Under the Sea

Lydia Parsons is the love of my life. I adore her. I breathe for her. Every single moment of my life is taken up by thoughts that are dominated by her face and her voice. She asks every day what it is that makes me love her so completely, but it’s impossible to give her a definitive answer.

So I tell her something different every time. One day I told her it was the scent of honey shower gel on her skin. The next I told her it was the way her morning hair made her look like she’d used dynamite as curlers. Last time she asked me? I’d pulled her knickers down, right in the middle of our back garden, and told her I loved her because her ass is a peach and her pussy delivers the cream. Then I’d buried my face in her soft pubic hair and licked that delicious pussy until it came in my mouth.

All of our friends are envious of us. They say we have the perfect relationship, and that nothing could ever come between us. If you asked any of them about their relationship goals, single or not, they’d say, I want what Jack and Lydia have. They’ll be together forever, you mark my words.

Up until two Saturdays ago, I’d have said they were dead right.

The day had started like any other; waking up, feeling Lydia’s slender hand on my cock, dragging her onto my body so she could ride us both to orgasm, and then carrying her into the shower so we could do it again.

It had been her sister’s wedding day, so that had taken up the hours between eight and eight. Lydia had drank champagne like it was water, and I hadn’t shown much restraint either. It was during a drunken fumble behind a five-foot display of flowers that things had gone to shit.

Right in the middle of me trying to get her tight bridesmaid dress over her arse so she could part her thighs for me, Lydia had dropped a bombshell that had a disastrous fallout. Well, it wasn’t so much what she said that caused the problem as my reaction to it.

She’d told me something deeply personal. It was a sex thing. A fetish that she’d had for years but had always been too afraid to tell me about. We’d discussed fantasies many times, and I knew there was something she didn’t want to share with me. But of all the things I’d considered it might be, what she announced that day had turned me into the thing I disliked most; my father.

Hilarious wasn’t the word and, in my inebriated state, I’d acted like an A plus prick. I’d shoved her away from me, laughed at and ridiculed her, then turned nasty. Damn, I’d even had the nerve to wipe my pussy juice slicked hand on her father’s shirt when he’d tried to get me to check my attitude.

Naturally, Lydia hadn’t spoken to me since. She’d stayed in her sister’s house, and every single attempt I’d made to try to patch things up had been ignored. Oh, apart from last Tuesday, when I tried to win my way in with her favourite Chinese meal and a rented movie. She’d opened the door, dumped the steaming hot Szechuan chicken on my head and snapped the DVD clean in half, then slammed the door shut again.

So, last night, I’d tried a different approach.

I’d emailed her, putting everything I felt into words. Apologies would never be enough to excuse the way I’d behaved, but I made them anyway, explaining why I’d reacted the way I did to what she told me. Long story short; I was off the map. Piss poor apology, I know.

All of my hopes were based on the last paragraph. This, hopefully, would be the attention grabber:

Basically, what I’m saying is, I should never have treated you that way.  You shared something with me that I knew you’d been hiding, and I did exactly what you feared I’d do.  I was wrong, baby.  So, so wrong.  To prove it to you, I’m more than willing to help you explore this fetish (is that the right word?) that you have.  Not in a long suffering kinda way, but in a ‘don’t knock it until you’ve tried it’, kinda way.  I’ve read up on it and I think I understand how it works.  If I don’t like it that’s that, but at least we’ll both know I tried.

So now, here I sit, alone in a house that feels altogether too big for me now that Lydia isn’t in it. I know she’s read the email, because I did that thing where I get a notification when an email gets opened. She read it one hour and forty-five minutes ago, to be precise. I’d been certain she’d call me after that, even if it was just to tell me to fuck off. But thus far, nothing.

The dog whined, probably missing his mummy, then the feeding timer beeped on the fish tank, triggering another little laughing fit like the one I’d had at the wedding reception. Before I even had a chance to move, a few lines from the song Lydia had been singing on karaoke the very first time I’d laid eyes on her – Under the Sea from the Little Mermaid – crackled from my phone’s speaker.

