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Description

White/Cream Version: www.deviantart.com/bellotempes…

Intent on checking his nets, a poor and lonely old fisherman walks along the shore at daybreak, creeping along the cold sand and stray bits of seaweed through the chill wind. At the beach's rocky boundary, he finds a pair of golden bracelets lying in a tide pool, mysteriously abandoned. They look intricate, expensive. He could pawn them, or return them to their owner for a reward. Overcome with curiosity, he picks them up. They glow, then jerk, and fling themselves onto his wrists of their own accord, tightening fearfully. Immediately a viscous, coral-red tar pours forth from the bracelets, in thick strands that lengthen and wrap themselves around the fisherman's arms.

In a panic he tries to pry the bracelets off his wrists, but they are clamped tight, and prove impossible to remove. His hands, now coral-red and rubberlike in texture, appear larger, stronger. The rubbery tar spreads up his arms in hungry webs, and tentacles shoot out and latch onto his torso like grabbing hands. They lengthen and twine around him possessively, squeezing and groping around his emaciated body through his threadbare clothes. Against his arms the first strands shorten and grow taut, pulling his arms together and then binding them against his chest with a slick plop, and the cloying slime swells in spurts and waves, thickening around him layer by layer.

Immediately the fisherman's thoughts are of getting help, and be begins to run back down the beach toward town. As they slither under his clothes and wrap around his chest, the red vines extend downward and wind themselves around his legs, growing thicker and stronger as he gallops like a horse, fighting to free his arms of their slick bondage as he goes. Stealthily the tarry vines around his legs thread together, knot and grow taut, and before he's gotten fifty feet, just as the fisherman manages to break the vacuum seal around his arms, his legs are bound up and he falls forward onto the sandy beach, rendered immobile.

He catches himself, with some relief, then his arms are seized again and yanked behind him by a hungry mass of ropey tentacles that bind him by his wrists to his ankles, hog-tying him neatly. He calls for help, his voice hoarse and quiet from frequent disuse in life, but the cunning tar creeps up his neck and stretches a slick gag across his mouth, muffling him. The slime smells like sea-salt, and sweat, fragrant and masculine. Bitterly he fights against his cunning restraints, angrily bucking and grunting, but the rubbery tar ripples and bubbles around his body into the beginnings of a cocoon. And still the goo pours from his demonic bracelets, unabating, spewing syrupy hands that spread across him in webbed striations, clawing their their way over his feeble form.

The goo around his body surges and swells, slowly growing him into a shapeless mass. When his legs are completely encased the restraints behind him snap, and the fisherman heaves and rolls himself onto his back with a grunt. He fights with a renewed fervor against the slippery evil encasing him. He rakes at the rubbery gelatin coating his legs and claws furrows into the malleable, pulsating mass. His arms, now thickened with forming muscles bigger than he has ever witnessed, are powerful. But the virile bracelets spread far more of the tar along his extremities than he can tear away, spewing heavy loads of living crimson that fill in the claw-marks while growing his legs longer.

More tentacles sprout from his manacled wrists and latch onto and encircle his waist with increasing girth. He yanks at the ravenous ropes encircling him and they stretch taut, then grow instead around his arms and wrists, tangling them and swelling them further. They clamp around his meager muscles until, in pain, he's forced to release his grip on the goo enveloping him. The vines pull his arms against his sides, leaving him lurching and armless as a snake. He wriggles and cranes his necks to look down at himself, with difficulty as tendrils climb past his nape and dig into his pressure points. He resembles a dozen spiderwebs overlaid each other, hundreds of gooey strands upon strands all stretching and writhing and circling around him, clinging and swelling and merging into an increasingly shapeless cocoon intent on devouring him whole. And still the tar pours forth from the bracelets, unabating.

