by Jaye Peaches
I could see both sides of the argument. Stefan’s self-employment gave him flexibility, but it also meant loss of income and time. “It’s all resolved now, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” he said.
However, I detected a lack of conviction in his voice.
He scrambled to his feet. “Let me show you the inside of the boathouse.”
* * * *
“Oh, no.” I backed away from the oversized dingy. “I’ve never gone sailing before. I’ll be sick.”
Stefan pulled back the tarpaulin cover. “Nonsense. There aren’t tides and the surface isn’t rough. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
I folded my arms across my chest, hunching my shoulders. “Err, not here.” I grimaced. I must have looked like a cowardly child, because my posture merely made Stefan grin.
The inside of the boathouse was clean and tidy. When he’d unlocked the main doorway and opened it, a bracing draft had hit my face. A wind tunnel effect, Stefan explained. Once he’d shut the door, the air stilled. The building housed another jetty, shorter than the other. It began under the covering and stuck out into the water. Moored to the jetty, safely protected by the roof, floated the little yacht with its mast folded down.
One wall had simple shelving for storing various equipment—a small petrol can, ropes, paddles and life vests—the other wall was painted with whitewash. Concrete covered the ground beneath my feet, forming the foundation for the wooden shelter. The building was clean and sturdy, if a little shabby in places, and a few cobwebs hung in the corners of the roof.
I couldn’t dissuade him from his plan. Stefan stepped up to the challenge of persuading me and countered all my flimsy excuses. “You can swim, and in any case, you’ll need to wear a life vest.”
He prepared the boat for launch, checking the rigging and mast, unfolding the triangular sail and adjusting the rudder. “Look. It has an outboard motor, so we can’t be stranded if the wind drops. And we have paddles, if the motor fails.” He laid two long paddles in the boat.
I watched, fascinated by his safety checks and explanations of the different features of the vessel. Most of it went over my head.
“All you have to do is—do as you’re told. Move where I tell you, when I tell you. I’ll lash you to the boat if you like.”
I swallowed back a sense of dread. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
His face lit up with delight, which made me glow inside too. As soon as he had my reluctant agreement, he slipped a vest over my shoulders and fastened me up. He hummed a tune as he dragged the boat along the jetty, out from under the shelter of the boathouse. At the farthest end of the wooden pier, he retied the boat to a post. He beckoned to me with a wave. “Bring the rucksack.”
I collected his bag and, with Stefan gripping my elbow, I stepped into the unstable boat. He untied the mooring, climbed into the boat then, with a shove of his foot, set us adrift. I grabbed at the side of the dingy and clung on as if we were entering stormy waters.
My fears were unfounded. Stefan calmly went about sailing the vessel, moving the rudder with one hand and redirecting the sail with the other. He asked me to duck underneath the boom from time to time, switching sides as he tacked the yacht farther into the middle of the lake.
I zipped up my jacket, grateful for the extra layer of warmth. I missed my sunglasses and squinted in the sunlight. Eventually, he tied the sail into a fixed position, allowing the boat to float, and let me take in the lake. I leaned over, dipped my hands in the cold water and shook droplets across the surface. Glancing up, I saw the Alps—they remained crystal clear—and all around the lake, houses emerged from behind the trees, and there were other boathouses too. I watched neighboring sailing boats cut a path through the water, white sails shimmering in the sunlight. Stefan pointed out various features, including a nearby castle where Ludwig, once the king of Bavaria, had lived and died.
“He drowned near here—or was murdered—depending on your viewpoint. Sad man.” Stefan frowned.
His glum features hovered, until he caught my pensive expression. “Sorry. Morbid topic.”
He sat next to me and we held hands, the vessel gently rocking beneath us and the wind whipping across our faces. I’d called him sad once, not dangerous, and my opinion remained unchanged. He seemed quick to melancholy or being lost in thought, contemplating the world about him in silence. I hoped that, with those strong emotions swirling about inside his head, he composed music. Happy or depressed, many composers wrote in a state of high emotion, inspired to turn those sentiments into something tangible. I wondered if communicating via music came easier for Stefan than words did. Ironically, I didn’t have the courage to ask. He’d spoken so little of his composing habits.