I didn’t feed the fish. I dived for my phone, belly flopping across the coffee table and landing in a heap beside the fireplace. It took my shaky fingers three attempts to join a triangle of dots to unlock the screen, and once I did a text message blinked to life. It was from Lydia.

A load of swear words…some more swear words…oh, and she called me a wanker twice, too. How dare I betray her trust, what kind of man am I, if I really wanted to make it up to her I had to be at her sister’s place by six.

I blinked a few times, trying to process that. She wanted to see me? Nothing in her message had given any indication as to whether my apology had been enough, or if she planned to have me actually go through with her crazy fucking fantasy. I’d do it if she insisted, but a massive part of me hoped she wouldn’t.

Bowser – our dog – cocked his head, his spaniel ears flopping adorably. I stared at him for a few seconds before scrambling to get my arse off the floor. I had just under two hours to make the two-and-a-half-hour trip to my sister-in-law’s place.

Showered, shaved, dog fed, fish fed, doors locked, I raced to the car and bumped out of the driveway in less than twenty minutes. The 30mph speed limit through the residential areas killed me, but once I hit the motorway I was rocketing.

Keeping the needle just on the limit so I didn’t get pulled over, I sped along, pulling off the slip road that led into Marcia’s estate. The car door slammed, and by the time I reached the front door of the house I was choking on my own breaths.

It was only five to six, though, so I gave my lungs a few minutes to settle down. Just before I knocked, I noticed an envelope sticking out of the letterbox. It had my name on the front. Opening it, I pulled the paper from inside and read what turned out to be instructions. Lydia wanted me to go around to the garage and let myself in that way. From there, I was to go straight to the bathroom. Not the one attached to the room we had there, but the main bathroom with the big-assed sunken bath.

“Holy fucking shit,” I murmured. “She’s actually gonna make me do it.”

Once I was inside, I made my way to the bottom of the stairs. Lydia’s sweet voice was drifting down them, and she sounded happy and content. The girl was singing yet another number from the Little Mermaid. Her obsession with that, Titanic, and Splash, and Finding Nemo and bloody fish keeping… it was all so obvious to me now. In a roundabout way, she’d been feeding her fetish all along, right under my nose.

How the hell was this going to go, though? I only wish it was something as simple as her wanting to wear a mermaid tail and a couple of shells on her tits while I fucked her. That would be weird, sure, but reasonable. This thing that she wanted… damn, how was I going to do it without falling apart with fits of the giggles and getting my ass kicked out?

I reached the top of the stairs, and her voice got louder. Even so, I could still hear splashing, and a grinding, tumbling sound. Hesitating, I rested my head on the wall. If it meant I’d get another chance, I’d do this for her.

Pushing the door open, I entered the bathroom. If I said my eyes were on stalks you’d probably think I was exaggerating, but I wasn’t. They’d widened so much at what they were seeing, they’d have fallen out if they weren’t attached.

We really were lucky that Marcia was in Thailand, because if she could see the state her sister had her bathroom in, she’d well and truly flip her shit.

I watched Lydia from the doorway. She was buck naked on her knees on the floor, and that woke my cock right up, I must confess. She smiled playfully, flicking a few bits of gravel in my direction. Yeah, I said gravel. It was that multi-coloured shit pet stores stocked for kiddie fish tanks, and it was everywhere. Two inches deep on the bathroom floor, from wall to fucking wall, and at least a foot deep in the water filled bath.

There was stuff in and on the water, too. Plastic leaves, gross looking ferns, floating flowers. Little mechanical fish whizzed around beneath rubber frogs on lily pads, and whale song played from the hidden speakers I’d never been able to locate. It must have taken her hours to set this up.

