It all started on a quiet Saturday night, curled up on the couch next to my husband, a movie playing softly in the background. One of those scenes came on. Naughty. Lingering. Set on a yacht. The fantasy hit harder than expected. We exchanged teasing looks, whispered jokes, the kind that carry heat underneath laughter.

Then came the surprise. He handed me a brochure. A yacht cruise around a chain of islands, all turquoise water and endless sky. My stomach flipped. I was buzzing before we’d even booked it.

The day we arrived, as we walked up the gangway, I made sure he enjoyed the view from behind. A barely-there pearl thong, thin enough to disappear where it mattered, cutting into me just enough to tease. I could feel his eyes on me and smiled to myself.

Once onboard, there was another surprise. A crew of two. The captain was solid, broad-shouldered, almost sculpted, confidence written into the way he moved. The deck steward was younger, strikingly handsome, with eyes that lingered just a moment too long. As we cruised between the islands, warm sun on my skin, I noticed both of them watching. It made everything feel charged, like the air itself was humming.

On the second-to-last day, I finally found the nerve to push things further. I slipped off my bikini top and joined my husband on the front deck. I knew the bridge had a clear view. I could almost feel eyes on me. We were talking quietly, teasing each other, when the steward approached with our usual afternoon drinks.

Without making it obvious, I adjusted my bikini bottom, pulling it tighter between my lips, making the slit impossible to ignore. When he reached us, he struggled not to stare. I saw it. The way his body reacted told me everything.

We kept drinking. The sun dipped lower. I could feel my husband’s hunger building, too. So I decided to give them something to watch. I sank down slowly, taking him into my mouth, unhurried, messy, making him lose himself. He pulled me up, turned me around toward the bridge, and I felt him enter me. The roll of the waves set the rhythm, faster, deeper, until heat spilled down my thigh. I never broke eye contact with the captain.

Afterward, we lay back, catching our breath. I teased that they might have seen us. My husband admitted he noticed the way I looked at the captain. It turned him on. He liked it. Claimed it as his prize. I understood.

Later, I stood and walked to the cabin, leaving the door deliberately open before stepping into the shower. Every so often, a shadow passed by. My pulse climbed. When I stepped out, damp and warm, the steward appeared with fresh towels. I told him to come in. To dry me.

He smiled and did as asked. But I had other plans. I told him to use his mouth, not the towel. He didn’t hesitate. Lying back on the bed, I felt his tongue start at my toes, tracing slow paths up my legs, lingering just enough at my triangle to breathe me in. My scent guided him. The thin landing strip pointed him home.

Time disappeared as he explored, licking every drop of water, and more than that. Being tasted like that, everywhere, felt strange and intoxicating all at once. Eventually, I sent him away, telling him to wait at the bridge.

I slipped into my most revealing dress, no underwear, and made my way up. My husband was still asleep where I’d left him. Through the window, the captain caught my silhouette. My nipples, my shape, the hint of hair below. His reaction was instant. The steward stood nearby, barely holding himself together.

I handed my phone to the steward and told him to record. This moment was for later, too. Then I turned to the captain and told him to do what he’d been wanting since the first day.

He didn’t waste a second. My dress was gone. His clothes followed. He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around him, and somehow lined us up perfectly. I felt him slide into me, powerful and precise, like he already knew exactly how we fit. Being taken standing like that, feeling his strength, sent everything spiraling.

He set me down on the nearest table and kept going, the height perfect again, every movement hitting right. I caught sight of the steward, shaking with want, and beckoned him closer. I let my head fall back, mouth open, inviting him in. Having one inside me and one in my mouth at the same time was overwhelming in the best way.

They both came quickly. Messy. Sticky. Completely worth it.

That evening at dinner, I sent the video to my husband. He watched it, smiled, leaned close, and whispered, “You naughty girl.”

The next day, as we left the yacht, I handed my soaked bikini to the steward. When I kissed the captain goodbye, his hands slid up my skirt one last time, fingers pressing at my triangle, a silent promise that I’d always be welcome back.