“I want to suck your cock,” I moan, twisting my hips, rubbing my thighs together, begging for some release.
“Open your mouth,” he demands. I look at him, puzzled. Like this? Not on my knees? I am stymied by geography, spoiled by jump cuts. “Open your mouth,” he repeats, holding my head still. I lick my lips and open my mouth, and he slides his cock inside, hotter there than on my face. I flick my tongue around the head, tasting more of his pre-come, thirsty for it. He flexes his hips and begins to fuck my mouth.
The fear strikes me that I will feel as ashamed about this as I do the morning after an extended masturbatory session, waking up in sheets that reek of my cunt, melted ice dampening the blanket, my vibrator purring weakly under the bed, books of erotica lying open, their spines irreparably bent. That moment of cold separation from ecstasy, cleaning up. The morning after. But that fear is subsumed by the fact that a man, with an amazing body, true eyes, and a soft voice, wants to use me like this, and that I will not wake up alone.
He pulls out, sits back. I am gasping for air. His cock is even more swollen, his balls tight and high and heavy. Doesn’t he want to come? Was I doing it wrong? “No, baby,” he says, chucking me under the chin, reading my mind. “You’re perfect. But I want to taste you, and then I want to fuck you.” I shudder, relieved that my orgasm is finally imminent.
He climbs off of me, bends over, takes one of my nipples in his mouth. I buck at the sensation as his hand finds my other breast, pulls the other nipple taut, pinches, squeezes. He suckles, hard, biting occasionally, pinching harder, and as hard as he does it I want it harder. I want it dirty.
I’m writhing against my restraints, miserable that I cannot pull his head to my breasts, make him hurt me with those fingers and teeth. He moves his mouth to the other nipple, slides his hand down my side, down my thigh, back up. I shiver with anticipation, feeling his cock throb against my leg and my cunt answer. His fingers tickle their way back up, tease the lips of my pussy, so swollen it hurts, and then he slips one finger inside me, thrusts, a second finger, thrusts, a third, stretching me wide, slamming in so the heel of his hand hits my clit and my body jerks in a tiny climax. He moves his head from my breast, pushes my legs apart, lies between them. His tongue hovers above me for a moment, and I hold my breath until he finds the bud of my clitoris and flicks it ever so lightly, once, twice.
I moan, struggle against my bonds again, push my hips up, and he finally humours me, stroking his tongue along my clit harder, faster, fucking me with his fingers, and I’m crying out for him. It only takes a few minutes, and I am coming, screaming, writhing, my cunt squeezing his fingers again and again, the release after such denial so perfect. He waits for me to finish, pressing his tongue flat against my clit until it stops pulsing, the aftershock of the quake settling around his fingers, and then he pulls himself up, pulls me up by my shoulders, and unties me.
“Roll over,” he tells me, and I do, drawing myself up on all fours. He pushes my knees out with his, and kneels between my legs, poises the head of his cock at my weakly shuddering cunt-lips, wraps his hands around my hips, and pulls me back. I settle over his cock, so stiff I can feel it, iron-like inside me, feel every ridge of my pussy as he pushes in. He sets the rhythm using my hips, pulling, pushing. We are groaning together, his fingers are bruising my skin when we move faster, the sound of our bodies smacking together filling the air. He pulls one hand around, rubs my clit, pushes me to orgasm one more time and as I start to call out, howl into the air with my head thrown back, he pushes off me, forces me over onto my back, wraps my hand around the shaft of his cock until it throbs. I push back once, tightening the skin, and it happens, as my cunt is still pulsing from his absence, his come shoots out, the way I wanted it to, on my tits, my stomach, my face, my tongue reaching out obscenely, begging to taste it as it pools, warm and white all over my body.
Panting, we stop our movements, the throbbing subsides, recedes. I lay beneath him and watch his chest rise and fall, his face lifted to the ceiling, my hand still wrapped around his softening cock. He looks down at me, slick with sweat and his come, and smiles. “Good girl,” he says softly, and I smile. Calm. Unembarrassed. Quiet.
