Same Difference
Chapter 1
You have a new job. As per contract, you are to carry out «clerical administration, on-site groundskeeping and maintenance, tailored services». Vague and voluminous, but you couldn't be picky. In hindsight, other things about the listing were strange, too. Not long ago, you would've laughed at it. Many details were awkward, blatantly poor translations. Furthermore, accepting lodging within the building in question was a requirement, and the pay isn't exactly steep. Wouldn't an international corporation stick to less clandestine channels, or train specialized staff of their own? The position must have been gathering dust, because they jumped on your application as desperately as you sent it, even providing the worker visa. You consider yourself lucky. As it happens, you were quite eager to leave your country with all speed.
You arrived at the house in question late into the first day. Having received no further details, you were surprised to meet the actual client. A shark girl, of modest stature and less-modest temperament. She seemed excited yet skeptical, confirming your credentials at length and snooping through your luggage without hesitation. Finally, she graded you in a rather nonsensical fashion; with the air of a wine taster, or at best a judge for a pet competition. You apparently passed muster and promptly received a stack of paperwork. No formalities took place, you didn't even get her name. She simply shoved you into your room, promising «a nice lil tour of the house, first thing in the morning!». And just like that, she closed the door on you.
Seems you've reeled in yet another eccentric employer. Shouldn't be a problem. You tend to be quick at adapting, and you're happy enough to have made it through the day without immediate disaster at the borders.
The first morning has dawned. You're up bright and early, in your best suit. If you are to be here professionally, you'd better start acting the part. What you've seen of this place thus far isn't exactly in shambles, but it's certainly far below your standards. Your room was pristine by comparison, as if it had never been used for long.
Time to get some work done. Having failed to make any concrete arrangements, you decide to wait for miss shark in the lobby at seven sharp.
Half and hour or so goes by. You don't want to just start tearing through the place without permission or explicit orders. This really should've been planned better.
You take up post on the couch and busy yourself with some japanese practice. Could be helpful for some of the paperwork, among other things.
Eight-thirty. «First thing in the morning», huh? Or maybe she already left for work, and you're the one who's late. The front door is locked, so you have no choice but to wait for her regardless. She could've given you the keys or a number to call at the very least. It's not particularly dignified, but you'll try yelling.
"Good morning!"
The house remains completely still.
...Almost ten. She died somehow, and you're going to jail after all. No, no need for concern just yet. You try to distract yourself, but you're burned out on this kanji nonsense.
Suddenly, there's movement in the corner of your eye. You spot the shark girl mid-jump. Pillows launch through the air as she crashes into the couch with great gusto. She laughs and dusts off her oversized hoodie. There's things you'd love to say, but you won't berate or rush her first thing; you end up saying nothing.
"Nice suit! How's your room? Sleep well?"
"I found it most adequate, thank you. I was wondering--"
"Whatcha doin' over there?" She tries to sneak a look at your phone.
"Merely passing the time. You were going to familiarize me with the amenities?"
"You mean the tour? You talk weird. We can go now, if you're ready."
"Naturally. I've been ready, first thing in the morning."
"Some things come firster than first, I'll have you know. Like sleeping."
She hops off the couch and waves you along.
Despite the rustic character of the building, the shark girl boasts that every room is completely soundproof. Nothing looks to be filthy or in blatant disrepair, merely degrees of neglect and some sterile trash. It's a fairly small house, but still a lot to handle for one person. Strange, but that's clearly what you're here for. She ends the tour by handing you an old-fashioned iron loop, heavy with keys.
"These are for you. No charge. Well, that's about it!"
You rustle through the unlabeled keys. "Pardon me, but I don't suppose you would happen to know which one goes where?"
"Yyyeeeah, have fun figuring that out. Just use the good ol' process of lamination. Don't try my studio, though! That's top-secret, got it?"
"Understood. Is there anywhere in particular you would like me to begin?"
"Begin what?"
"...Cleaning?"
"Huh? I mean, knock yourself out. I'm gonna need some grub soon, though."
"I can certainly arrange that. Do you have a dish in mind? I'll have it ready by noon."
"Wow, you're like a butler-chef-guy! I was just gonna make you order pizza. Don't like answering the door."
"That's a bit short-notice, I'm afraid. I'll have to use storebought sauce and a conventional oven, but the dough is no problem. Toppings?"
"You can make pizza??" Her eyes almost fall out of her head.
"You'll find that my skillset is highly diversified. Pizza is, however, a rare request. I hope my amateurish efforts won't disappoint."
"Don't worry, you're gonna get a lotta practice."
You're not yet familiar with the surrounding area, but there's a supermarket not too far away. The missing ingredients are scrounged up quickly enough. You paid out of your own pocket, which is fine for now. No rush to clean the entire kitchen just yet, either. Lunch ought to be served on time.
The table is set. The shark is practically foaming at the mouth, wagging her tail like a dog next to its bowl. As soon as she gets her hands on the first slice, she starts tearing through it with big bites.
"I'f goo'! Wayya wai-in' fo'? Twy 'ome."
"If you insist... Passable, I suppose. The sauce could have used more salt."
She inhales the rest of the slice. "Woah, you even put salt in there? Aren't we fancy."
Aren't we funny. You've learned to silence your wisecracks long ago. She, on the other hand, is keeping those jaws highly busy, talking and eating at the same time. Good thing you baked two sheets, because little miss shark is making short work of everything. In truth, that appetite is slightly more intimidating than endearing. Somewhere out there, a zookeeper must feel the same way.
She finishes the last bit of crust, washing it down with a big gulp of water.
"Ah... Not too shabby, my guy. I could get used to your weird rectangle-y pizzas. So thick! Maybe more cheese next time, though."
You curtly bow your head. "I'll keep that in mind, miss...?"
"No miss. No anything."
"Then what should I call you?"
She shrugs. "I don't call you by name, do I? Do you have to know who I am?"
Yes. Obviously. No anonymous client has ever been stupid enough to delegate any of their paperwork to you. This does explain a few things, though. A family of some affluence, perhaps? You ought to be especially gentle.
"I don't intend to unduly pressure you, but by the end of the month, I may have to insist... You have outstanding bills."
"My what is outstanding? Was that a compliment?!" She fidgets coyly.
"Not quite. I'm afraid you're behind on mortgage and utilities. It's an unfortunate necessity, but I will need to learn your legal name and payment details at the very least. Judging from the paperwork I received, those tasks rest within the circumference of my duties."
"I got some circumference for you right here!" She slaps her belly, swollen with pizza.
Your laugh is polite, well-practiced. You can take a hint; now's not the time.
"Did you even read that paperwork, pal?"
"I'm afraid I haven't had the time to be comprehensive as of yet."
She starts picking her teeth with the unused cutlery, widening her grin. "Lemme fill you in, then. I don't live here. You do."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Officially, at least. You're my tenant, and you're gonna handle all the signing and paying for me. Kinda like a middleman."
...This is a problem. You'd better take care of those bills, today. You don't want any more eyes on your passport than necessary. It cost a fortune.
She snaps her fingers. "You still with me? Take notes if you have to. There's a bank account with your name on it, you should have the card somewhere. Feel free to use it for pizza-related expenses, too."
You don't let anything show. "I see. Adopt, adapt and improve, I suppose."
"That's the spirit! And I wanna have dessert every day. I don't care what, I'll eat anything."
"Even cutlery?"
"Hnnh? Oh." She spits out the stainless-steel knife, slimy and warped.
You reconsider your situation as you wash the dishes. Being this deep in the grid this early? Less than ideal. On the bright side, she clearly has reasons of her own to maintain discretion. This could work out. You just need to lay low here, flesh out your résumé.
You didn't get to touch much of anything around the house, but you've made some administrative headway by the end of the day. Expenses are filed, payments done. You had to spin a yarn for one of the utility company representatives, who complained about the frequent name-changing. You've clearly had some predecessors here. Regardless, you've managed to tie up the most urgent loose ends. By evening, you end up back on the couch to wind down. You were going to look at some more japanese, if you actually had your phone on you. No matter, it'll turn up.
Bare feet soon come trampling over the hardwood floor. "There you are! Make some room!"
You secure the pillows and retreat before the shark girl bombs the couch again.
"Aw yeah! Instant classic. Hey, guess what I found just now." She hands you your phone.
"I'm awfully sorry to have troubled you."
"No problemo! I spotted it instantly."
"The afternoon has been rather hectic. Wherever did I lose it?"
"On your desk? Duh."
"I... see. I must have left my room unlocked."
"Funny you should mention that! You lost the key, too. Here you go."
You forgot your phone, but you most certainly didn't lose the key. Some people are too curious for their own good. Yet another reason to stay perfectly clean, going forward.
"I can only apologize. First day on the job, I suppose. How embarrassing!"
"Eh, not really. Kind of a letdown, actually."
"Pardon?"
"You got nothing juicy in your room or your phone. What's up with that? You're like a blank slate!"
You stay perfectly composed. "Is that surprising? I set foot in this country not twenty-four hours ago. The device is brand-new aswell, I requisitioned it specifically."
"Boring! And kinda suspicious. You think you're one of those micro-celebrities or something?"
She likes to push people's buttons, you've had that impression from the start. Right now, it just happens to be much more effective than she could possibly imagine. Time to change the topic.
"Oh, you jest! I am but a humble laborer. On that note, was there something I can do for you?"
"Yeah, you can drop the act."
"Act? Which act?"
"So you got more than one, huh? Not bad."
What a pest. You know her type; she just needs to be told what she wants to hear.
"Most perceptive! But with all due respect, you'll find that the right countenance in the right situation can make all the difference in the world. Everyone acts."
"Don't I know it! Gotta look the part. For any job."
So she says, arms crossed and legs spread, not dressed for much of anything. A sleepover, at best.
"Indeed. If you'll excuse me, I must take my leave to attend--"
"Nonono, wait! I'm just messing around. But do me a favor and stop being all fancy like that, 'cause I can tell it's fake. No offense, just a pet peeve kinda thing."
If she wants to act all buddy-like, you'll play along. Whatever it takes to keep this ship sailing smoothly.
"...I'll cut down on the formal tone if it's a bother. Old habits die hard, though."
"Great! You see, I have the most fun with people that are completely honest or completely full of crap. Inbetween, not so much. You gotta convince me at least, y'know?"
Quite the standards. You don't entirely disagree, but you have a feeling she won't be returning your courtesy of being less annoying.
Her blinking is downright aggressive. "Something wrong? I can repeat that for you if you want. You'd better remember, it'll be on the test."
"No, you're completely right. I'll do my best to flesh out this house, and myself. Have to become convincing, right?"
Your freedom may well depend on it one day.
"Now you're getting it! Make it less boring around here, something new for me to explore."
"You do like exploring, that much is clear."
"Are you mad at me? It's not like I found anything good." She pouts, still disappointed.
You have to give her something, if only to distract her. "Did you not see what I was doing on my phone?"
"That was just work stuff. You don't have to worry about japanese, everything important is already translated."
You make no mention of your other reasons. You'd never hear the end of it.
"I decided to look into it anyways. Seemed like an interesting language."
She sits up straight, her face beaming. "Well, well! I happen to have dabbled, I'll have you know. Actually, I'm basically a native speaker."
"Really? Maybe you can help me with this right here."
She nods sagely. "Those are called kanji."
"...So I hear. And what do they mean?"
"I know what that means, but lemme check just to make sure." She pulls out her own phone, at least 30% cutesy accessories by weight.
A minute or so passes as she swipes around, her tail seemingly moving in sync with her fingers. You could've looked this up yourself by now.
"Take your time."
"There we go. Yep, it means «pirate»."
"Thanks a lot. Great to have such an expert around."
She puffs out her chest, immune to sarcasm, basking in the flattery. "Hm! Lucky you. Go ahead, ask me anything about japan."
"That's it for now, unless you want to do more translating."
"Uh, how about I teach you something else instead?"
"Like what?"
"Like a traditional japanese game. You might've heard of it, it's called janken."
"Yes, I have heard of rock paper scissors. It's of some renown around the world, believe it or not."
"Well, it was invented in japan. And it's different, there. Way different."
"How so?"
"It's not just a kid's game, for one. Adults play too, all the time."
"I take it you're looking to play against me?"
A sly smile creeps into her face. "Not so fast, gringo. First, I need to teach you the rules."
You roll your eyes. "I have a rudimentary grasp. Paper beats--"
"Shaddap! Listen to me. Do you even know what «janken» actually means?"
"No?"
"Figures. Typical tourist. Basically, «jan» means rock and «ken» means sword, which is the historical kanji now also used for scissors. There is no paper in the japanese version, 'cause paper wasn't even invented yet."
"What do they use instead?"
"Nothin'! They only got jan and ken."
"...That can't be right. Rock would never lose."
"If you ask me, that's what makes it so interesting. You see, japanese people actually throw scissors a lot. A scissors tie is like, the classic. It implies mutual courtesy, compatible social standing and stuff. Great way to break the ice or make up after a fight. Kinda like a handshake here in the west! You can throw rock to spice things up, but doing it too much is considered greedy or immature. Pretty neat, huh?"
"I had no idea. What a fascinating culture."
"Mhm! Come on, let's play already!"
"Best of three?"
"Absolutely, my friend! Say it with me. Jan..."
"Ken!
"Jan..."
"Ken!"
She won.
Chapter 2
Time flies when you're busy. It's already the end of the week, and what a week it has been. New job, new country, new life. As one would hope, many things got easier. You've started establishing your own routines, ironed out most clerical hiccups. You have the skills, tools and information to do your job properly. And yet, things are far from smooth; the harder you work, the harder things are made for you.
That damn shark.
She was a feisty customer from the start, but downright angelic compared to now. Every passing day, she seems to get worse. It's her fault the house is still in such poor shape; you can't do a damn thing around the place without her giggling and sneering, staging distractions and committing literal sabotage. You've yet to catch her in the act, but most of what you're fixing or cleaning was fine the day before. And it's not like you have a lot of time to spare for these things. You've been spending probably half of any given day making sure that ravenous gullet get stuffed. Hours of researching and shopping for her increasingly exotic requests, prepping, cooking, cleaning up. Maybe you could find that fulfilling, if not for the rest of her antics.
