Chapter 1
Giddy with a sense of anticipation bordering on sexual excitement, petite, blonde-haired Alicia Benedict followed her husband and two children up the gangplank, to the Pacific Deck of The Princessa. The deck was already crowded with passengers who would accompany them on the thirteen-day luxury cruise down the coast of Mexico ... then back to Los Angeles Harbor.
The Mexican Riviera. Alicia recalled the travel brochures: vacationers strolling barefoot along the white beaches of Puerto Vallarta, where Aztec emperors once walked; Santiago Beach, Manzanillo, with its warm clear waters and gold-colored sand, and Coco Beach's huge waves; Acapulco, with its cosmopolitan nightclubs and hotels contrasting starkly with huts and ruins on the outskirts of the city; Zihuatanejo, and last, before returning to Los Angeles, Mazatlan's smart shops and horse-drawn carriages. It was, indeed, for Alicia, who had been no further than Laguna since Joey, her oldest, was born, an experience to be excited about.
Now, while Dave and the kids hunted for a cabin steward, she looked about. She'd heard from friends that some, swingers, they were called, took the cruise regularly, for the specific purpose of sex. That, too, excited her. She'd been footloose at one time; before she married Dave, before Joey and Nancy were born. But in the sixteen years between then and now, with the responsibilities of motherhood and being a homemaker, there'd been no time to be untrue to Dave.
She looked from face to face, listened to the laughter and chit-chat. Most of the passengers were youngish, hers and Dave's age, and attractive. There were three elderly couples, one standing at the deck rail, waving bon voyage to some relative or another. Most of the women, dressed smartly but casually, wore things which emphasized their figures. And the men! God! The men! she thought. It was as if she'd been transported into a land of well-built, suntanned giants.
Self-consciously, comparing her outfit to the colorful dresses around her, Alicia glanced down at herself. The bright yellow minisuit she wore was almost a year old. And her shoes-white heels, the left one scuffed-they, too, were almost a year old. But there they were, as incongruous as it seemed, at the end of her well-turned legs ... planted on the deck of a spanking white yacht, amid people who probably did this kind of thing every day. And, if what she'd heard was true, amid sex libertines, who, at that very moment, were looking about as she was and preparing a scorecard of bedmates.
Suddenly Alicia had the uneasy feeling that she was being watched. Her heart raced as she looked from smiling face to smiling face. Some nodded. Others stared speculatively. Her gaze settled on a tall man, looking down at her from the ladder to the Promenade Deck. He was watching her with steady, almost black eyes.
Was something showing, she wondered. Again she looked down at herself ... past her high, jutting breasts ... past the delightful swell, the roundness even she adored, of her belly, to her hemline. She reddened. "Oh darn!" One stocking had slipped from the garter belt clasp, and the top, the black area, the part which was supposed to remain hidden beneath the skirt of the minisuit, drooped horribly.
Wanting to die, to fall through the deck and sink, she glanced helplessly back to the man on the ladder. She'd considered wearing pantyhose, and now wished she had. But she couldn't stand the feel of anything tight on her bottom, or digging into her crotch. Even panties made her uncomfortable, conscious of her sex, and she wore underwear only because Dave-who, she'd discovered shortly after their marriage, was a bit of a prude-insisted she keep herself covered down there.
The man came slowly down the ladder and crossed the crowded deck, to where she stood. Feet wide apart-sea legs, wondered Alicia-one hand resting easily in a pants pocket, a cigarette held loosely in the other, a disarming grin on his rugged, dark face, he asked, "Can I give a helping hand where you need it?"
Alicia hesitated. She felt an old, almost forgotten tingle in her lower belly. She squeezed her thighs together. Dave hadn't made her feel like that in years.
"Name's Manny," the man said, eyeing her legs. "Short for Emmanuel ... from my Mexican ancestors." He continued to eye her legs boldly, sure of himself, as if he was accustomed to bending women to his will.
Nervously Alicia laughed. She looked past him. Dave and the kids, apparently having the time of their life, were at the far end of the deck, paying absolutely no attention to her. She looked back to Manny. Her gaze dropped from his handsome face, to his blue seaman's jacket, to his crotch. The white pants displayed his sex in bold outline. His cock, like a thick firehose, hung almost a foot down the inside of one pants-leg.
Merciful heavens, thought Alicia, tearing her gaze away, if the darn thing's that long flaccid, what in the world would it be when it found its way into a woman?
Remembering the stocking, she said, "Is ... is there somewhere I can fix it?"
Manny flipped his cigarette over the rail. It spiraled down, hit the water of Los Angeles Harbor, and made large, incongruous circles on the surface. Everything about this day, it seemed to Alicia, was incongruous. And now, without a word, as if they were old friends, perhaps lovers, Manny took her by the hand and led her to a dark, incongruous portal, below the ladder he'd come down moments before.
