Things Mermaid Tails Can't Do

(Note: this story turned out a bit meaner and darker than my usual fare. It involves utterly non-consensual male captivity, body transformation, and magical chastity. Scenes of sexual contact between characters may not include the necessary communication for valid consent, but do not involve any in-the-moment physical force, blackmail, or reluctance. All characters are, of course, over 18.)

***

"One more for the road?" Dylan asked the woman from the bar, whose name he was very much hoping not to be quizzed on.

He pressed his morning erection against her still-naked ass to underscore the question.

"Ha, you mean the one you already promised me?" the woman answered, rolling onto her back and pushing down on his shoulders. "Or did you forget?"

Dylan felt himself wince, recalling his impulsive, hazy-minded promise to pay her back with oral in the morning. He'd cum early and hard last night (difficult to avoid when she'd let him stay in her mouth so long before moving on to her pussy). Afterward, he'd been hit with such an irresistible wave of pleasant tiredness that he couldn't do much but mumble nonsense into her pillows.

"I'm so hard already," he complained, keeping his cock against her skin to prove it, even if it was only the skin of her thigh. "And you're so hot."

She really was. Dylan often exaggerated his flattery, but that was impossible with this statuesque marvel he'd snagged for the night.

"So?" she asked.

"So, I'll be all distracted," he tried to explain.

"You mean horny," said the woman. "I like you horny."

"But I'll be rushing," Dylan tried to reason with her. "Wouldn't you rather wait and put me to work on you when my head's clear enough to take all the time you need?"

"That gamble didn't work out for me so well last night, did it?"

"That was night, though," he said. "I'm not going to fall asleep again."

She trailed a finger thoughtfully along his jaw and narrowed her eyes.

"You expect me to believe you're the kind of man who'd lick your own juices off of me, just to keep a promise?"

Dylan brought his shoulders up in a sheepish gesture, rather than outright lie.

"Not much of a giver, are you?" she scolded him indulgently.

"Oh, I'll give it to you, all right," said Dylan, grinding his way up her leg to her pussy, pressing slightly on the entrance. "Doesn't that tempt you at all? Getting to feel this inside you?"

"Bad boy," she slapped his ass lightly. "But don't worry. I'm good at finding a use for useless lovers. Especially when they're as pretty as you."

"Useless?" he said with only mock offense.

"Useless," she taunted in a whisper, wrapping her hand hard around his cock.

He pressed himself toward her again, but the woman kept her grip tight, preventing him from either advancing or retreating.

"Please?" he asked in his sweetest voice.

The woman sighed dramatically. "Fine, but not here. I want you on the couch this time."

She slid out from under him with startling ease and walked down the hallway of her cute little beachside cottage.

Dylan followed close behind her, not asking why. The explanation would probably be an hour long and involve the position of the moon or the flow of her chi or something like that. Whatever it was, if it ended with his cock inside her, he was happy to skip ahead.

"Have you ever been with a mermaid?" the woman asked.

"Uh, I don't think so," said Dylan. "How does that one work? Do we sneak a quickie down on the beach somewhere? Or do I just tie your legs together right here and see where it leads?"

He caught up behind her, put his hands on the outsides of her thighs, and pressed inward, playfully.

She laughed. "No, I mean an actual mermaid. Like the ones out on Mermaid Island."

"Mermaid Island?" asked Dylan.

"Out in the bay. It's close enough to see from land. It only takes one of those little rental motorboats to reach it."

"Motorboats, you say?" Dylan turned her around, pushed her naked breasts into full cleavage mode, and lowered his lips to the crease.

"I'm serious," she said, digging her fingers into his hair and pulling his head up to face her. "I've met mermaids. They're ravenous."

"More ravenous than you?" he asked, kissing her mouth, trying to recapture the feel of it around his cock last night.

"You don't know the meaning of the word yet." She bit him on the shoulder. "But you could."

She broke away from him to unfold her futon couch.

"I'm not used to my dates trying to wingman— uh, wingwoman me," Dylan said. "Not sure how to feel about it."

