. I turn back to my new best friend. "What do you mean? Look after him?" "I love him very much... but he's lost his confidence. I want him to get it back." "I don't see..." She interrupts. "He can't keep it up... not for long, anyway. Not long enough. And he hasn't cum. Not for months. He's a proud man... he used to cum like a bloody volcano. So he drinks instead. Then he's not interested in me. You know what I mean?" She gazes out over the water, darkening now. "And I love him so much... I want him to be strong again." "So what makes you think I can make him strong when you can't?" "You're a pro, aren't you?" She studies me as if she's checking out a Christian Dior dress. "You're young and gorgeous... huge boobs... and obviously good at what you do... those guys you come with are no boy scouts. They must be getting their money's worth." She puts a hand on my arm. "Also, because you're a pro you won't get hurt. Emotionally I mean. Not like the other women. And he likes you. I can see that." Her violet eyes are close to tears. She gives me advice. "He likes to play a little rough... only a little... you won't mind, will you?" A tear runs down her famous face. "Help me try to save him... that's all. Help me... please Sam..." *** The sound of the Zodiac dies across the bay. "She's my present to you" says the famous movie star to the famous British actor. She kisses him on the cheek. "I want you to enjoy her, darling." We're in the master cabin. It's bigger than my whole apartment back in Toronto. The famous British actor sits down on the immense bed, his tanned body dark against stark white sheets. "That's very kind of you, my love, my jewel." He examines me. A little smile curls his lips. "Can I keep her or do I have to throw her back in the water when I'm done?" The famous movie star pretends indignation. "Certainly not... you beast... you satyr... you monster." She sits on a chair at the side of the bed. "She's just for tonight... because I love you." "Her friends don't mind?" "Her friends were very happy to contribute to a good cause. Anyway, I think you scare them. But they want her back tomorrow morning." "She doesn't mind?" "Ask her." He turns to me but before he can speak I curtsey like a Jane Austen debutante and announce primly "I'm yours to command, my lord." He smiles, puts an arm around the famous movie star's shoulders. "I suppose so... if I have to... not because I want to, of course. Just for you, my sweet. Tell her to get undressed." The famous movie star asks "will you take it off, please Sam." I ignore her, smile at the famous actor. "You want me to undress?" He nods. "Yes, Master." I drop the wrap to the deck. "I'll do the rest" offers the famous movie star. She gets up from her chair, walks over to me, unhooks my bra, helps me out of the bikini bottom. They join the wrap on the carpet. Slowly, naked, like a runway model, I turn around, breasts swaying, for his approval. "Holy fuck" he says. "Holy fuck..." "If that is your desire, my lord." The famous movie star's voice is a whisper. I think she's close to tears. "Be good to him, Sam..." *** I kneel in front of the famous British actor, unknot his sarong, pull it open. His cock lies soft between tanned legs. I gaze into his eyes. Suddenly, to me, they're not bloodshot any more. Suddenly they're clear and blue and focused. Suddenly his face is lean and strong again, his body taut, like an athlete. Suddenly he's thirty and magnificent again. Gently, I push him back onto the bed. Softly, barely touching, I run hands around his face, down his chest and back up to his face. I kiss his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his ears. I kiss his lips without passion. My nipples skim his chest. His hands come up to cup my breasts. I shudder. Taking my time, I lick my tongue down his neck to his belly. And back again. "You're so beautiful, my lord... so beautiful... I want to love you... I want your body... I want you in me... I want you... so strong... so hard... so beautiful..." In the half light, the famous movie star watches us from a chair at the side of the bed. I kiss him on the lips. "Do you like my breasts?" I ask. "Suck my breasts for me. Bite my nipples... be gentle... lick my breasts." I thrust a breast at his mouth. "Swallow it... suck it in all the way, my lord." His hands hold me tight around the waist. Half my breast disappears into his mouth. I push against his face, touch his nipple, harden it with careful fingernails. I pull my breast from his mouth, kiss him on the lips. My fingernails graze his face. "You're so strong... so beautiful... I want you in me, my lord... more than anything else