Chapter Text
The mer wakes groggily, whole body aching, and drifts, for a minute, only half-aware.
He hurts - but the water that trails against his skin is cool enough to be a relief, and he sinks into that little mercy until, at last, he’s alert enough to try to move.
He flicks his tail - and chokes as something bound around his throat catches him, arresting the motion before it can even begin.
That’s enough to send terror, sudden and wild, shooting through his heart. It drags him back to alertness, and all at once, he’s struggling - not that it gets him far, fighting against the slick cold bonds wrapped around his chest, holding him in place -
Wild blue eyes shoot open, and he registers where he is.
His arms are bound out to either side of them, coiled in thick, knotted kelp that ties them, firmly, to the heavy, cold metal of an anchor. The same rubbery material is wound around the rest of him - crossing over his chest, and around his throat, just enough subtle, hinting pressure there to keep him from struggling.
Only his tail is still free, but that’s not much of a mercy - not when he can look down at the puffy, swollen mess of his own slit, and remember who, exactly, has bound him here.
He’s left with that thought for… a while. The time seems to stretch, and distort, letting him rise back into the awareness of his own body, until he’s cataloged every suffering inch of it, all the aches and little scrapes and the soreness where his shoulders are wrenched just slightly too far. His slit throbs, abused and hurting, and he’s left with that, too, unable to touch it and chase even slight relief -
And then a shadow passes across the sand in front of him, and all thoughts of pain flee as he freezes and goes still.
It’s - instinct. An instinctual terror, reinforced by pain, that keeps him still and silent as the unseen shark circles again. They seem to delight in it, staying just out of sight, letting the dark shade of their body haunt him, instead, as he cranes to try to follow it.
Then it’s gone, and he can breath again, pumping labored cool water over his gills with a gasp, because they’ve decided to pass him by -
Or that’s what he thinks, until sharp claws trace along the underside of his chin.
He goes perfectly, perfectly still, but that isn’t enough to freeze the terrified whimper on his lips.
“Oh,” they breathe, a deep rumbling voice that he recognizes, right away, as the bull. “You’re so pretty when you’re scared, little fish. Sh, sh, it’s alright.”
The mer doesn’t respond to that, doesn’t move as those claws trace his cheeks, trail down to rake teasingly across his chest. They find a nipple, and one sharp point hooks it teasingly, tugging just hard enough to register as a threat before the bull takes mercy on him, and it’s pinched between rough fingertips instead.
The whine, scared and helpless, that that gets him seems to be enough to distract the bull. He rolls it, painfully, pinching and squeezing at the sensitive flesh until it’s firm and jutting beneath his fingers, dragging a string of useless whimpers from the mer before, at last, he’s satisfied.
Then his hand drifts down, and twin claws scrape lightly over the soft, bruised edges of the mer’s slit.
That gets a struggle. Not a successful one - but the mer bucks, instinctively, at the trailing pain that follows them, and cries out, for the first time, as he’s punished, the shark’s fingers yanking, roughly, at his clit. The bull pinches it and holds, tugging in light, jiggling jerks, as the mer wails - it’s only when the sound dies off into rasping little breaths that he releases it to stroke the sore slit again.
“There we go,” he croons, when the mer subsides, whimpering, in his restraints, not fighting despite the pain. “See? You’re alright, little fish. Sh, sh…”
Fingers brush the mer’s other nipple, teasing it the same way. They’re gentler, this time, but the shark’s other hand doesn’t stop teasing his slit, claws playing with the soft folds, toying with his clit. Pleasure builds, slow but inevitable, as he’s taken apart between the two hands, gasping as he struggles to flush water over his gills -
He cums with a sob, sagging in the bull’s hold, and the touches carry him through it until at last the shark pulls away.
He circles, hands never far, claws tracing lines, gentle and threatening all at once, across the mer’s skin. A thumb brushes over his lips, and he parts them, obedient, but the finger doesn’t do more than slip inside to pet his tongue before pulling away -
Then the bull presses forwards, and catches one swollen, aching nipple between his own lips.
