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Jim has been paid for worse. It's the only thought that keeps him going at this point.
That fat paycheck is especially vivid in his mind with that dumb wetsuit riding up his ass crack. Standing hunched over at the edge of a pool. Not the public kind, however. Hell, he'd rather die than get in there without getting paid for it. In the depths of clear waters, something circles. Swims patterns around the vents, tracing their shapes with strikingly human arms while navigating the open space with thick-skinned fins. Still so fucking weird to look at.
Sure, when he read something about wrangling weird animals for a pretty dime he had no idea that he'd have to sign enough waivers to kill someone with the resulting pile. Lots of secrecy and NDAs, albeit for good reasons. The weird animal (singular is important here) is beyond what he thought possible. And he's the one who has to teach it (or him?) manners… And other things. He should lie less on his resume and in job interviews. Ohhhh, he has experience. Sure, he's got experience shoveling dung from A to B. The most he's actually qualified to do is using a tranquilizer rifle. That's it.
He blows into the whistle hung around his neck, splashing around in the water to lure the star of this private show towards the edge. Jimmy can't believe what he's about to do.
They want him to train this thing– to jizz into bottles. Yup. Sure. Whatever. He's getting paid extra to not ask any unnecessary questions, so he's going to keep his little wage slave mouth shut and jerk this thing off. Yup. What-fucking-ever.
More splashing, this time more insistently. He growls in frustration. The thing's not being cooperative today. It stopped moving, now resting at the bottom of its tank. Another whistle. He holds the high-pitched tone longer, which eventually makes the shadow in the water rouse.
"Curly" closes in slowly, at first not breaching the surface and circling just beneath. The shape of his body is far clearer now and once again, Jim finds himself thinking about how fuck up this is. Half human, half marine mammal. Not even the guys a pay grade above him know which one it is exactly. An entirely new species, maybe. His skin is thick and patterned in black, white, and different gray hues. Black base with large white dots, reminiscent of an orca, and gray mottling on his underbelly. He almost doesn't look human with his stark white face and his gray chin stripe, but Jimmy touched his face before, just to feel the shape the bones underneath the thick skin give it. Feels very much like a person. To top it off, the full head of blonde curls is among the more off-putting parts. It looks out of place.
The strange hybrid clicks at him inquisitively, swimming closer to the side. It makes Jimmy twitch; the sound makes his bones vibrate. Creepy.
"Use your words.", he reprimands, strict but still with a soft undertone.
Curly's open demeanor changes to a withdrawn one. Strangely human lips twitch. Trying his best. "Fish.", he croaks. He seems to flex his tongue, grind his teeth, as he tries to shape the words he was taught. "Want fish. Please."
The man gives the beast an approving nod. He's getting better. Thus, Jimmy reaches down at the outside of the pool, into a bucket full with fresh fish. Gloved fingers grasp one of them by the tail, holding it out to the beast, who gnashes his teeth at the prospect of a single fish. The feedings are pretty regular, so Jim has no idea what he's so hungry for.
Hesitation dictates Curly's movements as he glides closer, but he ends up snatching the dead fish from Jim's hand. Flat teeth gnaw on the head, grinding it into bits, only for the beast to shove the entire fish down his throat a second later. Nasty.
With the beast's attention secured, Jimmy gets ready for the usual circus routine. Red plastic between his lips again, an arm stretched over the edge of the tank, the palm of his hand facing down. Curly moves to his arm, rests his chin over the bend of it. His body rises to the surface, parallel to the edge. Twice the size of an adult man, with most of the physique consisting of an elongated tail with horizontal tail flukes. Dorsal fin, flippers at the hip, pelvic fins further down. So. Fucking. Weird.
Jim gives a sharp whistle, signaling that the beast may ease up. He throws another fish straight into the beast's maw. On with the program, it is.
He makes him turn, he makes him roll, he makes him jump. Everything rewarded with fish. Feels so fucking weird, considering there is a very much human face looking at him for approval during all of this. Jim shakes the thought. No questions, remember? He's just going through a mental list of bullshit at this point, going further down until he reaches the actual reason for the obedience training.
From the side, Jim drags a fixture for the side of the tank. Technically just a metal pole with a bunch of stuff to attach it to things, but he needs to screw the clamps real tight, because Curly is stronger than he seems. Metal squeaks. Jim huffs as he tries to do his due diligence and ensure that he won't end up with a rod of metal in his face one way or another, until he's satisfied with his efforts. Then, yet another whistle, signaling Curly to come over again.