The Little Mermaid
Cecilia Tan
When I was young, a wise old sea cow told me of the four elements: water, earth, fire, and air. At the time I had laughed, for I had never known a world other than the watery kingdom my father ruled, the softness of kelp beds and the caresses of the currents. I could not imagine what she described, her great green eyes focused on a place far away, the hardness of earth, the burning of fire, the lightness of air.
All that changed on the day I came of age. On that day I swam to the surface, as every mermaid must do when she seeks her heart’s desire. I thought it a joyous day, and yet I could taste the salt of my father’s tears in the water as my tail swept me from him, far and fast.
When I came upon the surface the first time, I saw the spray fly up into the moonlight like pearls. The Moon! I called out to her with a sea song, having heard so much about her as a child. She smiled down on me and I swam on my back, feeling the rush of foam over my skin. So this was air! Air tickled and made my nipples pucker where they broke the surface. Air caressed and teased as it blew this way and that.
In the moonlight I saw a great shape across the flat surface of the sea. It groaned and I swam closer to it. From my place in the water I could see its shape, so similar to one my sisters and I had found cracked open at the bottom. A ship. And then I heard another sound, shouts and voices.
Far above me, leaning on a railing, was one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. He had a face like a comely merman, only his hair shimmered gold in the moonlight. He wore a white shirt with a circle of gold across his brow. He stood back from the railing then, tall and upright, and shook back his shoulders, as if he had leaned there too long. He walked then, on back flippers long and stalky, along the edge of the ship.
I waved, but he did not see me, his eyes fixed in the direction of a far-off shore.
I followed the ship as they continued towards that shore, as the clouds gathered and covered the moon, and as the storm began. As a daughter of the sea I had nothing to fear from the waves, but as the storm built, the ship was tossed. And as sea and sky battled, the ship split apart, and men spilled into the water like sand from an overturned shell. I could save but one, and I found him struggling for the surface. I calmed him with a sea song and buoyed his body with mine until the storm passed and a rosy dawn lit the sky.
When he woke, we floated near his destined shore. I lay on my back in the water, his head cradled between my breasts, humming softly to myself.
“I’m dead and gone to heaven,” he said to himself as he opened his eyes. “And you’re an angel.”
His hands crept along my ribs and caressed my nipples as gently as the breeze. His legs hung into the water, one on either side of my tail. He blinked as if he expected to wake up at any moment. Then he leaned his head toward mine, and kissed me.
If his touch was like air, his kiss must have been fire. It started like a current of warm water, flowing down my body from my mouth to the tip of my tail. But as his lips and mine moved across each other, the warmth became almost unbearable, until I knew what I felt was burning. The sun rose then, a ball of hot fire into the sky, and I cried out with an ecstasy so intense it hurt.
“Is this a dream?” he said, then, brushing his fingers along my cheek. His arms circled my shoulders and I felt his body then, against mine, where my tail met my torso. He pulled his legs together as I turned us in a slow circle and he pressed firm against me, as a part of him became tall and upright and as hard as I imagined the earth to be. I wanted to feel him press harder, but in the water we slid past each other too easily. I locked my arms over his spine and took us in to shore.
The waves obliged and carried us up onto the sand, where I felt the weight of his body settle onto me. We kissed again, and as the sun blazed hot on
my skin I held him tight. I had never felt such pleasure or agony as the way I burned for him. His eyes were closed now as his hips rocked like a boat on the waves, groaning like the ship with each sway. But this wasn’t right, and I knew it. The burning was deep inside me now, where neither of us could touch. We rolled in the edge of the surf and I looked at the part of him that stood now like the mast on the ship. The yearning part of me knew I wanted to have him inside me, and I knew of no other way than to open my mouth and drink him in. He gasped as I slid my wet mouth over the hardness that was his essence, and I nursed upon him like a hungry calf at a sea cow’s teat. Then came a wave of saltiness that was the taste of home.
