39. Sex Yacht
CHAPTER 39
Sex Yacht
ALISTAIR
“Jesus.” Ivy’s driving me insane. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while, waiting to hear the details of Ivy’s first sapphic encounter from her point of view, but I can hardly sit. I’m so hard it’s painful. I squeeze her sharp-heeled shoe and try to get comfortable. It doesn’t work.
I hardly notice the new guests arriving. Usually, they would be my priority, but Ivy always steals all my attention.
“I came so hard,” she recalls. “It was incredible. I needed some time to recover and she helped me. She stroked me … broadly, firmly, to bring me back down to earth.”
I close my eyes for a second to pull myself together. “Then you went down on her.”
Ivy’s eyes dance with light. “Then she watched me as I went down on her.”
I lean in to whisper in her ear. “I think it might be important to note … that it is taking every ounce of my willpower not to drag you onto this table and fuck you right now.”
“Well,” she says, ever the smartass. “If you do that, you won’t hear the end of the story.”
I gesture to a waitress for drinks. I’m going to need something stronger to drink. I choose single malt, and Ivy sticks with champagne and a large bottle of sparkling water. Snacks arrive, too. Caviar and gravadlax, sour cream. Spring rolls. Corn fritters with sweet chili sauce. Not that I can eat—all my body’s attention is on one organ in particular, and it’s not my stomach.
“That’s when Freya asks if I want you to join us, and I say yes, but not yet.”
“I remember that.”
“I wanted her to myself, first.”
I nod and tip some whisky into my mouth. It gives a pleasant burn. “Understandable.”
“Then I had to channel my inner Alistair.”
I chuckle. “What does that mean?”
I return his laugh. “I don’t know. But all of a sudden I had to be in charge and I didn’t know how. So … in my head, I pretended I was you.”
“This may be a psychological problem.”
“Agreed. And it’s recurring. When I’m feeling meek I pretend I’m Becks. Or, at least, I ask myself What Would Becks Do? You know, like the bracelet. WWJD?”
“I have no idea.”
She nods. “Probably for the best. But it worked. I felt more in control, I did things—and said things—that I would never have tried on my own.”
Okay, that’s pretty hot, too.
The handsome couple next to us begin kissing in earnest. The man slides the thin strap of her dress off her shoulder and nuzzles it. His hand disappears under the table. Across the room, I see a woman shriek with laughter and then take her top off and give it to her friend who gleefully thrusts it in the air, celebrating like she has won a prize. Perhaps she has.
“What was the best thing you did to her?” I ask.
“Make her come,” Ivy replies. “I loved it.”
I take a second to respond. An odd mixture of envy, jealousy, and carnal desire whirl through me. “Tell me about it,” I say. I’m surprised Ivy is being so candid about it, and I want to hear every detail.
“You were there,” she reminds me. “You probably remember it better than I do. You know, with my sexual amnesia. And my personality disorder.”
I know she’s joking, but my cock is making it difficult to appreciate humor right now. “Tell me what you remember.” I’m still gripping her shoe as if my life depends on it.
Ivy stops smiling. “I started kissing her. I shoved my hand into her bikini bottom. A tiny bit rough, you know, like you do it.”
“She liked that,” I remember out loud.
“She was so wet, Alistair,” Ivy says, making me moan inwardly. “She was so fucking wet. I didn’t even need lube, there was so much of it. In my head I thought one finger first, but she was so warm and juicy I started with two fingers and kept adding until I felt she was full.”
“Your whole hand was inside her,” I say.
Ivy nods. “It was a bit shocking for my first time, but I was so horny I just loved it. It felt amazing. And the way she was moaning … I knew it was good for her, too, having my hand in there to touch all the good spots at once. She started thrusting her hips, started fucking my fist, and then she came.”
“For the first time,” I say.
“I kept my fist in there, hardly moving it, and started sucking her clit. She came again.”
“Fuck.”
Ivy takes a sip. “She passed me the other dildo, the huge one, and I got a bit nervous again. I didn’t want to hurt her. I pumped so much lube on it, made sure it was as slick as anything. I got her on her hands and knees and sat between her thighs, licking her pussy.”
I had seen Ivy’s tongue darting in and out of Freya’s hole and it had almost sent me over the edge.
“She was close to coming again,” says Ivy. “I wanted to make it happen. I wanted to fuck her.”
Okay, I was going to need a second if Ivy was going to carry on like this. Jesus.
“She was really wet and open, but I didn’t want to hurt her with that giant fucking dildo, so I took it really slowly. I just used the tip while I licked her clit.”
