"Must you go?"

"I must. Someone fucked up and the Koreans are saying they'll only talk to me."

"Mmm-hmm," I smile slyly at my husband, "and this has nothing to do with that time the Korean purchasing manager had to give that presentation to senior management while under her skirt, your cum was slowly dribbling out of her and running down her leg?"

"Are you accusing our best clients of manufacturing a crisis, just to get laid?" he says in mock-horror, a smile playing across his lips.

"Well, once you've finished giving that Korean girl what she wants, hurry back. I'll be so bored by myself on this huge yacht..."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to amuse yourself. I've instructed the crew to see to your every need."

"My every need?" I coyly raise an eyebrow.

He laughs, "See you in Monaco."

A peck on the cheek and he's gone, striding across the dock, the sea breeze ruffling his crisp white shirt.

"Would ma'am care for some champagne? Captain says we're about to cast off."

It's Isabella, my husband's favourite member of the crew, looking magnificent as always. She wears the same white blouse and navy skirt as the rest of her colleagues, but it seems to fit her 19-year-old body better, clinging to the curve of her hips, her young breasts already overcoming one blouse-button, exposing an unprofessional amount of cleavage and, from where I stand, a hint of lacy black bra underneath.

Oh yes, my husband has told me many stories about Isabella.

I meet her eyes, a wicked smile playing across my lips. I take the proffered glass.

"Thank you, Isabella, I would love some champagne."

* * *

From horizon to horizon there's no sign of sail, nor ship, nor shore. Just the gentle rolling of the Mediterranean sea as the yacht cuts through the waves. Above, the cloudless dome of the sky is darkening from blue to inky black.

The stars are coming out. Not the paint-speckle you see in the city, but a deep ocean, swirling with luminescent algae. The milky way isn't a pale smudge on a beige canvas, but a full river of stars sweeping from horizon to horizon.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" says Isabella from my elbow.

I push my glass towards her to refill.

"Magnificent, yet not so magnificent as this Tokaji."

"This is one of your husband's favourites too. Did you enjoy the dinner?"

"Sublime."

I look up at the young girl, standing at my elbow, the night breeze worrying a lock of dark hair loose from her tight pony-tail, and a perverse thought strikes me.

"Pour yourself a glass, and join me," I indicate the empty space on the other side of the small table.

"I'm not sure I'm allowed to drink on duty."

"Come," I say, "my husband promised you'd see to my every need," I catch her raised eyebrows, "and I need a drinking-partner."

She smiles, "Well, when you put it like that..."

As she slips into the chair I notice that two buttons on her blouse have become unfastened, exposing her to mid chest. Our eyes flick up to meet each other and we both laugh, realising we were checking each other out.

She takes the stem of the small crystal wine glass in her long fingers and brings the rim to her full, red lips. She delicately takes a sip.

"Holy shit, this is good."

She sighs and leans back in her chair.

"Don't get to do this often, then?"

"Only when your husband is aboard--"

She abruptly blushes, her cheeks flushing in the flickering candlelight.

I laugh, "He's never been a stickler for rules, my husband."

Another perverse thought strikes me, "Isabella, you were watching me earlier weren't you, when I was sunbathing..."

She flushes again, it's quite adorable.

"... completely naked?" I continue.

"I'm sorry ma'am. You have a very beautiful body and I--" she trails off.

I grin wickedly, relishing her discomfort.

"Do you find me attractive?"

"No ma'am, I mean yes ma'am, I mean not like that, I-- I don't normally go for girls but I think that you-- I find you-- you--" she trails off, her face bright red now, her head bowed in shame and humiliation.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I should go," she starts to stand.

I lean forward and place my hand atop hers, "No, don't go."

She sits back down.

"I think it's sweet. I've never been someone's girl-crush before."

She blushes again, "I'm sorry ma'am. I shouldn't have said anything. Please don't tell m--"

"I won't. Thank you for being honest with me."

She smiles sweetly, and then a cheeky grin flickers across her lips.

"So you've never dated a girl, ma'am?"

I laugh at her boldness.

"Never dated, no."

"But you've-- oh," she blushes again. It really is quite endearing.

"Fucked a fair few of them, yes," I say, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.

She smiles shyly, "what's it like? Being with a girl? Is it better than..."

"Different. Just different. Women are less aggressive, more attentive. Another woman will always make you cum."

