“She’s doing that intentionally” I thought.

It wasn’t the first thought I’d had about Lee’s unusual technique and it had taken a moment to come to the conclusion that her handling of the fishing rod wasn’t entirely about convenience, comfort or playing the substantial trout on the end of the line.

When she’d hooked the trout in the corner of the bay as we idled parallel to the shoreline trolling the small lure, she’d yelped in surprise. At least she’d held on to the rod in her hand and the little reel had begun to sing as line was stripped and the energetic rainbow made a break for freedom. The rod bucked in her hand as the fish raced off.

“What do I do?’ she asked in a pitch higher and with more urgency than I’d heard from her ‘til now. Actually I hadn’t heard too much at all until now, a few questions, some quiet acknowledgements and responses to inquiries. I’d been able to tell though, that she was totally absorbed in the wonder of Fiordland, the gentle grandeur of a still summer morning on the lake and the welcome sensations and the adventure of something different, new and appealing.

“Just raise the rod tip so that there is always a bend in the rod, it’ll absorb the shock of the fish’s fight along with the line and the drag of the reel. Hang on, and enjoy it. When you can gently wind the reel handle and retrieve some line.” There was plenty to retrieve now the fish had taken a good 30 metres. I slipped the engine into neutral and shut it off. Silence reigned, punctuated by little huffs of effort escaping Lee’s lip and the gentle lap of water on the hull of the boat.

“How do I hold the rod?” she asked. A hint of a smile crossed my lips as I considered both the question and possible answers. Wouldn’t that be an interesting prospect, I though as I stepped up behind her in the small cockpit of the six metre cabin boat.

“Tuck it under your arm, the one you’re holding the rod with and I’ll show you how to lift and wind.” A little coaching made a difference but holding the rod as high as her armpit was creating a degree of awkwardness for one not accustomed to playing a fish.

“You could hold the rod in your hand and wind but it’ll get tired.” I suggested. I also noticed as I looked down at Lee’s merino top, that either she was feeling the cool edge to the morning or there was something about the tug and pull of the fish she was enjoying in other ways.

As if on que she piped up with, “this is quite fun isn’t it?” The trace of a smile lingered on her face.

“You could put the butt of the rod against your stomach on top of your pelvis and use that as a leverage point. It won’t hurt and you’ll gain plenty of control over the rod and the fish.” She’d done just as I suggested and appeared comfortable. The fish was getting close to the boat. I leaned down beside Lee to pick up the landing net beside the seat. It was then that I noticed the change.

Lee had changed the position of the rod, it was now between her legs and the butt of the rod, more particularly the knob which defined the butt of the rod was nestled intimately in the folds of the softshell pants she was wearing and gently jostling her sex with every shake and bounce of the rod.

Little grunts and huffs began to escape Lee’s lips as the trout saw the boat and with renewed vigour bent the rod again and jerked the tip downward erratically. The little moan wasn’t exertion and her legs while slightly bent were beginning to quiver. I notice her eyes were shut and she was biting her bottom lip.

I whispered in her ear, “Don’t forget to wind, we should net this fish”. Another little moan.

It was while I leaned over the gunnel to sweep the net beneath the rainbow that I realised how hard I’d become and how certain Lee was that the rod remain between her legs. It wasn’t the fish working the rod now it was Lee. The fish secure, unhooked and stowed in the bin Lee slumped in the comfortable aft facing seat, still holding the rod.

“I’ve never felt anything so… wild and wonderful.”

I never imagined that this is how inviting a relative stranger to spend a few hours aboard the boat to experience trout fishing in the backcountry would turn out. It was unexpected and very erotic.

“What do you want to do now?” I asked, mainly because the silence needed filled and awkwardness reigned, although Lee seemed to be quite OK with the current situation, and she knew damned well that I was aware of what had just unfolded.

“Can we catch another one?” she asked with a grin. It seemed this girl from the boat ramp, the one I’d noticed in the kitchen at the camping ground with her companion was intent on making the most of the opportunity, just how was still beyond my ability to guess.

“Yes, of course we can.” I hoped it sounded more casual than I imagined it did. “Any changes to the technique”, I inquired.

“Not too many but I might need some help.” There was that unfathomable but mischievous hint of a smile again.

With the boat repositioned and the lure set behind the boat again it wasn’t long before another obliging trout had the rod bucking in Lee’s hand. I was intent on nosing the boat away from the shoreline and then shutting down the engine. When my attention returned to Lee and the fish she was playing, it was my turn to smile a mischievous smile. Her trainers were kicked in a corner and her soft shell pants were now a puddle on the deck behind her. I wondered how and when she’d managed that.

“Are you OK with this one”, I enquired.

