Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 3 - Sex Stories

Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 3

... the port-side railing on the upper deck where we could sit in the sunshine and look out at the Harbour Bridge. A few minutes later the ferry got underway, the massive engines turning Wharf 3 into a vicious, white washing machine, and before long we had rounded Bennelong Point and were motoring at something close to full speed, which we found out later is only a stately eighteen knots on the old ferries. Most of the other passengers were either downstairs or inside and we had the port-side rail to ourselves. Looking out over the fancy North Shore houses, we laughed and joked about which one would be best to live in. Would it have room for our yacht? And what about our vintage car collection? We settled on the one next door to Kirribilli House, just so we could drop in on the Prime Minister and ask to borrow his lawnmower. In other words, we were being immature, but we were having fun nonetheless. The combination of sunshine and laughter had me feeling frisky and holding hands wasn’t doing the job for me anymore. “Oooh, look at that one over there!” I pointed past Kevin, and when he turned around I quickly hopped into his lap with an arm around his neck and folded my bare legs into the seat I had just vacated. “This is new,” he smiled happily. “My seat was uncomfortable,” I said, kissing him. “But this is better.” Conversation suffered after that. I undid one of the buttons of his shirt and slid my hand in to stroke his chest, combing my fingers through the hairs while his ...

... hand gradually grew bolder (and my seat grew lumpier!) as he first cupped my bottom over the skirt and then slid it beneath the hem to explore my smooth upper thigh. By the time the ferry crossed into North Harbour my lipstick was mostly on Kevin, and his other hand – ostensibly supporting my back – had migrated upwards to measure the modest swell of my breast through the bra cup. It surprised me not-at-all that Belinda was completely right about the unsatisfying nature of being felt-up through a bra. “I need to freshen up my lipstick,” I said as the ferry decelerated coming into Manly Cove. “How’s mine?” Kevin asked, leaning back to let me look at his lips. “Smeared,” I laughed, wiping off the worst of it with my thumb. “You could use a touch-up.” “You go ahead. I’ll mind the seats,” he said enigmatically, although his reluctance to get up might be informed by the bulge in his jeans that I had been wriggling around on, trying unsuccessfully to seat it between my legs where it seemed to belong. Walking off to the toilet, I knew that Kevin was watching my bottom so I took longer strides to make the skirt bounce and swish, but it had the unexpected side-effect of making my engorged pussy lips rub together with wet friction, sending a shiver of desire through me that raised goose-bumps all over my body. As I fixed my lipstick in the mirror, I noticed the flushed cheeks, the dilated pupils, the hard nipples poking through my bra and felt the burning warmth between my thighs, and I ...