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======= A NEW PORPOISE. Sloe 2019

1. Grant Mitchell couldn't remember how he had made it into the Swan. Somehow, he and his fellow fishermen had the best seats. Right by the pole with plenty of drinks and girls to ogle till morning. But no touching the merchandise. As drunk as they were by that hour, the club owner made it quite clear that there would be broken fingers if the ruckus crossed the stage line. "It was this long!" Grant said, hands out wide in the classic boast. He was the old salt, born and raised on the island. Big, toothy grin, unkempt salt and pepper beard. But this new tale wasn't getting much attention from his normally more attentive crew. He could hardly fault them, with the fair ladies out to play, but he was getting to the good part though!

Out of the waves, the swordfish had fought the line. An aquatic fencer with that sharp flicking point. The old fiberglass rod handle jerked and fractured at the raw strength of the fish.

"The bloody beast dragged me in! And me fingers were torn open!" Grant stood up, gripping the table for support. The scars still showed on his hands, stitching through the fate lines."Couldn't hold on to the boat, So, I went under. Simply buggered! I even nearly drowned, eh Harry?"

"Grant.. It's late. Just sit down before you knock something over.." Harry said, craning his neck to watch the next dancer coming on stage. But something stopped the older man from settling. Breathless anticipation, or just the will to tell a tale that was special to him. Even if it took a little embellishing. Popping the cap on another bottle, and daring his fishing partner to protest.

"No Harry. You've forgotten the most important part. There was something else in the water!'

Another sleek shape, drawn to the commotion. Drawn to his blood. And all he could do was paw at the side of the boat.

"It drew closer, and I screamed! But water only filled me lungs.." Grant swilled from his bottle and gargling to make his point clear. And promptly choked.

"And it bit down on my leg! A shark!" Grant said, the jerk of his hands sending the remaining lager spraying over his audience.

"A shark? Grant, that's not what happened. I.. hauled your ass out of the water!" Harry said, swearing as he wiped his overalls. "No shark, just a waterlogged old coot!" But the storyteller's defiance was taking on a some kind of strange resonance in the heavy air. Grant tasted copper as he glared at his friend, practically spitting his words. "That's not what happened, eh? Just who's telling the fucking story here, Harry?"

Harry went to reply, before something seemed to flex between the two of them. Like an untested muscle, or fin stirring the deep. "But.. the.. shark.." They murmured, slumping back on the seat. As if the alcohol was hitting him too hard, too early. "I.. I guess that's... right."

"I was alone with the shark, yes..." Grant said, continuing to massage his aching leg. Frowning at the decidedly un-arthritic ache setting into the bone. But that's where the shark had grabbed him. It made sense, in a wholly impossible way. Like simply ordering his friend to sleep...

Red water filled his vision. Precious oxygen leaving his as the shark dragged him away into the depths. But then, his rescuer, like a bolt from the bloodied blue. A silver cetacean bullet.

"But then.. the porpoise came for me." His skin broke out into a cold sweat, and his boxers tightened.

The bull porpoise drew broadside and slammed into the shark. Both animals now fighting for possession of his body.

"And... eh.. excuse me" Grant groaned, pawing at his crotch. Torn between his audience and that sudden heat flushing his groin.

Caught between both the attention of the shark and porpoise. But the porpoise was winning.

"I.. I'll stop there for a second, Just need to... use the bathroom."

The old fisherman hobbled from the table. Trying to hide the blush rising in his cheeks. It was a grand effort to get up from the sofa, especially with his troubled leg. On impulse, he poured the rest of the lager over his chest, but even that couldn't help with the heat now settling in his bones. Only once he was through the bathroom push door did he pull his shirt off in a hurry, dripping with sweat and alcohol.

Grant ran the bathroom sink, splashing the cold water fruitlessly over his wet wrinkled chest. While his left hand unbuttoned and promptly slipped down his pants. Stroking his inflamed tip gently, before gripping his throbbing shaft for purchase. Surely a little time alone would help?

The cetacean snout pushed the predator off his leg, and those powerful flippers buoyed him up to the surface. Held tight against the cold porpoise hide.

The relief was immediate. Obscene, given any patron could walk in on him while he was at play. But otherwise blind to such concerns, his shivering body pitched forward, now rubbing his shaft against the sink ceramic.

Building up friction, his punch drunk grin widening with every practiced jerk. Beginning to drip pre, mixing with the cold tap water. Clenching hard, drool spilling from his slack jaw. In his mind, the tight wrap of his hands was the bull's beak. Teasing him with that warm tongue.