“You took your time,” I say.
“I took forever getting it in, not sure if she could handle it, but soon she was thrusting again and taking in the whole thing so I went along with it. Soon I was fucking her, hard and fast, my hand rubbing her clit, and I felt her pussy clenching the dildo. I kept going and she screamed when she came again.”
I run my hand up and down her shin.“I would never have said that it was your first time. You were amazing.”
Ivy ignores the compliment. “I thought she would have had enough by then, but then she called you over. I was glad about that. By then I was desperate for you. In a way it was all foreplay, all preparation for when you joined us. It was for me, anyway.”
That made me feel less jealous. I scanned the room and saw the couple next to us still making out, the topless woman was now surrounded by other women in various states of undress, and the barman was wearing a tutu with nothing beneath it, if the various mirrors behind him were to be believed.
“This is unlike you,” I say. “To speak so freely. Hardly a blush on your cheeks.”
“I feel liberated,” Ivy says, shaking her hair. Her tiara remains in place. “I think it’s the tropical air. Let’s take advantage of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s do something kinky.”
“We’re literally on a sex yacht.”
“More kinky than that,” she says. She is full of surprises tonight.
“When I’m this horny you can pretty much get away with anything,” she says. “Is there anything in particular you’ve been wanting to do that you’ve been reticent to bring up?”
“Well,” I reply. “I’ve been wanting to hear about you and Freya, but now that I’ve heard the story I’m so hard I can’t move. I’m going to need a crowbar to get me off this leather.”
Ivy wiggles are eyebrows at me. “That’s something I can help with. The erection, I mean, not the crowbar.”
She takes her lethal shoe back and moves to sit right next to me, stroking my cock through my trousers and kissing my neck. She murmurs into my ear. “I want you to fuck me while I’m still wearing these ridiculous shoes.”
“That can certainly be arranged,” I reply.
“But, first, it’s your turn. To tell me about what it was like with Freya and I.”
“I don’t think I can survive another five minutes of talking. Especially about you and Freya. Not without a trip to a dodgy island hospital afterward, anyway.”
Ivy strokes me harder. “Just a snippet, then,” she says. “One that won’t land you up on a reality TV show.’”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You know those shows. ‘Sex sent me to the ER—Thailand edition’.”
“I’m pleased to tell you that I know nothing of the kind.”
Ivy crosses her arms. “Snob.”
“Voyeur.”
“You think you’re too good for reality TV?”
“I know I am.”
“Probably never watched an episode in your life.”
“Hopefully it will remain that way,” I reply. “Can we get back to the issue at hand? I’m dying a slow and painful death here.”
Ivy snorts and squeezes me, almost making me yelp. “The issue at hand? I’d love to.”
She unzips me. I sigh in genuine relief as my cock is finally freed.
“Oh, thank god,” I say. “Finally.”
“You do know you could have done that yourself, right? As you just said, we’re literally on a sex yacht.”
“I guess I’m not much of an exhibitionist.”
Ivy thinks for a moment. “You know what? I think I am.”
I feel a zing up my spine. “Would you like to … take off your top?” I ask.
She hesitates again, then takes off the whole dress, leaving on only her panties, stilettos, and tiara.
“If you had told me you were going to just take it off like that, I wouldn’t have bought it for you,” I joke. “I could have saved two dollars.”
“I’ll give you a two-dollar hand job to make it up to you,” she says.
I laugh out loud. “I don’t even want to know what a two-dollar hand job entails.”
Ivy joins in on the laughing. “Same. But it probably involves spit and occurs in a scabby gas station restroom.”
“I see your plan. It’s palliative. You want me to lose my hard-on completely.”
She’s still giggling. Breasts jiggling, tiara sparkling.
“You’re the worst super yacht sex date ever,” I say, and she just keeps laughing.
“Sorry,” she eventually says. “I’ve got the giggles. Must be the champagne.”
“The problem with your generation,” I say, trying to keep a straight face, “is that you never take responsibility for your actions.”
“That, and our penchant for smashed avo on gluten-free toast,” she agrees. “And good coffee.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“It’s a curse.”
“I can tell. You look cursed.”
Ivy gasps playfully and swats my arm. “Take that back.”
“What are we? Six-year-old schoolgirls?”
“Take that back or I won’t invite you to my birthday party.”
We both snort again, making the couple beside us glance over with puzzled expressions.
“No more joking, please, Miss Ivy Mickelson,” I whisper to her in my best RP accent. “Sex on a yacht is a very serious business.”