not to disturb him, I assumed. Not too much post-coital glow in evidence there.
My mood plummeted deeper, and serving breakfast to Kaysha when I found her did nothing to revive it. She looked as rough as she had the day before slumped in a dark corner of the lounge behind the foredeck, with no makeup and her hair unkempt. She at least had on a bathing costume under her open robe. She greeted my tray of breakfast and coffee with a look like a soaked and angry cat.
Splash, the yacht bobbed gently on the sea, the sun washed the decks pale and hot, the sky was a cloudless blue and the sea against the hull was the only sound. The cool breeze delightful.
I was utterly miserable and wretched.
At about ninety-minute intervals, I made food for the public areas. That was how I understood the orders he had given me. As far as I knew for that day, food was required only for he and Kaysha, although for all I knew there could have been another couple of dozen people on a yacht that size. André, the driver and pilot apparently fed himself, although I never saw him. Unless it had been he I saw in the cabin with Kaysha my first day aboard. When I made snacks, I couldn’t find anyone around to serve them to. I looked on all three decks and in the main lounges., so I left a small tray of buffet food in the rear lounge and another in the lounge by the foredeck. The way that I understood my instructions, it didn’t seem right for me to search for diners in the more private quarters and cabins.
On my way back to the galley I heard muffled sounds from a porthole. By reflex I peered in and saw Kaysha kneeling in the darkness, a large, male hand gripping the back of her head, holding her by her hair. My breath froze and my heart thumped so hard in my hollow chest, I thought that Kaysha would hear it, and so would the other occupant of the cabin. Or occupants, I had no way to know if there were more than one other person in there.
In the shadows, all that I could make out was Kaysha, her head being jerked back and forth, quite violently, in front of a pair of sturdy, trousered thighs. Her clothes hung loose from her arms, and her big, round breasts bounced. Was I witnessing her being forced? I had no way to tell. The sounds she was making were animal and guttural. They were wet, primal and urgent. There were male sounds too, but I couldn’t make out any words, only grunts, groans and sighs. Kaysha was being what I have heard called skull-fucked. And who the man was there was no way for me to know. There were only two men on the boat, as far as I knew. But I knew very little indeed.
I shouldn’t be watching this. Maybe it shouldn’t be happening. I wanted to tear myself away. But I could not. Her head was pulled farther back and I saw her mouth, her red lips withdraw slowly over a long, thick cock. My mouth was dry, however much I tried to wet my lips. Kaysha made a loud, deep gasp and a string of sticky juice fell from her wet, shining lips as she was pulled off the end of the thick cock, and her tongue licked all over the head and the shaft.
I knew that I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t stay to watch whatever it was that was happening. Or maybe I should intervene. But I remained, paralysed, pressed against the wall. Unable to move, unable to leave, unable to do anything but observe and to try to catch my hot, heavy breath as the fat cock plunged back into her head, and her face was pushed all the way into a man’s groin. The excitement that I felt shocked me. Excitement at feeling trapped, and a massive charge like pure electricity at seeing a woman, a beautiful woman, engaged in what looked like a violent act of sex. My puss hummed. My breasts heaved under my tunic, my stomach fluttered, and my puss swelled and tingled. Watching this scene felt so very wrong.
Kaysha’s head was yanked back and forth along the length of that cock, and saliva dripped from her mouth. Her sounds became louder and
My mood plummeted deeper, and serving breakfast to Kaysha when I found her did nothing to revive it. She looked as rough as she had the day before slumped in a dark corner of the lounge behind the foredeck, with no makeup and her hair unkempt. She at least had on a bathing costume under her open robe. She greeted my tray of breakfast and coffee with a look like a soaked and angry cat.
Splash, the yacht bobbed gently on the sea, the sun washed the decks pale and hot, the sky was a cloudless blue and the sea against the hull was the only sound. The cool breeze delightful.
I was utterly miserable and wretched.
At about ninety-minute intervals, I made food for the public areas. That was how I understood the orders he had given me. As far as I knew for that day, food was required only for he and Kaysha, although for all I knew there could have been another couple of dozen people on a yacht that size. André, the driver and pilot apparently fed himself, although I never saw him. Unless it had been he I saw in the cabin with Kaysha my first day aboard. When I made snacks, I couldn’t find anyone around to serve them to. I looked on all three decks and in the main lounges., so I left a small tray of buffet food in the rear lounge and another in the lounge by the foredeck. The way that I understood my instructions, it didn’t seem right for me to search for diners in the more private quarters and cabins.
On my way back to the galley I heard muffled sounds from a porthole. By reflex I peered in and saw Kaysha kneeling in the darkness, a large, male hand gripping the back of her head, holding her by her hair. My breath froze and my heart thumped so hard in my hollow chest, I thought that Kaysha would hear it, and so would the other occupant of the cabin. Or occupants, I had no way to know if there were more than one other person in there.
In the shadows, all that I could make out was Kaysha, her head being jerked back and forth, quite violently, in front of a pair of sturdy, trousered thighs. Her clothes hung loose from her arms, and her big, round breasts bounced. Was I witnessing her being forced? I had no way to tell. The sounds she was making were animal and guttural. They were wet, primal and urgent. There were male sounds too, but I couldn’t make out any words, only grunts, groans and sighs. Kaysha was being what I have heard called skull-fucked. And who the man was there was no way for me to know. There were only two men on the boat, as far as I knew. But I knew very little indeed.
I shouldn’t be watching this. Maybe it shouldn’t be happening. I wanted to tear myself away. But I could not. Her head was pulled farther back and I saw her mouth, her red lips withdraw slowly over a long, thick cock. My mouth was dry, however much I tried to wet my lips. Kaysha made a loud, deep gasp and a string of sticky juice fell from her wet, shining lips as she was pulled off the end of the thick cock, and her tongue licked all over the head and the shaft.
I knew that I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t stay to watch whatever it was that was happening. Or maybe I should intervene. But I remained, paralysed, pressed against the wall. Unable to move, unable to leave, unable to do anything but observe and to try to catch my hot, heavy breath as the fat cock plunged back into her head, and her face was pushed all the way into a man’s groin. The excitement that I felt shocked me. Excitement at feeling trapped, and a massive charge like pure electricity at seeing a woman, a beautiful woman, engaged in what looked like a violent act of sex. My puss hummed. My breasts heaved under my tunic, my stomach fluttered, and my puss swelled and tingled. Watching this scene felt so very wrong.
Kaysha’s head was yanked back and forth along the length of that cock, and saliva dripped from her mouth. Her sounds became louder and
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