He needed air! And the porpoise only slapped at his thighs with those powerful broadside fins, white belly teasing, beak probing at his mouth.

Encouraging him to release. To surface. His dramatic move forward only threw out his back with a loud crunch. But there was no time to scream, or even stop. His bunched shoulders slackened, and Grant howled as he spilled his hot seed across the chrome. Pain mixed with pleasure, and his hands reflexively kneaded the sagging shaft in his hands.

The air took on that strange heaviness once more, and as Grant tasted copper from his bitten lip, his back began to strain under a thin grey layer of spreading, water ready hide. Each clenching spurt of jizz across the makeup stained ceramic encouraged the growth across his spine.

Grant blinked, dumbed to silence by both the splattered mess, and the thick flap of connective tissue that now wriggled free from between his aching shoulder blades. A fin, of course. "Wh.. huh?" It wasn't until he confirmed how real- how wet and warm it was in his sticky fingers that he began to moan once more, not in pleasure but in denial. He could almost hear the bull porpoise now, clicking filling his ears. And the cold, shiny blubber continued to creep outwards, like a sensitive shroud. Straightening those wrinkles, dissolving those liver spots.

He'd let go of his spent shaft. But the familiar push of porpoise pressure was back. Even away from the sink, he could still feel that cold slickness grinding against his body. The bull porpoise's belly, grinding his diminishing cock down to the bush. Grant pushed off the semen-stained sink and only slipped against the stall door in a quivering mess. Was there any way of making this--

"Stop?" Grant said, silently pleading against the force taking hold of his frail, now finned form. His cock continued to shrink, and despite attempts to keep the increasing elastic length in his grasp, he only managed to pull up wiry clumps of pubic hair.

The fisherman sat, spreadlegged and panting like a dog in heat. His swollen cockhead finally came to rest, flush with the seat of his groin. Unable to rest up against the stallwall with that new fin in the way, and the agonizing throb of shrinking testes. Before he could even take a better look at the mess of his manhood, the door to the bathroom promptly swung open.

"Hello?" The wigged and powdered dancer said cautiously, announced by the insistent tap of her heels against the tile. To which the semen splattered seaman could only respond by covering his crotch with a yelp. It was Marie in a glittering two piece, one of his favourite ladies from the Thursday show. But rather than appreciate her new ensemble, he only screwed up his eyes. Neck prickling with that spreading grey flesh.

"The.. the fuck!?" She said, watching him cower. "Wrong bathroom, asshole!" He blushed, shaking his head and hastily pulling up his overalls. Thankful that she at least couldn't see the mess of the sink. Or his fin. But Grant couldn't stop himself from hissing in pain when his fingers made contact with the tight nub of his remaining manhood.

"I'm in the.. wrong... bathroom" He said slowly. Or... as his glans began to slowly stretch vertically under his probing fingers, new thoughts began to surface. Maybe he was in the right place after all?

Just needed the right audience.

Marie's eyes widened, as the dancer saw exactly what was hanging out of the older man's slick grey back. "Is that a..." She began, but Grant only grinned, tasting the power of his new silvertongue.

"A f-fin. Did I ever told you how I got it?" He wheezed, giggling at the mixed messages his crotch was giving him. Like with how every passing moment, he could push his fingers deeper into the slippery, clenching opening.

"No...? Wait..." And then, she seemed to understand it. "You're..."

"Part of the show now?" Grant said, knowing that those were the right words here. "I'm in a bad way.. And I think you can set things right.." "Let's get you cleaned up then.." Marie said after a few moments, as he gratefully took her offered hand.

==

Grant was fairly certain how he made it to the Swan dressing room. The backstage corridor was familiar territory. Last week's bouquet was still in the wastepaper basket. But, he hadn't found any other adequate way of admiring their work. Even if involved stepping over a few lines. But with Marie in tow, he had eagerly pushed forward to the dressing room. While it had been prohibited in the past, the bouncers couldn't argue against his new porpoise persuasion. Neither could the ladies, spilled makeup bottles and a one piece handgun replaced with sympathetic eyes and accepting smiles. The show could move forward.

"Hold still, hon. It'll only take a minute!" Marie said, trying to comb Grant's unruly mop of hair. And he could only try to get comfortable with his fin folded against the padded leather seat. The giggling and whispering of the other girls made his cheeks burn in embarrassment. His boxers still rubbed with maddening friction on the marble-sized head of his disappearing dick. To make matters worse, a sharp jerk of the hair brush sent his loose hair tumbling to the floor, much to the dismay of his stylist.