And then, there's yesterday's incident. You'll never be able to look at bandaids the same way again.
You've put up with shitty jobs before, but this is different. There's no unavoidable external circumstance everyone has to accept, no beefy salary to make up for it. You've considered quitting, but you can't stomach the risk. It's a miracle you even got the visa, you have no other connections in this country, and you sure as hell aren't going back. Things will just have to get better somehow.
The most peaceful part of your day came to an end just earlier. For a few hours, the shark-menace was safely sealed away within that soundproof studio. Whatever she's doing in there, you wish she'd do it more often. As soon as she came out, she demanded this and that, complained here and there. She's even developed a penchant for the couch, taking up the only place in the house you actually liked. There she remains now, waiting for her impromptu request of home-made lemonade. With some fresh pineapple and mint, of course. Wouldn't want to make it too easy.
You lower the ornate metal tray onto the coffee-table, perfectly centered. Executing details has become a coping mechanism against the chaos. Your performance is beyond reproach, you're not gonna let her or anyone else doubt that.
"Your lemonade. Would you like it iced?"
No response. Did she fall asleep? She's splaid out over the couch like she fell on it from orbit, limbs and tail dangling lifeless over the edge. Must be rough, doing absolutely nothing. You ring a spoon against the large carafe.
She slowly revives, swinging her other foot off the couch to sit upright. Her bare legs don't quite reach the floor. The oversized white shirt stretching to her knees marks a new low in her choice of wardrobe, which is another recent problem. Maybe it makes her more comfortable in the rising temperatures, but certainly not you.
"Ice, yes... And my sippy straw..." She stifles a yawn, but you can tell she's peeking, scanning your every move. Just like yesterday.
The bandaid incident.
It was completely accidental, and if she thought otherwise she would've pestered you about it already. It's a bit of a stain on your record professionally, but you should just forget about it.
You finish pouring the lemonade, complete with ice, straw and some decorative pineapple scraps. She accepts the glass and immediately takes a big sip.
...Nothing? She's just drinking. Normally, she'd have some sass for you by now, or the next chore. You can't help but feel awkward, just standing there.
After another sip, she plants a few smacks onto the couch next to her. "Have a seat."
"If you say so." You pretend not to know what's coming. She enjoys calling you names a little too much, and you don't want to hear it right now. You sit down with immaculate spacing, not too close to her, not too far.
You're slightly embarrassed when you realize she wasn't even paying attention. Staring off into space, she pulls a long sip of lemonade through the straw, and doesn't say anything until she's drained half of the glass.
"So, how's the butler life going?"
"Fine. And I've told you, I'm not actually a butler."
"Makes sense, I guess. You're not quite old and dusty enough to be a real butler."
You nearly said something extremely rude. This week has put your inhibition through a cheesegrater.
"Didya see a ghost or what?"
"No. Need anything else?"
"Do you ever wonder what happened to the other butlers?"
"I figured I wasn't the first, but I'm not going to pry."
Her face pans towards you, expressionless, her voice flat. "I didn't like 'em. I couldn't convince the brass to replace them, so I made their jobs hell until they quit."
"...You want me to quit?"
"Will you?"
"No."
"Why not? I can tell you hate it."
You can't. Not for a while. Maybe you'll find other opportunities here over time, with a clean record and good references. Getting fired would be an absolute disaster. She can't hear about any of this, of course. You simply retreat into rote professionalism.
"I intend to honor my contract for the time being."
A tinge of her usual energy resurfaces for an instant, fading just as quickly. Ice cubes slosh as she swirls the lemonade, her face inscrutable. Nervous? Bored? She stops short of putting the straw to her lips, then lowers the glass into her lap instead. It traps the long shirt between her legs, dispelling the illusion of a skirt and pulling the fabric rather tightly over--
"This blows, man. Every time I get rid of one of you, they send me someone even more uptight and stubborn. You're the worst one yet."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Liar. You're actually proud of it, because you think it means you're good at your job."
"Correct. Exquisitely good."
Work is all you have left, and all you'll have for the foreseeable future. Assuming your luck holds.
"If you're so good at your job, why aren't you doing it?"
"I am doing it. I just did. What do you want now?"
She reels back. "Ugh... I don't wanna have to tell people what I want from them. It feels so gross, like reminding someone about your own birthday."
"You seem perfectly happy to order me around."
"That's different."
"Different...? Wait, is today your birth--"
"Nope."
"Then what in the world are you talking about?"
"Look, I told you on your very first day. Stop faking, or do it convincingly."
"What? I changed «my act», like you asked."
"No, you haven't. You just talk a little different."
"What else do you want from me?"
She looks at the ceiling and whistles.
"...That's not how this works. It's a tailored service. I can't do what I'm told if I'm not told."
"Lalala~"
You can't lose your cool. Not only is it unprofessional, it's what she wants. You won't give her the satisfaction.
"How about-- Tell me what you don't want, then. What am I doing wrong?"
"I don't like your stupid patronizing schtick. And that desperate composure just now? You're so forced, and sooo obvious. I'm already dealing with plenty stuff like that, I don't wanna clock out just to have the roles reversed."
"What do you mean, clock out? Should I be worried? What is even going on inside your room?"
"Work."
"...Work? Y--You??"
Don't laugh. Don't mock her. Patience. You're not violating your standards, not even for her. Especially not her.
"What, you think I can't suit up and do my job properly?"
You laugh. Exhaustively. Pointing your finger and everything. Her? Working? Absolutely ridiculous.
She doesn't seem the slightest bit miffed by your outburst. In fact, she looks happier than ever. "That's a good start! Doesn't it feel nice to let loose? Go ahead, let it all out."
You straighten up with tears in your eyes. "My sincerest apologies... Actually, fuck that. After this week, I was due for a small indulgence."
"Aww, was I too hard on you?"
"That's not the problem. You're literally destroying this house."
She gasps. "So you noticed!"
"It was incredibly obvious. You left bite marks on that chair, for fuck's sake. My ass still hurts."
"Ya got me! Dead to rights. Please don't punish me..."
"Your punishment is not doing it anymore."
She grumbles. "And if I keep doing it?"
"Isn't this technically my house? I have half a mind to bend you over my knee for some discipline."
"Ha! You wouldn't dare."
"No, no, of course not. Out of question."
"Why not? Sometimes, you gotta turn the other cheek."
"That's not what that means. And I firmly believe in not spanking anything that can chew through wood."
She flicks the straw at you, scattering drops of lemonade. "Scared of lil ol me, are you, big guy?"
"I'll fold you in half if I feel like it. I just wanted to spare you the indignation of being called too old for a spanking."
She liked that even less than you thought. Well, too fucking bad. You only have so much patience. Besides, didn't she say something about not being able to fire you herself? Maybe you don't have to put up with this shit anymore.
"What's wrong, princess? Am I being too honest now? I can dial it back down, but you'll have to ask for it."
"You're so stupid."
"I do beg your forgiveness." No sarcasm in the delivery, just as a sincerely fake apology. You spot the slight stiffening of her lips. Bullseye. You really shouldn't be enjoying this so much.
She crosses her arms. "...I wanna eat fondue. With real swiss cheese."
"Emmentaler, Tilsiter, Appenzeller or Greyerzer? Should I import some manners for you while I'm at it?"
She exhales harshly. "Buddy... Aren't you forgetting something here? Don't make me make you quit."
"Don't make me make you make me." Jesus. You've been completely reduced to her level.
"Stubborn to the end, huh? Have it your way."
You watch as she leans back with her arms behind her head, one leg crossing over her knee. Ice rattles as the glass is rolled between her thighs. You've forgotten what you were going to say.
"Honestly, I dunno why I'm complaining. It's kinda fun, messing with you people. The best part is when you finally give up. You shoulda seen the last butler! Well, maid, I guess. Is that what girl-butlers are called? Not that you would know. Anyways, she screamed. A lot. It was crazy." The little shark-demon shakes her head with a light chuckle.
She brings the glass to her lips for another sip, giving you ample time to respond. You don't bother. She's bluffing, and if not--
"Some of 'em were tough to crack, but you know what they say! The harder they fall, the harder... they... fall? Whatever. What I'm trying to say is, every butler and every maid snapped eventually. Showed me their real, honest faces. And when they did, they quit on the spot. Maybe it was their professional pride or something."
She didn't say that with any particular emphasis. Hell, she's not even looking in your direction. But you know exactly what she's hinting at. It's about you. About the bandaid incident.
"...I didn't snap."
She finally brings out the big smile. "By your standards? It was like a triple backflip."
"I was just surprised."
Her smile opens, bares every single spiky tooth. "Are you sure? I think there was a lil bit more to it. Some relief, maybe disappointment? I wonder what you saw, your face was so funny!"
"Get over it already. Who cares? It's not like I tripped you on purpose."
"Nah, you wouldn't. I fell on purpose, though."
This shouldn't even surprise you by now. Keep your cool, stay calm and collected like you always do. That's how you got away.
She stares intently, like she's trying to figure out what you're thinking. "So, when ya gonna quit?"
"...I need this job."
"But I'm so bored of you!"
"Boo fucking hoo. Take it up with «the brass», or whoever is paying my salary. I'm going to keep working."
She props an elbow onto her leg and rests her head in her palm, looking at you almost sideways. "If you're not gonna quit, show me that funny face you made yesterday."
"I'm busy, so please find a different hobby. Quit trying to piss me off, it's not going to work." You calmly get on your feet and turn to leave.
Something shatters on the floor. The shark girl has circled in front of you in an instant. She's close, glaring up at you just about vertically. "You're not paying attention, dumbass. Take a hint."
"Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
"How about I refresh your memory?" She reaches into her perilously loose collar and yanks it forward, practically punching you with her shirt. You can see all the way to her feet.
Your eyes have completed their trajectory. She lets the shirt snap back. It sags off her shoulder even more.
She bobs and weaves under you, as if she's searching for the proper perspective. "Hmmm? That wasn't as funny. Do you hate bandaids now?"
You keep your mouth shut.
"Or maybe you no longer like me?"
She continues to watch patiently, unbothered by the awkward silence. It feels like she's reading your mind. Like she's just waiting for you to do what she knows you'll do.
You break eye contact. "It would seem as though you've forgotten to apply the bandaids. Or was that on purpose, too?"
You made her smile sag somewhat, but it didn't take long for her to casually check under her shirt. The bandaids were in place, of course. Is it impossible to embarrass this girl? You're about to settle for a made-you-look when your eyes meet again. She has never made a face like this before. Tense lips, watery eyes. Either she's about to sneeze on you, or she's dying of frustration.
You smile in a way no butler could possibly smile. "You were right, this is kind of fun."
She doesn't sneeze. She screams. It's a brief, tortured gasp. You hear the hiss of saliva on her tongue as she sucks air through her teeth. Then, another sneezing face. Tears escape as her eyes squeeze shut. Just as suddenly, her flushed face relaxes again, and she sighs in relief. "We got shards and lemonade all over the floor, man. Clean it up already."
She touches your wrist as she runs away, leaving three warm bandaids stuck to your palm.
Chapter 3
The morning chores help distract you somewhat from the previous evening's debacle. You hate to admit it, but the shark girl got under your skin. Actually, that's an understatement. You barely made it back to the privacy of your room. Suffice to say that lemonade wasn't the only stain you cleaned up that night, and you're glad this place has soundproofing.
You move on to the dishwasher as you let a fifth wake-up call ring out. She's even harder to wake on the weekend, but once she is up, you tend to get few breaks until bedtime. You don't know how much more of this you can handle, or what to do about it. You're getting sick of even thinking about it, which is another effect of hers. You've stopped choosing your words, let her drag you down. It's like she scooped half your brain out over the course of that conversation. What you did manage to think about, you shouldn't have thought about. As a professional and a human being, you ought to be ashamed.
Are you, though?
No more thinking. That's how she gets you. Lobotomize yourself for a few months, be something she'll get bored of messing with.
Speak of the devil.
"Good morning..." She staggers into the kitchen, missing a slipper, her hair in an unholy mess. It's not clear whether she's wearing anything besides that same oversized shirt. Robot. You'll be a robot. Complete your task, don't even look at her.
But you do look, very closely, as she starts pulling her arms over her head, bending backwards with a drawn-out groan. Her tail stiffens straight, behaving like a counterweight as she performs an insane back-stretch. What absurd flexibility. It also occurs to you that this is not, in fact, the same shirt. It's shorter, much too short for this exercise. Furthermore, there's no bandaid in sight; she is as smooth as it gets. Certain bones are provocatively defined as her skin is pulled taut over them, and you see some softness return to her stomach as she rears back up. The shirt finally slides past her hips, but you still struggle to look away.
So what? Of course she would wear a fresh shirt. No way that was on purpose. Just keep working. You half-drop a plate into the cupboard and reach for the next with conscious effort.
"I said good morning. Hey, what happened to your suit?"
"You're-- one to--"
Robot. Lobotomy.
She blinks groggily. "What was that?"
You try again. "I chose something more appropriate for the forecast. Attire requirements weren't outlined in the contract."
She tilts her head. "Huh. You don't even look like a butler anymore. It is getting pretty hot, I guess." She pulls on her shirt to air it out. It rides dangerously high at first, but her next tugs are much more conservative. Maybe that stretch really wasn't on purpose. Maybe you're a fucking idiot, still pointlessly overthinking minute happenstance instead of doing your job. Try as you might, the mundane act of shelving dishes suddenly feels alien, like an excuse. You continue mechanically.
She walks up to the fridge. "You did a little better yesterday. Took you a while, though."
"I try." You're not actually sure what she meant by that, or whether you want to know.
"Well, keep it up. I have my eye on you."
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you try to get a look at her face. However, she has already opened the fridge, disappearing behind the door.
You're struck by the realization that you've forgotten to prepare breakfast. Nevermind your own standards, the fact that she hasn't pointed it out is unbelievable. She always insists on being served breakfast, even if she gets up at noon. What gives?
