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"God, Mark, if my husband could see me right now he'd lose his fucking mind," I whispered, my voice already husky as I leaned over the polished teak railing of the yacht.

The sun had just slipped below the horizon, painting the sea in deep oranges and purples. I'd been serving as the private waitress on his chartered yacht for three weeks now, and every night the tension between us had grown thicker than the salt air. Mark was a regular at the upscale restaurant where I worked, always tipping heavy and flirting just enough to make my panties damp. When he offered me this side gig for the summer, my husband had actually encouraged it, joking about how I should "enjoy the perks." Little did he know those perks were about to include me becoming Mark's hotwife.

Mark stepped behind me, his tall frame pressing close without quite touching. His breath tickled my ear. "Then don't tell him everything, Sarah. Just the parts that make you wet when you recount them later."

His hand finally landed on my hip, sliding the short white uniform skirt up my thigh. I shivered, gripping the railing tighter. The yacht rocked gently on the calm Mediterranean, the only sounds the lap of water against the hull and my own quickening breath. We'd been circling this for days—stolen glances in the galley, his fingers brushing mine when I poured his whiskey. Tonight, with the crew ashore, there was nothing left to stop us.

"Mark... I've been thinking about this since the first time you sat in my section," I confessed, turning to face him. My nipples were already hard against the thin blouse.

He smiled that crooked, confident grin. "Yeah? Tell me what you thought about, hotwife. Use those pretty words."

I bit my lip, pulse racing. "How you'd bend me over one of your fancy tables... how your cock would feel stretching my married pussy while I moaned your name instead of my husband's."

That did it. His mouth crashed into mine, but it wasn't rushed. He kissed me slow and deep, tasting of salt and expensive scotch, his tongue teasing mine until I whimpered into his mouth. His hands worked my blouse open, freeing my full breasts to the warm night air. He cupped them, thumbs circling my stiff nipples, rolling them until my knees weakened.

"These tits have been driving me crazy in that uniform," he murmured against my lips. "Every time you bent to serve me, I pictured sucking them like this."

He dipped his head, taking one nipple into his hot mouth, sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other. I arched into him, threading my fingers through his thick hair. "Yes... oh fuck, that feels so good. Suck harder, Mark. Make them ache."

The explicit heat built fast after that. He spun me around again, pressing my bare breasts against the cool railing as he hiked my skirt to my waist. No panties underneath—I'd planned this. His fingers found my already soaked pussy, sliding through my slick folds.

"Jesus, Sarah, you're dripping. This married cunt is begging for it, isn't it?"

"Yes," I gasped, pushing back against his hand. "It's been neglected. My husband barely touches me anymore. I need a real cock, Mark. I need yours."

He didn't make me wait. The sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet night. Then the thick, hot head of his dick nudged my entrance. He was bigger than my husband, veiny and heavy. With one smooth thrust he buried half his length inside me, stretching my walls in the most delicious way.

"Oh god... it's so deep already," I moaned, my voice carrying over the water. He gripped my hips and drove forward again, sinking balls-deep. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the waves. He fucked me steady at first, long deliberate strokes that let me feel every inch sliding in and out of my greedy pussy.

"Talk to me, hotwife," he growled, one hand tangling in my hair to pull my head back. "Tell me how it feels getting fucked by a man who isn't your husband."

"It feels filthy... and perfect," I panted between thrusts. "My pussy is clenching around you. Harder, please. Fuck your waitress like you own her."

He picked up the pace, pounding into me now, the railing creaking under my grip. Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through my clit. The yacht swayed in time with our rhythm. I came first, sudden and sharp, my walls fluttering around his thick cock as I cried out into the night.

But he wasn't done. He pulled out, spun me to face him, and lifted me onto a wide lounge cushion. This time he entered me face-to-face, my legs wrapped around his waist. Slower now, grinding deep, his pubic bone rubbing my swollen clit with every circle of his hips.

"Look at me while I fuck you," he whispered, forehead pressed to mine. His voice was low, intimate, sending shivers down my spine. "Imagine telling your husband how a stranger stretched this pussy on his yacht. How you came all over another man's cock."

The dirty words, the gentle rocking of the boat, the way his breath mingled with mine—it pushed me over again. I kissed him desperately as my second orgasm hit, nails digging into his back. He followed soon after, groaning my name as he spilled hot cum deep inside me, pulse after pulse filling my married cunt until it leaked down my thighs.

We stayed locked together, breathing hard, the sea breeze cooling our sweaty skin. Finally he pulled back, a lazy smile on his face.

I started laughing first, light and giddy, the release bubbling out of me. He joined in, both of us collapsing sideways on the cushion in a tangle of half-dressed limbs.

"Think you'll be able to serve me breakfast tomorrow without blushing?" he teased, tracing lazy circles on my breast.

"Only if you promise to bend me over the table again afterward," I shot back, still giggling. The night felt wide open, full of possibility, and for the first time in years I felt truly alive.