"It's.. all falling out. I can't do anything with this, darling." She admitted, fetching the cloth. Grant nodded, wincing as a few concerted wipes on his chin left his salt and pepper stubble to join the pile on the ground. Her attention on his bare legs and arms had a similar effect.

Smooth, like a woman, or.. porpoise. What was to say he wasn't becoming both? As the other dancers heatedly discussed whether he'd require a wig from the closet, Marie unclipped her makeup case. It was clear that a fair amount of effort went into making a lady shine for the show. His eyes watered before the mascara went on, eyebrow pencil and foundation hiding the ravages of age. Lipstick, to make his sallow lips look far fuller and younger in red. While he'd always had a strong jaw, being done up in blush and liner was softening those once angular edges.

"Do you like it?" Marie asked, gently tracing her nail under his quivering chin. Grant gulped, nodding furiously. It wasn't as if he could back out of it now.

"I do.. But this?" He whined, looking for reassurance as Marie pulled out a set of far better fitting panties. Kicking off his boxers, to once again reveal the puffy pubic mound absorbing his cockhead. Or at a further glance, folding it into a perfectly shaped clitoris, to hood the opening of his new sex.

"Honey. Don't even think about it. You're not going to be out there alone, and you won't be showing anything other than what you want them to see, alright?" Marie crooned, easing the pink sequinned panties over his crotch.

"But...will he be there?" Grant said, shifting uneasily. It had been a little while since he'd thought about the bull. But the animal was still there, in the air.. And now seemingly a part of his changing body.

"The porpoise?" Marie said curiously, "It sounds strange, but I know he's watching me. And out there on stage.. I really want to impress him."

"Well, it sounds like you might be repaying a debt, then." Marie responded after a moment, carefully combing a curly red wig to sit atop his scalp. Massaging a gentle adhesive into the grey hide.

"A debt? I don't...owe anything...do I?"

"Well if what you told us was true, you wouldn't be alive without him."

"But I.. lied! None of that happened!"

"The fin don't lie, hon." She tutted, rubbing the fisherman's fin gently as she slipped a matching bra over his flat chest. Grant only nodded, wincing at the rub of the bra strap under the offending protrusion. When it came time to stand, Marie powdered his arms and legs with concealing foundation. Gently sprinkling glitter on his arms and hands. A few splashes of sharp fragrance on his neck, and under those baby smooth armpits.

Slipping on unfamiliar heels, clad in sequin studded net stockings. An image of cautious beauty, with all his grey hair now coating the floor. As he walked down those corridors, supported by Marie, the stage lights cycled to a soothing and cold blue. It was only a few seconds into the next song before he realized his performance was next.The next girl came off the stage as their single finished, in a feathery one piece that they threatened to pop right out of. Grant was awestruck

The familiar heat slipped into his body once again, alight with anticipation from slitted groin to wigged scalp, and he couldn't hold back nervous giggling. The sound of the bull rang in Grant's ears, promising his pained and painted body another release. Youthful energy and finned femininity, for the price of his old life.

"And give a hand of applause for our new dancer..." The announcer began, over the hiss of the aging PA system.

"Not Grant.. I'm.." the waiting man muttered, fingers crossed.

"Ashlynn!"

And so she was, striding out to a loud hand of applause, tentatively exploring the tack floor of the stage in awkward pink heels. Ahead, her former crew leaned forward, eager eyes not even recognising the storyteller turned stripper in fishnets. Under her new red curls and carefully tied tassels, the story felt like it was back on track. If Ashlynn could walk with the confidence of her fellow girls, and find it in herself to dance to impress, the porpoise would notice.

"Give us a twirl, honey!" Harry said, accompanied by the catcalls of Grant's... Ashlynn's friends. But that didn't make sense. Why would she be friends with such gits? She shared more kinship with the women behind her, beckoning her up to the stage. Standing and thinking about these men would only eat at her confidence further, fin bobbing as the rheumy eyes of the fishermen recognized the nautical anatomy atop her spine.

"The.. the fuck is that?" Another catcaller cried, squinting at her. Ashlynn only gulped, blushing as her hand closed around the metal. They could wait, as it was only the bull that she wanted to dance for, after all.

With a preternatural grace that spoke of a far younger body, she wrapped her panty-clad thighs around the pole and leant back, the cold shaft sending her crotch ablaze with that maddening heat. While she shuddered with ecstasy, remembering the way the bull had rubbed against her, Ashlynn took care to hold tight. Thickening, younger legs kicked off from the stage, to send her inverted body into a lazy glide around the strip club fixture.

