Chapter 1: Wet Tease
Chris smirks as his morning tour couple shows up. The man is generic—khaki shorts, a nervous smile, already slathering sunscreen on his nose. The woman is something else. Mara. He’d caught her name when they’d booked. She’s a brunette with a wildness in her eyes that the oversized sunglasses can’t hide. Her thick, athletic body is poured into a flimsy little thong and a bikini top that strains with every breath. Her chest bounces with a gentle, promising rhythm as she walks across the hot dock, laughing at something her husband says.
“Right on time,” Chris calls, his voice easy. He gives the standard safety spiel, his eyes consistently drifting back to Mara. She’s not listening; she’s scanning his body, the definition in his arms, the tan line on his waist. When he hands over the release forms, he notes with satisfaction that she’s checked the box for ‘First Time Rider.’
“Alright, rules are simple,” he says, slapping the hull of the powerful jet ski. “Stay in my wake, don’t be an idiot, have fun.” He turns to Derek, all practiced sincerity. “Since your wife marked first-timer, protocol says she rides with me for the first half. Just until she gets the feel of it. Safety first.”
Derek’s face tightens, a flash of annoyance quickly buried under polite habit. “Oh. Sure. I guess that makes sense.”
“It absolutely does,” Chris says, not giving him space to reconsider. He turns to Mara. “Come on up. I’ll show you the grips.”
He is very hands-on. He guides her onto the vinyl seat, his palms warm and firm on the dip of her waist. “You sit here, right in front of me.” He slides on behind her, his legs bracketing hers, his chest against her back. He feels the heat of her skin through his thin rash guard. The engine coughs to life beneath them, a vibrating purr. “Just relax. Let the machine do the work.”
Derek starts his own jet ski, falling in behind them as Chris eases them out of the no-wake zone. The moment they hit open water, Chris opens the throttle. The craft leaps forward, slapping hard against the chop. The violent, rhythmic bouncing jolts them together.
Chris feels himself getting hard almost instantly. The combination of the vibration, the heat of her, the way her round ass grinds against him with every impact—it’s unavoidable. He’s pressed flush against the seam of her thong.
Mara turns her head, her lips near his ear. The wind snatches her words, but he hears them clear enough. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that today,” she says, her voice a mix of amusement and pure, open interest.
Chris laughs, a low rumble in his chest. “Sorry. It’s the vibration. It happens.”
She shifts deliberately, settling back more firmly against him. “Don’t be sorry. It’s a compliment. You’ve got nothing to apologize for being so… big.”
He takes that as the green light it is. He lets go of the handlebars with one hand, trusting her to steer for a moment. His palm slides around her ribs, over the slick skin of her stomach, and up to cup the heavy weight of her breast. He finds her nipple already hard beneath the thin fabric. He rolls it between his fingers.
She lets out a sharp, breathy sigh and arches into his touch. Her hands grip the handles tighter, her knuckles white. She begins to move, a slow, deliberate grind of her hips against the persistent, hard length of him.
“You good back there?” Derek’s voice crackles over the intercom headset, cheerful and oblivious.
“Perfect!” Mara chirps, her voice steady even as Chris pinches her nipple. “Just getting the hang of it!”
Chris steers them toward a secluded cove, a jagged outcrop of slick, sun-bleached rock jutting from the turquoise water. “Scenic break!” he announces into the comms. “Great spot for a swim.”
He kills the engine. The sudden silence is filled with the lap of water and the distant cry of a gull. Derek beaches his jet ski on a small patch of sand nearby and wades in, splashing his face. “Beautiful spot!”
Chris helps Mara dismount, his hands lingering on her waist, then sliding down to her hips as she steps into the chest-deep water. Her skin is fever-hot. She looks up at him, her eyes dark and hungry.
“Go on, cool off,” Chris says to Derek, his voice casual. “We’ll just check the anchor.”
Derek nods, ducking under the surface.
The moment he’s submerged, Chris’s hands are on Mara again. He pulls her against the floating jet ski, using it as a shield. His mouth finds hers, and the kiss is all teeth and salt and hunger. Her hands fist in his hair. Under the dappled, shifting water, his fingers find the tiny string of her thong. He slips underneath, through the coarse hair, and finds her already soaking wet and swollen.
“God,” he breathes against her mouth.
“Do it,” she gasps, her head falling back. “Please.”
He slides two fingers inside her. She’s incredibly tight, clenching around him instantly. A loud, unfiltered moan tears from her throat, echoing off the rock face.
“Shh,” he murmurs, but he’s grinning, curling his fingers.
“I don’t care,” she pants, rolling her hips against his hand. Her noises are shameless, punctuated by the steady slap of water against the hull. Derek surfaces twenty yards away, blowing water like a dolphin, completely tuned out.
“It’s fucking hot,” she moans, louder now, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Your big cock. I want it. Fuck me already, Chris. Right now.”
That’s all he needs. He fumbles with the waistband of his board shorts, freeing himself. He’s thick and painfully hard. He hooks his fingers in the side of her thong, pulling the fabric aside. She turns, bracing her hands on the seat of the jet ski, presenting herself to him. He guides himself into her with one slick, desperate push.
She cries out, a raw, ragged sound that seems to startle the birds from the rocks. He claps a hand over her mouth, but she licks his palm, bites it, and he lets go. Her noises are unabashed, a continuous, loud stream of filth and encouragement as he sets a punishing rhythm, pounding into her from behind. The jet ski rocks violently with their motion.
“Yeah, like that! Fuck! Harder!” she yells, her voice bouncing around the cove.
She comes almost immediately, her body shuddering and clamping around him so hard he sees stars. Her tits flail wildly beneath her with every thrust. He isn’t even close. He grips her hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, the slapping sounds of their bodies mixing with her cries and the water sounds. She is, without a doubt, the loudest fuck he’s ever experienced, and he’s fucked a lot of lonely honeymoon wives on this very tour.
He drives into her, using the unstable platform to plunge deeper, chasing his own release as her loud, wild moans fill the salt-tinged air.