on earth... I want your body... your cock, my lord..." Out of the corner of my eye I see the famous movie star unhook her bikini top, drop it to the floor. Her famous breasts are low, full, heavy. They sway when she moves. Her nipples are hard, purple, like her eyes. I run a hand down the famous British actor's body all the way to his cock. He's half erect. I leave his cock, cup his balls in my hand, squeeze gently, scratch with sharp nails. "You're so big" I tell him. "So big... so very big... so strong... I want your cock... soon I'll want your cock in me... soon... not yet..." I pull his head back to a breast. "Bite me... bite me... hurt me... just a little... hurt me..." He bites. I hump my hips towards him, slide a hand down his belly, stroke his belly, move slowly closer to his groin. Touch his cock. Scratch lightly. Pull back. Do it again. And again. Tease him. Tease him. Scratch fingernails up the inside of his thighs toward his groin. Just touching. Pull back. Do it again. And again. Closer each time. Brush his cock. Tease his cock. Talk to his cock. "You're so strong so beautiful." His teeth bite into my nipple. "I'm going to drain you cock... drink all your cum... and you're going to make me cum 'till I can't cum any more... ever again... ever again... you're so beautiful... so strong... so hard... I want you so much, my lord... I want you to cum in my mouth..." I'm not working, not pretending. I'm in the zone. Nothing matters except this beautiful man. And his beautiful wife who watches from the shadows. The famous movie star unties her sarong, sits back in her chair. She's naked now, plump and beautiful. One hand caresses purple nipples. The famous British actor's cock is hard. He turns, tries to mount me. I push him away. "No... not yet..." He draws back. "Play with my pussy... make me cum with your fingers... I like that." His body half on top of me, he slips fingers into the soft, moist flesh of my pussy. My body opens for him. One finger, then two, three, all four. Fingers push, slide in and out. In and out. In and out. He fills me. I groan, push against his hand. I tremble, vibrate. My world centres on the hand stretching, filling my cunt. "Touch my clit" I whisper. "Touch me." "You do it." My fingers go to my clitoris. Caress it, circle it with two fingers while his hand thrusts, pushes deeper, in and out. In and out. We lie together, bodies entwined, his four fingers ramming my cunt, my fingers frantically working on my clitoris, until I cum, groaning, moaning, sobbing. I push his hand out, curl my body up next to him, breathe hard. We sweat and touch and whisper in the thick, hot Caribbean night. *** I whisper to his cock "you're so strong... so beautiful... so hard... so good... you make me feel so good..." He thrusts his cock towards the heat of my pussy. "Not yet... not yet." Again I push him away. "Not yet... wait for it, my lord... wait for me..." At the side of the bed the famous movie star runs a hand over her famous breasts, down between her famous legs. Even in the gloom, I can see her skin shine with sweat. My mouth goes down to his groin. I run my tongue up and down his rigid cock, take his balls in my mouth, suck on them. I let his balls go, murmur "I love you cock... I want to suck you cock... so hard... so strong..." I take the cock-head just inside my mouth, set up an easy rhythm so he's happy just lying there, splendidly erect, not over-excited. I play with my clitoris while I lick and suck his cockhead. I cum again. The sound of my cumming excites him. Again he pushes me back on the bed, tries to mount me. "Not yet..." I tell him. "That was fabulous... but not yet..." I sit up, face him, straddle him, slowly lower my pussy down onto his cock. He goes in easily. I squeeze. He grunts. I lower my breasts to his mouth. "Bite me" I tell him. "Bite my breasts... bite my nipples... gently... gently..." He bites. He groans. He groans again, louder. His cock pushes deeper into me. "Not yet." I stop moving until he calms. "Slap my breasts... pinch my nipples" I tell him. "Slap my bottom... I've been a naughty girl... spank me... be gentle... spank me... your cock's so beautiful... so strong." The famous movie star spreads her legs. Her hand flutters on her pussy. The famous British actor's cock stays deep in my cunt. Teeth bite my nipples. Hard hands slap my breasts, move to my buttocks, slap harder and harder. The pain — not really pain at all — excites me, moves me to another place, a deeper level. My juices flow. I scream little screams and cum again. I almost always cum when I'm spanked. He groans. I climb off him, take his cock in both hands. I tell