Sea Shore

yes, this is one of *those* stories…but still a *good* story…    🙂

The day was ending, the cup of the sky over the ocean was reminiscent of navy-blue velvet, dotted with the glowing wink of stars. The moon had yet to rise, though the last fireworks of sunset hovered around the horizon, painting the tips of the dune grass in shades of vermillion, russet, and violet.

This far up the beach, there was no one, and she enjoyed the solitude. Behind her, far back, stood the pier, lights burning into the darkness, the smell of pizza and fried dough finally falling away as she walked northward. Beside her was the folding of the sea, the hiss of foam sliding onto land, the cool roughness of sand between her toes and under her heels, the little kick of breeze stirred by each rolling wave.  Despite the shortness of her  sundress, the hem was wet from splashing waves-the tide had turned and water crept ever higher up the beach. Every so often a forceful wave would rush in, the churning crest a white shadow in the darkness, and catch her mid-thigh, almost knocking her down.

She laughed at each fumble-footed attempt to stay upright. She and the sea had an affinity for one another. The rocking waves sang to her soul, ageless songs of birth and life and death, and the sea, always the sea, hissing up to the shore.

She moved up the beach as the gloaming faded into full-dark, the ebb and flow of the waves to her right. Walking at night before heading into bed soothed her spirit, lulled her into a deep calm, helping her to sleep. Far off into the distance came the repetitive flash, blink, flash of a lighthouse.

Lost in thought, she tripped over something in the sand, unfortunately at just the moment a larger wave crashed onshore. She was tossed, tumbled, rolled. Trying to regain her feet, the sucking tug of the outflow tipped her over and a second wave rolled her again.

Her sandal flipped from her hand, hitting her cheek as the water crashed down. Struggling to stand,  she realized that she was in deeper water than she’d imagined. There was no bottom to stand upon. Realizing she was caught in a rip current, she began to stroke parallel to shore, the only sure way to break out of the relentless tug of water.

Eventually, she broke free of the strong counter-current, but found she couldn’t clearly see the shore. Eyes streaming with salt-water, breath gasping in and out, she fought panic as much as the tide. She’d been tugged far out, and was tiring fast. Her arms felt like lead-weights.  She coughed as a slap of salt-water punched into her mouth, trickling down her throat. For a moment that familiar queasy feeling engulfed her, and she realized how easy it would be to drown while vomiting. She tamped it down, accepted the sharp saline sting, treaded water as she tried to get her bearings.

Something brushed against one kicking calf. She hated when fish did that. She stroked away a bit, willing her arms to lose the heavy feeling so that she could ease herself back to shore on the incoming tide.

It wrapped around her waist suddenly, pulling her under as she thrashed with panic. Then she was above the water, sucking in breaths of cool evening air, as the thing, whatever it was, twined up her ankle.

She knew.

She knew what the monster in the dark water was. Tales were told, of course, of the sex-starved monster that lived in the cool ocean waters. Those stories made the rounds every few years, of pretty young girls being pulled out to sea, their bodies invaded by twisting, turning, relentless tentacles.

She’d lived here for decades, didn’t believe in fairy tales, nor of the hysteria of girls having sex on the beach with their boyfriends, creating fairy tales to convince their parents that they’d not willingly engaged in the dance of decadence.

She had been wrong, she realized as one cold tentacle slithered quickly from ankle to knee to thigh. It held her, head just above the water, as it teased her. Her arms were tangled, and she felt the squeezing embrace around her waist, curling up to circle one of her heavy breasts.

Though she tried to struggle, it was impossible. He–it–countered her every move, almost, it seemed to her, to be toying with her. She was tired, cold, energy draining fast. As if sensing this, she was tugged close, her head made to look into the incredible blue eye of the creature holding her. Big as a dinner plate, as beautiful as a sapphire, it studied her. One tentacle rose from the water, tracing her face, her lips. She clenched her jaw, but the tiny tip pressed against the corner of her lips, prying her mouth open. Such strength in such a small piece of it…she hadn’t that much strength in her pinky finger. Her breast was throbbing from the tight grip of the tentacle circling it, her nipple being rubbed by another seeking tip. She felt pressure between her pussy lips and realized she was being invaded in all her openings simultaneously.

And then it-he- was inside her. In her mouth, down her throat, making her gag. In her pussy, a twirling tip followed by a brutal thickness, filling her, stuffing her cunt. And in her ass, her anus no stronger than her lips had been at keeping the twining tentacles out. There was a grunt. Had she grunted? He thrust, she felt the coiling of the flexible tips in her body, the rubbing of her sensitive bits. The orgasm caught her unaware, the sudden shocking onslaught of sensation almost making her black out as she fought for breath around the thing in her mouth. Plunging, fucking into her helpless body, she felt the fat tentacle slither from her as she orgasmed. Looking down her body, wrapped in tight green-yellow arms, she saw it. Protruding from his body, where she had assumed his eating orifice was. It was white, and big. Struggling furiously, she knew where it was headed. She tried to scream around the thing in her mouth, but it was too full.

It pressed against her pussy lips for one impossible moment, then pressed firmly up and into her. She screamed again, soundless but for a few escaping whimpers. Stretched beyond belief. The head of it was round, like a plum, and he was shoving deeply into her passage. Her body stretched to accommodate it, but still it was painful. Too full. Too much. There was a stinging jet of something inside her, cold and gooey. He couldn’t be cumming in her…could he?

She was filled, suddenly, with an incredible lust. Her breasts tightened, her nipples felt like fire was shooting into them, her clit engorged and throbbed. Her head fell back as the tentacle slid from her mouth, twining about her other breast, circling her nipple. It fucked her, withdrawing and plunging deep, and she writhed for more. Head bobbling on her neck, drool running from her mouth, she was capable only of incoherent babbling as he fucked her.

How long she was in the water, cumming, cumming, filling the sea around them with her juices, his, she had no idea. She remembered the blanket of stars overhead, the feeling of things sucking at her, of the ache of nipples and cunt and ass.

She woke on the beach as the sun rose from the ocean. The brilliant golden rays threw spears of light into the darkness, turning the few clouds on the horizon into brilliant flags of pink, purple, and rose-gold. The sea was gilded, the sand sparkled as the new day dawned. Covered in sand, she was sore, stiff, cold. Her dress had come off, apparently when she had fallen in the wave. She had bruises from the tumbling fall, and a skinned knee. Rising, wobbling, she donned her cold, sandy dress, and made her way home.

She’d not fallen asleep on the beach in ages. She had no recollection of getting out of the rogue wave, no idea how she’d swum up on the beach, no memory of getting so close to home, only to fall asleep on the beach. She needed a hot shower, and coffee.

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In the ocean not far away, the beast watched his new lover make her way to her domicile. Tonight he would call her back to the beach. With a splash, he set out to the depths. He was hungry for other things now. Tonight he would sate the driving need for a human female. Again.