Dolly Christens the Yacht

When I felt the rocking of the boat, I honestly thought it was from the intense missionary style fucking I was receiving from the boat's owner.  The master bedroom on this yacht was forward, in the bow of the ship, and the oversize portholes, tinted and treated so that we could see out but no one could see in, were bobbing up and down, above and then below the water line.  He was in decent shape for a guy old enough to be my father, and since that was the summer after my freshman year of college, that probably means he was somewhere between forty-five and fifty.  I'd been with a couple older men, before him, but those are other stories.  We were on the king sized bed, and he had my wrists in his control, pressed to the comforter by my ears, and his hazel eyes never left my blue eyes.  Not much kissing, this wasn't love, this was sex. Lust.  I was a co-ed, we were the last two at the champagne toast after he closed the purchase of the yacht, and I was dressed (before he undressed me) in really short shorts and a polo shirt with the name of our shipyard on it.  He'd kept my glass full, managed to convince me to stay so that I could show him how some of the features of the yacht operated.  Oh, and a short time later my slender tanned legs were spread wide and he was fucking me. My toes curled, my inner sex palace aflame with fulfillment.

The way he'd convinced me to have sex with him on the yacht he'd just bought from my father is something I'll always remember.  He paid me.  Every dollar in his pocket.  I'd said no a few different ways.   I told him he was a friend of my father's, a client of the yacht building business.  "None of that matters, Dolly" he said.  He did have a nice voice.  It was cool how mature he was compared to the college boys and recent grads I typically was dating then.  He was as comfortable on a four million dollar yacht as could be.  Daddy's let it slip in the office that he was worth a hundred million dollars when I asked, "who buys these yachts you build, daddy, I mean, four million dollars?"  "Very wealthy men who know what they want, don't need to ask what it costs, don't take no for an answer, and who get what they want in the end," was what daddy told me.  Yes, I thought of daddy's explanation of this rich, powerful man as the man's long cock was pounding in and out of me.  Might have been painful except I was really soaking wet from the thought of feeling what it felt to be fucking a man worth a hundred million dollars.  It felt good.  And it felt even better because as I'd started to indicate that yes, I was thinking about it, he said to me, "Dolly, I'm going to make you cum over and over, I'll even pay you, whatever I've got on me, you can have, I've got fourteen hundred dollars on me."

Yes, so now you know about the first time Dolly Jewel received a tidy sum of hundred dollar bills from a wealthy gentleman for the pleasure of my company and my time, and I was rewarded with orgasms and it felt so good that I made sure he loved the sex, too.  There we were, on a brand new yacht.  Rocking up and down, bodies connected (he did have a condom, thank goodness.  Had he planned to fuck me the whole time?), he had terrific staying power.  I was young.  Only later did I realize he must've given himself a release sometime earlier.  So he had targeted me.  I was working with the marketing people in the yacht company that summer, and I attended office presentations, went to some social functions, and then did demonstrations and explanations of the features down in the shipyard and dry dock areas.  I was essentially like the showcase models on The Price Is Right, I showed how sexy and glamorous all the add-ons and upgrades were.  I also showed a lot of leg and cleavage.

And get me into bed he did.He just kept eye contact with me, kept me talking, kept my glass full, and stopped all pretense of not letting his eyes roam up and down my body. He stepped up to me, took the glass from my hand, held my hand as he set the glass down, walked me over to the walk-in closet with built in polished hardwood drawers and the full length mirror.  Placed a hand of my hip, stepped close behind me as we looked into the mirror.  Telling me how beautiful I was.  How he knew with a body like mine I must have attracted the boys' attention since the beginning of high school.  How he hoped I was sexually active because my body was built for sex, there was so much pleasure inside me and I should enjoy it.  He ran his fingers up and down my arm, and along with the goosebumps I felt my body respond to him.  Moisten. My female instinct sensing his masculinity, preparing for a mating, selecting him.  I really had no say in the matter when my nipples hardened and I involuntarily moved my own arms out of the way of his hands so he could explore, parted my legs so that he could stand lambada style with me, our sex pressed against each other, hot steel pressing against steamy wet and ready to be taken.