The gag that stifles him sends forth feelers, thin tendrils that part his lips and climb into his mouth. The scents of salt and masculine musk are overpowering to the his nostrils and tongue. The demonic tar presses down at him from every which way as he wriggles inside it, invading his pores and binding to his skin. He can't feel his clothes anymore, the fabric eaten away by the viscous tar. Gooey ropes shoot from his arms and torso onto his legs, the pulsating vines transferring mass to lengthen the growing stump of his legs even as more slime flows from the bracelets onto his upper body. His bound-up legs grow and stretch into what seems a heavy tail that swells and lengthens, unfurling to reach ten feet, fifteen feet after a minute of steady work. The fisherman wriggles impotently in his crimson bondage as he grows to gigantic proportions.

As the eel's tail reaches twenty feet, a long fin unfurls along both of its sides like a folding fan, a wide, strong membrane that conjoins at the tail and extends its length by another three feet. Finished expanding, the goo stops its travelling and turns its attention inward. The taut webs of ropes stop their serpentine writhing and begin knotting and lacing, entwining and wrapping. Slowly they begin to settle in place, and their surfaces flatten, smooth and congeal into a shiny, rubbery skin on the body. Inside the congealing, the wriggling tar separates into heavy cords of striated muscle, rippling and knotting and swelling with strength. Hungry for bones to support them, the pulsating fibres bear down on the fisherman, grabbing and digging into his naked body as they lengthen and thicken. And finally the last of the goo crawls over the fisherman's head, in hungry hands, lacing over his face and shutting him in darkness.

Hundreds of muscles fill the empty tail, diagonal and paired, working in tandem, and more of the tar congeals into strong ribs and vertebrae. The bulging muscles strain against the rubbery red skin, standing in stark definition as the skin pulls taut around them. The long belly turns white with speckled borders, the tailfin turns the beautiful bright green of sea grass. As the goo swallows his face a new face is formed over him, the hauntingly beautiful mask of a Sea Prince, red with a splatter of black around sapphire-blue eyes. Strands of white hair sprout from his scalp and grow long. Spiraling dark horns grow up from his forehead, and pain shoots through him as they anchor themselves in his skull. Pale claws grow from the tips of his fingers.

The fisherman cannot breathe, the rubber is suffocating him. With newly free arms he digs in his talons, and yanks at the slick rubber that has encased his face. He tears through the skin and pulls it away. The mask tears apart, and his face tastes fresh air. The tendrils in his mouth stretch and cling to his gums. But his arms grow heavy, and he's unable to hold it. The mask snaps back, and knots over his face. Again he digs into the rubber and yanks at it, but it stretches less each time he tugs, each time gripping his face more tightly still. He twists and pulls at the flesh-prison around him, but with every passing moment the still-developing system of muscles around him grows stronger and denser, and soon he is unable to move his limbs or body, helpless to its power. Instead the rubber skin begins controlling his body like a puppet, moving his limbs for him without his volition.

The muscles cement themselves to his body. Tentacles invade his mouth, his ass, filling his orifices with pulsing thickness. Air-tubes insert themselves into his nostrils, supplying him with air. The eyes behind the tight mask around his face pulse with hypnotic blue rings, as between the fisherman's legs the merman's twin procreative shafts form and begin throbbing with need, assaulting the fisherman with waves of pleasure. Against his will, his struggles weaken, hypnotized and subservient to the Sea Prince's will. He feels the mask of the great eel grow taut on his face as it smirks in diabolical satisfaction.

The merman reborn tests his new body idly, coiling and uncoiling his great length and feeling his muscles flex with ease. He is powerful, he knows, and he relishes his great strength. Satisfied, he gives into the waves of lust. He looks at his twin shafts, then rolls onto his stomach and starts grinding against the sand, humping and humping for friction. The tension in his gut builds until he climaxes and releases a vast, pearlescent puddle of seed. He coils himself, then uncoils in a flash, and springs himself forward into the ocean. In the shallows, he waits, invisible, unmoving. On the sand, his seed lies sticky and potent, alive with magic and ready to grab the next passerby and transform them into the Sea Prince's mate.

