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Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 10/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral)
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<1st attachment, "10lorelei.txt" begin>
Lorelei part 10
It seemed like years had passed since I first peered
furtively through my cave window and beheld a naked
youth doing what came naturally. For Kieran, the Lorelei
must have seemed even further away; when I asked he
agreed.
He met me at his front door of the cottage the next
morning, and we kissed hungrily. "How," he chided,
stroking my cheek with a fingertip, "am I ever supposed
to finish this flamin' picture of yours?"
"Slowly?"
He drew me into the loungeroom. "How about we dispense
with the preliminaries first?" His pants were hard and
tight beneath my hand, and he was lifting my dress up,
up and over my head while I unzipped his trousers and
pushed them down. Time for training, and this was one
workout I loved.
Although I had seen him naked, he had only yet seen me
naked below the waist. Today, as if he had been saving
himself a special treat, after kissing and tonguing my
labia, he took off my bra and worshipped my breasts. I
had been secretly worried about them, thinking of them
as my sexual Achilles' Heel because they were small
compared to my friends' examples, and even the world's
best wonderbra achieved little toward giving me a
cleavage. But when Kieran's lips and hands roved over
them without hesitation, his face as soft with love as
his whiskers were rough with passion, all my fears were
laid to rest. Standing, he caressed my nipples with his
cockhead, drawing little circles around my areolae while
I kissed his stomach and stroked his thighs. Quite
suddenly he came, so that his cream made soft warm
streaks on my breasts with smooth and silken droplets.
He gasped in delight, and we kissed tenderly. "I love
you, Kieran," I whispered.
"Beautiful Joanna," he breathed. "Come with me and pose
for me, just like this, naked and lovely! I could never
have dared ask you this before." His voice strengthened.
"There's this picture I've been commissioned for, you
see, of a Lorelei or some such."
He grabbed a plain bedsheet from the linen cupboard and
draped it over the lounge for a background, then fiddled
with the window drapes and placed a lamp to obtain the
best lighting possible. And then he positioned me,
seated, legs parted, half-turned, breasts upthrust,
checking and re-checking what he saw. His cum glistened
upon my skin, his fragrance rich, sweet, intoxicating. I
could believe I was her, the fantastic Lorelei,
glistening with water and utterly sexual. I could glare
at him archly, and demand what I liked.
It was fun! I sat for him, and he sketched, and I
enjoyed watching him as much as he seemed to be enjoying
me. We were both naked, and even soft I loved to look at
him; wanted to play with him, touch him. He sketched, a
professional scowl on his brow, pencil scratching across
textured paper; he was using that same large sketchblock
he'd caught Cathy and I looking in the night before
last. And he didn't stay soft for long. Just watching
his eyes intent upon my body, his cock growing larger,
starting to rise from its resting place stirred my
simmering embers.
"Who would you want more, her or me?" I asked.
"Don't ask that question," he murmured gruffly, keeping
his eyes on his work.
"I don't care, because she's gone now, but I'm here." I
unfolded my legs and stood up, watching his erection.
"Siddown," he growled. "I'm not finished yet." Ignoring
him, I walked over to where he sat, and put my hands on
his head.
"Yes you are." I pulled his face into my watering snatch
as he set down his work, then wrapped his arms around my
thighs. His tongue snaked out to taste me, and I sighed.
But there was more on my mind, and after a while I eased
away from him. "Know why I don't care?" I asked, bending
my knees, lowering myself to sit straddling his thighs.
"I care," he said, very softly.
"You can love her all you like," I continued stoutly.
His cock was pointing straight at my open vagina. "But I
want you to be my Lorelei, Kieran."
He held my gaze for a very long time. Then, his hands on
my hips, he lifted me to my feet, rising too. "Let's go
outside," he said. "It's nice out there."
I wanted to protest, frustrated. But of course, the
Lorelei had worked her magic outdoors, by the water, in
the sunshine.
