Spring Fling
A Short Story by Bo Blackstar
[f/water, temperature play, breath play, instant attraction]
“Do not go to the old spring,” they had warned her. “The spirit there is a monster. It drowns men foolish enough to enter its waters or ask for its aid.”
Damla was tired of listening. She’d heard the fearful warning, and others like it, a thousand times in her life. It was all the same. Do not go to the spring. Do not go out after dark. Do not look a sick frog in the eyes. She heard the warnings still, echoing in her head as she climbed, snapping back at each one in her mind and winning countless phantom arguments.
Sweat glistened on her warm-toned, tawny brown skin. The grand stair leading around the cliff to the mountain spring had partially collapsed some time ago. One more obstacle between Damla and her goal, and one more thing to dismiss as inconsequential. The young woman was no warrior, but she was strong and spry. While she climbed, the bead-woven cords of her dark honey-brown hair dangled over open air, hanging to her waist. Damla was keenly aware of the sheer drop beneath her, but kept her focus on her grip until she was past the collapsed section of the stair.
After the climb, Damla sat on the side of the stair and took a break, letting her sandaled feet dangle over the cliff in the stiff mountain breeze. For a minute, staring out over the valley below and the sweeping vista of the hills beyond, the voices of her naysayers were silent at last. Way up here, there were no problems. No fools and cowards. No sick people. No drought. For a minute, Damla could simply smile and enjoy the feel of the wind billowing her loose, comfortable clothing.
The minute passed, as fleeting as all good things seemed to be. Damla pulled herself back up and continued her ascent. From that point it was a simple hike up ancient steps, winding their way around the high cliff. About half the time there was some ground between the stair and the sheer drop, which Damla felt conflicted about. On the one hand it was an anchoring reprieve from impending vertigo, but on the other it was an obstruction of the breathtaking view.
Eventually, at long last, Damla arrived. A curve in the path led inward, and was soon blocked by a thicket of shrubs that she had to push through. Beyond was a clearing in the tall trees. Dominating the space was a large, natural pool of clear water lined with smooth, dark stones. Soft curls of steam wafted from the surface of the water into the chill mountain air. The wind was mysteriously still, adding to the place’s atmosphere of serenity.
Damla lingered for a long time at the edge of the clearing. She found herself focused on the minutest details for minutes apiece. The serpentine rising of the steam off the spring. The shining of the sunlight on the rocks and water. The travel of a small beetle across a long-fallen tree. This was a perfect place, exactly as it ought to be, and Damla could not help but feel like an intruder. She didn’t dare disturb this tranquil scene, and eventually started to feel ashamed of the pebbles and detritus she’d disturbed with her steps upon entering the place.
Then Damla remembered. She remembered the hacking coughs of her neighbor’s children. She remembered the woeful braying of an undernourished mule that had no way to understand why it suffered. She remembered the bloodshot eyes of cruel Erol, and the horrid retching he’d experienced the last time he’d tried to hurl insults her way, leaving the large man weeping and clutching his belly in a dry gutter.
Closing her eyes, Damla said a quick prayer. One more slow breath, and she stepped into the clearing. She walked toward the warm pool, trying to at once seem respectful and assured. With care, she knelt by the edge of the spring and bowed her head low.
“Spirit of the Spring,” Damla called, her soft tone sounding harsh within the quiet. “My people are sick. Our water is rotten. The stream from your spring has been dry for too long, and we suffer for it. Please, Great Spirit, I beg you to help us.”
A moment passed, Damla holding her breath, every ounce of her attention tuned to the spring and watching for a sign from the ancient spirit, and then…
Nothing. Not a sound or stirring of any kind. Damla waited a minute, then another several more, and still there was no reaction.
“Spirit of the Spring,” Damla repeated, louder. “My people need help. We are dying. I humbly beg for your assistance.”
More minutes passed. Damla’s growing irritation started to compete with her feeling of being an intruder. She had not climbed all this way to be ignored. She would not return without the help she sought.
“Spirit of the Spring,” Damla said again, rising from her bow to sit at the edge of the pool. “I am Damla. My people are dying. I must help them. I will offer whatever you wish, but I will not leave until you help me.”
Still nothing. Nothing but stillness. Damla was already resolved, and settled into a comfortable position to wait. Time passed. The young woman sat quietly as the sun traveled across the sky. After a while she took some dried meat from her little travel pouch and ate. She sipped from her little bottle made from a dried gourd, but did so sparingly and with apprehension. Tempting as the clear waters of the spring were, she dared not drink from it just yet. The shadows grew longer. Before dark, Damla went a short way back down the trail to relieve herself, and returned promptly to her spot by the pool. She lay down and slept there, curled up against the chill of the mountain air at night.
