I reached for him. "Shallower water, I think, and lie down." He nodded in agreement and I towed him shoreward, to where the water was shallow enough for us to lie propped up on one arm, using the other hand to explore each others' bodies. Deep enough for him, shallow enough for me. His hand ran down my side, over my legs, fascinated. My hand ran down his side, an equal fascination with his tail. It felt smooth and warm, not scaly at all. Back up, and hands on cocks, different but good. Mine hanging free, swelling under his touch even in the cool water, his sheathed in that slit in his tail until I stroked it forth. More exploration, him fascinated by my arse, cupping one buttock. Me realizing that he was very different, dolphin-like with everything at the front, this man I could fuck face to face without any contortions. He saw my reaction and pulled me on top of him.
A frantic tug at his body, pulling him a little further up the slope, and then I could stop worrying about whether he could breathe, the water here shallow enough. I knelt straddling him, stroking one hand down the front of his tail, trying to find the right place. Then I had it and pushed a finger inside, testing that I wouldn't hurt him. He groaned with pleasure, not pain, eyes shut. Reassured, I lay down, fitting myself to him, into him. Exquisite tightness around me, his cock rubbing against my belly, muscular tail flexing between my legs. Then he pulled my arse, pulled me all the way in, fire around my cock. One hand up to my head, pulling me down for a kiss.
And there we'd been worried about the surf making it difficult to breathe... Arms around each other, me fucking him with my cock, him fucking me with his tongue, long slow strokes, then quicker strokes, and quicker, always in time with each other. Water lapping around us, a pleasant tickle against my skin, sun warm on my back contrasting with cool splash. Hard and fast, and then he was still under me and I gave him one last stroke and he was clutching me to him, tight around me, tongue filling my mouth and I came.
We clung together for a few seconds, then reluctantly pulled apart, sitting up to breathe. I had to support him with one arm, the water was too shallow to support his weight and he couldn't get his tail quite right for balance. He leaned against me as we gasped for air. Then I managed to pull him into my lap, where he could sit more comfortably, and we simply held each other for a while.
He broke the silence. "I must commend Pearl on her good taste." "Thank you. I think."
He leaned close and nipped my earlobe. "Well, did you like it?"
"Should think that was obvious," I muttered.
"Enough for another go?"
"Good god, haven't you people ever heard of a refractory period?" "Yes," he murmured into my ear, and by god that was making me think about not having a refractory period. "We know about you land people and your little problem."
"Little!"
"I wasn't referring to your physical dimensions." He sat upright again, and grinned smugly at me. "Those are more than adequate, thank you."
"And being able to get it up again?" "Well, actually, we do have to wait a little while..." "Good," I said, and kissed him, long and hard. "I've got an idea. Back to the rock pool..." I pushed him out of my lap. He looked puzzled, but went. "Let me pull you out where you won't be scraping your tail on the sand." I stood up and tugged him into deeper water, where he could move comfortably. Deep enough to be wary of him, but then he'd come into water shallow enough for him to be wary of me. I waded back to shore. "Meet you there. I can walk it faster than I can swim."
Back at the rock pool and I walked around it, checking the edge, Malachite watching me. As I'd thought, there was a spot where the rock dropped vertically into the pool, with a flat ledge out of the water that at this time in the tide was at the right height for me to lean on and the floor of the pool shallow enough for me to stand on and still breathe. I should have thought of this to begin with, but we'd both panicked in our separate ways and away from the rock pool altogether had probably been the best idea after all. I slipped into the water and called him over. He rested his hands on my shoulders, lifting himself up slightly. He was shorter than me, or at least the human half was, and had just enough depth of water not to be scraping the flukes of his tail on the bottom. I held his waist, giving him a little more support. "Now, I think we can both be happy here."
"Very much so." He grinned at me. "I think I'd like a closer look at the differences. Let go a minute." I did so and he disappeared below the surface of the water, where he started examining the differences, very closely indeed. Then his mouth closed around my cock, sucking first gently, then harder. Tongue moving over my cock and, ye gods and little fishes, water being sucked over the surface. I shuddered and grabbed his head, forcing him further on to me, and then guiltily let go, worrying about choking him, drowning him.