"Oh, I always cum with-- my boyfriend."

"You mean my husband."

She goes the reddest yet this evening. Even the tips of her ears are flushed full tomato-red.

"You know about that?"

"I know about that."

"Well, he said he told you everything but..."

"He told me everything."

"Wait, even the thing with the anchor?"

"The thing with the anchor is my favourite."

Suddenly the tension seems to flow out of her, and she leans forward on the table as if exhausted.

"Ma'am, you have no idea how relieved I am. I was tearing my hair out, deciding whether or not to tell you. So this 'cuckquean' thing is for real?"

"It's for real. Imagine my husband fucking me while you're bound kneeling on the floor, forced to watch."

She closes her eyes for a moment and a shudder passes through her young body.

They flick open: "OK, that's hot. I get it now," she thinks for moment, "When he gets back do you think he'll--"

"We'll have to see won't we."

"We will."

I drain my glass, then stand, slightly wobbly from the alcohol.

She stands too, "Are you OK ma'am? Let me take you to your cabin."

"I'm fine, I'm fine!"

But she links her arm in mine and we walk together down the corridor to my cabin.

We pause outside the door, and our eyes meet. I can't. I shouldn't. She would, but I shouldn't. I'm going to. I open my mouth but she interrupts brightly, "I'll see you at breakfast!"

I smile and nod, darting quickly into my room to hide my shame.

I slip into my nightdress and into bed, but I cannot sleep. In my mind, I imagine what might have happened if I had invited Isabella into my room. I imagine her lips hot and frantic on mine. Her fingers slipping my dress from my shoulders, then caressing my body. My hand slips between my legs as in my mind's eye she dips her head, cupping my ass in her hands...

I cum quickly before drifting off into a dream of rolling waves and tangled limbs.

* * *

In the morning, guilt sets in about the events of last night. What would my husband say? I step into the shower and let the hot water cascade over my back and shoulders as if to wash away my shame and humiliation.

If it was just a fantasy, he'd probably laugh. If I acted on it without his permission... I don't know how he'd feel about it. I've never slept with a girl without him being involved in some way.

I'll tell my husband about the fantasy. He'd like that, and then maybe with his permission, I can act on it... I suppose flirting some more can't help. He did tell me to amuse myself... but no further than flirting!

At that, my thoughts return once again to my fantasy from last night and I smile to myself. Now guilt free, I turn in the shower and let the jet play between my legs. I guess I could stay here a bit longer...

* * *

"This is as close as we can go, ma'am. Isabella will bring you the rest of the way in the launch."

The captain and I lean on the starboard rail as the sea breeze caresses my long hair and plays with the hem of my light sun dress. He grips the rail with two hands weathered by wind and sun to the colour and texture of old leather.

Ahead of us, a low and lichen-covered island blocks the entrance to a small bay. In that bay, the captain says, is the most beautiful clear water, and soft white sandy beach.

Isabella meets me at the launch.

"Hello, you. Recovered from last night?"

"Of course," I smile bashfully.

She takes my hand as I step into the launch and before long we're off. Isabella guns the engine hard and soon the small boat is bouncing over the waves heading for the island. At this distance I can't see the narrow passage between the peninsula and the island, but then Isabella brings the boat around and I can see she's lined it up perfectly. As we approach she slows right down and the narrow craft slips between the sheer rock walls.

There's a moment of stillness and I glance up at the towering, craggy pillars on either side, glistening with the salty spray of the ocean.

And then we're through. All around me is the magnificent turquoise lagoon, white sandy bottom but water so clear you couldn't tell if it's only a metre deep or a hundred. Slower now as the narrow prow slips through the still surface of the lagoon. Ahead, a driftwood jetty protrudes from a broad strip of sun-soaked sand.

I can see why we're the only ones here. Behind the beach the cliff is sheer. As sheer as the sides of the defile we just entered. A narrow staircase switches back and forth across the cliff face.

Isabella has cut the engine completely now and we drift on momentum towards the jetty. She turns back to me.

"There used to be a monastery at the top of the hill. Abandoned by the monks in the 17th century and used for a time by smugglers and pirates," she gets a wicked look on her face, "they say they used to raid for slave girls all along the European coast, even as far as Ireland, and bring them here to be auctioned to Ottoman Princes and Berber merchants."

