freak blog

See, there’s an urban myth about this coastal town and this cave off the edge that has a dock that pokes out in the darkest, scariest waters that’ll ever be so close to human civilization. Basically, it promises that if someone goes into the water at the very end of the docks, they’ll find deranged beasts waiting for them underneath the surface. The abyss is so dark, if you even so much as stuck your hand in, you would not see it. It’s supposedly as cold as ice, yet never freezes, and filled with a strange flora that wraps around your legs to keep any poor soul that ventures out there underneath the water for a hungry beast. 

Local stories talk about it like it’s the myth that it is. Any local or tourist who have mysteriously gone missing are deemed hoaxes, or, at least, later found washed up on a shore a few miles away after floating out too far. It’s simply just what it claims to be–an urban myth. 

So, of course, you find yourself eager to prove that for your blog. When you go around proving and disproving ghost stories, urban myths, and cryptic tales alike, you can’t exactly pass on something so terrifying sounding. Besides, odds are, the cave probably doesn’t exist, let alone the dock. Worst case scenario, you get to write off a beach vacation as a business expense. Best case scenario, you discover some unique, impossible, supernatural abyss that actually exists there. 

With your gear packed, you head out to that coastal town. It’s all sun and tourists, filled to the brim as they line the sidewalks, the stripmalls, the highrise rentals all along the coast. Nothing is amiss, really. So, hoax it is? Even when you question the locals as you check into your rental just nearby the supposed cave, they shrug it off and say it’s just a tale to get the curious in. And look at that, it brought you to them, so…. You couldn’t argue with that. Still, upon checking in, you double-check your things for your investigation. 

An underwater camera on the end of a pole, a tripod and camera to set up on the edge of the supposed dock, a battery pack to keep it charged. A notebook for general notes and outlining, your phone to take pictures of anything happening in the moment. As if anything will happen. You’ve already got the outline done for the obvious hoax of it all. You just need to go and prove it.

Following the directions across dozens of other blog posts about the supposed beastly depths, you walk the busy beach. There is a rocky cliff’s edge near where the beach ends and blocks your view beyond. It matches up with the rest of the descriptions, so you follow a path you have to make around towels, bags, and chairs. Down where the sand becomes rocky, and rocky risks becoming too-slippery to walk on, but the tide is low. You checked and double-checked–it wasn’t going to rise for hours. You had more than enough time, and going slow enough….

You just need enough to peek around to see if the cave exists. 

So, up you climb. The rocks layer across each other like bits of broken slate, and you hold on without trying to slice your hands open while climbing. It smells considerably more like the sea as you go. A few people stop and watch you surely for your stupidity, to see if you’re about to fall and bust your head open, but you continue as if they’re not there. Down around the rocks, your sneakers getting wet where the water laps up over the rock’s edges, and then….

Leaning on a rock, you peek.

Holy shit.

There’s a hole in the side of the cliff where the rocks at the front become sand. A literal cave beckoning you to walk to it. You lift your phone and snap a quick picture. So part of it is real, then. Truths always help lift up a good lie. You sneak around until your wet shoes touch the sand on the other side of the rocks and cliff. You have to stop yourself from running to enter. 

Using your phone’s flashlight, you step up to the cave entrance. It’s damp and cold, and it still smells like the sea. But the ground isn’t slippery stone, it’s more sand. Interesting. And from what you can tell, nothing gives way to the ocean, so any dock that’s in there can’t exist. 

Judging the general look of it very, very carefully, you risk a step in. Then another. Sand remains until your feet, and the ground only slightly slopes down. Nothing dangerous screams at you, nothing tries to make you slip and fall, no noise except the soft sound of waves splashing carries up. No wild animals. Maybe someone deranged is in there, but wouldn’t you hear them? Adrenaline and disbelief carry you past that thought and you go in further.

Deeper.

Lower.