I needn't have worried. Like I said, ocean-living air-breathers... I was close to coming when he finally surfaced and very close to simply collapsing. Instead I grabbed him and pulled him close, kissing him again. He held me tightly, not just arms but that incredible tail twining around me. Then he let go. "Turn around."
I did so, reaching up to pull my arms onto the rock ledge, legs dangling free in the water. A trail of kisses down my spine, all the way down, and I spread my legs as much as I could. His tongue probed my hole, his hand cradling my balls, all with the gentle slap of water against my back. I rested my head on my arms and fought down the urge to thrust, letting him have his way, letting him sate his curiosity about my strange body.
He surfaced again, one hand on my shoulder for balance, the other at my arse, opening me up. "Tell me if it hurts. I've never done this before."
I was surprised at that, he seemed experienced, and then realized what he meant -- that he'd never done it with someone of my shape before, rather than someone of my gender. "You're doing fine."
"Good." He bit gently at my shoulder. "Maybe we can manage it a bit more slowly this time." He certainly managed his entry slowly, I was squirming in pleasure as he pressed in, urging him on, finally pleading with him to hurry up and shove it in. "No," was the simple, smug answer I got. Then he was seated in me, thrusting gently, and I was going crazy with desire. I thought it couldn't get any worse and then it did. He wrapped one hand around my cock and squeezed. He murmured in my ear, "It's quite a novelty being able to do it this way around." Of course, it would be for him, it might not even be physically possible to do it from behind with one of his own people. "I like being able to hold your cock while I fuck you," he said, and I realized that my new lover had a devastating line in dirty talk. And he wasn't even doing it on purpose, which only made it worse.
Somewhere about that point my brain went on holiday, which would no doubt have pleased my doctor as she'd been nagging me on the subject for some weeks. I didn't think I'd tell her how I'd gotten laid, though. I simply floated there while a devastatingly attractive man told me how much he enjoyed playing with my cock, while demonstrating same, and simultaneously fucking me senseless. I could feel myself building up to it and heard myself whimpering in pleasure, and then I was coming, one long glorious stream into the water.
I sagged onto the ledge, unable to do anything else to support myself. His weight sagged on top of me, rubbing me against the rock. The rock was smooth, but it wasn't that smooth. "Get off me a mo."
"Sorry." He pulled away, which wasn't what I wanted. I wanted the body contact afterwards, just a bit more comfortably. I turned over reluctantly and swam over to the bit of rock I'd first suggested, grumbling internally all the way. It wasn't fair to have to exercise after taking a bit of exercise. Then I hauled myself out and flopped on the rock. "C'me here."
"Why?" he asked, all defensive now.
"Want a cuddle."
He looked at me warily, then swam over and leaned on the rock edge without getting out of the water. "That doesn't look very comfortable." I hauled myself more or less upright, looked around and discovered that my clothing was in reach. Wet, but softer than the rock. I folded up the shorts into a pillow for me and the tee-shirt into a pillow for Malachit
e, put them both on the rock, his next to the water, and lay down again and closed my eyes. "I'm tired and I want a cuddle. This is normal post-coital behavior in my species, even if it isn't in yours." Maybe it wasn't, at that.
Sound of splashing, then wetness running under me. I reached out and found a warm wet body to put my arm around. Warm wet tailed body. "Sorry, pet. Should have thought. This isn't very comfortable for you, is it? We'll have to think of something, I can't just lie there and float afterwards like you."
"You'll be here tomorrow then?"
Like sister, like brother. This one wasn't convinced either that I wouldn't decide it had all been a dream to forget as quickly as possible. "As soon as the tide's up. Ask your sister if you don't believe me."
"The only thing I'll be asking her is to stay away for a bit. Not that she will."
*** Actually, she did, for a couple of days at least, and then she turned up all pleased with the success of her matchmaking. Nosy little cow. We eventually solved the problem of a bed to lie in afterwards. One of those inflatable mattresses floating in the rock pool did the trick, easy to get onto, easy to get off, for both of us. Of course, his horrible little sister is the same as any horrible little sister seeing her brother floating on an inflatable in a swimming pool and thinks it the world's greatest delight to come sneaking up underneath and tip it over. I can see I'm going to have to introduce her to some nice man to keep her quiet. Turn about is only fair play, after all.
