Summer Heat

~Summer Heat
Tags: Yuri, Monstergirl - Cecaelia (with Tentacles)

The fishing sucked.

Well, the fishing was awesome. It was a lifestyle that suited Melanie beautifully.

Perk number one: There was beer! Three full kegs of it strapped onto the houseboat (and one half drunk one). Dipped in the water a little ways and there was always cool (although not cold) beer on hand. Beer, tankard, mouth. Not quite a perfect cycle of awesome though, lacks bacon. Melanie craved some bacon to go with that beer, moaning almost too happily at the thought. To tide her over though was the copious supply of jerky. Not ideal, but spiced just right and a single strip could last a day before it got boring. She had a month’s worth of the stuff.

Perk number two: Lazy days. Melanie fished off a barely used cove near the sleepiest city in all the kingdoms. What she fished, she ate, what she didn’t eat, she bartered for more beer. Occasionally she’d save up for a night on the town (or more accurately, a night in one solitary tavern because stumbling elsewhere was too much effort). Otherwise, she was free to sit down with a rod and waste time writing poetry and draw and other pursuits while the fish weren’t biting.

Perk number three: Privacy. Others did use the cove, but that generally signalled Melanie to just put her pants back on. Sunny days she kept covered to avoid sunburn and really hot days would see her use the little trapdoor inside the cabin to fish, but usually when the clouds were out and twilight decided to drag its heels and last hours, she bore all because hell, not like anyone was looking.

Perk number four: Mobility. Some uppity arsehole ruining a good day’s fishing? Just haul anchor and move. Privacy on demand, mobile homes rocked in that regard.

Perk number five: Money. People like fish. It’s easy to kill and eat fish. Tasty, easy to figure out how to use in a recipe. Basically, haul enough fish, people buy fish. Don’t haul too many, don’t sell too many to the same vendor. Keep demand on your terms, keep just enough supply to fulfil it. Stable income, so much better than just dredging the waterways of all the fish, driving prices down and screwing the local market economy. She’d bloodied faces for doing just that, some bright spark gets the idea to exploit the waterways. Melanie was the smallest fisherman in these parts, with a right hook that could drop a cow. Considering all the others were bigger, burlier and more likely to pick a fight because it’s fun for them… She had faith in the stability of her livelihood.

But the fishing that day sucked.

Melanie seethed, it was such a wonderful day too! She’d gotten the beer nice and cool, found some of the best line on sale in town and was going to try it out, gotten herself a new hammock to fish from and finally found a breeze cool enough for her to consider ripping her clothes off.

Not a single bite on the gods forsaken line.

Melanie flopped back into the hammock. She figured she had a week before she had to make landfall anyway. She could write, but she wasn’t feeling the words flow lately, could draw but it wasn’t like there was any subjects lying around (only so many times you can draw a heaven-scape complete with beer volcano and bacon trees). She could masturbate, but she hadn’t seen a man hunky enough to take her attention, or a woman curvy enough to turn her head, for quite some time. It kind of felt pointless really.

Bored, frustrated, tipsy, pick any reason, it wasn’t like the ‘why’ mattered so much as the fact that it never actually occurred to her before to try it. She stuck a piece of jerky onto the line and cast the line.

She put the rod down, making sure it was secure in the holder, and stood, giving a big stretch and cracking every joint that allowed her to crack them. With a heaving sigh, she sat back down, only to have her day get worse from there. The clouds parted and immediately the cool breeze died. Simmer heat wave, harbinger of sweat, discomfort and really itchy privates. Her memory of things a little hazy, she swore her beer was boiling in its tankard, but the reality was that her body just started sweating that quickly.

Within the next half hour she opened the door, preparing to go inside the cabin, away from the glaring sun. That plan dived the moment she realised the inside was a furnace and the searing hot air the only reason she wasn’t dying of heat stroke. Time came to consult the other barrels, the four water barrels on the opposite side of the ship to the beer. Completely full, untouched for an unhealthily long time. Tankard in, water to mouth, somehow right then better than the beer.

