Friday, April 5, 2013


“Nice day for it!”

I paused in mid-stroke, treading water while I waited for the slim yellow kayak to draw up alongside me.

“It’s beautiful.”  I was surprised; there wasn’t usually anybody out in the bay this early in the morning… maybe a few children summoning the courage to step into the surf, and a handful of fitness fanatics chasing an early morning dip.  Usually, though, it was just the gulls and I, and the distant thrumming of a passing fishing boat.  I smiled at the young man, wondered how long he’d been following me?  It was at least fifteen minutes since I first saw him, angling the kayak through the swell in my general direction, and I’d been deliberately leading him on a dance since then.  Before that, though?  Who knows.

“You’re fast,” he spoke softly, his accent gentler than I was expecting.

I nodded.  If he thought that was fast, he should see me when I don’t want to be caught up with.  “Or maybe you’re just slow,” I said with a soft laugh.  “You on vacation here?”

“It’s not really a vacation.  More like a long weekend.  How about you?”

“No, I live here.  Where are you from?”

He named some place I’d never heard of, but I smiled knowledgeably.  It always bothers me how the slightest look of interest in such matters can transform a cute stranger into a boring know-it-all, rattling on about the joys (or otherwise) of his hometown as though it was the most fascinating subject on earth.  Thankfully, this one got the hint. “I’m Clarke,” he said, leaning forward from the cockpit of his kayak and extending a hand.  I gripped it and shook it lightly.  “Lemuria.”

He looked at me curiously.  “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you.”  I was bored treading water.  I looked around and saw the dark, surf-flecked rocks of Ferguson Island just a few hundred yards ahead.  Deserted at this time of year, apart from the colony of guillemots who called it home, I’d idled away many a day on its beaches.  “Hey, how about we race to the island?”

He squinted against the sun.  “Is there a place to land?  I feel like I’ve been in this thing all morning.  It’d be great to stretch my legs.”

“Yeah, just on the other side of that promontory… the sticky-out bit.  It’s a little difficult to see from out here, but don’t worry, I’ll wave when you get there.”  I was striking out for shore before his paddle even touched water again and, just as I’d predicted, I was already at the island, before he came into sight again.  I watched as he dragged the kayak onto the sand, and then picked his barefoot way cautiously across the weed-cloaked rocks towards me.

“Aren’t you getting out?”  Resting my arms on a large, flat rock, while the ocean caressed the rest of my body, I shook my head.  “I don’t think so, not yet.  The water’s so lovely at this time of year.”

He perched himself on the rock a foot or so away from me, his long, muscular legs trailing in the water that lapped at the very edge of his seat.  I caught myself staring, comparing the pale white of his lower limbs with the reddish brown of his arms.  The sun had bleached his hair a little, and his face had caught some color as well.  But his chest was bright white, and the tuft of hair that sprouted from it looked almost anemic.  “I guess you don’t see much sun back home,” I smiled.

“We do, but I’m usually at work when it’s out.  That’s why I wanted to come here for a few days.  Get some heat on my old bones.”

“And just how decrepit would those old bones be?” I teased.

“I’m 23.  You?”

“Close enough.”  It’s a woman’s privilege to be evasive, and he didn’t try to follow it up.  Silence fell between us, not an awkward “somebody has to say something soon” one, just a gentle hush broken by the crying of the gulls, and the lap of the tide against the rocks.  Feeling his eyes roving over my body, I continued my inspection of him.

He was wearing Speedos, and they looked good on him.  I’ve always thought it takes a certain level of confidence to wander around in public in an outfit that leaves nothing more to the imagination than the flimsiest layer of clinging wet cloth can disguise.  Especially on a day like this, when the water is still a few degrees lower than comfortable.  But the bulge that lay curled in his lap suggested Clark didn’t seem to be having any problems in that department, and I wondered how much of that I could take credit for?  Even with half of my body beneath the water, I knew I cut an alluring shape, if only because the only things obscuring my naked breasts from his view were the curtains of long wet hair that hung down from either side of my face.  How would he feel if he knew that the rest of my body was just as bare?