He gasped and blinked then, and looked up into my face, then hastily down at the rest of me. He stifled a cry and then rolled to one side, hands clutching at the wet sand. “You, you’re a . . .”
He said no more as a voice from up the beach came to us then. “What, ho! Who’s there?”
More people on stalky legs were up on the dunes, and they began shouting as he stood. I dove into the water, then, knowing somehow that I should not be seen there on the sand. I was still full of the burning, but knew I could not stay. Does not water quench fire? I dove deep, but still I burned.
I came after a time to the cave of a sea witch, an old mermaid who had spent so much of her life at the bottom of the sea that her hair was green like kelp and her skin glowed like a jellyfish. And I asked her if there was anything she could do to ease the pain I was feeling.
“Pain, is it?” gurgled the sea witch. “What sort of pain?”
I described to her as best I could, how it felt like hunger, only it wasn’t in my stomach, it was lower down, how it felt like fire, only it didn’t harm me.
“And does it ever feel better?”
Here I hesitated. For I knew the one time it felt like pleasure was when I was with him. So there was nothing else I could do but to tell her of my golden-haired man from the ship.
“Man from a ship!” She cackled and schools of small fish darted away from her. “Oh, you poor thing, there be only one thing to ease your pain then.” She dove into her cave and came up with a shell. She carefully pried it open to reveal a tiny blue pearl. “Swallow this,” she said, rolling it into my hand.
I asked what it was, but all she would say was, “The Pearl of Desire. When you find what you most desire, you will have it. But in trade you will give up the two things that made you one of us, your tail, and your sea song.”
But of course I swallowed the Pearl, because I could not know then what a price it was to pay. I swam back to the shore where I had left the man from the ship but of him there was no sign. I went along the coast then, until I came to a cliffside. In the moon’s light I could see the palace built above the water, and see the flickering of firelight, dancing bright like my desire. I swam into a calm lagoon toward the sound of voices.
I watched from the water as a man and a woman emerged from the darkness of the trees. It was he, and my heart leaped in my chest to see him. He had a crown of flowers upon his head and his white shirt had been replaced by a patterned cloth around his waist. He pulled the woman down to the sand and pushed the cloth aside and I could see then what I had wanted so inexplicably before. The hard part of him, rising like a finger of coral. “Come here,” he said to the woman.
“My prince, we should not,” the woman replied. “If the princess finds out . . .”
“The princess is busy just now,” he said, his voice liquid and low. “And I am on fire.”
So he too burned. My breath came in quick gasps, the air seemed to fill my head as I watched him turn her body over, as I watched her legs spread.
I pulled myself up out of the water then, and as my body emerged from the shore I felt as though a sword were cleaving me in two. I bit back my cry of pain though, as I felt the breeze in the space where my tail had been, in the space between my legs where now there was a hungry, burning mouth.
Up the beach I heard the sound of sand as someone ran. And then a soft curse.
He was sitting alone, his arms on his knees, his jaw as hard and set as a stone.
I opened my mouth only to find I could not speak. I had no sea song to seduce him with this time. So instead I crawled towards him.
He looked up to see me and his eyebrows knit together as I came near.
I tried to remind him of the sunrise – I touched my nipples as he had, gentle like the breeze. I rolled onto my back and opened my legs to feel the cool air fanning the burning need there.
He did not ask any questions then, did not even pause to kiss me. Instead he heaved his body over mine and sank that long finger of his flesh into me, pinning me to the sand. It felt like a sword cleaving me in two, but then water flowed from somewhere in me, and the fire melted into warm pleasure, and he dove and plunged into me until we were both quenched.
While we lay upon the sand I marvelled at the creation of man. Hard like the earth, burning like fire, gasping for air and then leaking the water of the sea through his skin. He looked at me looking at him and laughed. “What is it, my darling? Are you going to scold me, too?”
I shook my head.