He sucks gently, teeth scraping foam-light against the soft skin, tongue flicking to tease it until the mer can’t help but squirm, overstimulated and needy all at once. It’s aching, by the time he moves on to trace a line of kisses over the mer’s chest, but it’s a different kind of ache - needy and flushed and a line of sunwarmed water trailing straight to his groin.
The other nipple isn’t treated as kindly. This time, the teeth nip at him, and he yelps in panic and fights, getting nowhere as strong arms hold him pinned. They don’t break the skin, but they worry at it, and when they move on, it’s to nip a line of rough hickeys all the way to the mer’s throat.
The bite delivered there is firm. Claiming, his whole shoulder ringed by teeth, even if there’s only pinprick-pain, and the mer goes very, very still as he waits for the head to twist, to tear chunks out of him -
The shark doesn’t, though. He holds him there, for a long moment, and then lets go, pulling back scant inches to trail kisses up the mer’s neck.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice a rumble in the mer’s ear, and the mer sobs almost silently. “Such a perfect little pet.”
“Please -” he whimpers, voice catching, because there’s no mercy in the bull’s touches, nothing he can think to say that might earn him any sort of kindness, but he needs to say something. “Please, let me go -”
The bull doesn’t hurt him, at least. He rumbles a chuckle, and presses another kiss to his cheek. “Why would I?”
The mer doesn’t have an answer for that, and tears well up in his eyes, hot and stinging, as he whimpers another little, “Please -”
“You’re such a pretty little thing,” the bull tells him. “You looked so good, split open on my cock. I had thought about taking the boys raiding, you know? Swimming up to the reef to grab a nice little plaything like you… but you’re already so perfect.”
This time, the fingers that rub against his slit don’t just tease it - they press inside, slowly, their way eased by the slick of his helpless arousal. They’re - thick, even just fingers, broad and heavy even relative to the bull’s larger frame, and they hurt as they’re worked in against enflamed muscle. He sobs, at the burn, and the shark laughs and curls them forwards, sending sparks scattering across the mer’s vision as he arches, helplessly, against the touch.
“See? You like that,” the bull tells him, curling them again, working him up as heat starts to smolder in his gut. “You’ll learn to like everything we give you, eventually. We’ll train you. Don’t be scared - I’m very patient.”
“Nggh -”
The mer whines in protest, words stolen as the front of his slit is stroked, again, the bull dragging him towards another orgasm with ruthless efficiency. His other hand rises, pinching at the mer’s abused nipple, tweaking it, rolling it between firm fingers, and the counterpoint of pain makes the pleasure that much more intense -
This time, when he cums, it’s staring up into the bull’s dark eyes, mouth parted and panting, impaled on thick fingers.
“Perfect.”
The world is faded, at the edges, as the fingers slip out of him, a little gush of slick following in their wake as his eyes flutter shut. He’s left - he thinks, for a moment, that he’s been abandoned, or left to rest, but then a hand is back, wrapping around his neck a moment later as he’s pulled into a possessive kiss.
The bull smirks, when his eyes shoot open.
“There you are,” he hums. “Don’t fall asleep on me, yet. I told you I’d train you, didn’t I?”
The mer - tries to find the words, the right ones, to ask what he means, because it doesn’t make sense. He blinks at the thing in the bull’s hand - a long-stranded tendril of bull-kelp, cut short - as the bull holds it out.
“Did you like being stretched out for me, I wonder?” The tendrils are traced across his chest lightly. “Speak, little fish. You answer me, when I ask a question.”
The mer hesitates, remembering the punishment of a hand around his throat, but - “No,” he manages to whimper, and the bull laughs.
“Did it hurt?”
He nods - and thinks better of it, a moment later. “Yes.”
“Do you want to do it again?”
