Emily: Seduced on the foredeck

Emily: Seduced on the foredeck Emily: Seduced on the foredeck

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica



Is good sex the best rebound solution?



Is good sex the best rebound solution?


Submitted: January 13, 2017

A A A | A A A


Submitted: January 13, 2017



I was devastated, completely gutted.

Just when I’d surrendered myself body and soul to Sam. Just when I’d fallen madly in love with him, we went to a party and I discovered he regularly does drugs. And he wanted me to do them with him.

Yes, that night, he been the uninhibited life of the party, to my boring, sober, unaffected self. At the end of it I’d even let my body be used over and over to let him selfishly satisfy his insatiable drug fuelled ardour. Then midway through the third time he’d passed out on top of me.

Already, as he’d been pounded away at me, I’d decided it was over.

To have to struggle to roll the dead weight of his unconscious body off me. To feel his still rigid manhood slip from my body as I’d pushed him over onto his back as I eventually freed myself from under him. It was humiliating. I felt cheap; used.

He was still breathing. It was more like some alcoholic stupor than the death knell of a drug overdose.

For half an hour I lay there next to his naked self. I’d contemplated the still rigid erection from his third, incomplete demand upon my body and remembered all the good times we’d shared. I’d even contemplated mounting him and using it to salvage something from the ruin of the night. A single stolen orgasm as the price for the joyless sex he’d just taken from me.

All the time as I lay there, I felt the love drain from me like water running out of a sink. Drugs were a non-negotiable no-no for me. I’d witnessed too many lives ruined by them.

I left and walked shamefully home.

The discussion with him the next morning had been fruitless. He wouldn’t give them up and thought me a complete bore for not joining him in his indulgence. Even though the decision to break off the relationship had been completely mutual, it left me feeling empty and destroyed.

I had already promised dad I’d help one of his other regular crew deliver our family’s yacht from Sydney harbour to Pittwater later that week for a coming regatta at the Royal Prince Alfred Yacht Club. Never in my life had I less felt like going on the boat. I just wanted to curl up in my room and die. Still, a promise was a promise.

Early that morning, I did what I had to do to help Adam prepare the boat and get us out to sea; going through well-rehearsed motions; this time stripped of any sense of pleasure.

About 8 years older than me, Adam had been a regular crew member on the boat since dad had first let me be part of the racing crew a decade ago at the age of 13. He’d actually been my close mentor on the boat; taking the time to teach me how to do things properly when all the other crew were just impatient for it to happen now. Always kind and gentle, he was also enormously protective of me. He wasn’t a bad looker either. By any objective criteria he was probably my best friend on the boat; someone with whom I often shared a harmless flirtatious banter and exchange of sexual innuendo as we sailed. But I suppose I’d never really got beyond the adult/child thought process about our relationship that I’d first started with, even if he was probably initially regarded by the older crew as one of the kids too.

We cleared Sydney Heads under motor on a still, windless, sunny, morning with virtually no swell. Adam was steering the boat, leaving me with nothing to do. I asked him if he’d mind if I sun baked on the foredeck.

Taking my beach bag and a long cockpit cushion, I set myself up on the cabin top in front of the mast; laying my towel over the cushion, stripping down to my bikini, stuffing my clothes in the bag and slathering myself with sun screen.

I don’t usually just bake in the sun; it’s too hard on the skin. But the sun was still low and I was miserable. I was also horrible, monosyllabic company for Adam; probably dragging him down in my self-pity. He could see something was wrong and I thought he might be annoyed that no amount of good spirit on his part was able to lift me out of my funk.

I like the tingle and warmth of the sun on my skin. I thought it might cheer me up and leave Adam to his thoughts without having to worry about me. I even hoped heating up my pussy with its rays warming my dark coloured bikini pants might restore some sense of sexual responsiveness and arousal to my drained, empty sense of womanhood.

For maybe half an hour I drowsed; momentarily forgetting my cares as the sun caressed me and lulled me into a mindless state. But all too soon, the destructive thoughts came flooding back; alternatively lashing myself for not seeing the problem before I became involved with Sam and missing terribly the loved up sense of completeness he given me for those few short months.

Unable to restore myself to the Zen state the sun had first given me, nor to silence the self-pitying voices going around and around in my head, I sat up; slouched, staring at my feet with tears running down my cheeks.

Too distracted in my misery, the first I knew of Adam’s presence near me was his soft, caring voice. He’d set a course far enough seaward to safely clear long reef, put the yacht on auto pilot and come forward.

“What’s wrong Emily?”

“Nothing.” But I immediately gave lie to my statement by bursting into a sobbing, heaving mess. I felt foolish, sitting nearly naked in a tiny bikini while I sobbed my heart out in front of a guy who I’d never really revealed any emotion to before.

Adam sat next to me; our shoulders gently touching.

“I don’t think that’s the full answer. Mightn’t it feel better to talk about it?”

Like a bursting dam, I blurted it out.

“I’ve broken up with Sam.”  Then promptly dissolved into more heaving, sobbing tears, lowering my head onto my knees.

Adam waited a moment until I’d recovered a modicum of composure.