He was planning to make his way around as many beds of this resort town as he could before summer's end, of course, but he was polite enough not to say it out loud

"I take care of my friends," said the woman, moving on from the couch to reel back a set of curtains.

The curtains opened, not over a window, but over an aquarium that took up most of a wall.

The glass was mirrored on the outside, but Dylan could just make out a large shape turning itself around in the water.

"What do you have in there?" he asked, coming closer to block the glare with his shadow. "A great white?"

"Oh, no, he's just a great big giant angelfish," she laughed, making kissy faces at the glass. "Aren't you? Who's my big angelfish boy? Yes, you!"

The shape thumped against the glass.

"You'll get your breakfast pellets soon," she promised, stroking the glass. "I like to let him wake up gradually, like in nature," she explained to Dylan. "Curtain first, then I'll turn the tank lights on later so he can be beautiful for me. But this time of day, the view is perfect just the way it is."

She climbed onto the flattened futon on her hands and knees, body parallel to the mirrored surface of the tank.

"Ah," said Dylan, with a slow smile. That was much better than chi or astrology. "You like to watch while you play?"

He positioned himself behind her, between her legs.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

"I... could be persuaded to take it as a compliment," he said.

"Good," said the woman, lifting her hips and grinding back against him. "I want to see every muscle in action. I want to remember them clenching and flexing."

Dylan found himself flexing a little extra as he thrusted into her, more aware than usual of everything that went into that simple motion, the strength of his own ass and thighs. He had to admit, he didn't often give them their fair share of credit, next to his arms and chest.

"They're dangerous, you know," the woman warned, flipping her long hair over one shoulder to look at him. "Mermaids."

This was getting oddly insistent, but still not the worst conversation he'd had during sex.

"Right, they're into drowning sailors and all that?" he asked.

"And so much more," said the woman, rocking happily back and forth against his hardness. "They're full of dark magic. Once you find them, you could end up under their spell, and never be able to leave them again."

"Oh, so that's the appeal," Dylan caught on. "Is that what you want? To enchant me and keep me all to yourself?"

"Me? Never," she laughed.

Her pet bumped against its tank wall behind him, shaking it harder than before, but the woman didn't seem concerned.

"Does it scare you?" she asked. "The thought of falling under someone's spell?"

"Me? Never," Dylan joked back.

"Never scared?"

"Never gonna happen."

"Ooh," said the woman. "That just makes it juicier to think about, doesn't it?"

Instead of poking her in the ribs, as he might have during clothed conversation, he plunged deeper into her, hoping to create a strong enough sensation to distract her from the topic.

She gasped and took one hand off the futon to rub her clit.

"Harder," she encouraged.

Dylan obliged, grabbing her hips for leverage and pounding with all the strength in those undercredited muscles of his.

"Come on," the woman goaded him, though her tone said she was enjoying herself plenty. "If you're going to insist on only using your dick, you could at least use all of it."

Dylan pulled out almost all the way and then pushed back in as deep as he could fit, re-stretching every inch of her around his sizeable head.

"That's it." She turned her head so she could look him in the eye through the mirrored tank. "Fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to. Rough and greedy."

Dylan didn't deny it. He sped up, giving himself over completely to the fast natural rhythms of his body, combined naughtily with the warm, living, impossible to replicate feel of another person's.

"You're lucky I'm such a good masturbator," said the woman. "I'll bet you haven't heard many people brag about that."

"Can't say that I have."

"I'm so responsive, so in touch with myself, I can even get off to this. Now that I know not to wait for your help, that is. I bet I can get off before you do."

"Not if you keep talking to me like that, you won't," Dylan joked.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" she asked. "You like hearing about what I'm not getting from your greedy, useless cock?"

"I like hearing you lie so badly about it." He pulled all the way out and back in again, hard.

"Mmm, you do put on a good show," she acknowledged.

"Damn right. You're going to be thinking about this for years when you're using your—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," the woman shushed him quickly, leading into an orgasmic cry. Her hand was a blur.

If Dylan had known it was that easy, he'd... nah, probably not. If it was that easy for her, why hassle him about the details?