That gets a more vigorous shake of his head, because - “No, please -”
“Ah -” the bull clicks his tongue. “No begging. Not yet.”
The mer falls silent, staring up at him with wide eyes, because -
“I’m going to be kind, little fish,” the bull tells him. “You’re already nice and stretched, still, loose and soft and slick for me - so we’ll keep you that way. Isn’t that generous of me? Thank me, pet.”
“Thank you,” the mer breathes, obedient even if he doesn’t understand.
And then the tip of the bull kelp is teased, lightly, along his slit, and his chest clenches in fear as his gaze shoots up to meet the bull’s.
“Oh, you’ve figured it out?” The bull’s smirk is predatory. “Don’t worry, this is more than enough to keep you open for me. Nice and thick, to keep that slit of yours loose -”
But he doesn’t shove it in, yet. Instead, he raises it up so the mer can see it – the smooth, curved end, where the stem has been cut into a sleek shaft, tipped with a thin hole; the bulb, terrifyingly thick, even compared to the bull’s paired shafts; the long, flowing fronds, their delicacy an illusion when placed next to the matching thick, rubbery lengths holding his arms in place –
It’s pressed to his lips, and he flickers his tongue out, uncertain, to lick at the tip, but the bull doesn’t shove it down his throat like he expects.
Instead he laughs.
“Such a good little cock-worshipper,” he croons. “Sh, it’s okay. It’s soft, see?”
He squeezes the bulb, and a jet of water squirts across the mer’s face as it deflates, the bulb shrinking until it looks almost manageable. That’s not the end of it, though – as soon as he lets go, the bulb draws the water right back in, impossibly slick and flexible.
“Nice and easy,” the bull tells him. “Not so bad at all, is it?”
The mer – doesn’t have an answer for that, tongue-tied, and the bull smirks and presses the tip of the kelp to his lip again, a warning tap.
“You should thank me,” he suggests. “For being so generous.”
And – the mer isn’t sure if that’s right, but he doesn’t dare refuse –
“Thank you –“ he manages, and whimpers. “Thank you for – uh, for keeping me stretched, thank you –“
“Good boy.”
The tip of the kelp is soft, at least, when it’s pressed to his slit. Or – no. It’s firm, not yielding to his resistance as he involuntarily clenches against it, but it has a sponginess to it that softens the cut edges as they’re pressed into him.
The bull works slowly, squeezing lightly so that this time, the jet of water teases over his clit, and it’s even pleasant. He chuckles, and it’s only then that the mer realizes that he’s bucked his hips in a tiny, needy thrust, up towards the encroaching shaft.
“Sh, sh –“ the bull consoles him. “It’s okay. Let it feel good.”
Then he sinks the toy into the mer’s slit, until the base of the bulb is pressed against his it, and the mer gasps as it slides deep.
“Beautiful,” the shark purrs, sliding up against him to nip again at his throat. The kelp is between them like a proxy cock, the bull’s fingers buried in the fronds, and he slides it back out slowly, making the mer shudder as it drags across his soft insides –
The bull sets up a pace that’s almost gentle. That’s pleasurable, like all he wants is to wring as many needy whimpers out of the mer as possible, and it’s not long before he’s succeeding, chuckle deep and fond as the mer helplessly buries his face against the bull’s chest.
He’s worked to orgasm slowly, this time, and when it comes, it drags him along like a wave, leaving him shuddering against his captor as his strength vanishes.
“Beautiful,” the bull tells him. “Hungry little slut – eager little whore -“
The soft whine of protest the mer makes just earns him another laugh, and the bull sinks the kelp into him again.
This time, he doesn’t stop. The bulb of the toy, half-deflated, presses in, an inexorable pressure behind it as it forces the mer’s slit to yield – by the time he’s rallied his thoughts enough to protest, it’s popped inside, and he’s suddenly stuffed.
Not quite as wide as he had been split on the bull’s cocks, maybe, but –
“Good boy,” he’s told, again. “There we go. Sh. Give yourself a moment. Get used to it.”
