Publishing History

"Blades of an Engine" originally was published in Vol. 3 issue 1 of Scarlet Letters magazine online in 2000.

Blades of an Engine

By Nik Flandrè

I'll admit it.

I bought the boat to impress girls. What other reason could you have for pumping $100 into a fuel tank for three monotonous hours of bumpy driving on a lake that was usually too cold to swim in.

I'll also admit that April was my best catch. Even if I only had her once.

There were others before her. I found that even the most conservative women will lose their bras and panties with almost no provocation once you get their feet off land. Does water summon some primitive reproductive instinct in the female? Does the lapping of the waves sound to them like the sloppy wet kisses of a lover in their pants? I don't know. Something about being on a boat makes them horny. I'm no philosopher about it. Whatever the reason, when the shores slip away, so do the inhibitions. And that's what I'm always looking for: a girl who sheds her inhibitions.

We talk about it at the docks. You know. Who skinny dips with whose boss. Whose girlfriend has the biggest tits. Which woman comes back to the docks after tucking in her hubby for the night with some new guy on her arm (and on other, softer, pieces). The dock ferry guys have seen it all. They pick up the couples, sometimes still dressed from work, and take them out to where their boats are docked. Three hours later, the formerly uptight-looking couple is nearly naked, drunk, and giggling as the ferry picks them up from their slip to return to the shore. Sometimes the number of people on the boats have mysteriously increased. Mid-lake couplings inspire help from fellow boatloads of voyeuristic crews.

So I should have listened when Ron, the ferry guy, told me to chill on April.

"Bad fish, there," he whispered.

I looked at the wood-brown ass cheek hanging out of her barely there bikini bottom and didn't see how that fish could be bad. Looked healthy and heaving for a good hook, if you asked me.

"She's got a thing for boats," he warned. As if I would find this a bad thing. She was the kind of girl I'd bought a boat to land!

I said as much.

"No, I'm serious, man. She's a weird one. I've seen her tonguing down an engine like it was some guy's rod."

"Any gal who can suck an engine dry is welcome on my deck," I laughed. "I've been needing my barnacles cleaned for weeks!"

"You're just not getting it, man," he shrugged, disgusted with me. Then he got a call on the radio to pick up some suits on Pier 11.

Left alone, I did what any red-blooded, babe-thirsty single guy would do. I walked over to April, who was simply staring off wistfully into the maze of anchored boats in the harbor. Introduced myself. She didn't offer her name. I already knew it, so I didn't care.

"What kind of boat do you have?" she asked, hair slipping forward across her shoulder.

"Twenty-three-foot Chris Craft. Want to check it out?"

"Do you drive it hard?" she asked, in a voice as slippery as sea sex.

"I could."

In ten minutes we were untied and easing slowly through the narrow channel that led out of the marina and into the lake. I looked at the freckled swell of her breasts that begged to spill out of the electric yellow- and pink-striped bikini top. They were only slightly covered by a man's unbuttoned, gaudy blue Hawaiian shirt. She talked about boats. Fountains. Sea Rays. Even Bayliners. I didn't really hear her. My thoughts were on her eyes -- they glittered in the fading light of the evening, like the blue-green of the lake in full sunlight.

She asked how fast I'd gotten the boat up to in open water.

"The one'll do much better than that." She put a hand on the engine. Stroked it slowly. Familiarly. It made me a little uneasy.

She eased into the copilot's seat next to mine, reached a hand out and rubbed my thigh. The inside of my thigh. "Can't we open it up?"

"Sure," I stammered, and gunned the engine a little too early, leaving a wake that no doubt had the next couple of captains in the narrow channel shaking their fists at me. I didn't care. I had me a fast girl. I let the throttle open fast, and in moments we were bouncing across the water like a giant, wedge-shaped skipping stone, more in the air than in the water. Her hand massaged my crotch harder the faster we went. So naturally I encouraged the speedometer to new heights -- 40, 45, 50 -- I put that boat through its paces faster than I ever had before.