Lydia sank her hands into the gravel. She kept her eyes on me as she dragged her fists over her knees, quickly flattening her palms and rubbing the tiny stones over her skin. Red patches blossomed everywhere she touched, some of them accompanied by shallow bloody scratches.

Despite the octopus sponges, and the inflatable sharks and the dozens of colourful plastic fish that littered the floor and every other surface, this really wasn’t a mermaid fetish.

Simply put, Lydia was turned on by the ocean.

Not being in it or being of it, but by the ocean itself. Behind the flower arrangement I’d gotten pre-cum on, she’d told me that everything about it aroused her. The way it looked and the way it smelled. The thought of seaweed stroking her skin, the thought of moss covered rocks beneath her feet. Gravelly sand, fish swimming around her ankles, maybe even taking a nibble.

I watched her lean forward, pressing her nipples into the substrate, listened to her moan as she rocked back and forth, purposefully scraping her skin. She grabbed a little orange thing, which turned out to be a goldfish shaped vibrator. I couldn’t not laugh when she switched it on and its tail started wagging, but I made sure it was only a chuckle and not the wild guffaw I could feel building behind my breastbone.

It was then in that moment, watching her stroke the fishies tail over her tits, that I got to thinking about the way her eyes had become unfocussed when she’d told me how excited the scarier aspects of the ocean made her. The thought of floating in the middle of the Atlantic, all on her own other than the sharks that circled beneath her…it excited her. The thought of a storm ravaging a boat she was on and throwing her overboard, currents pulling her under, salty water filling her lungs and being pounded out again by her rescuer slamming a hand into her back…she said she’d come just thinking about it one rainy afternoon.

Yeah, part of her oceanic fetish involved her drowning. And that’s what had freaked me the fuck out. That’s the part she wanted me to help her enact. The whole reason we were in Marcia’s bathroom and not getting our groove on down at the beach was because Lydia wanted me to help her drown herself.

“Are you taking your clothes off any time soon?” she whispered.

My nose wrinkled as she crawled across the gravel, as she purred around my legs, unbuttoning my jeans. I let her pull them down, and take them off. My hand fisted in her blonde hair, feeling the clips that held in the two blue-green extensions she always wore.

“Oh man,” I groaned.

Lydia was a demon when it came to sucking cock. Her lips were pufferfish pouty, and as soft as cotton. They didn’t thin when she stroked her mouth up and down my length, and I found that incredibly sexy. Her teeth dragged my foreskin back and forth, and her tongue probed the weeping slit right at my very tip.

A couple of minutes of that and I was as naked as she was. Getting to my knees, shoving her onto her back, gathering handfuls of gravel so I could massage her skin with it. I even took hold of the stupid fucking goldfish and tickled her nipples with it while I licked her clit and fucked her with a dolphin shaped dildo. Where the hell she got that from I didn’t want to know.

The gravel stung my knees, dug into my palms and toes. I admit, I was crawling up her body, actively trying to get my cock in the tight pussy that was as wet as the sea. But Lydia was backing up, giggling at me, teasing me, waiting until the head was almost in her before pushing herself away. I considered pinning her and taking her, but I knew she didn’t want that. At the same time, I also knew that each little retreat brought us closer to the bath, and I was afraid of what would happen once we got there.

But Lydia was the one in charge of this. I’d agreed to let it happen when I’d walked in the garage door and up the stairs, then again when I’d entered the bathroom and let her get my cock out. If it got too much for me I’d call time, but I’d do my best to make it happen. For her, because I loved her.

Rearing up on my knees, I watched her pour herself into the water. Her breasts rested on the surface, her scratched nipples hardening so much they more than halved in size. She played with them. Picking up the horrible looking ferns, she rubbed them on her chest, leaving bits of green everywhere her hands went.

Then she was resting against the far side, her body floating on the water, her fingers rubbing her clit at a maddeningly fast pace. I lumbered into the tub, sloshing water everywhere. She was going to make herself come if she kept going, and I didn’t want that yet.