“Did he dump you or did you leave him.”

Suddenly it felt good to be able to talk about it. My parents had barely noticed my down mood; or if they had, they’d chosen to ignore it. I told him about the party, the drugs issue and our argument the next day; leaving out the bit where I’d sold myself cheap by letting him use me as an outlet for his drug induced libido.

He told me I’d done the right thing. He too had seen enough of drug induced mental health problems to say it was a not negotiable issue. He also reassured me that, until I’d seen evidence that Sam had that sort of problem, I could hardly be expected to guess.

We discussed the issue too and fro for a while and we talked about the pain of breaking up; something he’d been through recently too. Finally he teased out of me the bottom line of my feelings.

“I miss being in love. I miss that sense of having someone I can share things with. I want someone to love me in return and care about me.”

Adam moved himself from sitting alongside me to directly facing me, squatting next to my folded up knees; his hips brushing them. Pulling the end of his long sleeve over his hand, he wiped the tears off my cheeks, gently following the trails of dampness down my face. Where the trails had run over my chin and down my neck he followed them as far as my shoulder bone. Where they’d dripped down and created a large dark stain on each triangle of my bikini top and wet patches on the top of my breasts, he left well enough alone.

As he brushed the tears away, for the first time I looked up at him. Looking back at me I saw eyes full of understanding and real concern. They were eyes that offered reassurance that I wasn’t alone; that I wasn’t the first to feel this way.

Inside me, something awoke. In some indefinable way, where there had been a dead emptiness I felt the first green shoots of returning life.

Letting go of his sleeve to expose his fingers, Adam reached out and stroked along my forehead and through my hair. It was the sort of reassuring, protective touching a parent might do; although it didn’t feel patronising. And maybe as his hand slid through right down to the end of my long hair and repeated the action, it went a bit further than normal.

“Emily, you’re a wonderful girl. You’ve got a lovely entertaining nature and you’re impossibly beautiful. You can have any guy you want. Goodness, I’ve had a hidden crush on you for years. I know it can be hard to meet the right one, but it will happen; sooner and more easily than seems likely to you at the moment.”

Maybe they were platitudes; although I knew I wasn’t a bad looker. Still, it’s nice to hear it said. It lifted my mood a smidgen, even as the feel of his fingers stroking my hair raised my heartbeat and sent a tingle through my body. But I was far from ready to break out of my funk.

“It’s just so hard to meet someone. I hate the entire tinder process. I hate having to go to bars and parties where the whole human experience just seems so superficial.”

“I’m sure you know as well as I do, these things happen when you least expect them. You just have to be open and ready to respond to them when they do.”

Perhaps my brain had been dulled by my mood, or maybe I’d just chosen to ignore a comment that seemed too hard to deal with. But Adam was lifting me out of the depths of my depression. For the first time in days I managed a smile – a cheeky one – as I looked him straight in the eye.

“How long did you have a crush on me for?”

Adam blushed and looked down.

“Let’s just say, from before it was appropriate for me to do so.”

“Why didn’t you act on it?”

“You mean, apart from you being too young, me being too old, me having various girlfriends and you boyfriends and your father scaring me witless and me being just as scared of being rejected by you and losing your friendship; I can’t think of a reason.” 

“When did it fade?”

“Who said it had. Even though I assumed you had a boyfriend, I’d been looking forward to this trip ever since your father told me you’d be the other crew. I didn’t need the prospect of some sort of sexual interaction with you to always enjoy your company. The thought of it being just you and me was pretty nice.”

As Adam had looked down in embarrassment his hand had frozen in position with his palm cradling the side of my face. I could see he’d blushed deeper as he admitted the crush still existed; but at the same time I could see the start of a smile on his face.

I assumed I’d forced out of him something he didn’t intend to reveal. Whether the smile was relief at being able to express his feeling or a response to looking straight down at my barely covered breasts, I wasn’t sure. But suddenly a light went on that told me I was interacting with more than another crew member. He was a man; a fellow human being with sexual responses no different to my own and one that was not immune to whatever charms I might have. Nor was I immune to his.

The soft warmth of his hand on my face was electric. Beneath my skin, the faster beating of my heart made every little part of me feel flushed and alive.

My body was betraying me. I felt the first blush of sexual arousal in my breasts; my nipples tightened into a noticeable jut that I knew would be visible under the gossamer material of my tear damp bikini top.

I looked down to see that, not only were my nipples prominent, but were directly in the line of Adam’s temporarily frozen vision. He must have seen them actually rise.

The lifting and dropping of the bow of the boat to a swell nearly knocked Adam off balance. He wrapped his free hands around my knees to stop himself from falling over. In that moment I had a clear view of the front of his pants which were bulging with his own hardness, even as my body responded to this more intimate touch.

I covered the hand he had on my cheek with mine.

Adam looked up. Our eyes met. For a moment we awkwardly stared at each other. Then I acted on impulse.

I put my hand around the back of his head and pulled him in to kiss him. On the lips. At first a touch, then a taste. Before I knew it I was ravenously, ardently pashing him, thrusting my tongue down his throat.