Several seconds pass as you sort cups and she rummages for food. You see her getting on her toes as she reaches deeper into the fridge. One of her feet lifts off the floor. She's practically inside the damn thing, and it dampens her voice. "Doot doot doot... Doesn't this make me sound funny?"
"Like you're in a different room."
"Speaking of, remember what I said about everything being soundproof? I take that back, 'cause your room definitely isn't."
She can't possibly know. Not for sure.
"...Foot cramp."
"Ah. Hate those. Sounded real bad. Is that why you didn't make breakfast?"
You're glad she can't see you right now. Lying to her face never works. "Yeah, I was getting some extra rest. I'm fine now, it won't be a problem."
"It better not! I need my footsoldier spry and healthy, so rest all you want if you're still sore." She closes the fridge and stumbles away, loaded with snacks.
The rest of the day is mercifully uneventful. Without the shark girl's interference and the busywork of weekdays, you were able to tackle a backlog of tasks left by previous employees. There was no shortage of opportunities for her to cause a little or a lot of trouble, and yet she passed on every single one. Maybe she's just different on weekends. Maybe you should fake a foot cramp every day.
You wrap things up as evening settles in. The day was even hotter than you expected, and the wardrobe change only helped a little. Nothing a cold beverage can't fix.
The shark girl almost bumps into you as she briskly steps out of the kitchen, a bottle on her lips. Surprisingly, she made a real effort not to spill any of the water. Just a few stray drops run off her chin. She put on a light jacket, though it's not zipped quite high enough to hide her collarbones. Not that collarbones ought to be hidden. Ought they?
Her piercing blue eyes pore over you, as if she heard the gears cranking in your head. "Did you want some?" She offers you the open bottle, glistening with cold condensation.
This is a trap, it has to be. She was way too good today. Now that your guard is lowered, she's cashing in.
...Or maybe you're going crazy. You shouldn't reject the gesture. Not when you're this thirsty.
You receive the bottle without incident and slake your thirst. The shark gets a little closer than usual as she takes the bottle back.
"Jeez, you stink."
"That's because I work for a living. Thanks for the water, though."
"You fool! That wasn't water, it's battery acid!"
"Very funny."
You catch yourself smiling. It's almost as if you missed this.
"Seriously though, you friggin stink. You're gonna take a shower, too."
"...What did you say just now? Repeat that for me."
"You stink?"
"No. I'm going to take a shower, «too»?"
"What about it? You're gonna take a shower, and I'm gonna take a shower. Don't make this weird."
She lunges forward, seizing your elbow with both arms and pulling with surprising strength. Before you could even muster a response, she dragged you half-way across the corridor to the bathroom. You finally plant your feet, dangling her in your arm for a moment. "Eww, you're so sweaty." She wipes her hands on your pants a little too carelessly, then opens the door. The sound of rushing water pours out. Her feet skid over the floor as she tries to backpedal into the bathroom with your arm in tow. Waves of warm, humid air press out into the hallway. You get the impression of a mystical threshold.
"This is another test, isn't it."
"A test of what, my patience? Come on, I gotta get up early."
Get up early for what? And it's not even that late. And someone has to wipe up that water she just spilled. Your brain drafts and discards a dozen more reasonable protests before you pull the plug. Thinking is too exhausting, and arguing with her is always pointless.
She calmly closes the bathroom door behind you, without so much as a smirk. You just stand there for a while as she slides a sock off and hangs it over a stool. "You might wanna take your clothes off. They'll get wet."
There's a bit of sass, but she doesn't seem to be pining for a reaction. No gloating or laughing. In fact, you haven't seen much of her smile all day. It's almost like she's saving up.
"I just cleaned in here today, you know."
"So what?" She jumps on one leg, fumbling with the other sock.
"...Are you sure about this?"
"How many times? Yes, I am sure that you stink. And I want you to stop being stinky. That's an order."
Good enough. You pull your shirt over your head, noting the sound of her jacket unzipping. You're not going to gawk at her as she undresses.
You gawk. But she's just standing there, still wearing the unzipped jacket. A shirt and skirt are visible underneath. She seems to unfreeze as you look at her. "What the heck are you doing?" She performs a gesture remniscient of a disgruntled sports fan; pointing her hand with open palm facing up, before letting the entire arm go slack.
You almost crack a smile. "I'm undressing, because you said so. Aren't you going to?"
"I said undress normally. You think you're Hulk Hogan or something??" She produces some oafish grumbling complete with an underbite as she pulls the jacket over her head in what you assume is supposed to be a mockery of you, or Hulk Hogan. She dumps the jacket at your feet.
Is she still going easy on you? That was so fucking weak, it doesn't even merit making fun of. You do permit a slight, patronizing smile as you crouch down to pick up and fold her jacket.
Your eyes couldn't have been off of her for more than a few seconds. Regardless, she's completely nude, glaring down at you with a messy bundle of clothes under her arm.
"Whaddya lookin' at?"
"...That was quick."
"Sharks are the fastest creatures on earth."
"Did bandaids fall out of fashion?"
"Too hot for layers. Get up already, you're making this weird again."
You stand up, taking your eyes on a luxurious trip along the way. She doesn't seem to mind, so you keep looking.
"What's so interesting? You already saw me this morning."
The stretch. Of course it was on purpose. How nice of her to give you a little warmup.
"I did. Do you mind if I--"
"Oh, crud! The tub!" She dumps her clothes on the stool in a hurry and tip-toes past the shower area to twist off the bathtub faucet. She runs her hand through the water as she bends over the edge, one foot in the air. Her tail is swaying secret messages to you, probably. Seemingly satisfied, she swivels around, noticing you still haven't taken all your clothes off.
"What are you waiting for? You're such a slowpoke." She motions into the open shower area. It's spacious, with two adjacent showerheads on the same wall. World's smallest gym shower came to mind the first time you saw it, but you're imagining very different things right now.
You're even sweatier than before. Right, the shower. What's been holding you back, anyways? This isn't complicated. You have to take your clothes off now, so you can get in the shower with her. And then, she'll say something to piss you off. And then--
You hear water pattering onto the tiles. She already started. You drop your pants, finding a full mast. No point trying to hide it now; might even speed things along. You step into the shower area.
She's facing into the streaming water with closed eyes, one foot propped on its toes, hands behind her ears. The water glides over her frame in a striking fashion. It barely splashes, instead flowing in smooth layers, as though eager to envelop her. Eventually, it slips off her fine curves in tapering sheets. Her tail undulates as it would while swimming. She truly is in her element.
Mesmerized, you awkwardly step under your showerhead. You're more erect than you thought possible, and she will definitely have a thing or two to say about that. You're looking forward to it. Actually, you can't wait. You turn on the water, and she glances over.
To your absolute disbelief, she still hasn't said anything. You're certain she looked at it more than once. Your eyes meet when she reaches for one of many bottles lining the wall, and like so often, she reads your mind.
"Oh, that thing? Don't worry about it. Doesn't count."
"My what doesn't count? Are you saying it's small?"
She turns fully towards you as she spreads product into her hair. "Not at all. Did you think I'd make fun of you for popping a boner in here?"
"Go ahead, do your worst."
"That ain't my style, buddy. What you got going on down there is just a fizzyjiggle-whatever-response, like drooling when you see food."
"Physiological response."
You're seeing a banquet and a half. She just has to ring the dinner bell.
"Physi-olo-gical. Thanks, smartypants. But you get what I mean, right? That thing isn't you."
"It's too easy for you, is that what you're saying?"
"I guess. Sure, I like to get reactions. But if you literally can't help it, how can I take credit?"
What is with this girl? She has used every trick in the book to get under your skin, and suddenly she's too good for it? If she wasn't trying to provoke you into certain acts, what the hell did she drag you in here for? Either she's completely clueless, or she changed her mind.
She searches the wall for another bottle. "Here, try this. One of those 10-in-1 things for guys. I got it for you, should help with the smell."
"...This really is just a shower to you."
"What did you expect? Catering?"
"Nevermind."
She stretches towards you far enough to hand you the bottle. As you grab it, she gives it a big squeeze. Thick, pearly soap spurts over your hands.
She gasps. "Eww, did you just have another foot cramp??"
Apparently, your reaction was absolutely hilarious. She laughed for the first time that day, and she's still going. She has her arms over her stomach, bending and shaking as she giggles uncontrollably, just out of arm's reach. The smooth flow of water has turned frothy over her chest. "Y-- Your face--" She can't even talk, but she's not stopping to catch her breath, either. She leans into the wall for support and laughs into her arm, blindly pointing a finger. She still hasn't noticed you getting closer. When you redirect some of the water from overhead, she finally looks up.
You pin her wrist against the wall above her. Her complaints are big and fierce, but her resistance isn't. Must be draining to laugh that hard. Her flushed face displays many unprecedented features; you take them in with great satisfaction. Ignoring whatever she's saying, you lower your gaze. Her body heaves from exertions past and present. Columns of water flow over your head onto delicate breasts. Someone slaps you in the face.
"Are you even listening?? Let me go!"
You place your other hand over her mouth. A calmness descends on the room, and you're briefly alone with your thoughts against the background of rushing water.
There isn't much to think about, really. The water feels cold. Blood pounds violently at your temples and elsewhere. Your entire body is one big itch, unscratched, unsated. It's enough to drive anyone crazy. You want, you need--
Look who came crawling back, says your worm-eaten brain. Was the lobotomy not to your liking?
Go away.
Are you sure? You know what happened last time. Don't squander your luck.
That was different. She's asking for it. It's obvious.
She's not asking for it now. Can you really take the risk?
Within the span of half a second, a thumb-wrestling tournament is conducted in the dopaminergic pathways of your brain, with the next course of action on the line. One competitor is disqualified, causing a stir. Negotiations almost break down, but a compromise is reached.
Your cock pokes at the shark girl's belly. Her wet skin feels pleasantly cool on your seething member. It presses forward seemingly on its own, trying to burrow into her yielding flesh. She groans and contorts, causing your tip to slip away to the side. It feels amazing, for too short a moment. You attempt to replicate the sensation, absent-mindedly freeing her mouth.
"Mmph-- Aah! Hey... Stop it. That's enough."
You probe around her navel, slipping your tip in and out as you pass over it. She rewards you with another completely novel expression; indignant and flustered, jaw clenched, eyebrows trembling.
"Ugh... I said stop! I get it, okay? Taste of my own medicine, yadda yadda. Leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone."
"Just a little more. It's fine, right? Since I can't help it and such."
"Are you fucking kidding?? Let me go now or you're done, you freak!"
Further contortions fail to free her wrist. Her free arm batters feebly against you. A push of your hips gently bends your shaft over her stomach, rubbing until the friction is lost and you slip away.
Again.
Again.
It's addicting. You explore generously around her navel, into her sides, past her ribs and over her chest. Her attempts to escape enhance the experience more often than not. You start stroking your shaft as you go, becoming more compact, brushing faster. She'll make a good canvas.
A deep, labored breath escapes as you cross the point of no return. You settle back on that particularly soft patch around her navel for the final laps.
The feeling is both explosively intense and deeply relieving, a feast after a famine. Glowing warmth overcomes you, spreads onto the shark girl in bursts. The pulses only subside slowly. A whirlpool of chemicals drains through your body, flushes all thoughts away. Your bewildered brain jostles in the void of consciousness, like a tongue trying to lick a missing tooth. Did you forget to take out the trash? There's a sale tomorrow. You ought to sandpaper the inside of your skull to reduce friction.
You stagger backwards as the shark girl pushes with both arms, creating some distance. A few last drops leak out of you.
Go ahead, take a good look at her. You've done it now. Told you so.
It's not what you expected. She is making no immediate attempt to separate further, even getting a step closer to stand under the water. She looks down at herself with disgust, hands limp at the wrists.
"Yuck! What a mess. No wonder you got so good at cleaning. Wait, what the... Eeeww, it's in my--"
Only the clear fluid rinsed off, leaving behind an even stickier mess on her belly. She digs a thick glob out of her navel and brings it up to her face, spreading it between her fingers. She's going to lick it, for sure. Eat it. Swallow--
She flicks your seed into the drain with a sad squelch. "Disgusting! Never doing this again."
Somehow, she's the same as ever.
The pleasure has run its course. A vague, merely conventional frustration remains. Your mind has cleared, but permitted exhaustion back in. The day's weight hits you, sudden and harsh.
"Gimme a hand already, this is your fault!"
"Yes, right away."
Your reponse was habitual. You fetched a napkin, cleaned her up, even rinsed her hair. This is how it should be. Doing your job as required, and nothing else. Nothing happened. …Nothing much. She's definitely going to hold it against you, but you can live with that.
"That's good enough. Now get in the bath, I'll be ready in a sec."
You stare at her in disbelief.
"Get in there already, it's gonna get cold! And try not to freak out again."
"...Yes, right away."
She really is asking for it. Or this is some kind of torture. Worst of all, a bath sounds amazing. You've had scarcely a moment to relax this week, and this might've been the most draining day yet.
You sink into the water, still pleasantly hot. It's almost too relaxing. Your eyelids feel heavy. You could probably fall asleep on the spot and forget about all this.
"Make some room in there."
The shark girl dips her tail into the water first, then dances over the edge of the tub with more athleticism than modesty. Sighing heavily, she gradually immerses herself from toes to shoulders. It didn't even occur to you to look away. The sight was both sobering and intoxicating, displacing your exhaustion with other sensations. The water fails to drown your desires. She wants it, too. Definitely. Probably.
She's completely oblivious to your turmoil, resting blissfully with her eyes closed. You might think she fell asleep if not for the faint current caused by her wandering tail.
"...Hey."
She doesn't respond.
You stub a toe on her.
"Mmh?" She doesn't bother opening her eyes.
"I've been getting some mixed signals, here."
"More like mixed reception."
You were about to say something when she poignantly opened her eyes, as if she felt a particularly stupid question coming.
"I took a shower, and you took a shower. Because you were very stinky, did I not make that clear? Think of it as part of your job, if that helps."
"Is bathing with you part of my job?"
"You're making it weird again. I'm taking a bath, and you're taking a bath. Get it through your head."
She's not giving you what you want. You need a yes, or a particularly inflammatory no.
