The Life Aquatic with Susan Langdon

Inspired by the picture "Always Swim With A Friend," by Don't Fap Girl

Picture and Artist can be found on Hentai Foundry

Thanks to Yorkie Chai for the edit

Jaime Calderon's time in the hotel industry had spanned twenty years. He took great pride in his work. Jaime's career started as a lobby boy and, over the years, rose through the ranks to the current position of hotel manager. He'd seen it all, done it all, and dealt with just about every flavor of guest to come through the doors of La Casa Javier hotel; in his two decades of working for this great institution, nothing, absolutely nothing, in his entire experience, ever prepared him for the shrieking harpy, currently spewing streams of profanities nearing Homeric proportions, accompanied by flecks of saliva, approximately five centimeters from his face.

Her name was Susan Langdon. The reason for her ire was, among others, a late masseur.

"Ten minutes! Ten fucking minutes! I was on my bed for ten fucking minutes! You nearly made me miss my exfoliation!"

"I made her . . .?" Jaime would snort in contempt if not for the rules of customer service. Instead he focused on a bland smile, letting the abuse wash over him, and going to his happy place. Futbol, that's what I should have done. Luis, he went into Futbol. Look what happened to him. Shrieking fans hurling insults, yeah, but he's fucking rich and swimming in pussy. Yeah, Futbol . . . I should've gone into Futbol.

Jaime became aware, gradually, of a silence in the lobby. He blinked, realizing the harpy had stopped. Or she's catching her breath for the next round.

The gringa glared at the unfortunate manager; she was red-faced, flaring nostrils, tense muscles, and heavy breathing all. She looked clownish. Jaime suppressed, with a Herculean amount of will, the urge to laugh.

"Well?!"

A less professional man would snark, "Well what?" Jaime, well-trained in de-escalation and guest service replied, "I am extremely sorry Senora Langdon for the poor service. I must assure you it shall never happen again. If I may, I can offer you free sessions at our spa, plus an 80% discount on your next stay." An extremely generous offer, given the tardiness was minor and rare on the part of the masseur.

"Not good enough. I want him fired," the harpy sniffed.

"Ay Madre Dios! I'm sorry Senora Langdon, the decision to dismiss the masseur is the responsibility of another party. He is under contract from a different company. You have the option of filing a complaint I can pass to human resources, and they may pass it on to the company, where they'll chuck it in the trash because they're not stupid enough to fire a good masseur over this mierda."

Susan Langdon glared at this little brown spi . . . Mexican. She placed her hands on her sculpted thighs, light blue eyes incandescent on her tanning booth brown face. "What-is-your-name?" she hissed through gritted teeth. "How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice."

Reasonable and calm, offering generous compensation and a clear explanation of the policy? "Jaime Calderon, Senora."

"Well Jaime. Look around and take a good long one, because I will have you fired and out of the building by the end of the hour," Susan Langdon turned with a swish of her Malibu hips and stalked away.

Jaime sighed, not from fear or worry, but with relief at the temporary reprieve from this "gringa bitch". He knew his job was secure. Susan Langdon's husband might co-own the hotel but he was a reasonable man, and the decision to fire a manager had to come from the board.

"How does a man like John Langdon marry that?" Jaime wondered. Langdon's wealth testified to his smart decisions but this one . . . "And we're stuck with her for the next week," he sighed. Ah well, he had other duties to attend.

Susan Langdon raged and fumed in her hotel room. John (her husband!) refused to do anything about firing that wet . . . man.

"He's a twenty year employee with an impeccable record, Honey," he said with more than a trace of annoyance. "I'm not going to terminate a manager over a late masseur."

"He spoke to me in an impertinent tone."

"Everyone 'speaks to you in an impertinent tone' Honey. The gardener, the maid, the butler, the delivery boy . . . You want me to fire everyone who tries to reason with you? You're there for a week. Relax, swim, walk or hike. Let the photo scandal blow over and don't abuse the staff. Can you do it for me just this once?"

Susan frowned at her husband's pleading face on the phone. He was twenty years older than her thirty-five but looked seventy. She noted, vaguely, he looked much younger ten years ago, when they first met. He'd aged considerably since; she wondered why. No matter; she wasn't going to receive satisfaction today. "Grrr!"

John sighed at the last sight of his wife's disgruntled face blinking temporarily out of existence. He rubbed his temples, wondering for the umpteenth time why he married that. Sure, her performance in bed was great but . . . "Nothing ever, ever satisfies that woman."