I drift into a brief fantasy of standing naked and bound on an auction block, as coarse-haired Ottomans and well-dressed Berbers haggle over how many pounds of silver I'm worth...

"We're here, ma'am."

There's a brief moment as dream fades into reality when it is Isabella who is doing the haggling, only her kohl-rimmed eyes visible under a diaphanous jeweled veil. She beckons me from the block and I shuffle towards her on bare hobbled feet, "Show me what you learned..." she whispers.

I shake my head and stand, the sea-breeze whisking away the whisper of fantasy. I take Isabella's hand, letting her help me onto the jetty. I slip off my sandals and feel the sun-warmed wood under my feet.

"It will take half an hour to set up for lunch ma'am. If you'd like a swim, I suggest you do it now."

"Thank you, Isabella."

I turn away from her and walk to the end of the jetty, stretching my muscles for a few lengths of the lagoon. Now the boat is moored, the lagoon is so still the water is almost flat, like a sheet of glass. I feel Isabella's eyes still on me as I slip my sun dress from my shoulders. The fabric, heavy with salt-spray, slips easily from me and pools around my bare ankles.

Feigning obliviousness I tug at the knot of my string bikini and let that fall to the floor too. I complete my stretches, enjoying the feel of sun and sea-breeze and lustful gaze caresses my lithe body.

From standing, back arched, I execute a perfect dive into the lagoon. The water is wonderfully cool on my skin after the baking sunshine and I start to front-crawl with powerful strokes towards the island at the entrance to the bay.

The cliff wall facing the lagoon is craggy and sheer. I turn and start back towards the beach.

Isabella has set up a reclining chair, a cooler, a small table draped with a white tablecloth with its own upright chair, all under a white awning, pale fabric rippling in the light breeze.

I wave at her.

"Hey, you should come in, the water's lovely!"

She laughs, stands up from the reclining chair and walks out onto the jetty. I swim to meet her.

"But I'm not wearing swimwear!" she protests.

"Neither am I," I retort with a smile.

I can see that she's torn.

"Come on, there's no-one around."

She grins, "OK I guess, just a quick swim."

She walks away from me as she starts to undress. There's something about the way she does it though, arching her back as she unfastens the buttons of her blouse, wiggling out of that navy skirt... It's carefree and sensuous, like a nonchalant striptease.

She stretches to unfasten her bra, oriented perfectly in profile for me to admire her magnificent endowments, then turns, a wicked smile on her face, one breast cupped in each hand.

"GERONIMO!"

I catch a split-second glimpse of her bare ass as it sails overhead before...

*SPLASH!*

She lands, knees tucked into her chin in a perfect cannonball.

"I can see why he likes you; that's exactly what he'd do."

She smiles, then theatrically pretends to check me out, "And I can see why he likes you..."

I grin back at her, languidly rotating in the water to lie on my back, floating, eyes closed against the blazing sun. The water on my belly and chest is already starting to dry. I feel her eyes on me, lingering on my trimmed bush.

"You should come visit us sometime," I smile, "spend a weekend at our house in the countryside. I think you'd have a good time."

I don't hear her dive. My first clue is the bubbles caressing me as they rise between my legs. Startled, I swing upright just in time to see her surface, grinning, six feet in front of me. That cheeky minx must have swum underneath when I was talking!

"Right, you've done it now!" I cry with a grin and lunge for her, but she darts out of reach and starts to swim swiftly away. Quickly I follow.

She's a strong swimmer but my athletic build is swifter in the water, particularly naked, than her curvier shape. She glances behind to see me gaining on her.

Then she's out: climbing hand over hand up the ladder at the stern of the little launch we rode out here. Quickly I follow and almost tumble into the boat, finding her giggling beneath me.

We wrestle playfully, both of us giggling like schoolgirls and then I have her arms pinned above her head and our eyes meet and we suddenly realise what's been happening.

"Oh no," she says, innocent but with the hint of a smile playing across her lips, "the wicked slaver has caught another poor slave-girl. What will she do to her?"

Before I have even thought about it my lips are on hers, hot and hungry and eager and we're making out in the bottom of the boat. Her hands are still pinned in mine but we're starting to grind against each other, each using the other's body and each rock and motion and shift in position sends waves of pleasure washing back and forth between the two of us.

Slowly my conscious mind catches up with my body.