his cock "I love the taste of you, cock... you taste of me too... now it's time to cum... for her..." I gesture to the famous movie star. She gets up off her chair, sits down on the bed next to us. With one hand I caress my clitoris, with the other I hold his cock, suck him deep into my throat, slide him in and out, in and out, in and out. I tighten, loosen, tighten the muscles in my throat. Tighten. Loosen. Tighten. Loosen. I take my mouth off his cock, talk to it again. "Not me. Her. You want her. You want to fuck her... fuck her... fuck her... you're so beautiful... so hard... so strong... fuck her... fuck her... oh god, yes... fuck her... that's what you want, my lord." I take the famous movie star's wrist in one hand, the famous British actor's cock in the other, guide her to sit on him. "Fuck her... fuck her... oh god... oh jesus... oh god... fuck her" My voice rises to a scream. "Fuck her... take her... do it to her... do it to her... fuck her... fuck her... fuck her, my lord..." The famous movie star and the famous British actor take their time. It's lovely to watch. They kiss and stroke and murmur and gaze into each other's eyes and move on each other until their bodies stiffen, he grabs her hair with both hands, she whimpers, he groans, together they scream. In the distance, over the water, I faintly hear the friends singing. There's fucking in the cabins Sucking on the docks You can't hear the music For the swishing of the cocks. *** Early the next morning I slip out of the great, sweaty bed leaving the famous movie star and the famous British actor asleep, tangled in each other's arms. I find my bikini, pull it on and go up on deck where the California surfers are busy preparing scuba gear. The surfer with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package, blondest hair and bluest eyes greets me. "Morning miss. Did you sleep well?" I wonder how much the crew know about last night. I guess they know everything. You can't keep secrets on boats. I smile ruefully. "Not enough. To say nothing of a slight hangover." "You want some breakfast, Miss?" "Thought I'd swim first." The surfer with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package, blondest hair and bluest eyes flexes his chest muscles and tells me "the best thing for hangover is a dive." He asks "You like to dive, Miss?" I pretend to be shocked. "Really! I beg your pardon!" He's flustered. Which is what I intend. "Scuba dive I mean." "Oh that. Never tried." I study the bulge in his brief swimsuit. "How hard is it?" He's flustered again. "How do you mean?" I glance at him reproachfully. "I mean scuba diving, silly!" He grins. "Oh that. Easy. We'll be happy to teach you." *** We start in shallow water, just off the beach. The California surfers teach me the basics. Most of the basics seem to include a lot of adjusting of the straps on my buoyancy jacket which is supposed to cover my chest and back and prevent me from drowning. When one breast keeps popping out of its cup during the adjustments, the surfer with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package, blondest hair and bluest eyes suggests we forget the top. The others agree that topless is the best way to scuba. "Makes you more streamlined... less water drag" offers one. I ask him to undo my bra strap and he fishes around under the back of the jacket until he finds the strap, unhooks it and tosses the bra back to the white sand of the beach. *** The six of us glide together under the yacht. Looking up, the dark hull rocks like a great whale on the silver surface. Small, brilliantly coloured fish nibble on the hull. A coral reef, red, purple, gold and blue, juts out of brilliant white stretches of sand beneath us. A school of fish, yellow, black and elegant, swim past in strict formation, disappear into the hazy turquoise. It's like flying. It's like dreaming. It's out-of-body, like the best of all possible sex. Like being in last night's zone. I feel wonderful. The California surfers hover around me, circle thumbs and second fingers in the universal diving signal "ok?" Like they've taught me, I nod and return the gesture. "Ok". I look up at the hull again, back to the California surfers with their beautiful bodies and remember the famous movie star and the famous British actor sleeping above us. I smile. I breathe in, float higher. I breathe out, sink. Gliding on my back, I watch my bubbles scramble to the surface. I turn over, kick my legs and the fins fly me forward above sand, white as fresh snow. I sink lower and trail my fingers in the sand, draw parallel lines. A tiny, bright red crab scuttles in front of me. I pick it