Lena lay naked on the sand in the middle of the night, right on the tideline, where the shore met the sea. She dozed on the edge of dreams, more in the water than out of it now, though when she first lay down only her feet were submerged. The tide had risen since then. Each wave took the water incrementally closer. Her feet and ankles grew wet first, her long legs followed, a few inches at a time.
Cold stars glowed in the moonless sky above. Their reflections floated in the water around her like fireflies. When she opened her eyes, which was not often, she found she could trace lines of phosphorescence in the water with her fingertips, just by just by dragging them beneath the surface of the water. The lines she drew in the water formed constellations, connecting the reflections of the stars in the tide.
She had nearly fallen asleep when the ocean water first touched the warm folds of her pussy. She gasped and woke with a start. The water felt so warm, so inviting; she was instantly aroused. She played with the notion of sliding her fingers deep inside, bringing herself to a thundering orgasm right here in the sand, unhidden from late night strolling vacationers. The beach was uncrowded. The motel lay far behind her, her boyfriend passed out snoring on the bed from too much cheap rum. Loser. She had been left alone and horny.
She found it erotic to toy with the idea: fingering herself on the edge of the water in full view of whoever might pass by.
She slid two fingers down her belly. She imagined a drunken crowd of college kids off in the distance, maybe five or six of them, male and female, laughing as they approached her. She felt so sexy and reckless, her latent exhibitionist tendencies in literal display.
She spread her legs slightly and slid her fingers on either side of the hood of her clit, teasing herself with the fantasy. The kids would approach one of them would see her and cry out, “Hey, check out that girl on the beach. What the fuck’s she doing?” Quiet would fall over them as they shushed each other, watching her, listening.
She let out a moan. In her fantasy she let out a moan as well, and the group grew silent, observing intently.
She brought her fingers down to the lips of her pussy, already wet with sea water and her own juices. She spread her legs further, opening them to her fingers. In her fantasies the group crept closer, rapt as they watched her legs widen. The men would get hard, watching her finger herself; the girls would grow acutely aware of their boyfriends’ erections. Someone would giggle and be instantly hushed. Then another tiny giggle.
Being watched as she teased her pouting pussy lips: such a hot fantasy. She dropped her fingers in between her folds and was met with a shuddering spasm of pleasure, so much more than she felt when touched her pussy in more mundane settings, certainly more than the fleeting unfinished pleasures of her boyfriend fucking her hours ago. It was as if she were touching nerves never before touched.
She ventured deeper, parting her salty wet pussy lips as both fingers plunged deeper inside her labia. She felt so tight, so soft and warm, her muscles clenching around her. She moaned again, loudly enough to be easily heard. The college kids would have found a spot close by now and settled. The boys cocks grew hard as she fucked her pussy in front of them; the women’s nipples became erect and obvious in the chilly night air. One of the girls would surreptitiously reach back and massage the bulge of the boy behind her as she listened to Lena’s pleasured gasps and sighs. One of the boys, his arm slung around the shoulders of his girlfriend, would casually drop his hand to begin playing with her hard nipple through the thin material of the tee shirt she wore.
God, it was so arousing, both the fantasy of being watched and the reality of being out under a vault of stars, naked and lying in the sand, waves lapping gently at her body as she touched herself. Her nerve endings tingled. She was so close. She spread her legs even further in anticipation. She moved her free hand to her own nipples and began to pull on them as she massaged the wet flesh surrounding them.
The boys would think of her as they fucked their girlfriends roughly that night, picturing her with her legs spread wide, furiously fucking her pussy with her fingers. The girls would think of her too, would envy her unfettered sexuality, her bravery and freedom. Her moaning gyrations would be on all their minds as they came.
The notion of them cumming as they thought of her proved too much, pushed her over the edge, and she came herself, her legs jackknifing in the rushing surf, one pair of fingers pinching at her nipple hard, another pair fingers buried deep inside her, her wildly contracting muscles clutching her hand. And the frenzy simply would not end, she convulsed again and again, in spasm after spasm, like waves pummeling the shore of her senses.
The trembling aftershocks lessened after a time, and gradually. Her entire body lay spent, every inch of her skin alight with pleasure and possibility.
She propped herself up on her elbows and took a look around. No one. The fantasy was just that: a fantasy. No one watched her. The beach was empty of people.
She lay back down into the sand, closed her eyes. Her legs remained open to the sea. Her labial lips stayed open as well, nerves alight. She dozed. As late night gave way to early morning the sea continued to rise, and lay claim to her ass, her hips, her back, her shoulders. So warm. So comforting.
She pictured herself floating on a boundless sea, stretching out in all directions, an ocean of distant stars arching overhead, glittering and indifferent. Her mind began to drift. She chased dreams of cold dark canyons, strange creatures floating freely around her in the submarine depths.