Glad he hadn't bet her anything specific, he took his time pounding his way to his own satisfaction and then rubbing out every last drop of pleasure into her, before disentangling himself.

"Not bad," the woman said, pulling on a shirt draped over one of the room's wicker storage containers.

"Yeah," Dylan found himself agreeing, looking around the room until he found a convenient tissue box to clean himself with. "Weird, but not bad."

"Aww," the woman giggled with the genuine delight she might use for a puppy that had learned a trick. "That was weird for you? You're so cute."

She proceeded to debate between a few cannisters of fish pellets on the shelf near the tank.

"Who wants spirulina algae formula today?" she asked the fish in the same tone, shaking the canister.

She took off the lid, inhaled deeply, and offered the cannister to Dylan as if she were opening a bag of chips.

"I... uh, no. Thanks. I should really...."

"Go on, I would keep you," she said. "You enjoy yourself out there."

#

Dylan spent the rest of the day definitely not thinking at all about mermaids.

What more was there to think about? They were imaginary creatures for storybooks and mythology essays, not real women he could see and touch and do other things with. There were plenty of those right here in town, and he didn't need to rent a boat to go look for them.

If he kept having fantasy images pop into his head, of sexy aquatic women with fish tails, he'd have a better chance of getting a regular human woman to put on a costume than he would of finding a creature that didn't exist.

These were the perfectly sensible things he kept telling himself, every time he passed the rental docks.

That evening, the new woman Dylan had decided to cozy up to at the wade-up bar ended up ordering three or four too many mai tais, tripping in the surf, and having to be half-carried back to her hotel room by her girlfriends, leaving his evening disappointingly — but also tantalizingly — free.

Why not? If he felt like going to check out Mermaid Island, if that was even its real name, it would at least make a better vacation story than going back to his room to watch TV.

And maybe this was his own rum buzz talking, but on the extreme off chance that there were real mermaids out there, how tragic would it be to miss his chance to introduce himself to them, just because he'd disregarded the wrong local tip?

The dock attendant was perfectly accommodating, signing out the boat and showing him how to work the simple motor without even asking him to recite the alphabet backward first.

Maybe she had been too accommodating, he realized as he approached the island, stomach rising and dropping over swells quite a bit bigger than he was expecting.

Just as he was thinking it might be better to turn back for the night, a particularly deceptive wave tossed him all the way off the surface. The boat touched back down askew, right in the path of the next wave, which flipped it over like a pancake. Dylan went under with a slam of the boat's wooden edge against the back of his head.

#

Cold hands closed around Dylan's neck. He struggled, kicking in the direction he hoped was up, but the hands were as powerful and sinewy as a reptile. They forced his face forward, until the surface broke over him, not at all where he had expected the surface to be.

He coughed and blinked the salt out of his eyes to find himself floating in the arms of the hottest woman he had ever seen in his life — the one from last night included.

Her hair hung long around her, the same greenish color as the seafoam, and smoother than hair exposed to the ocean should have been. The smile she gave him hung somewhere between secrecy and relief, as if she were trying to be coy about her very existence but could not have been more excited to have it figured out. She wore no swimsuit top, breasts floating free in the water. They were shaped as if they had never known gravity as more than a temporary inconvenience.

Dylan knew before the woman's tail brushed his legs that he was going to feel smooth, hard, flexible scales on her skin. Still, the discovery was harder to process than he would have expected.

"You're... you're actually...."

The mermaid opened her mouth. The sound that came out was beautiful, but not any language Dylan had ever heard. There were notes of babbling river laughter, and mournful whale song.

It sent a chill down Dylan's spine, and gave him an instant erection.

The mermaid was not alone. More had gathered in a circle around him, he realized, talking low to each other in the same musical types of voices. Every single one of them was a different flavor of perfect. Their skin, their figures, the delicacy of their features, they were all alluring to the degree he'd slowly come to accept as impossible outside of videogames and airbrushed billboards.

Two of them were busy turning his boat back upright and tethering it to a palm tree on their beach. They made it look easy.

Dylan kicked backward, scrabbling for space to collect himself.

The first mermaid let go, reluctantly, with a warbling, questioning chord.

