The Selkie Ch. 02

We walked into her room, or one of the rooms anyway. Crystal sat me on the bed and straddled my lap.

"This is where we need to talk about what you want and what it costs." She said loudly and rubbed her cheek to mine.

"Just oral is really all I'm looking for here." I stoically kept my hands to myself until the goddess on my lap told me otherwise.

"Dani, you're not my first girl. If you just want me to go down on you, I can get you off a couple times pretty quickly and really hard. It'd only be 45 minutes and $200," Crystal whispered to me, then continued loudly for the benefit of whomever was listening, "8 hours will cost you $1600 and be the time of your life."

"That sounds excellent." I stood, counted out 20 hundred dollar bills, and laid them on her nightstand.

"Alright then," She climbed off me and nodded to the bathroom, "do you mind showering first?"

"Of course," I rolled my tank top and bikini top up over my head as I walked passed Crystal to the bathroom. I've long since overcome any shyness about my body.

"What happened there, Dani?" She pointed at the slash marks running from my shoulder blade down across my belly button. They'd mostly healed over the last week. Instead of looking like a vicious animal tore its claws across my body, it looked like a vengeful lover had drawn blood with long fingernails the night before.

"She didn't want me to leave."

I stepped into the shower and stood still for a few moments with cold water flowing over me, forcing me to think. Thus far, I had acted solely to put miles between me and the vampire. That still seemed like a good idea. Vampires are territorial and just staying on the 80 for two days would put me on the eastern seaboard.

I could reassess then, but was strongly considering returning home to Europe. I'd left because there was little or no threat of vampires in The New World. Since that bubble of safety was now clearly burst, returning seemed ideal and idyllic.

The Gulf of Bothnia called to me with the cold clear waters of my youth, but that might take a few months' travel. In any case, I would make firmer plans once I hit the Atlantic.

All fresh, clean, and relaxed, I enjoyed the briefest blow drying experience I'd ever had and walked naked back to the bedroom.

Crystal had undressed as well and lounged on the bed. I took a moment in the doorway to drink in her beauty.

"Why on earth did you dye your drapes?" She sauntered over to me, tickled through my silky blond pubes with one hand, and grazed her fingernails over my newly shaved temple with the other. She smelt of ambergris and lust. "You just did this yesterday, huh? Was it that bad of a break up?"

"Yes. Help me forget about it?" I kissed her with an immediacy that she correctly interpreted as an end to conversation.

Her hands left my hair and kneaded my ass cheeks while one of her knees insinuated itself between mine. Crystal's heated body got me hot, bothered, and focused again quickly. She walked me backwards until we fell onto the bed, her on top.

I placed my hands under the pillow and drank in the view as she kissed my abs, drawing patterns in saliva on my six pack. She carefully steered clear of the gash marks, but otherwise covered my torso with attention and climbed back up to tease my hardened nipples. She frowned up for a moment and then giggled at me, noticing the concentration with which I was keeping my hands to myself.

"This isn't a lapdance, Dani. You get to touch me. I'll even be a little bit upset if you don't have my cum on your chin at least once." She put my hands in her hair and continued to dance back and forth between my breasts with her tongue, swirling a nipple there and nipping the underside here. I stopped her while she sucked my right nipple.

"Please, Crystal, I want to kiss you some more?"

Crystal grinned and covered my body with her delightful self, kissing my soft lips demandingly and exploring my mouth with her insistent tongue. The full contact of her body against mine - with her breasts, belly, and thighs pressed against me - added to the aggressiveness of her ardor and made me dizzy. I shared her passion readily and fully engaged in our snogging, but was happy to take a more submissive role in the foreplay.

I love the upsurge in the percentage of sexually aggressive women in the modern age. Previously, even amongst the rather more progressive working girl community, the opening approach was nearly always desirous submission.

While she attacked my mouth, I ran my fingers along the curve of her back and slowly massaged and squeezed the ass I'd been staring at earlier. Her hips responded to my touch and began miniscule gyrations to the rhythm of my firm molding of her ass.

She spread her legs and the heat of her sex rubbed against my hip as I ran my tongue quickly under hers.

She moaned and I brought my hands to her shoulders in a reverse push up.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Crystal, but I'm done with your lips for a little while."

