Row your Boat

Row your Boat is a true story based on one of my and Mister K’s weekends away. Written from Mister K’s point of view, I have based it on my experience and our conversation afterward. Enjoy!

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There’s little happening at 5 am. The street is empty, but the sun has yet to rise. I’m hoping we can get to our destination beforehand. She walks to the car, but I pass it by, confident she’ll catch up. It doesn’t take her long.

We walk along the shore, where she finally gives in and removes her shoes, the sand easier to navigate in bare feet, or so she says. The beach gives way to a dusty beaten trail, barely wide enough for one, so she follows behind a while longer until finally asking, “may I ask where we’re headed, Sir?” with a frown.

“Here,” I say, stopping seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing, except a post in the lakebed, to which is tied an aluminum rowboat.

“It’s a boat,” she says deadpan, and I must give her credit for being observant.

“Yes. And?” I ask, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, as you know, I don’t particularly like boats and especially water. You don’t really want me to get in there, right?”

But that’s exactly what I want, so I reply by handing her a life jacket.

She gives me a look I know well. It’s not quite fear, but there’s some of that in there. And it’s not quite desire, although I see that too. Not sexual desire, no. It’s the chance to accept a challenge and overcome that small amount of fear. It finally gives way to surrender.

Anchored knee-deep, the rowboat sits a few feet from shore. She analyzes the distance, then looks back at me before saying, “I’m going to get wet.” She makes it sound like a bad thing.

“You’ve never had a problem with being wet before.” I say with a grin, clearly intending the innuendo. It widens when she rolls her eyes. She’s going to regret that. “If you’re worried, take your pants off.” She doesn’t even think about it, just unzips them and steps out. If only I had known it would be so easy…

She folds them neatly and turns to place them in her bag, giving me a glimpse of the heart-shaped jewel that adorns her ass. When she stands and turns around, I’m smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“No panties?” She just shrugs, but we both know it’s a big deal. “Very nice, MrsK. Now, let’s get in the boat.”

The lifejacket in place, I tighten the straps and pull her tight against me, ensuring it holds fast, but also to get her heart rate up. Her lip’s part and a warm puff of air washes over my face, telling me I got the reaction I was going for. If I could see them, I’m sure her nipples would be hardened peaks.

I guide her into the boat, delighted with her squeal when it shifts under her. She finally sits woodenly, a hiss escaping as bare ass connects with cold aluminum, and waits for me to get in. Once more the vessel leans right, then left, and she grabs the sides, knuckles white as she holds on. The new look she has is not fear. No, she’s conquered that. Now she’s angry, and I can’t help but laugh. She’ll get over it.

From my seat at stern, I row us out of the reeds, then hand her the oars. “Pull both together. If you use one arm more than the other, we’ll turn. If you use only one arm, we’ll spin in circles. Fun, but we have places to be.” We don’t, but she doesn’t need to know that.

I watch as she gets the hang of it. It’s simple work for her. Rowing is something she does regularly, but with weights or on a machine, not on the water. Once I know she’s got it under control, I unload my bag, setting a crop across her lap.

“Know any songs, MrsK?” I ask, laughter lacing my voice.

“Rowing songs? Like Row your Boat?” she asks with mirth of her own. She’s not having fun, yet.

“Exactly like that. Sing for me, MrsK.” She gives me a look that says she thinks I’m crazy. She doesn’t like her voice, but it’s hard to mess up a nursery rhyme.

The sun has broken the horizon and birds have begun their wakeful tune. She begins hesitantly, her voice barely loud enough to be heard over the morning breeze. I demand, “louder,” and give her a sharp smack with the crop. She gasps, but like the good girl she is, does as she’s told.

“♪Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream♪,” She looks around, clarifying that she’s noticed we are not in fact in a stream, but continues dutifully. “♪Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream ♪.”

“Faster, MrsK.” I command with a renewed slap of leather along her naked inner thigh. She doesn’t know whether I mean sing, or row, so does both. By the time we get to the middle of the lake, she’s breathing heavily and says the morning chill feels like heaven.

