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Chapter 79: Ida's Pussy
Today was Wednesday, with the portend of another party at the Captain’s Lounge. I took the morning to reprovision. I hailed an Uber and visited the grocery store, the liquor store, and the ATM. It took me all morning. I didn’t get all my purchases stowed aboard until well after noon. Tired after doing my errands, I retired to the cockpit with a cold beer in hand.
While I was relaxing in the cockpit, other boaters traipsed up and down the dock, going hither and yon. As they passed my boat there were the obligatory “Hey, Captain.” “Howdy, Captain.” And similar greetings. I responded to each one. Eventually, I fired up a joint. The smell of the weed attracted the attention of several passers-by. Some would look my way and give a thumbs up; others would turn to their companion and scoff at my derelict behavior. I just smiled and carried on.
About half way through the joint, a small, elderly woman walked by. She suddenly smelled the weed burning in my cockpit and stopped, turning to acknowledge me. Without more, she shuffled down the finger pier, stopping adjacent to my cockpit. “Is that weed I smell?” “Depends on whose asking” I replied. “If you’re the police, no, it’s not weed. If you’re 420 friendly, climb aboard and partake.”
This woman was at least as old as me, if not older. Her skin was bronze, having been baked in the sun for decades. She was small, no taller than 5 feet, skinny, no more than 90 pounds, and her skin was all wrinkled. In her own way, she had a certain charm about her. She wore a loose-fitting dress of sorts, hanging like a tent off her shoulders. “Permission to come aboard?” “Only if you’re not the police” I responded.
She settled into the cockpit with ease, obviously a life-long boater. By her movements, you could just tell that she knew her way around a boat. I passed the remaining joint to her and asked her what she’d like to drink. “Anything brown, two ice cubes, please.” Shit. A woman after my heart.
I emerged from below with two four-finger tumblers of bourbon, two ice cubes in each. She readily accepted it and passed the now dead joint to me. “Want more weed?” I inquired. “Well, I’d love some, if it’s not too much trouble.” I pulled another joint out and passed it to her with a lighter.
“Just for reference, I’m Sailor. Do you have a name, or would you rather remain anonymous?” “No, I’m Ida. I live on the sloop just down the dock. And thank you for the hospitality.” As she said this, she took a long swig of her bourbon, followed by several long tokes from the joint. She offered it to me.
We sat in the cockpit, enjoying our bourbon and joint and no conversation. Some might have found that situation awkward, but to Ida and me, it was quite natural. We were simply sharing a moment in time where everything was at peace; nothing mattered. She had a very positive vibe and there was no need for conversation. A good 15 or 20 minutes passed as we sipped our drinks, shared the joint and just reveled in the silence, our surroundings, and each other.
Finally, she broke the spell. “I have no interest in the past. It’s lost and gone; water under the bridge. Tell me about your plans.” Somewhat taken aback at her direct question, I punted. “Well, Ida, as a liveaboard, as I presume you are, you know quite well that on a boat, plans are nothing more than mere suggestions. So, my plan, if you will, is to simply continue moving from port to port, seeking new adventures, new people to meet, new experiences. How about you? What’s your plan?”
“I don’t really have one” she replied. “At my age, after spending the last 50 or 60 years aboard, I’m slowing down. I still seek out those things that pleasure me. At my age, the pleasures in life are what keep me going.”
“Fair enough, Ida. But what pleasures you? You say you seek those things that give you pleasure. Are you finding it here?” “Honestly, no. I’ve been here for a month or so. The gatherings in the Captain’s Lounge provide the pleasures of the drinks and the hot studly dock hands. But I’ve had them all and I have liquor aboard. These young whippersnappers are attractive, have hard bodies, and show so much potential. But my experiences with them, and I’ve tried all of them, have been disappointing. They’re too young. All they want is a blowjob or a quickie, bend over fuck. They have no concept that sex is a two-way street. I haven’t had a single one of them find, or even search for, my clit. It’s a sad, sorry state of affairs.”
What the fuck? This woman was easily 80 years old (I thought it rude to ask), a tiny wizened up old lady. Her deep bronze skin, all loose and wrinkled, covering a tiny body, had a certain charm to it. She had those clear, piercing blue eyes, like the movie stars. They had that spark, that twinkle, that told you how special she was. Yet, her overall vibe and demeanor sold her. She just fit right in to any situation.
And here she was, sitting in my cockpit, telling me that her passions were getting drunk and high, and fucking college aged boys. And how disappointing they were. Whoa. Hold on, Sailor. Be careful, I told myself.
