The second the door slammed shut behind them, the room turned into a sweat-soaked, salt-stinking temple of pure fetish.
The drowned woman (still nameless, still perfect) lay arched like a bow over the rigid leather backboard, spine forced into a brutal curve that thrust her soaked orange bikini top upward, nipples hard from cold water and death. Seawater pooled beneath her shoulder blades. The monitor screamed one long, unbroken flatline, green and merciless.
Sophia didn’t speak anymore. She just growled, swung her leg over, and dropped her full weight straight down.
Hands locked, elbows ramrod-straight, she drove her fists into the sternum so hard the first compression forced a thick jet of saltwater out of the victim’s open mouth. Again. Again. Again. One-ten per minute, no mercy, hips snapping forward with every violent thrust like she was fucking the corpse back to life. Each impact made the drowned girl’s body jerk, breasts slapping wetly against the inside of her top, navel punching outward so hard the piercing glinted.
The other three lifeguards pressed in close, almost climbing over each other, eyes glazed.
Valentina was already panting, fingers buried knuckle-deep in her own navel, pumping in perfect sync, whispering “harder… harder…” under her breath like a prayer.
Mei had her thighs clenched so tight the black strings of her bikini cut into her hips; she was openly grinding against nothing, waiting for her turn.
Riley, the redhead, had one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the moan she couldn’t hold back every time Sophia bottomed out on a compression and the victim’s ribs creaked audibly.
“Switch!” Sophia snarled after two straight minutes, sweat pouring off her.
She didn’t step away. She simply slid backward, dragging her soaked crotch along the drowned girl’s belly, and Valentina lunged forward like an animal released. Fresh hands slammed into place, deeper this time, faster, more savage. The victim’s body rocked harder, head lolling, lifeless arms flopping like a ragdoll.
Another two minutes. Another switch.
Mei took over with a hungry whimper, smaller but vicious, riding the chest with short, brutal thrusts that made the navel pop so violently it looked ready to tear free.
Riley was last in line, trembling, literally dripping, whispering to the flatlining woman:
“Don’t you dare come back yet… please don’t come back yet…”
Outside, the ambulance siren was finally audible, growing louder.
Inside, the lifeguards locked eyes (silent, feral agreement).
They slowed the rhythm just enough to stretch the final minute into eternity, savoring every last compression, every wet slap of skin on skin, every perfect second of the code that belonged only to them.
The monitor never changed its song.
And none of them wanted it to.
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