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Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 09/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral)
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<1st attachment, "09lorelei.txt" begin>

Lorelei part 9

It was dark outside, really dark, inky. The fairy-lights 
were switched off, and all the regular outside lights. 
The kitchen window emitted just enough of a gleam for me 
to see the ancient tree and a pale arc of the tyre. All 
I had to do now was pitch the noisome thing in that 
direction, at the tyre and the creek, and it would be 
gone. Sliding one foot along the ground after another, I 
felt my way closer to the tree, so that I could be sure 
of my toss...

"Jesus-fuck!" someone yelled out, with Kieran's voice. A 
shadow loomed up from the garden blackness. I gasped and 
tossed the cat-skull underarm and poorly toward the 
creek, but instead of splashing it jingled; luckily, a 
sound that Scrote would make.

"Kieran! Um, hi, you're not supposed to be here!" I 
stammered.

"Jo? _You're_ supposed to be in the office, you scared 
the fucking crap out of me!"

"Speak for yourself!"

"What you doing sneaking around out here in the dark?"

"Um, nothing, nothing..." My lie sounded thin and weak 
beneath the thunder of my heart. There was a cat-skull 
laying not far away, and if the lights came on it would 
be in plain view, my betrayal obvious. I had to distract 
him somehow. "Um, you know, it er, gets a bit steamy 
when you watch those movies, I was just taking some air, 
cooling off a bit, you know what I mean," I babbled. 
"What were you doing hiding out here?"

"Keeping a date with Mrs Palmer, since I thought 
everyone else was busy," he said gruffly. I was too 
strung-out to catch his drift at first, seeing as there 
really is a Mrs Palmer who is the Infants Mistress at 
the primary school - a very stuffy fifty-plus and 
matronly type. So I actually _looked_ for company, and 
he realised what I was thinking. "No, no, not _her_, 
what do you take me for?" he growled, outraged. I burst 
out in slightly hysterical giggles, and he started 
laughing too.

"So," I said saucily as we sobered, "did I miss the 
show?" My hearing was too clotted to have heard the 
quiet sound a zip might make. "You know I like to 
watch." Had to get him away from the scene of my 
interrupted crime, had to!

"I thought you'd had enough watching." He was standing 
quite close by, the silhouette of his head nodding 
toward the office. I was thinking I could leap up and 
kiss him to distract him, but for once in my life, the 
right words entered my head.

"I sure have! It's about time I had some doing!" When I 
reached out I caught his arm, quickly slipped my hands 
down to his - and pressed it into my crotch.

The world froze for a breathless instant. We both stood 
stock-still. My hissing ears made a whine like feedback.

"Really?" he said, dryly, as the whistle faded away. 
Suddenly my ears had cleared and I could hear all the 
night noises; the soft trickle of water, cheeping of 
crickets, distant purr of traffic...his breathing. His 
fingers twisted minutely beneath mine, just enough that 
he could work them slightly further in, curling their 
tips to hook them around my pubic bone. I could feel the 
tendons moving in his hand where I held it, as he 
started making small back-and-forward movements with his 
middle finger. My clit, buried under flesh and fabric, 
began to buzz.

"Really," he purred again, waggling that probing finger 
from side to side. This rubbed my shorts seam against 
everything good, and parted my labia. His fingertip was 
a delightful hardness I could rub against - and best of 
all, it wasn't my own finger! Clutching his hand, I 
leaned against it.

The catskull didn't matter any more.

He twisted his finger so that it slipped around the 
crutch and hem of my shorts; the backs of his fingers 
went right up my inner thigh and burrowed under the 
elastic of my knickers. I rose up on my tiptoes and 
parted my legs, and ran my hands up and down his 
forearm, feeling the muscles shifting as he worked. His 
fingertips inched through the pubes of my outer labia, 
creeping until they found the liquid lake of my slot.

My breath was catching in my chest, and I heard him 
swallow. I rocked against his fingers, my body making 
slow, sensuous motions, while those fingertips slipped 
along and amidst the folds. My clit was afire, and I 
arched as high as I could, wanting to slide those 
fingers in deeper, deeper, to places I had never been 
able to reach by myself. But then, he started to pull 
his hand away, his other hand gently disengaging mine.

"Hold that thought," he murmured, and backed toward the 
house. A cold thought that he was going to turn on the 
lights chilled my fires with a moment's dread. Instead, 
he leaned into the kitchen door.