Stefan cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for coming out here to Germany. Being with me and saying what you did on the jetty. I don’t see myself as caring, not especially…” He darted his eyes away from my admiring gaze.
I pressed my palm against his farthest cheek, forcing him to turn and look at me. I said nothing, but simply leaned forward and kissed his lips, a gentle expression of my own gratitude.
A small boat wasn’t the best place for a romantic interlude, and he broke off, smiling. “Food?”
My stomach rumbled on cue at his suggestion. “Please.”
Apples, some strange but tasty crackers and smoked Bavarian cheese, all washed down with lemonade. After the meal, Stefan resumed sailing and he circled the yacht about before returning to the shoreline and the boathouse. I helped as best as I could, slowly learning some terminology and the mechanics of sailing. Stefan was a good teacher, but I already knew this.
He helped me ashore and my legs wobbled again, this time from the sturdiness of the ground beneath me. I laughed at the sensation. I assisted him with returning the boat to its mooring, covering it up with plastic sheeting and putting away the safety equipment, including my vest. Inside the boathouse, the midday sun had heated the building, and I stripped off my unnecessary jacket.
We stood opposite each other, eyes locked, and the familiar sensation erupted inside me—a multitude of butterflies swarmed in my belly. He took a step toward me, and I dropped the jacket on the floor.
Chapter Eighteen
It began as one of those scenarios you could never have imagined. I’d traveled to a foreign country, visited an enchanted lake, stood in a boathouse and—bam!—got seduced into sex with little more than a glance in my direction.
The indiscernible sense of unrealism continued. My feet glued themselves to the ground. I wanted them to budge, but they anchored me to the spot. Stefan, as he moved toward me, vanished into the shadows. I lost contact with his sparkling eyes and smiling lips. He’d stepped out of the light, away from the brighter end of the boathouse, and transformed into a silhouette. From my position, the lake and distant blue skies framed his tall stature, providing a remarkable backdrop.
Where I stood rooted, the light shone down through two small skylights in the roof. Square spotlights, and I happened to be standing in one of them. The sunbeam provided me with warmth, even though I’d begun to experience those prickly shivers that always accompanied my arousal.
As he reached me, the light hit his face, like a sudden unveiling, and he blinked, fending off the daylight. I curled my tongue around my lips, moistening them, eager to taste him. He gave me what I desired—his warm mouth pressed hard against me. He locked an arm about my shoulder, hugging me close to his body, trapping my cradling arms between our torsos. I tilted my head to one side and he trailed kisses about my face, my cheek, nose and eyes, each treated to a delicate peck of his lips.
He settled his mouth on my neck, drawing in the taut flesh for a second each time he kissed me. His other hand had taken a different journey. He slid it down my back, under my waistband and straight into my knickers. He squeezed a buttock hard. Such a contrast to his tender osculation of his sweet kisses.
While I melted around his mouth, he continued to rove about below with
a brisker manner. He tracked around my waist, located the button to my jeans and swiftly undid it. He yanked my trousers down then my underwear. They tumbled away from my thighs, landing in a heap about my ankles, effectively hobbling me. I crushed my thighs together as the cool air tickled my recently shaved pussy.
Not content to have me half naked, he lunged his hand up under my T-shirt and unclasped my bra, whipping the cups off my breasts. I’d been stripped from armpit to ankle in a matter of a few seconds, while pinioned to his chest by his other strong arm.
Right next to my hip, his erection bulged in his pants. I rubbed my hip against it. He broke off from his canoodling kisses.
“What are you doing?” He stroked my ass then pinched my soft flesh with his fingertips.
I wriggled my bottom, trying to shake his hand free. “Preparing myself,” I replied.
He ran a finger up my spine and I shivered.
“Wow, you’re super tense.”
“I’m cold,” I retorted.
He nuzzled my hair. “Nope, tension is what I’m sensing. You thought you’d upset me, talking about my brother and me. Then, you got nervous about the boat, and now, standing virtually naked, you’ve gone all rigid.”