"You might want to get out of here. I could have another foot cramp."
"I'm kinda feeling one too, actually. Must be the water temperature. Go ahead, make yourself useful."
Is that a yes? That's a yes. You're about to jump her when she breaches the water with one foot, resting the heel on your knee. She answers your glare by wiggling her eyebrows and curling her toes.
"Why the long face? You gonna massage my foot or no?"
Her ability to act dumb is spectacular. Or maybe she's just spectacularly dumb. You still haven't made up your mind on that.
"I lack the... qualifications, for that."
"You don't need a degree for everything. Just give it a try, handyman."
You slide a palm under the heel of her foot. Her sole is tender, slightly wrinkled by the water. The disturbances caused by her tail intensify. A sharp wave lashes between your legs as she shifts position. The water feels cold again.
You gently press a thumb between the soft pads under her toes.
She retracts her leg almost instantly. "Yeah, nevermind. You better stick to your strengths, like cleaning up your own gunk."
In one swift motion, you're standing upright. The water level in the tub dips below her breasts, and she covers up reflexively. "I'm kidding, I'm-- Woah!" You reach under her arms and lift her up in one fell swoop. Her tail flops wildly as a stranded fish, and she laughs nervously. "It was just a joke, buddy! That felt... great! You're a natural."
You slide one arm across her back and reel her in. She wriggles like an eel, to no avail. Your manhood pushes through her thighs menacingly as you lower her into your lap.
"Don't-- Hey! Look at me. STOP."
You continue to wrestle your slippery catch, trying to secure the right angle.
"HEY!!"
You freeze, and your eyes meet. She snaps two fingers in front of your face like you're some kind of trained animal.
"Anyone home? I said cut it out. I mean it this time."
"I'm not sure you do."
You reach under her legs and try to get her back propped against the wall. She's resisting with far more strength than before; the same strength she dragged you in here with. Suddenly, it fades away.
"Stop it... Please. I'm begging you."
You freeze again. She sounded so weak. You couldn't bear to look at her face for more than a second. Was she crying?
Go on, fuck her brains out. So what if she doesn't like it? Just ride off into the sunset again. Except, you have nowhere to hide here. You'll get arrested eventually. Maybe they'll find out who you are, extradite you. Worse, you could go to trial in this shithole of a country. It's funny, really. You always looked down on crimes of passion. Money is one thing, but what self-respecting man would throw his life away in anger or lust? And here you are, ticking both boxes. Forcing yourself on a helpless stranger that's begging you to stop. You already ruined your fresh start. You have absolutely no excuse this time, and you'll deserve whatever happens to you.
"Please put me down."
You can't look at her.
"It's fine, we both overdid it a bit. Just put me down now."
You do as you're told.
She slaps your forearm twice. "All good. Dry me off, and get out of here."
Before you know it, you're wiping up the spilled water in the hallway.
You close the door to your room. Your fatigue is only barely held back by unquelled urges. After a few strokes, you feel watched.
You burst out into the hallway.
Only silence and darkness.
Feeling even worse, you drop into bed and fall asleep.
Chapter 4
The shark girl's body sways gently as she brushes her teeth. Suddenly, she groans in frustration and turns to you. "Raaah! This sucks!" Her mangled toothbrush bounces off your shoulder. Shorn bristles fly through the air. "I can't see anything! You do it for me." She gingerly points into her open mouth.
You spit out some toothpaste. "I really shouldn't. I could get in trouble."
She seems even more annoyed. "Acting all shy after yesterday? You stupid or what? Get over here and brush my teeth."
"Yes, right away."
Turns out it actually is kind of difficult. Her teeth are big and sharp, but they taper to very thin edges, which makes it hard to--
Just as you're thinking about it, you slip. The hard plastic toothbrush rams not-so-gently into her gums. She squeals, and her jaws snap shut. Your fingers are cleanly severed.
You wake up, covered in sweat. It's dark. You're too tired to check the time and simply lie back down.
The sun glares mercifully into your room. You wake up unusually late, and free of physical exhaustion at the least. But--
You can't even begin to use your head. Too many chefs. Work, though. You can always work.
By the time you're dressed, it's close to noon. You step out of your room to prepare the kitchen. It doesn't take long for the shark girl to show up.
"Hey, you made it!" She sounds very surprised.
"I won't oversleep again. What do you want to eat?"
"Oh, I already ate. I thought you died or something so I ordered pizza. Just brushed my teeth."
She casually runs her tongue over those saw-like rows of razors. They interlock perfectly as she bites down. You flinch at the shearing sound. Your fingers are all accounted for, of course. Just a coincidence.
Her blue eyes scan you from head to toe. "What was that about?"
"That made me hungry, is all. Any pizza left?"
"A-ha! I see how it is." She smirks and approaches slowly. With each step, she performs a cartoony chomp. She's getting a little too close. You stand your ground, trying to look natural. Her grin expands to a cheshire-like angle. "You've taken a liking to my pearly Great Whites, haven't you?"
Thank fucking god. At least your dreams are safe from her, to an extent.
You ham up a sigh. "Maybe a little. Your teeth are very... striking."
She clasps her hands and balances on one foot. "Aww, shucks! That's so... creepy!"
You look at your shoes with oscar-winning embarrassment.
She laughs through her teeth. "Heheh. Well, at least you're honest for once."
That is beyond irony. Honest? She, of all people? Would dare? To use that word? Whatever thin lid you managed to put on yourself overnight has been shattered. You snap out of nowhere.
"Honest, huh? That is fucking rich, coming from you."
Her teeth disappear behind a scowl. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Anyways, about yesterday."
"Still feeling sorry for yourself? If it makes you feel better, you can apologize."
"I'm not going to."
"What do you want, then?"
The shark. All of it, this time.
You put a hand on her.
"Don't touch me."
Both hands. She remains completely still.
"Get your hands off of me, now. I mean it."
Bullshit. She was acting to the very end, just like now. Even if not, you no longer care. But you'd love to hear her admit it. You apply the slightest bit of traction to her waist; noticeable, but not enough to pull her closer.
"I can't hide anything from you, can I? Then you ought to know what I want."
She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Didn't we figure this out yesterday? You can't. Idiot."
"Of course I can. You even want me to, and I totally would have. But you «overdid it», didn't you? Accidentally guilt-tripped me into stopping, because you're a little too crazy."
"...None of that is true. You're the crazy one."
"From my experience, only a crazy person would keep this job. Are we done talking? I need to blow off some steam."
"I'm telling you, we can't. There's a million reasons."
"A million excuses."
"No. It's personal. I'm... committed."
"Let me guess, you ate the ring?"
"Not like that, dumbass. And don't even bother asking."
Maybe she does have a good reason. Good enough that she can't bring herself to admit what she wants. Inconvenient, since you have good reasons not to force her.
Or she could just be lying still. In all likelihood, she's simply too perverted for her own good. Doesn't really make a difference. Either way, one of you will have to break.
"No need to tell me. I don't actually care."
"Good. Leave me alone, then."
"Sure. I'll just go masturbate while you try to come up with a better scheme that'll finally push me over the edge."
Her face scrunches up, like she's trying to not laugh and not cry at the same time.
"Losing your composure, princess?"
"Don't call me that. And stop touching me already!"
"How about the couch? We both like the couch."
"Wh-- what about the couch??"
It's petty, but you like to watch her panic. Even when it's obviously staged.
"That wasn't very convincing."
She pouts and turns away. "So? What's your problem?"
"Nothing. I'm just used to taking people at face value, even if I have doubts. Because that's--"
"Yeah yeah, it's your job, bla bla. Here's a job for you: Get the hell away from me."
"I'm starting to think you got cold feet after seeing me in the shower."
"Ha! Don't flatter yourself. It was only like..." She merges the palms of her hands before separating them, reaching roughly your erect length. Actually, it's rather accurate.
"Don't worry, I'll only use half. Okay?"
"No, not okay! I only said that to make you stop!"
She's not even making sense anymore. You run your thumb under her shirt and lift it past her navel.
She pushes down on your forearm. "Get it through your thick skull. No means no."
"I used to think so, too."
Her flailing made the princess-carry a little too challenging, so you opted to sling her over your shoulder. Blows are raining onto your back. The tail makes balancing awkward. Truly, your life is a series of unexpected trials.
You dump her onto the couch with minimal decorum. Pillows are flung into the distance. You rid her of the grand total of two articles of clothing she chose to wear. Pinning her restless arms to her waist, you bend over her and get centered. She exhales sharply as soon as you make contact. You gradually pry at her, into her. It's not effortless, but she can't seem to spare much air for complaints. After a fair bit of poking and prodding, you're safely lodged past the tip; or so you thought. The moment you lowered your pressure, she ejected you like a slice of toast. Ignoring the mental image, you repeat the process a few times for fun. "Pop, goes the shark."
She spits into your face. "I'm gonna kill you, you-- Nnh! You're hurting me! Just stop already, please..."
"The shark who cried wolf. You hate to see it."
She seems more bothered by your words than your actions. Then again, you haven't even started yet. You'll hold back, as promised, but not this much. You'll do more. Like that. A little deeper, still. Just a bit more... There. You pull out to the tip and brace onto your knees. The moment you start plunging, her stiff arms turn to noodles in your grasp.
The whole act is feverish and rushed, overdue. Her resistance never amounts to much, but things start to get clumsy when you try to speed up. After a few attempts to keep her pinned, you simply wedge her into the corner of the couch and go to town. She gets buried deeper as you put more weight on her. More pressure. Getting close, now. You bend down to her face. Her ragged breath is steaming-hot yet toothpaste-fresh, with just a hint of mozzarella. You search for her lips as you approach your limit, but she manages to dodge until time's up.
You're not leaving anything behind for cleanup this time. She's going to dispose of every last drop. Your hips grind to a halt. Starting with disciplined barrages, you finally dump your load where it belongs. You feel her feeling it. You reach around the back half of your shaft, stroking, shaking, pushing it just a little deeper. That's better. Make sure she gets all of it. Coat her. Clog her.
Great injustices have been addressed this day; so muses your brain as you nut unreservedly inside the shark girl.
The shark girl backs up into the end of the couch, panting through a weak smile, arm resting over her eyes.
You settle on the other side. "You okay?"
She swallows her spit. "Yes. Don't you ever... do that again."
What's with this girl?
She catches her breath after a short while and peeks out from under her arm.
"Hey, since you like 'em so much... Do you want one?"
"Do I want what?"
There's a startlingly loud cracking noise.
She smacks her lips. "Was shedding anyways. Catch."
You receive the sharp projectile with well-merited reluctance. "Thank you, it's... really cool."
"Don't be so worried. Sharks have the cleanest mouth of any animal."
"Really. What leads you to that conclusion?"
"Well, they spend a lot of time in water, right?"
Her smile feels different. Just the gap in her teeth? Or something else?
Chapter 5
You are roused by the rattling of a strong summer rain against the window. Regardless of weather, you know it's going to be a wonderful day. How long has it been since you've felt this good in the morning? Weeks? Months? It's too early to be carefree, but your worries have receded beyond the horizon for now.
Breakfast is almost ready. The scent of fresh baked goods in the air is bound to attract predators.
"Mmmh! What you got there?" The shark girl sniffs at the air as she wanders into the kitchen, her tail high and perky.
"Breakfast. Would you like coffee or tea?"
"Depends. What's in the pot?" She playfully twirls her hair.
This again. It's coffee, but she doesn't know that.
"Rosehip tea."
"Guess I'll have coffee, then! Wait..." She sniffs some more. Her mouth curls into a nasty smile. "Sharks have the best nose of any animal, you know."
"You got me. What kind of tea do you want?"
She pulls up a chair. "No worries. Coffee's fine."
How very generous.
She starts demolishing the croissants as you pour coffee into her mug. It looks oversized in her hands. You notice her tail whipping, constrained by the chair.
She takes a small sip. "Bleh! Too hot, too bitter."
"Please don't spill it. I just cleaned up."
"Why would I spill it?"
You brush your little finger over the tablecloth, gathering up some stray crumbs. "Just a hunch."
"How's about you hunch on over to the fridge and get me some milk?"
"...Right away." You retrieve the carton, awkwardly maneuvering along the way to keep her in your field of view at all times.
She laughs in disbelief. "I'm not going to spill my coffee! You think I'm that clumsy?"
You top her off with the cold milk. "No, I don't think that's the problem."
There's a subtle change in her face. You half-expect her to rugpull the whole table.
She avoids your eyes. Hiding behind the mug, she drains it without incident.
As soon as she's done drinking, she gets up to leave. "Gonna need your help later. Problem with my equipment."
"Of course. You only need to ask."
You would've expected yesterday's encounter to have had a bigger effect, but she seems mostly the same; perhaps a bit more appeasable. Then again, you're the one who ended up caving to her. Maybe she had this all mapped out. Or maybe she's a horny dumbass.
The kitchen is taken care of. Got the tins, empty bottles, shopping list. You unlock the front door. Elsewhere, a different door opens.
"Hey! Waaait! Waitwaitwaitwait."
There's a rumbling sound. It intensifies as a huge gaming chair rounds the corner into the hallway. You wince as the hard plastic rollers gouge their way across unprotected hardwood. The great throne comes to a halt, and the shark girl emerges from behind.
"Phew! If you're going out, get me a new chair, will ya?"
"Is something wrong with this one?"
She nods gravely. "Check this out." Her feet lift off the ground as she puts her entire weight into the armrest, generating a loud squeaking sound.
"Are you serious?"
"Uh, yes?" She repeats the maneuver for emphasis. "A noisy chair at the wrong time is like..." She clenches her jaw and swipes a thumb across her neck.
"You don't need a new chair. I'll just grease this thing once I get back. Maybe an hour total."
"Right! Righto. Easy greasy for you. Hurry up, I don't wanna reschedule." She jumps into the chair and rolls away.
All this fuss for a squeaky chair? And reschedule what, exactly? This reeks of shenanigans.
<more?>
When you return with your haul, the shark girl is nowhere to be seen.