More than enough to quiet the unruly mob, and even send a few hands creeping towards crotches. How could she even doubt herself now, when dancing filled her with this effervescent bubbling glee? As she pulled herself up to slide down to stage level, the pole briefly wedged the gap between her now developing mounds. Her bra would now caress her developing breasts like they were intended.

The gray hide was spreading further, spurred on by every tease of those gently swelling red lips, and filling breasts.The song hit its chorus as the groans and cheers of her rapt audience reached her ears. Carefully dismounting from her perch, to offer a sly rear view.

She gave a crafty wink to her audience, knowing now that the true story was in full exposure. There wasn't a lot that words or lies could do to beat a good strip, and as she bent forward on webbing hands, her tailbone began to stretch, the slick rubbery stub of a growing tail pressing out from above Ashlynn's panties.

The pain returned, mixed with pleasure of porpoise skin now spreading up her taint, pelvis cracking into a shape far better suited to show off that developing porpoise posterior, and the hips that flanked it.

Makeup smeared on her thickening grey thighs. And a cheeky tug of her tight bottomed ensemble briefly revealed the source of her straining camel toe. A few notes fluttered onto the stage in response, and Ashlynn once again retook her mantle upon the pole.

Her longer tail slipped through the hands of an unruly patron, responding with a deft slap. Streamlined, slick and riding the shaft like an old love, her wrinkles pulling taut as the porpoise hide overtook her chest. Ample cetacean cleavage sitting out with pride from a younger body, a happy sea starlet instead of the men who crowded at her feet.

Her breath misted like sea spray and that dripping female slit slide dizzyingly upwards as she once again fell back, upside down on the pole.

Nothing about her new routine felt out of place. A different kind of rod maybe, but it was just another kind of fishing, right? All of her audience were licking their lips for a taste of her main hook after all. Pulling down her stretched bra to show off thick grey nipples, dimed by darker areola. Tail curling against the pole growing thicker and longer with every panting gasp.

Lipstick smeared across her growing beak, and her grin was accompanied by the crunch of shifting teeth. Nostrils sealing over, to her initial panic, before an eventual spray of steam from her neck signalled a new airway, a puckered blowhole. Ashlynn righted herself, rubbing her makeup smeared neck cautiously. The reality of the change was setting in again, and all the newly anointed porpoise girl could do was force a stretched grin across her new rostrum.

She slugged back an offered lager by one of the boys, and squeaked with laughter as she forced it out in a fountain through said new hole. "Eeee.. Entertained yet!?" She cried, as her hands descended to rub at her new, achingly smooth hourglass figure, to clean off the now unnecessary makeup.

As the sound of the bull porpoise grew louder, she couldn't help but click along with him. And in response, her mind began to flash with new images, outlines. Understanding the shape of the bar even with her eyes closed.

In the neon haze of her developing echolocation, she took to the pole once again. Webbed fingers gently stroking the sensitive folds of her labia. But the music seemed to be taking on a new shape in her mind, jagged and almost predatory. Nothing like the clean and clear echos of her mate.

Had she been tricked? The bull porpoise wasn't here!

"Ashlynn, everyone! Isn't she pretty?" The announcer crooned over the speaker. Harry and the crew thumped their empty bottles against the stage in agreement. And that was enough to swallow the sound of her frantic whistles. A swift panicked kick sent her heels flying into the waiting crowd, leaving her now webbed feet to slap on stage. "How about an encore, darling?"

Ashlynn shivered as memory of those teeth, the shark seemed to fill the space around her twined legs and gasping snout. The fishnets cut into her glittering thighs, and her fingers once again toyed at her neck, gasping for air through her blowhole.

She had to escape!

Before the next track had even started, she leapt off the stage. Catching her footing on the floor while her tail slapped the stage. Ashlynn found her footing amongst the startled fishermen, and using her natural slipperiness to avoid those groping hands. With the flick of her tail fluke, she was out the door and gone, into the night.

====

Ashlynn knew why she was in the red light district. And why she had to leave.

With her pursuers close by, the porpoise girl wasted no time sprinting to the beachfront. And in much the same way they had entered, the group of fishermen followed their former friend out onto the boardwalk fronting the Swan.

But unlike them, she had the benefit of speed and echolocation, breaking up the urban darkness into familiar geography with every click. And gasping with relief as she finally reached the soft sand of the beach. Her feet were not made for the tarmac, and if the heat claimed her body again, she would no longer have use of them.

