This gallery contains 8 photos.
This gallery contains 8 photos.
Starr lifted herself onto the edge of a tall stone, one that jutted meters above the water. Her edge shielded her from the beach. The slate cold and smooth under her newly bare ass sprouted a tight shaking along her arms, her shoulders, and her breasts. Her nipples tightened into hard pearls.
Life under the water was free, except for this. Except for sex. Mers couldn’t have sex under water with their tails; they couldn’t even touch themselves, and Starr was sick of it. She needed the release, and most days, she could barely sneak away.
Spreading her thighs, her hot sex pressed against the smooth ridges beneath her. Her hips jerked, fingers gripping that ledge to feel that sharp cold. The mere change in temperature shocked her system but wasn’t enough. No, she’d been waiting too long to get away. Grinding into the stone, Starr dragged her nails across her left inner thigh. Sparks tangled up her spine and a moan tangled itself around her tongue.
She needed more. Starr dipped her mouth into the salty Mediterranean Sea and sang to the fish. In moments, an Ophidion Barbatum nipped at her outstretched toes. Her fingers danced along his back before she took hold of his tail. He danced under the water for her in attempts to swim away, which was exactly what she wanted.
Her hips shifted again, forward and toward the edge of her rock so that the bottom of her ass cheeks hung over into the open water. Holding onto the fish with both hands, she pulled him between her thighs and closed her legs around his quivering form. Starr took precaution with his scales, knowing what it felt like to snag one in her mermaid form, so she gently pressed him against her, holding his tail firmly but not roughly as he continued his struggle.
She moaned, soft and light and nothing compared to the sighs and whispers of the Sea. Heat and cold battled along her skin, inside of her as the Barbatum rubbed and wiggled against her folds, against her clit. Starr arched her back, reaching above her for a place hold on the stone.
“Posiedon,” Starr called out at the Sea. The Barbatum had opened her folds and wiggled his back deeper inside of her without giving her what she really wanted. She needed penetration to be truly satisfied, which she’d rarely ever achieved.
Her fingers found a ledge to cradle some of her weight as she rounded and thrust her hips in the open water, against the struggling fish. He slowed, and she squeezed him enough to encourage his struggles as the waves rolled over her elongated body. Her torso sank and crested against the waves, her breasts bobbing across the surface of the water. The gentle embrace of the water lapping at her nipples, encouraging her motions, her thrusts against the poor, tired Barbatum, and a wetness seeped from her—the kind of sticky wet that came from her arousal, from the tight winding down the center of her body.
She cried again, louder as her gyrating hips found a protrusion in the slate under her. A nub curved up, catching her between her spread cheeks, against her rear entrance. Arching herself hard, she guided herself over it, igniting a sharp resistance in her flesh.
The pleasure focused hard inside of her, turning into a stream of raw energy pushing harder and faster at her sex. Heavier and heavier, an orgasm shoved its way through her core, making her convulse around the Barbatum before she released him and sank against her salty escape.