“I can feel that you’re a special person, Ida, and I’m glad you came aboard. It seems that we both seek and appreciate the, let’s call them, the “finer” things in life. I’m guessing that I’m from a different generation but age is just a number. There’s no age limit on debauchery that I know of.” I saw that her tumbler of bourbon was dry, so I jumped up and grabbed our glasses for round 2.
When I returned with fresh drinks, Ida patted the spot next to her, as in “sit here, next to me.” Once I settled in, she nudged closer to me, so that our legs were touching and she put her hand on my thigh. “I love day drinking, don’t you? It can make it a challenge to last through the night, but I always accept the challenge.”
Her hand on my thigh gave me the entrance to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her in tighter. We sat this way, two strangers just snuggled up to each other, for a good half hour without saying a word. Occasionally, we’d reach for our drinks. Toward the end, I pulled out yet another joint, which we passed until it was gone.
In another 10 minutes or so (time gets distorted under the influence), I spoke out. “Look, Ida. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but the vibe I’m feeling is that you need your pussy sucked. It’s one of my specialties and I love doing it. Please don’t slap me if I’m dead wrong.”
She didn’t respond immediately. A semi-awkward silence prevailed until she eventually leaned her head against my shoulder and whispered “I was thinking the same thing.” So, now it was just a matter of where. “I can pleasure you right here, but it’s not private. People will be able to see us. Or we can go below. It’s up to you, Ida.” “Sailor, I’ve never given a care about what other’s think. I’ve always done whatever, wherever. Fuck, you can lick my cunt on the foredeck if you want. Anywhere you’re comfortable, Sailor.”
I took a big swig of my bourbon, as did she. Her loose-fitting dress was pulled up, revealing no panties. She swiveled her legs up so she was lying flat on the bench seat. She instinctively raised her legs up, wrapping her arms around behind them. She was a small and skinny woman, so her fuckbox was compact. At her age, she had lost any hair she previously had. What was there was thin and wispy.
I started by just licking and kissing her outer labia. I guessed that she would be pretty dry so I spread as much saliva around as I could. Soon I used my tongue to part her lips and licked from bottom to top, several times. Surprisingly, she had some juice. Not much, but enough to let me know that she was in the game. I used my fingers to hold open her lips while I continued licking up and down. She had rocked her hips up so that her entire fuckbox was exposed and in my face.
I rimmed her asshole, poking as much of my tongue up her ass as would go. I worked on her vagina by kissing and tongue fucking it as well. I hadn’t even gotten to her clit and Ida was already moaning and groaning like a cat in heat. After toying with her pussy and rimming her asshole, I focused on her clit.
It was on the small side of average, if there is such a thing. Maybe a half inch and not too fat. It was the right size for her body and I could definitely work with it. Using my fingers, I spread her labia open wider. I nestled my lips over the entire cloak and clit, which was hard and seeking escape. I used my tongue to stroke her clit from base to tip. Then I got rougher. As soon as my tongue had licked her cloak away, I treated her clit like a mini-dick. My lips circled it and, as I sucked in and out, I gave her a blowjob. I bobbed my head up and down on her clit as she continued to moan and groan.
Soon, I got my teeth into play. I would suck her clit in between my lips and force it to drag across my front teeth. When I did this, it resulting in squeals of delight and rapid bucking of her hips. I used my tongue to punish her clit, pressing it hard against her pelvic bone, twiddling it side-to-side, flicking it as best I could.
Within moments, Ida’s pussy got much wetter and she relaxed her body with a huge sigh. “Ahhhhh … That felt SO good. You have no idea. Can you give me 5 minutes to recharge and could you do that again?” “I’ll take that as a compliment and I’m more than happy to suck you off anytime, Ida.”
We repeated this process over and over. I lost count after her fifth orgasm. After one orgasm, I realized that we had been doing this for hours. Our day drinking and hours with my face exploring her pussy and her anus had taken it’s time. It was now approaching the time that the Captain’s Lounge opened. “Ida, I’m loving having my face buried in your crotch and conjuring up multiple orgasms. I’ll keep going, if that’s what you want. But there’s a party tonight that I’m interested in attending. What’s your vote?”
She slowly lowered her legs, turned into a sitting position, and reached for her drink. She took two long swallows, with a pregnant pause between them, to drain her glass before she spoke. As she set her now empty glass down, she said “Sailor, that was some of the most satisfying head I’ve ever had. Well done, Captain. And yes, I’d like to visit the Captain’s Lounge tonight. After that tongue lashing, I’ll be able to just laugh and smirk at the young studs eager to bend me over.”