"Where in the world are we?"
"Leads to the engine room," explained Manny, closing the steel door behind him. He leaned back; arms folded across an enormous chest. Again he eyed her legs. "Don't mind me. No one will bother us here, and I like watching."
In the dim light, Alicia watched his face as she lifted the hem of the skirt and groped for the gartered belt clasp. Her fingers trembled. But she felt suddenly reckless. She lifted the hem high ... much higher than was necessary ... knowing he could see her panties and a hint of the blonde wedge that had driven the boys crazy and had made Dave propose the first time they screwed in his car.
"First trip?" asked Manny.
"Is ... is it that obvious?" Alicia frowned. Without the pull of the stocking holding it stable, the garter belt had ridden up, and now, with a strange man looking on, she had to dig for the clasp beneath the leg band of the panties. "I ... I thought I was very suave about it," she continued, feeling totally and wonderfully depraved, not giving a damn, for the first time in years. "But it is my first cruise. We're celebrating my husband's-"
"You're married?"
"Does that surprise you?"
"No. Not really. Most of the frustrated ones are."
Alicia straightened. The garter belt clasp slipped higher. Color crept up her neck, into her cheeks. "If you think I came in here because of that!"
Manny's eyes narrowed. "Look's like you're having trouble. Here! Let me help." Before she could utter a word, protest or consent, he came away from the closed" portal and squatted with both hands on her soft upper thigh.
"Don't!"
"Hm! We may have to take your panties off to get at it. Hold still."
Incredulous, Alicia felt his rough hands slip boldly under the skirt to the waistband of the panties. "This is madness," she whispered, trying not to show what she felt. But her cunt, the tight pink slit which hadn't opened and closed on a strange length of hard meat in sixteen years, gave her away. Already it was soaking the crotch of the panties ... discharging ... ready to take anything he had to give.
"These cruises are great for what you need," said Manny, inching the undergarment down. "What's your name, anyway? I like to know whose ... ahhh ... whose garter belt I'm servicing."
"A-Alicia Benedict."
"Bend a dick, did you say?" Manny bared her hairy blonde pussy, left the yellow panties bunched at the top of her slightly parted, trembling white thighs, and toyed with the troublesome garter belt.
"Please don't. I ... I don't even know you."
"It's better that way, Bend-a-dick. That way, everything's a surprise. Like your pussy. I haven't seen one as blonde as yours since-" he paused to reflect: fingers moving slowly down her round belly-"since Janet Hopkins! Four cruises ago."
Alicia sucked breath through her teeth as his fingers dug hard into her cunt. She felt herself falling. But strong hands caught her in the small of the back and eased her against the cool steel bulkhead. Now Manny was standing ... inches away, ... the incredible thing in his pants growing fat. One hand dropped from her waist to the split up the middle of the plump halves of her ass. "Someone may come looking for us ... m-my husband," she gasped as he felt her. "PLEASE!"
"No one comes in here, baby. I know The Princessa from stem to stern. They use this passage as an escape route in case of a fire in the boiler room. That's why I brought you here. So we could fuck!" Manny pressed the stiffness in his pants into her hot crotch. His fingers toyed in the downy hair growing deep in the crack of her ass at her asshole.
Blood pounding in her temples, cunt aching to take him in, Alicia closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. She thought back to when she was a girl and things like this-fucking whenever and wherever a boy got a hard-on-happened to her regularly. But she was a woman now ... a married woman and a mother, she told herself. And Nancy, her thirteen-year-old, or Joey, her fifteen-year-old, or Dave, who no longer excited her as this stranger was doing, might come looking for her and find....
Manny unzipped his fly. A veiny cock, twice the length and thickness of Dave's, it seemed, leaped out. "You want it this way, standing up, or you wanna bend over and take it dog style?" he inquired, one fist around the base of the monster, and rubbing the gigantic pink glans up and down between the wet lips of her cunt.
"You ... you'll kill me," protested Alicia.
"They always say that. But it's as gentle as a lamb once it's sheathed." Manny pushed the panties down her stockinged legs, made her step out of them. The swollen head of his dick found the snug love hole below her blonde wedge and poked its way in.
"OWWW! Oh, please don't!"
Gripping the soft, round cheeks of her ass, ignoring her pleas, Manny forced half the length of his stiffness up her belly. "Jesus! For a woman whose been married sixteen years and had two kids, you're ... ummm! Your cunt's still as tight as a goddam virgin's!"
"It'll never go. Never! I ... I've always been close down there. I ... oh stop! OH! OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"
"Stop shit! You never had it so good, baby. That sweet little cunt of yours is going crazy inside. Christ! It's nipping like a kitten on catnip!" One finger of each hand digging deep in her asshole, forcing her vulva onto his lengthy shaft, Manny thrusted. "UMMM! Hot and tight! Good pussy, you got. Open wider."
