24. Down Where Its Wetter

24

DOWN WHERE IT'S WETTER

TERESA

P acari's hands are masterful. Even more so down here, with gravity lessened and in his most natural element. He kisses and nips along my neck, my ear, pulls my face towards him to ravage me with that incredibly long and dextrous tongue of his. When we pull apart, he presses his knuckles into my pussy, massaging the labia with each entry.

Then his tongue wraps around my neck. At least I think it's his tongue—it's the only body part close enough. A moan escapes me, my head falls back against his. It slithers down towards my tit and teases the nipple. I writhe against his hand, almost looking for an escape from the dual sensation of his tongue and hand.

And then his sifon presses between my ass cheeks, the little tentacle thing teasing the skin all around my pussy. My legs kick against the water, seeking some way to ground myself as the pleasure builds higher and higher.

"Teresa, my pearl, you are so gorgeous like this," he murmurs, retracting his tongue for a moment.

As much as I love the view—the garden is beyond amazing—I do wish I could see. I want to see what Pacari looks like when he's in his garden. I want to see the wonder I hear in his voice, to see the love he's finally admitted to. And I want to keep exploring, to find all his marks and memorize them. To know just which spots set him off—not just by feel, although I seem to be doing pretty good at that if the way he came apart with my mouth on him was anything to go by.

His glow is gorgeous—it outlines his shapes, the curves of his muscles—but all I can see are the stripes along his sides. He, like the vampire squid I saw earlier, has a different face—at least according to what he was telling me. His eyes look as if they're near his sifon which has to be one of the craziest evolutionary schemes. Is it to trick unsuspecting lovers?

I shake off the humorous thought.

"I wish I could see you better," I say.

"Mmm, good," he growls, thrusting his sifon hard between my cheeks.

I roll my ass towards him, captivated by the feel of him using me like this. His sifon is so long it teases across my asshole and against my pussy. His hand grinds into my clit as I ride his sifon . His free hand scratches lightly across my stomach, pushes up against my breast, rubs and teases my nipple. I turn my head towards him, needing his mouth on mine. He obliges, almost purring against my mouth.

And then he turns his whole fucking body into a vibrator again. Earlier, when we were swimming down here, I couldn't stop thinking about it and now it's happening. Coming instantly was a given, but then he pushes me, plays with me until I'm coming again and again. I feel his sifon press up between my lips, sucking at them—and now I know why—it's gathering my… magic.

With one more kiss, Pacari spins me around until I'm facing him. I watch as his hand strokes up and down his sifon .

"Let me—" I start, but he floats back.

"No, let me show you," he murmurs.

I watch patiently—or at least as patiently as I can. My own fingers find their way to my clit, my other hand squeezing my breasts and playing with my nipple as I watch him. Though I can't see his expression, I feel the shift. The way he strokes harder. So do I. My heart feels like it's going to beat out of its chest as I try to extract another orgasm, this time on my own. Though I can only imagine what he looks like in light, there's a beauty to the shifting shadows and the near-lighthouse beacon glow to his sifon .

Then finally, he shudders. Little glowing orbs pop from his sifon once again, this time blue.

"Do they always change color?" I ask.

"Mm… different types of sex, different partners, different types of orgasms… they all contribute to what comes out."

"What does blue mean?" I ask, picking up one of the pearls in my fingers.

I squeeze it, testing how it feels compared to the pearls Pacari so desperately needed us to collect only moments ago.

"You made a wish, which strengthened them. But not as powerful a hope as our first time. Pop it," he instructs.

I furrow my brow, squeeze the pearl in my hands. It pops, a cloud of light spilling out—almost like the anemone from earlier. "Oh!"

Pacari bends to collect the rest of the pearls before grinding them in his hands and throwing them over our heads. In a moment, the entire cave is lit up. It's not nearly as colorful like this—the beautiful bioluminescence lost in the excess of light. Some of the animals are so dull and colorless they're almost ugly, but then the light fades just enough that I can fully see Pacari and still see the light of the cave's inhabitants.

Pacari pulls me close, pulls us down, his eyes alight with some sort of mischief.

"I have another find from the wreckage," he says, leaning against my ear. "Though originally I brought it here to see how the fish would react… now I want to see your reaction."

"My reaction?" I repeat.

He spins me around, presses close behind me as we sink to the very bottom of the grotto. The light from his cum pearls sinks with us, and I am suddenly so aware of my own body in these depths. And I like it. I watch the rise and fall of my breasts as I breathe, admire how erect my nipples are. It's moments like this I love my body—this, and like earlier when we were dancing. But the pride I feel in how I look sometimes feels like a little secret I have with myself. Though when I'm on stage performing for hundreds of thousands of people, it feels like I'm sharing it.

At least it does, until the execs talk to us afterwards about how "it's good to get the fat girl money, but can she lose some fucking weight."

I'm a bad fucking bitch, hot as hell, and I'm sick of people like them thinking I'm not.

"Look, Teresa," Pacari murmurs against my ear. "Look at yourself."

Then I see the mirror nestled at the bottom of the grotto. And holy fuck do we look hot together. He slides his fingers over my legs, massaging my inner thighs.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he says. "Look at these thighs, how gorgeous they are—these muscles."

He purrs against me.

