He Sells Sea Shells
My eyes are closed, but even so, I can see the distinctive red shade through my eyelids that tells me I’m outside on a sunny day. The feeling of the warm sun on my skin, the sound of the waves, the smell of saltwater, the seagulls squawking, and the feel of the bikini straps around my neck only confirm it. I’m at the beach.
More concerningly, I seem to have been buried in sand up past my elbows. I can feel the distinctive feeling of sand getting colder and wetter, more solid from the bottom of my ribs to the ends of my toes. My knees are slightly bent but otherwise I’m basically standing up straight, except floating in sand.
My eyelids feel heavy, like I’m still half asleep, and maybe I am. Is this some kind of strange manifestation of sleep paralysis? I try wiggling my arms, and find I can move my fingers and toes slightly, but every other part of me is stuck fast. I can feel the cool sand on every part of me. Up my legs, ass, and stomach. I wonder if I’m wearing bikini bottoms. If I am, I can’t feel them.
I turn my head, and find it moves freely. I try again to open my eyes and find they open a tiny bit, too little to see anything, and then close again.
“Hey!” I hear a voice call from behind me. “I think one is waking up!”
Uh oh. I try opening my eyes again, and make a little more progress this time. The sun is bright, and my eyes aren’t adjusted for it, but I can make out the outlines of a sandy beach. I’m facing the water, and I don’t see anyone in front of me. I keep my eyes open as long as I can, but after a few seconds they fall closed again.
“Oh yeah,” comes another voice, again from behind me. A slightly older one, by the sound of it. “Looks like she is.”
I force my eyes open again, and look around. The first thing I notice, obviously, is how low to the ground I am. It’s a strange feeling to be vertical and yet have your head be only a couple feet above the ground. I look down and see large, tan, sun-kissed breasts, covered by a skimpy green string bikini. As I look down, some of my hair falls in front of my face, and I see it’s bleach-blonde.
Why does that surprise me? Shouldn’t I know my own hair color? I try to picture the last time I looked in a mirror. Nothing. I try to picture my mother. A shape, maybe, a warmth, but no face. I try to picture my own face, and get nothing. All I see are, tan, the bleach blonde, the breasts. That can’t be right. That’s not a memory, that’s just what I look like now.
“She’s pretty hot,” comes the younger voice again. He sounds a bit fratty. I crane my neck around to look at them, but can’t turn my head far enough around. Still, they must have walked closer without me hearing them, because now he sounds like he’s only a few feet behind me.
The older voice laughs, and says, “Yeah, she came out pretty good, didn’t she? You interested?” When he says it, my stomach tightens. I start pulling against the sand, trying to free myself, but I don’t budge.
“Of course I am! Look at her!” As he talks, I can hear him walking towards me, and I keep craning my neck around until I see him. I’m about knee-height above the sand, so I have to crane my neck up to look at him. As he walks in front of me, his face is right next to the sun, which is blinding to look at. But I can see that he’s tall, shirtless, in good shape, and wearing red swim trunks. My heart is pounding, and my mind races to figure out how I’ve ended up in this situation, but comes up blank. “Why do you have them in the sand, anyway?”
The older man laughs again, still from behind me. “That’s how we make ’em. Bury a clam, water it every day for a month, and one of these pops out. You’re getting it fresh from the source.”
Is that true? Could that be true? I feel like a real person, not like some kind of humanoid plant, but I have no memories, no name…
The fratty guy laughs. “And how many people actually believe that?”
“More than you’d think, kid.” My heart sinks.
“So, is there some kind of try-before-you-buy?”
No! I want to shout. Let me out of here!
But nothing comes out. Instead, the man behind me answers. “’Course there is! You can put some sunscreen on ’er for fifteen. She’s due for it.”
“Fifteen? That’s a little steep.” The guy hesitates, then gives in. “Okay, fine. How can I resist.” He gets some cash out of his pocket and it’s replaced with a bottle of sunscreen via a transaction I can’t quite make out.
“I’d start with ’er back,” the man says, and the younger guy steps over me, his sandy foot ing inches from my face.
Once behind me, I hear him get down on his knees, and he sticks a finger inside the back string of my bikini. “Can I…”
“’Course you can, kid.”
He pulls at some strings, and it comes loose. There’s another strap around my neck, but none that connects the neck-strap to the back-strap that would have required me to move my arms, something that must have been intentional. He pulls the strap over my head, and my breasts are free. I feel the unfamiliar feeling of wind blowing across my nipples, which are hard and pointed straight forward.
I feel the cold sunscreen on my back, on my shoulders, then on my neck. As he does each side of my neck, my body obligingly tilts my head to make it easier to apply.
Finally, he comes around to the front. Crouched down as he is now, I can make out his face, and I can see he’s only looking at my breasts. In response, my back arches. I didn’t tell it to. There’s a second where I think maybe I can stop it. I try to push my shoulders forward instead, and my back arches harder, pushing them toward him, and my mouth shapes itself into a small soft smile. My arms are stuck in the sand, but I still softly twist back and forth for him, making my breasts bounce a little for him. I wish I could spit on him, but instead I just give him a soft smile, the kind that says “what are you waiting for?”
He puts more sunscreen on his hands, and then massages it into my breasts, taking care as he does to rub each nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The feeling shoots through my body, and I close my eyes and suck in air.