It took another half hour for the sun to beat down on her body, searing and sweltering. She propped up one of the shade sails she had built into the boat, easing the sun’s assault but doing nothing to break the heat. Another half hour and her countenance broke. There are times where throwing ones hands into the air and stating ‘you know what? Fuck it’ is a perfectly acceptable response. She couldn’t have torn her clothes off faster, a feat considering how well they stuck to her body due to the sweat, but she knew it was the right call. Bare-breasted in the breeze, she gave a contented sigh, emerald eyes on the horizon.

For a robust, muscular woman Melanie was quite the stunner, though it was something she would often dismiss. She’d complain that she was too sun-scorched, despite the fact that most considered her tan a plus. Her mangled, unkempt rust coloured hair was a perfect match for the freckles that covered most of her body, she complained that the sun’s pockmarking made her look like a leper, most corrected her with ‘leopard’. She would cite that she was too boyish with all that hard labour strengthening her, funny that it was one of the many reasons she was constantly hit on everywhere she went. She wasn’t petite, but she wasn’t overly voluptuous either. She had curves in the right places though, a body that was toned and hardened and her rounded, childish face perfectly matched her laid-back attitude.

It was then that the line started tugging.

“Fuck off, there’s no fish here…” Melanie had a bad habit of vocalising her thoughts. Lacking an audience at almost every waking hour, she generally didn’t have much need of a filter from brain to mouth.

Despite her insistence that there were no fish, the line started unspooling. She darted for the line and immediately grappled with the reel. She didn’t even want to think about how far out the catch had gotten before she got her shit together. Silently hating herself for her inaction, she got to work. Muscles flexing, sweat glistening, brow creased, teeth gnashed. Whatever this was, it was huge.

She felt a tug, a really fierce tug that nearly tore her from her boat. She was determined not to be bested and let the line unreel slightly so the tug wouldn’t cause her to lose her footing. She flopped back into the hammock and planted her feet to the edge of the boat. She steeled herself, whatever this was, catching it earned bragging rights and maybe a massive dinner or an awesome paycheck. It felt like a tuna, heavy, strong, fast. It’d been a while since she had tuna…

She reeled, fought, reeled some more. Sweat beaded on her brow and all of her muscles started aching. Progress was agonisingly slow, another foot that she earned, another foot that she brought her quarry closer to the boat, was another hard earned battle. She was clawing, snails pace. Being laid-back the way she was brought one key personality trait was was perfectly suited for this lifestyle, for this kind of battle. Patience. Her powerful body brought endurance, and it was just a matter of being stronger, tiring slower, even pacing and letting the quarry gain enough distance, timing it so that the next reef of the rod takes even more.

Her knuckles whitened as she brought the quarry closer, teeth remained gnashed, jaw was beginning to hurt. It was splashing and thrashing closer to her, sea salt spraying into her eyes. So close…

She managed to wheel it in such a way that it propelled itself towards her for a split second before trying to correct, but that error was all she needed. A triumphant roar escaped her lips as she heaved with all her might, tearing the massive quarry from the tide and ripping it through the air and back into the boat.

Problem was, the quarry was much larger than she anticipated and the last tug of her rod angled it straight towards her. Last thing she saw was the shape she was bringing aboard slamming straight into her and knocking her clean off her hammock, all of its weight taking the wind out of her chest on the way down. Her legs were still caught on the hammock, but luck would have it that they didn’t tangle in the cloth or get caught on the ropes suspending it.

Vision blurry, Melanie stared up at her shade sail for some time, not daring to move. The quarry wasn’t flopping, which was good, last thing she needed was this slimy, heavy thing slamming more air out of her lungs. Maybe it was too fatigued to, either way, easier to deal with. Exertion in this heat was daft, marinating in her own sweat with the paltry protection from the sail being the only barrier stopping her sweat puddle to boil and evaporate in the light.

It was then the figure squirmed.

“Oh, fuck me!” Melanie was exasperated.

“Oh?” came an unfamiliar voice, “That’s a bit direct, shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?”

Melanie blinked, she wasn’t sure if the heat was playing tricks with her mind, but she had never suffered auditory hallucinations due to heat stroke. Just a weird craving for smoked meats. She decided to play along with her own hallucinatory bullshit, she only put all of her energy into that one catch. Paid the penance and all that.