"Sean! Go down to Chessy's and get us a super bacon 
burger, will ya? And get a bucket of passionfruit 
gelato, and we could use some more cola while you're at 
it! And something for the girls, too!"

A muted protest rose from inside. Kieran tugged his keys 
from his tight jeans pocket. "Hey listen, you're gonna 
get yours later and I've got nothing, so the least you 
could do is get me a goddamn burger! I'll give you my 
keys, even, just don't get caught yeah?"

This produced the desired effect as footsteps thudded 
about indoors. I went to the back door as he went 
inside; there were some murmurs, then the front door 
squeaked and Sean was gone, so I went in. Kieran shut 
off the television, then turned and looked me over 
soberly. His eyes glittered with lust, focused on my 
crotch. "Come with me," he murmured.

I followed him to his room, a place I had never been 
before, watching his backside moving in those black 
jeans, wondering what I was about to see...to 
experience. He switched on the light, and aside from all 
the drawings tacked to the walls, his room was plain and 
bereft of the murals that adorned the rest of the house. 
His bed was before me, dark blue sea-patterned sheets.

Now I could see his face, and admire him, for he was 
indeed attractive. His eyes were intense and earnest, 
and he licked his lips. "Now," he said, "we can 
continue."

I had thought he would push me down to the bed. Instead, 
he knelt before me, and drew down my shorts and panties 
together, slowly, as if unveiling a work of art. He 
brought his lips to my belly, and started kissing me, 
softly, down into my bush. At the apex of my triangle, 
his pink tongue peeked out, and lightly probed the 
entrance to my slit.

Nothing I had ever done to myself prepared me for the 
soft, warm caress of a man's tongue. I parted my thighs, 
and he brought his hands to my hips as this time, his 
tongue snaked between my folds. My juices were already 
running thick and slippery, which was why he did as he 
did. When that soft warmth, feather-light yet powerful, 
folded around my clitoris, I stepped out of my shorts so 
that I could get my legs wide, and snagged my fingers in 
his hair. His whiskers were deliciously rough on my 
labia and inner thighs, and every flick and sweep of his 
tongue made me moan and writhe for the pure joy of it. I 
pulled him harder against me, and he responded by 
pushing his tongue in deeper, licking strongly the full 
length of my gash. Every time he reached my clit he just 
tipped it, teasing, each time bringing a flash of 
sensation so good it was painful. I couldn't stand. 
Every touch was agony and I wanted to pull away as much 
as I wanted to grind him inward.

I dropped to the bed and he followed me down, kneading 
my hips with his fingers, thrusting his tongue in as far 
as it would reach. My legs scissored the air; my body 
didn't know what it wanted as I writhed, sometimes 
clenching his head between my thighs, then arching and 
wriggling away, pulling my legs apart to let him 
breathe. The orgasm was simply indescribable. Just one 
touch of his tongue upon my aching clit was enough to 
almost shoot me off the bed. Where his tongue wouldn't 
reach, his finger did; while my body thrashed he pushed 
his finger deep, deep inside, magnifying every sensation 
threefold.

How I didn't break his finger or suffocate him, I don't 
know.

My cries subsided to mews and whimpers; the stabs of joy 
softened to aching, tingling coronae of pleasure. My 
body relaxed, the bedsheets rumpled and pulled awry 
beneath me. Now he lapped me gently, like a cat, as if 
to wash me clean; then kissed my thighs reverently. When 
he looked up, the sharpness of his earlier gaze had 
gone; his face was gentle, eyes soft with love and 
perhaps, amazement.

"Kieran," I whispered, caressing his hair, his face. He 
kissed my hip, my belly.

"Why should we play alone, when we can play together?" 
he breathed, putting his arms around my hips and lower 
back, nuzzling my groin. We lay there together for a 
while in silent accord, me stroking his hair while he 
hugged my pelvis. My virginity no longer mattered, and 
neither Lyn nor Cathy had anything on me. I had a lover, 
nestled between my legs, and he was all the man I could 
want.

"What about you?" I asked. He smiled, and pushed himself 
to his feet, feasting his eyes on me sprawled there. And 
I wanted him to enjoy me. I still felt wonderfully 
mellow, and didn't want to move.

"You'll get your chance," he promised, and turned toward 
the door. "Take your time." He closed the door partway 
as he left, heading toward the bathroom. I heard the 
back screen door slam.

