Christ. What was it waiting for?
Marlowe reached out with one trembling hand, expecting her fingers to be swallowed up. The creature’s lip curled, a hint of teeth. Marlowe brushed her hand alongthe fluttering edges of their gill slits and a shudder slithered through the creature's body.
“You like that,” she murmured, now barely a whisper.
A hum reverberated from deep inside the creature’s chest and she leaned into Marlowe’s touch, pinning her hips to the boat with slick scales. Sharp, sticky-sweet breath with an undercurrent of decay mingled with her own.
What the hell. She was already dead.
The slits on their neck flared wide, inviting. Vibrations pulsed through Marlowe from the creature’s chest, stronger, deeper, writhing into the pit of her stomach.
Its skin tasted like the rest of it, sand and fish and rot, and Marlowe’s cunt ached when she laved her tongue against the feathery gills. The creature shuddered and a low keening sound left it.
Webbed hands splayed at the hollow of her throat and the sides of her neck, damp seeping into Marlowe’s bones with every graze of her bulging fingertips. The creature moved as if she’d done this before—and maybe she had, and maybe all those poor saps wound up picked clean on the lake bed.
Their gills feathered against Marlowe’s tongue like tiny swollen worms. Anchoring her mouth along the quivering slits, she flattened her tongue, rhythmically stroking theslick edges as a thousand wispy bits of flesh squirmed against her lips.
Lake water leaked with each pulsing movement and trickled down her chin. Marlowe dipped her head, hungrily chasing the grainy droplets and they let out a strangled noise, twisting their tail against her in a stuttering slide and sending a stab of pleasure through her gut.
The creature rutted against Marlowe like a bitch in heat and she let it. Marlowe panted as she angled her hips up, head falling back on the rough plank seat, rolling to meet its movements.
The rough, wet-denim crush against her built to a dizzying frenzy and Marlowe inhaled rain as she blindly grabbed, skimming damp flesh and tiny scales and wedging her hand between their warm bodies.
It snarled in Marlowe’s ear and she was acutely aware of the mouthful of needle teeth hovering over her neck.
Marlowe let out a ragged groan with the first desperate grab of denim under her palm.
“Gonna bite me? Go ahead, do it,” she panted. Marlowe nearly came at the phantom sensation of those teeth nipping at her, but she held herself there, urging the heavy rock of her tail to grind the heel of her palm into her swollen clit.
The creature’s movements slowed and they drew back, the slits in their face flaring.
Their hand clasped the side of her face, a fleshy thumb at the corner of her lips, and Marlowe tilted her head. Slowly, they pressed their thumb between Marlowe’s lips. She flicked and curled her tongue against the curve of webbing, swallowing until it touched the back of her throat before the creature snatched their hand away and stared, unblinking.
Marlowe still worked her clit between them, an increasingly unsteady kneading with enough friction to be on the verge of pain. Marlowe was used to pain. Fear of getting caught, lack of foreplay, rough hands—all bred a rigid fact that sex hurt. This was no different, and she didn’t mind.
The creature finally seemed to take notice. Its own hand trailed between them, the other braced on the seat, and grazed over Marlowe’s knuckles. The fleshy pads curled around her fingers, and Marlowe made a small, frustrated sound, hips grinding against air, before she realized what it was doing.
Twisting her hand palm up and drawing it to the place where spotted, marshy skin faded into small scales, the creature pressed her fingers into a small, slick opening. Marlowe shuddered, lightheaded with want.
She pressed two fingers into the hot flesh of its cunt, the soft skin under its scales sucking at her as she pressed in a third. The creature’s chest vibrated with a satisfied, low sound, and Marlowe rutted her hips against her knuckles, fucking her fingers deeper and feeding the buzz in her veins.
Adrenaline-drunk, cunt throbbing, Marlowe welcomed the hot slide of webbed hands along her stomach. She fumbled at the button of her shorts as fleshy pads slipped under soaked denim and cheap, shitty lace. Their exploration faltered at the thatch of neatly trimmed curls, drawing a wretched groan from Marlowe. She angled her hips, slicking her cunt across their fingers.
A soft hiss left them and they felt along the curves of Marlowe’s body, eyes darkening when her thighs parted and pushed into their touch.
They sank into her until the webbing at their knuckles rubbed against her clit and Marlowe moaned, low and ragged, beginning a slow rhythm—fucking her hand into them, fucking their hand into her, human fingers curling and thrusting, fleshy fingers twisting and pressing.
Marlowe shuddered, selfishly staving off her pleasure, and leaned forward, hooded gaze slipping to the creature’s wide, flat mouth. It bared its teeth, nicking her lip and drawing a drop of blood. Sharp iron dripped betweenthem, and it did nothing for a moment until its lips flattened, tasting. Wanting. The creature lunged and clumsily mouthed at her.
She swallowed Marlowe's moans on a thick, flat tongue, delving into her mouth, drowning-deep, snaking down her throat. Marlowe’s throat bulged, and her cunt spasmed, and she gagged and choked, hand still trapped between them, fingers deep in the creature’s hot, slick cunt, their fingers plunged into hers, heavy and demanding.
Marlowe came when she couldn’t breathe.
When the thunder dulled and her body convulsed around a single breaking point deep in her gut, when the uncontrolled, achingly deep twist of their fingers became unbearable.
It knew. It licked the roof of her mouth as Marlowe gasped. She panted through her orgasm, dragging in deep lungfuls of rain-flecked air as their touch left her. Rutting against her fingers, it rhythmically fucked itself open until three wasn’t enough and Marlowe’s chapped knuckles stung as they slipped past its pale underbelly.
The creature’s cunt suckled hungrily at her hand. Marlowe’s wrist burned and popped as it bent, hand flattened inside the creature. Slick edges pulsed around her wrist in time to the creature making a deep hummingsound that beat into her head, again, again, again, and Marlowe couldn’t get away if she wanted to, but she hadn’t wanted to, had she? And her feet were ice-numb and her legs were cold, but the rest of her was blistering hot and her hand was candlewax. Heat and pressure and soft pressed in and Marlowe’s lips were numb, but she thought she was smiling.