“I don’t know, I usually don’t have catches talking to me, there an etiquette I’m not aware of?” Melanie’s chest heaved with short breaths, “I’ll go first. I’m Melanie, most call me Mel, I drink beer, fish, fuck, crave bacon something fierce and barely wear clothes because of this predictable fucking heat. Come winter, snow my boat in, fucking hell!”

Suddenly, a face shot into Melanie’s line of sight, staring straight down at her, “Well, I did notice the lack of clothes,” she said with a smile, chewing on a small corner of the waterlogged jerky, “But what I don’t get is, why the landmeat? Most fishies don’t know what landmeat tastes like, not going to catch them that way.”

“I… think I’m going to need another beer before I’m comfortable with this…” Melanie’s vision cleared up enough to see the blue-eyed, turquoise haired, soft-featured girl staring at her. She was strange fin-like appendages where the ears should have been and there were almost invisible slits lining her neck, closed tight aside from the occasional twitch.

“Suit yourself, this is your boat… home? After all,” she tried to be polite but all things considered, she didn’t quite choose to end up on the boat.

Melanie tried to get up but failed, her body was just that far gone.

“Well, I’m just going to stay here for a while. Rest fixes a lot of things, you know. So, I never got your name…” Melanie took the time to actually look at the girl, head to tentacle? From the waist up, she was a slightly chubby, voluptuous beauty whose sizable bust was barely contained by the clam shell bra. She was pale skinned but not sickly so, which Melanie supposed suited her quite nicely.

From the waist down however, octopus tentacles. Her particular octopus half was turquoise, like her hair, and the tentacles only had to squirm slightly for her to reposition herself. She wore a skirt of sorts that seemed to be fashioned from woven kelp, making Melanie curious at to what a creature like her could possibly hide. It wasn’t as if… there was anything there… right?

The cecaelia smiled, “I’m Myrta, some people call me Myr. Pleased to meet you Melanie!”

“Pleasure’s all mine…” Melanie said, but there was a lack of warmth in her voice. Not because she didn’t want Myrta there, but because she was worn out.

“You went to a lot of effort to catch me you know…”

“You went to a lot of effort not to get caught!” countered Melanie, “why were you fighting it in the first place… and you didn’t get the hook in your mouth did you?” suddenly Melanie was concerned.

Myrta laughed, “No silly, there’d be blood if there was. Besides, I can tell a fishing line when I can see it. No, landmeat isn’t something you get much down there, so I was eager to try it!”

Melanie smiled, “You like that landmeat?”

“Yep!” Myrta was overly eager

“That works out then, I’ve got heaps of it inside,” Melanie didn’t even stop to consider why she was being so charitable to a stranger. Maybe she was just lonely, but she was certainly impressed with how well Myrta fought and a cecaelia was a grand trophy, though Melanie did have to remind herself that people didn’t constitute bragging rights.

Melanie continued despite herself, “If you want to stick around and eat all my food and drink my beer though, help me catch some fish. Fish pay for it after all.”

“Oh, you trade for it. Similar to down below I guess…” Myrta shrugged, “Is that sincere invitation? Because I kind of lost my last place, the reef I was near was getting overrun by barracuda and I wasn’t going to hang around for that…”

“Need a place to stay huh?”

“Topside’s away from the barracuda…”

Melanie smirked, “I suppose it is. That jerky you have is free, the rest needs some effort from you, you hear? Rent!”

Myrta shrugged, “Name your currency.”

“Fish, what else?”

“You did say ‘fuck me’ before…” Myrta was smiling coyly, drawing swirls and patterns on Melanie’s skin with her finger.

“That…” Melanie was suddenly nonplussed, “You… wait… what… huh…?”

“You’re an incredibly strong, very pretty, generous young lady who fished me out of the water,” Myrta chuckled, “It takes powerful topsiders to dredge up a single tuna, and I’m much bigger and stronger than a tuna.”

“That what counts as flirting where you’re from?”