The cave stays slightly taller and slightly wider than you, no  less and no more. It twists down, leaving the sunlight behind you until you make a final curve of a turn, and then there’s just your phone. But since it’s a straight path, there’s no getting lost. Just a leg-burning incline waiting for you on the way back. It’s hard to really identify it–the change in the air as you go. But the cold shifts. It warms in your lungs and it makes you start to sweat underneath your layers. Shirt, shorts, bathing suit, socks, and sneakers. Your bag pressed against your back makes your shirt suction itself to you with sweat.

The sea-salty air clings to you.

You round the corner with no deranged individual to bar your path.

Holy…shit…?

THe cave opens to the impossible. Or, certainly not for it’s there, but…? Light spatters across the glistening, expanding walls. They’re speckled with what look like gems or stars or something luminescent that brings an eerie aura to the round break in the path. The path that takes you down another step along the suddenly steep incline, and there, the sand becomes an old, worn, discolored wood. A small dock of just two dozen boards that goes out to where the ground vanishes. Dark, murky water is bubbling like a spring. A black and blue essence of depth that becomes a rich, terrifying abyss looking back at you before you even take another step.

The water ripples when you step further onto the dock. It seems to match the hard thumps of your heart as you go. Step by shaky step, testing each board along the way. The water only grows darker. The threat of something looking back at you that you cannot see sits on your shoulders like a person resides there. Trying to push you down to your knees when you stand as close as you’ll allow yourself to the dock’s edge. The end peeking down into the very center of that circle of sea. 

You can only see your reflection. Yes, there’s water beneath; an abyss. A depth. But as you shudder out breaths and feel the trickle of sweat drip along your back, you cannot seem to catch your breath or look away from the water.

The rippling water.

Like a beast walks the earth around you to shake the very pool you look into.

A cold chill erupts along your spine, but you cannot move.

Nothing comes to peek out of the water. For there cannot be anything there, right? Maybe some sharks lurk below? Or some mere fish looking for a bite to eat. But the pool cannot possibly house a…a beast. No grand whale-like, fang-having carnivore waiting to devour your hand if you were to reach in. 

This isn’t Jaws.

You’re there. You tell yourself in quiet thoughts. You’re there. You must abide by the fact that you’ve found it. That, at the very least, deserves some recognition. Maybe there is nothing there to scare beyond its mere existence in the urban myth. A legend made of those truths. So…. So you force the deepest of breaths you can manage, and you sit back on the dock you pray is as sturdy as it seems to be.

Carefully, you unpack your bag.

Tripod goes up, camera gets connected to the battery then set atop, angled to record. You assert that the waterproof camera is working and begin extending the pole it will be latched to before coming to kneel, once again, at the edge of the dock. A light sparkling look upon the water makes it appear like the night sky. It’s beautiful, really, as much as it is eerie. A portal to another realm rippling back at you. But no beast is behind you, shaking the world. So maybe there really are those mythical plants beneath that you cannot see causing that? Or just fish.

You shake off the sentiment and pull out your phone. An app connects to the camera, and you double-check the connection. You see yourself looking back at you from the protected lens. So, rather unceremoniously, you turn the flash onto the brightest option, set your phone aside, and turn the camera down toward the water.

Another slow chill sinks over you. Do not do this, something whispers in the back of your head. A risk of losing your camera? Eh. You have more. So long as you move carefully, you will not disrupt any ecosystems there, and you have no intention of falling in. God, it’s hot. You shake off the sentiments, sweat clinging to you despite the strange chill whispering behind your ear, and you let the camera fall past the water.

Darkness. Rich, impenetrable darkness. You lower the camera slow enough that, if you were to be watching a movie, you’d curse them for such a languid pace. But you are trying not to disturb anything that could be down there. Deeper. The water swallows the pole, and you keep your eyes on your phone screen. Bit by bit, it goes. And goes. And goes. The flash does nothing to light the way. It’s as if light cannot penetrate the water at all. A vacuum capturing it whole, yet it is endless in its length. You continue, noting just how much is disappearing into the water. More and more, you see the water slosh. The pole vanishing. Nothing on the capture.

Huh.

So there’s…nothing? Nothing you can see. 

You stop just before your fingertips touch the water. 