His arm embraced me, sweeping the curve of my waist before burying itself between my buttock and the seat cushion. I lay back, pulling his body over mine. His hardness came to my left thigh, pushing itself deeply into my soft flesh; surging in its anxiety and desire.

My hands were all over him. Up his shirt, down the back of his pants and through his hair as we squirmed our legs, torsos and arms against each other, pawing and biting, in a forlorn attempt to satisfy our desires as his still clothed hardness edged closer to my womanhood.

I wanted him fully. I needed him. Now, today, more than any other day in my life.

His hand came upon my right thigh, slipped up it and touched between my legs. I arched my back in pleasure, groaning into his mouth. Encouraged he pressed more firmly, slipping his fingers along the line of my open flower, testing my readiness by pushing the crutch of my bikini into the warm wetness of my sex. I bucked under him in ecstasy as he slid his finger back up and played with my clit.

I couldn’t wait any longer. Neither of us could.

I pulled his shirt off over his head; fumbled to undo the button of his shorts and expose his rampant anxious manhood. He rolled us over, lifting my impatient body up so that he could sit upright on the step at the front of the main cabin, having me straddle his thighs, his manhood seeping fluid against my stomach.

A condom in my beach bag.

I started to fumble his pants out from under the weight of his body, succeeding only in bringing them down to the top of his thighs. But there was no time for taking off any more clothes. He lifted up my buttocks, pulled me close in to him, pulled aside the leg hem of my bikini pants, and let me sink slowly down until the tip of his hardness first made contact. He surged it; letting it slip along my slot looking for that wet warm void that would tell him he’d found the spot.

Lifting his hips just enough to pin me in position, he let me slip down, spiking him into my body. We were joined.

I looked him in the eye and threw my face against his again, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, pushing hard against his lips as I closed my eyes and relaxed into his firm embrace.

His hand slipped onto my breast and spiralled inwards to the centre of the gossamer covering of my bikini top until he felt the outer edge of my areola where already the jut of nipple was lifting the bikini top away from my flesh. He circled it, teasing the nipple with the proximity of his fingers, raising it to its full height and hardness before slipping it between two fingers and exciting me with his play of it.

I felt his lips disengaged from mine and his hands move to expose my breasts by pulling the strings of my bikini top. Those beautiful sensuous lips took a nipple into his mouth and pleasured it. I lay my head back, closed my eyes and soaked in the stimulation, moaning softly.

Fingers extended, his hand searched out my navel and slipped slowly, teasingly downwards; slipping inside the waist band of my bikini pants. I sucked in my stomach to give it room as it turned the peak of my mons to find what it sought. I gasped at his first touch of the naked flesh of my swollen nub.

All the while his engorged hardness, thick and long, raked the depth of my inner womanhood as I lifted myself up and down on his lap. Consumed by my arousal, I started to beat faster, up and down on him; spearing down hard, almost like I was trying to impale myself on his shaft. His fingers gave up on the task of massaging my clit. They’d become redundant anyway. I’d found my own stimulation in my actions.

As I clamped his head to my breast, I passionately made love to him; riding up and down on him like a demented cowgirl, grunting audibly with the effort and excitement.

The way he was twirling my nipples with his tongue, the slide of his hardness within my womanhood, the way its tip pushed hard into the front wall of my sex with every thrust, the way my nub struck his body as I came down, even the way the leg hem of my bikini pants – now soaked in my slippery juices – rubbed against it as I moved, all drove me towards my climax.

I screamed. It was a scream of release, of pleasure, of the demons that had haunted me for the last week escaping my body and being free; but above all of the ecstasy of my orgasm. My contractions bore down on his hardness as I lay my head over his shoulder and moaned out the last pleasurable waves of my cumming to him.

Then I cried; big heaving sobs dampening his shoulder.

Finally I calmed down and came to my senses.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually scream or cry when I have sex. It just felt so good after I’d been feeling so bad.”

Before he could answer or respond, I planted my lips on his and stuck my tongue in his mouth; consuming him.

His hardness was still throbbing inside me; waiting patiently for its own release. Pushing him to lie back on the cabin top, I covered him with my body. Then lifting myself up on extended arms, I squeezed his hardness as tightly as I could as I slowly moved up and down against him, brushing the hard jut of my nipples across his face with every stroke.

He responded; imposing from below his own timing and stroke upon my willing sex. He came. With a grunt, he thrust hard and groaned as he ejected his seed.

I lay back down upon him and just enjoyed the warmth of his body until his hardness was no more. Reluctantly, I lifted myself up to separate us; our bodies no longer pinned together.

Lifting my head I looked at his face again, exchanging a broad grin with him. What I said was part statement, part question, completely obtuse.

“No regrets.”

Then I put my head back down alongside his.

Had I just fallen into the error of rebound sex? Would there really be no regrets?

Neither what we shared when we stole an hour anchored at a deserted beach west of Longnose Point in Pittwater before moving on to the marina, nor the weeks and months that followed suggested it was merely a shallow indulgence in rebound sex. But they are other stories.

© Copyright 2021 joanmcarthy. All rights reserved.

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