I did kiss him to start.  I was young, I thought sex was something to do with love and kissing was involved.  I still love to kiss.  I love when my Dolly date men are great kissers.  But its their choice. (Most do).  He kissed me back, hard, and my hand went to his cock and I undid his belt.  There was fourteen hundred dollars on the dresser.  He'd even whispered into my ear as we eye-fucked each other in the mirror that the money was mine to keep regardless, I was a beautiful college student and he figured my father wasn't paying me much (daddy loved me, but he was paying for tuition, books, room and board, even spring break and sorority dues, so no, actually, I wasn't getting paid terribly much that summer, and fourteen hundred dollars was (and still is) a lot of money to a college student.  Would I fuck a handsome powerful man who was pretty much giving me close to a semester's worth of spending money?

I'd fucked high school boys for free when I was a horny cheerleader or when the boys and girls track teams got together for alcohol and hook ups. As a college freshman I'd gone to bed with some handsome college students, and even a graduate student/teaching assistant (no, not to get a better grade--just to live out the fantasy I'd been having about him all semester long. He was French Canadian from Montreal and had the sexiest accent and dark eyes, olive skin, and he was twenty four years old so I felt like such a grown up being in his bed for those couple of weeks.  Until his fiancé arrived from where she was in her last year as an undergraduate, where they'd met when he was a senior and she was a freshman.  She got into town a day early, and there we were, sitting close, having Evian in a campus café, and she shows up with a New York accent, a big ring on her finger, rolled her eyes at him (so I guess I wasn't his first co-ed?) and said, "so nice to meet you dear, I hope you don't mind if my fiancé and I excuse ourselves for a little reunion time. We haven't seen each other in close to a month and I know how much I've missed him, I hope he's missed me, too."  He had this "sorry, busted, please keep quiet about the sex we've been having" look in his pathetic eyes.  He had family money, I'd heard, so she forgave him.  Though after that semester I never did cross paths with him again.

Now, on a luxury yacht my father sold, at what was my workplace, I had a pile of money, a head spinning just a little from Moet & Chandon, and a powerful confident man offering me orgasms.  I had him naked in about thirty seconds and found my way to his knees, cupped his balls (very hairy) and licked the underside of his cock's long shaft.  Yes, he had a long one.  Maybe eight and a half, thinking back.  A lot fewer comparison encounters back then.  "That's it Dolly, run your tongue all up and down my cock, the head and the underside are the most sensitive, and play firm but not rough with my balls, just like that."  Wow, Mr. Yacht owner comes with a talking instruction manual.  He started to face fuck me, not hard at that point, just potent and steady.  Took his hands off my shoulders, held my face, backed away, told me my sweet young mouth felt so good he didn't want to cum too quickly.  that he needed to return the favor.

He undressed me, not that I was wearing much.  He took charge, lifting my polo shirt over my head from the bottom hem, my arms obediently raised.  Paused to admire my abs (I'm telling you, running is the best for abs, I don't even do huge numbers of crunches), then reached behind me to undo my bra, which was orange colored with lace.  Hey, south Florida, we're often wearing Dolphins colors.  Yes, my bikini panties were teal.  He made no comment on the colors as he slid my short white shorts down my legs, but he did let his fingers linger on my skin.  My pussy felt like it was on fire.  The panties were slid down a moment later.  He led me by the hand back to the bed, and helped lift me to set me back far enough from the edge so that he could get in position to kiss my breasts and slide his fingers up and down my slick opening.  "Shit, oh please put your fingers inside me, damn, yes, like that." 

He "shhhh'd" me!  "Let me make you feel good like I promised, your body is a young masterpiece."

Men, want a woman to melt?  Tell her that she is a masterpiece.  A sophisticated word from a sophisticated man with an eight and a half inch cock and we're alone on his yacht.  And the "shhhh'ing" part?  Oh hell, he was clearly in charge and I was realizing I was in very good hands.  Time to relax and enjoy the ride.

