Welcome To The Fish Tank

The following story was inspired by the Poser work, 'The Fish Tank', by Clay3570 at DeviantArt

*

Marina awakened by degrees. She wasn't aware of her first conscious thought upon waking, for a host of strange sensations vied for her attention: a wonderful feeling of weightlessness, of a warmth that surrounded every inch of her body, and the quite unwelcome feeling of a stuffy nose.

She decided to focus on the warmth. It felt so peaceful, just lying on her side, and she luxuriated in it, enjoying the perfect feeling. She opened her eyes finally, feeling somewhat groggy, as though she'd been asleep for a week. Fish swam lazily in front of her, doing that interminable back and forth that fish do in an aquarium.

Pretty

, she thought dazedly, lost in their relaxing beauty: there was an orange and white one, that she vaguely remembered was called a clownfish; a small, brightly colored orange and blue one she didn't know the name of, its lower fins tinted a soft green; there was a foot-long blue and black one with a yellow tail, that darted about constantly; a breathtakingly beautiful reddish-orange one with vertical black stripes; and of course the regulation starfish, clinging to the glass wall of its aquatic home, its back a radiant reddish-gold.

What a lovely aquarium,

Marina thought dreamily. Laying there, watching them swim about, she could appreciate why people kept them. There was something relaxing about the way they moved, something soothing.

Maybe one day I'll get an aquarium of my own.

But as she continued taking in the aquatic scene, another feeling tugged at her attention, and it was then that she noticed there was something wrong with this picture.

Well, that's strange,

she thought, puzzled.

I'm looking at that starfish's back

.

I should be seeing its underside, shouldn't I?

Realization flooded through her at that moment, and a muffled scream tore from her throat, the bubbles issuing from her mouth a terrible confirmation of the horror all about her --

I'm not looking at an aquarium! I'm inside one!

Marina shot upright, or tried to, only just discovering that her arms were bound behind her. Panic overtook her, and she began struggling against her unseen bonds, thrashing her legs where she lay, and found that they too were bound. Another scream stole from her throat, but she quickly stopped short, the bubbles paradoxically helping to remind her of where she was.

I'm breathing!

she thought, lying on her back, her eyes closed tightly, hoping that this was all part of some waking dream, but knowing deep down that it wasn't.

I'm breathing underwater! How...?

With an incredible force of will she forced herself to calm down, so that she could ponder the mystery of how she was able to breathe while on the bottom of this nightmare aquarium.

My nose...there's something in my nose.

Fighting the urge to panic, she wrinkled her nose, and found that it was indeed plugged, and furthermore she could feel something pressing lightly against the lower part of her cheekbones, looping around to the back of her head.

Oh my God,

she thought, keeping her eyes resolutely shut, determinedly suppressing the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment.

How is this possible? Who would...?

Keeping her lips pressed tightly together, in case hysteria should win out over reflex, Marina opened her eyes again, slowly. Her eyes had no more trouble focusing in the water than her lungs had of moving air; another mystery to ponder. She tried to ignore the gently swaying aquatic plants that loomed over her, their movement likely due to her earlier frenzied convulsions, which probably also accounted for the present absence of fish in the general area. She focused her eyes directly above her, and yes, she could see it now, but only very faintly: a single clear tube, about the size of her little finger, running from behind her head and upward, presumably to the top of this tank; an umbilical feeding her air, keeping her alive.

But why would somebody do this to me?

Have I been kidnapped?

As there was no one to ask, there was no one to answer, but it appeared, for the moment at least, that she was in no immediate danger. She felt rocks beneath her, pressing into her bound arms, which she could now tell were lashed together, forearms touching, her palms cupping her elbows. She tried to bend upwards so that she could sit up, but the constriction of her bindings and the weight of the water pressing down upon her made that all but impossible. With one last valiant effort she wrenched her upper body upward and kicked her bound legs hard,

and felt herself propelled forward.