"I can't!" wailed Alicia. "It ... it's too big!"
"Then put your legs around my waist," breathed Manny, mouth seeking her moist, parted lips and flicking in his tongue.
"We'll fall."
"Don't worry. I'll hold you. Get 'em up there and let's fuck. We've only got about fifteen ... ahhhhhhhhh! Fifteen minutes to sailing time. Then they'll be checking in here, all over the yacht, for stowaways."
Alicia stopped thinking, stopped protesting. She wrapped her arms around his neck. As his mouth covered hers-her bottom resting snugly in his huge, strong hands-she raised first one leg, then the other, to his waist. She crossed her ankles, worked her inner cunt muscles open. His tongue slipped into her mouth.
So good, she thought. So hard. So hot. So magnificently long. She moaned, gyrated her small hips, and drew the entire length of him inside her feverish pussy.
Dace Benedict followed his daughter, Nancy, who followed close on the heels of the white-jacketed cabin steward, down the plush, spacious center corridor of the Belvedere Deck. The Princessa was one hell of a ship, Dave mused, roomier, more like a hotel than a sea-going pleasure yacht. Although he'd been reluctant to celebrate his recent promotion aboard an overgrown canoe, giving in only to please Alicia and the kids, he now was pleased with the prospect of seven days adrift on this magnificent vessel. The thick red carpet underfoot, running for miles down the long center corridor, it seemed, was as springy as the soft hair on a young girl's pussy.
Petite Nancy! Dave watched his daughter's saucy round ass swish with provocative little-girl unawareness. Those goddam minis she wore! How many times had he told her to keep herself covered? Now, with each bouncy step she took, the hem of the skirt rose higher and he could almost see the soft underside of her bottom. She was a virgin, he knew. Because only a virgin could be so unaware of the effect her blossoming body had on men. He watched her ass, gaze riveted to the dip where the skirt hinted at the deep crack, dick half hard, and wondered-for the hundredth time? The thousandth?-what Nan would do if he suddenly grabbed her pert bottom, crushed her little body to him, and pressed his stiff cock to the swell which showed like a ripe plum when she wore tight shorts or jeans.
She's your daughter! Dave reminded himself. Thirteen years old! But he couldn't take his eyes off her plump ass. Lately he found himself looking at her in that way more and more. Trouble was ... he didn't feel much like a father, particularly Nan's father, when eyeing her sweet, five-foot tall, long brown-haired, pink and white-and whiter when her undergarments came off-little-girl body.
The cabin steward stopped before the door marked SUITE B10/12. He fumbled with keys, selected one from the ring with cabin tags dangling from each. He unlocked the door. A wide grin on his deeply tanned, blue-eyed face, he stood back and presented the twin cabin accommodations with outstretched hand. Wondering what was taking Joey so long to find Alicia, Dave followed Nan into the bright suite.
"Oh, Daddy," cooed Nancy after the steward had opened the curtains on the porthole and left them alone. She sat on the edge of the double bed, tested the springs. Leaning back on outstretched arms, tiny feet swinging a foot off the floor, she cocked her pretty head at Dave. Her eyes danced. "Where do you and Mummy sleep?" she asked finally.
Dave eyed her smooth, slightly parted thighs. From where he stood, beside the suitcases delivered earlier, he could see her white panties. He cleared his throat. His voice came out scratchy when he said, "You'll be sleeping with your mother in the adjoining cabin. Joey and me'll be sleeping together in here."
Nancy crinkled her nose. "Shit!"
"What'd you say?"
"I'm too big to sleep with Mummy. Besides ... if I sleep with her, what'll you do about you know what?" Letting her sandal drop to the carpet, Nancy raised her foot to the bed, knee high, boldly displaying herself. Interlocking her small fingers below the knee, she rocked.
Dave's collar felt tight. Now he could see the dark curls, short, red-brown cunt hairs, peeking from the leg band of the white cotton panties. Little-girl panties, he thought. He loosened his tie. Lately, always when they were alone, Nancy made comments a daughter had no business making to her father. And displayed herself-at home, leaving the bathroom door open while she toweled after a shower. His prick jerked. He watched her bold gaze drop from his face to the fly of his pants.
Nancy giggled. Her lower lip curled inward. A row of tiny white teeth, one chipped, appeared. She bit down.
"What's funny?" Dave asked.
The girl looked up from her father's stiffening cock. She studied him for a moment. Then, as if having made a crucial decision, she blurted, "As much as you like it, as much as you and Mummy do it at home, you can't go a whole week."
Dave felt the blood rush up his neck, fill his face. "You watch what you say, young lady. You're too young to be talking to me like that. For that matter, you're too goddam young to be talking to anyone like that!"
