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Riptide free porn video
He should be dead. The riptide had sucked him under, but instead of his
corpse washing out to sea he was found on the sand the next morning,
unconscious but unharmed. He was rushed to the hospital and released by
late afternoon, returning to the beachfront hotel where he was staying.
He'd told the doctors most of the truth. He was a strong swimmer who got
sloppy and went out alone at night without checking the conditions, the
lucky survivor of a freak accident. The part he hid was how he
remembered drowning in the dark, lungs full of burning water, when a
strong pair of arms held him close and supple lips pressed against his.
He was barely conscious enough to return the kiss, but as he did the
pain and fear disappeared. He was still underwater, but he could breath.
He hadn't been able to see his savior, but she felt like a woman. He'd
wrapped his arms around a slender back, tangled his hands in long hair,
been aroused by the press of generous breasts against his body. It was
incredibly pleasant until his feet rubbed against what felt like an
enormous fish where her legs should have been. He pushed away, and the
creature holding him broke off the kiss. He felt her tail swish as she
moved to speak into his ear, the message rendered indecipherable by the
water, and let him go. His next memory was in the hospital, with
paramedics fussing over him.
Sitting in his hotel room, he wondered whether he should have shared the
whole truth. Soon he put the thought aside and listened to the crash of
the waves through his open window. He was first drawn to the balcony for
a better view of the ocean, then down to the shore itself. He traveled
down through the lobby and out onto the beach, sitting where the water
met the sand. The brine felt magnificent against his legs, moist and
soothing instead of salty and abrasive. He felt the urge to go deeper,
to give himself to the sea, but he fought it. He'd already cheated death
once, and wouldn't let it claim him so soon.
The ocean's seduction failed to lessen, so he went back to his hotel
room to try and get some sleep. Even if the incident hadn't harmed him
physically, it had obviously done a number of his psyche. He washed off
the sand in the shower, and the soapy lather felt intoxicating against
his skin, leaving it smooth and soft, even where his five o'clock shadow
should have been.
It wasn't until he reached down to turn off the shower that he noticed
the drain clogged with small black hairs. Looking in the mirror, he saw
he was hairless except for the top of his head, which had grown thick
and shaggy. The change didn't really bother him, so rather than fret he
climbed on top of his sheets without drying off and fell asleep.
He woke up late the following morning to a growling stomach, reminding
him he hadn't eaten since his stay in the hospital. He stretched, sat up
and brushed the hair out of his face without giving second thought to
the fact that it had turned dirty blonde and grown long enough to hang.
All that mattered was the hunger. His stomach was visibly diminished,
starting to cave in on itself.
He put on a bathing suit, pulling the waist tighter than he remembered,
but declined to wear a shirt. The hotel was permissive, and wearing
clothing beyond the bare minimum felt like a hassle. As he wandered
barefoot to the ground floor he hated the feel of the carpet against the
bottom of his feet. It wasn't uncomfortable, but the pressure felt
vaguely wrong.
Nothing at the continental breakfast was appetizing. He passed by fruit,
cereal, waffles, bacon, sausage and even coffee, despite usually being a
caffeine fiend. He went to the hotel restaurant, which served its entire
menu all day, and ordered the fried clams. They were overcooked and over
seasoned, but palatable.
After a quick trip to his room to grab a towel and chair, he risked a
return to the beach. The urge to dive deep was still strong, but he
managed to settle for putting his chair at the edge of the tide, feeling
it roll over his feet. The wetness was even more soothing than the
previous night, much more comfortable than the rough carpet or hot sand.
Putting his towel over his head, he fell asleep.
He was roused by a lifeguard who called him "ma'am" and proceeded to
give a lecture on how this was a family beach and shirts were not
optional. This confused him until he sat up, felt a weight shift on his
chest, and looked down to see two very noticeable mounds topped by
attention-grabbing nipples. Humiliated, he wrapped himself in the towel
and apologized profusely. He grabbed his chair and quickly headed back
inside, not bothering to tighten his bathing suit as it slid down to his
hips. He felt the hair bouncing on his shoulders and the stares of the
tourists on his swaying backside as he scurried away.
He recuperated in his room, tearing off the towel and bathing suit and
looking at the slim, feminine person in the mirror. He had an
attractively exotic face with smooth cheeks and huge, slightly tilted
eyes framed by light blonde hair; slim shoulders carrying a chest that
was home to sizable breasts which hung above a tapered waist and shelf-
like hips; and well-turned legs that dominated the whole figure, from
their full calves to their tiny, unwanted feet. There was almost nothing
left of the man he remembered being, aside from a greatly diminished
penis, yet still the revelation didn't bother him. Even his earlier
panic had been from surprise and embarrassment, not the recognition of
change. His new form felt natural, calming and desirable.
He hating wearing a shirt just as much as the bathing suit, but he saw
no other choice as he wandered down to the gift shop and purchased a
bikini. The cups were a bit too big and the straps were too tight, but
he knew it would fit well soon enough. The only regret was that he still
had too much down below to wear the briefs, and so he was stuck in
comically oversized swim trunks yanked as tight as they could go.
Squeezed in his new top, he went back down to the beach and watched the
tide from a short distance. The urge to swim away from shore and never
stop remained, and even if it no longer seemed frightening he knew he
wasn't ready yet. To keep himself distracted he admired any particularly
handsome men who came into view. The idea of touching them or conversing
with them was pleasant, but his thoughts never approached sexual. They
seemed like living art, objects of fascination rather than lust.