Description

White/Cream Version: www.deviantart.com/bellotempes…

Intent on checking his nets, a poor and lonely old fisherman walks along the shore at daybreak, creeping along the cold sand and stray bits of seaweed through the chill wind. At the beach's rocky boundary, he finds a pair of golden bracelets lying in a tide pool, mysteriously abandoned. They look intricate, expensive. He could pawn them, or return them to their owner for a reward. Overcome with curiosity, he picks them up. They glow, then jerk, and fling themselves onto his wrists of their own accord, tightening fearfully. Immediately a viscous, coral-red tar pours forth from the bracelets, in thick strands that lengthen and wrap themselves around the fisherman's arms.

In a panic he tries to pry the bracelets off his wrists, but they are clamped tight, and prove impossible to remove. His hands, now coral-red and rubberlike in texture, appear larger, stronger. The rubbery tar spreads up his arms in hungry webs, and tentacles shoot out and latch onto his torso like grabbing hands. They lengthen and twine around him possessively, squeezing and groping around his emaciated body through his threadbare clothes. Against his arms the first strands shorten and grow taut, pulling his arms together and then binding them against his chest with a slick plop, and the cloying slime swells in spurts and waves, thickening around him layer by layer.

Immediately the fisherman's thoughts are of getting help, and be begins to run back down the beach toward town. As they slither under his clothes and wrap around his chest, the red vines extend downward and wind themselves around his legs, growing thicker and stronger as he gallops like a horse, fighting to free his arms of their slick bondage as he goes. Stealthily the tarry vines around his legs thread together, knot and grow taut, and before he's gotten fifty feet, just as the fisherman manages to break the vacuum seal around his arms, his legs are bound up and he falls forward onto the sandy beach, rendered immobile.

He catches himself, with some relief, then his arms are seized again and yanked behind him by a hungry mass of ropey tentacles that bind him by his wrists to his ankles, hog-tying him neatly. He calls for help, his voice hoarse and quiet from frequent disuse in life, but the cunning tar creeps up his neck and stretches a slick gag across his mouth, muffling him. The slime smells like sea-salt, and sweat, fragrant and masculine. Bitterly he fights against his cunning restraints, angrily bucking and grunting, but the rubbery tar ripples and bubbles around his body into the beginnings of a cocoon. And still the goo pours from his demonic bracelets, unabating, spewing syrupy hands that spread across him in webbed striations, clawing their their way over his feeble form.

The goo around his body surges and swells, slowly growing him into a shapeless mass. When his legs are completely encased the restraints behind him snap, and the fisherman heaves and rolls himself onto his back with a grunt. He fights with a renewed fervor against the slippery evil encasing him. He rakes at the rubbery gelatin coating his legs and claws furrows into the malleable, pulsating mass. His arms, now thickened with forming muscles bigger than he has ever witnessed, are powerful. But the virile bracelets spread far more of the tar along his extremities than he can tear away, spewing heavy loads of living crimson that fill in the claw-marks while growing his legs longer.

More tentacles sprout from his manacled wrists and latch onto and encircle his waist with increasing girth. He yanks at the ravenous ropes encircling him and they stretch taut, then grow instead around his arms and wrists, tangling them and swelling them further. They clamp around his meager muscles until, in pain, he's forced to release his grip on the goo enveloping him. The vines pull his arms against his sides, leaving him lurching and armless as a snake. He wriggles and cranes his necks to look down at himself, with difficulty as tendrils climb past his nape and dig into his pressure points. He resembles a dozen spiderwebs overlaid each other, hundreds of gooey strands upon strands all stretching and writhing and circling around him, clinging and swelling and merging into an increasingly shapeless cocoon intent on devouring him whole. And still the tar pours forth from the bracelets, unabating.