Arm out again, palm up this time. The beast twists onto his back at that, holding onto the pole for leverage.
A heavy sigh makes his chest heave as Jim takes off his gloves. His elbows brace on the edge of the tank. He already knows what he's looking for, but that doesn't make it better. Actually, it's so much worse. Between his flippers, about at the height where a human's pelvis would be, is a genital slit with thick, pillowy folds. Tinted red and a little swollen.
Jim briefly wonders if the work out got him worked up, but he decides to banish the thought into some corner where he won't see it again. Another sigh when he touches the beast's slick hide, brushing along the entire length of the slit. Twitching. Purring. Interesting. That's more of a reaction than he usually got. Maybe it'll finally work.
The brushing doesn't seem to be enough, though. Too light, probably. So, Jimmy starts to pat - gently slapping, almost - the tender flesh. Curly moans. God. What the fuck. He's never heard him moan before. Again, weirdly human, but also very throaty. There's a growl to it that makes the hairs on Jim's nape rise. Even worse, his gaze gets caught on the beast's face, twisting in pleasure, teary-eyed, pale hide reddened. In fact, his entire underbelly is starting to blush.
And eventually, there is more than the fat lips of the slit. Bright pink pops out of it. Oh. Progress. Jim can't help but stare. Long, pointed, coiling. Yeah, that's marine mammal cock, alright. He also can't help the heat that shoots into his face as he reaches for the collection bottle with his other hand. His more occupied hand is getting slick with time. It's slimy. It gets even worse when he begins to palm the shaft, rubbing hard and fast.
The beast starts to mewl and whine at the sudden change of pace. Breathless moaning. Writhing. His sounds reach a new height after more carpal tunnel-inducing stroking, which Jim takes as his cue to hold the bottle to the tip. His upper arm is starting to cramp, but he can already feel that bonus in his wallet– so he keeps going.
His efforts are rewarded with a screech. Webbed fists tighten on metal, denting it. Mighty muscles strain under Jim's touch. Curly bucks into his hand once, twice, until he finally starts to fill up the collection bottle with a thick, milky load. Jimmy actually has to look away to rethink his life choices for a sec there. So, this is what he's doing for money now? Jerking off genetic freaks for god knows what reason?
A gravelly purr from Curly tears him from his thoughts. When his gaze flicks back to the other, he finds him in a state of bliss, his hands still firmly curled around the metal bar as he floats on his back. His usually rather stoic expression made way for one of pure satisfaction. A last few drops of liquid gold spill into the water after Jimmy withdraws the bottle, screwing it shut and shoving it into the company provided cooling unit, never to be seen again by him.
"Good job, Curly.", he tells the creature as he rubs his underbelly (albeit with respectful distance to his still very obviously throbbing slit), before giving him a pat.
Another fish straight down his throat for the beast, for good measure.
If people rewarded Jim with food for cumming, life would be far easier for everyone involved.
The routine is boring as fuck, but he has to reinforce the good behavior somehow, so that thing gets it into his thick skull.
Maybe it works too well, however.
Intense scrubbing. Jimmy groans as he actually works for once and scrubs the walls of the tank with some sort of brush on a long handle. He knows it has a name, probably, but he never cared to listen. Not like it's important anyway. All that matters is that he has to do whatever it takes to keep the enclosure pristinely clean.
However, there is a pretty significant variable in this: how much is Curly willing to cooperate?
Jim notices the shape rising from clean water when it is already too late. The hybrid appears, swimming close to him. On his back. Looking at him insistently.
"Hand.", is all he says after a while.
His brow twitches. Limited vocab be damned, he sounds bossy for no reason at all. "Not now, I gotta clean your shit off the tiles.", he scoffs.
But Curly remains persistent. "Hand."
"Fuck off." Jimmy swats at the beast, calloused palm on thick hide producing a loud thwack that reverberates through the tank room.
Cue a scandalized sound that he's never heard before. Curly has enough it seems. He snatches the utensil, much to Jim's disdain, and disappears deep in the water of his tank. Leaving behind a fuming Jimmy. Red in the face. This thing. This fucking thing. The audacity on it, too.