As I held on tight to the wheel, my chest whiplashing up and down with the motion of the ocean, as it were, she seemed to hang on even less to the handrail. As we topped the 50 mark, the wind was whipping me so hard in the face I could barely see through the spray and tears in my eyes. But April stood up, threw her shirt on the deck and then dropped her bikini top next to it.

"Yeeeeeawwwww!" she screamed out, and let go of the rail entirely! Arms akimbo, she looked like an erotic surfer, big round (and tan as the rest of her) breasts jiggling like a stripper showing off her tassles. But April didn't have tassles. Her rosy nipples pointed proud with excitement as she swayed back and forth. One hand moved to her crotch and pulled the string that held her bottoms on. They dropped on the floor of the boat, and I'm surprised my eyes didn't roll to the back of the deck with her bikini. There was a tanned hardbody cavorting naked on my deck. And I hadn't even had to dose her up to toxic alcohol levels to get her there!

Then she was holding onto my neck, rubbing her chest against my back and licking my ear. With each bump of the boat meeting the crest of a wave, she moaned. It sounded as if she were having sex without me. I couldn't stand that for very long. We'd long ago passed beyond the clustered crowd of everyday lake-loungers, and were on our own in the water. I cut the motor and we coasted to a stop with nothing but deep blue water on every side. Behind us, the Chicago skyline rose almost as anxious as my dick, which April soon lifted from the captivity of my shorts.

Her mouth was like a fish, puckering and suckering its way up my cock. She took my bait like a goldfish, gulping and gasping with eyes bobbing. I pulled her close, wrapping my fingers tightly in her sun-bleached hair. Her teeth trailed along my glans as her finger traced the back of my spine. I shook like a boy having his first orgasm when that finger suddenly disappeared up my asshole. She grinned at my reaction, and I caressed her cheek and smiled stupidly.

God, she was good! I was afraid she would suck my balls out of the tip of my cock when I finally came. Which happened fairly quickly, I must confess. But that didn't seem to phase her. I never even saw a drop of my cum. She licked her lips as she rose from my waist.

"Mmmm," she said, stretching forward to kiss me. "Tastes like the salt of the ocean."

When she pulled back from letting me taste my own cum on her lips, she lifted an eyebrow appraisingly: "We can get you up and running again, can't we?"

"No, I want it to be hard," she breathed, tongue ticking against the lobe of my ear. I dropped back to the captain's chair and took a nipple the size of a peach pit into my mouth. It was cool and hard, and I drew it as deep into my throat as I could get it. I wanted to lose myself in her teats, suck her raw sexuality into the cavern of my own hunger.

She moaned as my hands trawled the soft, womanly curves of her hips and ass. Her thighs were already wet, parting with a smacking sound to allow my fingers to continue their exploration.

Her pussy dripped with expectation, and my fingers slipped inside her with ease. My tongue now yearned for a more personal taste of her. The scent of her arousal, sharp and heated against the cool tang of lake air, was quickly bringing my cock back to life. I licked the dark pit of her belly, and with both hands she pushed my head down lower. She'd shaved her golden hair there into a pattern, a daisy ring of ovals, with four petals pointing east, west, north and south. I followed directions and went south.

I licked deep into the protruding folds of her cunt, amazed at how full she seemed. She tasted of oil and seaweed and sex, a strange, exotic mix that had my lips soon rushing back up her bellybutton, breasts and neck to suck down her tongue. I wanted to fuck her now. Then. Whenever. In seconds she was beneath me, her ass on the cold fiberglass of the deck, her hands between us rubbing my cock in a peculiar, but pleasing, semblance of masturbation.

"I'm pulling your engine cord," she whispered, and then I understood the motion.

"When I've got you started, I want to hear you hum."

I mimicked the "Hrrrummm" of a motor, and without a word, she suddenly inserted my anxious cock into herself.

"Don't stop," she said, as I ceased to hum.

Okay, I thought, this is weird.