You stow away the groceries. The chair touch-up takes longer than expected; you've never seen such an overdesigned monstrosity. There's enough springs, winches and axes to assemble a car. The squeaking finally yields to generous amounts of chain lubricant. You replace the rollers with gentler office chair variants and push your patient through the hallway.
On the way to her room, you discover the shark girl, seemingly asleep on the couch.
"I'm finished with the chair. What about your scheduling thing?"
No response.
You've had to wake her up in person before, but never with any amount of urgency. Is she going to miss some sort of appointment? Shaking her shoulder doesn't accomplish anything. You yell, clap, tickle, the whole program. Besides the occasional snore, there's no reaction whatsoever.
It occurs to you that it would be highly unprofessional to fuck her right now.
You pinch her nose shut. She seamlessly continues breathing through her mouth. There's a new tooth poking through the gap in her gums already.
You drive a stiff thumb between her ribs. Naught but a delayed squirm.
Her immunity to calls and alarms is somewhat conceivable, but this is incredible. Not credible, even.
You should keep trying. A few more attempts, you owe yourself that much. And then... If it is a trap, you don't really mind falling for it.
You flip her onto her stomach. Her normally expressive tail betrays no signs of life. You give it a few proper squeezes. It's cool to the touch; taut, yet soft and meaty. You run your hands over its entire length. There's an exquisitely subtle difference in texture, the top being slightly rougher than the silky underside. You consider leaving a review. Suddenly, you are possessed by the masculine urge to hoist her up like a trophy tuna. The indulgence leaves her propped up on her knees.
It is no longer of particular importance when she will wake, or whether she is even truly asleep. All roads lead to rome, according to your left cerebral hemisphere. My dick is hard, the right one adds.
You've made it half-way into the shark girl from behind, but it wasn't easy. You didn't really think this whole tail situation through properly. It's in the way to say the least, and rather vivacious all of a sudden. She's not steady enough on her knees, so you'd love a proper hold on her ass; alas, you need at least one hand to keep her restless tail clear of your face. What remained of your subtle approach is evaporating quickly. Pretty soon, you're plowing her with the vigor of a grown man struggling with food packaging.
You're getting close, but not quite close enough. At this point, you actually wish she'd wake up and pull her own weight. You push slightly deeper and start rambling to her along with frenzied thrusts.
"Hey. Come on, rise and shine."
"Wake up or I'll put it in your butt."
"Holy shit, there's a fire!"
"I like you."
"Pizza's here."
Still nothing. She dangles slack against you while her tail continues to run interference. You could swear it's on purpose. Stoked by the thought, you get rougher, finally finishing.
She's still sleeping.
In hindsight, it was unusual for her to be up before the wakeup call this morning. You had an amazing night's rest, but maybe she didn't.
You invent some menial tasks to perform in the area. After some time, she starts tossing and turning, stretching and yawning. You leave her be. Not long after, she gets up on her own.
"That was a good nap... What I miss?"
"You were out for two or three hours. Couldn't wake you. I took care of your chair, among other things."
"No more squeaky squeak?"
"Utterly silenced."
She claps lazily. "That's my guy! I knew you'd be useful one day... What, is my hair messed up?"
You can practically see your load swirling around inside her. The petty temptation to gloat about it isn't easily subdued. Maybe some other time.
Chapter 6
Hmm.
Someone seems to be banging on your door. No, that's impossible. You're not even awake yet. How could she possibly--
"Come ooooon, wakey wakey! I wanna show you something! Hello??"
You open the door in your underwear. The shark girl is only slightly better covered, wearing skintight spats, a sports bra and a number of rather nineties-looking gymnastics accessories.
"Woah! Were you having some fun in there? My bad."
"Couldn't this wait until breakfast?"
"There ain't gonna be no breakfast, sonny sunshine! Too many carbs!"
"...Why are you talking like that? I don't know what's happening, and I'm going back to bed. If you want, you can--"
"Check this out! Learned it just now. Hup!" She kicks a leg into the air and bends it up into a standing split.
There was nothing erotic or even graceful about the abrupt motion, but her balance and flexibility are impressive. In your sleepy stupor, you're reminded of both a ballerina and a teenage boy flexing into the mirror.
"You learned how to do that... now? Today?"
"Why do you ask?" She flexes further, bending her foot past her head seemingly without effort. The increased tension on her spats leaves nothing to imagination.
"...What are you even made of?"
"Eww, is that the start of some weird pickup line?"
"Did you wake me up just to show me this?"
"I sent you a thingy yesterday, did you get it?"
"Stop answering questions with questions. It's annoying."
"Maybe start answering mine, then? Question-mark?"
She wiggles impertinently, maintaining the split. You could wedge your nose into her butt through those pants, probably.
"Yes, I got your «thingy». You sent me a 27-video playlist, at two in the morning. As in, three hours ago."
"Good. I figured you could use some massage tutorials, after what you did to my foot."
"You want another foot massage?"
"No. Didn't you watch the videos?"
"I watched like half of one and went back to sleep."
"One?!? What do you meeeean! What am I paying you for??"
"You're not the one paying me, and I'm pretty sure it's not for massaging you."
"Listen to yourself, man. What happened to your go-getter attitude? Diversified skillset and stuff? Watch 'em by tomorrow!"
"Yeah, yeah. What's with the rush?"
"I'm doing a thing next week. That's why I've been exercising and stuff. I need to get loosened as a goosened."
No need to ask what that's about, because it's probably bullshit. You've known perfectly well where this is headed for a while now. You'll do the both of you a favor and speed things along.
"Well, don't get your hopes up. I'm only going to learn so much from theory."
"Oh yeah? Maybe you need some hands-on practice!"
You let her drag you to the livingroom. She must be very pleased with herself, grinning to her ears.
The floor is littered with yoga mats and countless exercise tools, even a medicineball. She lies down flat onto her stomach.
"Do my back."
You'll tease her, just a bit. "Do I have to?"
"Yes, you have to! I literally can't reach, that's the whole point of this. Get in there, anyone can do shoulders."
You pretend to grumble.
Her upper back is like rubber. Soft and pliable, with a surprising amount of tone. The shoulderblades barely even feel attached.
"...You don't seem to be the slightest bit stiff."
"What do you know, amateur? I'm feeling sooooo stiff and winded..."
She stretches her arms out. You reach into her elbow and bend it over her back for fun. It stops being so fun when you realize just how little resistance there is. The arm folds onto her back effortlessly.
"The heck are you doing? Was that in the video you saw?"
"Uhh, yes. Good for your joints, assuming you have any."
"Well, it doesn't feel very good. Go back to kneading, but lower."
You go very slightly lower.
"Lower than that."
"Lower."
"Lower."
"...Lower!!"
You're barely at her midsection. It's obvious where she wants you, but you've been crawling down her back in the most abysmally tiny steps possible. If only you could see her face. This might be the purest joy you've ever experienced.
"Sorry, I'm new to this."
"Stop making excuses, just go lower."
"I don't really know what to do with this thing." You poke at her tail.
"Skip it, then."
You reach over her spats, running your fingers along the elastic band digging ever so slightly into her. The fabric is thin and tight over her butt; only with effort can you pinch it off her skin. Letting it snap back sends satisfying shockwaves over her perky cheeks. You slap your thumb over them, tenderize her flesh between various amounts of fingers. There's absolutely nothing resembling a massage going on here.
"...A bit lower."
"Ironically, I think this might not be great for my own back. Shouldn't you be on a table or something?"
"We can use this." She rolls the medicineball under herself, raising her ass into the air. It's not just more accessible. Bending her hips over it has accentuated every curve, every pit. Your hands gleefully return to fondling her cheeks. "Lower than this?"
"Mhm."
"Are you sure this is in the videos?"
No reply. She has her face hidden in her arms. Sick of stupid questions, perhaps.
"Just say when." You run your fingers down from the base of her tail. The fabric really is nonexistently thin, permeated by her warmth. You gently survey every crease, trailing over to her front.
No reaction yet.
You pull her pants down. Her tail rolls conveniently out of the way. You pinch a thumb into her inner thigh, tugging her lips apart ever so slightly.
Still nothing. In fact, she buried her head like an ostrich. You feel strangely slighted. The notion of being woken up early by someone that needs you this badly was appealing, but now it feels a little too much like yesterday. Was that a stunt, too? You're a second or two away from just impaling her anyways, but you want to hear it. Make her actually ask. Make her beg.
You'll keep it in your pants for now. She doesn't object as you roll her off the medicineball and into your lap. She's still silent, head averted and downcast, but she can't hide everything. You can feel her pulse racing through her guts as you wrap an arm over her waist. She tenses up for a moment, weighing heavily against the base of your shaft before relaxing.
You throb at her. "You can have it, if you want."
Her tail flexes, tries to separate you. "You're creeping me out. I just wanted a massage, don't take advantage of this."
"Right. My apologies."
You keep one hand on her stomach and slide the other between her legs. It feels different, now. No pesky spats. Glowing hot and sticky. Inviting. She ignores your blind probing, even once you hook a second finger into her. As repressed as she may be, her body gives you plenty of feedback. You feel the changes in her pulsing guts, in the breath she can't hide. You've never been this close to her, and it feels great. You can't wait for your turn. Spurred on by your own impatience, your fingers pick up the pace. You hear faint whining as she starts bending and trembling. She latches onto your arm, emptying her lungs in voiceless, hissing bursts.
"I don't think I'll be needing those videos. That was very informative."
"Ah... I, uh... I have to leave now. Gotta return some tapes."
"Very funny. You can catch your breath until I've taken off--"
"Sorry, bye, sorry!"
She runs for the hallway. You give chase. What's with this girl? So kinky.
...She's not letting you catch up.
She slams her door in your face. It's already locked.
That... was not acceptable. You stand there in disbelief for a good while before stumbling away, burdened by the most devastating boner of your life. You're not even going to jack off this time. You refuse. She's going to take care of this, sooner or later.
Naturally, she doesn't show herself for the entire rest of the day.
Chapter 7
Temperatures just won't stop climbing. Every day is the hottest day of the year. For you, it's also laundry day. A linen sack waits in front of the shark girl's room, as usual. Crammed to bursting, it has sagged off the doorframe and spilled a few articles onto the floor. You secure them and descend into the basement.
The overstuffed bag nearly explodes again when you set it down. There's the usual fare of clothes, bedding and pillowcases. Your attention is drawn to some curious undergarments, still tagged and pressed, clearly intended for an initial wash. Simple colors, various flavors of stripes and dots, the occasional ribbon or frill. They're not very provocative, objectively speaking. The shark girl nevertheless makes herself at home in your imagination, showing you cheeky glimpses of her new purchases. They look especially great around her ankles, or crumpled in a corner. You're still reeling from yesterday's gut-punch. Actually, it's getting worse. How fucking dare she? The heat seems to have penetrated all the way into the basement. You initially try to distract yourself, sweeping the immaculately clean floor to the hum of the washing machine. As you see the shark girl's clothes tumbling, you feel a bizarre sense of regret. You'd feel much better right now if you had eaten a few of her used panties. Extract the nutrients, then swallow them whole. Too late now.
...What a stupid fucking thought.
What is wrong with you? This heat is going to fry every braincell you have left. You do not want to eat underwear. What do you want, then? You experience a strange departure of inhibition, like it's patting you on the back and wishing you the best. The panty-snacking delusions evolve towards a more satisfying meal. You want to have shark, right now. You don't feel the need to think about how it's going to happen. Hell, she might just come up with a convenient excuse for you. And if not--
Suddenly, you find yourself at the top of the staircase. You step through the door with purpose.
She's not in the livingroom or kitchen. You even shamelessly check the bathroom. Everything is as you left it half an hour ago. What were you even expecting? She's still asleep, locked in that studio-bunker-bedroom of hers.
Whatever. You can't take it anymore. OI' Reliable will have to do. You undo your belt as you step into your room. And there she is, in the flesh, in your bed. She's lounging on her stomach, straddling your clumped-up blanked as she swipes on her phone. Within reach of her arms is a semi-circular arrangement of empty foils, crumpled paper and other random junk. Are those her hairpins? She's wearing a ponytail against the heat, and that's about it. You almost didn't notice the appropriately-small crop top, inappropriately suspended from her shoulder.
She's looking up at you, saying things, probably. The lack of response doesn't seem to bother her. She digs a few peanuts out of a tin and opens far wider than necessary, then licks her fingers clean and wipes them dry on your sheets.
This is an order of magnitude above her usual strategies, but it's the same principle. An action for a reaction, and no doubt a deliberate followup to yesterday's atrocity. There is nothing to discuss. You're pretty sure that at this point, she knows that you know that she knows that you know. Just pin her down, get it over with. Finish laundry.
...But you're curious. How could she possibly try to justify this? You have to hear what her excuse is. She always thinks of one. You can wait, just a minute longer.
"Are you going to explain yourself?"
She gestures dismissively at your groin. "That's my line, pal! What's with your pantalones situation?? Mi casa es tu casa, but shouldn't you know where the toilets are by now?"
Every word is wrong in just the right way, designed to tickle you. She must have more up her sleeve. You're not making it this easy.
"Of course I know where the bathrooms are. I just prefer to jack off in here."
Her face freezes in an amusing way as she's chewing. She barely manages to cover her mouth before laughing. "Pfffffahah! You're funny lately, you know that?"
"Sure. I'd like to ask you a few questions first."
"Whaddya mean, «first»?"
You stare blankly.
She rubs her sticky fingers together. "Well, alright. You caught me in a good mood. Ask away."
"What are you doing?"
"Not much, you?"
You walked right into that. Relax. Don't let her push you around. If she can't even properly ask for a good dicking, she doesn't get to decide when it happens.
"Why are you on my bed?"
"I'm borrowing it. My bed is stripped, because a certain someone is actually supposed to be doing my laundry right now."
Naturally, she had it all figured out. She must've been waiting for you to go downstairs. Whatever the plan was yesterday, she's not getting out of it today.
"I see. And why are you naked?"
"Am not!" She pulls the stray suspender back over her shoulder.
You get a few steps closer for a better look. Sweat trails freely over her smooth skin, down her bare back. She coils her legs more tightly around your blanket, hiding her belly.
"You are butt-ass-naked. Why?"