"Hey, what the f–", he's about to start ranting when a mob of wet curls reappears from the depths, but finds himself cut off.
"I bring back after.", Curly quips in his limited tongue. Then, a stern look. "Hand."
"Fine. Okay.", he speaks through gritted teeth. Guess he's not cleaning and instead jerking the thing off again. Whatever. "Get over here then."
The beast actually does as ordered, assuming the position like they practiced. Well, at least that works.
He starts like always. First brushing, then patting, alternating between light and harder. Curly claws into the high edge of the pool with great desperation. Eyes screwed shut. Purring loudly. Jim rolls his eyes. Elbow on the edge, propping his head up. It's pretty boring if he's not getting anything out of it aside from a paycheck. Is this what it's like to fuck for money, he wonders absentmindedly.
"Inside.", Curly croaks softly, catching his attention. More urgent whining. "Inside. Finger."
Curly is asking to be fingered. Oh. Jim doesn't know how that makes him feel, but he sure can feel something stir in his wetsuit. His broken head decides to take a nosedive into the possibilities as well. He knows something better than fingers. He's good with his mouth, he supposes. Is he really that desperate for pussy? Even if this technically isn't really a pussy? Fuck yeah. Of course he is.
"Get closer.", he orders with a scoff.
Pushing himself up to the tank wall, Curly gives a perturbed look. It only seems to intensify when Jim leans over the edge, fingers on his swollen slit. The man can't help himself. This is an intrusive thought of the highest degree. He uses both hands to spread the beast's slit, revealing the fleshy pink insides. Throbbing. The tip of his seemingly still limp cock is resting within its sheath, but there is something else.
Not a hole, but like a little pocket that leads nowhere on the low end of the slit. Just pretty pink. He spreads the folds with his fingers further, making Curly's innards flex at the intrusion. There is nothing really there. Some kind of redundant anatomy bullshit, he assumes. No matter. Still kinda sucks that it isn't big enough to hold a dick. That would've been fun. Anyway–
Curly wants it inside, so he'll get it inside. His tongue dives where likely no researcher went before. The beast shrieks, the sound bleeding into a purr when Jim licks the rim of the peculiar hole, pushes the muscle into the pocket, swirls it around in there. Honestly, kinda tastes like pussy, if he's honest. Equally slick, too. Makes it easier for him to block out the grim reality of his actions.
Every deep lap garners a sound more desperate than the last. "Ngh. There.", Curly whimpers, "There."
Something slick flexes against Jimmy's forehead. More fleshy pink, although protruding. Beast cock throbbing on his skin. He got him hard again. Jimmy isn't thinking about the money, though. His attention switches from pseudo-pussy to cock. Lips on the base, sucking on the hardened flesh, garnering a pathetic mewl. He's close by the sound of it. Curly likes it near the tip when he's about to cum (he can't believe he already found that out), so Jimmy moves up the shaft, licking and swirling the tip around in his mouth. The fucked up thing? It feels like he's kissing someone with tongue. Similar texture and all. It moves, too. Grinding against the muscle in his mouth, eager for release.
He gets carried away. Jim knows he should've moved away when he felt Curly flex against his tongue, but too late. The beast shrieks and clicks, filling up his mouth in one fell squirt. It forces him up right. Cheeks full of warmth. What the fuck.
He has no time to collect the sample. Not like he readied a bottle, anyway. And even if he spat it into the bottle, it'd be tainted.
Thus, Jim spits it into the water with a dramatic gagging sound, but a little bit remains on his tongue, which he ends up tasting.
It's sweet. Why the fuck is it sweet?
Jim could get used to this. Bought a new car, new furniture, some oxy– all with ocean beast cum money. Training's going well too, he supposes. Five loads bottled… About triple that amount lost to the filtration system. Well, what can he say? Curly has a way with the few words at his disposal.
He even talked Jimmy into entering the tank with him. For better or for worse. For Jim, it's definitely for the better so far.
His arms are resting along the edge of the pool. Wetsuit unzipped all the way down. A giant shadow looming in the waters below. Attached to his hip. Warmth on his cock. Training him is actually pretty fucking easy, Jim has to admit. A particularly hard suckle makes him throw his head back, giving a hiss when flat teeth graze him. However, in spite of that reaction, it still feels really fucking good. The swimming freakshow is real good at blowjobs. Hell, he seems to love doing it.
