The Pearl Diver

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A female shellfish diver has a strange encounter.
746 words
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I close my eyes and dive.

I'm naked, save for my bandana and loincloth. For tradition.

("It's bad luck to scandalize the fish," my mentor used to say. Her idea of a joke.)

The water is heavy and cold on my skin. I feel around through slippery kelp for precious pearl oysters.

After a few more dives, when the sun is getting low, I bring my prizes to the sand for inspection.

I take an oyster into my hand, cradling it as though not to injure it.

With a finger, I part the coarse mouth. I press my fingertip into the delicate flesh--so soft and slippery!--massaging it with deep, swirling strokes.

A nub emerges from the folds. Carefully, I persuade it to expend itself into my hand.

My patience is rewarded. The oyster gives of its pearly white treasure, so perfectly pale, gleaming with briny moisture.

I wipe away the salty drops and deposit the pearl into a soft pouch.

I work my way through the other oysters, encouraging them to spill their essence. But none do.

There isn't much daylight left. The water goes from darkly translucent to inky black.

With stiff muscles and a tired mind, I dive. I propel myself into the wet, icy flesh of the world, and things start to go wrong.

I haven't breathed properly. My muscles are setting like clay. I open my eyes to the offensively salty watery, and I'm not sure which way is up.

I'm eerily calm as a creeping darkness overtakes my consciousness.

I open my eyes one more time, indifferent to the sting. Absurdly, there's something down here with me.

It seems like a man. But I can't tell for sure.

I'm descending towards him. Not on purpose. It's like I'm falling.

He raises his arms in a welcoming hug.

And he keeps raising arms, thick, powerful, in all directions, curling towards me...

Then I'm on my back. I can't see what's raising me from the water. Cold wind stings my vulva through my pubic hair. I realize that my loincloth is gone.

Something has me by the ankles. I try to jerk my feet away, but I can't. All I see when I look down is long, thick coils, black and featureless.

I'm trying not to panic.

The wind whips my hair around, drying my eyes, raising goosebumps, hardening my nipples.

There's something between my feet, like a dark bald head. It approaches my cunt like a nosy animal.

Before it can push its way into a place that only lovers have known, I force the word out.

"Stop!"

The head pauses.

Another looms in the corner of my eye--two of them?--and, for the first time, I feel the intimation of words.

It makes me a promise I can't turn down.

I acquiesce, and the head between my legs afixes itself to my cunt. I feel countless tiny little pulses, and I realize the thing is sampling the blood of my menstruation.

Despite my dread and the tightness in my stomach, I register the pleasure. It's a transgressive pleasure, being voluntarily molested by two beings I'm powerless to stop.

Then the thing is applying its pulsations directly to my clitoris, and I can't help it. I'm starting to come.

The one above my face cradles my breast. Its mouth descends upon mine, smothering my hoarse cry as my orgasm ripples through me...

I take a deeply drawn, ragged breath. My dried, salty eyes spring open. It's nighttime. I'm laid out on the rocks, under the starshine of a cloudless night sky.

I take stock of myself.

My legs are covered in strange uniform bruises. I'm sore, worn out, lungs aching. My mouth is bitter from seawater. My loincloth and bandanna are missing.

But, otherwise, I think I'm okay.

I touch myself between my thighs. My fingers come away wet with a thick coating of ocean slime.

Then I notice the oysters.

Stiffly, I hoist myself into a sitting position. The oysters are laid out by my side. Not a lot of them, but enough for a precarious armload.

Flashing back to my earlier disappointment of a single pearl, I gather them up into my arms, and find that my breasts and neck are covered in the same bruises as my legs.

I perform my ritual with the oysters, fingering them one by one, encouraging them to open for me and spend themselves on my hand.

Each one gives me a large, perfect pearl.

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4 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 2 years ago

For being such a short story, the imagery was incredible. My breath hitched in my chest when I thought she was drowning. I need to go and read more of your work.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 2 years ago

Well done! I felt the tension of the short form in a good way. Mm the fingering call back, also good

AnonymousAnonymousabout 2 years ago

five stars, for the atmosphere and setting

OffNSFWOffNSFWabout 2 years agoAuthor

Hi all! I normally don't interact in the comments on my stories. (I think it's important to just let people have their say.) But since there's no other place to mark it as such, this story is an entry in the Literotica 750 Word Project. Thanks for reading!

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