She sighs and fans her forehead. "First of all, you literally have all of my undies. Secondly, do you have any idea how hot it is today?"
"Thirty-six celsius."
"I dunno what that means, bud. My point is, I can't be wearing 'em night and day. I'll go through like two or three pairs. Why even bother? Besides, my butt and ass are saving you some laundry this way."
"Right. You wouldn't want to inconvenience me." You gaze mournfully over the trash-ritual on your bed.
"These lil things? Come on now. Relax, have a nut. Open wide!"
The peanut sails past your head and drops listlessly to the floor. You glare down at her.
"Umm, alrighty then. How about..." To your disbelief, she pulls half a bag of corn chips out from under your pillow.
"...You cannot be serious."
"Whaddya mean? This stuff's pretty good, too! Sorry about your peanut allergy."
"I'm not-- Stop fucking eating like that! How old are you?? Just eat them whole!"
"But this is more fu~un!" She bites off half the chip with a satisfying crunch. Your bed is well-seasoned with crumbs and dust.
That's about all you can take. What was even the point of this? You wanted to test her, but she's just testing you again.
"Fine. You win. I'll give you what you want."
Her face lights up. "Really?? Perfect! Carbonated, please. With like four ice cubes. No, five."
"Thirsty, are you?"
"Yes, sir! Too hot in here. And too many salty snacks, maybe. We got any ice cream?"
"I'd rather not deal with any more stains."
She scoffs heartily as she wriggles on your bed. "Oh, get over yourself. What's the big deal? You're gonna toss all of this into the machine, anyways. If you didn't come in here to slack off, you wouldn't even have noticed."
"Wrong. I did my own laundry already. These are my spares."
"Wh-- Are you for-- I knew it smelled too fresh! Uuuh, you're not mad at me, are you?"
For once, you're the one who gets to enjoy her reaction. It was a two-second buffet of emotions, none of which escaped your notice. Genuine surprise and a particular brand of excitement, overridden with faux-panic. You can finally see right through her.
She hastily tries to brush a few crumbs off the sheets, leaving distinct trails of greasy dust on the fabric. "Crap... Look, this is on me, okay? Bad info. I'll help you clean, I swear."
You loom over her. "Do you seriously think I care that much about some crumbs and a little butt-sweat? This isn't worth washing. Not yet."
Your belt hits the floor. Her shocked realization is an obvious front, so you'll give her a real surprise. You rip the blanket out from under her with enough force to flip her over.
That top is little more than a salty rag. You chew on it as you subdue the shark, extracting her nutrients. God damn it, you really should've eaten those panties back then. Her entire body is hot and humid. You bear down on her and soak your nose wherever you please, greedily absorbing her aroma. Delicious isn't the right word. No conventional culinary adjective could properly describe her scent, her flavor. She's less of a dinner and more of a ration. Not something you want, but something you need. Something you can't ignore. She manages to push your head back with one foot, but you're unstoppable. You track your face up and down her torso, dragging your lips and burying your tongue. You feast on her damp belly, polish her navel. She tries to squeeze in a few more half-baked kicks before letting her leg hang over your shoulder.
"What's wrong, princess? Not in the mood to fight back?"
She hides under her elbow as you gorge yourself on her armpit. Her voice is wavering. "I told you, it's too fucking hot... I can't even move. And you're being kinda disgusting. Are you done yet?"
Sounds like she can't wait. Neither can you. The sweltering heat seems to multiply as you eagerly slide into her. You reach the usual half-way point almost too easily. Can she take more? She will take more. She fucking deserves to take more. As you gradually force your way deeper, your hands shift from her legs up to her hips. Then, from her hips to her waist, where her sweat-slick skin demands a stronger grip. She squirms under the pressure, trying to keep her breathing steady. You take a deep breath yourself. No more holding back. She's going to take all of it. Your hands clamp into her waist, pulling her closer as you press forward. The warmth of her body starts to mingle with yours, making the heat even harder to tolerate. Doesn't matter. There's no going back now. One last push, and your skin docks onto hers.
Your movements feel heavy, too deeply anchored. Her body is lagging behind, dredged along as you explore her depths. It's satisfying, but exhausting. You nail her hips down with your thumbs, permitting a clinically clean plunge; all the way in, most of the way out. A bump sinks under her navel when you pull back. You cast your rod again, just as deep. Again, a little faster. Underneath that innocent-looking belly-bump, she's viciously strangling your cock, trying to tie you into a knot. But you are way too fucking hard. You stick it all into her, again and again. A couple more hits, and you'll explode. She finally reacts, pushing her hand into your face, her composure all but plastic.
"I'm actually gonna melt if you keep doing that... Just go away..."
You could blow her up this very instant. Instead, you pace yourself for a few extra seconds, sullenly churning through her insides. "I'm not going anywhere. Been saving up, you know. Just for you. Even after you left me hanging yesterday. Wasn't easy... It's going to be a lot."
"Stop it..."
"I'll stop if you ask nicely."
She didn't.
Chapter 8
A few days have passed. There was weather. You did some things, chores and whatnot. Nothing really worth dwelling on, it's just your job. You're focused on other things, lately. Where the hell is she? There are entirely too many surfaces in this house that you've yet to fuck the shark girl on.
She insisted you start keeping a weekly schedule of your tasks, so she could «sign off» on it. In reality, she's been referencing it to worm herself into your days more easily. Every scheme is deliberately tailored. Teasing you a little, or a lot. Hiding behind some more or less-contrived excuse to have you creampie her. You'd still prefer if she simply asked or initiated every once in a while, but you're not going to pretend this isn't fun; you've been happy to play along. After all, she's quite creative. The one where she got stuck in the dishwasher was your favorite, because you're not sure it was even intentional. You think you have a good read of her, but she still surprises you often enough. For instance, she actually does have a job. Kind of. She says she's «streaming», playing videogames «live on the interwebs». You doubt very many could make a living off of that. You've worked for famous or paranoid individuals before, and as you suspected, she's both. Explains the peculiar arrengements here well enough. By the sound of it, she's a lot more famous than you.
Seriously, where is she? She hasn't shown herself for all of today. You're already done with everything there was to do. You did learn that sometimes, she needs a bit of space. She wants to be found, but only on her terms. You decide to vacate into the garage to kill some time.
Not much time to be killed, as it turns out. Ten minutes, and you've polished the bartop to an obnoxious sheen. Maybe you'll pour yourself a drink, if it can be called that. Just cold milk and coffee liquor. Not worth naming. You never liked bartending jobs much; too pretentious, even for you. And way too parasocial.
You lose yourself in the milky fog of reminiscence, drifting until her distant voice pulls you back. You spring to your feet and rush upstairs like a housecat would home in on its automated feeder.
You arrive to sounds of merriment. The shark girl is hopping about in a short, form-fitting outfit, decked out with a full headset and remotes. You didn't know she had a streaming setup for the living room. This seems like something she should have given you advance warning of.
You'll have to wait for now, but you can already see where this one's going. You'll both take a shower, separately, at the same time. Always fun. You try to make a silent exit, but she spots you and starts waving.
"Phew! Hold on one sec, guys. I should've prepared more water for this."
She presses a button on her headset. Her tone changes. "Get over here, quick. Getting that much score is way harder than I thought." She pulls on her sporty top to wipe the sweat off her face. Apparently, bandaids are back in fashion.
You've barely had a couple seconds to think. Sighing impatiently, she gets on her knees and spanks her behind. "Hurry up! I need help with this stage."
"...I'm going to fuck you. Don't think I won't."
"What? Just get behind me and repeat my movements so they get counted twice."
"Uh huh."
"Are you coming or what?? This is all your fault anyways."
"And why is that?"
"I asked you last week to help me prepare with those massages, and what have you been doing instead? Feeding me everything you can fit on that grill."
"At your insistence, Your Gluttonousness."
"Shaddap! Over here, now!" She hits the button. "Ahh, that's better. Alright, let's try again."
You cross the room and kneel down behind her. She is indeed playing some kind of game. She motions for you to join her in this very legitimate thrusting exercise. You pull down her spats instead, allowing them to snap noisily over her ass. She delivers an angry donkey kick, but plays it off into the mic without a problem.
Even if she wanted to resist, she can't right now. How very convenient. You seize one of her cheeks and try to line your cock up through her awkward movements. She's more wet than would be merited by the temperature or the workout. You've barely wedged your tip in when she backs into you with an exaggerated tennis-player grunt, instantly taking you in most of the way. You grab one of her arms out of pure habit. She's actually on your side for once, buckling to the rhythm of the game. Her tail doesn't interfere at all, instead clinging to your side in an almost prehensile way.
It's more than a welcome change of pace. Not having to do all of the work. You were already on edge before, you can't handle much of this. In fact, it's already over. She speeds up as you start pumping into her, only stopping when the smacks gets too wet and loud.
She backs into you fully as the game ends. "Whew... That was a really hard one, huh. Oh wow. Okay, let's--"
As she's speaking, you deliver a devastating spank to her ass, leaving your hand gripped onto the cheek. The sound reverberates through the room as she squeals and hits the button.
She hisses through clenched teeth, without turning around. "IMGONNAKILLYOUYOUSHTUPID--"
"This isn't real."
Her cold sweat dries on your skin.
"What isn't real?"
"You're not online right now."
"Is that what you thought, dumbass? Why wouldn't a streamer be streaming?"
"Because you're not stupid."
Still on her knees, she bends backwards vertically, far enough to make eye contact. It's slightly unsettling. Her breasts poke perkily over the horizon, despite the bandaids. "You sad little party pooper. What's wrong with having a bit of fun? Everything has to be real, Mister Real??" Struggling in your grasp and lacking any other means of attack, she angrily blows into your eyes. So cute.
You let her go. "I just think reality is plenty interesting lately."
"Ha! Good for you." She starts sliding off your cock, but her eyes linger on you. Maybe you could read her face if it weren't upside-down. What's with this girl?
The attack came out of nowhere. Just as she was getting up from that weird posture, she suddenly rammed into you. She got you pretty good, disrupting your balance and sending you tumbling sideways off your knees.
She's already squatting over you with her back turned. You feel her fingers reach around the base of your shaft. After a few shakes, she finds it serviceable enough. It abruptly disappears into her as she slams down hard.
The first few repetitions are violent and sloppy, forcing mixed fluids out of her. She pulls the useless headset off and quickly achieves a rapid pace. Your touch is rejected. She speeds up further, expelling spent air in controlled bursts. You feel her squeezing, spending more time getting your cock out than in. Her raw movements taper off to sluggish butt-pounds, until she doesn't get up at all. She just grinds her back further into you, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Her suppressed groans lack any intimacy, sounding more like an athlete's exertions. Or a wild animal.
She's still skewered on your spear, trembling and panting. Her tension subsides, and she braces onto her knees as she pulls away. Completely drenched, silent and without so much as looking back, she disappears into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
Chapter 9
What a dreadfully boring day. Where's your shark? She seems much busier recently. You rarely see her leave her room. Yesterday, she only came out once, and you haven't seen her since. What was that about, anyways? She has never acted the way she did then. So direct. Maybe you teased her a little too much. You didn't actually mind the outcome, though. You wish she'd do that more often. Like right now, maybe.
You glance into the livingroom for signs of life. Nothing. As you return to the hallway, you notice something unexpected. Unprecedented, even.
The door to her room is open.
Her studio is strictly off-limits. You've never once seen what it's like; to say she's rigorous about these things would be an understatement, making this slip-up all the more suspect. You hear her voice leaking out as you approach. You can't resist taking a peek inside. She's silhouetted against several screens in the darkness, talking and playing. It's about what you expected. You carefully pull the door shut.
Back in the light of the hallway, you realize there's a sticky-note near the doorhandle. The writing is barely legible. "WRONG SIDE DOOFUS"
Yes, right away.
You reopen the door with some apprehension. The shaft of light from the hallway passes over her. She slowly rises out of her chair and leans onto the desk. She shifts back and worth, swaying her tail.
You close the door behind you and carefully navigate the dark room. She doesn't acknowledge you until you place your hand on the desk from behind her. She briefly relinquishes the mouse to push you away, then gestures at her chair.
You sit down and scoot closer to her, softly bumping into her legs. She yanks her panties to her knees with pragmatic speed, returning to the keyboard before slowly lowering herself. You handle the aiming. She hesitates briefly, lingering on your tip, preparing. With a series of light bumps, she slowly works her way down the majority of your shaft, all the while continuing to chat with perfect composure. She lingers again before her hips deliver a few short and powerful twists, screwing you in completely. Seemingly satisfied, she finally lets herself rest on you fully. Even under your combined weights, the expertly-greased chair doesn't produce the slightest sound.
You take a look around as you get quite comfortable. On one of the monitors, you see what appears to be a live feed of her game footage.
You're not convinced.
This wouldn't even be the most elaborate stunt she's ever pulled. She probably felt slighted after you called her out yesterday, so she brought out the big guns.
Probably.
From what little you've gleaned about her job, something like this could ruin her career, maybe even threaten her safety. She would never do something so stupid, you stand by that assessment. Nevertheless, your throat seems to have closed up, and you don't dare move a finger. What if--
The motion of her hips started so subtly you hadn't even noticed. It's a gentle twist from side to side, then back and forth. You feel her fine skin running over yours, never straying too far; almost clinging, as if she's anxious to keep you inside. A sigh wells up as you relax a little too much, and you only barely manage to stifle it. Suddenly, you viscerally understand why some people might get off on this sort of thing. Every bodily impulse you need to quietly abort hits like an electric shock, keeping you on the constant verge of yielding to the pleasure. Your cock is now the most rigid material known to man. Did she feel that? She's laughing, effortlessly playing and filling the air while she continues doing all of the work. As a professional, you've been humbled.
Her movements never stop or change much. Whatever she's doing is perfect; no need to embellish, or so you thought. She starts accelerating every so often, then slows to rest for a few seconds as you swivel in the chair together. The sensation accumulates slowly but surely, peaking with every cycle. You have to keep up your vigilance in tandem, now spending conscious effort on every tense breath. The padded armrests endure your vice grip. More pleasure, more tension. More tension, more pleasure. Your heart pounds violently as you approach the plateau, but suddenly, the shark girl's hips come to a halt.