You pull the pole back until water drips off the end of the camera. The light of the cave breaks out over the capture and bits of what look like black seaweed are wrapped around the end. Whoa, okay. You haul it up onto the dock, scooting back. The humid air brings the back of your hand to your forehead, but your eyes stay on the strange, vine-looking seaweed perfectly wrapped around the pole. 

“That’s…okay.” What luck to capture it like that. There has to be a current under the water–maybe causing the rippling–that lent it to a perfect spiral? You snap a few pictures of it with your phone before carefully pulling it off the pole. It’s slippery and slimy, yet weirdly…warm? For the darkness, you would’ve guessed freezing cold. But it feels burning hot. “Shit.”

You pull back quickly, forgetting the gloves you’d packed. They sit in your hotel room, waiting to be put in your backpack. You might’ve just touched something poisonous. Fuck. The seaweed and pole clatters against the wood in a hollow, faraway sound. A light, sparking burn sinks in over your fingertips. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A light, murky discoloration covers it–a sheer black goop–and you pull your shirt off to use it as a rag. Quickly, wiping it over your hand and dumping some of your water over where the goop once was before repeating. 

Nothing lingers. No rash sits in place. It’s still possible you’ve just marked yourself with death and there’s no other telltale signs until it happens. But as you kneel there, waiting to see if necrosis suddenly marks your fingers, your pulse pounding through the ocean and the cave, there’s…nothing. Something? But nothing. Just the unbearable heat trickling in around you. Your shirt coming off because of this was almost a godsend. You readjust the top of your bathing suit with your clean hand, and roll your shoulders. 

Nothing. Nothing happens. 

Okay.

Okay.

You close your eyes and attempt a slow, deep, calming breath.

You’re okay. It’s all okay.

For now.

The nagging voice in the back of your head speaks with reasons. Leave. Hospital. Now. What matters is what you touched burned, and you need to check that. Leave. Go. Get yourself checked out. It’s smart. It’s the right call. It’s a long walk back, and if you linger and something is wrong, you’ve screwed yourself. So–

Splash.

A soft, wave-like splashing draws your eyes to the end of the dock. It’s not the little ripples hitting the dock, no. This is a splash. A loud, heart-stopping splash. The secret beast? But if there is one, it does not look back at you over the end as fear made you worry. There’s nothing there waiting for you at the end. Leave. Leave it. But there was a splash! You cannot….

You have to see if you imagined it. At the very least.

So, quietly and carefully, you crawl. Right over to the edge, a lump in your throat, a burn in your lungs, and a pit in your stomach. You peek over. Maybe you just dislodged something when you stuck the camera in? 

You look back at yourself. Your reflection. The glint in your eyes making you jump, but they’re just your eyes.

Holy fuck. You press your hand to your heart. 

There’s nothing. 

Nothing but your reflection.

Nothing but the dark water.

Nothing but–bubble. A bubble. A few bubbles, slipping up and breaking the surface tension with soft pops. You go still, watching them cause larger ripples across the suddenly still water. Okay, so then…?

Then.

Then there’s something. 

Just underneath the water. Wrapped up in the dark seaweed. Stuck before it can touch air. It’s right at the edge. An arm’s reach away. You tilt your head, squinting, trying to make out what the hell that could be. It looks like nothing. Maybe a piece of debris? Of some sort of shipwreck? Pollution? You put your hands on the edge of the dock and lean closer. What the fuck is it that’s trying to escape? 

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You reach. It’s right freaking there, come on. 

You watch in your reflection as your finger comes to the water. It bends and breaks, sending a brand new rippling across the pool. Burning hot water touches your fingertip, yet it doesn’t blister or hurt. It sinks in like a hot spring, and you feel it slither up around your wrist, arm, elbow. The object falls away before you can touch it, like it lost its buoyancy. The pattern of the wood presses into your knees whilst you shift. Reaching. Humidity feels like steam on your face. Water goes up to your elbow.

Something brushes your fingers in a slimy, warm, wrapping sensation. The seaweed. But as you stare at yourself in the water, your hand invisible in the darkness, your body bent over the dock, you don’t…it’s not important anymore. That it’s touching you. The hospital. No. You shake your head, leaning back onto your knees and shimming out of your shoes and shorts, shifting forward to really lean over the edge of the dock to try and find what vanished from you.

