The Skipper made the best troughs in the water as she sped along in the sea. The wake of the boat made the water foamy with an unbridled lust from being touched and combed through just right. And at the right time of day too! The kiss of the moonlight summon-stirred something wonderful and merkind out the waves like a kind of waterboarding witchcraft of manmade creation and nature-made.
Bastian trimmed the sail and took the wheel, a stout, gawky-carved pipe curled out from betwixt his thick, hair-lined lips. The wrinkles creased around his eyes like vagrants, voyeurs of folded flesh, catching sweat in troughs of their own. Raising a hand up to visor the setting sun as he sailed, he caught sight of something glinting in the dark of the waves – like glowing eyes.
The glowing eyes stared back into his and held the gaze for what felt like days, until he blinked and they were gone. Something went bump against the hull of his ship. “Shit… what now?” he swore and went toward the direction of the bump, looking down over the lip of the boat to see the tangled body in what had to be seaweed just bobbing against the hull of his ship like a buoy.
“Oh no!” he exclaimed and immediately threw a line down – and when it wasn’t grabbed, he took the line back up and tied it in a loop, dropping it back down til it looped around the wrist and he could pull the body up more so he could coil his arms around the cold, clammy flesh and pull the rest of her up onto the deck of his ship.
Toppled over with her large body splayed over his lap, Bastian’s eyes went wide as he stared at the form he’d rescued. Long, slick body like whale blubber, pockmarks like a manatee’s wounds by motorboats across her torso.
The mounds of flesh on her chest were starting to form into something like human breasts, bright blue nipples, and her face had the nose similar to a seal’s. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking but once they were fully open and his face came into view, she shrieked and flailed and flopped away from him like a fish out of water.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, I’m not gonna hurtcha, please, calm down, calm down! Please!”
She kept shrieking. The sonar-infused sound was making the water toss and the tide rise. He looked around at how the skies started to darken, threatening a storm. He was miles away from any port, and he wouldn’t be able to weather a big storm in this skipper. Seeing the concern on his face, she fell quiet.
But Bastian’s gaze stayed studying the sky. In her silence, the sea calmed. And he looked back down at her, skin as pale as an oyster pearl, her hair and lower half were tangled in what had to be something like seaweed. She had legs, but they were covered in blood and scarring, and looked freshly ripped apart from what had to be a great big fin like a whale or a dolphin.
“There you are. You’re safe with ol’ Bastian, eh? I won’t hurtcha. I give you my word. That may not mean much to you. I’m not even sure if you understand me.” He then frowned. “Well, I don’t have much. Had a bit of a catch early on yesterday. Fancy a fish fry?” he asked. Then frowned again. “Shall I throw you back into the water? That doesn’t feel right to do – but if you want to stay along, I’ll take care of you? Promise not to hurt you. Hm? Do you … Do you understand me at all?”
She blinked her void-black eyes at him, once, then twice, and the second time was an aquatic blink with the nictitating membrane of her third eyelid. She reached out to caress the scratchy stubble of his face. He gasped at the unexpected touch and then went real still as she ran her webbed fingers over his face, his chin, lips, cheeks, his nose, and then over his eyes. It was unexpectedly stimulating.
Bastian hadn’t realized how touch-starved he was for contact. And his breath exhaled heavily as he felt a chill run through his body, making him feel warm and reminding his body that blood can move and before he knew it, he had an erection tenting his pants. She was distracted, touching his face and his soft little moan as his eyes were closed, enjoying the caresses, drawing her attention to why he made that noise. And she looked down and saw his bulge – her eyes went wide in alarm, and she shrieked again, and then started trying to scramble away.
His eyes went wide, and he looked over at her and saw her fighting to stand on legs she wasn’t used to having, and his heart hurt. He looked down. “I won’t hurt you. I … I can’t help it when my body does that! Easy. Easy. You want to go down below, I can carry you! Whoa, easy! Easy! Please don’t injure yourself. Please!” Bastian implored
And she kept scurrying away from him, with her hands, dragging her body farther and farther away from him, until she found her way into the galley, and the clatter of pots and buckets and plates made Bastian wince. He got up to his feet and slowly made his way into the galley, “Easy there! I promised not to hurt you,” he announced as he made his way slowly into the galley and found her curled up in the back corner of it, whimpering.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She curled up further into herself and shook in fear of him. He looked around and picked up a box of cheesy crackers and a box of cookies that he’d bought when he was docked at one of the ports with a big enough city to buy the kind of snacks he couldn’t find elsewhere and definitely not something he could fish for out of the sea.
