Sahuagin Porn

The ship's galley was filled with meaty aromas and raucous noise. Captain Auren's men were an energetic lot, and they played as hard as they worked. Rowell smiled to himself as he filled a wooden bowl with the fish chowder and grabbed a spoon. He declined the offer of ale in favour of a swig from his personal canteen, and picked a seat near the back of the room.

Rowell scanned the area. Grashk was gambling his money away at some foreign card game. At this moment, he actually had his battleaxe up on the table, and Rowell couldn't tell if it was intended to be collateral or a threat. Harbin had found a concertina and was singing an improvised ballad about their last encounter, suitably embellished. Even Glansky had put his books aside and appeared to be chatting and laughing, establishing camaraderie with the burly seamen whose lives he had helped save a few hours ago. Rowell tapped his feet to the song as he ate, but declined from joining in the dancing or conversation.

When his bowl was empty, he refilled it, and wandered out onto the poopdeck under the stars. A skeleton crew was keeping the ship on course. The sea was as flat as a plane of glass, and reflected the stars so that it looked like the vessel was gliding through space. Rowell looked out at the blackness, warming his hands on the bowl he carried.

A heavy, calloused hand fell on Rowell's shoulder, startling him. He looked up, and saw the bushy golden beard of their host, Captain Auren. He seemed unusually pensive.

"Feeding our prisoner again, Mister Rowell?"

"Someone has to."

"Sure'n there're those that'd dispute that."

Rowell shook his head sadly.

"Was it not Bognash of Ellereck, most beloved of Pelor, who said 'I care for mine enemy, not for his good, but for mine'?"

Auren shrugged. "If you say so, sir. Alls I know is, them fish bastards'd slit yer throat in a heartbeat, and make ye watch them do the same to all ye love."

Rowell nodded. "Perhaps. But is that not one more reason to refrain from such acts ourselves? Truly, worse than defeat, is to become that which you fight."

Auren laughed and clapped Rowell on the back, knocking him a step forward. "Fair enough, minister. Fair enough. Tend to your friend, Rowell. The gods know, no one else here will." The men parted ways, Auren into the warm lanternlight of the mess hall, Rowen down into the depths of the hold.

There were no lights here, and Rowell took a moment to apply magical luminescence to his tunic before descending the rickety steps to the damp gloom below.

The sahuagin hissed and recoiled from the light, squinting. Rowell held a hand in front of his chest, dimming the brilliance. Carefully, he inspected the chained fishwoman, noting the raw rash around her wrist where she had pulled on the manacle, the lacerations on the shins where she scraped on the unsanded boards, the darkening of the scales along the ribs that he had come to equate with bruising.

Slowly, without making sudden movements, he laid the steaming bowl of soup on a crate and stepped towards her. The creature was still and sullen, but allowed Rowell to approach and lay his hands upon her. He prayed under his breath, and felt sparkling warmth flow from his palms. He could see the wounds heal, watched the scales regain their aquatic sheen. He held his hands in place until he was satisfied, then muttered "Amen". She did not thank him.

He dragged the crate over to the manacles, and the prisoner wordlessly grabbed the bowl and hunched over it, slurping. Rowell grabbed her buckets and ascended the steps again.

He tossed the used water out into the ocean, and used a handy length of rope to lower them to the surface to be refilled. The water reflected his chest and shone. By the time he brought the fresh seawater to her, the sahuagin was sated, and had thrown the bowl to the far end of the hold.

Patiently, Rowell placed the buckets where she could reach them, then trudged to the bowl and picked it up.

It wasn't until he was halfway up the steps that he heard it.

"Wait."

Rowell stopped in mid-ascension. He couldn't be sure if he had heard correctly. He stuck a finger in his ear and gave it an exaggerated wiggle.

"Please.", the creature said. "I need you."

Rowell walked back to the fishwoman, carefully staying out of arms' reach.

"So.", he stated, "You do speak Common."

"Yes. I..." The creature's gills flexed, and she looked down at her knees. "It is my eggtide."

Rowell blinked. "I'm sorry.", he said, "You're going to have to explain exactly what an eggtide is."

The gills flexed again, more rapidly. The creature's giant eyes darted around the hold, as if searching for hidden dangers, before locking his with a focused alien stare. Rowell noticed for the first time the slight swelling of her pale underbelly, reminiscent of a pregnant human female.

"Eggtide is... is the tide in which the egg comes. The tribe selects a... a warrior that is... is not egger..." It was obvious that the creature was struggling with a limited vocabulary, and Rowell jumped in to fill the gaps.

"Not egger... has no eggs? Male?"

"Yes! Male. Tribe selects male for female that is of eggtide, and it owns... takes the female with its eggs, takes eggs out of it."

"You need your eggs extracted? By a male?"

The sahuagin nodded vigorously, then winced slightly and held her belly. Rowell bit his lip, not liking to see any creature in pain or distress.

"Well, I can't... I'm sorry, I can't let you go, I mean, Glansky said we needed you for..." The sahuagin shook her head.

"Not let go. Not let go. Cannot swim to male in time. Tribe far away now. Need help. Need help."

"I...uh... perhaps I should get the Captain. You wait..."

The creature panicked, shaking her chains. "No Captain! Captain hits! Captain hits!"