What was it? It burns into the back of your head. Sweat trickles down in quick succession of one drop after the other while you bend over the dock. The rough edge presses into your stomach through your one-piece. Another bubble comes up next to where the water swallows your arm up past your shoulder. 

What was it? What was it? What was it?

You turn your head, reaching back to hold onto a wide gap in one of the boards to leverage yourself properly without falling in. What was it? You shift, grip firm, water sneaking up to your shoulder. Past. Your cheek touches the warm, steaming, bubbling water.

What the hell was that? 

A bubble pops against your cheek. It throws water against your mouth and eyes, and you blink them away and taste sweet saltwater on your lips. Another bubble pops, and you do it again. There’s something at your fingertips. Something hard. Metal. But it’s getting hard to move. The current you cannot see wraps the seaweed around your fingers. Your wrist. It comes up around your arm, past your elbow, up to your shoulder. You reach, still, eyes shut, trying to get that damn thing. What was it? What was it? What was it? What is it?

Your fingers close around what feels like a handle or…or a hook. Something curved and metal and latchable. You have it! You have it!! You smile, another bubble coming more like a splash at your cheek, soaking your face in the warm water, and you laugh. You’ve got it! You’ve got it. 

You pull, but it doesn’t move. 

No, come on!

Water splashes again.

It tastes so, so sweet on your lips.

Come on. Come on! You yank.

And yank.

But it doesn’t move.

You don’t notice the darkness rising out of the water. The seaweed, the vines, climbing higher. Escaping the depths and wrapping around your throat, your upper half, your stomach. You pull and pull and pull, drinking in more than just mere splashes of the water at every failed dislodging of the thing you cannot let go of. They climb higher, wrapping around your hips, thighs, feet. The arm that is back and the hand that’s on the board. They twist around you until they’ve netted you like prey. Locking you in place on the end of that dock.

You don’t notice anything but the thing you cannot get free staying right where it is no matter how you pull. 

You don’t notice the whipping current moving around you, or the splashing growing more excessive, louder, harder. The way you cannot move. The heat sinking in beneath your bathing suit. Beneath your skin. Beneath every part of you. What is it? What is it? What is it? Repeats like a broken record, consuming every breath that nearly drowns you in the water you gulp back.

You don’t notice the small tendrils sneaking through the cracks of the dock. Don’t notice the brush of them against your inner thighs. Don’t notice their warm, slimy feel amongst the seaweed encapsulating you and sneaking underneath your suit. Right at the tight edges digging between your legs.

You just tug. And tug. And tug on the hook that won’t come loose.

You don’t even notice them touch you. Not where one writhes against your asshole. Not where one closes like a mouth around your clit. Not where one presses against your cunt. You don’t notice the two sneaking out of the water to slide into your suit to latch onto your nipples.

And as the hook dislodges from whatever has trapped it beneath the water, sending a large gulp of warm water into your throat, you don’t feel the thick, creamy liquid they secrete onto you. Into you. Pushing just the very tips into both holes. 

Into your mouth as you beam into the water, drowning yourself to get that thing out of the water.

You don’t notice.

Everything’s gone when you can finally move. There’s nothing but you falling back onto the dock, licking away the substance you don’t fully realize you’re tasting while you move. Seated back on your ass, holding up your treasure. A small box with a round handle at the top. Locked with a lock that’s more rust than anything else.

A treasure! Something to have made this outing worth it, if there’s something inside!

You quickly gather your things. There’s no more bubbling in the water, no more splashing. The heat cools around you. What is it? It still lingers, but you’re able to breathe again, and you wipe your shirt over your mouth to get the murky water off of you. The dock exists, the cave exists, the water exists. And if there’s something in this box…. Well, you’ll have a unique story to tell. Unfortunately, no beasts lurk for they would’ve gotten you for such a ridiculous move, right? Reaching into the water.

You laugh at yourself.

