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Four hot women, a wrecked truck of toxic waste and it begins.
Now he ... he hardly ever wants to have sex."
"Ouch. That's too bad."
She giggled. "Yeah, it is. Life is so much more fun if you get fucked every so often. Come on, sugar, let's go get a shower. Ya never know when we might want to do something else."
She tweaked my flaccid penis and then hurried down the steps and disappeared into the main salon. She seemed to have a bounce in her step that hadn't been there before.
We used the shower off the master bedroom since it was tub-sized and large enough for the two of us. I started soaping her back and shoulders, but she grabbed the bar and said "Me, first."
She began rubbing the soap all over my chest and stomach but, while my cock anticipated her attention, she ignored it and turned me sideways so she could soap my back with one hand. When she got down to my rear, she soaped both cheeks well and then began rubbing her fingers into my anal valley. She withdrew her hand to rub the soap bar again and when her hand returned to my body, her middle finger unerringly went right up my anus.
I could feel her fingertip against my prostate gland and my legs almost folded up from the pleasure. My cock, which had been semi-erect, went completely rigid. After her finger had probed for a few seconds, her left hand found my scrotum and gave it a serious massage before moving up to my shaft. For the next several minutes, her left hand stroked and twisted and pulled on my cock while the finger up my ass teased and poked and prodded. I had to lean against the wall for support.
And then it ended! With me standing there facing a wall, my cock spurting long strings of white sticky cum while her hand roamed up and down my shaft, finally engulfing my balls once more and carefully milking them of every last drop while she cooed as if she had cum herself.
I tried to grab her, wanted to somehow return the favor but she fended off my hands, saying "Uh, uh. I just always wanted to see if I could do that to a guy but never had a chance. Let's finish the shower and get back on deck, okay?"
"Sure. Whatever you want," I replied.
She laughed. "You'd better not say that so quick. You never know what I might want."
On the way back topside, Trudi rummaged through my galley fridge. I offered to cook for her anything she would like but she didn't want anything like that. She surprised me by selecting some things and making a rather hefty sandwich for both of us while I picked up a couple of canned drinks for us.
Trudi asked me to sit with her on the foredeck and enjoy the sea breeze. So we passed another hour watching the waves, some distant activity on shore occasionally, and twice flaunting her exposed breasts at passing fishermen, who got a charge out of seeing a big pair of hooters in the sunlight.
By the time we turned south-southeast into the second leg, we had both had enough direct sun and moved into the shade of the bimini, which let us enjoy the breezes without all the heat. Sprawled on a couple of padded benches, we talked ... mostly she talked and I listened. She told me that, although she had come from a wealthy family, her marriage had been arranged with the Rockefeller family for social reasons and she'd had little to say about it.
Nevertheless she had come to love her husband and they seemed to have a pretty good marriage for a while, although she thought he was a little more formal with her than he needed to be. She had a wide variety of acquaintances for social get-togethers but really very few friends. In fact she thought that her only true friends were Ellie DuPont, Martha Gettys, and Claire Davis. Although there was a disparity in their ages, she said that they bonded because of common interests and compatible attitudes.
Trudi told me that, as the years passed, she and her husband simply drifted apart.