Marina's eyes opened wide as she came to rest, still on her back, but now several feet from where she'd started.

No, this can't be! It just can't be!

Gritting her teeth, she kicked again, harder this time, and felt her body actually leave the aquarium floor, heading upwards until she was nearly vertical.

Oh my fucking God!

she screamed inside her head, her eyes downward

,

locked on the insane vision of her iridescent green tail.

* * * * * *

Marina sat upon a largish rock, one that appeared to have been formed of molten lava, but was in reality as soft as a foam mattress, distractedly considering the bright flashing tail that made up her lower body.

I'm a mermaid,

she thought, her mind focused solely upon that one concept.

I'm a mermaid. I'm a mermaidamermaidmermaidmer....

She had been thinking the single thought for the last five minutes, unable to wrest her eyes from the vision of her tail. She hadn't moved it once since she'd come to rest on the rock, fearing to do so, because if it was a real tail, then she was truly fucked, and if it wasn't real, then she was just as truly fucked. Finally she could stand it no longer. Ever so slightly she raised it upward, about six inches, and noted with neither triumph nor despair that she couldn't feel the flow of water over it.

Well,

she thought, her lips pressed tightly together,

that's settled that. A real mermaid would feel that, wouldn't she?

She tried shifting her hips, to see what exactly she could feel down there, and was rewarded with the sensation of movement of her calves, though very slight, which meant that her magnificent green tail was just an appliance.

But as appliances went, it was really rather beautiful. The scales were fine and clear and evenly spaced, and would sparkle when they caught the light just right. It looked as real as anything in nature, with yellow-gold highlights that set off the green perfectly, a green which also happened to match her own emerald-green eyes.

But who would do this?

she whined inwardly, wanting to cry, wondering if she could do so underwater.

What is happening?

The answers, she knew, lay above her, but she found that she was afraid to go up and have a look, perhaps fearing that what she would find would solidify things all the more, confirm that which was already apparent. She looked about her, her long red hair floating about her shoulders as she did so. The fish were now back to swimming about, seemingly mindless of her presence, accepting that she belonged there, that she too was a denizen of the deep. She was a little surprised that she wasn't more scared than she was, that she seemed to be accepting things so well, which she put down to low-grade shock. If her mind ever truly came to grips with this underwater reality, she knew she would go completely insane.

But this reality, she noted, was incredibly detailed. Everything that one would normally find in an aquarium was here: rock formations, a set of stone ruins arranged in a circle, plants and aquatic grasses, even a large, open treasure chest with bubbles floating out of it. The lighting was soft and beautiful, with pinks and purples reflecting off the rocks here and there, as well as the soft white light from above.

Someone is fucking with me,

she thought, her fear and shock subsiding somewhat, anger seeping in to fill the void,

but who, and why?

It was time to find out. She tried getting up from her rock but discovered it wasn't as easy as all that. The construction of her tail was such that her feet were extended fully downward within the rig, as though she were standing en pointe. With her arms bound behind her and her legs immobilized within her tail, normal movement was completely impossible, which was obviously what her captor wanted -- if she wanted to move about she was going to have to swim. Throwing caution to the wind, or to the waves at least, Marina leaned back slightly and kicked her tail. She was instantly lifted from the rock and propelled backward. She quickly twisted her upper body and came about, darting right, then left, almost as quickly as the blue and yellow fish she had first seen.

She stopped kicking, and began to sink slowly downward toward the blue rocks that made up the aquarium floor. She flexed her bound ankles once, lightly, and was propelled slowly upward again.

At least I'm getting the hang of it,

she thought.

Well, when in Rome....

Hesitantly she began making her way about the aquarium, preferring the evil she knew down here to the evil she didn't know up above. She swam around the tall plants, absently wishing that her arms weren't bound, especially as it caused her to bounce her breasts about as she kicked her tail, their buoyancy causing them to feel larger than they were, though practically weightless in this watery prison. She wove about the periphery of the aquarium, her ability to gauge her distance from the glass aided by the abrupt termination of the blue rock floor, as well as the vertical steel struts into which the glass panels that made up her undersea home had been fitted.