For dinner, he forced down more clams at the hotel restaurant, which
tasted worse than they had in the morning. He ate quickly then fled the
repulsive scent of cooked meat coming from the other tables, returning
to the beach and staying until his exhaustion became overwhelming.
He stripped again as soon as he returned to his room, then ran a deep
bath and sat in it. It didn't feel as nice as the ocean would have, but
it beat being dry. He lay back contentedly, closed his eyes, and woke up
the next morning with her head completely submerged. She shot up on
instinct, enormous breasts bouncing painfully as she jumped out of the
tub. Wet hair stuck to skin all the way down her back, and she didn't
have to look down to take note of what was lacking between her thighs.
As her heartbeat slowed back to normal she couldn't help but grin at how
ridiculous she was acting. What was wrong with spending some quality
time underwater?
She took inventory in the mirror, satisfied by what she saw. The
sculpted vixen looking back was built just shy of excessive, with curves
forming seemingly impossible angles and a face incapable of looking
innocent. The lower half still needed a bit of work, true, but the upper
part was perfect. She reluctantly put on the bikini, which now fit
splendidly on both top and bottom, even if the cups barely covered
enough skin to go out in public. She exited the room without drying off,
walking on tiptoes.
She walked right past the hotel restaurant, unable to stomach the idea
of cooked food, even seafood. Instead she traveled several blocks to a
high-end seafood shop, and what was presumably a complaint about dress
code died in the owner's throat when he registered the body violating
it. She left with a pound of fresh swordfish, which she took to her room
and devoured.
She showered to stay moist, then forced herself to redress so she could
visit the shore. She no longer avoided the ocean, confident the time was
soon here and that she could resist its call until then. It was silly,
kicking and splashing with her skinny little legs, but delightful just
the same, and much preferable to sitting on dry land, constantly
reminded of the strangeness of having feet.
She spoke to a multitude of male swimmers as the hours passed, quizzing
them about their lives. It was all compelling, the jobs they worked and
the sports they played and the places they lived. One companion spoke at
length about what had been her favorite football team, and even as she
spoke about famous games and players the recollection felt alien, a
hobby from a previous life. She could barely comprehend why it had once
seemed so important.
She felt something building inside of her the whole while, preparing for
a truly massive change. As the day drew to a close she wanted to give
her old life one final goodbye, even though the start of her new one had
passed the hours like minutes. She returned to her room and gently and
reverently spread out her old clothes, then laid on them and read
passages from the books she'd packed for the trip. She spread her legs
wide and remembered her life as a child and as a man, amused by how
familiar yet distant it felt, unconcerned by how they'd never know what
happened to the man she'd been. Nostalgia drove her to perform those
little rituals of farewell, but by the time the moon hung large in the
black velvet sky she knew she was ready to leave forever.
She didn't bother putting on clothes before exiting her room one last
time. She doubted she could bear it anymore, and she wouldn't need them
anyway. She was close now, very close, her final vestiges of humanity
gently dissolving. Even walking felt wrong, stilted, muscle memory that
had defined her life for more than two decades condemned to
obsolescence.
All activity in the hotel lobby ceased as a naked, painfully beautiful
siren entered. She hobbled like a physical therapy patient who hadn't
quite completed recovery, but the serene smile she gave her onlookers
quashed any desire to question, aid or impede. No one thought to chase
after her as she wandered toward the shore, and by the time her
enchantment broke she was stumbling over sand, lost under the night sky.
Walking hurt, her body protesting as she forced her legs to bend in ways
they no longer wished to move. They were getting long and thick, their
feminine perfection deformed by growing layers of stiff muscle that kept
either limb from getting more than an inch or two from its twin. She
managed to quickly mince toward the water even as the tissue between her
thighs melded together, her feet locked at a downwards angle and her
toes stretched apart. Her skin itched as hard, lustrous scales hardened
along her outer curves, sealing her piscine new form, and her feet
became thin and sharp, failing to offer support or balance. When she
finally toppled forward she used her former legs' newfound flexibility
to help push towards the ocean as her arms pulled her growing bulk
forward.
The first licks of seawater felt incredible against her breasts, cool
and welcoming, promising to give her heavy chest support, keep her long
hair out of her face, let her move with grace and ease beyond what she'd
ever known on land. She continued and the water rose up to caress her
silky stomach and plated hips, waves crashing over her. She turned her
head and saw her tail glisten in the moonlight, a mighty serpent at
least twice as long as her torso. Her feet had become elegant flukes in
subdued but beautiful multicolor, a broad rainbow of a fin. She curled
it close to her body, running her hands along in wonder. The pleasant
sensation of skin against scale reminded her of the embrace that started
her on this path.
A little further in and there was enough sea to keep her head
underwater, to breathe deep and marvel at how it impeded neither her
vision nor her hearing. She slapped her tail against the surf,
delighting in the enormous splash, and continued dragging herself until
she was deep enough to swim properly. She tucked her arms in as her
whole body undulated, propelling her faster than she'd ever moved
before. She was swifter than any dolphin or shark, the true ruler of the
sea, the queen of Atlantis.
She swam until she found a powerful current and rode it, swishing
gently, letting it guide her deeper and further into the blue. Her kin
waited out there somewhere, and their newest sister longed to join them.
Virginia
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