“Just the one, today, love! Scribble your name in the box there for me, would you?”

The delivery guy handed me a little tablet, and a plastic pen dangling on a springy coil. As usual, my signature was hastily done and barely registered by the device, but who gave a fuck about that? I shoved the thing back at him and all but tore the package from his hands, saying thank you despite the fact that the door had already slammed in his face.

I know, that was super rude of me, but I’d been waiting weeks for this thing to arrive.

Stopping in the hall, I stared at myself in the mirror. Wide-eyed, ashen, and nervous. It had just occurred to me that I might not be holding the parcel I’d been expecting. My husband’s business stuff came through that door all the time, so it was possible that I had a car part in my hands and not the realisation of my one of my greatest fantasies.

“Is that for me, babe?”

Hubs popped his head around the kitchen door, his eyebrow getting higher and higher as he waited for me to reply. I gave myself a shake and glanced at the address label. It read, Mrs S.B Johnson, and the sender was a local shop that made custom ceramics.

“No, it’s for me! I’ve got things to do, if you need anything, don’t bother me with it!”

Taking the stairs two at a time to a backdrop of his laughter, I raced to our room. As usual, my gaze went straight to the four-foot painting on the wall behind the bed. And, just as it always did, the majesty of it immobilised me.

Starting at the tips of a white coral crown, I lowered my eyes, letting myself swoon over stormy blue eyes, and shiver at the stern set of an angry mouth framed by a flowing white beard and moustache.

That beard curled down onto a hard chest to mingle with the long white hair that spilled over broad shoulders. Down my gaze went, flicking over bulging biceps, strong hands, and well-defined abs. Rather than let myself linger on what naturally came next, I forced myself to skip past it, looking instead at the fine, aquamarine scales that appeared first at the hips, then ran down a thick, powerful tail, wreathed in frothy white waves.

By the time my attention reached the beautifully fanned tailfin, my knickers were soaked.

Even as I perched primly on the edge of the bed, fingers methodically picking at parcel tape, I was still staring at the picture. So much fury! So much power! The ship that had incited this rage in him wasn’t in the picture, but I knew they didn’t stand a chance. He was about to unleash all the wrath of the sea on them, and once his storm clouds let loose and his waves rose higher, there’d be one less vessel to snag his children in their nets.

My fingers shook as they delved into the now open box. Packing peanuts went everywhere, but I paid them no mind. All I could think about was what I held in my hand. It was so cold. So hard, and long, and thick. I didn’t look at it, though, because I didn’t need to. I knew every vein, every curve, every shade of blue.

Before I had made the conscious decision to do so, I’d lifted my skirt, and my knickers dropped to the floor. Fluid started to seep from between my labia immediately. It spread over my thighs, but despite all that wetness, I wasn’t wet enough for this.

It was a good job I kept a bottle of lube on the bedside table. I grabbed it and popped the cap. Any other time, I’d drip some on my fingers and carefully apply it where I wanted it, but not today. I sat against the foot of the bed, legs spread wide, and emptied half the bottle between my thighs.

My eyes flicked to the dildo…no, not dildo, the work of art. My eyes flicked to the work of art in my hand, and I groaned. Never had I wanted to fuck anything this much!

Gaze back on my painting, I slowly lowered the dildo to my vulva. The icy coldness of it against my clit made me shiver. Each gentle sway of my hips stroked my lips against it. I felt the bulging head. The thick veins, and the scales that had been perfectly sculpted into the shaft.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was in my head, with Poseidon’s strong hands grasping my waist, pulling me from the raging sea and lowering me onto his beautiful cock. As I let my imagination run riot, my hands mirrored my fantasy. Penetrating achingly slowly, spreading me wide, the sting of being invaded by something so hard and cold and wet as disturbing as it was pleasurable.

The merman in my mind tipped me back, forcing me on to his cock over and over, deeper and deeper, moving me like I weighed nothing rather than bothering to even swing his hips. He used me like I was nothing more than a masturbatory aid… until I whispered his name.

It was then he drew me close, staring over my shoulder with so much satisfaction as the ship capsized behind us, sending deep waves crashing over my head. Poseidon fucked me until I was sobbing in his arms, clinging to his shoulders, pulling on his hair, begging him to finish while pleading for him to never stop. I came so hard, over and over, but that rigid, scaled cock didn’t falter.

Soon enough, it was time. His face told the story. I knew as soon as he looked away from the wreckage his temper had caused, just so he could look into my eyes, that he was about to come. For a split second, a smile flashed over that stern mouth, and then it became a wide ‘oh’ as he stiffened and emptied himself inside me. As soon as his cock stilled, he released me, dropping me into the roiling waves to be swallowed up by the ocean.

I blinked erratically, staring from the picture on the wall to the canvas in the corner of the room, as my cunt squeezed out the last pulses of a thigh trembling orgasm. It was blank now, but would soon be covered in the reds and blacks of my most recent fantasy. I smiled, tapping the cum soaked dildo on my bottom lip, breathing in the heady scent of my own pleasure. If the ceramic dildo makers could produce such a perfect replica of Poseidon’s cock, I couldn’t wait to see what they did with Dracula’s.

Week 159

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