by Cherry Starr
I feel the heat of his stare as his dark, soulful eyes absorb my naked form. His gaze takes in every single inch of my curvy, luscious body. God, it’s a seal, I tell myself. He’s not looking at me. He’s not thinking about me. It’s impossible!
He waddles forward, pushing his nose against the hollow of my neck, and then jerks his head back toward the water. The chain swings with the movement.
“Don’t leave,” I beg. I didn’t want to be alone before and I don’t want to now. Not after that—not after nearly drowning. Plus, I’m obviously having a weird and upsetting evening, but I’m like ninety-percent positive this seal can understand what I’m saying, and that’s just something that demands a little further investigation.
The seal’s responding bark is gruff and gritty and somehow masculine. The sound rocks me to the core. He moves toward the edge of the boat and I get a better look at him. In the dying light of dusk, I see that he has a tattoo spanning his entire upper-flipper. My jaw drops. How the hell does a seal have a tattoo, anyway? This observation lends a little more credence to the whole ‘understands english’ thing. Something is definitely off about this seal.
He puts two muscular flippers on the ladder and I lurch up, unsteady on my feet but able to dive at him just in time.
“Don’t go!” I cry, feeling crazy and confused. I lunge for the seal, grabbing a handful of his flipper and getting my fingers on all that slippery, tattooed flesh. But it doesn’t matter. A mere moment later, the seal is gone.
All alone, I sink numbly to my knees, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened.
I look to the starry sky, only realizing then I’m holding the chain from around the seal’s neck.
They’re… they’re... military dog tags?
I squint in the low light to read the text aloud. “Sergeant Victor Alfa… Navy Seal.”
I stare out over the ocean in disbelief, eventually clutching the chain and tags to my voluminous, naked breasts.
It’s impossible.
Right?
My heart thumps loudly with the possibility.
- 4 -
Civilians aren’t my concern—unless there’s an issue of safety—but with the number of military personnel in Honolulu, that’s normally not a problem, either. The harbor is on my standard route. I swim beneath each boat, the docks, and along the piers, looking for any sign of tampering or possible terrorist action. It’s time-consuming and there are more standard Monk Seals in the area than I prefer, but I do my job and swim deep, avoid interactions, and move on.
The first sign of trouble begins with the mating ritual of the seals near the shore. Those useless lumps of blubberous shit. They’re loud as fuck, emitting pheromones and triggering my biological urges. I fight the distracting barks and growls, submerging further in an attempt to remain out of the fray. But nature has a way of screwing all of us at some point.
I ignore the aggressive mating of my current form’s species, but in doing so, I get too close to the boats. The girl? I smell her before she hits the water. I don’t just get hit with the seal pheromones, I get the human ones too. The ones the girl oozes nearly knock me back.
Holy fuck. It’s one thing to smell her. It’s another entirely for her to drop right into my horny, sex deprived lap—er, flippers. But that’s exactly what happens. After hearing some shouting above water that I determine to be a domestic dispute and not an actual threat, I hear a loud bang, and then a splash. I wait behind a buoy, thinking she’ll swim to the surface, but no. The damn girl sinks like a rock.
Naked and covered in the sticky residue of sex.
She struggles with pulling to the surface, only once getting a mouthful of air. It’s my sworn duty not to allow civilians not to see me at work. I’m a ghost—an underwater aberration—but when I see her slip beneath the water, dark tendrils of hair floating upward, I know I have to do what I can to save her.
I reach her quickly and try to figure out the best way to push her upward without seeming too forward. Does it matter? Otherwise she’ll drown. Her body, even in the soft glow of the water, is a vision. Her skin is pale like moonlight, her eyes flashing deep and brown. Her breasts are enormous, like two beacons guiding a ship—my ship—home. The soft hair covering her pussy waves in the gentle waters, and I long to touch what’s hidden beneath.
Don’t worry, little girl, I think. I’ve got you.
