Dirty Little Women–Bette


Bette pulled the robe more tightly around herself as her flip-flops scraped and hopped against the laminate hallway to one of the dorms’ bathrooms.  Cold prickles of anticipation swam over the hair on her arms and neck. She had a few toys hidden among her routine bathroom soaps and sponges.

The door creaked and the sound of her loose footwear echoed loudly throughout the oblong, titled room.  Bette choose the third stall from the end—far enough from the door to increase the semblance of her privacy.

She hung the towel on the rung before pulling back the curtain and setting her basket on the bench inside the shower.  With curtain closed behind her, she turned the water hot and steamy until a head floated inches above the inwardly slopped floor.  After flinging her robe over the rail, Bette stepped under the spray, arching her body with arms in the air to feel the rivulets of water dance down her skin.

Nipples peaking hard, she gasped for breath as the water fell between her thighs, swaying against her swollen clit and readying her for play.

She reached for her basket, pulling moisturizing soap to lather against her skin, tracing the soft lines of her own breasts, the flat expanse of her stomach, the trimmed curve of her sex.  Fingers delved between her thighs and pressed along her core.  The anticipation bloomed through her this time, but she would wait until she had exactly what she wanted.

After a thorough rinse, Bette dug the other seemingly inconspicuous items from her basket—a strong suction handle, which she attached proficiently to the shower wall above the bench seat, and her favorite rubber dildo with suction cup attachment, which she fastened to the bench seat.

One final adjustment, she reached for the showerhead and turned it so that the stream would continue to fall against her, and she positioned herself above the head of her rubber cock, legs spread, and hands aiding her in her own penetration.  The thick, mushroom head popped into her, making her descent along the shaft smooth and easy.

Not quite as good as a real, warm and throbbing cock, but as her hips undulated over the shaft, her core squeezed its ridges from the pleasure mere penetration.  The pings from the water softly pelted her rolling body as she reached back for the handle.  Her body stretched upward, arms extended to keep hold of her prop, ass scraping against the faux marble bench seat.  She could have brought her slender anal probe and set it up, but she hadn’t.  She would the next time.

Spreading her legs made her fall over the rubber cock with much heavier thrusts, coiling sharp pleasure inside of her and making it spring from her mouth in breathy increments.

The pinging of the water like thousands of little fingers caressing her, winding her up as they tried to soothe her.

A bang made Bette’s body start, sending her closer to the precipice of the orgasm she so desperately needed.  She had no warm cock to play with, and she needed this to clear her mind for midterms.  The steam’s head swirled and dissipated some as the cold rush from the door made its way through the bathroom.

That cold wound around her calves and thighs as Bette dropped herself onto the rubber cock once more, grinding hard against the very ends of her.  She shifted herself with unrelenting need and passion, rebuilding the heat in her shower stall, arching herself toward the water, sharpening the angle of her penetration before the cord in her snapped, and she let out one short, gasping moan.

Her body trembled as she fell back against the faux marble wall; her core still spasmed around the invasion of her dildo before she could bring herself back to her feet.  The cock sat there, covered in her crème, erect and ready for the next round she surely needed.

Dirty Little Mermaid: Starr


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.