The gag that stifles him sends forth feelers, thin tendrils that part his lips and climb into his mouth. The scents of salt and masculine musk are overpowering to the his nostrils and tongue. The demonic tar presses down at him from every which way as he wriggles inside it, invading his pores and binding to his skin. He can't feel his clothes anymore, the fabric eaten away by the viscous tar. Gooey ropes shoot from his arms and torso onto his legs, the pulsating vines transferring mass to lengthen the growing stump of his legs even as more slime flows from the bracelets onto his upper body. His bound-up legs grow and stretch into what seems a heavy tail that swells and lengthens, unfurling to reach ten feet, fifteen feet after a minute of steady work. The fisherman wriggles impotently in his crimson bondage as he grows to gigantic proportions.

As the eel's tail reaches twenty feet, a long fin unfurls along both of its sides like a folding fan, a wide, strong membrane that conjoins at the tail and extends its length by another three feet. Finished expanding, the goo stops its travelling and turns its attention inward. The taut webs of ropes stop their serpentine writhing and begin knotting and lacing, entwining and wrapping. Slowly they begin to settle in place, and their surfaces flatten, smooth and congeal into a shiny, rubbery skin on the body. Inside the congealing, the wriggling tar separates into heavy cords of striated muscle, rippling and knotting and swelling with strength. Hungry for bones to support them, the pulsating fibres bear down on the fisherman, grabbing and digging into his naked body as they lengthen and thicken. And finally the last of the goo crawls over the fisherman's head, in hungry hands, lacing over his face and shutting him in darkness.

Hundreds of muscles fill the empty tail, diagonal and paired, working in tandem, and more of the tar congeals into strong ribs and vertebrae. The bulging muscles strain against the rubbery red skin, standing in stark definition as the skin pulls taut around them. The long belly turns white with speckled borders, the tailfin turns the beautiful bright green of sea grass. As the goo swallows his face a new face is formed over him, the hauntingly beautiful mask of a Sea Prince, red with a splatter of black around sapphire-blue eyes. Strands of white hair sprout from his scalp and grow long. Spiraling dark horns grow up from his forehead, and pain shoots through him as they anchor themselves in his skull. Pale claws grow from the tips of his fingers.

The fisherman cannot breathe, the rubber is suffocating him. With newly free arms he digs in his talons, and yanks at the slick rubber that has encased his face. He tears through the skin and pulls it away. The mask tears apart, and his face tastes fresh air. The tendrils in his mouth stretch and cling to his gums. But his arms grow heavy, and he's unable to hold it. The mask snaps back, and knots over his face. Again he digs into the rubber and yanks at it, but it stretches less each time he tugs, each time gripping his face more tightly still. He twists and pulls at the flesh-prison around him, but with every passing moment the still-developing system of muscles around him grows stronger and denser, and soon he is unable to move his limbs or body, helpless to its power. Instead the rubber skin begins controlling his body like a puppet, moving his limbs for him without his volition.

The muscles cement themselves to his body. Tentacles invade his mouth, his ass, filling his orifices with pulsing thickness. Air-tubes insert themselves into his nostrils, supplying him with air. The eyes behind the tight mask around his face pulse with hypnotic blue rings, as between the fisherman's legs the merman's twin procreative shafts form and begin throbbing with need, assaulting the fisherman with waves of pleasure. Against his will, his struggles weaken, hypnotized and subservient to the Sea Prince's will. He feels the mask of the great eel grow taut on his face as it smirks in diabolical satisfaction.

The merman reborn tests his new body idly, coiling and uncoiling his great length and feeling his muscles flex with ease. He is powerful, he knows, and he relishes his great strength. Satisfied, he gives into the waves of lust. He looks at his twin shafts, then rolls onto his stomach and starts grinding against the sand, humping and humping for friction. The tension in his gut builds until he climaxes and releases a vast, pearlescent puddle of seed. He coils himself, then uncoils in a flash, and springs himself forward into the ocean. In the shallows, he waits, invisible, unmoving. On the sand, his seed lies sticky and potent, alive with magic and ready to grab the next passerby and transform them into the Sea Prince's mate.