“Ah…” I moan, the first noise I’ve made since waking up. The pleasure is so strong as to be overwhelming. My pussy throbs and my legs strain against the sand as I instinctively try to buck my hips, but I’m totally fixed in place. After a second of that, he pulls his thumbs away, but in that short time I’m already halfway to orgasm. I don’t closing my eyes, but I open them again. I don’t want to come in front of him, I don’t want to be touched and violated and treated as a plaything by people who clearly see me as an object, but at the same time, it feels so good that I’m strangely disappointed that he didn’t keep playing with them and make me come.
“Be careful there,” the older man says, “she’s still very sensitive. But that’s how you know she’s fresh.”
“Huh,” says the fratty guy, seeming confused, one hand still resting on my right breast. “But her tits man… just unbelievable.” Something about that word, “tits”. I never would have called them that. These are my breasts, to call them tits seems to turn them into objects for his amusement rather then part of my body. He gives my breast an appreciative squeeze, seeming to enjoy how it filled his hand, then stands back up. As he does I can see the tent in his pants. He’s definitely going to buy me. How can I get out of this situation?
Wait, when he pinched my nipples, I moaned. Maybe I can scream for help. I test it by consciously exhaling. It takes a few tries, but I discover I can deliberately breathe in and out deeply.
As I experiment, I listen to the conversation happening above me again. The fratty guy has just been told that I’m “final sale only”, and is asking about other ways he can test me out before committing to buying me.
“There’s one other way. It’s another fifteen. It’ll let you see a little more of what she’s capable of. You can give her this…”
I crane my head around to see what “this” is, but can’t make it out. I keep practicing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Deeper. I can feel the air moving through my throat, vibrating. I just have to push harder. I just have to—
But push harder toward what? Scream, and then what happens? Someone hears me, comes over, and sees a woman buried in the sand at what is apparently some kind of… shop? Market? Would they even think anything was wrong? Do they already know? How many people have walked past me while I was unconscious?
And who would I say I am? I have no name. No history. Nothing to point to and say this is who I am, and I don’t belong here. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s why I can’t anything, so that even if I could speak, I’d have nothing to say.
No. That’s exactly what they’d want me to think. I close my eyes to focus. I hear the older man behind me say “Just hold it up to her mouth,” but I ignore him.
I’m a person, not some clam or sea shell. I feel like a person. I’m afraid, and confused, and angry, and those are real feelings, and no person should be treated like—
Something cold and wet touches my lower lip. Reflexively, my mouth opens, and something smooth and firm slides across my tongue. It’s sweet — almost aggressively sweet — and smooth and ice-cold. A cherry popsicle.
My lips close around it immediately, and I suck, hard. All that exists is the popsicle. The cold. The sweetness pooling under my tongue. My cheeks hollow and I suck again, pulling the meltwater down my throat, and another involuntary moan comes out of me.
I don’t even think of opening my eyes now. I don’t need them.
“Jesus,” says the fratty guy, from somewhere above me. “So it’s just automatic for her?”
“You betcha. It’s their favorite thing in the world.”
I wish I could use my hands to pull the popsicle in, to take it all the way down my throat, but he’s teasing me, only letting me have the first few inches of it.
Reading my mind, the fratty guy asks “can she take all of it?” I want to frantically nod my head “yes”, except I can’t risk my teeth touching the popsicle. Still, the older guy answers for me. “It’s a test drive, try it and see.”
The fratty guy laughs, and shoves the popsicle in so deep that my lips wrap around the end and feel the wooden handle. He holds it there for a blissful second, and my legs start to shake as I’m right on the edge of coming. Then he pulls it out, leaving nothing but emptiness inside my mouth.
I need that popsicle back! I’m not finished! I’m so close! I open my eyes and stick out my tongue, strands of sticky popsicle juice hanging off of it. I’m looking up at him, trying to open my eyes as widely and as sweetly as possible, arching my back so see my tits properly, begging for him to shove that popsicle back into my waiting mouth. My pussy throbs, and throbs, and throbs again while I sit there in waiting, but he’s not paying attention to me anymore, he’s talking to the man again.
I wished I could do something, anything to get his attention, something more than wiggle around lamely in the sand, but there’s nothing I can do. He was paying the man, tapping his phone on a card reader. “You have to satisfy their needs to keep them happy,” the man says. “If you go too long without letting her suck or fuck, she’ll start to get antsy, or even try to run away.”
My new owner laughs. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, dude.”
“Alrighty then, you wanna pull her out?”
The fratty guy kneels down in front of me, and puts his arms under mine, pressing his face up against my neck. Then he lifts with his legs, and I kick mine under the sand to try to dislodge it and help him get me out. After a moment, I rise out, and he lifts me out of the sand and into the air. Before he can set me down, I wrap my arms and legs around him, and grind my bare pussy against his crotch. There’s a dick in there, and I need him to fuck me with it.
He laughs. “Woah there, easy tiger. Damn, she’s eager for it.”
I obediently relax my legs and drop back on the sand. Still, I don’t like having to wait, so I pout my lips and put my arms on either side of my tits to make them form cleavage for him.
“Heh, heh,” laughs the older man. “You got her all excited with the popsicle. Here you go, you can’t walk her out of here naked.” He tosses my owner the tiny string bikini top and a pair of matching bottoms, who hands them to me to put on.
Then, once we’re at his house, he pinches and pokes and squeezes and slaps and spanks and fingers and fucks my brains out.