Nothing else existed. Not my husband, a long haul flight away, probably preparing breakfast for our little boy. Nor my morals, abandoned when I invited the American stranger to my room. The only reality was the intensity with which the walls reflected the urgent clicking wet sounds of my seemingly unquenchable desire as I sank my fingers inside, then surfaced to continue massaging my aching clitoris.The holdups swished against the bed as I spread and closed my legs in response to the rampant need within me. The air conditioning was fighting a losing battle to keep me from going supernova, my centre sparking, short-circuiting, mere seconds away from ignition. Again.I felt it welling up, possibly greater than last time. The hunger. The need for release. Threatening to rip me in two. Everything started to tighten, to twist then unravel. My head swam. I barely recognised my own voice, dripping with lust:“Can I come yet?”There was a maddening delay. Like he was weighing up the options. My. I often wondered if I were the only one feeling this pent up sexual energy? The only time I really had a chance to relieve some of that energy was when I took a shower in the bathroom and we couldn't take showers on a daily basis since freshwater was used for it so you can guess that I was feeling pretty bummed about the situation.The days on the ocean went slowly, but one morning when I woke up I could feel the entire boat shaking and turning. We had been caught in a sudden storm and the rain whipped the outside with a vengeance. The waves hit the bulk of the ship with such a force that anything not nailed to the hull was tossed everywhere. Our family decided to lock ourselves up in one of the cabins while Aaron was forced to go outside to try and control the ship. The storm continued to grow in strength and suddenly something big hit the side and the whole yacht turned around throwing us around the room like a bunch of rag dolls. Luckily no one was injured, but we immediately.
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