She swam up to the glass that separated her from normality. All she could see outside the glass was white. It looked like a large, open room, judging by the subtle variations in the lighting, but she couldn't be sure. She could see what must be a door, judging by a slight vertical seam, but there was no hint of anything else: no furniture, no fixtures, and no people.

She continued on, unease growing with every flick of her tail. Using her own height as a yardstick, Marina estimated her underwater enclosure to be approximately one hundred feet long by fifty feet wide, and it was apparent that everything here was designed for safety as well as function. The rock formations had plenty of holes for the other fish to swim through, but none were large enough to allow her to do likewise, thus ensuring that her breathing tube would not get snagged. They also appeared to be completely smooth, to help protect her skin from nasty cuts, she supposed.

It was while swimming along the back side of the tank, or at least what she considered to be the back side, that Marina made a discovery: by floating in a certain spot where the light shone just right, she could faintly make out her reflection in the glass. If she could have gasped she would have. That someone had gone to great lengths to build and stock her watery surroundings was obvious, but they had not stopped there -- they had made her over as well.

Her breasts were larger; there was no doubt about that now. She had thought it was an effect of the water, but in this environment she had no way of gauging their weight, and so hadn't been aware of the change. Her reflection sadly confirmed the truth. Her breasts, whose size she had always considered to be just right, were now much bigger, about the size of grapefruits,

big

grapefruits. They were so huge on her small frame that she doubted that she would be able to walk without tipping forward, something that was not a problem here. In fact, they seemed to help her buoyancy.

While her boobs might have been the most obvious change (apart from her tail, which she now unconsciously flexed so as to stay in the same spot), her captors had made other alterations to their pet mermaid, as well. Her long red hair had been dyed a few shades darker, giving it a lustrous, smoky quality; and her lips were indeed fuller, plumped up with collagen, though not to the point of looking like a porn star, at least not quite.

Her eyes looked different, too, but her distance from the glass was such that she couldn't see what precisely had been done, although considering the ease with which she could see in this saltwater, she knew that she must be wearing some sort of protective contact lenses. But there was something that she could see: clear tubing, barely visible, exiting her nostrils and following the line of her cheekbones, looping up and over her ears, disappearing into her hair.

She wanted to cry, angered that someone had taken such liberties with her body, but more than that she was frightened by what it meant. Obviously her captor, or

captors

, had money -- an aquarium this size was certainly proof of that. But her kidnapper also had the means to perform surgery upon her, and allow it to fully heal without her being aware of it. How long did it take a woman to recover from breast implant surgery? One week? Two weeks?

And what about my job?

she spoke inwardly, robbed of the ability to do so outwardly.

What about my family? My friends? What about...?

She looked absently at her reflection for several moments, her face as blank as her mind.

I can't remember...

she thought, stunned that not only had her voice and her liberty been taken from her, so too had her memories.

I work at...

But that file drawer was locked, and her reflection in the glass visibly showed her frustration at being unable to remember that which she must have done every day.

I live at...?

An unutterable rage welled up within her, further exacerbated by her inability to move her arms, and without realizing what she was doing she jerked backward and flexed her tail, causing her nearby tankmates to scatter. She darted quickly about in her anger and frustration, not knowing what to do, only knowing that she needed to do

something.

She raced around the main rock formation three times, dodging and darting about the frightened and confused fish, her rage fueled all the more by the knowledge that she must look very fish-like herself.

Marina zoomed around the tank at top speed, again and again, her tail flashing brightly, narrowly avoiding colliding with the glass at every turn, as though knowing the periphery of her surroundings by instinct. But all her flight around the tank did was to expend a frustration she could do nothing about. Finally, with no place left to go, she went up.