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”  He spoke and, for a startled moment, I wondered what he was talking about.  The bulge that my eyes were still comfortably resting upon?  Or… “the island,” he continued, as if sensing my confusion.  “The island’s beautiful.”

“It is.  I often come here, just to rest, watch the ships passing by….”

“You’re lucky.  The best I can do is sit by the fountain outside my office, and hope the pigeons don’t crap all over me.”

I laughed.  “Don’t worry, the gulls can be pretty messy when they feel like it.”  I relaxed my arms a little, relinquished my hold on the edge of the rock, and let a gentle current push me closer towards him.

He spoke again.  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I shook my head.  “No.  You?  A girlfriend, I mean.”

“No.  I did, but she dumped me a couple of months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”  I digested his words.  Did he mean he’d only ever had one?  Or only one worth remarking upon?  And what did it matter, either way?  We were here, she was wherever…. I let go of the rock and slipped beneath the water, then resurfaced with his legs on either side of me, forcing them apart as I re-emerged, and hung by my elbows from his barely-submerged knees.  He was looking at me curiously, but I didn’t speak, just allowed my hands to trail in the water, till my fingertips scraped the flesh of his thighs.

The bulge shifted a little, like a sleeping animal preparing to awaken, and Clarke sat upright, his hands folding instinctively over his lap.  I scraped his skin again and this time he leaned forward a little, masking his loins with crossed arms.  It was hard to tell, but I think his face reddened a little.

“Could you sit back a little?  I keep getting the sun in my eyes.”

He shifted slightly, but not enough.  “No, lean back like you were,” I told him.  “Please?”

His eyes screaming embarrassment, and every muscle in his body bellowing its reluctance, he obeyed, and now I could see that he was fully erect, the head of his penis poking full and flushed over the waistband of his Speedos, and straining against it too.  I moved in a little closer, felt my breasts brush his thighs and then tap against his balls.  His eyes never left me.  I don’t think they could have, even if he’d tried.

With both hands, I reached for the waistband, tugged the front of his Speedos down a little and laughed as his cock sprang gratefully to attention.  “That couldn’t have been comfortable,” I teased lightly, and he mumbled some kind of agreement, his voice lost beneath his confusion.

I touched him and he jumped.  Just my thumb and index finger, gauging the girth of his cock, squeezing it a little and a quick rub as well, on that little triangle of nerve-ends where the helmet meets the shaft.  He let out a sigh, and my fingers continued exploring, ranging gently over the helmet, a nail probing lightly into the slit at the top, a light tickle that drew a deep groan from Clarke’s chest.  I moved in a little closer, and angled him towards me, let the tip of my tongue tap the top of his cock.

“Please….”  His voice was hushed but urgent, disbelieving but desperate.  I like that.  I licked him again, concentrating my attentions on that fat, full helmet, slow and lascivious slurps that set my taste buds tingling as his flavor soaked into them, a cocktail of sea-salt, sweat and sexuality.  He gasped again, said “please” once more, and then I engulfed him, feeling his thickness splitting my jaw, but reveling in the sensation as well, the knowledge that I was being split wide open by his hard flesh.  

I plunged him into my mouth, as deep as I could and then deeper still.  He cried aloud and I held still for a moment, fearful that he might be finishing already, before I’d even got started.  And then the moment passed and I began to bob, allowing the water to buoy my body as I drifted gently back and forth, my lips slipping up the shaft and then down it again, firm enough for him to feel every movement, but gently enough that he wouldn’t erupt. Not yet.

A hand strayed onto the back of my head, pushing my face down.  I shook my head a little and he snapped back immediately.  “I’m sorry.  You don’t like that?”

Actually, I do.  But not now.  Not yet.  There’s a time and a place and we’re nowhere close yet.  I shook my head again and then bit down gently, felt my teeth graze the flesh about halfway down his shaft.  He uttered a little yelp that resolved itself into a groan, so I bit again, just a little bit harder, and a little further down.  And then again, higher this time, and I felt him stiffen and strengthen in my mouth, straining against my teeth.