I slid about 14 inches down the bed and listened to her moan more as I assayed the ripened breasts above me. Her nipples were large and light brown in color. I sucked one, then the other, taking turns between them and relishing and re-relishing the moment each reached its hardest in my mouth.

Crystal's arousal challenged her professionalism and her sex ground against me in need.

I flipped her onto her back and fingered her wetness slowly as I continued to enjoy her tightened nipples with my lips and tongue. The flat of my tongue over her left nipple made her jump with the jolt of pleasure and her sweet pussy clamp down on my four fingers I'd fit inside her.

I went back up her gorgeous body and returned to kissing her while her greedy snatch devoured most of my hand. Our making out kept being broken by her gasps for air as she neared her apex.

Leaning to the side, I watched the sublime look on her face as she came. Not the loud porn orgasm I'm sure she had to manufacture with frequency, but the honest murmurs and sighs of joy from a woman achieving pleasure.

"Fuuuuck." She exhaled approvingly.

Crystal needed a few minutes, so I spent the time surveying her body. She had a birthmark on her thigh, a mole on her shoulder, and a butterfly tattoo on her ankle. I liked her.

"Hey." She came around a bit more as I sucked on her big toe.

"Hey." I answered. "You back with me?"

"Hell yeah. And I think it's your turn?"

"I believe so." I considered. "Crystal, do you have a strapon?"

She smiled. "Yep, and I haven't gotten a chance to use Big Joe in a long while." Crystal reached into the drawer in her bedside table and took out an eight inch dildo sealed in a gallon ziplock bag. "He's a little long and girthy for what the guys I see tend to like to do."

Giddy, I laid back on the bed and watched her strap in. I hadn't been fucked with a strapon in a good long time.

She knelt between my legs, slipped a big firm pillow under my ass, and started eating me out with some vigor. Her talented tongue swirled inside me and I resolved to let her get me off on it later, but I was at wet as I was likely to get and I really wanted that strapon inside me.

I tapped her head in the universal sign for enough. She sat back on her heels and looked down on me with a smirk.

She lined up the strapon and pressed it into me, then dropped to her hands and knees to get into a better position.

Her stroke fucked me evenly, speeding and slowing at my request, for a solid twenty minutes. Again and again, she plowed in and out of me, seemingly tirelessly doing her job.

But then she did seem to tire and her stroke became a bit more jarring and erratic as she struggled to keep the pace. Just the slightest bit, so slight that I doubt she noticed it herself, but it meant that she'd be out of gas sooner rather than later. It occurred to me that her fucking sessions probably didn't usually last so long.

"Crystal?" I said her name to get her attention.

"Yeah?" She panted.

"Can you finish me off with that skilled tongue of yours?"

"Hell yeah."

She pulled out and dropped in, her tongue finding my pulsing clit and twirling over it. Two of her slender fingers kept up the fucking of my channel. Her mouth hoovered.

I felt even more blood rush to my genitals, but my declination had a good rush going to my head too. I tweaked and played with my own nipples until I felt my climax coming.

Then I grabbed her headboard and held on. Her suction and licking stayed steady. Her fingers kept plunging in and out of me.

In due course my dam broke and I squirted all over Crystal's lovely hand and jaw.

She washed off quickly with some baby wipes by the foot of the bed, then laid back down beside me. I pulled the pillow out from under me and put it next to the other beneath my head, so she'd have a place to lay her head..

"Are you a cuddler, Dani?" Her voice was sweet and caring, paid or not. I should have said no to the beautiful woman lying next to me. My instinct told me to keep running, that my unsettled nerves had an underlying cause beyond paranoia.

"I am."

Aud became trapped by her lust, and so I'd have her as the corsair Paganino claimed the deprived Bartolomea. The Doppelgänger's satellite feed showed her leaving the garage in Reno and - though I drove after her at great speeds - I'd have never caught her had she ridden on and disappeared into an urban sprawl. Instead, she stayed too long in the arms of a human, both allowing herself to be caught and betraying her weakness as had the married maid of Pisa.

Despite the humanity of the working girl giving her a working day, my jealousy rose and the wait for my little Selkie to become isolated again tortured me.

I held Crystal's warm body as I fell into a deep sleep for several hours. Unfortunately, it wasn't a dreamless sleep.