Before you can assess what happened, you perceive a powerful spasm running through her. You absorb it like a lightning rod. Another. Rhythmical contractions begin wrenching over your entire shaft, squeezing from every side. She's sculpting you like a clay vase, and it's enough to finally send you over the edge. Holding on to the shark girl's tail for dear life, you blast copious amounts of sperm into her. Every joint in your body wants to move at once. Your lungs campaign for release. You forbid everything. The degree of concentration you've conjured would utterly humiliate a self-immolating monk.
She found a suitable moment to call a short break. You took your cue to slink out of the room. The rest of the day is beneath mention or memory. Just you.
In the clarity sometimes found on the verge of sleep, you still wonder what really happened. Just round two of a kinky hoax? Most likely. No way she could enjoy herself with that much on the line. Not if she's at all attached to her job. Or perhaps yesterday was a recital. To see if you can be trusted with the full performance.
It's pointless to think about. If you really wanted to know, you would've tried to find her channel by now. You'll gladly be with her in whatever strange ways she designs.
Still, there are some things one can't attain through force or farce.
Chapter 10
Another boring day, spent mostly alone.
Not that you've been idle. It's late in the afternoon, and you're already tired. Damn heat. You could probably take a shower and sleep a solid ten hours.
You decided to do just that, but the shower seems to have refreshed you. Or maybe some days are so uneventful, you just don't want them to end early. You negotiate down to a nap on the couch.
Something hard pokes into your side after you lie down. Fishing for it blindly, you find a smartphone. Your fumbling must have conveniently unlocked the screen, opened a browser tab AND typed in a letter, because it's displaying some previous searches.
-can i flush my teeth down
-cheap hypnosis apps
-christian bale memes
-color to alpha gimp 2.8.22
-cop movies
-cute and funny sharks
You lock the screen. Any second now.
Sure enough, the shark girl appears out of thin air. "Hey, have you seen my--"
You stare at the unlit screen with wide eyes. "Wow! I never would have thought."
She pounces half-way across the room, directly on top of you. The couch screams under the impact. She snatches the phone and starts swiping around, still sitting on your legs. "This never happened. You saw nothing."
Only what she wanted you to see. "Some trivialties. Hardly the most interesting things I know about you."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know you're kind of weird."
She stares through you. "You're weird, too. Trust me."
"I'm not accidentally losing any accidentally unlocked phones. And I don't have your mind-reading powers, so it would be nice if you could just beat me over the head with whatever it is you currently need."
She seems baffled for a second. "That's... boring. No way. Don't talk all big like that if you can't even figure it out yourself."
"...Your shed teeth damaged the drainpipe?"
"No? They go down fine, probably. Keep guessing."
"You're trying to edit a meme, but you can't figure out how to make colors transparent."
"I mastered that years ago. Man, your guesses ssssuck! Is your brain not working? Having a lil heatstroke maybe?"
You know exactly what she wants, of course. It's not exactly detective work at this point. Her midriff runs too deep into her ill-buttoned shorts, and her choice to sit cross-legged on your knees leaves very little to imagination. She's all bait and no hook. You could be devouring her already, but for some time now, you've been growing an appetite for something you can't just take from her. She gave you a few tastes recently, and you're hungry for more.
You lift your legs slightly, tipping her towards you. "Come on, I'm tired et cetera. Just tell me what you want for once. Or do it yourself, like yesterday."
She leans back, trying to hide her face behind the phone. You hear something half-way between a hiss and a snort. Her tail thrashes about. It's a disarming display.
After a moment of composure, she relaxes. "Here, I'll give you a clue since you need one so badly." Her phone lights up with strobing pink lights, a stylized heart pulsing at the center of a spiral.
You struggle not to laugh. "You want to use that on me?"
"What difference would that make? No, dumbo. This is for you." She carefully hands you the phone, clasping your hand around it like she's passing down an heirloom.
You can barely keep a straight face. This is easily the most absurd scheme yet, but if that's what it takes for her to be more than a rude ragdoll, you'll take it.
You point the screen at her. "So, you'll do whatever I say and such?"
"Uh-huh... I'll do anything..." She rolls her neck with her tongue hanging out.
"Okay. Suck me off, then."
"No thanks."
...You really should have seen that coming. There's the usual itch, the urge to ravage her on the spot. Your brain happily translates the true meaning of her words: "Distend my every orifice. Bloat me with seed." Something like that, more or less. Your battle-hardened self-control prevails. If she wants it so badly, she can come get it.
You mess around with the phone. "This doesn't seem particularly effective."
"And whose fault is that? Ask for something good instead."
"Why are you like this?"
"This isn't an interview. You're even more dense than usual, did you hit your head? Take a hint already."
You simply point the stupid beam back in her face.
She does her best to stare you down, looking far from menacing with the pink patterns swirling on her. Annoyed by the lights, she gives up after a few seconds. She ducks down and prowls over your body in quick bursts, like a salmon swimming upstream. The phone is batted away, and she brings her face rather close to yours. Closer than ever. Her breath tickles as she whispers. "Stop messing around. It doesn't suit you."
Good enough. You lean into eachother cinematically. Closer, closer--
She suddenly wedges a hand between your faces and pushes down on your nose. You restrain her arms and try again. She counters with a headbutt just in time.
You sink back into the couch, defeated. "Why are you like this? I don't mind, just curious." You're still not expecting an actual answer, but pushing her buttons when she's horny does get results sometimes.
"Why am I like what? I should be the one complaining."
You've never seen someone even remotely as proficient at playing dumb. It's another staring contest. She actually tries this time, but you're still more stubborn.
She relents. "You're gonna have to put up with it."
"What am I putting up with, exactly?"
"Me."
"I will if you elaborate."
She doesn't.
You look at her with immaculate calm. "More staring? You're quite the sore loser."
"All or nothing? Winner takes all." She sucks a boatload of air through her nose and pumps herself up.
"To the death."
For a moment, you're both like statues. She moves first. Her eyes remain perfectly locked-on as she glides closer, like a cat on the hunt. She ends up in virtually the same position as earlier, hovering above your face. Her lips part. Hot breath rolls over you as she sticks out her tongue. This again? You calmly tap a finger onto your forehead, taunting her.
...Ow. She didn't hesitate for a second, and this time, it wasn't the most playful headbutt in the world. You flinched, but so did she. Your eyes lock again. The impact partially undid her hair, and she's shamelessly trailing it over your mouth and nose. You can't wait to see her face when she loses despite these antics.
It's as if she heard you. Pop, goes the last button on her shorts. You almost looked. She runs her fingers over your crotch, perhaps expecting a change. Naturally, you were already erect.
"Happy to see me?"
"Took you forever to notice."
"Then what are you waiting for?" Her hand blindly kneads your bulge.
You endure. "Wasn't the whole point of this to avoid talking to me?"
"I don't mind talking to you. You just need to take care of something for me first. It's urgent."
You give her a few throbs through your pants. "Historically, talking to me has been an effective motivator."
"We already did that part. Can you move on yet?"
"Move on to what?"
She grips on tightly, hesitates, but keeps her cool. "Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I mean, and I gave you like a million good chances so far. Why are you holding back? I know you want to."
"I could ask you the same thing. Why don't you take it if you want it so badly?"
"Someone like you wouldn't get it."
"Try me."
"Nope."
"Do I have to start guessing again or what?"
"Sounds fun. But if you guess wrong, I win."
You're losing track of how many games are being played here. This is stupid, and no doubt on purpose. Your patience is wearing thin, but some things do come to mind.
"Two days ago, on the floor. And yesterday, in the chair. You had no problems getting your hands dirty. Calling the shots, even."
"I'm always calling the shots. Not hearing any guesses here, smartypants."
Shit. You have no clue, and you don't want to give her the satisfaction of a bad guess. No need to, either. You're more than stoked enough as is.
You break eye contact. "Whatever. I don't care anymore."
She bounces triumphantly. "Heck yeah! Too friggin' easy!"
You watch her carefully.
Pent-up smugness overflows from her face. "Aww, don't pout. The way you tried to understand me was sooo romantic! You might even get a girlfriend if you practice in the mirror for... like, a million years."
You get up. She doesn't back off.
"Uh oh! Is Romeo mad? I'll get you your tissues so you can blow off some steam."
You slowly raise your open hands, like you're trying to snatch a bird from its perch. Her lips are sucked in, eyes narrowing. She doesn't say it, but she's thinking it: Hurry, hurry, do it more quickly. Her frustration is a suitable consolation prize. Savoring it, you hover your hands to her waist and neck.
She blathers on impatiently. "Wait, you're actually angry? Oh come oooon, we were starting to get along! Can't I bust your balls a little? What a buzzkill. Kinda cringe, don't-- Ah!" She gasps as your hand closes around her throat.
Her performance is not proportional to yours, as if she's a minute or two ahead in the script. She's kicking and clawing, trying to loosen your fingers. You've yet to apply even the slightest bit of pressure. You pull the shorts off her legs with one arm; her wild movements actually make it easier. The way things have played out, you won't get to hear her excuse for not wearing panties. After all, she's not the only one that's been waiting too long.
She panics even harder when you whip it out. "Waitwaitwait! Truce. We'll call it a draw, okay? No contest?"
You don't need to hear all this stuff anymore. You squeeze down, just a little.
"No? Fine, I'll-- Ugh... Tell you everything..."
"Too late."
You take it all out on her. Springs wail in the guts of the couch. Neither of you has anything more to say, at least not coherently. She fights whenever you let her, even telegraphing a bite when her head is briefly freed. The message is clear. You pin her down, hold her up, flip her this way and that way, stick it wherever you please. It's a very thorough stress-test. She bends, but never breaks.
Sweat burns in your eyes. Joints start to ache. You already came, and the rest of your body is approaching its limits. Painful streaks run down your arm towards her dirtied nails. You deliver a few final pounds, abruptly discard her and stagger away to your room.
You wake up the next morning with mild soreness and some scratches. Maybe you should've made sure she's alright.
You spring to your feet the instant you notice the sticky-note on your door.
im leaving bye
shred these when
ur done im srs
"...What?" You peel the note away, revealing the other one.
ice cream
mini ventilator?
all burger parts
ice cream
cya tonight
You're relieved and infuriated at the same time. You pluck the shopping list off the door, only to discover a third note.
better luck next
time! if you really
wanna know just
make me tell you
DUHH LOLOLOL
Chapter 11
You've been looking forward to this evening. You got the «burger parts», as requested. It's a simple dish you don't often get to indulge in. You'll rev up the grill in an hour or two, and hopefully the shark will be back by then. She has information you need.
"Outta the way! It's a shark attack!"
The shark girl beelines from her room straight to the couch, divebombing next to you as usual.
You replace the pillows. "Welcome back. How was work?"
"No!"
"...No?"
"Come on, let's play a game or something."
"No."
"No?"
"There's something that's been bothering me. Can we talk about it?"
"Okay, I guess. What's up?"
"Yesterday--"
"Aaah, I see. Yesterday, huh. Yesterday was... monday? Say no more. Noone likes mondays, my friend. Don't let it get to you, there's only like four per month."
"...Today is a wednesday."
"And?"
"Nevermind. I'm never going to get anywhere with you, am I?"
"Aww, don't give up so quickly! I'm just messing with ya. Go on, spill the beans."
"It's the same thing I wanted to know yesterday. I'm wondering why you act certain ways, and what I'm even here for. You can clearly take care of yourself."
"I can't make pizza, though!"
"...Come on now."
"You're such a worrywart. Too many thoughts! Just have fun, allow yourself to get immersed. Doubts will eat you alive if you let 'em."
"It's not such a big deal, I'm merely curious. Sorry to hassle you on an empty stomach."
Her face lights up like she just cracked a fundamental mystery of the universe. "The burgers! You better have 'em. Oh my god, I am so hungry!?"
"They're not ready."
"Well, make 'em ready."
"Actually, I was thinking of making them tomorrow, instead."
"Whaddya mean?? I'm starvin' over here!"
"That's a damn shame."
"...I see what you're doing. You read my lil hint this morning, didn't you? This isn't the kind of leverage I had in mind."
"I know that. This is easier, and probably more effective."
"You think I can't go an evening without food?"
"I think you'd eat your own tail if it tasted good. Come to think of it, why is the fin so chewed up?"
"Fine, fine. Have it your way. What's a girl gotta do for a good burger?"
"Satisfy my curiosity. What am I here for, exactly? What do I have that the other butlers didn't?"
"...Did you get the ice cream, too?"
"Five flavors."
"Deal. Alrighty then, where should I begin? I've been trying the butler thing for a while now. I came up with it after getting some... inspiration. From a... friend. In the same... predicament."
"I don't know what any of that means. Can you be a bit less vague and mysterious?"
"Maybe I can, maybe I can't! Who knows!"
"Very funny. This friend... is she in the room with me right now, by any chance?"
She cooks a punch in front of your face. "Shut it. It's not me. You think I'm that crazy?"
"Sorry. What's this «predicament» about, then?"
She literally shuts her eyes to avoid eye contact. "You should know by now. After all, I've been using you as a substitute."
"A substitute for...?"
"Something I shouldn't have."
"I must have skimmed over that part of my contract."
She ignores your quip, suddenly eager to keep talking. "Why go to all this trouble, you ask? It's complicated."
She squirms and sits upright. You wait, wary of interrupting her.
After a few moments, she continues. "There's a lot of reasons. Personal and professional. In a way, it's even worse for my friend, like-- She wouldn't mind if a stranger tracked her down and... had his way, with her. Absolves her of accountability, and stuff."
...That's why you're here? You thought that was just a bonus. There probably aren't too many people that could relate to her and her friend. Or maybe a guy like you wouldn't get it.
"Pretty weird, huh?" Your train of thought is interrupted by her usual flippant attitude. It's almost reassuring to see now.
"I'm not sure what to say."
"Lighten up, bud. I happen to know she's into it. She just can't admit that she wants it, because she's worried about others like her."
"And about her own career, I imagine?"