Sidhe Stoops to Conquer
By Emily Veinglory I've always been big for a Boggle, so getting into the box was nae easy. My Ma was an average sort of house pixie, broad as she was tall and twinkle-eyed. She was a whiz at turning milk sour and crackers soft, with a sideline in blocking the plughole with hair the color that nobody in the house had -- that kind of trouble being a Boggle's trade and calling. My Da was no use of any kind and no bigger than a rabbit at his most, but I was twice as big as both of them together at almost the size of an eight-year-old human child. But thanks be to Boggle magic I could get as small as a mouse, albeit one as heavy as two bricks, if I concentrated hard enough.
Now, like any teen I was feeling a bit put out at living in the same pantry, of the same apartment, on the same close, of the same boring old Edinburgh street as I had since I was a kitten. My parents were both dead after they got a little too pissed one night and got seen by the mistress of the house, up late at night to let the cat out. That's the way with Boggles, house pixies that is, we are out and about do our mischief at night mostly, but if we get seen by a human it's instant death, so quick they don't even know they've seen us, nothing left but a sad little breeze and a smell like rain's coming. Needless to say city Boggles don't generally live long, but being a sociable and fertile sort, the place was crowded enough for all that there was a wake most weeks.
So when our human folk, the Smith's oldest son, set to move out to the little village of Penicuik, I reckoned I might go with him and leave a quarrelsome pack of siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparent and leering unrelated females of all shapes and sizes... leave all of them well behind. The old folk shook their heads and said that the country was full of wild beasts, dark woods and big bad Sidhe -- the true elves who cooked little Boggle children for breakfast. But I reckoned anywhere that would hire Spotty Bob, the most useless man alive, couldn't be all that dangerous. Besides I like the idea of a house with just Bob in it, he was mostly at work or asleep and about as observant as an eyeless potato. I just hoped the house he was in wasn't already riddled with Boggles even more uncouth than my own benighted kin.
I took a deep breath and shrank myself down to mouse size and wiggled myself into a box in a gap up between a pile of reference books and a wad of summer clothing. I relaxed myself out to a slightly more comfortable guinea pig size and set to waiting. If Spotty Bob ripped the box open the second he got in I'd be for it. But in the middle of a Scottish December it didn't seem likely he'd have an urgent need for a thesaurus and a pair of swimming trunks.
Around dawn I felt the box shift and heft up. "Bugger me," Bob muttered at the unexpected weight, as he headed down the stairs.
Perish the thought. After a full night and a day scrunched up small I felt like I was having the stitch, a concussion and a bad case of constipation all at once. Nevertheless I waited until it was really well and truly the dark of night, after Bob had gone through his usual, brief ablutions and started to snore with vigor. I wiggled and fought and squeezed myself up and out of the corner of the box where it wasn't taped down properly.
The living room was dusty and occupied only by boxes, a hall led away and around a corner to the room from which the snoring emanated. I stretched up to my full impressive-for-a-Boggle height and smiled smugly. I sniffed about the room, my tufted ears twitching at every foreign creaking sound. I started with the rooms, living, box, spare bed, kitchen, bathroom... skirting the bedroom door to the cloakroom. Just the fridge in the kitchen and no larder but you can't have everything.
I slipped under the door into the basement and through the crumbling bricks into the wall-space where I could feel fully secure. This led to the loft and ceiling space, cavernous and containing nothing but cozy spaces and plugs of pink insulation. For almost an hour I felt supremely pleased that the house was empty of Boggles, or any sign they'd been there. There were not even the little signs left in passing, scratched or crossed twigs, plaited fibers or painted eyes. If any Boggle had ever been in this cottage they'd not tarried even a single night.
I perched on a roof beam and peeped out through a small gap in the unkempt slates. There were three other houses nearby, nestled between shaggy hedges before the vista gave way to smooth paddocks full of dirty sheep. I began to wonder why my oh-so-ubiquitous kind had never tarried in this house and for the first time I began to worry.