Today was Wednesday, with the portend of another party at the Captain’s Lounge. I took the morning to reprovision. I hailed an Uber and visited the grocery store, the liquor store, and the ATM. It took me all morning. I didn’t get all my purchases stowed aboard until well after noon. Tired after doing my errands, I retired to the cockpit with a cold beer in hand.
While I was relaxing in the cockpit, other boaters traipsed up and down the dock, going hither and yon. As they passed my boat there were the obligatory “Hey, Captain.” “Howdy, Captain.” And similar greetings. I responded to each one. Eventually, I fired up a joint. The smell of the weed attracted the attention of several passers-by. Some would look my way and give a thumbs up; others would turn to their companion and scoff at my derelict behavior. I just smiled and carried on.
About half way through the joint, a small, elderly woman walked by. She suddenly smelled the weed burning in my cockpit and stopped, turning to acknowledge me. Without more, she shuffled down the finger pier, stopping adjacent to my cockpit. “Is that weed I smell?” “Depends on whose asking” I replied. “If you’re the police, no, it’s not weed. If you’re 420 friendly, climb aboard and partake.”
This woman was at least as old as me, if not older. Her skin was bronze, having been baked in the sun for decades. She was small, no taller than 5 feet, skinny, no more than 90 pounds, and her skin was all wrinkled. In her own way, she had a certain charm about her. She wore a loose-fitting dress of sorts, hanging like a tent off her shoulders. “Permission to come aboard?” “Only if you’re not the police” I responded.
She settled into the cockpit with ease, obviously a life-long boater. By her movements, you could just tell that she knew her way around a boat. I passed the remaining joint to her and asked her what she’d like to drink. “Anything brown, two ice cubes, please.” Shit. A woman after my heart.
I emerged from below with two four-finger tumblers of bourbon, two ice cubes in each. She readily accepted it and passed the now dead joint to me. “Want more weed?” I inquired. “Well, I’d love some, if it’s not too much trouble.” I pulled another joint out and passed it to her with a lighter.
“Just for reference, I’m Sailor. Do you have a name, or would you rather remain anonymous?” “No, I’m Ida. I live on the sloop just down the dock. And thank you for the hospitality.” As she said this, she took a long swig of her bourbon, followed by several long tokes from the joint. She offered it to me.
We sat in the cockpit, enjoying our bourbon and joint and no conversation. Some might have found that situation awkward, but to Ida and me, it was quite natural. We were simply sharing a moment in time where everything was at peace; nothing mattered. She had a very positive vibe and there was no need for conversation. A good 15 or 20 minutes passed as we sipped our drinks, shared the joint and just reveled in the silence, our surroundings, and each other.
Finally, she broke the spell. “I have no interest in the past. It’s lost and gone; water under the bridge. Tell me about your plans.” Somewhat taken aback at her direct question, I punted. “Well, Ida, as a liveaboard, as I presume you are, you know quite well that on a boat, plans are nothing more than mere suggestions. So, my plan, if you will, is to simply continue moving from port to port, seeking new adventures, new people to meet, new experiences. How about you? What’s your plan?”
“I don’t really have one” she replied. “At my age, after spending the last 50 or 60 years aboard, I’m slowing down. I still seek out those things that pleasure me. At my age, the pleasures in life are what keep me going.”
“Fair enough, Ida. But what pleasures you? You say you seek those things that give you pleasure. Are you finding it here?” “Honestly, no. I’ve been here for a month or so. The gatherings in the Captain’s Lounge provide the pleasures of the drinks and the hot studly dock hands. But I’ve had them all and I have liquor aboard. These young whippersnappers are attractive, have hard bodies, and show so much potential. But my experiences with them, and I’ve tried all of them, have been disappointing. They’re too young. All they want is a blowjob or a quickie, bend over fuck. They have no concept that sex is a two-way street. I haven’t had a single one of them find, or even search for, my clit. It’s a sad, sorry state of affairs.”
What the fuck? This woman was easily 80 years old (I thought it rude to ask), a tiny wizened up old lady. Her deep bronze skin, all loose and wrinkled, covering a tiny body, had a certain charm to it. She had those clear, piercing blue eyes, like the movie stars. They had that spark, that twinkle, that told you how special she was. Yet, her overall vibe and demeanor sold her. She just fit right in to any situation.
And here she was, sitting in my cockpit, telling me that her passions were getting drunk and high, and fucking college aged boys. And how disappointing they were. Whoa. Hold on, Sailor. Be careful, I told myself.