The shark smiles proudly. "Right. That's where her loophole comes in. Even if it gets out one day, it won't be her fault. She'll be the victim. Happens more than you think."
"The other party will have to take the fall. Something like a butler."
She fidgets, but maintains eye contact. "That's the only way. I was hoping you'd get it."
"I think I do? I get the feeling you're not going to spell it out for me."
"Yep."
"That's fine. The confusion only really bothered me at the start. I slept like shit, expecting to wake up any given day and be punished."
"You were that worried...? Why?"
"I have my reasons. You're not the only one with secrets."
She lazily drops into your lap, her face averted. "Right. Sorry to keep you guessing."
You put a hand on her shoulder. "Forget it. I assume what you said about not being able to fire me was bullshit, then?"
"Duh! One e-mail and you're history. Fired a few of the others. I just told you I couldn't so you'd go for it, y'know? Didn't wanna scare you off after I finally got someone so... salient."
"Salient?"
She purses her lips and walks a few fingers over your shirt. "Aww, I'm sorry. Big word hurt Grug brain? Grug have to infer meaning from context??"
You instinctively grope her like a stressball. She just laughs, making no attempt to escape or escalate.
That was a close call. She wiped your guard out completely. Then again, there's no reason to hold back anymore. At least not for you.
"So, what's my job description now? Butler? Exotic manservant?"
"I like to make you crack. You're a corn chip."
You give her a little poke from below. "I got a nice corncob for you right here."
"Pfffff, that was so lame. Suddenly you wanna do it?"
"Don't you?"
She sighs knowingly. "Not anymore. You don't talk to a whole lot of girls, do you? As it happens, I only talk to girls."
"Can you put me in touch? Maybe one of them will have normal sex with me."
She chokes down her laugh. "Shaddap, you. I gave you some chances already. I'm bored, and out of ideas."
"What do you mean, ideas? We're on the same page now, we can do whatever we want. No need to try and trick me into it anymore."
She grins dismissively. "Trick YOU? This is about ME."
"What?"
"Lemme spell it out for you. Remember my friend? I want plausible deniability, too. Some kind of excuse. Not just in front of others, but for myself. I play my role, you play yours. If it's not convincing, I'll be miserable later. That's why I ran off that one time. That's all I'm gonna say, end of story. Feel free to laugh."
"...Seeking comfort in the illusion of having nothing to hide. You poor thing."
You endure her elbow initially. She doubles her efforts. You feign some pain, which seems to satisfy her.
"Heh. My friend would tear you a new one for pitying her. You'd be out on your ass, flippin' burgers. Somewhere else."
"Ouch. This friend seems to have left quite the impression."
"She's an inspiration to a lot of girls in our business. She even did a few songs about this problem."
"...Is that a fact?"
She looks up wistfully. "Sounds crazy, but it's true! In songs, we can be as honest as we want. Just have to be smart about it."
"Good old ambiguity."
"It's funny. The song I'm thinking of? It has such an obvious meaning, noone would think there's more to it. Only she could possibly get away with it."
"What's the song? I think I might be familiar."
"Hah! You definitely don't know it, trust me. Maybe you'd get it, though."
"If you don't show it to me, I can't really know what you're talking about, can I?"
"I'd rather not. It's fine if you don't get it. People don't have to understand... Usually, we prefer that. It's enough to get the message off your chest. Sneak it out there."
You feel like she'll shatter into a thousand pieces if you drop the wrong question on her. It's a long shot, but you might know who her friend is.
"So, this song... You said it's about your «problem»?"
"Yep, and it suggests a solution. It's what inspired me to try the butler thing."
"I find that hard to imagine. Is it explicit?"
"Ohoho. Wait until you see the video, son! Yeeee-haw!"
You know who her friend is. There's no doubt in your mind now.
"You're really selling me on this song."
"You might recognize it if you hear it one day. It's a total banger, too."
"I know. Because I've already heard it, many times."
"...I told you, there's no way. I had you vetted."
"Did you forget about my japanese research? It was for the paperwork, at first. I came across that song along the way, and the video made me curious about what the original lyrics could possibly be."
"I don't believe you. That's the kind of stupid coincidence I would come up with."
"Is it really that surprising? I was looking for japanese videos. It had like fifty million views, maybe that's why it popped up. Besides, the thumbnail was... tempting."
She hums the melody. You hum along. She stops.
The shark girl looks taken aback, then smiles warmly.
"So? Do you understand the song? What she really meant?"
"Not until today."
She rests her forehead on you in deference. "Guess we both owe her."
"Maybe I should book a flight, pay her a visit. Can I get some time off?"
She buries her chin in your chest. "Nope. Not sharing. You're my bed."
"Is that part of my job description?" You lie down on the couch. She flops onto you.
"Yes. And quit yappin' already. Beds don't talk so fucking much."
"Beds don't cook and clean for you."
"Beds don't get wicked boners on the job."
"What can I say? Workplace pressure is a bitch, isn't it."
"You callin' me heavy?"
"Deceptively so." You wrangle the thickest part of her tail, flipping the fin through the air. She blushes and dodges back behind her phone, giggling softly. It's a sweet, innocent laugh you've never heard before. You leave her alone.
For a time, she continues whatever she's doing in silence. Her tail flicks occasionally.
"...I'm not heavy."
"Must be the bones."
"Sharks don't have bones, dummy."
"That can't be right."
"It's called cartilage. Light and flexible. Sharks collapse under their own weight if they're out of water for too long. Bet you didn't know."
Even you wouldn't be capable of such a nitpick, and you have doubts about the extent to which this applies to her.
"That's very interesting."
Her face tilts up with smug satisfaction.
You clear your throat conspicuously. "By the way, have you heard of hagfish?"
"I'm gonna destroy you if this is a joke."
"Joke...? Hagfish have a cartilaginous skull, but no other skeletal structure. They're completely unique among extant animals. A vertebrate without a spine! Isn't that crazy?"
She glances dubiously. "You're just making this up."
"Nope."
She scoffs. "Trying to one-up me or something? So immature."
You shrug and shift her into a position that's more comfortable for you. She stares off into the distance, her tail flicking with increasing frequency. There's another silent lull.
You're about to doze off when she breaks the silence again.
"You wanna bet?"
You grumble in confusion.
She reaches towards her phone, menacingly curling her fingers. "Wikipedia. Hagfish. I'm calling your bluff."
"And if I'm not bluffing?"
She rests her head on her arms, crossed over your chest. A foot kicks into the air. "Hmm... Lemme think. What's a good prize for a hopeless pervert? Help me out here."
"I won't play unless the stakes are high enough."
"Name your price."
You pretend to consider for a while.
"One freebie."
She squints. "You best be talking about pizza."
"No pizza. No setup, no prank, no ambiguity, no schtick no schpiel. Just you and me. That's a freebie."
For the barest moment, there's an unfamiliar scrunch in her face. It quickly shifts to exaggerated disgust as she shivers and dry-heaves. "Ugh! We just talked about this! You are the worst."
"Sorry, did I ruin your immersion? I'll get you something to break or spill so one of us can get laid guilt-free."
"Uuugh, shut uuup. Just play along, I know you want to." She shrinks backwards like a prey animal, provocatively waltzing over your crotch.
"Are you gonna bet or not? It was your idea."
She's eager to continue, instantly playing it cool again. "What's in it for me?"
"Whatever you want. Doesn't matter, you're going to lose."
She looks at least somewhat rattled by your confidence. Her blue eyes dart over you as usual, searching. You give her nothing, merely moving your hand down her back. She attempts to get up in response, but you hold her in place.
You release her, leaving your arm hovering over her. "Final chance to chicken out."
Her smile grows as she makes up her mind. "Nice try, pal! You are full of crap. I'm thinking one million pushups for you. Gimme my phone."
You march into your room, prize under your arm. The shark complains about this and that as you pull the shirt over her head and toss her onto the mattress in nothing but her panties.
"Take them off."
She coyly crosses her arms over her breasts. "Do it yourself."
"You know, some people consider bets to be more sacred than contracts."
She tightens her knees. There won't be any more staring contests. You push her onto her back and bear down on her. Forcing her legs apart takes some effort; she's balling her fists in the sheets, actually fighting with every bit of strength. You press your engorged member straight into the meddling fabric, probing up and down. The stripes are soon crossed with damp stains. You knock against her rather bluntly, making her flinch.
You scratch your chin. "Are you sure you want to keep them on? Not a fan of the friction. I'll buy a different fabric softener."
She sighs, exasperated. "This is so stupid." Hooking her thumbs under the band at her hips, she unceremoniously strips the panties off. A glistening trail briefly catches the light. You continue where you left off, crossing the threshold delicately slowly. She inhales deeply, holding her breath as you progress.
You come to an abrupt halt less than half-way in.
She exhales after a few seconds and nudges into you. "Are you lost or what? This way."
You wordlessly join the motion, but only barely. Each push is sluggish and shallow. It has the intended effect on her.
She chews her tongue. "Isn't this the prize you wanted? At least do... more." She braces against the mattress and thrusts her hips. You shift your hold on her legs and bend over her, pinning her feet all the way past her head. You feel her tense up in anticipation.
However, you simply proceed with the same drudging pace.
She reacts right away. "You're such a jerk..."
You continue idly sliding around, like you're browsing for groceries. Her hips struggle fruitlessly under your weight. She seems to put up with it for a while, until she suddenly hisses in frustration.
"Am I gonna be here all day??"
You place a thumb on her lips, eliciting another spike of tension.
"...I'll bite. I will bite you."
You push her lower lip around as you please and calmy rummage inside her mouth, poking into her gums and pressing on her tongue. She's a good girl. An involuntary moan escapes her, promptly throttled. She turns an impressive shade of red and tongue-punches your fingers out of her mouth.
"Pfeh! Let go of me so I can kill-- Wait, how about this one? Only a moron would fall for it." She closes her eyes and starts snoring.
"Who do you take me for? I already knew you weren't sleeping back then, I just didn't care."
Her lips stiffen. "Well, I knew about the hagfish thing."
"No, you did not."
"I could've looked it up before betting. Woulda been easy. I played fair, and this is how you treat me?"
"Trying to guilt-trip a wanted criminal? You're getting really desperate." You feint a deep dive, quickly retreating to the shallows.
Her face is twisted with pleasure and condescension. "Nnnh... You think you're a criminal? You might be even more stupid than I thought. Have you been paying attention, like, at all? I rigged it every time, from the start. Even now! Why do you think I wanted to bet, huh?"
"Because you thought you'd get what you want, even if you lost. Especially if you lost."
"Took you long enough, you fucking idiot. You didn't wanna play my game anymore, and were too dumb to realize you're still in it. Well? Are you done practicing?"
"Not until I get my prize."
"Wh-- What do you mean?! Just take it already! I'm right here!"
You don't want to take it by force. Wouldn't be a freebie, would it? You silently pull out further. The rim of your glans teases her folds, threatens to escape. Her face collapses. She's completely flushed red, on the verge of tears. It's an attractively honest expression.
Her voice is barely more than a whisper. "...Please?"
The bedframe suffers as you oblige. The shark girl is driven into the mattress with every collision, barely permitted to recoil before the next. She breathes intermittently, desperately sucking in air every so often before letting her voice flow out, sounding almost nasal. She soon adjusts, hyperventilating in sync with your full plunges, as if the air is being pressed out of her. Fingernails rake over your arms, and you feel her tense up like never before. She starts arching her back and buckling her hips, creating an instant of airtime when you pull back; bouncing like a piston, she springs off the mattress before getting buried even deeper. She's so loud it almost hurts. You try to gag her, but her jaws snap over your hand, gently trapping your fingers. She licks with greedy moans.
Her breathing soon becomes more lethargic, labored enough for her voice to disappear. Her contributions weaken, so you step it up with more compact thrusts. Her voice returns for a short gasp. Her eyes roll up as her hands dart frantically over the sheets, searching for nothing. She's dissolving beneath you, alternating between stiff convulsions and total collapse. Your own movements are soon reduced to a point-blank rut, as if your body is refusing to separate from hers. Closer. Deeper. Almost there. Your clumsy humping pushes her across the mattress until she crosses her legs on your back, locking herself below you again. "Please..."
You pound the shark girl like your life depends on it. The pleasure overwhelms you in seconds. You bottom out, heaving and pumping, buried inside her. Too much is coming out too fast. You can't open your eyes, but you vividly imagine her tender belly-pouch bulging like a jelly donut. She might be full, but you're not empty. You'll deposit every single cell safely inside her.
It's still going. Wasn't this in the bible, asks a brainworm.
You mean the Great Flood?
No. Don't flatter yourself.
Immaculate Conception? Virgin Birth?
She's a shark, you retard.
I know. Hence the miracle.
I fucking hate you. Look, just try pulling out of her. I want to see you turn into a pillar of salt.
Even the shark hasn't quite caught her breath yet. "Happy now, pervert?"
You're on your back, still too spent to respond.
"Good for you." She settles down at your side.
After a very short rest, she flimsly whacks you with a pillow. "Stop ignoring me."
You slide the pillow under your head. "I just rinsed my whole balls out. Can't I take a little break?"
"Who said anything about your balls? I just wanna talk."
"My bad. How're you feeling? You don't have to do that again, if you don't want to."
"Do what again?"
"...Break character? Beg for my cock, even? Consent, some might say?"
"I have no idea what you're talkin' about. For the record, everything totally went exactly how I planned today."
"As if. You-- Ow!"
She nibbled on your shoulder. That might leave a mark.
"Need I remind you that sharks are the strongest animals on earth? That was like 4% of my power right there, so watch your mouth 'cause I've had it with your nonsense. What's next, a candlelit dinner and a kiss? Sheesh."
"I was thinking of downloading Lethal Weapon, maybe."
"Make it Rush Hour and you got yourself a deal." She briefly fights a smile and starts humming the melody to Axel F.
"...That's from Beverly Hills Cop."
"Whatever, man. Don't start lecturing me with your wiener out."
"My wiener is usually inside of you for that."
"Gee, thanks for explaining my own joke to me! Nevermind, this sucks, I'm outta here."
You reach around her waist. She complains, at first.
--end--