With his accurate summation came my caving in, a crippling loss of control. My body might have been aroused, dripping with juices and ready to be plundered, but troubled thoughts and doubts filled my mental place. I crashed against him and buried my face in his shirt. “It’s been a tough week.” I sniffled.
Stefan sighed. He released his grip and I let my arms drop to my sides.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve had great sex, but I’m struggling to take this all in. I’m a fish out of water and very dependent on you. I can’t speak the language, I have hardly any money and, yesterday, I shaved my privates for the first time in my life and I’ve no idea why I did it.”
He chuckled. “Liebling. Let me help you. Give yourself to me, and I’ll release all that tension.”
He spoke with assurance, a confidence I envied. I believed him too. With my feet still entwined by my clothing, I could do little with my legs. I wondered how he would provide that magical release. He twisted me around, allowing my feet to shuffle until I came to stand with my back to him.
“Rest on me,” he said.
His chest cushioned my head and I leaned back slightly without taking the weight off my feet. Above us, the sunbeams encroached, illuminating my pale skin and warming me. He caressed my taut belly with small circles and I closed my eyes, blocking out the bright sunshine. While his one arm remained looped under my breasts, he continued to rove, to fondle and explore with the other. He crept south on a direct course to my mound. I snatched a breath when his fingertips arrived.
He circled my mons, triggering a wave of tingles between my legs. My knees knocked together, as I battled to stem the sudden arousal.
“Relax, don’t fight it,” he whispered.
He was right. I resisted, as if an orgasm was unwanted. Why could I not give way to what my body desired? I ceased fidgeting and writhing my hips about, and opened my legs. He slid two fingers down my slit, between my folds. Slowly and gently, he glided up and down, aided by my natural secretions.
“So wet,” he muttered.
I pressed my bottom against his stiffness, still encased in his pants.
“Do you want to feel it?” he asked.
I nodded. I thought he meant his cock, but instead of releasing it, he took hold of my right hand in his and brought it across my hip to my front. He isolated two of my fingers, forming a little tool, and used his hand to direct my digits.
“Feel it.” He pushed my fingertips over my clitoris then up again, lifting the hood. My clitoris had grown—engorged and excited. I moaned, twisting my head to one side as a flurry of nerve endings responded to my own touch. Stefan guided me, set the pace and pressure using his hand behind mine. He masturbated me using my fingers. It was a huge turn-on. Every part of my body buzzed with an electric pulse.
He briefly let go of his supporting arm, the one nestled about my ribs, and his zipper whizzed down. He stuck his erection out and it sat right at the apex of my buttocks, nudging my cleft in a magnificent duet with his unyielding hand. The rhythm was heavenly. As you’d expect from a conductor, he kept time beautifully—a slow, methodical up and down—the tempo of largo. My hand, enclosed by his, edged my clitoris to the brink, while behind, he rubbed his cock into my ass, letting me feel his hardness in all its glory.
I feared my legs might give out. Still hampered by my trousers, I couldn’t move my knees any farther apart, nor shake them free with my shoes on. I knew what was coming, and I held it off. I didn’t want to collapse at his feet.
“I want to come,” I panted, clinging onto his supportive arm. I couldn’t stop myself jiggling about. I tried to lift my hand away from my sensitive clitoris, but he wouldn’t let me. He applied even more pressure, squeezed my fingers and made sure I kept in contact.
“You’re going to come,” he commanded.
I dissolved. All my resolve dissipated as I continued to be sandwiched between his cock and firm hand. I curled my toes up and bent my knees, nearly forcing Stefan to lift me off the ground to keep me upright. He briskly rubbed my clitoris, coercing it until my orgasm lifted off the plateau and took flight on its own. My own fingers had brought me to the edge, but his direction compelled me to come.
I didn’t care if anyone was walking nearby—I cried out. My pussy contracted with one powerful and stupendous spasm. “Oh, oh,” I whimpered.
He crushed my hand in his, forcing me to press hard on the little sex organ as it sent out wave upon wave of almost unbearable delight.