How stupid could you have been? 

You haul your backpack over your shoulder, cling to the box, and carry yourself out of the cave without a look back.

When you ventured down to the cave, it was already late afternoon. It’s only a little surprising when you come out to a pitch-black sky. Maybe an early sunset? You shrug it off. Getting back takes effort after walking up the long incline back out of the cave, then the rocks, then the stretch back to your hotel. You’re exhausted when you get to your room. Your bag drops with a heap onto the floor, and you fling yourself into the shower.

The potential treasure can wait until tomorrow. Working on your blog can wait until tomorrow. Exhaustion drags your eyes shut, you hardly scrub yourself in the shower, and you collapse into bed after barely managing to put you pajamas on.

So…tired….

The second your head hits the pillow, you’re out.

The plan lingers in your head. Wake up, get breakfast, open the box, work on the blog, enjoy the beach. A simple plan. An easy, wonderful, even possibly interesting plan if there’s something strange inside the box. It’s best not to get your hopes up, you know that. But you found a box! A locked box! There could be something incredibly fascinating in there!

But….

You jerk awake while the moon still shines. Your chest heaves with hard breaths and your blankets are askew. Your dream…it’s far away as you blink. Gone. Whatever softness was there is replaced with an itch. A burning, striking, fierce itch that crawls underneath your sweat-dampened pajamas. 

Oh. You roll onto your back. It burns. You look over yourself in the moonlight. How your chest heaves, the fabric dragging over your pointed nipples like it’s winter in the room. How your shorts have ridden up and the center seam presses between your legs. 

Oh, fuck.

You shudder. What…? Itchy. So itchy. Not the kind needing a scratch, no. This comes in an ache that throws your hands onto the bed to squeeze. Your hips jut up. Your heels press into the bed. Oh, fuck. What? What the…what? Your eyes close, and that’s your doom. You don’t know it. You didn’t know it when you ventured into the cave. But as your eyes shut and your head presses back, something more than sleep takes you.

Your eyes roll back. 

The softness of your mattress stays under you, but in the dark abyss around you, you smell the murkiness. Feel the dock underneath you while you blink up at the star-like cave ceiling. Your bathing suit clings to you. The seaweed seeps out from the water and wraps around you. The dock. You can feel it, see it without seeing it, entrapping you. Wrapping around you in a burning spiral where your heels can’t kick the bed anymore and where you’re bound to the dock.

No.

The bottom.

The bottom of the dock.

You blink at the ceiling as it becomes the murky water. The underside of the dock presses uncomfortably against your back. Your arms. Your feet. Legs. Slimy seaweed wraps around your throat. Your forehead.

You stare at your bound reflection in the rippling water.

It ripples again.

And again.

You stare at rich, black eyes looking into your own.

Black tendrils rise out of the water. They glitter like scales with a sheer pearl-like coloration over them. They rise higher. Up. To you. You aim to scream, but as your mouth parts, eyes pulled and locked onto those looking upon you like another human trapped under the water, a tendril presses inside. Thicker than what it was when it left the water.

It pushes down your throat and there’s a sudden warmth and blistering sweetness glazing everything over.

You feel heavy. So, so heavy. Going limp and hanging there, drool dribbling down and dripping into the water. It’s a dream. A rippling thought, falling away into an incoherentness that feels exactly as you believe–it’s a dream. A vivid, choking dream.

Tendrils continue to rise. To move.

The top of your one piece is pulled down. Two tendrils wrap around your bared breasts and latch onto your nipples. You moan, shuddering as something is secreted around them. Twisting. Tweaking. Massaging and groping. It feels good. Goosebumps rise and your eyes want to roll back, but you cannot look away. Those that watch you, they’ve captured you. Captivated. Ensared.

More tendrils rise. They sneak underneath your bathing suit between your legs. 

Tears well and the eyes below you blur when they touch you. Slimy. Secreting that substance that’s being dripped down your gulping throat. Everything…it itches. Bed. Hotel. Itchy. Wet. Touching. Your pussy clenches in a way that makes you yank hard on what holds you, but it only lends itself to a tendril pressing against your cunt. 