But you know I didn't stop. I sputtered and "hhrrrrummmmmed," feeling like I was entertaining a three-year-old. But the ripe body beneath me was 23 at the very least. Maybe 33. And she kept her eyes closed as she wrapped her hips around my erection, sucking me in and then spitting me back with a lusty, randy rhythm. She obviously didn't care if anyone saw her fucking right here in open view on the deck. I kept a lower room below the foredeck carpeted and furnished for moments like this, but, hey -- if she didn't mind performing for the entire city of Chicago, I wasn't going to pull the curtain. In fact, this was very likely my own best performance, I thought, thrusting into her with increasing tempo. My heart was pounding in my ears as her fingers gripped the cheeks of my ass in earnest, pumping me harder than I could thrust on my own. I could hear her ass squishing with the impact, her pussy drowning in its own cum and still slurping against the deck for more.

"Louder," she moaned, "Rev for me!"

I revved, making a humming sound deep in my throat, and she cried out in short panting yelps. I came with another hot, body-melting spasm, but she didn't seem to notice. She only dug her nails into my ass and forced me deeper. And then she cried out.

Just once.

The boat had been rocking like some sex-crazed teen's car, but with that one cry, she stopped cold. Her eyes opened as she came and I could see something like disappointment mingled with her lust as she focused on me. April put her finger to my lips then, and stopped my weakening engine.

"Shhh."

She sat up, pushing me gently into the captain's chair.

"Let's get some real action going," she said, and made a kissing motion with her lips. "Start the motor, okay?"

"Sure," I said, thinking that this was one of the stranger requests I'd gotten immediately following orgasm. But I turned the key and the V-8 revved to life.

"Where to?" I turned back to ask her, but all I could see was her ass. It was mooning up at me, as she caressed the top plate of the motor hanging off the back of the boat. Her pussy lips were still spread wide, and creamy with the evidence of our sex. I didn't say a thing, but watched with growing amazement as her hands moved slowly across the carapace of the engine. Her head moved from side to side, and when I leaned to the side of the boat, I could see the pink of her tongue. Just like Ron said, she was licking the thing dry!

It also sounded as if she was talking to it. We were only moving slowly on an open lake, so I left the steering wheel and moved closer to her. She was purring to the thing!

"...oh yes, baby, I want to feel you in me. I want your hard steel to kiss my pussy. I'll oil you good, sweetheart, yes. Shall momma get up and ride you now? Will you fuck me good?"

She was whispering sweet nothings to my boat's engine! Just as this sank in, with a sweep of her feet, she was astride the thing, like some techno-age version of Lady Godiva. Only this Lady was getting off on her horse. She saw the look on my face and dismissed me with a wave.

"Turn up the throttle. Let's get this fucker moving!"

I did. We sped faster and faster across that lake, as the sun disappeared and April fucked my engine. She held onto the back of the passenger seats and bucked up and down on the top of my boat's heart like it was some kind of super-strength electric cock. If she could have swallowed that engine into her cunt, I have no doubt that she would have.

"Faster, faster!" she kept crying out, one hand rubbing her pendulous breasts and the other keeping her body anchored to the jackhammering petroleum hog beneath her.

I was naked, and cold from the cool breeze of the night, but my cock hooked upward at the sight of her, a crazed erotic figurehead, shrieking and cumming the wrong kind of lubricant all over my boat.

She never wanted me, I realized. She only fucked me so that she could fuck my boat! What kind of sick shit was that? She wasn't heterosexual or homosexual. She was motosexual.

Now I knew why her pussy tasted of motor oil. In carrying the oil from other boats inside her, could she be giving sexual disease to my boat? Who knew what kind of lowlife engines she'd tried to take inside her?

As I steered the boat closer to shore with one hand and pulled my pants on with the other to the wild sounds of orgasm behind me, it also occurred to me what the pattern shaved in her beautiful blonde nether hair represented.

The four petals of teardrop-shaped pussy hair weren't a daisy.

They were the blades of an engine.

Copyright 1999, Nik Flandrè. All Rights Reserved