He had lost count of the house staff who left because of her, and hiring new staff was near impossible because of her reputation. "And I can't divorce her." Sure, she'd signed the pre-nup but Susan was poor then, and he was rich. Now, she was rich and he was . . . less rich, and more exposed. "I get out of this one, no more trophy wives," he sighed. Especially gold diggers with business sense.

"I wonder if I can take care of her like Larry with his wife," he thought heading to the door. "I need to find a better hitman or I'll end up in jail . . . like Larry."

****

"Goddammit!" Susan fumed. "If he weren't rich . . . well, richer."

Susan, in regards to wealth, was at a stage where her assets surpassed her husband's, but she still needed him for certain financial reasons. "He's still useful, but just a couple more years . . ."

Right now, Susan was hiding from the paparazzi at this low-class hotel. The reason was one of those typical nude photo scandals: easily dismissed these days, so many starlets do 'em, but her companion was the wife of a prominent politico, in an election year, and the photos were courtesy of the woman's bratty fratboy nephew. "Little pervert fuck!" Susan snorted. It wasn't anything ,really. Just two nude women rubbing suntan oil on each other, but the photos were viral within the hour, pundits and paparazzi were pouncing, and everyone ran for the hills.

So John had packed his wife on the Learjet and flown her to the most remote and obscure hotel in his chain.

"Just a week Honey," he soothed over her curses, "the scandal should blow over by then."

On the flight Susan vomited a continuous stream of invectives, curses, whines, and complaints aimed at anyone and everyone within her line of sight. The Learjet landed, got her off the plane, threw her luggage on the tarmac, and took off without refueling or filing a flight plan.

The taxi started off at a leisurely thirty, but was going a hundred ten by the time the driver screeched to a halt in front of the hotel. He ran to the trunk, threw out her luggage, and peeled rubber without taking the fare.

The bellboys and concierge were next. Between the invectives, insults, tantrums, comments on looks, anatomy, man-hood, etc, and failure to tip, it could be accurately stated, by the time of the tardy masseur, Susan Langdon was the single most hated guest in La Casa Javier's history, and that included the Leona Helmsley two week nightmare of '89 and the Pablo Escobar three day blowout of '87.

Susan opted against a poolside sunbath. The hotel had few guests this time of year, but the prospect of getting hit on displayed a probability of eight. She didn't feel like playing around just yet. "Besides, paparazzi might be lurking."

Susan was best described as an easy-on-the-eyes milf with the instincts of a great white shark. She managed to maintain her former exotic dancer's body through a strict regimen of diet and intense exercise.

Her discipline and predatory instincts, combined with white-hot sexuality, landed her a big whale in John Langdon, real estate magnate. They also allowed her to build successful businesses of her own, which included a major cosmetics enterprise, using John's money of course. She was even able to pay John back on his investment. As his fortunes waned and hers waxed, Susan gained the upper hand in the marriage.

While Susan mused upon the changed fortunes of her ten year marriage, she pondered how to wring as much "fun", if she could call it that, from her temporary exile as possible.

She swept her gaze around the lobby; nothing but a few couples, too old and fat for her taste, and a hapless bellhop who, on seeing her, made a desperate attempt to exit.

"You! Boy!"

The bellhop squeaked in dismay, turned and stuttered, "S-S-Si s-s-senora? How may I assist you?"

"Si-Si-Si sen-sen-senora?" she mimicked. "Moron, where's a place I can get some action?"

The hapless bellhop, naive in some respects, was taught to know the local distractions for the convenience of the guests. Unfortunately, Susan asked at the wrong time.

"M-m-most of the bars don't open until the night, senora, and the local beach bar is closed indefinitely. The owner's sister is ill."

"You think I give a fuck? I want some action and I want it now, or it's your ass. Where is it shit-for-brains."

"You . . . gulp! You could try the cove," he squeaked.

"The cove?"

"S-s-si, a lot of the locals go there to sunbathe. Some don't wear clothes. It's kind of secluded."

Susan scowled. There might be someone to play with, but he could easily just be some wrinkled old retiree, and she already had one at home. Well, not wrinkled or retired but still old. She considered the bellhop. Young and cute enough, probably a virgin, but I'm not in the mood for Mexican right now. "So, directions." It wasn't a question.

"South, down the beach, past the wharf. Um, ten minutes walk?"