From the linen cupboard he handed me a big, soft
blanket; then he went into Sean's room before taking me
by the hand and leading me outside. Beyond the verandah
where we had all had dinner that night (was it so long
ago?), sunlight pierced the tree canopy with golden
spars of light. It was tranquil, and private.
We spread the blanket; there was just enough lawn to
hold it, and lay down side by side gazing into each
others' eyes. I was struck again by how attractive I
found him, never mind what he could do between my
thighs. Something rustled, a plastic sound. "What's that
you've got there?"
He sat up with a smirk. "Is there ever a sexy way to
introduce these things?" he muttered, opening a small
packet.
"My Lorelei is well prepared!"
"Are you kidding?" he grinned. "Had to borrow one of
Sean's."
We both sobered, though, as I watched him roll the
rubber over himself. My time, at last, was here. His
eyes were upon mine all the while as he knelt between my
knees, asking, would I change my mind? Would I hesitate?
For all the sexy fun we had made over the past day and a
half, this was still different.
"Kieran," I whispered, raising my arms, drawing him
down. Something rubbed my slit, slowly, along its
length, making my clitoris pulse and burn. It was as hot
as his tongue but much larger; hard as his finger, but
more resilient, and larger. His eyes were still locked
to mine, asking. I could feel his hand curled in my
groin, guiding. By way of answer, I lifted my hips.
There was a wonderful, spreading sensation, that just
kept going, and going; a sense of something large coming
into me, that wasn't my fingers, or his; something so
much better, a hardness that began moving to and fro in
a wonderful way.
Kieran.
I ran my hands across his pulsing shoulders as he drove
within me, loving every thrust, his weight and power
matched by the tenderness in his eyes. I touched his
face in wonder, then gave myself up to the waves of
sensation and need building deep within my body. To
clench around him, to feel his length, all combined to
raise my need higher, higher, the waves that come before
the mighty surge of the swell.
As that ultimate wave loomed, I took a deep breath. And
then my body was shaking, twisting and writhing, my own
strength pushing back against his in the extremity of
joy. I clung to his body, wanting to pull all of him
inside me, to a place where we could be lost in
pleasure.
He kept thrusting as I glided down the back of that
mighty wave, and it still felt glorious. His pace had
lost its langour and he thrust in hard, rapid bursts
before gasping; I felt the jerk of his release, and
clutched him to me, whispering his name in his ear,
kissing his hair.
Now I knew. The waiting had been hard to take...but in
this man, and this moment, was worth every lonely,
grumpy moment. I did not want us to part, not even
physically; nor, to my delight, was Kieran in any hurry
to leave. But at last, he slipped from inside me. We
gathered each other close, nestling in the warmth of
each others' skin.
"Is it really you, the one I've been waiting for?" he
murmured, kissing my face and temple.
"I hope so, Kieran, I really hope so!"
***
For a while I was content to drowse, and listen to his
breathing; to toy with his nipple and chest hair, to
nibble his warm skin and bask in contentment. I didn't
mind him sleeping, the better for him to recharge; and
when he slept, his face lost the harsher lines, the
scowl that served as his modern cat-skull.
I sat up suddenly, a thick buzz filling my ears.
Where was it? In the yard somewhere, and if he found it
or, worse still, discovered I was trying to get rid of
it, the wonderful moment I had just lived would be
ripped apart by betrayal, anger and hate. I had to find
it, to put it back where it belonged, back in the
cabinet...
No, I had to throw it in the creek! It wouldn't let me
alone until I got rid of it!
I stood up, heart in my mouth, no longer passionate and
sexy, but apprehensive. Kieran was sprawled on his back,
chest rising and falling in sleep, face gentle, a
picture of trust. Further away, beyond the blanket, the
garden was a tangle of long grass and overgrown old
shrubbery, of geranium and passionfruit vine. There was
the rotting old pier, the willow that sheltered us, the
tyre swing.
