Discarded leaflets with phrases like “Idyllic Holiday Destination!” and “Picturesque Vacation!” litter the hull of your canoe, scattered there from your open backpack. A map with a secluded bay circled lies folded inexpertly on the empty passenger seat. You’ve only just had the time to stow the oars when the flat head breaks the surface of the placid waters and lifts over your diminutive boat on a serpentine neck. Fishy breath washes over you as intelligent eyes big as your fist narrow at you suspiciously.
“Dump yer backpack out and make sure it’s open and unzipped. Take your clothes off and leave them spread out. Ol’ Loch’s a canny bitch. If ‘e thinks you might be hiding a blade anywhere… Well, we do occasionally have accidents here and I’d hate for you to wash up ‘cuz ‘e didn’t like the look o’ ye’”. The shifty looking weasel that loaned you the canoe had been clear. Just like you’d been told, Loch doesn’t take any chances. First his head pushes through the papers and leaflets from your backpack, then flips the backpack over with his nose inside. Next he slides your clothes around, snuffling loudly. Clearly appeased, the broad head bumps you. Off balance, you reach out as the boat tips you backwards, and the only thing to grab a hold of is Loch. He doesn’t seem to mind. When your arms only barely meet around his head, he gives you a lick. That does tip you back, and one splash later you’re floating in the lagoon.
The rocking boat plays nice, and your belongings manage to stay aboard while you tread water. The water is nice and warm, at least. Pushing the boat aside, Loch pushes his neck up against you, while his head bends around and nudges you from the back. Beneath your hands his hide is warm and smooth, covered by subtle scales that are so slick to the touch beneath the water that they might as well be skin. Unencumbered by such inconvenient things as clothes, you feel the rest of the monstrously large body glide up against you. You duck your head below, and even though the water becomes murky some few meters down, you can see most of Loch’s body. Two sets of sleek fins carve at the water, long and sinuous just like his head. A rudder tail tipped with a broad fin sweeps into sight, and you feel the currents tug you under momentarily as the massive body displaces water as he swims. You’re pulled along with him, and with your arms trying to hug around a body too big to meet fingers around the back of, Loch carries you off into the water.
You hold your breath as the water swirls around you. It feels almost like you’re flying as the light from above dims and spins. Through ears now dulled by water, you hear the deep warbling of prehistoric voice. Loch turns and pushes at you with his head again. You find yourself straddled over his belly, and as you lift your head you feel your ears break the surface. With another gulp of air in your lungs, you see your patient paleolithic partner waiting for you. A touch against your back from a slippery digit reminds you why you’re out here. Behind you, erecting from a slender slit in Loch’s belly scales is a thick monster’s monster. You reach back and feel it throbbing hot in your hands. Your guide said he’d know why you were here, and so he does. The water goes cloudy around you momentarily as the prehensile length between your fingers gushes pre into the warm lagoon. Loch’s head nudges you again, and with a flutter of nerves in your stomach and a thick throb between your fingers, you pull the shaft down and fit in in place.
Then you’re off again, dashing through the water. The abyssal depths swirling past you as Loch rides the currents only augments the sensation of being stretched and filled as the thick monster slides inside. You can feel him twitching and bending against your inner walls, along with the hot rush of more of his watery pre gushing into you. He calls into the deeps, and as the water grows colder around you, only Loch’s hot body against you keeps you warm. His tail thwips through the water, and the motion thrusts the gentle curves through your inner passage, until you’re feeling so full that you’re sure there’s no more room for him to delve. Behind you the fins lift and the cock inside you slides slickly, followed by another thrust that forced bubbles of air from your lungs.
You crest the surface as you feel a pulse of liquid filling you, then overfilling you and spraying back against Loch’s slit. You gasp for air as your monstrous lover pistons in and out through your clenching while he peaks. Hot cum warms the water around your thighs and feet as Loch calls again. With his head above the waves, his cry echoes off of the perilous cliffs of the secluded lagoon’s sides. His head pushes against you, and you find yourself hugging his strangely shaped skull as the throbs and jets of liquid filling you slow, then cease.
A minute later you feel yourself being pushed along the surface to your boat, until your arms can grasp wearily at its side. The smooth scaled skin rubs against your back, and Loch gives you a lick to the face before he disappears back into the depths. Feeling exhausted, sore, and well used, you’re able to pull yourself up into your canoe without displacing your gear. Too spent to row, you lay in the hull of your boat, head against one padded seat, and let the warm sun dry you.