Service

My father owns a boatyard and I've been messing around with boats since I was a kid. It was only natural that when I finished school I went to work in the yard. As well as doing general repairs and building boats we have a few boats that we lease, some for fixed terms and others casual, for people who want to do some fishing.

Sometimes when we lease a boat for an angler we provide someone to actually do the sailing. The leasing part of the business is where I work and every so often I get a day on the water, taking an inept angler out.

That's what I was doing today. Mr Bryant had leased one of our launches for the afternoon. He could handle a boat OK but was a little lazy. He just wanted to fish, not have to worry about the boat itself, so I was tapped to take him out and do the scut work. I didn't mind. It was a nice day to be out on the water and I was being paid for it.

We came out of the river onto the bay. There was a bit of a chop along the coast, courtesy of a storm that had passed through, and we bounced a little as we headed out deeper. Then the engine cut out.

I was not pleased. The launch had been in for a service just the day before and this was its first outing. It was pretty obvious to me that whoever had serviced the boat had stuffed up. Fortunately I know my way around an engine so I thought I could resolve the problem.

I undogged the hatch on the engine bay and started poking around. It didn't take long to spot the problem. A few seconds was enough. One of the battery cables had come loose. The idiot mechanic must have forgotten to tighten it and when we hit the choppy water it had just bounced off. I fastened the cable back on and tightened it properly, considering the words I was going to use on a certain mechanic when we got back.

Cable tightened, I called for Mr Bryant to turn her over, and she caught first try. Problem solved. I signalled Mr Bryant to cut it again and started putting away the tools before dogging the hatch again.

When I take anglers out I'm there to drive the boat and to be part of the background. I'm not supposed to distract them or to encourage any familiarity. Accordingly, for these trips I don't wear a bikini. I wear a t-shirt and shorts and present a modest and inconspicuous appearance. So what followed next came as a bit of a shock.

I was bent over the hatch, fastening the last of the catches, when Mr Bryant ran his hand over my bottom in what I can only describe as being in an overly familiar manner.

I gave a squeak and reared upright, only to find his other hand placed firmly on my back, holding me pinned to the hatch. Kicking did no good as he was standing too close to me. Hitting was useless as I had no target to hit at. All I could do was yell at him, suggesting that he quit it or else.

He didn't quit it and I didn't really have an or else to deliver. All I could do was lie there while his hand roamed over my bottom. That would have been bad enough if he'd stopped at that but did he? Not so that you'd notice. His hand slipped down between my legs, caressing my mound. Caressing, hell. He intimately explored it, tracing every little curve and hollow.

I abused him some more, letting him know that as soon as he let up we were sailing right back to the yard and he could forget about his fishing.

In answer his hand came up to the side of my shorts and undid the buttons there. Still holding me firmly in place he tugged my shorts down and, to my increasing fury, my panties.

I'd run out of names to call him and it's demeaning to repeat yourself. I just shut up and suffered in silence as his hand started exploring my bottom and pussy all over again, but this time it was a case of flesh on flesh. Why is it that removing a flimsy bit of material makes the same sort of touching seem so much more intimate?

I found some new words to say to him when he eased my lips apart and slipped a couple of fingers inside me. I surprised myself. I had a greater vocabulary that I'd realised. Mr Bryant just seemed amused, asking if my father knew I used language like that.

Sooner or later he was going to have to let me go. All I could do was wait. Then we were going back. Or I was. Him I might just push overboard so he could swim back.

I really couldn't believe it when I felt him pressing his cock against me. I mean, he was an old man, twice my age. Forty at least. How dare he do this?

Quite easily it seemed. I protested and he started pushing into me. I mean, he really did. I could feel his cock pushing past my lips and into my passage, and it seemed to be moving quite easily. Apparently all that touching up he'd been doing had got my juices flowing. I protested some more, pointing out just what I thought of him and what he was doing. He pushed in even deeper.

There was nothing I could do to stop him. His cock just seemed to keep coming and coming, as though there was no end to it. I finally knew he was right inside me when I felt his hairy groin rubbing against my lips, lips that seemed to be incredibly sensitive right then.

Now any time a man sticks his cock in you, you can safely assume that he's going to start stirring it around, right? Wrong. Mr Bryant just held himself pressed firmly against me, filling me. Instead of getting on with what he was doing he started pushing my t-shirt up. Once it was high enough he unclipped my bra and pushed that up as well.

"What are you playing at?" I raged, full of wrathful indignation.

"I like breasts," he said, and he proved this by wrapping his arms around me and taking hold of both of mine. He proceed to play with them, giving them the sort of loving attention that he'd earlier shown my bottom, stroking and squeezing and generally getting to know them.

I don't know how long he played with my breasts, but with his cock right up me at the same time it seemed like a long time. Then everything changed.

"OK. Enough foreplay," he said. "Let's get on with this."