up, take my mouthpiece out, kiss the crab, replace the mouthpiece, watch the crab scuttle away, angrily waving its claws. A school of angel fish dart away when I get close. Two barracuda glide past, all teeth and eyes and menace. My nipples, hard and super-sensitive, rub gently against the inside of my buoyancy jacket. I float a couple of feet above the sand. The surfer with the smallest swimsuit, biggest package, blondest hair and bluest eyes glides close to me. Through the masks we smile for each other. "Ok? he signals. "Ok" I signal back. Still locked into his eyes, I pull on the strings on the sides of my bikini bottom. We watch as it sinks slowly to the sand below. I dribble air out of my mouth and my body follows the bikini bottom to the white sand. I stretch out on my back on top of the scuba tank, smile up at the California surfers above me, spread my legs and circle my thumb and second finger. "Ok". Five swimsuits come off five California surfer bodies and drift down to join my bikini bottom on the ocean floor. A grouper and the two barracuda watch curiously while I fuck the California surfers, one by one. Our bubbles blend, float up to the surface where the boats rock and the famous movie star and the famous British actor and the businessmen who paid a king's ransom to rent my body sleep off their hangovers. Singing... I'll do you this time I'll do you now I couldn't do you last time Can I do you now? *** On the very last evening of the voyage we anchor leeward of a small island off Negril, only three hours good sailing from Montego Bay. It's been a long day and evening of sex, booze and dope. A sort of desperate farewell for the friends to prove something very important for the last time. Then prove it again. Around midnight I yawn and stretch and announce I'm going to catch up on sleep. "Early plane. Please don't wake me, guys, unless it's an emergency. Like we're on fire or sinking... or attacked by terrorists... or great white sharks." I climb down the companionway and, on a sudden impulse instead of going aft to my cabin, turn forward. There are no lights down here, just darkness. I listen for breathing, hear it, follow the sound, guiding with one hand against the bulkhead. I stumble against unseen fittings, find a cabin door, open it, slip inside, grope around until I recognize bunks, one on top of the other. I reach inside the top bunk. Whoever's in it wakes with my hand under the sheet touching his thigh. He mumbles, turns over, grabs the hand. "Fuck off Jabu." I move my hand, scratch with long fingernails. "Jesus... it's not Jabu. Who's this?" "A mermaid..." Pause. "Hi Miss Sam..." "Shhhh..." My hand searches, finds his cock. It's long and firm and nearly ready for action. I guess I've interrupted a dream. I hope he doesn't mind too much. Above deck, the singing goes on. The captain has a daughter They throw her in the water Delighted squeals show that eels Have found her sexual quarter. A hand comes from the lower bunk, touches my calf, travels up my leg. I hear Jabulani's voice. "I'm dreaming... tell me I'm dreaming. No... please God mon... tell me I not dreaming." The hand reaches my pussy. I open my legs, whisper "we have to be quiet..." I stroke Mike's cock in the darkness. Jabulani climbs out of the bottom bunk, His body is hard against my back, his hands cup my breasts. His cock pushes against my buttocks. "Welcome Miss Sam" he whispers. "You sure are welcome. Just in time... even Mike's starting to look good." He picks me up in powerful arms like I'm a baby, lays me down on the top bunk next to Mike and climbs up to join us. Their bodies are young, hard, beautiful. Their cocks are urgent, eager, demanding, tireless. In the darkness, I don't know who's doing what to me. In the darkness I don't care. Above deck, the singing drones on. The captain's wife, sweet Mabel Does all that she is able To give the crew their weekly screw Under the galley table. *** The next day in the middle of a snow storm I stroll through Toronto customs with a marvelous all-over tan and forty thousand untaxed American dollars tucked discreetly in my bra. We're on the good ship Venus By God, you should'a seen us The figurehead is a whore in bed And the mast a roaring penis. END (The Good Ship Venus is one chapter in a 109-chapter autobiography detailing my fascinating life between the sheets and other places. My story is true, except that some of the facts have been changed to make it more interesting. You may reach me at samanthachaborn@gmail.com) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world contract HIV every year. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 54