“Not exactly, but it impresses. And you haven’t tried to tip my clothes off yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I don’t have to fling your overboard. Lot of pricks on the water, you know?”

Melanie laughed, first sincere laugh of the day. The heaving chest however caught Myrta’s attention, who was transfixed on the jiggling breasts. In an almost childish fashion, she reached for them, planting her hands on them and fondled, rounding her body into a better position.

“Well, you got yourself a nice set of those,” Myrta’s face was reddening,

Melanie smiled, “yours are much nicer.”

Myrta smiled, her fondling focused a little on the nippled, caressing them until they hardened, “should I explore the rest of you?”

“That depends, what do you get out of it?” Melanie teased Myrta’s hair, licking her lips in anticipation.

Myrta’s tentacles snaked and weaved, pulling her body between Melanie’s still suspended legs, “A roof over my head and a fair share of landmeat and beer if I keep it up?”

“Fair’s fair…” said Melanie, running her hands over Myrta’s hips and up past the trunk of her body, “I’m sure you want some… reciprocity?”

Myrta’s tentacles wrapped around Melanie’s legs for support, “But you spent all this effort hauling me up and offered me shelter, let’s just call this my first rent payment…”

Melanie laughed, “So I’m expected to sit back and take it?” a curse of being a muscular girl is that everyone expected her to do all the work.

Myrta bit her lip and in a split second moment of reflection nodded vigorously, “That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

Melanie’s hands ran up to Myrta’s bust and oddly caused her to giggle, “heh, clam your tits…”

Myrta stopped dead, “That’s… that’s not even a pun… what…”

Melanie burst out laughing, “The look on your face right now…”

Myrta’s brow furrowed, “Should I just take it off? Would that get your mind out of the bad jokes?” she hastily undid the straps holding the bra together. A smile returned to her face when she heard Melanie gasp and then wolf whistle when she tossed the bra aside. Immediately, Melanie plunged her hands for the massive breasts, sinking her fingers in, massaging and caressing. Melanie was completely transfixed, taken aback by how soft they were, her mind jumped for a moment to how cosy they would be as pillows, how comfortable and luxurious…

And that’s when Myrta did something that ripped her attention back to the real world. The cecaelia tugged the solitary tie holding her skirt up and tossed the garment aside, revealing exactly what was sparking Melanie’s curiosity. It turned out that the octopus half didn’t start at the waist, rather at the thighs. The sight of the bald pussy is what really drove the deal home, all of Melanie’s concerns that something weird and alien was going on down there were dismissed in one blow. She thought of pressing her lips to it, to sticking her tongue inside and lapping up what was sure to be sweet and salty at the same time.

But, Myrta said there was no reciprocation, so she shelved that in her mind as ‘give it two hours…’

Myrta however went straight to work. She massaged Melanie’s tired, aching muscles, particularly her arms and chest, giving a few sultry kisses here and there. She ticked a nipple with her tongue and gave a few well placed kisses on the neck, causing Melanie to shudder and heave.

The thing that sealed it though, caused Melanie to start feeling wet, to start feeling ready for Myrta, was the long kiss on the lips. Myrta tasted like salt and salmon, sea spray and clear blue waters. It was this taste that brought Melanie to the ocean in the first place. To her it was a the literal taste of freedom, and Myrta brought it in passionate kisses and a particularly sloppy game of tonsil hockey that caused the both of them a little bit of hysterical laughter.

“You suck at using your tongue, just so you know,” giggled Melanie as she started sliding her hands to her own crotch, “but I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to practice more…”

“Get your hands away from there!” Myrta reefed Melanie’s arms back by the wrist, “My job!”

“Why, what’s so special- Oh, I can do that…” Melanie was rendered speechless when Myrta pressed her pussy against Myrta’s, gyrating at a gentle by steady pace. Melanie found her breath heaving with every motion as their clits rubbed together in a soft rhythm.

“That feels really… you’re like… feel like really soft velvet dressed up with the grandest tits on the planet!” Melanie leant forward, wrapping her arms around Myrta and her lips around her nipple, Myrta gasped the first moment that Melanie’s tongue touched her body, the feeling causing her to shudder slightly and lose her rhythm.