With that he pulled back and came charging back up into me with great haste. That was just the start of it. He really sailed into me, giving me everything he had as hard and as fast as he could while his hands glommed onto my breasts, squeezing them in time to the ravages his cock was performing on my pussy.

For an older man he sure could put in a performance. He thrust and bounced and thrust some more, with me flexing my hips and trying to keep up with him. God almighty, I'd never had such an energetic going over. I wasn't exactly a virgin, but neither was I what you would have called over-experienced. I was getting a whole lot of lessons in one hit this time round, it seemed to me.

I'd always assumed that if a man took me against my will that I'd hate it. Instead, while I resented it, my body loved the action, almost preening under the satisfaction of what was happening to it. Mr Bryant thrust and I'd counterthrust and lust held sway, driving me on.

I wasn't terribly surprised to find Mr Bryant was ready to climax tout de suite. I was surprised to find myself climaxing right along with him. I just seemed to spasm and fade away as the excitement ripped through me.

Now I know what you're thinking. That was the end of the matter. I was thinking the same thing as I slowly gathered my wits about me. It turned out not to be the case.

When I finally got myself all together I found certain things had changed. While I'd been in a bit of a tizzy after my climax Mr Bryant had thoughtfully taken my shorts and top right off and I was stretched out on a towel on the deck, starkers. Mr Bryant was kneeling between my thighs, apparently waiting for me to get it together. And he still had a blasted erection. I thought I'd just taken care of that.

Apparently not. As soon as he saw I was looking at him, he grinned.

"OK. Now we can take a bit of time," he says, and he starts pushing into me again.

I had to lie there, watching him drill me, ignoring my protests. Once he was settled in he just held himself still, filling me but not moving while he stroked my breasts.

I waited for him to start moving, but he didn't. He just kept me pinned. Then I saw him smirk and I just knew something was about to happen. I heard a motor-boat go roaring past us and then nothing.

Then, frigging hell, the wake from the motor boat hit us and my launch rocked back and forth from the force of it. And Mr Bryant rocked back and forth on top of me, his cock doing peculiar things inside me. Then the wake died away and the boat steadied and Mr Bryant was lying on top of me, grinning like a baboon.

He stayed like that, just holding me pinned to the deck. Then another motor-boat went surging past and we were hit by another wake, followed closely by a third motor-boat and a third wake. And each of those wakes was rocking us and providing the energy for Mr Bryant to fuck me.

It finally dawned on me that we'd come out of the river mouth and stopped right there when the engine died. We were moored next to the main channel for boats entering and leaving the river, and there would probably be quite a few of them on a nice day like this. Every single one of those boats was going to rock us, and rock Mr Bryant, causing his cock to bounce about inside of me.

And that's what happened. Every so often a boat would go past, the wake would hit us and Mr Bryant would give me a few more involuntary pokes. The worst part was that there was no pattern to it. The boat traffic was as irregular as hell and the violence of the rocking depended on the size and speed of the boat and how close to us it passed.

A boat would roar past, Mr Bryant would bounce on me, my excitement would build up, then nothing. My excitement would die down until the next boat came along, but my frustration level kept climbing higher and higher.

My god, it was appalling. I almost climaxed when three boats went past in quick succession, but then there was nothing for ten minutes, just Mr Bryant deep inside me, so I could never forget he was there.

That was the longest fuck I had ever had. It seemed to go on for hours. I wouldn't be surprised if it had actually gone on for hours. The entire time I was highly stimulated, just not stimulated enough to climax. I was reduced to anticipating the next boat and hoping for a blasted fleet to come past, at the same time wanting no more boats at all.

Mr Bryant finally caved in. He'd had enough time to recharge his balls and all the, on again, off again, action was slowly getting to him. When one boat passed really close and really fast Mr Bryant didn't relax after the wake died down. His hips lifted and he started bouncing on me, his cock pulling right out and then plunging back in hard and fast.

I thanked god and started pushing back against him. Finally this whole thing was coming to a climax. Or, at least, I was. With Mr Bryant putting some serious effort into it my excitement levels rose very quickly. They'd been spluttering and firing off random sparks all afternoon but now they caught fire and were burning brightly. I only needed one thrust that was a bit harder than the previous ones and I went up in flames.

I shrieked and bounced and clung, hanging onto Mr Bryant as though he was a genuine lover, all my built up passion exploding out of me. I heard him groan and felt him coming inside me, but I was mainly concerned with what I was feeling, and I just slowly relaxed, totally drained.

This time when I got myself together I found that we were under way.

"Where are you going?" I demanded. "I want to go back to the yard."

Mr Bryant looked at me as if I was touched.

"We're going fishing remember. The break was interesting but I hired the boat for a fishing trip. And you're supposed to be driving the boat, instead of sitting back there relaxing."

With that he just stepped away from the wheel, leaving me to grab it. I hadn't even had a chance to get my clothes back on.

"You might want to watch this," he said, patting my bottom. "It'd be a shame to get it sunburnt."