His fingers found my inner pleasure point and pressed just right.  He could gauge from my breathing and squirming.  I had been running my fingers on his shoulders, but I gripped his arm and the back of his neck when I came, when my pussy closed and pulsed on his fingers, by that time three of them.  "Go inside me, oh God, just don't get me pregnant, but I need to feel you inside me, take me"

I know, right?  Dolly saying "take me"?  Where did demure go over the years, a few of you wonderful lovers might be wondering.  Hey, I still enjoy plenty of romantic, sensual evenings where my man takes the lead and I get made love to.  Just so happens most of my reviews tend to come from men with whom I let loose, have full throttle sex and drain the poor guy until he can't fuck anymore.  But that night, I was enjoying having the older man take me to erotic feelings I had previously thought about but never experienced.

His mouth was slow, deliberate, and truth be told I wished he'd have exerted more pressure, but by the time I'd squirted a second time I realized that just because Dolly wishes it, that doesn't mean its the only right answer. 

And then he was inside me, safely condom-wrapped, and right at the moment I thought we might kiss as he upped the intensity and his lips brushed my chin, he paused, and slowly, teasingly, withdrew, turned me onto my belly, and slid right back in to fuck me doggy style.  I gripped the bed linens, "wrecking" the bed, thrusting my hips back into him so that we were fucking each other.  He had a handful of my hair in his grasp, in his control, when I came again, and my pussy's contractions around his cock pushed him over the edge, so that we had a sweaty, out of breath, his chest down on my back, his hands wrapped around to the front of my thighs and we were close to lazy doggy flat bellied on the bed as he fucked my young tight pussy to completion.

I guess another part of my sexual personality did emerge a short while later.  When I mentioned that I'd never had sex on a boat before, and that it was so cool that he was pounding me so good that the boat was bobbing up and down from it, he gently informed me that he was good but he wasn't that good, that we were bobbing just from the wake of passing boats in the channel and the constant movement of the water.  But when he laughed at me (it was all in fun, and he'd given me, up to that point in my life, my most sensual sex ever), I pretended I was angry and I took charge, pushed him onto his back, reached over and grabbed a condom, sucked him back to full mast, then covered and rode him cowgirl style, saying "now who's in charge, huh?"  He wasn't able to cum again, but I was, and again, I was breathless and needed to recover, and so did he.  We showered together, in that big walk in marble shower I'd convinced him he needed, though we didn't fuck in their again.  We did kiss a bit, softly, when we turned the water off, just before we toweled off.  He was married, I didn't have any illusions about this being more than a fuck of desire and wish fulfillment.  I folded the hundred dollar bills and stuffed them in my pocket.  "This was fun," told him after I'd gotten dressed, but when he went to follow me up to the main deck to get back onto the dock, I told him I knew the way, he should take his time so we wouldn't be seen leaving together. Never saw him again, other than the holiday card he sent us at the company, in the photo of him with his family.  His wife was pretty.  Like daddy said, he was a man who got what he wanted.  All in all, it was pretty flattering that I was on that list of what he wanted. I've met more than a few wonderful men on my Dolly dates who remind me of him, and after you get a few life experiences, the trappings of wealth are nice, but I've had some of my hottest times from guys who don't have one percent of the wealth that man had.  Different things impress me now.  Not that I'd turn down an invitation to a magnificent yacht like the kind my father's ship yard created before he sold that business to pursue other interests.  Just be sure you have Moet & Chandon when you arrange a fancy Dolly date that includes a yacht.

When I got home, hours after I was expected, Daddy asked me if I'd had fun.  "What do you mean?"  "The champagne, Dolly, you remember the champagne and the little party we had on board for the delivery and signing of the papers?  I was there, you were there, the whole team was there?  And then I guess you kids went out after I said my goodbyes. Where'd you go, to the beach?"  I looked puzzled, having had my brains out just enough that it hadn't dawned on me to think up a cover story for when I got home. "Just how much did you have to drink tonight, anyway?"  I just smiled, and said , "Oh, that, right, yes.  It was a fun party, yes, the toasts, all that. Um, yeah, to the beach after, right."  "Well," daddy said, "I think he got that yacht christened just the way he'd been looking forward to for quite a while"  You got that right, daddy.
Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure! Enjoy

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