Wordlessly, I take one arm and wrap a leather cuff around it, affixing it tight. With the other bound, I clip each cuff to the oar anchors on either side of us. That fear is back, only for a second.

I slide a blindfold over her eyes before I have her lay back, her ass on one steel seat, her middle back on another, her head resting at bow.

“Comfortable?” I ask, waiting until she’s answering to give her a few exploratory slaps with the crop. Whatever she was going to say fades away, but the sound of leather striking flesh echoes over the lake, and I wonder how far it’ll carry. Only one way to find out.

The hum of the wireless wand seems ridiculously loud on the quiet of the lake, but looking around, it won’t be quiet for long. I can see early morning boaters and fishermen making their way down the docks. With no time to lose, I push the wand against her clit, but she’s ready for me and clamps her teeth closed, panting through her nose. It would seem I’m not the only one who noticed how well sound carries. Well, she’s not the only one who enjoys a challenge.

I wait until I see the telltale signs of climax- her back arches, toes curl, fists clench- before I pull the wand away, and watch her go limp. While she’s made no noise beside her even breathing, now she lets out a low whimper. She takes two breaths, her lungs heaving in her life jacket, before I push it firmly back in place. A throaty moan is my reward.

“Hmmm, someone likes that.” I say teasingly but pull the wand away. Her thighs quiver, but she remain silent. I smack her hardened pearl with the crop. That get’s a reaction. She almost sits straight up, the boat rocking on the reflective surface of the lake.

“Careful, dirty girl. You don’t want to flip us.” She immediately stops moving. “It looks as if the first boats have left shore.” I tell her, knowing the crowd will create a new sense of awareness. “Soon, we will have more than just sound to worry about.”

I smooth the head of the wand up one thigh, then down the other, being sure to limit my contact where she needs it. On the second lap she arches her back, trying to force me to hit her spot, so I give her another smack of the crop. That does the trick.

“Okay MrsK. You’re going to sing for me. I want to hear Row Your Boat, all the way through, three times. When you’ve gotten through the last verse, you can come. But not until. Understood?”

I don’t give her time to answer. Just press the vibrator snuggly against her center.

“♪Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. ♪” The M becomes a strangled cry when I pull the wand away and replace it with the crop. Then, I strike her again, and again, but she keeps singing. Sort of. The last part of the verse comes out high pitched and forced through her teeth.

With no reprieve, I place the wand again.

She gets through the second verse, although her legs convulse, toes pointed so she’s balanced on the tips. Her knuckles are white as she grips the sides, pressing her hips into the wand. But the fear of overturning the boat keeps her motionless.

She’s halfway through the third, her voice is getting stronger. “♪Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily♪.” I grasp the wand in my other hand, take the crop in my first. “♪Life is but a, ♪” And I snap the crop. Dream comes out as a scream, and the moans of her climax soon follow. The noise bounces on the surface of the water, echoing off the shoreline. Birds take flight, and a few heads turn. I guess our time here is over.

We get back to shore, the reeds the only place not clogged with people. She jumps from the boat, getting wet no longer an issue, but slips and falls heavily on her ass. I laugh at her childlike frown, then harder when she splashes me when I tell her she’s cute.

When I go to help her up, she yanks my arm, so I fall too, then laughs at my expense. I lean in to kiss her, but we’re interrupted by a voice behind me that says, “Oh, you found it then, and made your way back. Good stuff.”

MrsK is frozen, seated in the water, and looks around, like the water’s just fine, but I know it’s cold, especially on her stinging thighs and puffy nether lips. I look at her but only find a delightful twinkle in her eye. Being caught has her aroused. It’s written all over her face.

I guess the fun’s not over.

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For those concerned that this is a dangerous act, you’re right it is. But the cuffs weren’t really attached to the oar anchors, only slid over top, and both Mister and MrsK know how to swim (although MrsK really doesn’t like it).

Header image for Row Your Boat found on Shutterstock

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Find more wickedness by hitting the bullseye.

For more true sex stories, check out Well and Truly Caught, or Yes, Sir- A True Tale or Trickery.