Mr Fishy

Mr Fishy

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


They met, both of them naked, in a secluded, tropical billabong in Far North Queensland; he knew a thing or two about how to nibble a clitoris that her husband could never possibly achieve...


They met, both of them naked, in a secluded, tropical billabong in Far North Queensland; he knew a thing or two about how to nibble a clitoris that her husband could never possibly achieve...


Submitted: September 06, 2012

A A A | A A A


Submitted: September 06, 2012



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“Are you sure they’re safe?”

“What, from you?”

I squealed as a particularly cheeky fish took a particularly cheeky nip.

“I wanna come out!”

He leant back against the carefully placed and calculatedly picturesque log, his dick all nonchalant at the sight of me wading about naked in the tropical pool.

“You’ve only just gotten in, Sweetheart. We’ve driven four hours to get here…”

“Yeah, but… OW! The guidebook didn’t say… oh! oh! OH! Fuck it! Get away you little…”

“Sweetheart! They’re only teeny tiny fish. Their mouths are smaller thanyour little toenail. Just relax and let them do their work.”

I took a few deep breathes, centred my chakras or whatever, and managed to be calm and quiet for a few moments. And there I stood, thigh deep in a dress optional billabong, staring down into the tepid, tea-coloured water at the microfish nibbling at my legs. Picking off dead skin, so the guidebook had said. A very natural beauty treatment, blah blah blah.

Natural. Harrumph. How come everything touristy you did in the nude had to come with a “natural” swing tag? Getting nibbled at by fish didn’t seem too natural. It seemed pretty unnatural to me, actually. Freakish even.

I waved my leg around under the water. The fish, of course, followed it diligently and clamped right back on again when it stopped moving.

“This is creepy. I don’t even think ihaveany dead skin on my legs.”

I was beginning to suspect it was all just a ploy for him to get me naked like this. He’d taken a few photos for the famous “private album” he was working on, and then he’d lost interest. Even his dick, while at first a bit twitchy, now wasn’t paying the least bit of attention.

I squealed a few more times, half coquettishly and half in genuine disgust, but he’d practically forgotten that i was there by then. He’d already dragged his creased and buckled Lonely Planet Guide out of his rucksack, and he was checking out the next nudist thing we’d be doing. A little au naturel white water rafting, perhaps. Or maybe a naked ride on a zipline backwards through a rainforest canopy…

Some honeymoon this was turning out to be. Where was all the rooting? We were so busy enjoying all the nudist tourist traps Far North Queensland had to offer that we didn’t have any time left over to play hide the sausage.

And I really liked playing hide the sausage.

I glared at him as i held onto the branches of the typically weedy-looking tropical tree for stability. Just for a moment, i wanted him to wade in here with me and have the fish nibble his lazy damn sausage right off.

He waved some flies away from his face and kept leafing through that bloody book of his, looking for our next natural fricken nudist adventure.

So it was just me and the fish.

I stopped squealing.

What was the point?

I closed my eyes and tuned in to the feeling of the fish mouthing my thighs and calves.

With some effort I filtered out the disgust and managed to convince myself it was a… unique feeling.

Perhaps even…


It tickled just the slightest, and in that nice ticklish way. Sort of like when the person you’re about to have sex with runs his fingertips up and down your thigh, and it feels so deliciously unbearable that you want it to never stop, and to stop immediately, both at the same time.

I remembered that feeling.

I opened my eyes again. He was still lost in that guidebook of his.


What would happen, i wondered, if i went out a little further? If i sank a little further into the water? If my Special Private Place became submerged, amongst the tiny, nibbling fish…

Only one way to find out.

I turned my back on him and his dick and his book and his log and took a few slow steps towards the deeper water. I felt the water, warm as my own blood, soft as my own skin, slide up my thighs, touch the cleft that ran from front to back, slither up inside of me…

I felt the fish start to pucker up and snip away at the cheeks of my arse. Pip, pip, pip. Occasionally, a larger pip, a pop maybe.