And there, laying cupped inside the tyre, was the
catskull.
I didn't stop to wonder why. Couldn't imagine how it had
gotten there. My legs on automatic carried me toward the
crumbling timber, my eyes welded to that bleached bone.
It was horrible, yet somehow beautiful; as fascinating
as life, death and birth, the whole mystery of life.
Fear and thrill. Love and risk. Death and rebirth.
On the edge of the bank, I gazed at the skull, wondering
why my ears roared as if full of the sea, the tumult of
its waves. The tyre was so close to me now that I could
see every curl of lichen, the pits and wear of the
rubber, the glitter of metal fibres, the white splatter
of guano from birds that had perched overhead. I put my
hand out toward it, and blinked several times, for my
eyes were stinging and playing tricks. Seen through the
ring of the tyre, the stagnant creek beyond glowed with
crystalline blue light instead of rusty amber and oily
green. The pungent tang of brine filled my nostrils, the
fresh scent of ocean, as though I breathed the very sea.
A cool breeze caressed the length of my naked body and I
leaned forward, into its resistance, letting it catch me
up and bear my weight as surely as the surge at the
beach, washing me clean of sweat and dust...
I couldn't see the skull anymore; instead, light
rippling amidst pale shell and rock with hollows like
orbits, where sea-snails cruised and seagrass waved.
Spears of sunlight were turned silver and blue as they
pierced the liquid mirror above.
With legs together I kicked, and veered and swirled from
coiling my spine, slipping through the cool velvet
draught that carried me. I knew where I was. Clasped the
water in the cups of my hands, rolled and twirled and
dived, kept pace with the torpedoes of schooling fish.
Knew what I was, and where I was headed. Knew no fear at
what had happened, nor any amazement, for there was
something natural and implacable in all this. Tides turn
with every passing day, and rocks are ground into sand.
Nature is a vast, living consciousness extending far
beyond the obvious tools of wind and wave. Far beyond
the evidence of five scanty human senses. And Nature has
a rich sense of humour.
For a while I was content to ride the tide and glory in
living beneath the sea as one of its creatures; to race
the shoals of fingerlings, and rush up beneath the
cruising pelicans and tug their pink feet and startle
them to raucous takeoff. I scooted through the blue as
fast as the pointed hull of a tinny, its engine cutting
a spiral of bubbles as it droned overhead. I could have
startled the owner by leaping like a dolphin from the
waves, but kept my mystery beneath the blue where it
belonged. Instead, I found slower moving boats, and
mischievously tweaked the fish-lines trolling behind
them, laughing when the lines were hastily wound in.
I was dismayed when I found plastic bags nodding amidst
the wrack, and whenever I found one I took it to the
nearest fishing line and hooked it securely, tugging the
line hard to make sure it was reeled in. I did this for
quite a while, but it made me angry and sad, and I
understood I could spend a lot of my underwater play
time doing this. After a time, I abandoned my mission in
favour of simply diving and dancing on the current,
feeling the joy that only cavorting seals and dolphins
know.
Working my way into deeper water, I sought out colder,
more challenging depths. I explored the sunken crags and
tumbled battlements of the coastline's defeat over the
ages. I met a cruising shark, but knew no fear. We eyed
each other coldly as we went about our business, obeying
our primal instincts.
For I, too, had become hungry. In the bluewater off
Lorelei Point, I briefly raised my head above the sea's
surface. There was the lighthouse, from an angle I had
never seen before. It stood phallic upon a rampart of
stone carved deeply with crevices, some very dark and
deep; hiding a cave still virginal. This was where I
would feed.
Rolling into a languid, sensual dive, I plunged to the
very sea floor, and slithered through strands of kelp
that brushed my silken skin. The seabed climbed quickly,
rising up to a narrow tongue of silver sand between
rolls of black stone. Three powerful kicks of my body
gave me speed as I surged from the deep and burst into
sunshine.