"No, this isn't right," I say, sitting up.

"What's wrong?" Isabella asks, "did I do something wrong?"

I smile, "No, but I might have. I shouldn't be doing this..., my husband..."

"If you could ask him, what would he say?"

"He'd say yes."

"So what's the problem?"

I don't have an answer for her.

Suddenly a wicked look crosses her face. She wiggles out from under me and sits back against the side of the boat, propped up on a coil of rope.

"He can't possibly object if you don't actually do anything..."

She spreads her legs and starts to caress herself. She's bare and smooth, her skin glistening with a sheen of sweat under the hot sun. With her left hand, she cups one breast, tracing slow circles on her nipple with her finger-tips. Her right hand slips down between her legs, the tips of her ring and middle fingers caressing her lips, then parting them and slipping easily inside. I watch transfixed.

"No, he can't complain if I were to tell you that since we met, I can't get you out of my head. That last night I rubbed myself to sleep, thinking about how you would taste, how it would feel to be between your legs, devouring you..."

Her fingers slip out, slick with arousal and she starts to slowly rub herself. I feel a growl escape my throat. Her left hand pinches and twists her nipple.

"...how I thought about you teaching me to eat pussy. Your fingers laced through my hair as you instructed me on how to eat pussy like the girls you've been with before... and I would try so hard to please you, but you would be a strict teacher..."

Her fingers are almost frantic on her clit, her breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"...when I mess up you take me over your knees and smack my ass until it stings. You make me finger you and lick you again and again through orgasm after orgasm until my jaw aches and I can't do it anymore and I collapse on the bed, panting and quivering and you would look down at me and that look-- oh God-- that look--"

She cums hard, almost bent double as her body is wracked by the powerful climax. By the end she's on all fours in the bottom of the boat, shaking from head to toe and panting hard. I'm leaning back against the opposite side of the boat and my fingers are on my clit although I don't remember putting them there. My eyes are wide and I am dripping wet. She looks up at me and our eyes meet and she knows what I want, what I need. In my mind's eye, my fingers are already in her hair, grinding myself into her mouth...

She grins wickedly, "Would ma'am like some champagne?"

I have no response to this. A shudder of sexual frustration ripples through my body, and suddenly I want this girl as I have never wanted anything before in my life. I want to take her as my possession, to grind myself into her mouth as I cum again and again from her hungry and eager tongue. I stare after her in undisguised animal lust as she pads lightly across the sand, her perfect round ass swaying with each step.

I slip my dress back on and the feel of the fabric as it slides over my swollen darkened nipples is exquisitely intense. Back on the beach, under the awning, Isabella is still completely naked, pouring champagne carefully into a flute.

"Lunch is served, ma'am."

Indeed it is. The white table is laden with cold meats and cheese and thick slices of crusty french bread. Horniness and hunger war with each other in my heart and before I know it I am sat at the table, smearing creamy pale brie all over a slice of bread.

Isabella is kneeling at my side, "do let me know how best to serve you, ma'am."

I take a bite of the brie -- magnificent -- and slowly look her up and down.

"I'm not sure about this new uniform."

She stands and spins, casually, but with the sexual energy of a dancer twirling around a pole.

"Do you not like what you see?"

"I'd prefer something with a collar. And cuffs."

She grins, "is that what you have your servants wear at your country house?"

"Something like that. I think it would suit you."

"Looking to steal me away from the Captain?"

"I don't know. Are you looking to be stolen away?"

"What girl doesn't want to be carried off to foreign lands and forced to satisfy her master and mistress's every desire?"

I smile, "What girl indeed?"

"Well, mistress, what do you desire of me?"

Our eyes lock. Slowly and deliberately I pour a dribble of champagne from my glass across my breasts. The liquid is cold and the bubbles tickle as it splashes across my chest and starts to trickle down under my dress.

"Oooops. I seem to have spilled. You'll have to clean it up."

She grins, knowing what I want. She leans in and her lips and tongue are like sparks of electricity across my chest. She slips the straps of my dress from my shoulders and licks the champagne from between my breasts, her tongue tracing circles around my nipples.

She sits back, kneeling in the soft sand at my feet.

"All clean mistress."

"Oh but now my dress is all wet. I will have to take it off."

I wriggle out of my dress and sit back down on the seat. Neither of us can take our eyes off each other.