Her eyes were wide and almost desperately hopeful, her lips still upturned with that sense of shared secret knowledge.

If mermaid body language was anything like human, the message was clear.

Come back. Stay. Touch me.

He wanted to, more than he could remember ever wanting to touch anyone before. He gave himself several moments to think of a good enough reason not to, but failed. This was exactly what he'd come out here for, after all, even if he hadn't been expecting to find it.

Swimming toward her again, he brushed the backs of his fingers against the mermaid's sea-green hair. She leapt forward, locked her petite arms around him in that improbably powerful embrace, and brought her delicately bow-shaped mouth to his.

Distracted from treading water, they slipped under the surface together. Dylan worried for a moment about whether he might have to explain his need for air.

Soon, however, it became clear that the mermaid had some physical process for producing oxygenated air under the water, and she already seemed to understand its role in human survival. She breathed regular, neatly sized sips of it into Dylan's mouth.

Once he found the right rhythm to accept the breaths into his lungs, and release spent air through his nose, he could have stayed under indefinitely, as long as the kiss continued.

The two of them bobbed up and down for a while, indifferent to the surface breaking back and forth over them. The mermaid's lips were deliciously salty, even when their heads were out of the water, and Dylan was sure he'd already licked away any lingering seawater.

Another scaly surface brushed Dylan's legs from behind, and an extra hand gently caressed the back of his neck. He turned away from the mermaid in his arms to find another one floating close behind him. She had a darker complexion and sharper, more studying eyes.

When he leaned into her touch, others came forward to add their hands into the mix, brushing along his back, legs and chest.

The first mermaid, the one with the green hair, stroked the outside of Dylan's swim trunks, and then slipped her delicate fingers past his waistband to rub his cock directly.

"Well, hey there," he said. "No, don't worry, I don't mind."

He reached down, searching the mermaid's anatomy for an opening. There were a few ridges of fin that gave the illusion that he might be able to reach beneath the outer surface of the tail, but every lead resulted in a dead end.

Oh well, he decided, she didn't need a vagina to be fun. Her hand was doing just fine. And if there was something she wanted him to do to her, she could show him. He'd made as much of an offer as he could.

Minutes passed without a hint. Neither the green-haired mermaid nor any of the others seemed to make any effort to take pleasure from their contact with him, nothing beyond encouraging him to suck a nipple here or there, which he would have wanted to do anyway just to feel them on his lips.

A few years ago, Dylan probably wouldn't have questioned his good luck. After all his experience and practice, however, it did feel a little odd, getting such selfless treatment from a whole crowd of women who weren't being paid for this. What were they getting out of it, with no pussies they could be hoping for him to lick?

The question stuck uncomfortably in the back of his mind, but not uncomfortably enough to make him protest when the green-haired mermaid winked and swam her way down his body to suck him under the water.

Maybe this was that dark mermaid enchantment the woman from the bar had warned him about, he joked to himself. Maybe they were just going to treat him so well that he'd lose all interest in the great big world outside this island.

No promises, girls, he thought, grinning to himself. But do keep trying.

Delicious hands and tongues touched him all over, and he basked in them, even the fingers that pulled down his trunks altogether dipped gently into his ass. He wasn't about to tell anyone about that part, but he did enjoy the extra thrill those touches sent through him, tightening up everything in his abdomen in preparation for an epic orgasm.

He wondered briefly if he should warn the green-haired mermaid to be ready for him, but then remembered that she must be used to a mouthful of salt.

The feeling built, wiped the last worries from his mind, and finally detonated.

Two or three powerful contractions into the orgasm, Dylan could tell that there was something different about this one, other than the circumstances.

His thighs clenched protectively together, and his cock folded itself downward much faster than it should have been able to soften. The tingling waves of sensation concentrated themselves on the skin of his lower body, prickling and becoming uncomfortably sharp.

He gasped at one point while slipping under the water, but the slosh of brine that ended up in his mouth didn't choke him.

As the feeling finally started to pass, he kicked his way back to the surface, but found his legs incapable of their usual swimming motions. Instead of two independent appendages, he could feel only one moving beneath him.