Rocking her Yacht

‘Sir, may I take your jacket and bag?’, the very young looking teen in a white t-shirt too long to see her bottoms took the belongings she asked for and walked me into the yacht, the first that was private to just one person. Through the decked out minimalistic white entertainment room, we passed the dining room before climbing a spiral staircase, to the highest point of the boat covered in faux carpet grass.

She pointed in the direction of the girl who invited me, and quietly set my bag and jacket that looked so ever ‘cheap’ given that setting. Angela and I, began chatting on Whisper (app) a few weeks ago, in a topic of ‘self-contentment’ she couldn’t quite comprehend. A super rich, second generation of a multi-billionaire, had chartered a private jet to fly me from Singapore to the States where she lived.

Donning the fairest, visually-softest skin, that glowed in the setting sun, the messy shawl strewn over her body had me distracted by what was under it. I took the other day bed that was empty, and removed my top as she asked, to bask in however much sunlight there was. Taking off from where we stopped chatting on the app, we hit off and got back on track without much discomfort, although it was mostly me doing the talking.

The girl with no concept of poverty, difficulty, simplicity of life, had nothing but interest in how I lived. To think I could manage to get attention from someone like her, I was more fearful of the luxurious indulgence I might be falling into. As the moon revealed itself behind the clouds, the gaze in her eyes got more mesmerising, staring at me so much that it embarrassed me a little. Such privacy, comfort, tranquiilty, was impossible to achieve in my busy little country. Yet, for someone who was raised amongst these, her mind was much noisier than mine.

Besides the seriousness of what we spoke about, I found it extremely hard not to admire the beautiful contour figure of hers, especially at her waist that was unobstructed by the thin shawl. A simple, black-white bikini bottoms closely wrapped her fine ass, as if too toufu to touch.

‘Angela, dinner is ready’, the same voice whispered between us and she led us to the dining room, where a 6-course, Mediterranean-style dinner filled my tummy up well. Resuming our conversation in her bedroom, we laid even closer in comfort, with her trailing my (round) curves as my voice bedazzled her.

‘What would you do if a girl throws herself at you?’, the question came along with a cheeky smile, which I guessed was more of a teaser than having it actually happening. ‘I’d trust that she knows what she was doing, and would let her have her ways’, I replied the same way if anyone else asked, and she began untying the bikini top under the shawl she wore around her shoulders, still baring her tiny thongs with pride.

The huge difference in our lives, wouldn’t be just in terms of net worth. For someone of her status, a ‘don’t you have a boyfriend’ question, would certainly draw the line between ‘getting shot in the head’ (by him), or ‘too good to be true’. In a calm and smitten smile, she gave her answer, ‘On the contrary’.

She took my frightened-cold hand and slipped it through the cross-fold of the throw (a.k.a. shawl) to let me caress her wealth-filled cups. Playfully pinching her nipples, the innocent, highly-responsive body signals surely did surprise me. While I imagined playboys to have their ‘choice’ of biological ‘outlets’, it wouldn’t be too crazy for her to have a toy boy exclusive to herself – you know? With body checkups and probably a NDA or contract.

In little time, I found myself fingering her in a position where her ass was right by my shoulder, while she curiously inspected my dong. At no point, I felt her sharp, manicured nails. Instead, the gentlest, caring, mindful hand went around that unimaginable piece of sex-driven cock. ‘It’s beautiful’, a whisper floated like the sea breeze into my ears, confusing my ego and humility.

A moist, puffy surface then swiped across the tip, leaving much to my creativity to wonder what she was up to. The most satisfying moment came when her lips sealed around the head, and descended down that glorious piece of meat, filling my mind with nice, good sensations that shivered my whole self.

‘You’re good at it’, I groaned as another wave travelled along my thighs, to the toes that curled up. ‘Oh don’t give me that. It’s just my third time’, according to her history I didn’t probe too much into. Her sensual blowjob lasted for a good ten minutes, before I started turning numb to the predictable cycle of her deepthroat attempts.

Turning her around, coming face-to-face with such a gorgeous girl instantly melted my heart. For a change of location, we went back to the day bed, where the stars sparkled like winks. There, I went on top of her and inserted my urban manliness into her, going in as carefully as she played with me earlier.

At that moment, jazz music came on and we began making love to the tempo, taking all the time we could to enjoy the endless strokes of my shaft thorough brushing the insides of her vagina. Unhurried, we were caught in the right momentum, increasing our pace as the climax built up.

There was no other positions we attempted, since I didn’t want to put her into doggystyle, her being too perfect to be put on her fours.

‘Where do I end tonight?’, I blurted my concern out in the best relaxed tone I could, and she wrapped her legs around me tighter. ‘Inside me. I’m on birth control’, she hugged me closer after and we left the rest of the work to my hips, jutting faster, deeper, and quite mercilessly into that well-maintained little thing.

Battling against my quick breaths, I exclaimed a whisper too loud into her ears, ‘Here it comes!’. ‘Here you cum’, the correction came at the same time as I did, pumping my seeds deep into her love-entrance as I slowed down to a halt. We fell away from each other a minute later and remained on our backs, slanting our bodies to soothe the overworked genitalias.

Honestly, I haven’t fantasised that far to even do what we did, with all those firsts on a boat, in the middle of the sea. That night, we spent a long time in the entertainment room, talking about the possibility of ‘working’ for her, as a companion or sorts.

Some things were finalised, but most weren’t. That attendant on her boat that took my stuff earlier? She tended to us the whole night when we were awake, bathing us, serving us as if she had seen too many times her employer brought men on board.

At the end of the trip, that staff accompanied me back on the private jet home (back to Singapore) and confessed her crush on me. Well, the only thing I could confirm then, was that I will be with Angela in a few weeks’ time, at her own residence this time.

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