“Please –“ He’s not sure what he’s begging for. “Please – please –“
“Sh.” The bull presses one more kiss to his cheek, and pulls away. “We’ve still got to open you up –“
The mer blinks, bleary, at that, confused. It doesn’t lessen as fingers trace the sides of his slit, the bull’s thumbs framing the long fronds pouring out of him – and then they spread, a little, pulling him open around the bulb, and letting cold water flow inside.
He wails as he realizes – but it’s already too late. The bulb in him is swelling, pressure released by the influx of water, and past the lip of his slit, there’s nothing to keep it from forcing him wide.
The bull’s grip is irresistible. He keeps the mer open until the kelp can swell no more before finally letting his slit slip shut around it.
“There you go.” The mer is sobbing, but the bull only pets the bulge warping his stomach. “Oh, beautiful, you’re so pretty when you cry –“
And then his fingers tangle in the fronds again, and tug.
The mer howls, arching into the suddenly-brutal pressure against his slit. It doesn’t get him anywhere, though – the kelp around his chest and throat is pulled tight, choking him and holding him pinned as he’s gaped around the emerging curve of the bulb.
Cold water floods him, and he realizes the trap of it – his slit too narrow, squeezing the water back into him until the bull at last lets its own weight drag it back in.
The water pours back into it as it expands, and he hangs limply in the kelp, gills heaving in the moment before the bull starts to pull it out again.
It’s – brutal. A brutal, gaping rhythm, his body out of his control as water sloshes through it, the constant, fluid motion twisting against every oversensitized, bruised nerve. He’s forced open, again and again, re-stretched with vicious efficacy, until the bulb is popping free of him with every thrust, letting more water flood into his stretched slit.
The bull fucks him like that until there’s no resistance left, then laughs and sinks the bulb deep inside him, pressing it in with thick fingers until the mer’s slit is sealed around everything except the trailing fronds.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, and the mer realizes that he’s crying – that he’s begging, inarticulate pleas tumbling from his lips, because it hurts so much - “Good boy. Beautiful.”
Fingers press his stomach – knead it, the thick bulge that’s half water and half bulb and all torment, and drag sobs from him.
“You look like you’ve taken my cock,” the bull tells him. “You look like I’ve pumped you full. Maybe later, I will – you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Swollen and needy, impaled on my cock until I’m ready to fuck more milt into you?”
He can’t find the energy for words, but he needs to answer, so he sobs and nods into the arms around his shoulders, disoriented - confused, as the bull laughs.
“You would,” he tells the mer. “You will. Later, when we’ve got time for me to ruin you properly, I promise.”
The mer lets out an inarticulate whimper, in response, a protest that dies, half-formed, on his lips, as the bull rocks the kelp inside him – not a thrust, just a cruel adjustment, stirring the fluid in his gut.
“For now, though…” the bull pauses. “You’re such a good little thing. Cum for me, pet –“
It’s impossible. He’s – his whole body is stretched, trembling, but the bull’s fingers find his clit and pinch it teasingly, and he can’t help the gasp as he clenches around the bulb –
Water pours into his gut, nowhere else to go, and he realizes what the bull has done.
“No,” he begs. “No, please –“
It’s impossible to hold his grip, as wrecked as he already is, and the bulb expands as he’s forced to relax around it. Another touch has him clenching again, though – the bull massaging his clit and the stretched-tight edges of his slit, teasing him as he involuntarily pumps the water in, and out, and in, stretching himself along new dimensions as he fucks himself with the swirling fluids.
The bull’s other hand tangles in his hair – forces his head down, and he can see the shifting bulge inside him as rough fingers play with his clit. It moves through him, like a living thing, and there’s no inch of him that escapes the constant, ruthless stimulation –
He clenches tightest of all when he cums, and the water surges through him like a tide.