"Undskyld brenna! Fyrirgefou!" I shouted and jerked awake, startling poor Crystal. To her credit, she didn't ask. She just rubbed my back and whispered soothing things until my breathing and heart beat slowed.

I've killed more people, directly or indirectly, than you've ever met. Most were justifiable and straightforward deaths in battle or defense. Those hold no grip on my mind.

The ones I regret and that give me nightmares are those that died helpless. The ones that died like cattle in pain. There's an added dimension of unjust horror in a death that can't be fought.

After my time and the nunnery and the slaughter after, I lived a fairly nomadic existence. Nowhere and no one held me more than about a decade. To be fair, I did dance in and out of the lives of mortals, sometimes over the course of generations.

Jarl Guthfrith's line, for example, I felt an odd loyalty to over centuries due to my native ties and the berserker dominated Hamrammri tribe. Still, after the Peacock, no more berserkers in the line developed and I lost interest in defending their interests. (I haven't met any other berserkers since.) After that, I drifted fully for about a century both throughout the Scandinavian cultures and more limitedly in Europe at large.

In 12th century Lille (which is French now, but disputed on all sides at the time and victim to enough Viking raids that my coloring raised no eyebrows), I took up work as a clothier in a cottage outside the city, which should have only lasted a half a dozen years before moving on. But then I met Ina.

She came to me as a maid. A hopeless old maid of eighteen whose parents despaired of her ever making a good match and who was really too old at the time to apprentice.

Her mother approached me as a fellow mother. (In Western Europe, I always claimed to be a young widow whose husband and young sons had died of the flux.) The way she pleaded the girl's case overcame my conservative habits.

With guilty eyes, she said that five of her other seven children still lived at home and they'd nothing for a dowry or an apprenticeship, but Ina was clever, obedient, and hardworking. She wanted better for her eldest daughter than the life of an unmarried servant looming as her fate.

I accepted the burden out of pity and without much relish. Having to hide my condition from someone living in my cottage with me would be challenging and the dietary requirements of a human are more complex and costly than mine. Of course, I hadn't met Ina yet and realized how dear she'd become to me.

Her hair was walnut brown, with little blond glints in bright sunlight. Her smile was at once mischievous and knowing. Her tunic dress would twirl as she danced, both graceful and energetic. Pretty, and witty, and gay.

26 years we were together, good to the very end, but then so very bad. She was the last mortal I revealed my condition to and the one I became the most attached to during our life built together.

I say she was a maid because she was unmarried, but she was by no means virginal. Her father delivered the young lady in question to me one summer morning fairly brusquely and formally. The situation embarrassed him, so he promised a large sum of grain come harvest, but we both tacitly understood that he couldn't afford and wouldn't be giving me anything to support her apprenticeship. He hugged his daughter - whom he genuinely loved - and left quickly.

I'd barely shown her my workshop before she undertook a seduction.

Her forwardness was a pleasant surprise. Certainly, I'd have flirted purposefully myself with such a fetching girl in such an opportune arrangement. Only after she had a chance to settle in, of course, and only if she seemed receptive. But how much simpler to let her take the lead?

Her brazen fingertips ran along my jawline, over my neck and collarbone, and rested on my breast where skin met fabric. She left those digits there for a few seconds, ready to jump away if I proved to be indignant or reluctant.

I confess that I was rather easily seduced.

I brought those fingertips to my lips, kissed them, turned her hand over, kissed her palm and her wrist. I put that hand and its match on my waist, draped my arms around her neck, and kissed her properly.

From the moment her lips touched mine, from that initial spark, from that very first faint brush, I was hers to command. I never could deny her anything within my power to give. Luckily, the first thing she wanted from me was me.

Her previous trysts must have been rushed affairs, because she showed little to no finesse after the initial confirmation phase. She pushed me back onto some piles of folded cloth and dove very directly beneath my shift.

Especially during that age, my being the seduced was extremely rare, so I let her have her own way. I'd teach her foreplay and gratifying later. Her first taste of me was an expression of who she was at the time, unrefined sugar made nonetheless sweet by her raw state.