They move in tandem.

One latches onto your clit, writhing around it as it seems to…suckle it like a mouth. One leaks as it pushes into your asshole and the other does the exact same as it pushes into your cunt.

The eyes glint wide and full, glittering like a whole galaxy held within them.

All of the tendrils inside of you swell.

The stretch alleviates an itch you could scream for in pure satisfaction. 

The water ripples.

The tendrils suck on your nipples and clit in alternating patterns.

Then, the others move.

They fuck you. Pumping in and out of you, deep. Too deep. But it’s a pleasure you cannot feel outside of the dream. It’s impossible. It’s beyond. It’s blinding. You still do not look away from the eyes, and you moan incessantly, wantonly, just mewling around the tendril choking you. Harder. Deeper. Rougher. 

The tendrils only grow in size. They continue to secrete the lube-like, slimy, burning substance that just makes your body writhe in the bindings. Thrashing as you feel it seep into you. As goosebumps rise, your body grows sensitive, you get heavier and heavier, trying to move in any capacity beyond taking what it gives you for it’s so much. Too much. It feels too good. Your hips buck somewhere else, but against the bottom of the dock, they don’t move.

The water grows closer to you. The eyes stare into your soul as you scream again. Pussy clenching, pulsing, shuddering around what rubs against every sensitive spot inside of you. The tendril on your clit seems to vibrate as it sucks it. The tendrils rub against each other inside of you; they tweak your nipples; they pour more and more into you until it drips back into the water.

It’s blinding, how good it feels. It’s like an injection of ecstasy that’s lingering before the peak. Long waves of pleasure building and building and building. Until you’re crying, sobbing, choking–looking down at those eyes that move ever so slightly. Like a head turning, curious, watching your toes curl and back try to arch. It feels so good. So fucking good. Too fucking good.

Your shriek is muffled against the tendril when you break.

Those long waves lengthen into a feral, unapologetic pleasure. It’s unkind. It’s brutal. You have no escape from it as they pound into you incessantly. Repeatedly. Milking you of it in hard, rough, squelching drags. You cum.

You cum squirting–something you’ve never done before. Ruining your swimsuit and hearing it drip into the water. Barely. Barely conscious when it continues fucking you. And feeding you. And attacking you with the tendrils, pushing you to a true breaking point of pleasure that rips through you. 

Right before you truly break, they still. The one in your mouth and the one in your ass pour thick loads into you. Something spurts over your chest and your cunt, painting you in what you see drip into the sea as something pearly white. But in your cunt, you feel the tendril swell and push inside of you. A slow pulse fills you. Literally fills you. Rubbing around inside of you like multiple tentacles trying to enter you at once.

Your clit pulses.

The tendril rubs it again.

And rubs it.

And rubs it.

Another orgasm creeps up as the tendril in your cunt leaves you, but you still feel so full. The tendril in your ass leaves, after, locking itself over your swimsuit and between your legs as the one on your clit rubs you rapidly. Your nipples are sucked again; pinched until you yell around the tendril in your mouth. What’s inside of you is clenched when you just about cum again. Thick and full and writhing. Filling your cunt like it belongs there, wiggling every which way and hitting every sweet spot until–

You jerk awake on the hotel bed, right at the edge of the orgasm in your dream.

D…Dream….

Itchy. Burning. Your pussy clenches as you stare down at yourself on top of that bed. The sunlight creeps in over you. Your blankets are on the floor. Your shorts have been kicked off, and your shirts up. Accidentally risen up over your chest, where the cool AC makes your nipples tighten. Burn.

You taste the sweetness on your tongue.

You see the eyes when you blink.

You pussy weeps for something. A blinding, thought-wiping something that has you crawling off the bed, clinging to the last remnants of sanity. Was it just a dream? You get rug burn on your knees on your way to your bags. Did you miss something at the pool? Did the seaweed infect you with a hallucinogenic?