A grunt later and the deed is done. Jim can't suppress a happy little shiver when Curly pulls off his cock, allowing himself to sink against the cold tiles. That's the stuff. Messy blonde breaches the surface. The beast is chewing what's in his mouth for some reason. By the time he swallows loudly, the man has finally regained enough strength to lift his head.
"Good boy, Curly.", Jim tells the other, patting the top of the beast's head. However, when he looks at Curly properly, the subtle pang of anxiety twists his gut, chasing the bliss of his orgasm away in one fell swoop.
Something feels off.
Beady eyes cast at him. Slanted pupils are dilated to the point of black voids set into Curly's head instead of the usual blue hue. Eyeing him. Gauging something he can't name. Jim needs to get out of the water. His palms brace on the edge, trying to heave himself to safety, but Curly is so much quicker– and stronger. The beast pulls him back down by a few inches. Back of his head versus edge. Jim's vision blurs. He's nauseous.
"Curly, no.", he manages to hiss, desperate to regain control.
Too little, too late.
Neoprene tears. Curly peels him out of his already opened shell, leaving him naked and vulnerable in open water. Jim is wrangled by webbed claws, caging him hard enough to bruise. His chin hits the edge. Hard. He tastes blood from his tongue, the tip of it unfortunately wedged between his front teeth. Talons grasp his neck. His Adam's apple gets in touch with the vertical part of the edge. He's going to choke him. Something brushes up against the back of Jimmy's thighs. A slick body with a smooth hide. And something seething hot. Getting choked out seems like the least of his problems.
Anxiety is replaced by fear, deep in his belly. Sweat on his brow. "Nononono– stopstopstopstop–" Feeble pleading. Fruitless struggle. One hand trying to get Curly away, its counterpart pushing itself between the hard tile and his neck to offset getting his larynx crushed by sheer brute force. "You f-fucking–", Jimmy hisses again, thrashing and beating his heels against the heavy body currently threatening to subdue him.
Neither of those extremes help him, though.
Sharp pain. Stretching him. Unrelenting. Unforgiving. It isn't big, but forcing its way into his ass still hurts like a bitch. Jimmy cries out in pain, only for the sound to grow into a whiny moan. Fuck, that hurts. But fuck, that also feels good. Kind of. Tears shoot into his eyes. Snot hangs from the tip of his nose. Curly is relentless. Growling into his ears as he takes and takes, much like Jim would if given the right opportunity. It burns, until it doesn't anymore. No lube needed, thanks to the beast's body plan, which ensures a slick slide with a large amount of pre-cum. Jim hates it. His face twists into a vile, deeply enraged grimace. Teeth grit so hard they might shatter in his jaw. He doesn't want to give Curly the satisfaction of moaning–
To no avail, however, as he's about to find.
He doesn't know what it is, whether it's a different angle or a change in pace, but Curly is doing something different. Jim moans against his will, in tune with gravelly purring and snarling on the beast's end. He tries to breathe through his nose, attempts to offset the next barrage of pathetic noises, only for a strangled shout to tear his throat asunder as Curly wrings an orgasm out of him. His body doesn't take kindly to the violent intrusion, although the climax empties his head and forces his lids to flutter, tears to spill, toes to curl. Sending all the wrong signals. He hates it, hates it, hates it.
The worst part? Curly keeps going. He didn't cum yet. Why didn't he fucking cum yet? The grimace returns and Jim finds himself growling alongside the hybrid, occasionally trying to struggle, buck him off, albeit to no effect. His unoccupied hand balls into a tight fist, hard enough to make his joints pop. He's gonna gut that fucking fish.
"Hurry up–", Jim wants to scoff, but he whimpers instead. Pathetic. Jesus Christ. He tries to struggle again, tries to mask his weakened voice with physical strength, but all that gets him is more pressure, harsher thrusts. It hurts again. Yellowed ivory grits anew, old amalgam fillings crack. He never took this long before. The next few thrusts are excruciating. However, it gets so, so much worse for him. Maybe something he did in another life is coming back to bite his ass. Who knows.
"Be. A. Good. Boy. Jim.", Curly grits forth, imitating Jimmy's commanding tone. "Hold still."
Jim laughs. Broken, in a way. Just his luck that the thing can fight back.
Makes things more interesting, though.