I slipped out onto the roof and skittered up to its peak to peep over. From this vantage I could see there were fully six cottages clustered together in one quarter of a square intersection that was formed so that the cars headlights could reach me as they passed. I could pop over to the other houses when I had a better feel of the place, but something told me they would be empty, too. In a sudden adolescent turn of mood I realized that even the pestering dollies of the close would be better than no company at all. If only I'd known some lad to ask to come with me, but Boggles are not much given to such things, as far as I could tell. Only my own unfortunate, chaste and twice-fey self.
It was a cold night with a brisk breeze and my thin tunic wasn't enough to keep off the chill. I fidgeted a moment, not ready to go in but knowing I should find a warm nook to rest for the day. The sky was so large and dark out in the country and the clouds rushed by, blanketing the stars. I crouched down, listening to the dry hedges rustling and a strange whistling that came upon the wind.
Something hit me hard from behind and I flew through the air. Some instinct guided my flailing hand and I caught the guttering which groaned and bent, but held. Not even looking around I shrank to cat size and scampered for my hole, then down to a mouse I clambered through. My heart pounded and my little body shook as I cowered under a roof beam, my ears straining. Being not bold I stayed exactly there, hearing things that might be the wind and might not gambol about the creaking rooftop. Finally I slunk down the old rubber wires to a void behind the hot water tank in the basement and curled up miserable upon the bare dusty ground.
What had that been! It had seemed to me that something big and solid had hit me, and fingers or talons had snatched at my trailing hair. It would be fine to believe that that was my imagining alone, but I felt grimly certain it was not. A Sidhe upon the wind and a village with no Boggles, I think even you, dear human reader, can see the implications of that.
I slept though the great wet day snatching spells of sleep and idly listening to the rain batter the roof. Bob had ambled out mid-morning and shambled back at dusk, bringing another man with him. I edged along to eye him through a chink in the skirting board.
He was a fat, loathsome looking man with dark, greasy whiskers and plastic framed glasses. I could smell the magic on him, equally unwholesome. Humans just aren't meant to have magic and once ya see one with it the first thought is always, 'where is he getting it from?'
All they were talking about was soccer and beer, but the bearded man's eyes flicked about restlessly all the time and I was struck with the feeling he might somehow see me straight through the walls. I slunk back down into my cozy hiding spot -- thoroughly miserable. I had truly walked into a minefield. There was only one thing for it, I decided. I must venture out in the darkness and see whether I could make my way to a house that was further away from Spotty Bob's sinister new friend and perhaps a little more out of the path of the night wind and whatever it all carried.
I heard the door slam and shortly after the TV was silenced and Bob went to his sagging bed. I slunk out into the deserted kitchen. There was big gap under the door and I shrank down to shimmy under it. The back yard was small and swelled with feral plants and rank grasses. Beyond it the hedges muttered dryly and shrubby trees roared like distant water on the wind.
Now it is deeply unnatural for any Boggle to step outside of a house and I felt nothing less than terror at the prospect. My goal was the nearest house down toward the road. It was dark and I fancied it could be no more than a minute's scamper from where I stood.
I took my proper form and waded quickly through the overgrown lawn. I pushed through the unkempt hedge and found myself on the edge of a small, untended copse of fruit trees. The gnarled branches arched over me like beams from a grotesque cathedral. I broke into a run, crashing through the stems and branches.
Above them the wind's muttering broke into a low moan and all grew very dark as something passed before the face of the moon. I broke out onto the lawn of the house I sought, looking immediately for some means in ingress.
Suddenly my feet froze firm to the damp ground. I looked wildly around. I had stumbled into a circle, cast in salt, a spell. Light flared as it caught me and the salt smoldered with an uncanny green flame. I was a dead Boggle, dear reader, I had no doubt whatsoever as to that. I pitched forward and tried to claw my way to freedom. The sod tore under my frantic fingers, but my feet remained fixed inside the circle. I felt rather than saw the large shadow swooping down upon me and heard a heavy, harsh panting.
Myths Page 9