It was difficult to tell how far it was to the surface, which appeared to be a bright though featureless white. She made her way slowly upward, her umbilical apparently retracting with her as she did so. It was as she got to within a foot of the surface that Marina was able to make out the fine details of the ceiling of her world. A thick layer of Plexiglas hung precisely at the level of the water, its length and breadth dotted with perfectly circular cutouts, larger than a finger, but smaller than a fist. Several feet above that was frosted glass, from which the white light emanated. There was sound up here, too, a humming of pumps and other electrical equipment.

She found where her umbilical disappeared into to an opaque white bowl about eighteen inches in diameter by a foot deep. The lip of the bowl was pressed up against the Plexiglas, presumably by the pressure of the water beneath. It was not fixed there, but appeared to move about in response to her location in the tank, its locomotion made possible due to a number of tiny holes that dotted the lower third of it, she judged. She thought about nudging it with her shoulder, or even swiping at it with her tail, perhaps forcing her captors out into the open should she upset it, but as it was the only thing keeping her from drowning she quickly discarded the idea.

She swam back and forth across the top of the tank, attempting to find some means of escape, which she had known at the outset would be a fruitless exercise, but what else was there for her to do? She found a clear hatch with Plexiglas hinges near one end of the tank, its size appropriate to admit one mermaid. She bumped it with her shoulder but it didn't budge. Defeated she swam back down to the bottom of the tank, a little tired from her exertions, and sat upon her rock so that she might think.

Someone wants me to be a mermaid. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make me a mermaid. But why me?

she asked herself.

Surely there must be thousands of women who would voluntarily do this.

That tells you something about your captor then, doesn't it?

she answered herself.

The kind of person, or people, who have done this didn't want a volunteer. A volunteer would probably enjoy it too much, would have her own agenda. But a captive would be scared, and wary; someone to better maintain the illusion for them.

Then where are they? Why aren't they outside the glass watching me, getting their rocks off to the image of the pretty, big-boobed mermaid swimming around helplessly?

To that she had no answer, for there was no one to be seen in the dry world outside her watery prison.

Well, if they were wanted her to be scared, they had gotten their wish. But she was nonetheless surprised at how well she was dealing with her situation. Someone, or

someones,

had abducted her, removed her memories, stuffed her breasts full of silicone, fitted her with a tail, and dumped her in an aquarium to quite literally sink or swim, and she was holding it together pretty well, all things considered. But now that the shock was beginning to wear off, another feeling was settling in -- she was beginning to get bored, and truth to tell, a little lonely as well.

Marina kicked off from her rock and made another circuit of her aquarium, now actually hoping to see someone, but there was still nothing and no one outside the tank. For lack of anything better to do she stopped at the spot where she could see herself in the glass. She watched herself float for a while, trying to see herself as her unknown captor might. She had to admit that they really had done a good job of her. Her long red hair floated softly about her, making her look more attractive than she probably was. She looked at her new breasts awhile, and with each passing minute found her original dislike of them washing away. She stared in rapt fascination as they floated softly up and down in response to the minute kicks she employed to help keep herself stable. Unaware that she was smiling slightly, she shimmied her shoulders briefly, and watched as they bobbled about in slow motion, entranced by their soft beauty.

But the feature that most captivated her was her tail. It really was quite remarkable. There were no visible gaps between the appliance and her skin, she noted, inwardly marveling at its artistry, lost in its meticulous detail, until a new thought crowded out her nascent narcissism.

How am I supposed to pee?

She looked around the immediate area, hoping for some kind of explanation or inspiration as to how she was supposed to urinate when the entire lower half of her body was completely inaccessible, and that was when she saw the shadow.

It flowed across the blue rock floor, moved sedately over her, and then further on across the tank. Panic flooded her being, and she instinctively bolted toward the only cover that she knew within her aquarium: the low grasses in the center of the stone ruins. She settled herself in quickly amidst the softly swaying grass, noting that the other fish appeared to have made themselves scarce, too. Once she was sure that she was reasonably well hidden, Marina chanced a look upward to see who, or what, was up there.