His heart had beat, drumming against the bedrock of the
cape, for many weeks now. At last, I answered its lonely
call.
He was standing on the rocks, staring at me, of course.
A dark-haired youth in jeans and a death-metal teeshirt,
veneered with attitude, but terror in his eyes. I knew
every contour of his body intimately, and knew what he
would like. He would feed me his innocence, and I would
feed him his maturity.
Had he not been ready, he would have turned and ran. But
I saw his eyes linger upon my breasts, then track lower,
to the place in me that was blood-hot and starting to
tingle. The time had come, to show him what he needed to
know. From the sea, he could learn to give pleasure, and
would then receive in his turn.
I strolled with womanly grace from the water and knelt
at the sea's edge, parting my thighs wide, allowing the
scarlet petals of my sex to open fully. The endless sea
washed in, licking me with foam, and in that moment I
felt as though I could make love to Nature in its
entirety. But this wasn't about me, rather the lad on
the rocks.
One halting step after another, he came toward me,
stumbling down into the shallows, until he knelt between
my knees. Entranced, he lifted a hand that trembled ever
so slightly, and brushed it across my shoulder, feeling
the exotic texture of my skin. Was I real? The evidence
of his senses told him it was so. I cradled his face in
my hands. That chiselled nose and deepset eyes, the
unkempt dark hair were all Kieran. His chin was dimpled,
but he had only a few wispy whiskers, and I caressed
that boyish smoothness - how it would change! I wanted
to whisper his name in sweetness and love; instead, I
kept silent by touching his lips with mine.
At first he was hesitant, unsure of what his mouth could
do. But it didn't take him long to get the taste for it.
His hands moved with something more like the assurance I
knew so well, and I melted against him as he drew my
body close, feeling my body as I explored his mouth, his
familiar taste, and showed him how it should be done.
The maiden in me just wanted to surrender to him. The
woman I had become resolved to complete his education.
When I guided him to my breasts, his whole body shivered
with delight. This morning he had caressed them with his
rod, and gasped with delight as he had come. This
morning I had worried that they were too small. But they
were sensitive, and as his tongue curled around my
nipples, I knew this was something he was going to have
to do more often. With a soft cry, I let him know how my
desire was building. His muscles were tight, and he
moaned. Just the knowing that he had come thrilled me,
and I held him close, rocking him, loving him until his
body stirred, and he began to suck at my breasts again.
His initiation was by no means complete. I lay back upon
the sand, pressing him lower, allowing him no argument
as to where next he should go. Nor did he offer any
hesitation. He started with a kiss, the best place for
any beginner to commence, letting his tongue venture
further to touch and explore every fold. Very soon, he
was driving me wild. The past few days collapsed one
inside the other as his tongue took me to the heights of
need and ecstasy. It was as though he had known all his
life what to do, but never had the means to practice
before. I was on his bed, again, in his room that first
night; kicking and gouging not at the sheets, but the
sand, forgetting everything of who and where I was and
crying out my need.
When he stopped, I remembered. The man would have
wrestled me through it, taken me to the end. The boy had
pulled back, but there was something sharper than before
in his eyes as he smiled down at me. Something less of
awe, something more of knowing; something more of the
man who would teach me.
He didn't dare feel cocky. With my natural weapon, I
could remind him of humility. He wasn't so much as naked
yet, and that was how I wanted him. His face whitened
when, with one decisive slash, I cut his silly, boy-
tough shirt away. His chest was truly naked now, smooth,
with only a hint of sprouting hair; but it was the chest
and stomach I knew so well. Kneeling, I nuzzled and
kissed him.
"Uh, how about I get this?"
His jeans, tight anyway, were tighter still with water
and sand. I helped him get them down, hungry for what I
knew was beneath. Perhaps he was five years younger, but
his equipment was as I knew it; his splendid penis,
semi-erect, nested in black curls. Massaging his thighs,
I gently sucked his cockhead into my mouth, while
stroking from inside his knee right up to his balls.