Once I was on my knees, sinking into rough, shifting gravel, she took my hand. Even though she was submerged, I could still feel the slickness of the juices leaking from her cunt. Whispering, she reminded me what she wanted me to do.

I helped her turn around, and as soon as she had her back to me I pulled her against my legs, using my free hand to prod my cock against her until I found the entrance to her cunt. She took me – all of me – in one quick thrust, and I started to fuck her slowly.

Little blinking fish zoomed by us, displaced plastic plants wrapped around my thighs, her arms. Lydia moaned and whimpered, slamming her peachy ass off my groin. She was lowering her body now, and I faltered. I knew it was coming.

Looking over her shoulder, she surprised me with her expression. Lydia was whimsical, her sweet innocence often scatter brained and confusing, but right now she looked her thirty years. She didn’t speak, but her face said everything I needed to hear.

I want this, it said. I love you, and I trust you to keep me safe.

Adjusting my hips, I leaned over her, swinging my groin into her so hard I was probably hurting her. I pounded and pounded, slowly wrapping her hair around my fist again. The sound of her taking a deep breath and holding it was my cue. Sending up a little prayer to God, or Poseidon or Satan or whoever the fuck I needed with me to make sure this didn’t go wrong, I shoved her head beneath the water.

I only left her there for a few seconds before yanking her back out again. She spluttered and gasped, reaching back for me, encouraging me to fuck her harder. So I did. We were both inching through the gravel, sinking deeper in.

Lydia held her breath again, and under she went. I kept fucking her and counted to ten. Quickly. Then I pulled her out, shoved her in, pulled her out and shoved her the fuck back in, all the while making sure the end of my cock consistently found the deepest part of her.

I could feel the twitching in her cunt that told me she was on the verge of coming. My balls spasmed, and I knew that the scary… no the terrifying part had now arrived. When Lydia came I would come with her, and that was where all the danger lay. I was petrified that I would be so lost in my own orgasm I’d forget to pull her out. The idea of drowning the love of my life while I jizzed inside of her in ecstasy made me feel sick.

But it was the stuff Lydia’s dreams were made of. I was her storm, throwing her into the waters that choked her, and I would make damned sure that I was the rescuer that ensured she came out of it breathing.

She made the noise I’d heard so many times. A garbled cry that had my name in it somewhere. Her face smashed through the surface of the water just as her pussy turned into a vice. She squeezed me, milking my spurting cock until I was crying her name, fighting to keep her under the water even though she struggled and thrashed to be free.

Then I was dragging her up, turning her around, watching her cough and vomit up the small amount of liquid she’d managed to suck in.

When the coughing stopped, I wondered what she’d do next. If I was her I’d slap the ever-loving shit out of my face and tell me to pack my bags and get the fuck out of her life. But of all the things she could have done, Lydia propositioned me.

“I’ll come home on one condition,” she said, waggling a rubber manta ray in my face.

I took it off her with a laugh. There was always a catch. “Go on.”

“I want to get married on a cruise ship…”

“Done.” I hadn’t even hesitated. I mean, if I could drown her safely in a giant mock-up of a fish tank, I could sure as shit drown her safely in the sea.

She smiled at me then, and it was her widest, brightest smile. The one I’d seen when we’d first had sex, and when I’d brought home the clown fish she’d called Baby, and when I’d asked her to marry me.

I loved earning that smile, and I loved this woman. How I could ever have ridiculed anything she said I couldn’t fathom. The reason I’d found this so pathetically funny totally escaped me. I’d given the woman I loved something she dearly wanted, and I’d had a great fucking time into the bargain. Suddenly, I loved the ocean too.

9 thoughts on “Under the Sea

  1. I really enjoyed this! You’re such an imaginative writer. I’d never have considered something like that to be sexy but somehow the finale was crazy hot!
    Aurora x

    1. Thank you 😊 It was written for an antho of oddities but didn’t fit so I published it here. I used a fantasy of my own and wove the story around it.x

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