The next day Damla woke with a grumbling belly. She ate the last of her dried meat and fresh berries, followed by the last of her water. The latter made the former sit uncomfortably, but she was used to it by now.
“I will not leave,” Damla reminded the pool of water. “I must be heard. Please, Spirit of the Spring. Hear me.”
Restless, Damla stretched her limbs and lithe, athletic body by the side of the pool. She stripped off her shirt to soak up the sun as the morning stretched into midday. The young woman hummed and entertained a dozen little fantasies. Arguments were had, contests were won, and in her happiest daydreams Damla saw the sea. All to distract from her growing thirst.
Midday tipped toward evening, and Damla sat again at the edge of the softly steaming pool. “Spirit of the Spring,” she said, her tone soft once again as she leaned down into a bow. “I know that you are there. I can feel it in this place. Please. My people are sick. I am thirsty. We need your water. I need it. But I will not take it unless it is offered. Please. Hear me.”
Slowly, Damla reached out toward the pristine pool. Her hand hovered for a moment over the water, hesitation holding her within hair’s breadth from touching the surface. With a sigh, Damla pulled back her hand and sat up. She let her arms fall to her sides and asked, “What must I do?”
A few seconds passed before Damla noticed the movement, a gentle rising from the pool. Her breath caught in her throat as she witnessed a figure rise from the spring. More accurately, she realized, the waters of the spring itself rose in the center of the pool to form a figure. At first it was only a vague shape roughly the size of a person, but it quickly took on a clarity of definition that rendered Damla speechless.
The figure of the spirit of the spring was that of a woman, and she was beautiful. Even with the peculiarity of this woman being formed wholly from clear spring water, Damla could plainly recognize the features of the loveliest face she had ever beheld. That face seemed at once delicate and strong, precious and imposing. The shape of the figure was ample in a way that filled Damla with more appreciation than envy. A curtain of hair cascaded from the top of the figure’s head across her shoulders, and vanished into her back near the point where her waist flared to abundant hips, and shortly below that she became one with the calm surface of the pool.
Damla realized that she had no idea how long she’d been staring, and suddenly felt the spirit’s crystalline gaze upon her.
“Hello,” Damla said, far louder and more abruptly than she’d intended. She rose on her knees, her heart racing. “I want… Hello. Spirit of the Spring, you…” The young woman felt like dropping her head in embarrassment and defeat as she struggled to find words, but that would have meant taking her eyes off the spirit. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for hearing me. I… don’t even know what to ask anymore. May I sing for you?”
The spirit tilted her head, a bemused smile on her translucent lips.
Damla launched into song before she could second-guess herself. She was not a particularly gifted singer, but it was something she liked to do. She sang the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be a lilting shanty she’d learned from some merchants that had passed through three summers ago. It was one of her favorites, a charming and somewhat roughneck tune about sailing. In essence, Damla realized as she serenaded the spirit, it was a love song to the sea.
The shanty ended. Damla was left staring at the spirit again, still uncertain what to do and feeling all the more embarrassed for her singing.
“Will you help us?” Damla asked after a minute.
The spirit of the spring regarded her, tilting her head from one side to the other. Her colorless eyes looked over the pleading, half-naked young woman for a while, then down at her own water sculpture body. Reaching out one hand, the spirit beckoned Damla forward.
Damla’s heart threatened to thump its way free from her chest. Her mind was racing. What did the spirit want? Would it help her? Drown her? Would it test her first? What sort of test? As she stood to step forward and enter the spring, Damla halted and considered her sandals. They were filthy, and the waters were so clean. She crouched back down to untie and remove the offending footwear, her thoughts veering to how dirty she suddenly felt and the last time she bathed. She shut those thoughts away. It didn’t matter. She briefly considered the dirt stained into her loose pants, but her cheeks grew far too hot and she had to put that thought aside as well.
At last, Damla stepped into the spring. The smooth pebbles were comfortable on her feet as the warm water rose over her ankles. She walked in further, keenly aware of how much her movement disturbed the placid surface, until the water was above her waist.
The spirit drifted closer, to within a few inches of Damla, and then circled around her slowly. Damla could feel a shifting current around her as the figure of the spirit moved, gently flowing around her hips and across her thighs through the fabric of her pants. After two circuits, the spirit stopped in front of Damla again, and tilted her head. She looked down, then away into the distance. In the direction of Damla’s village, the young woman realized. Then the spirit looked at her again, and nodded once.
“You… you will help us?” Damla asked, to which the spirit nodded again. Damla belted out a laugh she was so happy and relieved. “Thank you! Thank you, Spirit. You are so beautifu… I thank you. I… What can I do for you?”
