FERRY RIDE

Public, Threesome, Femme Fatale

I wasn't enjoying the harbour crossing this particular Wednesday morning. I regretted avoiding the ferry commuter rush from Manley to the Quay by taking the 'early bird'. Yes, I had personal space, but it was winter chilly as the ferry crossed The Heads. The water swelled uncomfortably choppy and rough. I knew I had to get outside to the rails and risk the sea spray or barf over my recently acquired Burberry coat. The classic iconic beige trench was very fetching on me. I was an upwardly mobile woman at twenty-three, at an international finance house. Still too junior for inner city, central business district parking space privileges. Hence, the ferry.

The salt spray into the headwind produced that harsh, whippy edge. However, the deep, lung-filling breaths ensured I avoided stomach-heaving mayhem. As the ferry rammed towards the city, I struggled to steady myself in the troughs and wave crests. The vessel bounced, caught in the turbulence where the exiting harbour swell met the incoming ocean surge. My white knuckles gripped the guard rail as the aging craft took a buffeting.

It was when I looked astern, to get my face out of the wind, rather than forward or straight out as I had initially been doing that, I saw them. Well, to begin with, I spied a blurry frenzy of movement. I took in a male form and a female. And a very high raised female leg, held male hip high, with a short winter dress yanked up, no knickers or hose; the tart, revealing a shaved pink slit being pummelled by a stiff cock. Well, pussy buffeting came to mind. Really intense thrusting. Speed fucking, basically. The pair was so totally self-absorbed in base humping I actually had time to linger and rove over the whole salacious scene taking place in the alcove of the ferry.

Their dirty momentum held against the ferry's swaying because it was a counter force to the boat's grim rocking. The tart also wore a Burberry coat, pale blueberry, scrunched behind her, stopping her arse from being battered against the cold riveted metal panel behind her. Her head, too, was luckily strategically saved by a well-positioned ferry lifebuoy.

Mmm, life-boy, she was having the life fucked out of her by a boy, alright.

I mean, the guy was well presented, in a tailor-cut suit; tall, clean shaven, well groomed, chiselled masculine, late twenties, I guessed and the woman, about my age: randy, opportunistic, sexually needy; long brunette hair, tied back, and her eyes closed, swooning in sexual satisfaction.

God, the dude was pumping into her.

My was her pussy in the receptive cock zone. I could see their combined glistening wetness. The wind and spray and the ferry's unsteadiness were all unimportant to the engrossed pair. I got jealous. They were fucking like we all want to fuck; hard, fast and risky. I was witnessing a perfect lust moment. My eyes were fast-drawn to the piston throbbing pecker drilling away. I was suddenly pussy wet. I was swiftly cunt warm. I realised I was sexually flushed. I wanted to fuck immediately too.

My fingers were through my coat. I hitched my thick skirt in a crumpled ungainly way up, my goddamn pantyhose wriggled and stretched uncomfortably, my fingers in my knickers, my slit pleased and instantly excited as I assuaged, then assaulted my incredibly sodden girly hole. I had never got so moist between my legs so quickly. I was a grubby voyeur and enjoying it. I was fingering myself frantically, imagining that gorgeous cock currently pounding the brunette was filling me. My pussy was happy under my fingers pressing delight. However, my mind was aching for that cock. I wanted to suck it, covered with her current fem-juices. I wanted it in my pussy. I wanted it in my arse as that woman fingered my clit. I consumed my first bi-masturbatory experience, and I was going to cum fast. Quicker than the pair screwing nearby, and boy, were they at it, at a fair rate of knots.

It was the woman who turned slightly and saw me. Her eyes were riveting, sexually intense, full-sparking Titian blue. Then, a flick of her head invited me to join them. Her tongue slid over her red lipstick-smeared lips. I had been cock mesmerised, but now I was female attracted, lured into her web of sticky pulsating sex.

The three-metre space melted away, and I kissed a girl as a guy filled her. I smooched a girl deeply for the first time as she was being rooted senseless.