“Definitely.” Lee’s response was emphatic.

“I see your technique is the same”, it was a reference to her rod handling skills I couldn’t resist.

There was a sudden burst of vigorous activity from the feisty trout and again the rod bucked and jerked in her grasp. I knew where the butt lay nestled and I knew what effect it was probably having.

“You said you might need my help but it looks like you are doing OK from here. It seems your pants might have been getting in the way though.” There was no response but she did arch her back slightly and reposition a foot so as to spread her legs just a little more.

“I’m wet” she whispered.

I stepped closer to hear more clearly.

“How did you get wet?” She wouldn’t have volunteered such an intimate detail about … well, the status of her underwear and a certain appealing aspect of her anatomy… surely.

“That’s what I need help with,” she whispered again. “I want you to fuck me.”

There was the briefest moment of indecision and then the inevitable wrestle with the logistical aspect of the suggestion. Actually I wasn’t sure whether it was a suggestion, it seemed more like an urgent request or an emphatic command.

“Fuck me.” Lee was insistent, her voice more assertive and certain.

I stepped close not surprised to find the extension of my desire was ready to attend to Lee’s request as it sprang from the trousers and underwear I was keen to discard. The small pile of clothing on the cockpit floor was growing.

Lee was absolutely correct, she was wet, there was no resistance as I slipped past the pushed aside crutch of the panties she was still wearing and purposefully penetrated her hot sex. The initial thrust was slow, gentle but insistent and deep. Lee let out a low moan and with a hand on the edge of the gunnel pushed back to meet my slow and deep invasion. She still held the fishing rod with her other hand. Another drawn out and almost hushed moan as I wrapped my arm around her and clasped the front of her farthest hip and drew her tightly onto me. We stood together momentarily while the fish beside the boat was more acquiescent.

Lee pulled away and then a vigorous thrust backward, hard and insistent as her back arched and she pushed with her bracing hand. Now it was my turn to groan. I had the presence of mind to take the fishing rod from her and place it in the rod holder at the stern of the boat. Then we sank in the wonton passion of the moment. The thrusts were not so much rough as urgent and complete in a mutual attempt to engulf and to bury as much hard cock in soft tight pussy as was possible. The rhythm intensified, there was an animal need to complete the urgent coupling. In delicious ecstasy I felt her quivering thighs and the sudden spasm of muscle deep within Lee’s hot depth’s…. and then it was over. Unplanned, sudden, intensely erotic, wildly satisfying. I held on to her and she mewled softly, then sighed deeply. Moments passed and Lee pulled away gently turning within my gasp to face me. My manhood slick and still dangerous felt chilled in the morning air. Lee whispered almost inaudibly… “clean me up”.

She gently broke free of my arms and positioned herself to sit on the forward facing queen seat. Kicking the discarded clothing aside I had the presence of mind to quickly land the trout and consign it to the bin before returning my attention to Lee, her feet raised, one on the dash above the cabin opening the other adjacent to the helm station. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. I ducked beneath her leg and knelt on the seat squabs within the cabin. I’d known right from the moment of Lee’s whispered command… or was it request, or an invitation even, to attend to the wonton mess we’d made, that there was no point in locating a towel or reaching for the wet wipes.

Lee’s eyes flickered open, she levelled her gaze at me and she shuddered… or was it a shiver?

“Are you cold?” I asked, thinking I could locate a blanket.

There was no audible answer, just a slight shake of her pretty head, to indicate the temperature wasn’t troubling her. She shuffled forward almost imperceptibly in the seat and watched intently as I leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on her slick sex. She caught her breath and trembled again, I placed a firmer, more intentional kiss on her pretty womanhood, uncertain of my priorities, to kiss, to lick, to clean up or to play. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to discover that our mess tasted good.

The priority changed and my efforts were thwarted as her sex continued to provide additional nectar from within. In response to insistent lips and tongue, Lee’s hips raised and her back arched as if in slow motion, again matched by a slow audible expulsion of breath. It seemed to be a response to having taken the nub of her pleasure, the centre of her satisfaction within the firm caress of my pursed lips. To my amazement Lee began to work her pelvis against my lips so that she was, in essence fucking my pursed lips. The intensity of Lee’s ministrations built inexorably, but with an exquisite gentleness and rather than speed up and become rougher her orgasm came as she slowed and then slowed even more. And then with a shudder she crushed and wriggled her sex against the lips I dare not withdraw from their delicious task. Her pelvis heaved, her back arched and she groaned and shuddered and then over moments slipped into acquiescence. Her breathing steadied. And I dared not move as her hands held my head against her.

I heard the whispered words and my attentive manhood found new life…

‘Now it’s your turn.”