The spirit smiled, and Damla felt as if she might die right there. The spirit pointed at her with a crystal-clear finger, and then pantomimed singing.
“You want me to sing again?” Damla asked. “Really?” The spirit nodded, and Damla obliged. Once more the foreign shanty filled the air, and this time the figure of the spirit gently bobbed and swayed in time with the melody. Damla could feel the whole pool shift and sway with her. Soon the level of the warm water was over her navel, and she couldn’t be sure if the waters had risen or if she’d been unwittingly drawn deeper into the spring. Damla went through the shanty, and then sang one of her favorite little lullabies about the vernal rains washing troubles away.
When Damla was finished, the spirit was right in front of her, a living statue of water sculpted into the shape of an unearthly beautiful woman. Smiling, the spirit leaned close, rising over the young woman a bit. Damla held her breath as the spirit reached up with a transparent hand, as if to cup her face, but then hovered just above the skin. Damla could feel the warmth of the water, which seemed to be growing hotter, radiating from the merest millimeter away. The spirit tilted its head, and Damla nodded.
Damla did not have a point of reference for what it felt like. She was swept up in a current as the spirit took hold of her and spun her around, the warm water of the spirit’s form somehow both firm and yielding against her. Damla was off her feet, floating in the spirit’s embrace. The spirit’s touch left rivulets of water as she caressed Damla from neck to navel. Their lips met, Damla surprised by the tangible pressure against her mouth. She parted her lips, and the spirit flowed in and across her tongue. Overwhelmed, Damla simply closed her eyes and tried to reciprocate. She placed her hand on the spirit’s shoulder, but gripped too tightly and found herself with a fistful of water. The spirit did not seem to notice, and continued to kiss and caress the young woman eagerly, her tongue like lapping waves within Damla’s mouth.
It was disorienting, and Damla had to choke down her fear and uncertainty. Sensing her stiffness, the spirit backed off. It held her so that Damla was half-lying in the pool, supported by the spirit’s inexplicably solid arm.
“Sorry,” Damla apologized. “I don’t really know how to… um…”
The spirit placed a finger to Damla’s lips, then withdrew it and held it between them. As Damla watched, the spirit’s finger grew cloudy and solid. With a smile, the spirit gently pressed the finger to the tawny skin of Damla’s shoulder, and the young woman gasped at the frigid touch. Damla shuddered as the spirit moved the frozen fingertip across her tingling flesh. Icy lines were traced along her neck, clavicle, and down across the curves of her bust. The spirit took a moment to tease the stiff nipples before winding her touch lower, down Damla’s belly and up her sides again. Damla bit her lip through a smile, shivering and gasping at the chilly touch that was so at odds with the steaming pool around them, now pleasantly hot instead of merely warm. Her fingers made attempts to stroke the spirit in kind, otherwise following the chilly trails across her own goosebump-riddled fleshed.
That icy finger teased at the waist of Damla’s pants, and the young woman immediately started to remove the garment. Now lowered mostly into the water, Damla spent an infuriating amount of effort to rid herself of the sodden fabric, but soon enough the last of her clothing was floating away. She turned toward the spirit’s lovely figure and put her arms around it gently, the resistance providing the seeming of solidity as they embraced and kissed again.
Below the surface, Damla felt a pressure. A narrow, insistent thing, like the press of grasping fingers as they were dragged up her inner thighs. Both the spirit’s hands were busy holding her and teasing her with now several icy digits, but within the pool the spirit did not need a shape. Lines of gripping pressure were drawn up Damla’s legs from her toes to the curve of her taut backside. A line of ice dragged down the length of her spine right to the tip of her tailbone, and Damla shivered once again. Her own hands traveled across the spirit’s body, making shallow little trails in the shapely water. It was impossible to imagine what might feel good to a water spirit, so Damla just did everything she knew she liked. Or rather, she tried to. The spirit was very distracting.
“Mmnh!” Damla cried into their kiss. Another pressure had begun within the pool. It settled over her alert clit and pressed in steady, rhythmic circles. She pulled back to gasp, clinging to the spirit as she floated against it.
Smiling, the spirit rolled Damla onto her back again and lifted her upper torso just slightly out of the pool. The pressure beneath the surface never let up, and fingers of ice still teased along the woman’s sides. Now, the spirit added a new game. She held one hand above Damla, and it seemed to steam more than the rest of the pool around them. The spirit wiggled her fingers, and little droplets spattered down onto Damla’s chest and belly.
