"Suck me, baby, suck me harder!"
In a wild, maniacal need for fulfillment, Lynn sucked his lust-hardened penis like a wanton whore, and the thickly pummeling instrument disappeared in strange, lengthening fusion with her face as Harry drove upward with hollowing buttocks, sinking his penis far up into the tormented young housewife's open mouth until his pubic hair brushed the tip of her nose. His sperm-bloated balls danced lewdly beneath, slapping in unison with his thrusts hard against her upraised chin. Then, his climax rolling out of his balls like a thunder-cloud out of the sky, Harry suddenly jerked his cock from her roundly sucking lips, holding his huge, red glans about two inches away from her ovalled mouth.
"Oh, no Harry… please, I want it! I must have it!" pleaded the stricken girl, groaning with the agonizing and overpowering fire of her unfulfilled lust fanning out of control in her pulsating cunt, and tried to pull him to her, her mouth gaping at his wildly jumping cock.
But before she could close her widely open lips over his cock again, it began to spew hot, sticky cum directly into the searching cavern of her mouth, and the thick, quick spurts streamed lewdly from the dancing tip filling her waiting mouth to the brim. She swallowed voraciously, trying not to lose a drop of the hot, lust-inciting fluid, rapidly attempting to keep up with the wildly ejaculating cock squirting its load of lewd male cum into her face. Harry throbbed out the last of his cock's stream of semen, and then a thin string of sticky white fluid ran from its blunt head to her glistening wet lips as Lynn desperately moved forward to take the deflating shaft between her closed lips.
And then Harry leaned back, gasping contentedly. "Ahhh," he murmured. "Not bad, not bad."
"Ohhhh," Lynn mewled. She had almost been ready to cum when she felt Harry's hot sperm spewing deep in her mouth and throat in great, gushing torrents and the way it billowed heat in her stomach when she was swallowing the white, burning ejaculations – but she was still just seconds away.
"Oh, Harry… please… I need… please…" she moaned incoherently.
Harry looked down on her and smiled at her through his satiation. There would be other times, he thought, and it was better not to satisfy her completely in the beginning.
"Oh, Lynn, dear, I'm sorry… I just can't. I'm exhausted." He smiled, knowing he could empty his loaded cock into her cunt five times before he would even begin to feel it.
Lynn squirmed on the deck in her frustration, and then abruptly stood up, gathering her robe around her. Hysterically, she made her way tripping out of the cockpit, aware of Harry's eyes on her, aware now of the shame of what she had done, unable to keep the unendurable pangs of humiliation from stabbing their way like razor knives into the tortured recesses of her mind.
And then she saw a movement, halfway up the deck. She froze in panic, nothing in her mind now except fear, the overwhelming fear of having done something incredibly wrong, and having been discovered at it.
For what she thought she'd seen, what she hoped above all hope that she hadn't seen, was the furtive figure of Hans Piemmel, the captain of the Vera, disappearing down the fore companionway with the unmistakable outline of a camera in his hand.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hans Piemmel had gone to bed as soon as Harry relieved him from the watch, and had fallen asleep immediately. But only an hour later he woke, prodded to consciousness by his sailor's ear, an ear that listened to his ship, the wind, and the sea, even while he slept. He lay quietly for a minute, trying to isolate the one sound which had waked him from all the others filtering into the darkness of his cabin.
Unable to decide what had disturbed him, he did not go back to sleep, as so many landlubbers would, but immediately rose and pulled on his tight blue jeans, and reached for the flashlight lying by his bed. A man could never turn his back on the sea, even while he slept, and the burly captain of the Vera had stayed alive many times because he followed through on what had only been intuition. Perhaps what had waked him had only been the faint tapping of some sixth sense on the sleep-fogged panes of his mind, but Hans knew better than to ignore that tapping.
Padding softly up the fore companionway on his bare feet, his ears attuned to the whispering night, Hans slid back the hatch cover, and raised his head into the rapidly lifting darkness. The motor sounded fine, no problem there, and the weather was holding clear and calm. Hans listened a while, and almost decided he'd answered a false alarm, when he heard the faint but unmistakable sounds of a woman moaning. Stepping up the companionway ladder two more steps, he peered into the early morning light, over the raised deckhouse, back into the cockpit.
What he saw there caused a lewd grin to flit momentarily across his face, and his insatiable cock to stir hungrily against the zipper of his jeans. What he saw was Harry Johnson leaning lazily back against the side of the cockpit, and the familiar form of Lynn Shaffer, propped on one arm, between his legs on the floor of the cockpit, one hand wrapped lovingly around the base of Harry's massive cock, her mouth and darting tongue tickling the bulbous head insanely. Hans' grin was wiped off his face and replaced by a look of cunning calculation. Quickly, and silently, he descended the ladder, retraced his steps to his bunk, and reached underneath to pull out his faded duffel bag. Tearing the drawstrings apart, he searched inside until he found the leather case containing his camera and film, and quickly began to load his most light sensitive film into the camera. He could only work with available light, so the pictures wouldn't be great, but the sky was beginning to lighten up considerably and if he waited he might miss his chance completely. Besides, the pictures didn't have to be that good. The threat of having good pictures was enough.
Coming stealthily up on deck, Hans crawled forward until only his head showed over the deckhouse. He managed to squeeze off five shots on a slight time exposure before Harry began spurting his burning hot seed into the young woman's eagerly waiting mouth. Hans' vicarious excitement in witnessing this scene was cut short as Lynn suddenly stood up, and quickly began to make her way toward the front of the boat. Hans spun around, hurried on his knees to the open hatch cover, and twisted his body down into it. He paused slightly, allowing Lynn to notice him, and then disappeared down the hatch, holding his right arm above his head as he descended so that Lynn could not mistake the object he held in his hand for anything but a camera. Once below, he sauntered to his cabin, and grinned with satisfaction as he flopped down on his bunk. His lips formed around a slight, off-key whistle, and his hands worked to remove the exposed film from its container.
Above, Lynn remained as if rooted to the spot where she stood. Her mind jumped crazily and abruptly from the frustration and shame she had just been through in the cockpit with Harry, and settled with fearful finality on this new development: Hans had been taking pictures while she and Harry…
Oh no, what do I do now? For one split second Lynn had a vision of herself in hell, tormented by unseen demons, unable to take a single step without raising from her path hideous forms that tore at her naked body and ran their slathering tongues over her smooth pink flesh, leering at her with smoldering eyes and toothless gums. She turned hysterically back to the cockpit, and was confronted with the spectacle of Harry stuffing his huge, deflated penis into his pants. She stared at his massive cock as though it had become a living creature that threatened her with annihilation, that was capable of ripping her body apart at the slightest whim. Again she whirled, moving forward quickly on the boat, desperately trying to find some escape from this floating, pitching, circle of hell. But there was none. She rushed across the deck, trying blindly to make her way aft, but smashed her shin against the teak wall of the deckhouse and sank to the deck, whimpering softly, clutching her battered shin in both hands, utterly defeated.