Walking for a restaurant you heard was fantastic you wander past the marina. It's a reminder that however rich you'll get, realistically you'll never be a yacht owner.
But, you do see a bikini-clad beauty emerge from the shadows inside. Her strut is confident and commanding, drawing your eye, just marvelling at her appeal, even if you are only slightly curious. You doubt that she's the owner. Snorting, imagining her more as an ornament, or feature the owner used to decorate his yacht, and please his eye.
Slathering sun screen on as she walks, she applies it with a contortionist's ease to her back. She pouts and moans for her audience, you guess the owner still resting in the shade rather than yourself as a passing observer. But, her eye does catch briefly on you, as she finishes massaging it into those ripe ass cheeks.
She even fixes you with a look, a pouty blown kiss before lifting one leg high and straight. She sits astride the boat's railing, gently rocking back and forth.
But, it's the boat's owner who's her true audience whatever vicarious thrills she's getting teasing you.
Blushing, you realise you stopped walking, and are just openly gaping at her, drinking in her beauty. No longer wondering about being a boat owner, more musing about being that ornament, wondering what she does for him... As you do, you see her rock forward once more. This time, driven by the swelling ass beneath her.
From the tone and pitch, she certainly didn't object to the development. Though you couldn't help but hiss is empathy as you worried about that thong vanishing... Even as you tried to start walking again, you hear her cry out. Grinding against the yacht's railing, she rubbed herself forward once more. A warbling, mewling coming from her, as she surged once more...
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