The porpoise girl turned runaway finally sprawled on the foreshore, panting as the wet sand cooled her aching legs.Tearing at the restraining clothes and the nets that trapped Ashlynn's aching legs. Even though the waves washed away the paint and polish, the cetacean starlet still cried.

She still wasn't ready for this, tortured by visions of the mate that expected so much from her, and the debt that needed to be paid. Rubbing at the tear ruined mascara with slowly thickening digits, more flipper than fingers.

Are you out there?

She whistled as the waves lapped between her fusing toes. Desperate to see his shape in her mind again. But, Ashlynn knew that would take one last surrender. Of her life above the waves.

I just... want someone to listen..

Her flipper feet splashed in the wake, porpoise fluke idly tracing lines in the sand behind her. And with nothing else to go back to, she began to ease herself into the hungry waves. When their head finally disappeared beneath the seafoam, so too did the wig come loose, drifting free like red seaweed.

And then.. Ashlynn heard him. A low swooping whistle like steel under velvet. And in her mind, she saw him once more, outlined in electric blue. And with absolute certainty, she knew that he could see her. Before the next wave, she launched herself off the bank.

Bubbles spilled from her grinning snout, and Ashlynn kicked with the force of a born swimmer, propelling her streamlined form into the moonlit blue. It was there, that she saw the bull for the first time. Not with her mind, that heard his shape, but with her own wide, darkening eyes.

The finned form of her only real love met her gaze with those dark intelligent eyes. Clicking playfully to see her better, to appreciate the curves of her changing body. And at her insistence, he swept broadside with his powerful snout. Gently toying at the scars growing on her flank. Where the shark had grabbed her, of course.

As the base of her tail stretched hard on her thickening pubic mound, she took great care in teasing the larger male. Tracing her fluke along his offered underbelly. Every push of her thickening tailbone only sent her legs into remission. The heat continued to remold her to the bull's pleasure, to lend strength and power to her streamlined body.

When the bull began to swim lazy circles through the water ahead of her, Ashlynn was more than ready to follow. Powerful sleek arms propelled her forward, tail falling into rhythm much like that of a mermaid. When it came time for her arms to follow the same path as her legs, the bull was back with her again, gently nudging and pushing her top half into a far better shape for what was to follow.

She could only click back her satisfaction, each pleasurable shift of her ribs and spine prompting a torrent of bubbles from her snout. When the bull slid across her back, she whistled, out of need and approval for the very real friction.

Her cleavage, so desirable to the distant humans on shore, hardly held the interest of her new mate. But that didn't matter when they sunk into the flat smooth blubber of her chest. Nipples finding a far better place on her crotch, for future calves.

The bull coyly slapped her tail with his own, fluke teasing the underside while he gently rolled beneath her. And when he slid upwards, belly to belly with his chosen porpoise cow, she practically swooned. A brief probe with his beak, to taste those sensitive folds.

And when he replaced his tongue with the warm press of his erect member, her whistling pitched up in excitement, nosing at his snout. Ashlynn felt a little fussy, trying her best to keep him interested. But the feeling of his sex at her entrance was proof enough that he cared.

They sung and swum together, embracing flippers when their bodies drew close again in the lazy spiral. So when the bull pushed tight against her girth again, she was ready. Sitting herself atop his length promptly parted her virgin slit only moments later.

When they breached for air, her first cry of female love rang out into the night air. He had been inside her mind, and now, within her own body. Deeper now, as his dark eyes invited her back beneath the waves. With every push, his cetacean cock further filled the emptiness within Ashlynn. While all she could do in return was nip and rub her flippers against him. To be sure that all of this was real.

Her mate continued to wedge himself deeper within her sex. Through her clenched cervix to the private depths within. Desperate desire mixed with brief feelings of absolution as she practically willed the story...the porpoise to climax inside her! She needed this like nothing else, having given so much to be here with him now.

The bull obliged with a sharp grunting click, his shaft throbbing in time with her fluttering heartbeat. Release was so tantalisingly close, and her flippers now slapped at his hide, still demanding that conclusion.

But before her anxieties could return and disrupt their intimate tangle, he came for her. Inside her in every way possible, against her, and spilling his seed deep within her fertile womb. Engulfed by the blissful bubbles and high pitched whistles of her own climax. And when her belly finally sat comfortably, filled with warm bull love, it was done.

The porpoise cow, under the tow of her bull, waited for the pull out before responding with a tired whistle. There would be time later for the two of them to explore and reflect on what brought them together. But for now, flipper in flipper with her new love, the porpoise didn't care how she got here.