Then i took one more step, and the water lapped up over my pubic bone in the front, and tingled between my cheeks at the back.

I stood stock still.

It only took a few seconds. The little mouths were soon at work on the stubbly flesh of my labia. They didn’t seem to mind the rough little bristles, more like sandpaper than actual regrowth. They found the skin between the tiny blonde hairs and seemed more than happy to nibble away.

Perhaps there was a lot of dead skin there after all? There sure hadn’t been much friction from hubby to wear it away.

I could feel myself starting to build. It was like being caressed by a feather made of octopus suckers… which doesn’t sound very sexy, but i was on the verge of orgasm just from that alone.

Which was why i reached down and slowly opened my labia.

The fish seemed delighted with the soft, smooth flesh inside me. They paid a great deal of attention to the ragged skin around my actual opening. I held myself agape for them, and they bravely explored the dark, purple-pink cavern as far as they dared.

They were too big to swim very far inside, and they only made the attempt one at a time, but seeing their little bodies disappearing halfway into my pussy made me start to twitch. I pulled back my clitoral hood and waited, to see if they’d take that bait.

Sure enough, a pair of the little devils swam straight up to my hot-pink bud and started going to town on it. Pip, pip, pip. I could see it swelling, expanding up to the point where it was half the size of one of their little silver bodies.

I carefully let my hole close without trapping any of the little fish inside of me, and then, with the pair of fish still mouthing over my swollen, exposed clit, i came.

And i came.

And i came.

And i came.

By the end i was making that attractive “Gngg! Gngg! Gngg!” sound that we girls sometimes emit when struck by an unexpectedly epic orgasm. Hubby looked over at that point, but i was already finished out, lying back, sinking into the water, submerging my whole body.

“You OK, Sweetheart?” he called, not a note of alarm in his voice.

I was floating on my back, the tiny fish nibbling at my whole body: the tender skin under my arms; the bowl of my ear; the nape of my neck; the sides of my breasts. Only my face and nipples were out of their reach.

“I’m fine,” i called back, my voice croaky with afterglow. “Just fine. Stay were you are, i’m fine.”

There must have been at least a hundred fish snacking on me, but i could feel one in particular, focused on my still throbbing clitoris.

“Oh, Mr Fishy,” i sighed. “I wish i could come back in another life and marry you. I’d still have to be naked all the time, but at least you wouldn’t have a Lonely Planet Guide to drag me all over the place with…”

Then, just like that, all the fish stopped nibbling.

I was all alone.

Then a bump on my side and a long, slow, phallic drag across my submerged back.

I was on my feet within a heartbeat after the thing, whatever it was, stopped touching me. I stared speechless into the water.

A thing like a three foot long brown cock was gliding past me. Briefly it touched my thigh, its snout turning toward my pussy, as if scenting it through the water.

I screamed. The word i screamed was snake.

Hubby looked over, not at all concerned.

“No, it’ll be an eel. There’s eels in the lake as well as the little fish. Is it bothering you?”

It looked like it was about to go up me.

“Yes, it’s bothering me,” i squealed.

“Come out, then. They’re harmless, but if it’s bothering you…”

I took a step toward the shore. The eel did, in fact, bump its pointy little nose against my genital opening. I did the only thing that made any rational sense at that point.

I pissed myself.

The urine tang in the water must have upset it, because it shot off with a slither that clearly spelt annoyance.

Hubby could have done any of a number of things at that point. He could have laughed. He could have asked if i was OK. He could have come thundering into the water to save me.

He went back to his guide book.

Wrong answer.

That night, in our eco-tent at the eco-lodge in the eco-nudist-camp, he put down his guidebook long enough to bar up and start nuzzling his cocktip against me.

“Not tonight, Honey. I can’t stop thinking of that eel…”

I spent a lot of nights thinking of that eel, as it turned out.

Or, actually, telling him i was thinking of the eel, but really i was thinking of Mr Fishy.

Oh, Mr Fishy. How i miss you.

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