You haul your laptop out. Your cameras. The connecting cables. Your pussy throbs as you kneel there. Back arching back like there’s someone behind you to greet you. To satisfy the itch making you drool. Go back. It echoes in the back of your head like a little, dangerous melody. But you don’t return to your bed. You don’t go back to sleep. You merely lean back against the end of the bed, laptop set aside, and click through the footage you took at the cave.

It’s…wait.

You have it set for repeat recording so you don’t accidentally meet the limit mark and loose footage. So it starts a new recording automatically. And this…. There are dozens. How…how long were you in that cave? You click through them with a shaky hand. Your breasts ache. Your clit throbs. You click past the setup, the camera insertion into the water, the seaweed on bare skin debacle. And then…then it changes.

In the footage from the underwater camera, you can see how your eyes glaze over.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch yourself.

Moving slowly towards a beckoning splashing. Like a fucking call pulling you in. You crawl. The water ripples and ripples and ripples for you until you’re in frame of the one on the tripod. All of you. Leaning over the water. Your shorts kicked off, just your bathing suit covering you. 

Then, the minutes tick by. You wrestle with the thing under the water as the vines creep out. Your pussy throbs as they overtake you. They cling to you, pressing into the meat of you tight enough to lock you entirely unmoving against the dock. You still wrestle, unaware of it. A light chill sinks into you as the minutes tick by. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. Half-drowning in the water, pulling to get that box.

Your pajama shirt clings to you as sweat sheens over you. It’s hard to ignore the damp spot making your underwear cling to you. Fear is a cruel whisper against the back of your ear.

Then, you see them.

After an hour of being in the water like that, your bottom in the air and right in view, you see what sneaks through the gaps in the dock. Like the ones in your dream. On the floor, your legs part. Your thighs quiver.

In sheer horror, you watch where they go. Sliding like some eldritch curse sinking underneath your bathing suit. They bulge against the tight material, giving you no ignorance to where their aim is. And with the angle you’ve been forced into like that, your legs parted, back arched, you watch them on the recording. They writhe. They slide. They push into you, with the material darkening as they clearly secrete something into your cunt and asshole. The material stretches as they begin to pump. Writhe. The bunched up material at the top of your suit tells you they’re not just inside of you.

Minutes tick by.

You can’t move. In the capture nor where you press back against the bed, chest heaving. They fuck you slowly. The damp spots grow and grow until you see something pearly start to dribble out of the sides. 

The splashing in the water stops, and you start to shake on camera. Moaning. Whining. Your hips jerk in the restraining seaweed. You sound muffled when they fuck into you faster, and you can taste that sweetness in your throat right then.

Come…back…. echoes in the back of your mind.

Your thighs shake on camera.

The tendrils move. More rise through the cracks.

You hold your breath as they seem annoyed at your bathing suit, and they move it. More coming in. More finding you. Your lungs burn as you go from seeing yourself getting visibly fucked by a single tentacle in each hole to two. Stretching your holes as they secrete that pearly liquid and you scream. Shuddering. Thrashing.

Climaxing.

Squirting around them and squeezing them. A mess of you and them coming around yourself while you are bound and shaking and falling into a whining daze. They stretch you wide and fuck into you alternatingly and hard. The sounds are wet. Wrong. You look down at yourself on the recording and then at yourself there, in the hotel room, your pussy leaking and begging.

With a dry swallow, you….

You itch.

Burn.

Need.

Come…back…to…me….

The room blurs. Your eyes lock onto the screen while you cum again, squirting and thrashing. Your hand dances down to yourself, there. Moving your underwear aside. You can’t. Can’t. Can’t. A heavy sensation fills the room. A ringing enters your ears with a soft melody amongst it. You dip two fingers into your dripping cunt. You feel the absence of it yet it feels like a reminder all the same. What was there in your dream. What’s there in the video. What’s more than your fingers pumping into your cunt. More finding your clit. You pull your shirt off frantically, seeing the very minimal remnants of something having left divots in the soft, sensitive skin there.

Everything falls into a haze.

You watch yourself cum again.

You pump your fingers deeper; nowhere near where the tentacles clearly reached. But you try. You chase. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you throw your head back. Gasping. Shaking. Squirming against the end of the bed.

