Once upon a time, when magic was everywhere and wishes still came true, there was a tribe of women of such distinguished beauty and insatiable lust, that the sun itself stared open-mouthed at them, and the corals turned their heads to listen to their sinful moaning. And because they seldom were seen in anything resembling clothing, they were known in the hearts of all as the nudist sea nymphs, though perhaps other names would have fit.
But this could not have been so very long ago at all, for this was a time of oil wells and cellular phones and buxom lifeguards in bikinis far too small for them, who would sometimes disappear into the ocean never to be seen again.
When the nymphs took a woman, there was nothing to be done of it, or so the stories go. The fire in her loins would not be quenched and she was lost to virtue. She might be caught out of the corner of an eye, engaged in the sluttiest of sexual acts, lustfully swallowing enough cum that was deposited into several women's pussies to fill a large swimming pool, or sitting on the rocks, licking mouthfuls of her own juices off her fingers while tourists with cocks the size of tree trunks walked by, terribly aroused but seemingly unaware as to why.
This was also was about the time that managers of the McKinley oil and fishing company began to hear tales of a vixen named Lena and her nymphs, who were disrupting business in a most un-courteous way. Orgies! Massive orgies that left everyone incapable of work for many days. Engineers dropped their fancy tools and went to work on the nymphs instead. For hours and hours, they would fuck, cocks refusing to go limp for as long as there were lovely nymph breasts to be fondled. Hands, lips and tongues all became sex toy to help the job along. When the screwing stopped, every female on board would just walk off into the ocean, as though dragged by the clit. And so, the oil rigs and the tankers and the fishing boats were always understaffed at the sort of jobs women held: communications, food service, secretarial jobs, boring stuff they really ought not to have troubled themselves with in the first place.
No matter how noble, the women would go, and no matter how frigid, the passions would tremble through them and they would shed their clothing like old skin and dive in head-first to be consumed by the sea. The very waters clutched at their breasts and groins as they swam, their passion warming them against chill of that they had left behind.
And from corporate headquarters, men did come. Men carrying guns, for this was also a time of warheads, hand grenades and automatic weapons, a time of modern warfare.
And they were all men, for women were not to be trusted on a mission such as this. All were dressed in black, with the letters "S.W.A.T." across their broad chests and strong shoulders. Guns erupted. Bullets penetrated, tore flesh and dug deeper, making the blood trickle and then flow freely, destroying lust and beauty and restoring order and peace to the country and the economy. But was that really right?
Now, you might think this is a tale of feminism, of the power of lust to change lives, or a testimony to the sacrament of nature, but you would be as much wrong as right, for this is a story of the sea nymphs. It is a story of their lusty sins, of catastrophic climaxes, of sinister kisses and dark desires, a story of naughty words that troubled the lips of once innocent maidens. This is the tale of Lena who led a war, fought with lust, of Jasmine, who liked to fuck on her back with her legs thrown high above her. This is the tale of Chastity, who fought without success against her transformation.
But before I can truly begin the tale, there is one more thing that I ought not forget to mention, and it is that a sea nymph is a very different creature from a mermaid or a siren, and is neither destined to sacrifice herself for virtue nor to lull unwitting souls to watery death. When Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection he thought it a nymph staring up at him from the water. So keep that in the corner of your mind while your cocks swell and your pussies moisten, and gaze carefully at your own reflection.
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Chastity was not a princess in the strictest sense of the word, nor was she a miller's daughter, nor an old beggar women, but still, the cool sea breeze insisted on blowing through her brown hair as her own little fairy tale lunged forward, restlessly gasping, practically begging to be told. It was already growing dark on the little beach where she stood looking out to sea. The golden orb of the sun had already fallen below the horizon, but there was still plenty useless time ahead of her. It would be hours before the water receded enough for her to venture to the tide pools. She was here on a summer research program in marine biology, sponsored by the McKinley Company as part of an effort to prove that, contrary to widespread belief, oil spills are good for the environment, a veritable tribute to unbiased corporate interest in public science.
The weather has become quite chilly and the wind seemed to blow right through Chastity's flesh, chilling her to the bones, completely ignoring her tight blue jeans and preppy fur-trimmed leather jacket.
What was she doing here, gazing off into the ocean as though searching for something beyond the horizon? She could be back at the hostel, going through her notes, or snuggled up in her soft pink blankets catching some extra z's before a night of field work, instead of standing here, staring into the endless expanse before her.
But she knew it was no good. She had to be here, with the water flowing around her ankles, threatening to snake into her rubber boots. She had to keep watching the waves as they rose and swelled and crashed against the shore. She couldn't tear herself away for the world.
But it really was very cold, and she felt like she ought to eat something. Her body hadn't forgotten hunger in her fear and misery. There was the little hamburger shack a short way inland where she usually ate, and it was positively buzzing with business. She could order herself hot tea and a burger with extra fries, sit herself down and take her time eating. She would still be able to see the ocean from her table. She could see it over the heads of other people. She didn't have to feel alone. Wasn't she just making things more difficult for herself by keeping alone? She should not act like the woman who lived next door to her father, the one who never left home and talked to cats for company. And she really ought to eat something!
She had to admit to herself that Alia was really gone. That she had, in fact, gone mad only two days ago, seduced the officer who was guarding her room, engaged in every kind of degrading sexual act with him, and then made off completely naked in a stolen car, which she drove off the pier into the ocean not far from where Chastity now stood. They sent divers to look for the car, but it was never found. It must have been carried to the depths of the sea by the offshore current.
No, she could not go back to the hamburger shack where she had met Alia, the owner's daughter who had taken her order and delivered it to her table. Not while she still suffered from the terrible illusions. Alia, yelling that she had been gang-raped by women. Alia, ripping off her veil and hospital gown and screaming for help, Alia with the needle in her arm, her brain fogging over as the sedative began to spread through her bloodstream, Alia with her hands between her legs calling the guard to her like a siren, and then bouncing up and down on his cock as though it were a ride at the kiddy carnival.
Not that Chastity had been around for most of that. It was all the gossip that had spread like a plague, tarnishing the reputation of a modest and well-respected young woman. Alia had seemed so beautiful, her hair hidden beneath her jibab headdress. The way the headdress framed her face made her skin seem to glow, as though it had the power to capture the light around it. She was so elegant and regal, the way she stood and walked to Chastity's table. It sent a shiver through Chastity's body to think about it. It was a dark and sinful feeling, accompanied by an awkward tingling in her nether regions that left her feeling breathless and very, very dirty. But what was it? Lust?
She wouldn't let herself answer that. Too much depended on the answer to that question. She couldn't let herself be branded a lesbian. She went to an all-girls' college, she could be expelled.
No, she wouldn't be getting anything to eat at the little hamburger shack, better to forget it all together, to stop acting like a fool and get the hell out of the water. Whoever Alia was to her, she was dead and good riddance. Better to have her buried at sea, to have her gone, away. Far, far away from her.
She was here to study sea life, to probe at sea anemones and gather starfish, like she had done since she was a little girl. Biology was her hobby, something to study before settling down and becoming some man's wife. Was it so wrong for her to be staring at the sea? Perhaps she was subconsciously learning something about the marine environment and the flow of the tides. No need at all to pay attention to that terrible sensation of heat, to the juices that were flowing down her legs. Maybe tomorrow morning, she'd go into town and buy herself an anti-yeast infection ointment, and then the heat and the juices would be gone for good. Wasn't that what they said on those TV infomercials?