“Here, food. You may enjoy these. They’re called cookies. Rather delicious, really. It’s a landlubber snack, but if you want some fish, I can fry up some fish I caught but this may hold you over until it’s ready, okay? I’ll set it down, right here,” he said and bent to scoot the box toward her and then sighed.
Moving to cook the fish, he had half a thought that if she really is a mermaid, she’d be able to eat the fish pretty much uncooked or raw. He took the fish from the cooler and offered it to her, dangling it over her head by the tail and her eyes locked onto it and followed the dangle like a cat, and he lowered it and she sniffed at it, then looked at him. He nodded.
“Yeah, it’s for you, if you want it?”
He lowered it within her reach, and she stared at it before grabbing it with both hands and digging into it with a feral hunger growl. Bastian smiled triumphantly. “Well now, that’s something.”
Leaving her to it, he took the box of cookies and dug into those himself as he fried up the shrimp and crab he also caught. The deck was soon flooded with the sunrise light. And he’d fallen asleep in his chair at the back of the galley in the nook. She watched him snore and looked down at her body.
Wiggling her toes, she then tried to get strength to stand on her feet, feeling the vitality shoot down her legs, making her nerves feel like they were on fire. The pressure on her feet was like pins and needles. She gripped the counter and splayed a webbed-fingered palm to the wall of the galley as she stood and taught herself to walk on these limbs in this waterless space.
And he stayed asleep, too deep in his dream to be stirred and summoned back to this reality by the fumbling flipper-less fish girl he’d caught. Maybe he even thought he’d dreamt her in the first place.
Taking advantage of the silence, she made her way out of the galley with slow, sloppy steps on sore, scarred limbs. She made it back to the deck, the light of the sun as she stared out across the calm sea going out forever, the dim dark mark of a port approaching. She frowned, looking back at the sound of snoring where the fisherman stayed sleeping. She stayed on, exploring the vessel she found herself on.
Hours passed before Bastian woke with a start. He looked around the galley, found himself alone, and slumped sadly. “Maybe it was a dream after all,” he mumbled to himself, ooking down at his bone-hard erection. He sighed. “It was a really good dream too.” He groaned with age as he stood up and made his way down below to his quarters. He had a small lavatory area, with a head (toilet) and an open-drain shower. He was already taking the sweaty, salty clothes from his body, and reaching to turn the nozzle on for water and dipped his head under the spray, the cold water helping him wake up. He gasped sharply at the stark sensation of the cold water sliding down his spine and along his skin.
Reaching for the shampoo to lather it into his hair, he didn’t catch or hear the footsteps approaching, nor did he notice the staring eyes watching him, taking in the vision of this naked mortal, the way his skin folded within itself with age but stayed loose and saggy in areas and taught and firm in others.
The hair under his arms, across his chest and back, not just his head, the lighter dusting of hair on his arms and legs. She tilted her head in admiration as she watched the water spit its spray against his body, and he foamed the shampoo into his salt and pepper, thinning hair. The skin was tanned like faded leather, a solid brown but a brighter, faded brown in certain places.
His hair was curly and coiled around the soap like kelp or tentacles spiraling around a finger, friendly and curious. Dipping his head into the spray, he rinsed the foam out of his hair, and his eyes closed. Water dewed on his facial hair before weeping down the cliff of his chin to land on some other place on his body or the far drop to the ground where his large, corned feet made splat sounds as he turned in the narrow space to get all the soap off his body and making sure the water hit him all over as well.
One more turn, he opened his eyes, looking for the towel he had hanging nearby, and he saw her. The gasp scraped the air with something like shock mixed with shame as he was caught in the crosshairs of her staring dark-orb eyes.