You watch yourself cum again on screen. And for a moment–a brief, world-shattering moment–you remember it. You feel it. In the dream, down at the docks. You feel it. And then it’s gone. Your fingers aren’t enough. They’re hardly anything, but they still give you something. You kick your feet out and lift your hips up. The tentacles go still on the screen, pulsing as they seem to push something into you. And you blink the tears away as you break apart, just watching in a locked, unbreakable gaze. Gushing just a little around your fingers in a wet, pitiful orgasm.

It almost mocks you.

It does mock you. It’s one lowly wave of pleasure that feels like heaven on earth before it just…stops. Meek, bored pulses around your fingers that you desperately thrust into yourself. You rub your clit harder, trying to chase what’s ripped away.

But it…. It….

Come…to…me….

Movement in the water on screen catches your sniffling attention. The tendrils readjust your bathing suit. They retreat back into the water. A hand comes to the surface. A human-like hand covered in dark, black, glittering scales. It cups the side of your cheek, and there’s a face. Amongst the darkness in the abyss. Black, glowing eyes look at you.

Come to me.

It retreats.

The vines retreat.

You kneel there for forty-eight minutes as your body twitches and leaks whatever it left in you.

Then, finally, you come back to yourself. Hauling the water-worn, rusted-locked box out of the water. Like nothing happened. Like you aren’t leaking down onto the dock through your suit as you hold the box up to the camera. And you pack everything up like normal. You turn the camera off with a wide grin, holding it up off the tripod, the pool in the back framing you from a high angle.

Eyes look back at you over your shoulder from the depths.

You’re looking back at you fingering yourself in the reflection of your computer screen when the capture cuts. Trying to get more. Trying to chase another orgasm that won’t come.

Come to me…. Now….

You pant. Huff. Go limp, staring at your laptop.

With a wet squelch, you pull your fingers out.

Come to me. 

You pull your shorts on without fixing your underwear. You pull your shirt on without a bra underneath. Come to me. Now. You slip into sandals and leave everything behind, staggering out of your room. Down the hallway. Down the stairs. The sun has barely risen when you pass runners on the beach and the early swimmers out in the ocean.

Come.

You crawl over the rocks.

Come….

You find the cave.

Come.

You stagger down the incline.

Come…. Come now. 

You pull your clothes off while you walk the length of the dock.

Come. Take my kin.

You stare at the black eyes waiting for you in the dark water. Dark hair pools out where they let their head peek out of the water just a little. Black scales line pale white skin at their temples and down over the tops of their cheeks. 

You climb partway down into the water, but you’re stopped hanging off the end of the dock. Legs spread wide and held in place as seaweed climbs out instantly. You’re latched to the end there, hanging, spread over the tops of the board with your arms out far from your head. Your ankles are bound to the posts of the dock. Water goes up right underneath your bottom, gently kissing your ass when it ripples and waves.

Tendrils climb.

Just like your dream, they find you.

They fill your mouth, your cunt, your asshole. 

They slip underneath you and suck on your nipples. Up to your clit to vibrate and suckle.

The world fades into nothing as your body itches, burns, thrashes in abrupt, milking pleasure. The pearly white secretion drips down your thighs and into the water below.

Mine….

The deep voice echoes in your head.

Been waiting…so long…to breed….

Pleasure ravishes. It blinds. It tears through you with deep, hard, stretching thrusts. There’s no telling what’s happening; what’s inside of you. You just feel. Shudder. Cum. Squirting and shaking, sobbing as it falls over you in long waves. Long, rich, endless waves that raw your throat before more sweet substance slips down it.

Mine…forever.

Will not let…this one…get away. 

Cold, rough, scaly fingers skate over your thighs underneath the water. Cold breaths brush against your ass. A chill seeps in at the base of your spine where fangs nip what unmistakably is a kiss right there. But it fades the second another orgasm throws itself at you, and you fall into the warm, dark, drowning abyss.

Mmmm…mine.

Hands knead your ass.

Welcome…to your…new home.

For all eternity.

You cum again.