"My mark," he says, and I can feel the smile on my neck before I see it in the mirror.

I watch as he traces the tender spot with his finger. My leg jumps away out of reflex, but he grips me hard and holds me.

"Mm, I'm not done," he threatens.

A shiver runs through me and I arch my back at the promise. His hands trail up my sides, along my belly.

"Such soft skin," he marvels. "So easy to grip and tease and tickle."

His actions follow his words. The juxtaposition of roughness and softness sends an ache to my pussy, and I wish he hadn't skipped it on his journey across my body. But at the same time, to see my belly worshipped in the way he is has me entranced. I've done so much to feel good about myself, to take care of my body despite the rigorous, exhausting hours I work. To feed myself in spite of every single voice in Hollywood telling me every bite of food is a sin. Being told I'm a lazy piece of shit because I'm fat, that I can't possibly be any good has fueled my drive to prove them wrong. But sometimes, sometimes you just want someone to love you as you are.

I don't care what I weigh. I have fought hard for that right. My tests always come back with stellar reports, even though doctors insist every time I'm sick I could fix it if I lost some weight.

I tried a couple times, but watching my mom yo-yo diet for decades and seeing that nothing ever made her feel good about herself taught me that weight isn't what matters. What matters is how you feel about yourself. But there's always that stupid, inherent fear that society puts in you that you don't deserve to feel good about yourself. You don't deserve to be loved.

Well, fuck that.

Fuck that, because I fucking love myself. And I really fucking love watching my green yacunayi boyfriend worship every single fucking part of me just because it's part of me . I grind down on his sifon, moan louder and louder as he explores my tits. Suddenly, I feel his fingers inside of me and I gasp, having thought his nails would be too sharp. But looking to his free hand, I can see his nails have retracted. I touch myself, too.

"These breasts, so heavy," he groans. "Look how they move—how your body ripples when they fall back against your chest."

He squeezes my breasts upwards and lets them drop—much slower than they would above water, but still the motion affects the skin all around.

"So hot," he whispers in desperation.

He pulls me back onto his lap, so that my ass is practically on his stomach. His sifon is thick and erect, a sight that has me unable to stop myself from running my fingers over my clit as he thrusts his hand in and out of my pussy. I grind against him, feeling my orgasm on the horizon. I feel as if I could float away any second, and my arms swing around behind me to hold him close, one anchoring to his neck, and the other to his leg. Rolling harder and harder, I want him inside.

From his tip pops little bubbles just like before, spilling out over his sifon . He is thoroughly lubricated, and at this point, so am I. Pulling his hand from my pussy, I pull his sifon towards my opening and press down until he is inside. He spreads my legs wider, anchors me down as he thrusts inside.

"Yeees," I let out, my words the length and shape of my erratic breath. "Oh fuck, Pacari, you're unreal. Oh, you feel so good inside me."

"Your pussy is magic," he huffs, thrusting in with a speed that would be impossible for two humans underwater.

"Literally," I giggle. "Apparently."

"Mhmm," he agrees. "And when you come and I come, I'll plant the pearls of magic inside you, let you feel the exquisite agony I bore all this day. And then I'll hold your body close, writhe against you, torment you, and let you feel what it is to have desire inside and out."

"Wait!" I protest half-heartedly. "That's—"

"Wouldn't you like to hold the evidence of our love within you?" he asks in earnest.

"Oh god, when you put it like that." I groan, aching as he slows his pace.

"Look at us, Teresa," he growls, his hand pulling my head back to the mirror by my chin.

The dominance does something to me. I lock eyes with him through the mirror as I watch us move together. We're so hot. This is so incredibly hot. The way his muscles move as he fucks me, the way my skin bounces with each thrust, the bubbles that rise off of us with our constant movement, the way my hair billow around—how it covers my eyes only to reveal them again. His tentacle thing slides in along his sifon and pushes it harder inside me. It traces my inner walls until it finds my g-spot, and then I can't watch anymore because I'm coming so hard I can barely breathe.

"You are so beautiful," he pants. "Teresa, my pearl, come for me."

I'm coming whether he tells me to or not.

"Let it all out. Let me bathe in the magic of your ecstasy," he growls, continuing to pound into me .

My eyes roll back as I feel his sifon sucking at my inner walls. It feels like the whole thing is inside of me, but a glance in the mirror shows that I've only made it halfway down. There's a competitive part of me that wishes I could go deeper, but maybe another time.

No, the competitiveness dies out in an instant as another orgasm rakes over me. His tentacle keeps tapping on my g-spot and I can't stop moaning. I can barely catch my breath.

"My perfect human," he grins. "Keep watching."

I didn't even notice I wasn't anymore. He holds my head as he continues to thrust inside me, continues to pull out orgasm after orgasm, until finally, I feel his pearls inside me. And that still isn't enough for him. Having come so hard inside me, he still fucks them in, teases my clit, my breasts, presses his lips to my cheek and runs his tongue along it.

At the end of it all, when he finally stops making me come, I'm a puddle again. I've become one with the water. He'll have to live here forever now and just take care of me like he takes care of all his little friends. I look like a wreck, too. My face won't make the right expressions, it just goes between dead and cartoonishly happy.

Accurate to how I feel, I guess.