The sudden desire to possess her—to touch that perfect feminine skin—is what snaps me out of it. I quickly use my flippers and snout to get her to the surface.
Just before we break through she opens her eyes and sees me, really sees me, and even though my flippers are where they had no place to be, she doesn’t seem to mind, she seems to enjoy it. When she inhales her first gulp of fresh air, my insides nearly burst. She’s alive—she’ll make it. I help her to the boat, and despite all reservations about revealing myself to her, I follow her up that ladder and loom over her prone form, my belly splayed against the boat deck. I take her in once again.
“Oh my god,” she exclaims.
Neptune! She’s fucking beautiful, with her full tits and wide, dark areolas. All that fiery red hair and pale skin. I soak up the way the water runs down the valley of her breasts, settling in the dip of her bejeweled belly button. Beneath that is the furry patch covering her pussy, so soft and inviting. It takes all the strength I have not to nuzzle my face in the warmth of her aromatic cunt. I long to lick her skin, to bite her flesh and see what she tastes like.
I want, in that brief moment of connection, to make her mine.
Our gazes meet and she cups my face with a gentle, thankful hand.
“You saved me,” she whispers.
I push my nose into her neck, wanting nothing more than to stay, but knowing I’ve already risked too much. Her life. My career. The safety of the entire country. I work my way back over to the edge and she grabs for me, taking a fistful of my flesh. I lunge overboard and dive back to the depths of the Pacific, going directly back to duty.
It’s not until the next morning, while basking on the sandy beach, that I realize I’m missing something. I touch the spot on my chest, noticing the lack of familiar weight.
My dog-tags are gone.
- 5 -
I dream about drowning.
Each time I’m saved.
Once by a seal.
Another by a man.
Both have taken my soul.
I wake, shaking and nauseous from almost drowning the night before, and the deep, throbbing desire that runs through my veins, still unsated since my experience with Logan. Stuffed under my pillow is the chain I ripped from the seal’s neck—proof I didn’t fabricate the entire thing.
I’ve run through the scene a million times in my head, but not once does it make sense. It must be the concussion, I think, taking a handful of aspirin. I’m convinced that must be the case, until I remember the chain.
“Ariella!” I hear from the deck. My stepfather, Winston Smithersmore has arrived. He likes these little drop-ins. Preferably when I’m either asleep or just woken.
He knows I prefer to sleep in the nude.
“Just a minute!” I reach for the closest thing, a white tank with the name Honolulu painted across the tits. I’m slipping on a pair of frilly-backed panties when he pushes open the door to my cabin.
“Oh, sorry to catch you in such a state,” he says, eyes glued to the tuft of hair at the edge of my pussy. God, he’s such a letch. It’s no surprise how my mother managed to land him. She’s a total MILF. Winston shifts his eyes from my cunt, over my breasts, and finally to my face. He frowns. “Are you okay? You look a little…rough.”
“I fell overboard last night.”
“My child, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say walking past him to get a band for my hair. I’m twisting it in a messy bun when I turn around and find my step-father two inches away. He reaches for my neck and touches it gingerly.
“That’s a nasty bruise.”
&
nbsp; “Hit my head. I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache. Nothing a little Oxy won’t cure.”
“You really should get back in bed. Come, get under the covers.” I make a face but he presses, resting a possessive hand on my lower back. “I insist.”
I do as he says, not because I want to, but because Winston and I have an arrangement of sorts. I let him baby me, see me in various states of undress, and even cop the occasional feel, and he lets me stay on this boat without my mother knowing. He also gives me a generous allowance. That costs extra.
I settle on top of my fluffy white sheets and Winston tugs the duvet over my legs, trailing his fingers across my thighs in the process. He pulls it to my waist, brushing the ring on my belly button, which gives me a jolt to the pussy despite the fact I’m not remotely attracted to the man. I mean, he’s not ugly. Once upon a time I’m sure he was handsome, or even hot, but now? He’s becoming a victim to male pattern baldness, and despite him staying relatively fit, one has to look really closely to see a muscle. The guy is aging himself right out of any eligibility.
