Marge Sailen - Swap On Deck

"Maybe he'll home in on the vibrations of our fucking." Andrea was getting horny and Sean was getting drunk as well as stoned. "So as I said before, let's fuck."

"Will you forget that, please? I told you, I refuse to fuck."

Andrea smiled sweetly at him and pulled down her jeans. She spread out on the floor with her legs wide open. "Okay. Have it your way. You resist just as long as you can."

He eyed her with obvious temptation. She fluffed up her cunt-hair and wiggled a finger casually back and forth on her clit. "By the way, Johnny Popper may be a gold-plated bastard, but he's one hell of a fucker. Before I realized what he'd been saying last night he took me for the ride of my life. Incredible. If you won't fuck me I guess I'll have to get myself off remembering that."

"If you think I'm going to ball you to prove I can shoot a better stick than Phony Baloney, you've got another think coming. Get off however you want, if that's what you want to do."

"Okay, schmuck. I'll wait till we polish off the champagne and get off on the bottle." She rubbed the mouth of the bottle against her pussy. "Or maybe I won't even wait." She kicked her legs up, shoved the bottle in, fingered her clit, and started moaning. The bottle shook and fizzed a column of bubbling champagne up into her hole. "Oh, if Lawrence Welk could see me now… "

"If you could turn that snap-dragon of yours into an opener my teeth would be a hell of a lot better off." Sean was staring at her frothing snap-dragon, much to the detriment of his celibate resolve. "You got me stoned because you knew it would be harder for me to resist!"

Andrea saw she had him going. "Look," she pointed out, "there's no law that says you have to come. Hold onto your silly nutrients, for all I care. Just stick it in here and wiggle it around." She pulled the bottle out of her hole and pointed. "That's all I need. Look-it's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the waves are waving, the fish are flying… and I'm horny."

"Oh, all right," Sean agreed. "But this is completely ridiculous. I want you to appreciate that. Here we are stranded out in the middle of the ocean… " He pulled off his pants and stuck out his tongue when Andrea pointed triumphantly to his hard-on.

They balled for about fifteen minutes. Halfway through, as they changed position, Andrea said, "Dig it-maybe a plane!! go over, and there's nothing that attracts attention like two people fucking in a lifeboat." She grabbed the KY. "Give me a little of this, will you? That champagne doesn't seem to be getting changed into useful bodily fluids, and I sure as hell don't want to get sore."

Sean shook his head ruefully as he applied the dark green jelly. "I must say that makes you look ludicrous." He dabbed some on his dork. "Me too."

In the end Sean came in spite of himself. He was a little bit upset afterward, but not too much, because as usual it was really mind-blowing to fuck with Andrea, and it made him forget their troubles. Besides, he resolved not to let it happen again.

"All right," Andrea thought to herself when they were done. "One down, ninety-nine to go." She didn't really believe they could fuck their way home, but she'd decided she'd rather go out fucking than moping, and besides, there was always the chance.

For the rest of the day Sean went crazy trying to rig up sails with their clothing, beating the water with the toy paddles, and indulging in sardonic soliloquies about the poetic justice of their situation, mostly centered around their having mixed mercenary greed with altruism, which according to him had created a massive portion of pure stupidity. By dint of much ingenuity and not a little promiscuity Andrea got him to ball her four more times, although he managed to keep from coming each time.

By nightfall Andrea was a good deal more worried than she'd been in the morning. They hadn't seen a sign of life all day-except for an occasional shark's fin cutting the water, which scared the hell out of her. But as the sun went down and the moon came up she took out her guitar and started singing Rock of Ages. Despite the fact that she had a green cunt and a troubled mind, that made her remember back to the beginning of it all and she got excited thinking about her first night with Sean. He really was quite a guy. If they ever got out of this…

She and Sean started reminiscing, wondering about Joe and John and Joanna, dredging up memories of past orgies, and ended up fucking one more time. Sean just had to come because, as he later remarked, if he hadn't he would have ended up with the most humungous case of lovers' nuts in history, and his balls would have been likely to crowd them out of the boat. Still, he was determined to fuck as little as possible-if at all-and requested Andrea to please try to control herself.

After he was asleep Andrea snuck back toward the stern, moved aside a case of smoked octopus, and cut half a dozen notches in the gunwhale with a knife. She figured she might as well keep track.

For the next eleven days Sean and Andrea drifted helplessly out to sea. The currents, carrying them at an average of a little over a mile an hour at first, gradually slackened to nothing, so that they were merely being pushed back and forth by the tides and not going anywhere. Sean figured they were 312 miles from Martinique, still the closest land, at 8:30 in the morning on the twelfth day.

For the first few days their spirits remained good. It turned out that actually their hors d'ouvres were more nutritious than Sean had thought, although he was sure they were eventually going to be hurting for some essential vitamins. But that was hardly his main worry. Twelve cases of champagne weren't going to last forever, which he suspected might be how long they'd be drifting around before anyone found them, and liquids would be their most vital need. And then there was the possibility of storms. The weather was good, with only a few relatively calm rains to drench them down and give them the unpleasant task of bailing out the bilge with sardine cans. But the weather couldn't hold forever any more than the champagne. Still, Sean couldn't believe they were really going to die in a lifeboat in mid-ocean, even though he didn't see how they were going to avoid it either, and when he had his sense of humor about him-especially when he was stoned, which was a good deal of the time-he spent long hours composing meticulously typed letters to the New York Times exposing Baalow Nee for the crook he was and parenthetically mentioning their predicament. These he committed to empty champagne bottles and cast in the direction of New York City with great gusto.

After the fifth day, however, the joke started to wear thin. Andrea, who had kept her seduction plan in high gear all the while, marked off number thirty-nine before going to sleep on the fifth night, and suddenly had a fit of discouragement. She cursed out loud and Sean woke up, forcing her to pee over the side quickly to cover up her notches on the gunwhale. They were going to have to start eating the smoked octopus soon, and then Sean would find the notches anyhow and get pissed off and absolutely refuse to fuck.

She was rapidly realizing how loony it was for her to keep up the facade of blithe sensuality necessary to her seductions. She began to feel like Sheherezade, constantly having to devise new techniques to keep the king's fancy engaged. But the more obvious it became that there wasn't any mortal way for them to help themselves, the more determined she became that they weren't going to lay down and die without giving the mystical solution a chance. She only hoped they wouldn't run out of KY before they reached number 100, because what with drinking only limited amounts of alcohol each day and being constantly exposed to the sun and the elements, they were both getting dehydrated, and without the KY her cunt would get rasped to a frazzle in three seconds. She resolved to use it more sparingly.