As usual Mistry was wondering what it was like for the Dryworlders. They had all covered the stories in history lessons at school, but Mistry had continued to ponder the unanswered questions on and off over the years. For long periods of time she barely thought about them, but then it would all come flooding back, and she would become obsessed. Her work suffered, and her friends worried about what was wrong with her.
The basic facts were undeniable, no matter how vague the details were. Before the time of the Big Wet, most humans lived on dry land, and some couldn't even swim. How they could manage to breathe for more than a few minutes out of the water she couldn't understand. The historians insisted that they had been built differently, and they could extract oxygen straight from the air, using something called lungs. It sounded more than a little unlikely. That they could walk around out there she understood. The People could do that themselves, and some of the young athletes could survive in open air for as much as thirty minutes before desperately tumbling back into the real world, under the water.
It was also said that Dryworlders consisted of only two genders, male and female, and that with a few exceptions, they were all breeders. Mistry found this entertaining, wildly unbelievable, and just a little sinful. As thankful as she was to be a breeder, she couldn't imagine existence without the warriors, administrators, and workers. Oh, and the male breeders, of course, she thought, blushing a little as she floated alone in the still water.
She had a whole list of things she wanted to know about the Drys, but she couldn't ask anyone. Such curiosity was frowned upon among the People, and she knew she would be reprimanded if she brought the subject up. They couldn't stop her thinking though...
Mistry had been confined to the blood hut for the last few days, as she was at her time. Confining the menstruating breeders was undeniably good for the People. The number of shark attacks had decreased markedly, and the People were increasing their foothold on the shallow shelf that they called home. The blood huts had been designed by a very clever administrator, and the water flowed in and out of it via an effective filtering system. Some of the young administrators monitored the filters, and released the young women once the blood flows had stopped. She hated the hut, but she put up with it for the good of the tribe.
She was expecting to be released in the next few hours, depending on when the normally reliable administrators checked the filter next. As it turned out, a male administrator named Leeson was just unlocking the door as the thought was filtering through her mind. She knew him reasonably well because she had undergone breeder initiation with his older brother, a grumpy, selfish boy, who might well have been banished had he not been a desperately needed breeder. She saw this as the ultimate proof that the world was conspiring against her. She was compelled to complete the rite with the one she couldn't stand, while the handsome friendly one was incapable of any involvement.
"There you go Mistry. Free again."
"Thanks Leeson. See you later." Tucking her legs and thrusting strongly, she launched her slim naked body through the doorway and out to the open sea, looking back over her shoulder at the handsome Leeson, and wishing again that he was the breeder. This was the sort of thing Mistry was always thinking, but she had learnt enough by now to say nothing to anyone.
Returning home to check on anything that may have happened while she was in the hut, she found out that there would be a private rite in the Head Administrator's home the next day, and that she was expected, along with the obligatory male; in this case Tosil. That wasn't so bad. Tosil was getting a little old, but he knew how to behave, and he was both gentle and relaxed.
Private breeding rites were thought to bring good fortune to the owner of the home in which they took place, and Mistry had been involved in many of these in the past. She preferred these rites to the public ones which took place on feast days. Somehow having the tribe watch her was disconcerting, and she found herself distracted from the act itself.
Meeting some of her friends that evening, Mistry went out to dance and sing in a huge natural amphitheatre in the middle levels of the tribal home. The whole area the People occupied was surrounded by huge seaweeds, laboriously moved to their locations over many years. Sharks found the odour emitted by the plants offensive, and avoided the area unless they were threatened, injured or starving. One of the perimeter warriors could be seen from the spot where the group of friends rested between dances, and told stories. Mistry watched him for a while, and then once again her mind wandered of its own accord, and she thought about what it would be like to breed with a warrior. Of course, to actually do so was impossible. Whilst warriors were equipped with a semblance of the necessary equipment for breeding, none of it was operable, and the idea was incomprehensible to them. She might just as well select one of the giant seaweeds for a partner. Still, they had such large hard muscles, and that solid dependable aura about them...
The whole group of friends called it a night relatively early, and headed to their various homes. Mistry was in the mood to take home another breeder for a little late night fun, but cirumstance conspired against her, and all the eligible males were paired up with other girls. She had to go home alone, and decided on getting a good sleep ready for tomorrow.
Hitching her sleeping strap to the wall as usual, Mistry floated peacefully in the dimly lit room, her gills fluttering leisurely on the sides of her neck, her eyes closed, her body slowly rotating in the water as her gills pumped. She couldn't get to sleep, and eventually her thoughts returned to the Dryworlders and their sexual antics. She wondered what it would be like to breed without the support of the water; she thought about clothing, and the thrill she assumed would be part of removing it; she thought about how it would be to become pregnant without having to make a conscious decision during the rite; she thought about the feel of a dry rough man's skin against her, his penis deep within her, sliding without the lubricating water they all took for granted.
As she floated, eyes tightly shut, her hands, which had been clasped to her shoulders, began a slow descent to the heat between her legs, pausing for a time at her small breasts, stroking her nipples with precision and the sure knowledge of familiarity, the ruddy points rising crisply to become firm mounds of delicious sensitivity, remote controls for her more tender places.
Mistry always enjoyed this solo play, completely in command of the speed and pressure of the caresses, drawing out the teasing just long enough, travelling to far-off impossible places in her mind, partaking in activities she couldn't even mention to anyone else.
Her hands had made their own way to her thighs as she dozed a little in her imagining, but she took more notice as she felt her fingers on her sparsely curled mound, stroking the hair delicately, before reaching a little further, to the tender slipperiness of her labia, sliding her fingers lazily up and down the ridges, her pulse quickening whenever she neared her clitoris, retreating again from the potency of the feeling, to slide back down toward her ready vagina.
Pulling her knees up to her breasts to better reach, she dipped the tips of her fingers inside herself, the intoxicating odour drifting through the water to her nose, the heat apparent to her gently probing digits. Pushing with a little more pressure, she eased one finger down deep inside, and relished the melange of pleasure pulses hammering at her. As she casually withdrew her finger only to thrust it in again, her other hand found its way back to her clitoris, and soon she was circling the sensitive bump of flesh with one hand, impaling herself with the other.
Her sweaty glistening body was performing an impromptu dance in the water as she concentrated on her imminent orgasm, teasing herself as only she could, irritating her nerves just enough to evoke a response. The sleeping strap attached her to the wall in a vague fashion, the other end looped about her waist, forgotten for the time being.
As the pace and stress of the strokes increased, Mistry felt the release rising in her loins, like an anemone in wait for a careless fish, ready but waiting for the right moment. At some point the sensations plateaued, and she knew she was nearly there. Continuing the caresses, she imagined again how they must have done it in the Dryworld, and as the imaginary rough muscleman sank again into her, the waiting was over. The feeling of power overcame her as always, and her clitoris blossomed into a pleasure pump, filling her body with electric pulses, exploding in her mind with an intensity that surprised her, as she screamed aloud with the release, her fingers stopping instantly where they were, unable to cope with any more sensation, any more pleasure, any more anything.
As her body slowly ceased shaking, and her heart returned to its normal steady beat, she slept deeply, dreaming again of the wondrous people who could walk, talk and even fuck on dry land.
.... There is more of this story ...