“How’s mother?” I ask, ignoring the ache in my loins that I’ve had since my fall.
“Good. She’s redecorating the living room. The whole house is covered in fabric swatches and paint chips.” He brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. “You know how she gets.”
“I do.” I look at him from under my eyelashes, in the coy way I know he likes. “So I guess you’ve been feeling neglected.”
He smooths the blanket over my legs. “It can be a little lonely when she gets busy with her projects.”
What it comes down to is this. My step-father? He just wants a little spank bank material. He’s a total perv but ultimately pretty hands off. He’s well aware of my virgin status. He should be—he’s one of the reasons I have it. He and my mother drilled into me the fact that my pussy is gold and should only be given to someone worthy. I lean forward, far enough that my tank slips down to reveal the tops of my nipples. His eyes zoom in and he swallows thickly.
“I was wondering if you’d considered meeting my business partner, Calvin, for dinner.”
Ugh, Calvin. Now that was an old man who’d never been handsome. Rich as a king, but handsome? Barf.
“I don’t think he’s my type.”
“At some point you’re going to have to remedy your situation and Calvin is a perfectly acceptable option.”
“My cherry is not for sale.” I cross my arms, which only boosts my tits and probably doesn’t help my argument.
“I’m not trying to sell your virginity, Ariella,” he says, but we both know that’s not true. As word of my prolonged virginity travels across the island, several older, wealthy suitors have approached Winston to make a deal. At least three businessmen from Japan travelled from their home country to check me out. “But if you did choose to make an arrangement with Calvin, you wouldn’t have to hide from your mother or ask me for money anymore.”
I laugh. “Don’t pretend you don’t like coming over here.”
He licks his lips. “You know I do.”
“Well I don’t think Calvin is the kind of man who will want to share, even with you.” I give him a steely glare. “Thank you for coming to check on me. I really did have quite the scare last night. In fact, I nearly drowned. Then the craziest thing happened.”
“What’s that?” He rubs my arm gently and I feel my oversensitive nipples perk at his touch.
“A harbor seal saved me from drowning.”
“A seal? One of the Monks?”
“Yes, pushed me right out of the water, made sure I got back on the boat.”
My stepfather smiles, amused and condescending. “So after all these years you finally made an animal friend.”
“Maybe more than a friend.”
He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. “You may have hit that noggin of yours a little harder than I realized.”
“What?” I ask. “No, it really happened. The seal—he saved me!”
Winston shakes his head. He loves me—or at least he loves my body and my youth. But he has never been entertained by my love for animals. He stands and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a fat roll of hundreds. He peels off three and rests it on the white blanket. “Go see a doctor, sweetheart, and get your head checked out. And let me know if you change your mind about Calvin.”
I stare at the money, feeling foolish that I let down my guard long enough to tell him about the seal. I snatch up the money, though, before he changes his mind. I let him get one last feel, running his hand over the side of my breast before he squeezes my nipple and walks out of the cabin. I reach under my pillow and feel for the chain. For the first time I look at them closely, my eyes bugging in reaction. Not only did I not make up my encounter, I had proof.
- 6 -
That gorgeous girl is on my mind all fucking day.
During patrol.
During a tense mission to the far side of the Kauai.
Even after the sun sets and I’m curled into a warm patch of sand trying to sleep.
I close my eyes and think of her body.
I blink and think of her eyes.
I roll over and remember her scent.
Finally, I decide to forgo sleep and go for a swim. It’s dangerous at night, with so many sharks and whales lurking in the deep ocean waters. But I can’t wallow on the girl all night fucking long. So I spend all night in the water, burning off the pent up energy. The base is right off the water—adjacent to Pearl Harbor—and there’s a small cove I’ve taken to lately. The graveyard of America’s bravest men and women is the perfect place for me to hide in plain sight. I’m nothing but a seal amongst the ghosts of the military here.