“They’re so great in fact, I could probably smother you with them if I wanted!” she demonstrated by grabbing Melanie by the hair and pressing her face into the cleavage. Letting go just as quickly, Myrta went straight back into the gentle rhythm she found.

“I don’t doubt it!” Melanie smirked, “but gods above, first girl who didn’t try and sandpaper everything off on me! Good on you!”

Myrta gave a massive, cheesy grin, teeth and all, “I can do something they can’t do…!”

“And what’s… okay, woah,” Melanie found herself leaning back, breath shuddering, struggling for a moan that wanted to be free. Myrta had been sneaky, two of her tentacles gently parted back Melanie’s vulva, while a third plunged straight. Her timing was spot on, her foreplay had helped Melanie get in the mood and entry was easy and gentle. Like her rhythmic gyrating, the tentacle moved at a slow caress, brushing right up against the g-spot, focusing all her attention on that solitary point.

The effect was profound, Melanie was gyrating harder, trying to get Myrta to quicken the pace.

“Oh gods, oh gods…”

“My my, excited aren’t we…” Myrta went to massaging her own breasts while two of her tentacles rose to massage Melanie’s , “Anything you want me to do…?”

“Just… give me more!”

“More what, tentacle? Okay…”

Melanie felt another tentacle slide in and start thrusting, the two working together, alternating. While Myrta kept her even pace, the two tentacles effectively doubled it, and Melanie found herself moaning uncontrollably.

“Using five…” she breathed, “you have eight…”

“Two are holding your legs, I’m using seven…” smirked Myrta

“Use the other… in me, please!”

Myrta cocked her head, “but where? I don’t think I can fit it in your pussy…”

“Just do it…” Melanie wasn’t sure what she was asking in the throes of passion.

Myrta felt around with her last tentacle, she was going to ask if Melanie was sure, but she already knew the answer. The last tentacle teased around her anus, pressing lightly, noncommittally until Melanie interjected.

“Stick it in, fuck me hard!”

Myrta smirked, “okay…” her gyrations came faster, the engorged, sensitive clits rubbed together harder causing Myrta to let out a little squeak and Melanie’s eyes to roll back. Myrta then changed things up a bit, the two tentacles in Melanie’s pussy stopped alternating and started pounding, simultaneously, mock pile-driver.

Melanie’s response was positive, but somehow unsatisfied.

“My legs are up… you can go deeper… and that last one isn’t in…”

Myrta complied, the last tentacle slithered its way inside, deeper into her arse. Once in, Myrta went as hard as she could, pounding on Melanie’s body with all her might. She reached forward, caressing Melanie’s breasts with her hands while the tentacles there teased and played with her nipples.

Melanie was oddly quiet, but a quick glance told Myrta that she was trying to hold it all in, trying not to make noise. A futile effort.

It wasn’t long before Melanie could hold it in no more, Myrta had buried her tentacles as deep as her body would allow, if she gyrated harder she would rub both of them raw. The cecaelia had found that perfect balance between not enough and too much. And Melanie found an oddly religious moment in all of this…

“Gods above! Oh… my… all… love… me…”

Myrta hadn’t quite seen that reaction before and it made her giggle. Melanie’s face was reddening, and Myrta watched it spread along her whole body. Her chest, her midriff, her legs, all gathering splotchy patches of red.

Then Myrta tipped Melanie over the edge, the fisherman clamped her legs together so tight that Myrta thought she was going to crack a rib. Melanie’s toes curled, fingers clenched…

And then she let out one almighty moan as Myrta went even faster than before. Melanie’s breaths were punctuated by gasps as Myrta had made her cum. But as is often the case, woman still have some… tension left in them even after orgasm, and Myrta was determined to fuck it out.

Melanie’s gasps were building and then she let out final scream that punctuated the whole afternoon with an exclamation point. Myrta slowed and eventually stopped. She gently tugged her tentacles out and rolled to the ground aside Melanie.

“So… how’s that for a rent payment.”

Melanie giggled, “fuck… do that daily, I’ll fucking catch all the fish for both of us…”