Her approach lacked refinement, but certainly not vigor. My poor pussy - so used to the languorous and predictable actions of my own fingers over the previous years - was rapidly overwhelmed by the lashing of her relentless tongue. Her wondrous wet tool coated my folds in her saliva even before my viscous fluid could catch up.

Over the hills and through the valley, she left no part of my sanctum untouched and never stalled or dallied. I suppose she was too frightened of potential discovery to take her time. Almost against my will, I reached completion on her lovely and eager face. Her ardor wasn't complete though and she continued her pursuit between my legs until I physically pushed her back by her slender shoulders and caught my breath.

Her face was priceless. A mixture of terror at my possibly turning her in as a deviant, depression in being rejected, and the tiniest bit of defiance because she knew - whatever my post-orgasm reaction proved to be - that I liked it.

I brushed the ball of my thumb over her wet lower lip, sucked off the juice, and spoke gently to her in her native french.

"Vous êtes merveilleux, ma fille." I walked to my door and latched it. "My turn."

She was back on me in a heartbeat, trying to get my dress and shift off me. I calmly held her at arm's length, again by her shoulders.

"I said," I looked her in the eye pointedly, "my turn."

I steered her to the bed, where she sat reluctantly. I pulled off my stockings and wimple, then my shift and dress in one motion. Her jaw dropped.

She'd certainly seen naked women before and I couldn't be sure that she hadn't seen a woman more beautiful than me, but I know she'd never seen a woman as clean as me.

Beyond maintaining my native habit of bathing and adoptive Greek habit of shaving, I chose and remodeled my house carefully.

The property was less valuable for being unariable and along a slow point in the Danube, upriver of the town with poor fishing prospects and only a couple stands of scraggly trees. With no intention of keeping even the smallest of gardens and a preference to swim in water without the town's waste, the location suited me perfectly.

Without changing the wattle and daub and thatched roof outside, I lined the inner walls of the one-room cottage with mudbrick, built a mudbrick fireplace with a window cut chimney, and lined the thatch roof with cob. I laid fitted, grout-sealed, split, sand-smoothed logs for the floor, made a wooden door and window shutters, and sewed my straw mattress into leather. I also used a linen sheet that I washed regularly along with my clothing.

As a result of those modifications, my hygiene, and not keeping animals or rushes indoors with me, I had a home that stayed warm in winter, cool in summer, difficult to burn, and free from fleas, ticks, and lice.

So when I removed my wimple and undressed, my hair was spun platinum, my arms and legs hairless, and my pale skin glistening and free of bug bites. Since she couldn't fathom how I could appear so pure in body, I believe the reveal of my human nakedness was actually more shocking to her than my seal form was later.

Whether she thought my cleanliness the result of holiness or witchcraft, she looked at me with such lust accompanying her surprise that I couldn't help rewarding her.

I directed her into a reclined position on the mattress and laid over her nude, but left her clothes on. Even in such a clearly wanton girl, modesty can be a funny thing. I wasn't ready to test hers yet.

So I kissed her, slower than she knew that she wanted. One hand slid beneath her thigh to rub her taut young skin while my other hand caressed her face, ear, and neck.

The excitement of her exploration exceeded mine by leaps and bounds. Her rougher hands ran over my smooth back and buttocks, fervently and exhaustively getting to know my geography. By turn she'd touch my shoulders and arms as well, not at all tentatively. Her impetuous hands stole between us to feel my stomach and breasts, marvelling at the firm flesh she found.

During that first extended makeout session on our bed, she repeatedly became so distracted by one of her new findings that she'd stop kissing back for a few seconds, including when she felt my nipple tighten from the pressure of her warm palm and heard my accompanying gasp.

Although her reactions in those moments caused me to laugh softly, the novelty to her of our lovemaking served to greatly excite me as well. Since my time in the nunnery, I'd largely been with professionals and slatterns. Her relative innocence and honest enthusiasm invigorated me.

All too soon though, her slow simmer became too much for her beautiful body and she burned, needing to be served hot.

I hiked her skirt above her waist and rolled us onto our sides, then lifted one of her legs over my hip. At this point her panting and whimpering was undeniable, so I pressed two fingers into her hot snatch and pumped away.

She was so cute in her need. Her hips rolled against my nakedness and her hands gripped at my back. Then she turned her face into my shoulder to stifle her moans.