Damla gasped, flinching at the splash of heat. It took her a moment to notice that the water cooled just after hitting her, and was not hot enough to actually burn. Only enough to startle her. The spirit spattered her with another rain of singing little drops, and then dragged fingers of ice over the whole area, taking care to tease the curves and points of the young woman’s breasts just enough before moving on. This cycle was repeated. The pressure over Damla’s button grew deeper, the circles more rapid, and soon she was panting in the spirit’s grasp. She tensed, her fingers balling into fists and her toes curling as the pleasure built and concentrated. She felt as if she might implode, and then at last the little ball of bliss released. Damla let out a guttural cry, trembling in the embrace of the water spirit.
The spirit, her crystal-clear smile beaming, didn’t let up. She varied her touches and pressures just enough. Damla came down from the crest of her peak, but was rising again before she could catch her breath. The young woman gasped for air and clawed at the pool through a second shattering climax. Her sense of space left, and all that remained was the floating, all-encompassing pleasure.
A gentle touch slid across her cheek, and Damla looked up into the face of the spirit. The hot and cold and pressure had all eased off, now just a gentle massage of Damla’s body as she floated in the spring.
“I have no words,” Damla panted. She reached up to stroke the spirit’s face in kind. “You… I don’t feel like I have done anything for you.”
The spirit shook her head. She ran her hand across Damla’s neck and shoulders, returning to her throat a few times. Damla felt a gentle squeeze, and then the spirit’s hand glided up across her chin to cover her mouth and nose. Damla furrowed her brow, looking at the spirit in confusion while she held her breath. Meanwhile, the spirit resumed its more vigorous attention, the pressure sliding around Damla’s tender button rapidly once again. Damla moaned beneath the watery hand, squirming in the spirit’s grasp. Her lungs began to ache for air. Just as she was about to try and shake her head free, the spirit removed the hand and Damla was able to suck in a breath.
Damla was moved again, the water of the pool shifting her into a new position. She was now upright, only her head and neck out of the water. The pressure continued to work on her, and the grasp of a half-dozen unseen hands
held and groped her beneath the surface. The spirit’s head was behind her, and she could feel the vague impression of a feminine shape against her back. Damla shuddered and moaned, feeling touched and teased at every possible angle now that she was almost entirely beneath the surface. The spirit held back nothing, dragging lines of heat and cold across Damla and squeezing at her possessively. Damla was bucking beneath the water, feeling herself already rising on another tide of pleasure.
The spirit moved her hand across Damla’s neck again, once more giving it a gentle squeeze. She turned the young woman’s face toward her, and looked down into the depths of the clear pool. Following her gaze, Damla could see that they were now at the center of the spring, the deepest part. The spirit gave her neck another squeeze, and for a moment Damla felt the innumerable points of pressure give a concerted pull downward. She was dragged down until her chin hit the surface, then allowed to rise back to her shoulders again. The spirit moved its shape around to the front, looking at Damla straight on, and tilted its head.
Damla looked into the deep pool and wondered. She lifted her gaze to the spirit and bit her lip. “You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?” she asked.
The spirit shook its head.
Damla took a slow, shaky breath, and nodded.
The spirit moved in and pressed their lips together again. Damla surrendered to the kiss and sank beneath the surface of the spring completely. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on the shapes made in the pressure the spirit used on her.
The voluptuous figure was gone. Down here, the spirit could be anything. Damla was pressed from every angle, touched in ways she had never imagined. However she moved or whatever she did, there was nothing she could do to move herself. There was only the ubiquitous embrace of the water as it held her, teased her, and drove her wild. Damla’s lungs began to burn, her head shaking as natural panic threatened to take hold. The young woman was entirely out of her element, helpless and adrift, given over entirely to the whims and mercy of spirit. Her courage slipped. She reached out, grasping for the surface or anything solid, but there was only more water. She opened her eyes, and saw her vision already narrowing. The flash of panic started to fade. Acceptance came in its place. Damla’s limbs went limp.
Her head was above the water. Damla gasped in a huge breath, heaving for several seconds after. As soon as she caught her breath, the spirit rose from the water again. Once more they kissed, and once more Damla was brought below the surface. The spirit never kept her down as long again, letting Damla breathe as she needed while they continued. Damla was pushed to her limits time and again, until her whole body ached. The spirit brought her to the edge of the spring to rest, though they continued to touch one another. The thirsty woman drank deeply from the spirit until she could no more, and felt better than she had in her entire life.
At the opposite edge of the spring, the waters had crashed against a wall of small stones enough to dislodge them, and then risen so that the clear water spilled out and traveled in a small stream to down the side of the cliff. It would take time, but the dry streambed at the bottom would fill and flow once again. Soon, the people of the valley would have fresh water once more, and the spirit’s blessing along with it to banish the sickness from their crops and livestock.
Damla climbed back down the mountain the next day, her skin wrinkled from the extended soak and a beaming smile on her face. She was already making plans to repair the staircase and make the hike back to the spring easier for next time. And the many times to follow.