Patting his scrotum was a pleasure all mine these days.
Admittedly, I'd only had a day's practice myself, but it
had been an intensive course. While he wasn't quite
ready, I could take all of him into my mouth, and run my
tongue up and down his shaft as if to massage it to
tautness. Feeling him harden beneath my lips and tongue
was bliss; feeling his legs tremble and the tightness of
his rump was pushing me to white heat. I rolled my
tongue around the flange of his swollen head, tasting
the salty syrup at his tip, riding him to the moment -
before letting him slip out and backing away.
Now was the time. I wanted him again; this time on that
beach of wonder and lost innocence, that brief and
sheltered place of secrets and initiation. Laying back
on the sand, I called him into me. He did not look down
to see what he was doing, gazing only into my eyes as
our hands together guided him home. Again, I arched my
back to the delight of him sliding inside me, clenching
on his firm resilience; everything spiced by our needful
gasps. I wanted him, now and forever, and his eyes were
full of tenderness as we rode upward, climbing each new
wave, then hitting the swell united, fused in ecstasy.
In my mind's eye, I saw him asleep in dappled sunlight
on a blanket...as if from overhead and far, far away.
The sounds of the sea dwindled to a whisper, and I
called his name, suddenly afraid that I had lost him
somehow. Then the feeling passed; he was clasped in my
arms, slipping from within, spent, his eyelids
fluttering closed and body heavy.
For a long time we curled together. I held him in my
arms while the tide ran out, way below the tangle of our
legs, the loose curl of my tail still holding his leg
captive. I felt his soft hair and kissed his warm skin,
and murmured that the future was full of life and
promise. He would paint the beautiful pictures that
filled his mind, and that would be his living, in spite
of the anger of people who feared their sensuality. He
would make his home a place of sanctuary, colour and
light, and his younger brother would be a fine musician
and his greatest friend. Love would come and find them
both when the time was right. Some women would come and
go, but once he passed twenty his destiny would become
clear. And after that, he would need his cat-skull charm
no longer.
At last, I let him go, and stood up. Perhaps this
weekend, a young girl would peer from the slit-window
above, looking for vagabonds or mermaids. I splashed
into the sea and swam swiftly out from the coast,
seeking the prized dining fish that dwelled beyond the
reach of most coastal fishermen. With sharp cat's claws
extended, I snagged my prey, careful not to bruise the
flesh, then took it back to the point. There he
slumbered still, while I left my final gift. I knelt by
his side and kissed his forehead tenderly, and whispered
my promise to return...
...saw him sprawled on the blanket where I had left him,
murmuring and rolling, stirring, and the fear bared
feline fangs...for what if I should lose him?
The tide would wake him as it rolled in, and give him
time to get off the rocks safely. I turned away and ran
into the sea, lifting my arms to dive, and hurled myself
into the blue as he called my name...
_Joanne!_
The sea hit my face, tepid, brackish, warm as fresh
urine and almost as pungent. My limbs thrashed with a
bursting crash of water and flailed, taking me nowhere,
and liquid fire rushed down my nose and throat. Whatever
the spell, it was broken.
"Jo! Jesus, Jo!"
My hands and knees connected painfully with slimy rocks
and splintered wood and I coughed, gagged, fighting for
oxygen. Strong hands grabbed me roughly, lifting,
hauling me to the light and air. Somehow, I managed to
breathe, racked with coughs.
"What the fuck were you doing out there? Oh...oh...my
God!"
Kieran hugged me fiercely, and I answered his clasp as
best I could through my coughing. Behind us, the creek
was churned with mud, and bristling with broken branches
and timber. Then he gathered me in his arms and lifted
me, carrying me back to the blanket, and carefully set
me down. It was only then that I saw what had stunned
him to silence.