Susan dismissed him with a contemptuous sniff and left. She didn't thank him. Susan never thanked. She demanded; they gave. That was all.

Raphael watched the beautiful but mean "gringa bitch" walk away, wondering what he'd just done. He'd sent her to The Cove . . . at this time of year. Most of the locals stayed away until later in the summer. He had to tell Senor Calderon.

"You sent her there?! The Cove?! At this time of year?!"

"I'm sorry Senor Calderon. It just came out. She was mean and loud and called me foul names and I wasn't thinking."

"Damn straight you weren't. I'll go speak to her before she le . . ." Jaime stopped mid-sentence. Raphael was reminded of a freeze frame in a movie. Then Jaime's blank expression changed. First to pensive, shifting and nodding as if he debated a ponderous question. Then his lips curled into a smile, and the smile broadened into a ferocious, savage grin.

Raphael was confused. Jaime stayed there for several minutes, with that teeth-baring evil grin, ignoring Raphael.

"Sir?" the bellhop asked.

"Huh? Oh!" Jaime was startled out of his reverie, quickly assuming his professional formality. "Right! Yes! Raphael, you can go home. Don't worry, you're not fired. You'll get full wages for the today." I think I'll recommend a bonus.

"Si senor. Gracias senor. Um, should I talk to Senora Langdon bef . . .?"

"No! Er, uh, I mean, you're to go home immediately. Do-not-speak-to-Senora Langdon. I'll deal with her."

After Raphael left, Jaime stood, breathed, picked up his desk phone, and called John's office. "May I speak to Senor Langdon please?"

"Mister Langdon is currently in a meeting. May ask the nature of this call?"

"It concerns Senor Langdon's wife."

John could care less about his wife's activities, so long as they stayed out of the press and didn't involve attempts on his business. He didn't like being summoned from a meeting, arranging a potentially profitable real estate enterprise, to deal with another one of her blow-ups.

"Langdon here, what is it Jaime?"

"I just called to inform you Senora Langdon will be spending today at the Cove. I thought you might like to know."

"The Cove? You called me from an important meeting just to tell me Su . . ." then John stopped, and realized what Jaime had said. "Oh! Yeah, I see. It's the area where people are known to disappear."

"One can hope, sir."

"I see. Thank you Jaime. Keep me informed."

"Yes sir. I will sir."

John ended the call and returned to the meeting a little happier. He knew he shouldn't hope for much. Susan could very well return without incident. The disappearances did not occur very often, and most were mere rumor. The Cove had a haunted reputation but John was not a superstitious man. The local federale and marine experts suggested hidden reefs, riptides, sharks, and any number of natural dangers. "A man can hope," his step acquired a skip as he returned to the boardroom.

Susan glared at the ocean in disgust. Sure the Cove was beautiful; the soft sand white as sugar, the sea azure like the sky, but the beach was deserted. "No one here, fuck!" No one to admire her new mauve bikini.

It fit, snug, like a second skin, a perfect match for her tan lines. She'd examined her nude body in the hotel before slipping it on. Her skin was smooth, bare, unblemished. Laser and electrolysis treatments removed every thing below her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. Her light golden blonde hair cascaded in sun-gilded waves to her shoulders. Her blue-gray eyes flashed the self-admiration of her gym and diet sculpted body.

Hmmm, maybe I should try an all over tan this week. Tan lines were in vogue yes, but people still liked all overs. On her way out, she stopped at the store and picked out a pair of flippers for good measure.

"I should just turn around and go back to the fucking hotel." But there wasn't anything to do there, except yell at the manager, "Or get another massage. Maybe fuck the bellboy," she snorted. "Fuck! I'm going into town tonight. I might find somebody there."

She set her blanket, towel, and suntan lotion on the sand, and looked at the water. She was too pissed to appreciate its beauty but, "Fuck it! A little swim will calm me down. I can get rid of these tan lines later."

She put on her flippers and trudged into the water. Susan used to swim competitively in high school and college, winning a few trophies but not good enough for the Olympics. The athletic scholarship for her second rate college didn't pay enough for expenses, so she supplemented it with exotic dancing and as an artist's model.

She met John when he was a customer at the strip joint where she worked. A lonely but wealthy widower, vulnerable, a big fish to be landed. They dated discretely, then openly, and married shortly after her twenty-sixth birthday, and graduate degree. Over the next decade, she made his life, and the lives of the others in their orbit, an increasingly miserable purgatory, as she grew richer, and he, poorer.

