Deck Lines

The yacht rocked gently, and I gripped the rail, watching Sasha finish her last set of hip thrusts on the padded bench. Sweat glistened on her lower back, tracing a line down to the waistband of her tiny shorts. God, that ass. Firm, round, like carved marble with just enough give to make you crazy. She caught me staring.

"Counting reps or something else, Mark?" She didn't even sound winded.

"Something else." I stepped closer. "You're holding your breath on the extension. Let it out."

She rolled onto her back, legs spread, feet planted. "Show me."

I knelt between her thighs, hands sliding to her hips. "Like this. Exhale as you push up." My palms cupped the curve of her ass as she lifted, and she didn't pull away. The fabric of her shorts was damp with sweat.

"Mmm." She pushed harder against my hands. "That's not technique."

"No. It's not."

She sat up, grabbed the hem of her sports top, and pulled it over her head. No bra. Her tits were perfect, nipples dark and hard. "Then let's skip the workout."

I had her shorts off before she could say another word. Her pussy was already slick, glistening between her thighs. I ran a finger through it and she gasped, bucking her hips.

«Joder, estás mojada.»

"That's what watching you stare at my ass does to me." She grabbed my cock through my shorts. "Now put this inside me."

I didn't need a second invitation. I shoved my shorts down, my dick springing free, and positioned her on the edge of the bench. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I slammed into her in one stroke.

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

Her pussy gripped me like a fist, hot and tight. I pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in, watching her tits bounce with every thrust. She moaned, head thrown back, fingers digging into the bench.

"Harder," she breathed. "Fucking harder."

I grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. That ass, that perfect firm ass, was right there, upturned and begging. I spread her cheeks with my thumbs and pushed inside again, feeling every inch of her tightness around my cock.

"Oh god, yes, right there."

I fucked her hard, my balls slapping against her clit with every stroke. She pushed back against me, meeting my rhythm, moaning into the cushion. The yacht swayed with us, the sea echoing our motion.

"Look at me," I growled, grabbing a fistful of her hair.

She turned her head, eyes hazy, lips parted. "Mark... I'm gonna cum."

"Not yet." I slowed, pulling almost out, then teasing her entrance with just the tip. She whimpered, trying to push back onto me.

"Please. Please, Mark."

I loved the begging. I eased in slowly, inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt, then stayed still. She trembled beneath me.

"You want it?"

"God, yes. Fuck me."

I snapped my hips forward, hard, and she cried out. I set a brutal pace, pounding into her, the sound of skin on skin filling the deck. Her moans turned into incoherent whimpers, and I felt her tighten around me.

—No pares. No te atrevas a parar, carajo.

I reached under her, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles. She screamed, her body convulsing, her pussy clenching around my cock like a vice. That was it. I buried myself deep and came, hot and thick, filling her as she milked every last drop.

We collapsed onto the bench, tangled and slick. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest. The yacht rocked, and the only sound was the sea and our breathing.

"Next session," she whispered, "I'm bringing a stopwatch."