Again Nancy giggled. "You're so old fashioned!" she said, big brown eyes once again on his fly. "Everybody talks about sex nowadays. Cripesakes."
Dave tore his gaze away from her crotch. "I'm not everybody. And cover yourself. If I told you once, I told you a thousand times. You can't go around showing your body to a grown man. Even if the man happens to be your father."
Nancy leaped from the bed. Before Dave knew what she was up to, her strong little arms were tight around his neck. She stood on tiptoe ... cheek pressed to his chest ... belly to belly ... hot crotch on the hardness in his pants. "I love you even though you're dopey," she whispered, nuzzling. "Dopey, dopey Daddy. I know I can show you anything because I know you won't ever do anything to hurt me."
Dave tried to push her away. She clung. The skirt rode high. He felt her sweet cunt ... the swollen head of his dick digging into the slit at the crotch of her panties. Despite the confusion he felt, the guilt, his hands dropped to her waist. She was so tiny-breakable, it seemed. He smelled her hair. One hand slipped low on her hip. He felt the outward, downward curve at the top of one buttock. He groaned.
"I love you, Daddy." Nancy cuddled closer.
"I love you too, baby." Dave held her tight ... savoring the softness, the little-girl warmth and innocence of her. God help me! he thought, hand inching steadily lower, seeking the plump underside of one tender half-moon of flesh. I want more than anything to fuck my own little girl!
As The Princessa weighed anchor, fog horns blaring and passengers waving last-minute good-byes to those on shore, Joey Benedict saw his mother step from the portside door below the ladder leading to the Promenade Deck. "Hey Moth...." he began, and clamped his mouth shut because of the tall, dark man, who followed Alicia Benedict out of the dark passageway.
Mouth agape, Joey stepped back amid the noisy crowd at the rail. He watched his mother glance warily up and down the Pacific Deck. Apparently satisfied no one who knew her was watching, she stepped into the man's arms. They kissed. He watched the man squeeze her ass before she scurried away.
A lady shoved him. A man stepped on his toe. He dodged as the majority of those at the rail pushed from port, to stern, to watch Los Angeles Harbor disappear in The Princessa's wake.
Pensively, still unable to believe what he'd seen, the implications, he started for the wide port leading to the Belvedere Deck cabin area. He felt hot all over. Sure, he thought, he knew plenty of kids, guys at school, whose mothers fooled around. He had even screwed one; Mrs. Dwyer, a stacked old babe who happened to be his best friend's mother. But he had never before considered the possibility of his mother fooling around.
So absorbed was he in speculation about what had gone on between his mom and the tall stranger in the dark passageway, he didn't see the willowy redhead until it was too late. "Jeez!" he croaked, thrusting both hands out before him. They collided. He felt the redhead's hard nipples press through the garment she wore and into the palms of his hands.
"Fire someplace?" asked the redhead in a soft, sultry voice. She was taller than him, by almost a head, had green eyes, a wide red mouth, and freckles. And she didn't seem at all embarrassed or upset by the hands cupping her boobs.
"Ex ... excuse me." Hastily, but reluctantly, Joey dropped his hands. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I have to get below quick. My pop's waiting."
The woman eyed him, smiled. She stood close-as if purposely blocking the way. "My name's Milicent," she said. "Milicent Waters. 'The bridge over troubled waters,' my friends call me. Like the song. I have a way of spanning things."
Joey frowned. What in the fuck was she getting at, he wondered. He eyed her tits, the tight pants suit, her long trim legs. He could imagine her as a bridge over him ... naked, thighs wide, cunt moving slowly up and down on his stiff young cock. But no! he decided. His mind was merely buzzing with thoughts of what he'd seen moments before. The tall woman, Milicent, with free flowing hair down to her waist and a deep creamy cleavage at the V-neck of the clinging pants suit-obviously not wearing a bra, and no elastic leg band visible at the top of her thighs where panties ought to be-couldn't mean that!
Could she?
As if able to look inside his head and what she found there was agreeable, Milicent said, "I was looking for a steward. I have a lovely single on the Capri Deck. But no matter how hard I try, the darn window won't open."
"Porthole," Joey corrected. "Windows on boats're called portholes."
"Ship," countered Milicent. "A boat is something you row. A ship is a ship is a ship."
They both laughed. Then Milicent asked if he'd be a love and come down to the lower deck and open the porthole for her. Mind racing, heart thumping, cock growing hard, Joey agreed. As he followed her to the elevator, to the Capri Deck, his gaze never left the deep crack up the ass of the pants suit. He forgot all about Alicia, his mother, who was, at that very moment, entering the cabin where Dave and Nancy were locked in heated embrace. Now he thought only of the porthole ... the one between the redhead's jiggling cheeks.