The creature was huddled against the wall, shaking slightly. Rowell, against his better judgement, approached and sat beside her with his back against the wall. He brought an arm around her lean emerald shoulders, and was surprised to find she was warm to the touch. He held her for a few seconds, and she eventually stopped shaking.

"God-human is so careful, so smart and helps always. Other human is hit, is angry, like eels. God-human is help like tribe male."

"Look, um... look, I can't... what is your name, anyway?"

"Celera."

Rowell blinked. "Celera? Really?" The creature did not seem to sense any unsuitable connotations to the name, so he forged ahead. "Look, Celera, I'm flattered you think I have whatever qualities a male of your tribe might have, but... but I hardly think I'm qualified to..."

Celera grabbed Rowell by the shoulders. Mentally, he cursed himself for setting foot inside her radius. Her fishy grip was firm, but spread uniformly over the webbed hands.

"It is not of like.", she snarled, her fangs gleaming, reflecting his light, "It is MUST. Eggtide is NOW. God-man is FUCKING or is PAIN and DEAD."

"Who taught you that word?"

"God-man is give food, is give healing, is give touches. God-man is tied to Celera. God-man..." She paused. "God-man is RESPONSIBLE."

Rowell sighed. It was true. He was the only one aboard who cared if Celera lived or died. It was his decision to spare her life. The responsibility was his.

"What do you need me to do?"

The creature, still holding onto his arms, sat on the floor in front of him. She splayed her legs on either side of him, pinning him against the wall. Her tail curved forward, flopping to one side against his inner thigh. She reached in with one hand and unpinned the seaweed camouflage loincloth-thing she was wearing, revealing a three-way orifice like the mouth of a cat.

Rowell was assaulted by a strong piscine odour, and had to force himself to actually look at the thing. It was puffy and white, lips protruding as though it was trying to pucker up in his general direction.

Rowell looked up, into Celera's eyes, trying to read them. The broad aquatic face could communicate nothing to him but hunger and desperation, but he imagined he could see hints of loneliness, lust, and even love somewhere in the depths of her sapphire eyes. He found himself licking his lips nervously.

Celera was pawing at his clothing now, trying to make sense of his belt and two-legged trousers.

"Wait.", he said, "I don't think I need to be... I mean, surely..." His weak protests fell on deaf ears.

With a sweep of her arm, Celera pulled the glowing tunic up to his armpits, and yanked the trousers around his knees. She brought her carnivorous head down, arching her striped neck so that her dorsal fin spread upwards. She sniffed at his exposed penis, and a yellow tongue darted out of her mouth, slid around the underside of his testicles.

"Hey, now!" Rowell said, with a little more force, "I really don't think... I mean, is it really necessary to... I... Oh, oh Radiant One give me strength..."

Celera's tongue was broad and flexible, and curled around his phallus like a sleeve. Rowell threw his head back, bumping it against the wooden planks. He struggled slightly, but the fishwoman's grip was like iron, stapling him to the wall.

The light from around his neck gleamed along Celera's back, illuminating each and every viridian scale. He could see the back of her head, crested with a fin like a hand fan, bobbing up and down against his body.

Rowell inhaled sharply as the tongue caressed him. He was fully erect now, and tried desperately to think of something safer and more normal than that gaping maw with its rows of razor-sharp incisors. Just as he managed to conjure in his mind a vision of a blond woman in a green dress, the sahuagin pulled him back from the wall and did something that no woman in a green dress could ever do.

Rowell's eyes snapped open as he was hoisted bodily from the floor, supported on a muscular tail. Celera's flexible spine allowed her to curl herself around his armpit and hook her jaw in over his opposite shoulder. Her wiry arms spread over his, her webbed hands holding his in a spreadeagle.

"I... Celera, I don't think we really need to... Surely we should talk about..."

Celera bucked with her hips, and Rowell plunged into her. The fishwoman was hot on the inside, and Rowell gasped in surprise. She held him fast and writhed against him, driving his manhood into her body. Rowell felt his penis shift around as it thrust back and forth, passing into different internal chambers, exploring an anatomy entirely different from anything he had ever encountered before.

Celera's breath hissed in his ear, and Rowell could only spasm, body jerking in place, penis darting around inside a dozen egg chambers, frothing with egg slime. With a shudder, Rowell ejaculated, and his body went limp.

Celera ignored this, and continued thrusting impatiently. Rowell winced now, and was about to protest again, when Celera sank her teeth into his ear. He yelled, and Celera threw him to one side. Blood dripped from her lips as she seethed, writhing in place.

Rowell absently healed his ear as he stood, clutching at his clothing. Celera continued to twitch for a few minutes before lying still. Her underbelly was slick with yellow slime, and she panted heavily, her gills heaving with exertion.

"Uh..", Rowell said uncertainly, "Is that.... are you... can I..."

"God-man is good.", Celera hissed into the floorboards, "God-man is fix eggtide. Celera needs sleeptime. God-man god is good. God-man is good."

"Oh... okay..." Rowell backed away, nervously, silently casting a Remove Disease spell on himself as he did so. After a few seconds of awkward standing around, Rowell slowly climbed the steps and left.

Celera opened one eye and watched his feet ascend to the deck, and the hatch close. She sat up, ran a hand through the mucous on her belly, and scratched herself. She plucked a splinter from the floor and picked her teeth with it.

"Saints below, what a moron." She shook her head dismissively. "Eggtide. Ha! I crack me up."