The whole experience is foreign to me. I’ve never had the luxury to think outside my mission. Females have never been more than an instinctive need to pass along my seed. Sure, even the non-human Navy Seals need to blow off some steam on occasion. Hook up. Get laid. But this is something different.
I dart around the North Shore, circling the black rocks. I chase some fish in the bay, indulging myself with a healthy snack. It’s not until I pass Diamondhead that I realize where I am. The harbor isn’t far and no matter how many times I turn north, I keep going south, something like instinct pulling me forward.
Under the boats, I begin to rationalize: I’m just checking on her. I’m just making sure she survived and didn’t have a relapse. She could have had complications from the head trauma. A concussion. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. Every scenario returns to the same thing; I need to see the girl.
I find her yacht easily, as it’s one of the bigger ones. I follow the same path as the night before, heaving myself up the ladder and easing over the edge of the boat with a slick slide. I try not to land too loudly, as my body is massive—over four hundred pounds of sheer muscle and patriotism. The door to the cabin is propped open and I nudge it further with my head. Carefully, I make it down the steps and follow her scent until it takes me to the room at the end of the hallway. A moan floats down to me and another crashing wave of possessive instinct rolls through me. Is she with someone else? Who the fuck is in the room? It better not be whoever wasted their seed all over her body the day before. The door is open and I take the biggest risk of my life, including my mission to Afghanistan, by peering inside.
Relief washes over me. She’s alone, eyes closed, propped up on her bed, pink skin in perfect contrast to the white of the bedding. Again, she moans and I shrink down, afraid she’s waking. Her eyes remain shut but her lips are parted and I hear her sharp inhale.
That’s when she tosses the covers to the ground. She’s completely nude, her pale breasts large and spread across her chest. Her knees are bent at an angle. I have a perfect view of her pussy, dripping with the sweet nectar from her ministrations. Her fingers work with leisure, like she has all the time in the world. I lean back, settling in. The boat creaks as it rolls over a wave.
One hand twists and rubs her clit while t
he other reaches for a bottle on the side table. She pumps off a glob of oily lotion and takes a break from her pussy just to spread the white substance evenly between both hands. She goes back to her prior work, one hand rubbing against her clit, the other palming her massive tit, tugging at the nipple until it turns an angry purple. Her breathing shifts, turning ragged, and with a weak cry, she drops her tit and reaches down with both hands. One hand seeks the puckered hole beneath her cunt. The other flicks and tickles her clitoris until it’s so red and swollen I can see it from across the room.
Her cries take on a more desperate sound and her cheeks turn an exhilarating red. I watch as she takes care of herself, wishing I could do it for her—wishing I could take away her frustration. I could more than fulfill whatever fantasy is rolling in her head. I can’t do it, though—not like this—and when she lifts her knees and I see how her pretty little pussy gushes and glistens, there’s nothing I want more than to be inside her.
Her jaw quivers and her shoulders shake, and I watch the most fucking beautiful thing I’ve ever seen as this girl—this princess—fingerbangs herself into sweet oblivion. As if it’s not enough to watch such a wonder unfold, things shift cataclysmically when she falls back, exhausted and satiated. She reaches between her breasts, lifts up two pieces of rectangular silver, and studies them in the post-orgasm glow.
“That was for you, Victor. Wherever you are.”
- 7 -
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
The word keeps circling in my head. Not just because it’s what I want to do, but fuuuuuuck, I can’t believe what I just saw. Or what I just heard.
Ariella, the princess of the sea, had an epic orgasm just for me.
If I had to record it, that would be the moment my life officially went off course for good.
I swim, not back to my beach or back for my next assignment. No. I swim out, away from the rocky shoreline of the Pacific, to think.
The way I see it, I have two options.
