His hand slides around to find my clit, and the added stimulation makes me scream. I’m so sensitive now, every nerve ending on fire. When he comes this time, the pulse of it, the heat of his release filling me, triggers my own orgasm.
We collapse onto the blanket in a tangle of limbs. I’m shaking, undone.
“I need,” I start, then stop, “the water. I need the water.”
He understands immediately. We stumble to our feet and wade into the lake. The cool water is a shock against overheated skin.
And then we’re transforming.
The shift ripples through me, familiar, welcome, right. My legs fuse, scales shimmering into existence in shades of indigo and gold. My tail forms, powerful and graceful. Beside me, Muir’s selkie nature emerges, his body elongating, his features shifting into something both human and other.
In this form, everything is different. Better.
I wrap around him completely, my tail coiling around his body, my arms around his neck. He glides us into deeper water, moving with the hypnotic grace of his kind. When he enters me this time, it’s seamless, our bodies designed for this, for each other.
But it's more than seamless. His cock in this form is different, alive in ways human anatomy cannot be. He pushes inside me and I feel him seeking, finding, filling spaces I didn't know existed. The tip curves and flexes, guided by something instinctive and ancient, stroking places deep inside me that make me gasp.
It's not just penetration. It's discovery. His body finding mine from the inside out, mapping me, claiming me, fitting into me like a key designed for a lock that only we share.
"Oh god," I gasp, the sensation so intense it borders on too much. "Muir, what?—"
"Let me," he murmurs against my neck. "Let me find you."
And he does. He shifts inside me, thickening in some places, narrowing in others, the tip flexing to stroke against my inner walls in ways that make me cry out. The fullness is both firm and yielding, responding to the clench of my muscles around him, adjusting to give me exactly what I need, creating friction in places human bodies can't reach.
The water buoys us, supports us, becomes part of our joining. He moves us through different depths, through warm spots and cold currents, each shift making me feel him differently. I cling to him as he glides, the motion of his body through the water creating a rhythm that drives him deeper inside me, his cock flexing and seeking with each thrust.
I start to sing, not words, just pure frequency. The sound vibrates through the water, through both of us, making everything more intense. He answers with a low rumble that reverberates in my bones.
We move through the lake like this for hours. Sometimes fast and desperate, sometimes slow and languid. He takes me to the deep places where the water is cold and dark, then back to the shallows where moonlight penetrates. Each shift in depth changes how he feels inside me, new ways to fill me, to stroke me, to make me scream.
The weightlessness of the water means he can move me however he wants, spinning us, diving deep, surfacing in a spray of moonlit droplets. My tail wraps tighter around him, holding on as he glides us through the depths.
I lose track of how many times we come. The pleasure builds and recedes like waves, each crest higher than the last. His release in this form is different, hotter, more abundant, triggering something primal in my sirena nature that makes me desperate for more.
"Don't stop," I sing to him in frequencies only he can hear. "Never stop."
He doesn’t. He keeps moving, keeps filling me, keeps taking us deeper and bringing us back to the surface. The lake responds to us, currents shifting to enhance our movement, the water itself seeming to pulse with our rhythm.
As the night deepens toward dawn, we drift back toward the shallows. But he’s still inside me, still moving, neither of us willing to let this end.
The first hint of light touches the eastern sky. We’re in water shallow enough that the sand is beneath us, but deep enough that we’re still buoyant. He’s thrusting into me with long, deep strokes, his body covering mine, his cock still flexing and seeking inside me with that adaptive precision.
“I can’t stop,” he groans. “You feel too good.”
“Don’t,” I gasp. “Don’t stop. I need, I need you to fill me again.”
When he comes this time, the heat of his release, the way it fills me, triggers something addictive in my body. I come around him, clenching, milking him for more.
But instead of softening, he stays hard. The aphrodisiac quality of his selkie release works both ways, it makes me desperate for him, and it keeps him ready to give me what I need.
His cock keeps thrusting. Slower now, but just as deep. Each stroke pushes his previous release deeper inside me, his cock adjusting and flexing to create new friction, new pressure.
“More,” I beg. “Please, Muir!”
He gives me what I need. His hips drive forward, burying himself completely, and his cock swells inside me, the hydrostatic pressure increasing as he pulses again. Another release, adding to the first, the heat and pressure inside me building to something almost unbearable.
I’m crying now, by sensation, by pleasure, by the weight of him inside me and being so completely filled.