When he saw I was strong enough to sit unaided, he
rocked slowly back on his heels, holding his arms out
toward me, palms upturned. They were covered in fine
black flakes, the specks glistening with rainbow colours
where caught by sunshine. His eyes burned upon me, his
expression that of five years gone, as though I had
risen from the water for the very first time.
I looked down. My skin was streaked with mud, and my
hands and knees were scratched and raw. But I, too, was
dusted with tiny black flecks of prismatic light. They
were stuck to my skin the same way fish scales stick to
your hands when you've been scaling your catch. I
brushed the back of my arm, which was drying rapidly,
with one hand, which sent a fine sprinkling of scales
fluttering away.
"Don't!" Kieran cried. "Do it over the blanket! Save as
much of it as you can! Wait there, I'll get a towel!" He
ran to the house, while I stared at the devastation. Not
only had the pier collapsed - the entire willow tree had
toppled, cracking and breaking through ancient, diseased
roots, tearing up the black silt of the bank as well.
Kieran would later describe waking to a deep, creaking
groan, and the surreal sight of half the back yard
sliding into the creek, taking me with it.
"Here." He knelt with me on the blanket, very carefully
brushing my skin with a towel. Black opal dust gathered
beneath me. "Do you realise what this is?" he whispered.
"Do you?" I answered softly, caressing his face. His
eyes were bright, brimming with tears; suddenly I wanted
to cry too, and hugged him to my breast, kissing and
stroking his hair. "I love you, Kieran, I love you..."
***
When my skin was smooth and dry, we stepped carefully
from the blanket, then poured its contents into a clean
glass jar. Then, wrapped in blanket and towel, we stood
and gazed wordlessly at the fallen tree, holding each
other.
Even when an engine drew up somewhere out the front and
car doors slammed, and we heard Sean's voice call a
thankyou to Cathy's brother for the lift, we still stood
motionless together. Footsteps echoed through the house,
with murmurs and giggles.
Then the back door exploded open. "What the fu..." Sean
cried as he ran out, followed by Cathy, aghast. On
sighting us they stopped and turned, doing a king-sized
doubletake. Sean looked us up and down.
"What...are you two doing?"
Kieran's sardonic half-grin spread across his face, eyes
bright with humour. "Well, the back yard was a bit of a
mess," he drawled, "so we thought we'd get rid of it."
Sean blushed. "That's not what I meant, uh..." Cathy
gave him a one-armed squeeze around the ribs, for in her
other hand she had the sketchblock Kieran had left in
the loungeroom.
"See, I told you!" It was my turn to blush as she
flipped through the pages, but she didn't stop at any of
the sketches Kieran had made this morning. The picture
she held up was the portrait he had made of my face last
week, now with the second face in the picture complete.
It was him, close by, with gentle eyes.
***
Four years later, Kieran and I are still together, and
we're talking of marriage, if only to formalise the
connection we feel. Lyn and Renton both went on to
university, and Sean won a musical scholarship while
Cathy went on to a fine arts degree. We all still get
together from time to time, Sean and Cathy regularly.
In a bottom drawer of our wardrobe (which has a map of
Middle Earth painted on it), there is a jar of delicate,
iridescent black flakes, wrapped in a death-metal
teeshirt that has been sliced up the middle. We both
searched for the catskull, even looking in the creek
after the wreckage had been pulled out of there, but it
never showed up again. Its handle, Kieran told me, was
not made of dowel or broomstick, but a piece of that
same tree - it was the tree he believes was magic, not
the bones.
We seldom get the jar out with the real scales. But
every year, when our anniversary comes around, we make
love in the back yard by the willow sapling we planted.
The day before, we go to the local craft shop and buy a
packet of black sequins, so that when we lie naked
together, we can trickle them over our bodies in
celebration.
As for Lorelei Point, well, nobody's ever reported
seeing a mermaid out there. Sean, however, maintains the
fishing's very, very good.
........
The End
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