The bull holds him, still, fingers tugging his head back as he bucks, teeth scraping over his throat as he rides the wave. He chokes, drawn taut against the kelp, but there’s nowhere to go – not as his slit is still squeezed so tight, convulsing against his will around the bulb, his own body tormenting him as he’s left bloated with water –
At last, he sags in his bonds, and heaves water through his gills as his slit, once more, relaxes enough to be spread.
“There we go,” the bull croons. “There you go. Did you like that?”
The mer shakes – shakes his head, but his whole body is trembling with strain.
“Good.” There’s satisfaction, deep and hungry, in the bull’s voice. “You’re lovelier suffering.”
He lets the mer rest for a moment, though, trembling in his restraints, before his fingers brush the bruised maze of his chest. They pinch a nipple, and the mer clenches, involuntarily, at the nip of pain – then sobs, at the shock of water –
The bull doesn’t do anything else, though – just rolls the nipple between his fingers as the mer forces himself to relax again.
“You’re so sensitive,” they purr, when he lets out a little, pleading moan. “I should take care of these, shouldn’t I? Give you something to distract you from your needy little slit?”
“Please –“ It’s faint, and the mer isn’t sure if it’s begging, or refusal. “Please –“
“Sh…” a pinch. “I’ll take care of you.”
The mer stares, blankly, at the kelp fronds he snags floating from the water, just behind the anchor. They send a squirming worm of terror through his gut, and a surge of cold, as he clenches, involuntarily, again – but they’re smaller by far than the thing in his slit, with only one trailing tendril of kelp hanging from them.
“See?” The bull presents it like he should understand, fingers flicking at the end of the bulb, where it’s been cut away, like a cup. “I won’t leave you to suffer like that. Don’t worry.”
It still doesn’t make sense, but there’s no strength left in the mer for resistance.
He sobs anyways as the bull’s fingers grip his bruised nipple, again, rubbing it until it’s as firm as before before sliding the smaller kelp frond over it and squeezing – and can’t hold back a gasp at the sudden suction that keeps it there as the bull’s hand drops away, the frond drifting upward to sway in the faint currents. It – hurts, the suction not hard so much as firm and constant, and he whines, but the bull ignores him as he pinches the other nipple just as pert –
And when it’s been capped, too, he pulls away.
“Gorgeous,” he says, as if taking in a piece of art, a thing meant for display. The mer feels like a thing – bound, exhausted, kelp drifting up in long fronds to trail from his ruined slit. It floats upwards from the caps crowning his nipples, too, a faint, tugging weight, and he hangs, unable to do anything but endure the strangeness of the sensation as he’s tormented and bared to any passing mer.
“We shouldn’t be long,” the bull tells him, after watching him for another moment, and he doesn’t know what that means - “If we’re lucky, the hunt will be easy, and we’ll be back tonight. Tomorrow, at the latest, and I’m sure you’ll be just fine for that long.“
The realization of what he means makes the mer’s gaze shoot up, stomach and slit tightening and dragging a gasp from him as he fills himself – “No –“
“You’ll be fine.” But there’s a smirk on the bull’s lips that tells the mer he knows exactly what he’s doing. He gestures at the kelp, still drifting upwards. “We’ve got some strong currents, here – they’ll keep you entertained –“
He flicks his fin, and the ripple of water sends all the kelp fronds tangling – and earns a wail. They yank at the mer’s nipples, shift the bulb in his slit as it’s tugged by the mess of fronds, and he clenches again, and sobs as he’s flooded –
“Just a day or two,” the bull says, laughing, and then with another flick of his tail, he’s away, leaving the mer to try, desperately, to get his own body under control –
It isn’t easy. Spread as they are, every little current shifts the whole mess around him, tugging at his nipples, working his slit, forcing him to clench and shudder and sob with every uncontrollable movement.
By the time the rest of the sharks pass by, laughing, ready for the hunt, he’s halfway to another climax, and it’s the sleek ripples of their passage that knocks him, one more time, off that edge.