This time there's more champagne, and it trickles down between my breasts, across my smooth flat belly, and down across my clit and lips. The caress of the cold and the bubbles on my swollen clit send a shudder through my body and the sensation is so intense I have to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out.

"Oh no, what a careless mistress I am..."

I catch her smile as she dips her head between my legs, even as I am lacing my fingers through her hair, bringing my lips to hers.

What she lacks in technique she more than makes up for in enthusiasm. She buries herself in me, delving deep with her tongue, hungrily devouring me, tasting my juices. My fingers tighten in her hair.

She moves her lips to that knot of pleasure-flesh, taking it between her lips, caressing and circling it with her tongue, drawing it into her mouth and sucking on it. I pour more champagne down across my belly and she eagerly laps it up, the bubbles tickling me as she eagerly guzzles down the sparkling wine as it cascades across my swollen clit and lips.

She takes her hand from between her legs and her fingers, slick with her own arousal, slips between my lips and that thought turns me on as much as the feel of her probing inside me.

"A bit low-- low-- ungh--" I shudder as she starts to rub my g-spot with her long fingers.

I don't last long.

As I climax my fingers clench tightly in her hair, grinding myself into her mouth as the muscle contractions ripple through my body. A cry escapes my throat and soars up through the still air into the blue sky.

Afterwards, she stands, shaking, chin slick with my juices and grinning like a maniac. She plants a sloppy kiss on my lips and I return it passionately. It's too hot to embrace and so we lie next to each other in the warm sand under the awning, feeling the breeze on our bodies as seabirds wheel in the sky above.

* * *

"We have to stop, I just heard the gang-plank go down!"

"Don't fucking stop," Isabella pants, "I'm so fucking close!"

I grip her wide hips and hammer her harder, the thick hot-pink strap-on slamming deep into her again and again while underneath her fingers squirm against her clit. With each thrust, my hips slam against her cheeks as I drive the dildo deep into her. There's one of Isabella's toys in my ass, a butt-plug my husband gave her. It has a little metal marble inside it and with each thrust the marble taps against the side of the plug, and it feels like someone's fucking my ass.

So hot.

"I need you to cum for me. Cum hard for me."

I lay a stinging hand print on her ass-cheek and she moans, writhing in pleasure under my brutal assault. She lowers her head to the bed as I pound her and her long hair falls forward, exposing the thick red collar around her neck, matching the wrist- and ankle- cuffs which embrace her limbs.

"Oh fuck, I'm close, I'm close," her breath is coming out in shudders, "I'm cumm-- nngh--"

I keep hammering her even as her young body is driven by the powerful orgasm, pounding her shuddering, writhing body with that thick silicone cock. For a moment I wish I could shoot a hot load into her. Finally, Isabella collapses onto the bed, panting and quaking with the aftershocks. The thick veiny strap-on slips easily from between her lips, the shaft slick and glistening with her arousal.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Fuck. Those are my husband's footsteps in the corridor. Oh, fuck oh shit oh fuck oh shit.

"Quick!" I slap her ass, "into the wardrobe!"

She opens the door and darts in amongst my summer dresses and my husband's shirts. I kick her blouse and skirt under the bed, quickly slip a summer dress over my head and have a split second to compose myself before he steps in the cabin door.

"Did you--" he stops short, mid-sentence, and then gets the dirtiest smirk.

I follow the line of his gaze, down my body, at--

Fuck. I forgot to unstrap the strap-on.

I'm standing there in the cabin, beautiful light floral summer dress on my bare skin, rudely rent by this huge pink strap-on dildo. I don't know what to say. I look at my feet, my cheeks ablaze.

Calmly he crosses to the drinks cabinet, takes out a glass, pours a generous serving of whiskey.

"Isabella," he says, "come out of the closet."

She emerges too, sheepishly, also flushed bright red. She comes to stand next to me. We must have looked a picture, her completely naked apart from a bright red collar and matching wrist and ankle cuffs. Me, draped a tasteful sun dress, straight off a Milan catwalk, apart from the thick veined dildo protruding rudely from between my legs.

"I'm so glad you girls got to know each other while I was away."

He looks at Isabella, "been taking lessons have we?"

"Yes sir," she says meekly.

"Well," he says with a wicked grin, leaning back in his chair, "why don't you show me what you learned..."