Susan floated on her back. The calm water quieted her down. Her mind drifted. "This feels good," she admitted with no small amount of grudge. She decided to drift for a few minutes longer. She wasn't worried about sharks or riptides. "It's going to be a dull week," she murmured.

****

'Twas the season of warm water and the mermaids were bored. The men weren't back from their annual migration, and Great Old Musk was still groggy from hibernation. Sporting with him would wait a day or so.

"There's always a drylander," Sereleena of the Deep Brown Earth hair suggested.

"The drylanders don't come to this place so often anymore," Laureena of the Red Coral hair replied.

"Besides, they don't last very long," Mureeman of the Bright Sun hair added.

"That's because no one bothers to breathe for them while we sport, or they forget," Dareenaman of the Red Storm Sunset hair pointed out.

"We have to drown 'em anyway. We can't leave surface dwellers with knowledge of us," remarked Laureena.

"We let some go," Sereleena replied, "Most drylanders don't believe in us, and the ones we let go are thought mad. Old Musk said so and he knows everything."

The mermaids nodded. Old Musk and his people were in the ocean since well before the rise of the surface dwellers, and even before the Merfolk. They possessed the Deep Knowledge.

"What about the dolphins? They're always fun, and up for anything."

"They went with the men, Darie, remember?" Laureena reminded her.

"Oh."

"Well, we always have each other."

"Yes, Murie, but . . . I don't know. I'd like something a little different. Some variety for a change," Darie sighed.

"You have a point," the others agreed.

"Sisters! Sisters!"

"Oh Lissa, what now?" sighed Laurie, exasperated. Her little blood sister could be so annoying with her naive enthusiasm.

Tureelissa of the Deep Red Coral hair rushed to the others, wide-eyed and bubbling. "There's a drylander! In the cove!"

Laurie rolled her eyes, "Calm your water, Lissa." Her little sister was just come to maturity. She'd never seen land dwellers, and tended to treat new discoveries as humongous events. She'll get jaded soon enough.

Serie smiled, "Oh! A drylander! Finally! Do show us Lissa."

So enthused was Lissa over her discovery, she nearly left the others behind. The five mermaids came across the drylander soon enough. She floated on her back, arms spread.

"She has coverings and flippers. Is she one of the seal-kind?"

"She's not selkie Lissa," her blood sister said. "Drylanders have coverings on their bodies. Some of them do, and they sometimes wear flippers to help them swim."

"She looks to be something to sport with," Darie said.

"She does look comely from behind," Serie added. She noted the drylander's broad shoulders, slim toned body, curvy hips, round toned ass, and slender but well-formed legs. "A shame she has no proper tail."

"Well, if we're to sport with her, someone should do the breathing, or she'll drown before we finish," Laurie said.

"I think we should take turns. She looks like something to last."

"Good idea, Darie, but remember not to get too involved with her different parts," Murie said.

Lissa gushed, "Ooooh, my first drylander! I can't wait!"

The mermaids spread out on both sides of the drylander.

"Lissa, stay under. You've never done an ambush before," Laurie said, "and don't pout."

Lissa pouted anyway, crossed her arms, and stayed below, swaying her tail in frustration.

The other four quietly lifted their heads above the water, making nary a ripple. They had to be quick; mermaids can't stay above water for more than a few minutes before they dry out.

They surrounded the drylander. She floated on her back, eyes closed, not asleep but taking in the calm. She opened her eyes, whether because she detected their presence, or to adjust her position, it is not known. Her eyes saw, her eyes widened, she opened her mouth to gasp, and Darie struck.

She planted her mouth on the drylander's and forced her tongue inside. She put her arms around the lander's shoulders, while the others grabbed her arms and waist, and pulled her under.

The lander gasped a shocked, "Mmmm," salted with healthy doses of fear and outrage. She fought and struggled but the mermaids, used to swimming long distances in deep water, were too strong.

Darie's gills opened and closed, pulling in water, separating oxygen, breathing both for herself and the drylander. Her head concealed most of the lander's face, but the woman's eyes were visible, wide, and frantic. She bubbled howls of confused outrage.

"Oh! She's feisty, and she looks delicious." Murie had hold of the lander's arm. She ran her hands along it. "She feels so warm." She opened her mouth and closed her lips on a finger. "And she tastes yummy," she thought, sucking.