Now I was biting firm and fast, one hand gripping his cock at the base while my teeth ranged the length of his shaft, nips that were never sharp enough to hurt, but which sent shudders of excitement coursing through his body, and rippling through mine as well.

I stopped and felt his prick relax a little; I restarted and he’d tense again.  It was as if his very flesh was reaching out to my teeth, begging them to press down again, knowing that when they did so, my cheeks would sink in as I sucked on his shaft.  Up and down I traveled, pausing in places to vary the pace… pulling him all the way out of my mouth, then taking in barely the tip of his helmet, and sucking so hard that it felt as though his entire body was turning inside out, so loud did he cry as I pulled on the flesh.

Pre-cum was pouring from him, its tart and tangy taste tumbling into the darker, saltier tones of his flesh.  I swallowed hard, and then swallowed him, taking his cock as deep as I could, feeling the head hit the back of my throat as my nose grazed his pubes and my chin met his balls.

He was so close, now.  I could feel the pressure building, feel his muscles tighten as his balls grew taut.  His prick seemed to swell even fatter in my mouth, until I could barely hold it all in.  My mind was whirling.  Should I grant him that ecstatic release? Or should I draw back till he holds back, in the knowledge that the next time will be even more explosive?

Make him wait.  I released him, and squeezed him, finger and thumb tight upon his helmet, till I felt the tension ebb and his breathing return to normal.  “Next time,” I whispered, and his hands were in my hair again, caressing and curling it around slender fingers.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“You’ve got me,” I replied.

“I want to taste you.”  He was insistent.

“You will,” I said softly.  “But not yet.  First, I want to taste you.  All of you, every last drop.”  It was time, after all.  My hands on his hips, my mouth around his shaft, I threw every ounce of my strength into him, sucking and bobbing, my tongue twisting seaman’s knots around his throbbing flesh.  His breathing was almost tearful now, sharp clipped gasps that hitched faster and louder as his moment grew closer.  I drew one hand sharply down to his balls, squeezed them as his hips started pounding back at my face, then I let one finger dip to the rim of his ass.

I knew I needed to time this just right – and I did.  With a cry and a buck that came close to flinging me backwards, the first flood of hot thick cum filled my mouth around his prick, as my finger slid up to its middle in his ass.  I was holding him in mid-air while he poured everything he had into me.  I could feel his orgasm leaking from the corners of my mouth, slicking his cock as it slipped in and out of my greedy lips, and I was swallowing as he spurted, glorying in the taste that flooded me, feeling it slide down my throat as fresh waves pursued it.

His hands were on the back of my head again, holding me still as his hips fucked me wildly, and the water around me churned as his legs kicked and splashed out the passion of that moment.  And then he fell back, still panting aloud, and that magnificent torrent subsided as abruptly as it began, just the occasional last gasp spurt that shivered onto my tongue for me to hungrily, gratefully, swallow.  I released him from between my lips, cradling his softness in one hand and laying it gently on his stomach, while my other hand wiped the stray cum from my chin, so that I could lick it off my fingers.

Clarke lay back, eyes closed and body propped on his elbows.  “You’re still in the water?”  It was a statement as much as a question.

“I am.”

“I want to hold you.”

“In a minute.”  I still hung to his legs, just my head and shoulders out of the water, feeling the warm current playing against my flesh.  I laughed lightly.  “Tell me, Clarke, have you ever seen a mermaid?”

He sat up a little, opened his eyes, laughed alongside me.  “Mermaids?  Sorry, no.  Never seen little green men from Mars, either.”

“You don’t believe in them, then?”

He shook his head.  “No, I can’t say that I do.”  And I sighed, because I’d heard those words so often, from so many different men, that they didn’t even disappoint me anymore.  I let go of his legs and slipped beneath the waves, and the last that Clarke saw of me, because I made sure that he saw it, was my long, slender, beautiful tail, flashing iridescent in the sunlight as I swam away.

I didn’t even say goodbye.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wonderful! I wasn't expecting the twist at the end at all!

Maybe you've discovered how mermaids nourish themselves ;p

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