And sight to behold

"Here… try a little."

The mermaid scooped up a handful of the milky sludge she was bathed in, holding it out toward her young visitor. Lucy looked down at it incredulously… nose wrinkling already. But the earnest encouragement in Chantelle's face was too much to deny. She tried to imagine spending all day, everyday squelching through that clinging substance. Eating or drinking nothing else and feeling it cloy to every inch of your skin and hair in oily, mucus-y layers. Taking one small mouthful to be polite hardly seemed like much of an ask, in comparison.

The smell grew a whole lot more pungent, as she leaned down towards the offered snack. Yet it also grew sweeter, almost. More human and tolerable. She cautiously poked out her tongue towards the woman’s open palms, feeling more like a stray cat than ever. The flavour that met her there was indeed both salty and somehow sugared, like a bag of mixed popcorn… only left to go soggy. She had tasted the expulsions of man before, of course. What young lady in this world hadn't? But there was definitely something more to this mixture, which made it altogether different and palatable. Out of that same politeness Lucy slurped up the entire handful she'd been offered, feeling it slide unhurriedly down the back of her throat. Could you really live on meals of nothing but this, for months and years at a time? She saw no malnutrition in Chantelle's shapely form, nor particular reason for the twenty-something to lie.

Just then, a strange and eerie whistle cut through the humid mists that drifted across this place. Movement in the milky slurry drew the eye over to the golden statue in its middle, towards which most of the other figures in the pool were excitedly paddling. They gave out human enough laughs and catcalls as they playfully battled to get there first, but again the underground acoustics of this hall seemed to turn it into a bacchanal race of muted, slimy ****.

Lucy looked to her hostess in question, but received only the bemusing statement: "Filling time." An announcement whose meaning became quite clear quite quickly. A rumbling below their feet indicated pipes leading from the machine she had first encountered. Opening and filling, pumping and gurgling. Carrying whatever careful balance of man-made fluids and chemical additives made this place so special.

The proceeds of all this plumbing burst forth in a splattering rain from that tangled, freeze-framed orgy of an art piece. Every gleaming metallic phallus from that intertwining jumble of bodies seemed to have some internal faucet to it. Lucy watched in awed fascination as one by one they began spurting out staggered spouts of ejaculate. The collective women of this place seemed to exalt at this viscous fluid torrent like desert dwellers to the first sign of monsoon. They danced in its downpour and some even clambered up into the laps of their metallic companions themselves. With a start, the young urchin realised that many, above and below the waterline, were actually mounting the carved phalluses themselves. Taking those smooth, cold representations into genuinely human depths and letting the pumping fluids fill them directly.

Chantelle watched her changing expressions with a little, sordid glee. "It's freshest right at the start." She commented. "Some girls 'ride the pumps' for a full hour, two or three times a day… Until they actually end up looking all swollen and bloated even before the miracle takes hold."

Lucy gasped at the physical imagining of it: to hold yourself against the invading pressure of one of those 'taps'... until your inner-most femininity was stretched and swelling by the goop it was being **** to carry. She supposed the idea was only really as alien as imagining feeling a whole new life growing inside. Yet, the rabid look of delirious joy on some of the faces she could see gave an impression the experience was anything but natural. She wondered if perhaps being submersed in this underground pool for months or years at a time, with nothing to look forward to each day but such brief moments of refilling… might not leave all the occupants entirely sane. That perhaps devoting one's entire body, mind and soul to pickling in a sea of human seed was a recipe for unhealthy obsessions with it.

The gleam in her mermaid friend's eyes as she watched her sisters jealously… offered a short and simple answer.