She did not feel so much as sense something brush against her leg. It was hard to be certain, so many sensations competed for her attentions. The water lapped at her legs, reached further up with every wave of the rising tide. The sand scratched at her back as well, shifting with the current, alternately uncomfortable and warmly supportive. The cool night air graced her skin whenever the tide had ebbed out far enough so that her legs were exposed.
But she was pretty sure something touched her, beyond the sea, the air, the sand, the starlight.
She shook the image of the limitless sea out of her mind and opened her eyes. She registered the glow of lights thrown off by the hotel behind her in the distance. Snatches of music carried on the breeze, from a party boat far off on the horizon. Empty beach. Empty sea.
Nothing.
Wait. No, not nothing.
She could see nothing but the slightest hint of phosphorescence at her toes. The light was almost indiscernible, and she had to blink to make sure she truly saw the eerie glow. It was like smoke, ephemeral, not fully realized.
The tour guide had said bio-luminescent algae specific to the South Pacific caused the phenomenon. The algae lit up the waters around them whenever they sensed movement, to scare and confuse approaching predators.
Predators. Huh.
Something snaked around her smallest toe. She should have felt alarm, she knew, but the temperature of the water was so warm, and the sand supporting her back so comfortable, and she felt so content, so relaxed, on the verge of dreams. Her nipples still stood erect. Her pussy still pulsed from her frenzied oceanside orgasm, hours ago.
Had it been hours ago? How much time had actually passed?
Was any of this this really happening?
She closed her eyes again, unsure of reality but oddly unwilling to question the nature of what was happening.
The grip around her toe grew lax, as if recognizing she was unconcerned.
Was something in her hair?
The dreams returned. She sailed above an ever-changing landscape, gliding through bright coral and crowded swarms of plankton, flying freely in the oddly viscid air.
She felt a trail of sensation move slowly away from where the thing rested. The point of contact shifted from her little toe to the next toe over, then insinuated itself between the two toes. Again, part of her mind wondered that she did not react with more alarm, that she could be yanked into the ocean at any moment and drowned.
Still.
So warm. So comfortable.
Her nipples hungered for attention, her pussy longed for touch.
She felt the slightest ring of pressure around both toes now. This was no mere suggestion of pressure, this was actual, discernible weight against her skin.
Should she jerk her leg out of the water?
Should she reach down to see what was touching her?
It could be seaweed. It was probably seaweed. It could be the darting of tiny, harmless fish. It could be merely the pressure of the currents of water against her skin.
It was probably nothing.
Why wasn’t she more alarmed?
A memory returned unbidden of something brushing against her foot earlier in the day, while she played in the water with her loser boyfriend. Something soft, scuttling across her skin. She remembered how unfrightened she had been, how surprising good it felt. As if it were touching nerves never before touched. She remembered wanting to spend the rest of the day on the beach, near the water.
Odd. She had never like the ocean that much before. Not until she felt that gentle touch against her foot.
She had never really considered her boyfriend a loser before, either.
Touching nerves never before touched.
She opened her eyes. Empty beach, empty sea. The party boat still lay far out on the Pacific horizon, snatches of song and laughter brought to her on the wind. A moving tangle of phosphorescence played in the water just beyond her feet.
How interesting. How pretty.
The water level had risen with the tide, both of her legs and most of her torso now fully underwater whenever another wave lapped ashore.
She closed her eyes.
Something was in her hair.
The pressure around her toe released partially, and she felt something slide into the space between that toe and the next one. It insinuated it self between the two toes, then wrapped itself around a third toe. Soon, it released that toe as well, and worked its way across her foot in that manner, wriggling into the space between one toe and the next, wrapping around each digit before relaxing and moving on to the next available space. When it had completed weaving itself between all five toes, it made its way back around, as if calmly completing the crocheting of a sweater.
It was thicker than it was before this had started. The spaces between her toes became increasingly more crowded and strained, her toes pushed apart further as the thing allowed more of its length to be revealed.
How long was it? How thick was it?
What was it?
Apparently no longer concerned with hiding its presence, the thing gripped her other ankle. She did not pull her foot away, though she felt the urge.
She wiggled the toes of her other foot, now inextricably trapped within the interwoven limbs beneath the surface of the water. The instantaneous response was a sharp, disapproving squeeze from whatever it was that had wrapped itself around her toes. The pressure mounting until she quit moving toes; once her motion stopped the pressure stopped as well. She felt as if she were being trained.
The thing wrapped around her newly entrapped ankle did not move toward the toes of that foot, but rather in the opposite direction, sliding up the wet curve of her calf. It changed direction at her knee, performed a full loop around it, immobilizing it before resuming its upward journey.
She opened her eyes to find a bright star of phosphorescence above her knee. It looked like fireworks, or northern lights. She did not attempt to flex her knee, or move her leg; she thought it might hurt. Her toes hadn’t been hurt. But she had been given a warning.
And the phosphorescence looked so interesting, so pretty.