I wept. I’d never cried during an orgasm before now. The tears that had collected unshed in my eyes tumbled down my cheeks. A silent release. Cathartic. Necessary.
I slumped against Stefan and he stilled, letting go of my cramping hand.
“That was needed, ya?” He kissed the top of my head.
I rotated and snuggled into him, my bare ass grasped in both his hands. His erection poked up between us, a neglected beast in need of its own fulfillment. I went to crouch, to offer him my mouth, but he yanked me up with a shake of his head.
“Not on this floor. In any case, my fine friend wants to be inside you.” He steadied my shaky stance then searched about the boathouse. It really was not an ideal location for sex.
He fetched two life vests, bright orange and well-padded with foam. He opened them both out and dropped them on the floor at our feet. “We need to free up your legs.” He crouched and removed my shoes then drew off my trousers and knickers. I held his shoulder for support.
I pressed a hand to my sex, feeling the swollen, tender labia and copious juices. Would I survive a bout of Stefan’s pummeling sex on a concrete floor? I waited for him to strip, but he didn’t, merely opened his trousers and pants, allowing his penis greater freedom. I stared up at him, the tears drying on my face. He wiped them away with a thumb.
“You’ve been a good Mausi, letting it all out. You’ve captured my heart with your enchanting orgasm, but you don’t have—”
His heart! What did he mean? Dare I ask? My tongue held back, not wanting to ruin the erotic scene. Instead, I offered him my body, because I couldn’t deny him pleasure. “No, I do have to. Tell me I have to,” I added.
He curled his fingers around his cock, fisting the shaft, and he pumped a few times, making his erection stiffer. I watched, fascinated, licking my lips.
Stefan straightened his shoulders, put the other hand on his hip and spoke in that voice I’d come to adore. “You will get on your hands and knees and stick your ass up. You’re going to be fucked.”
I scrambled into position, overcome by an eagerness to please him. I knelt on one vest, scrunched my elbows down next to my knees and formed a ball with my bottom pointing up. From behind, I heard Stefan growl—the delectable sound of a man about to have his satisfaction. He knelt on the othe
r vest, casting a shadow over my quivering body. The T-shirt and bra, the only items of clothing left on me, bunched around my shoulders and my breasts hung, squished between my arms and legs. I’d never been fucked like this before.
“I’m going to fuck you long, slow and hard.” He grabbed hold of my waist. “If it gets too much for your knees, tell me.”
I nodded, bowing my head, and screwed up my eyes, waiting for his thrust. It didn’t come. The smooth head entered first, spreading my lips farther apart and edging in. He penetrated centimeter by centimeter, pulling me backward to meet him. I stretched about him as the coils of vaginal muscles gave and the friction of his unlubricated shaft chafed against my inner walls—a gentle abrasion.
I held my breath, expecting the rampant thrust. Instead, he ground his cock into me. I opened my eyes, stunned by his approach. Slow! This was a protracted, dawdling display of intercourse and so unlike Stefan.
“Oh, fuck, please,” I wailed.
He withdrew and chuckled, a wicked little snigger. I waited, the tip of his cock nudged, and he entered me again with the same measured intrusion. He went deeper this time, striking my belly and letting me know he was big. I pictured his thick cock, coated with my juices, and I inhaled deeply. I could do this.
“Too slow?” He dallied inside me, rocking his hips about, making me feel every inch of his girth and length.
“Yes. Oh, please, faster.”
“How fast?” He gyrated against me, when I wanted him to go in and out. He was stirring my pussy, not fucking it. “What tempo, Callie?”
I stuttered, trying to guess at his game. Too fast, he would deny me. I had to think of the middle ground. “Moderato?” I offered.
He withdrew. “A moderate pace. Hmm, let’s see what I can do,” he teased.
He thrust into me, and I sighed in relief. No more tiresome penetrations. Then he slipped backward, sliding out until he hovered at the brink, and another thrust. I groaned in frustration. Still too slow for my needy pussy. I liked the pace, the roughness against the G-spot.