She stood naked as well. Her oyster pale skin, blue nipples, webbed fingers, her scarred legs were red on the inside, from where they ripped apart. She had no hair on her body, just thin lines of fin-like ridges along the elbow and outer thighs. Her head was adorned with some configuration that looked like a coral reef castle.
Her third eyelids moistened her eyes again in an aquatic blink, and she met his eyes. His eyes were framed with folded lines, and looked tired, weary, and at this moment, there was a startlement swaddling something soft and vulnerable like shame or shock.
“I thought I dreamed you,” he whispered in a wounded voice of loneliness and fear. She trilled some sort of coo sound and moved closer. He turned to face her, and looked down, noticing himself begin to rise again, he grabbed the shampoo bottle to block that part of his body.
Continuing to approach, she closed the distance until she was standing in the spray of water with him. And she made that cooing trill noise again, and he grit his teeth, uncertain what to do or say. But his body was rising steadily as the tide. The tip of his erection was peeking above the top of the shampoo bottle he was using to cover himself.
“M-Maybe I’m still dreaming?” he mused, and his breath caught as he felt a shiver of arousal just make his body that much harder as he stood there, like a specimen under her gaze – pinned, frozen, not sure if he moved, she’d disappear and he’d be alone again with the memory of her.
“Uhm…”
She reached out and placed a webbed finger over his lips, caressing his face again like she had the night before. And he sighed again, whimpering his self-control, holding the bottle closer to his body. The hard plastic frot against his undershaft and he closed his eyes, reveling in the touch of her webbed fingers tracing the lines of his face, running across his eyebrows, his moustache, his lips, then moving over to his ears.
He jerked and bit his lip. She looked at his reactions. The more she played with his ear, the more reactions he had, and she found that interesting and fascinating in that she kept doing it.
She fondled his ear with the kind of objectifying distance of a medical professional remixed with the innocence of a playful brat. Smirking a little at the way he was squirming from her attention, squirming and making little sounds of ‘Oooh, ohhh …’ interspersed with hitches of breath, hissing gasps and whimpers that were all consonants in a way that surpassed any form of cognitive language.
His eyes were closed, and he kept frotting against the bottle, unconsciously as he wiggled and moved from her attention to his ear. She lifted her other hand to begin petting his shoulder and his chest; the unexpected touch pulled a louder sound from his throat, followed by a tense silence infused with fear like a perfume. She took a deep breath of it, and that trill noise echoed out of her throat.
Bastian whimpered from that sound. He dimly wondered what she was saying in whatever her language was – it had to be a language. And he wished he could understand it, understand her. But as long as she didn’t stop what she was doing, as long as she didn’t recoil from him in fear and terror, he was happily ignorant for now. Her hand slid across his pec and his sensitive nipples. The bottle was starting to fold in from the pressure he was holding it against his groin. The soap was edging foam around the rim of its spout.
Bringing her hand up to his other ear to toy and massage it like she was doing to the other. He grit his teeth. “Oh Mercy…” he prayed, his hands shaking from holding the bottle to his body, the urge to stroke himself becoming too intense to ignore. He opened his eyes slowly to look at her, and she shrieked at him in warning, and he closed his eyes immediately, “Okay, okay, they’ll stay closed,” he muttered. “But if I may … at least just …”
He moved to slip one of his hands behind the bottle to grip his shaft and stroke slowly. He sighed in relief at the contact the way he needed. Her attention to his ears continued. He was aching now. His heart raced with fear from her warning, enough to give his heart a jolt but not too much that he’d gone soft; if anything, he’d gotten harder. The admonishment of her silence felt like a slap from someone he’d kneel before and call ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’ or whatever she wanted to be called.
Bastian’s hand kept stroking slowly behind the bottle. He’d stroke down the shaft then back up and cup his palm around the head, sliding his foreskin around in the way he liked that made his balls tighten threateningly. She took a small step closer to him and leaned in until he felt her breath against his earlobe. He went still, gritting his teeth around any sound that wanted to escape his throat. But when she licked her tentacle-like tongue around his ear, he whined at how good it felt, his hand stroked down hard, then up, then down hard again, then up, palm swirled the head, then down hard and squeezed the base. His legs were trembling as she made out with his ear. Her webbed hand on the other ear moved down his arm to hold his hand.
