Page 55 of Hot Summer's Prey

“Such soft skin,” he marvels. “So easy to grip and tease and tickle.”

His actions follow his words. The juxtaposition of roughness and softness sends an ache to my pussy, and I wish he hadn’t skipped it on his journey across my body. But at the same time, to see my belly worshipped in the way he is has me entranced. I’ve done so much to feel good about myself, to take care of my body despite the rigorous, exhausting hours I work. To feed myself in spite of every single voice in Hollywood telling me every bite of food is a sin. Being told I’m a lazy piece of shit because I’m fat, that I can’t possibly be any good has fueled my drive to prove them wrong. But sometimes, sometimes you just want someone to love you as you are.

I don’t care what I weigh. I have fought hard for that right. My tests always come back with stellar reports, even though doctors insist every time I’m sick I could fix it if I lost some weight.

I tried a couple times, but watching my mom yo-yo diet for decades and seeing that nothing ever made her feel good about herself taught me that weight isn’t what matters. What matters is how you feel about yourself. But there’s always that stupid, inherent fear that society puts in you that you don’t deserve to feel good about yourself. You don’t deserve to be loved.

Well, fuck that.

Fuck that, because I fucking love myself. And I really fucking love watching my green yacunayi boyfriend worship every single fucking part of me just because it’s part of me. I grind down on his sifon, moan louder and louder as he explores my tits. Suddenly, I feel his fingers inside of me and I gasp, having thought his nails would be too sharp. But looking to his free hand, I can see his nails have retracted. I touch myself, too.

“These breasts, so heavy,” he groans. “Look how they move—how your body ripples when they fall back against your chest.”

He squeezes my breasts upwards and lets them drop—much slower than they would above water, but still the motion affects the skin all around.

“So hot,” he whispers in desperation.

He pulls me back onto his lap, so that my ass is practically on his stomach. His sifon is thick and erect, a sight that has me unable to stop myself from running my fingers over my clit as he thrusts his hand in and out of my pussy. I grind against him, feeling my orgasm on the horizon. I feel as if I could float away any second, and my arms swing around behind me to hold him close, one anchoring to his neck, and the other to his leg. Rolling harder and harder, I want him inside.

From his tip pops little bubbles just like before, spilling out over his sifon. He is thoroughly lubricated, and at this point, so am I. Pulling his hand from my pussy, I pull his sifon towards my opening and press down until he is inside. He spreads my legs wider, anchors me down as he thrusts inside.

“Yeees,” I let out, my words the length and shape of my erratic breath. “Oh fuck, Pacari, you’re unreal. Oh, you feel so good inside me.”

“Your pussy is magic,” he huffs, thrusting in with a speed that would be impossible for two humans underwater.

“Literally,” I giggle. “Apparently.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees. “And when you come and I come, I’ll plant the pearls of magic inside you, let you feel the exquisite agony I bore all this day. And then I’ll hold your body close, writhe against you, torment you, and let you feel what it is to have desire inside and out.”

“Wait!” I protest half-heartedly. “That’s—”

“Wouldn’t you like to hold the evidence of our love within you?” he asks in earnest.

“Oh god, when you put it like that.” I groan, aching as he slows his pace.

“Look at us, Teresa,” he growls, his hand pulling my head back to the mirror by my chin.

The dominance does something to me. I lock eyes with him through the mirror as I watch us move together. We’re so hot. This is so incredibly hot. The way his muscles move as he fucks me, the way my skin bounces with each thrust, the bubbles that rise off of us with our constant movement, the way my hair billow around—how it covers my eyes only to reveal them again. His tentacle thing slides in along his sifon and pushes it harder inside me. It traces my inner walls until it finds my g-spot, and then I can’t watch anymore because I’m coming so hard I can barely breathe.

“You are so beautiful,” he pants. “Teresa, my pearl, come for me.”

I’m coming whether he tells me to or not.

“Let it all out. Let me bathe in the magic of your ecstasy,” he growls, continuing to pound into me.

My eyes roll back as I feel his sifon sucking at my inner walls. It feels like the whole thing is inside of me, but a glance in the mirror shows that I’ve only made it halfway down. There’s a competitive part of me that wishes I could go deeper, but maybe another time.

No, the competitiveness dies out in an instant as another orgasm rakes over me. His tentacle keeps tapping on my g-spot and I can’t stop moaning. I can barely catch my breath.

“My perfect human,” he grins. “Keep watching.”

I didn’t even notice I wasn’t anymore. He holds my head as he continues to thrust inside me, continues to pull out orgasm after orgasm, until finally, I feel his pearls inside me. And that still isn’t enough for him. Having come so hard inside me, he still fucks them in, teases my clit, my breasts, presses his lips to my cheek and runs his tongue along it.

At the end of it all, when he finally stops making me come, I’m a puddle again. I’ve become one with the water. He’ll have to live here forever now and just take care of me like he takes care of all his little friends. I look like a wreck, too. My face won’t make the right expressions, it just goes between dead and cartoonishly happy.

Accurate to how I feel, I guess.

25

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