“I can feel that you’re a special person, Ida, and I’m glad you came aboard. It seems that we both seek and appreciate the, let’s call them, the “finer” things in life. I’m guessing that I’m from a different generation but age is just a number. There’s no age limit on debauchery that I know of.” I saw that her tumbler of bourbon was dry, so I jumped up and grabbed our glasses for round 2.
When I returned with fresh drinks, Ida patted the spot next to her, as in “sit here, next to me.” Once I settled in, she nudged closer to me, so that our legs were touching and she put her hand on my thigh. “I love day drinking, don’t you? It can make it a challenge to last through the night, but I always accept the challenge.”
Her hand on my thigh gave me the entrance to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her in tighter. We sat this way, two strangers just snuggled up to each other, for a good half hour without saying a word. Occasionally, we’d reach for our drinks. Toward the end, I pulled out yet another joint, which we passed until it was gone.
In another 10 minutes or so (time gets distorted under the influence), I spoke out. “Look, Ida. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but the vibe I’m feeling is that you need your pussy sucked. It’s one of my specialties and I love doing it. Please don’t slap me if I’m dead wrong.”
She didn’t respond immediately. A semi-awkward silence prevailed until she eventually leaned her head against my shoulder and whispered “I was thinking the same thing.” So, now it was just a matter of where. “I can pleasure you right here, but it’s not private. People will be able to see us. Or we can go below. It’s up to you, Ida.” “Sailor, I’ve never given a care about what other’s think. I’ve always done whatever, wherever. Fuck, you can lick my cunt on the foredeck if you want. Anywhere you’re comfortable, Sailor.”
I took a big swig of my bourbon, as did she. Her loose-fitting dress was pulled up, revealing no panties. She swiveled her legs up so she was lying flat on the bench seat. She instinctively raised her legs up, wrapping her arms around behind them. She was a small and skinny woman, so her fuckbox was compact. At her age, she had lost any hair she previously had. What was there was thin and wispy.
I started by just licking and kissing her outer labia. I guessed that she would be pretty dry so I spread as much saliva around as I could. Soon I used my tongue to part her lips and licked from bottom to top, several times. Surprisingly, she had some juice. Not much, but enough to let me know that she was in the game. I used my fingers to hold open her lips while I continued licking up and down. She had rocked her hips up so that her entire fuckbox was exposed and in my face.
I rimmed her asshole, poking as much of my tongue up her ass as would go. I worked on her vagina by kissing and tongue fucking it as well. I hadn’t even gotten to her clit and Ida was already moaning and groaning like a cat in heat. After toying with her pussy and rimming her asshole, I focused on her clit.
It was on the small side of average, if there is such a thing. Maybe a half inch and not too fat. It was the right size for her body and I could definitely work with it. Using my fingers, I spread her labia open wider. I nestled my lips over the entire cloak and clit, which was hard and seeking escape. I used my tongue to stroke her clit from base to tip. Then I got rougher. As soon as my tongue had licked her cloak away, I treated her clit like a mini-dick. My lips circled it and, as I sucked in and out, I gave her a blowjob. I bobbed my head up and down on her clit as she continued to moan and groan.
Soon, I got my teeth into play. I would suck her clit in between my lips and force it to drag across my front teeth. When I did this, it resulting in squeals of delight and rapid bucking of her hips. I used my tongue to punish her clit, pressing it hard against her pelvic bone, twiddling it side-to-side, flicking it as best I could.
Within moments, Ida’s pussy got much wetter and she relaxed her body with a huge sigh. “Ahhhhh … That felt SO good. You have no idea. Can you give me 5 minutes to recharge and could you do that again?” “I’ll take that as a compliment and I’m more than happy to suck you off anytime, Ida.”
We repeated this process over and over. I lost count after her fifth orgasm. After one orgasm, I realized that we had been doing this for hours. Our day drinking and hours with my face exploring her pussy and her anus had taken it’s time. It was now approaching the time that the Captain’s Lounge opened. “Ida, I’m loving having my face buried in your crotch and conjuring up multiple orgasms. I’ll keep going, if that’s what you want. But there’s a party tonight that I’m interested in attending. What’s your vote?”
She slowly lowered her legs, turned into a sitting position, and reached for her drink. She took two long swallows, with a pregnant pause between them, to drain her glass before she spoke. As she set her now empty glass down, she said “Sailor, that was some of the most satisfying head I’ve ever had. Well done, Captain. And yes, I’d like to visit the Captain’s Lounge tonight. After that tongue lashing, I’ll be able to just laugh and smirk at the young studs eager to bend me over.”
اسم الموضوع : Ch. 79: Ida's Pussy
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المصدر : Sex Stories