She pulsed a sound into his ear that felt like a command, and he felt all of his control melt away. The pleasure that had been mounting just erupted out of his body, and he groaned an involuntary sound of relief as he released and released. As he came and came and came and came. She kept pulsing the command into his ear, over and over, and the more she did it, the more he lost control over his body – he was just cumming relentlessly, over and over again, until there was nothing more to ejaculate and he was dry-cumming until he was overstimulated like a raw nerve – he sobbed a sound of pain. And she pulled back. She looked down at the mess on his lap. The spray of the water at their feet was foamy with his semen. She reached down and wiped the foamy white stuff from his lower abdomen and looked at it.
He chanced to open his eyes again. When he opened them in slits and she didn’t admonish him, he opened them fully and he saw her playing with his cum between her webbed fingers with a curious expression on her face. She then smirked again and licked the taste of him from her fingers. Then she looked at him and with sustained eye contact, she exhaled a trembling breath and rubbed that hand down her front until she reached her vulva and she rubbed her fingers inside the slit, rubbing his cum along her folds and the pearl of her clit.
She exhaled a feral sound of arousal, tossing her head back as her body twitched and spasmed. He looked down at her hand between her thighs. She kept shoving her whole webbed hand into her slit. Over and over – she was making rumbling noises. The boat itself was starting to rock more, the tide matching the speed and sway of her breathing. Bastian licked his lips as he watched – mesmerized.
Her free hand was stretching toward the floor of the shower and he looked – noticed how she was somehow magically pulling the fallen cum up to her hand, until it was a ball of wet fertility, and she looked at it, and switched hands, to shove that ball of cum into her pussy, rubbing it in, like he’d rubbed the shampoo into his hair earlier. As she rubbed more of him into her, the tide rocked the boat in a more pronounced pattern. Her body began to shine, and only then did she stop. She cooed and blinked her orb eyes at him. The coral of her ‘hair’ looked more vibrant, bioluminescent.
Staring at each other as the tide calmed down again. She turned and stepped out of the shower, and walked out and away. Bastian scrambled to grab his towel and then followed her up to the deck.
“Hey, wait! At least tell me your name, or if I’ll ever see you again? This can’t just be a dream. You’re real, aren’t you?”
She turned to look at him, and something like pity flashed over her features, or so he perceived it thusly. And then she turned away and climbed to stand on the lip of the ship, before she steepled her hands and dove back into the sea. He raced over to look over the rim and saw only the disturbed water where she’d dived in. He felt overcome with a sadness that was as deep as the sea. He sat there on the deck wearing only a towel for hours. It was nearing dusk again before he felt able to go find clothes and throw his nets out to catch some fish before he reached port in the next few days. It would not bode well for him to return with nothing to sell in the fish markets.
Falling asleep with his hand stuck in the box of crackers, and cookie dust in his moustache, the cookie box at his feet, empty, Bastian woke up in the galley, with a gasp again, he turned to look where the mermaid had been days before, and wondered if he’d always wake up expecting her to be there.
“Oh shit …” Bastian swore under his breath, realizing he’d forgotten to pull up the nets before he fell asleep. He raced above deck and went to one side to pull up the nets. Mostly just junk and trash. Setting the trash in the pile with the other junk he’d caught, he went to cast the nets on the other side of the boat when he saw what looked like a fish on the deck, flopping and flailing in the waterless space. It looked like the fish he’d caught and fed the mermaid … siren … whatever she was, if she even was real. He picked up the fish. And then looked back out to the sea, and in the distance, he saw the glint of a pair of glowing eyes.
“You are real …” he whispered.
And she stayed staring, watching him. And he stared back, holding the fish in his hands. He felt what had to be the wind caress his ears and wiggle its way up his shirt to circle his nipples, and it made his dick throb. His breath caught and then gave way to a laugh. “It is you,” he said with a smile in his voice, looking down at the fish. He smiled. “Yellowtail …” he then glanced up to find her still staring.
“Alright then, Lady Yellowtail. I look forward to your next visit,” he said. His voice carried on the wind and then she dipped back in the water, in a flip that flashed her tail, which was sunset yellow, with a faint blood-red line bisecting it down the middle.