“No? I finally escape the cold and chill of the mountains, my father’s sour temper, and the admonitions of the priests, to be married to an island princess so my father can rule the shipping lanes, and what do I find? Her people may not wear much, but they are just as afraid of lust as mine. Maybe more.”
He paused, as if waiting for me to say something. When I did not, he went on. “You look familiar. Have we met before?” He squinted at me in the light of the moon, then said to himself, “Must have been a dream.”
I touched him on the shoulder to prove to him I was real. He laughed again. “Can you believe I was rescued from a shipwreck? I thought I was dead, but I had this dream . . .” He looked over his shoulder toward the flickers of torches beyond the trees. “A lustful dream . . .”
He pulled me to my feet and it felt as though pins and needles were being driven through my skin. But I smiled and took a step to follow him, to be with him.
“Can you speak?” he asked then. I shook my head. He nodded to me then, smiling, and his smile made me as warm as the sunrise.
I followed him through the trees, up the hill, to a wide terrace of hard stone. “Look, everyone!” he cried. “Look what I’ve found!”
People came running from inside the palace bearing more torches, all of them dressed as he was, with bright cloth wrapped around their bodies. “My prince!” one of the men said, “where did she come from?”
A woman came out of the crowd and wrapped a cloth around my bare skin. “She must have been in the shipwreck also, the poor thing. What is your name?”
I could not say a thing.
“She’s still in shock from being half-drowned,” said a man.
“So beautiful!” said another.
Finally the prince quieted them with a gesture of his hands. “Yes, yes, she was on the ship with me. In fact, she was my maidservant, and I’d thought her lost with the rest of the hands. She will be my maidservant again, once she regains her speech. Isn’t that right . . . Emerald?”
I nodded, not knowing of what he spoke, only knowing that he seemed to want me near him. And to be near him was all I wanted then.
He came to me again in the morning. The prince had his own quarters, a wing of the palace all his own. I had slept in a bed as soft as any kelp but as light as air, and then had gone to the bathhouse, where hot water sprang up from within the earth. Again I was amazed to find water, earth, fire, and air, all in one place. And again my prince came to me, and I tasted his salt with my tongue, and took him deep inside me. I could wrap my legs around the trunk of his body, and then even if we slid into the steaming water – which we did – I could still have him inside me. “My salvation,” he breathed into my ear, as his flesh spear plunged into me and out, as I squeezed him hard. “And so you rescue me yet again, from my own burning need.”
/> I wanted to tell him what pleasure he brought me. I wanted to ask him about this land. I wanted to tell him that everything was new to me and to ask him his name. He lifted me out of the bath onto the wet stone and I felt the roughness of his beard like sand between my legs. His tongue wriggled like a fish as it nestled into the soft spaces there and sparked the fire of my desire again and again. With another sudden rush of pleasure like a plunge into deep water, I clamped my knees around his head. But I had no voice to cry out with.
That afternoon I was taken to see the princess. Women came and dressd me and braided my sea-tossed hair. They were very grave as they led me to her chamber, or perhaps they did not wish to speak and remind me I was mute.
The guard there was about to open the door when my prince came running up to us.
“You must not enter, my lord,” the guard said, stepping in front of the door, his arms crossed over his chest. “You must not lay eyes on the princess until the day of the wedding.”
“Where are you taking Emerald?” he asked.
One of the women who had dressed me looked up with dark eyes. I wondered if this was the woman he had tried to take on the beach last night, for she fixed him with a hard stare. “She will not be harmed,” she said. “The princess merely wishes to . . . inspect her.”
My prince stepped back, then, and went back down the hall towards his rooms.
The princess sat upon a throne of fine polished wood, worked with gold and silver, and wore elaborate layers of cloth. The throne room was round like a cave, the slatted windows letting a sea breeze blow through. She looked over my white skin, which had only seen the sun once in my life, yesterday, and nodded. She turned to the woman who had spoken to my prince.
“She cannot speak?”
“No, not a word,” the woman replied.
“She can tell no secrets, then.” The princess sat back in her chair, her eyes on the far edge of the room.
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