Still, I equally needed this guy's hot, stiff rod in me and knew what to do. I shamelessly and without hesitation worked the young woman's clit as the brazen prick drilled her. She was really moaning now. I felt her body sort of stiffen. I felt her slight upward rise. I felt the wavy, quivery, uncontrollable pulsations warble from her thighs.

Christ, she was having an orgasm to remember.

Her sharp breathing indicated it was eddying through her, swirling in her head and plunging vortex profound, completely wrapped in her feminine parts. Her skin was suddenly warm under my sweeping touch, yet the harbour surroundings remained wintry, blustery cold.

Her lips trembled as I again kissed her. She really liked the added attention. She was entirely into the extra body present. She craved the female touch as the topping to a hard masculine sensation.

"Oh God," I mouthed as the guy's cock nuzzled around and into my pussy from behind me.

He had quickly spread my legs, got under my coat, hitched my skirt, ripped my pantyhose from behind and yanked my knickers across my rump and was giving me what I craved, cock.

Oh, he was good, too frickin good. Still so stiff. Still so capable. So full of bloody energy. Energy for me and his impending, impelling release. I selfishly wanted him to last till I 'came' too.

The young woman poked a finger into my pussy and let her thumb ply my needy clit. She understood I had to cum fast. This was all about the haste. The need insisted on swiftness combined with the location.

"Oh Christ," I added as she rimmed my arsehole with a finger of her other hand.

A long tapered elegant finger entered my sensitive butthole and crooked around for extra sexual bliss. I joined a moment of complete womanly sexual definition as I embraced being the body plaything of a man and a woman at the same time.

My pussy was sopping with absolute girly happiness. I was being fucked well. There are shags that are great. Roots that are memorable, but this was a slut fuck, and I knew it. I embraced my public whore moment, and amazingly, sensations escalated.

The confident bastard worked his cock into my relaxed arsehole courtesy of the girl's prior second finger delving.

"Oh yes…oh Yes…deeper," I assured him, enjoying my arse's intense moment of initial pleasure.

"Orrgh…Mmm…Ah…ah…yes…Yes," from me as my tight rear crack got the buggerising of my still tender years.

I was being butt-ransacked like the skank I was at the moment. I thought I would burst open, and then there was this delicious rhythm of constriction and gratification. I savoured absorption in my own arsehole's glee.

The girl was finger fucking me at the same time now while massaging my ready-to-explode clitty with her expert thumb work. I felt my craved, self-assured climax as the dude's cock jerked nicely in my tight arse. I experienced a full-heaving orgasm.

Body tidal, forwards, backwards, in and upwards. Powerfully swelling around my mind and rolling back to my relieved pussy and sated puckered creamed arsehole.

My mind was only full of sex and then blasts of windy air.

However, I felt warm and flushed. My hair was spread and mussed, and my clothing crumpled, creased and untidy.

The young woman took my hand and guided me inside the lower deck to the lady's loo, conveniently nearby for us both to squeeze into and straighten up. I realised trench coats were more than a fashion item for girls. They were ideal for public sex and the covered-up aftermath.

Some tissue wiping where we both needed it, reapplied lipstick and smoothing out bodily dressed forms. We were both ready to face the world as the community expected to see us: horny sexual beings under control.

The ferry, I noticed, had steadied too in the calmer inner harbour waters.

"Diana," she said, introducing herself, "like the Roman huntress."

"Callie," I responded, and her stunning blue eyes gave me that intrigued raunch look.

"Well," she said, "You know perhaps that it is a short form of Callisto, Diana's slut," and she smirked.

I understood enough, but I still had to say, "You stalked the guy?"

I was open-mouthed, incredulous.

Of course, I stereotyped the guy as a sexual predator. Then I remembered her absence of knickers and pantyhose. She was a nympho huntress. She gave me the filthiest of inviting complicit leers.

We went back outside, ready to disembark at The Quay.

We didn't need the guy, and he was gone anyway. No qualms from either of us. The sensational still lingered hidden under our coats.

The gangplank came soon enough. We were through the terminal. We gave each other a knowing, guileful farewell, having briefly discussed the prospect of tomorrow morning, even if we never saw that particular handy guy again.

We were in the 'hunt' together now.

I made a mental note to myself: NO knickers, NO pantyhose.