_Shit! Cathy, and she's probably wondering where I got 
to!_

But the bedroom door was pulled-to, and I still didn't 
feel much like moving. That was when the ceiling drifted 
into view; I hadn't noticed it earlier. Although a pale, 
nondescript undercoat colour, a mural had been outlined 
there in blue ink, sketched ready for completion. It was 
her, the Lorelei rampant, glaring imperiously at me.

_Oh yeah?_ I smiled up at her, then moved my body into 
the same arrogant, legs-spread posture. And laughed.

I could hear water running in the bathroom, and Cathy 
walking into the loungeroom calling for Sean. I sat up 
then and yanked up my pants, taking a moment to check my 
appearance in a small dresser mirror. Not too hot and 
tousled? Check. I was sticky as hell downstairs, but who 
other than Kieran would know that? The bed was a mess, 
sheets rumpled and pulled as though we had...well.

And I was ready not a moment too soon. "In here," I 
answered when Cathy called my name. Casual, like. My 
eyes fell to the top of the dresser, where a sketchblock 
and charcoals lay askew. "I was just checking out some 
of Kieran's work."

Astonished, I realised I was looking at my own face. It 
was the same sketch he had made at the office that day, 
although he had put a lot more work into it since then. 
Properly shaded, there was no doubting it was me, a 
striking and flattering likeness. That he had completed 
it without me sitting for him only deepened my 
admiration for his talents.

"Oh, wow!" said Cathy as she joined me. "He said he 
wanted to draw you, but wasn't sure how to convince you 
to sit for him."

"I didn't sit for him. He's done this pretty much out of 
his head." A second head had been rough-sketched right 
beside mine, as if someone leaned close over my 
shoulder, almost cheek-to-cheek. There were no more than 
a few lines, a squarish shape with a few strokes at eye 
and mouth level.

"Who's that?" Cathy asked. I shook my head.

"I don't know!" We stared at each other. Then the 
bathroom door clattered; Cathy startled, and I quickly 
put the pad down face-down. Kieran appeared in the hall, 
scruffing his face and hair dry with a towel.

"What're you two doing in here?" he growled. "Git!"

We giggled as we scarpered. Before long we were back in 
the kitchen, chatting about not much, and then Sean 
returned from his errand. We all ate together, Cathy and 
Sean trading coy glances, and time was getting away. I 
asked after the Lorelei painting, and Kieran admitted 
he'd been busy with paying projects and had only barely 
started her. Then he offered me a lift home.

"You've got my number," he said as we drove off in his 
ute, eyes on the road. "Call me when you need me."

I drew an unsteady breath. I wanted him already. But if 
I was home any later, I'd get grief from Mum and 
Thursdays would be permanently cancelled. "Thanks," was 
all I could find to say.

The catskull was laying somewhere in his garden by the 
waterside. Perhaps he would find it out there, and 
wonder how it had gotten there. Or perhaps it was hidden 
in long grass. Whatever happened, I could deny any 
knowledge of the incident. Maybe the Lorelei stole it.

He didn't kiss me when we pulled up, but he did grip my 
hands firmly in his, and gazed intently into my eyes. 
"Call me," he said again.

I promised I would.

***

Friday at school, I didn't pay much attention. As 
lessons droned on around me, I gazed into the middle 
distance, thighs squeezed together beneath the table as 
I remembered the touch of his tongue, the rasp of his 
whiskers.

I wanted to phone him as soon as I got home, but Mum and 
seemingly a hundred noisome chores got in the way; then 
I had to admire my new car, as brought home by Dad, and 
be impressed by how reasonably they had bargained the 
price. All I could think was that it would allow me to 
drive up to Kieran's whenever I felt like it.

Then I remembered that Sean and Kieran usually went 
surfing Friday afternoons. So I volunteered to drive Dad 
back to the station, then drove by the surf beach, and 
managed to park right alongside Kieran's ute, at the far 
end of the parking lot. I could see them both, even from 
there, and recognised Cathy sitting on the sand watching 
them. So I stayed in the car; she didn't know it was 
mine. She would go to Sean when he came ashore, and they 
would take a long, romantic sunset walk together along 
the beach; Kieran usually went and bought some dinner, 
and picked them up at the other end. At last the boys 
came ashore; Sean and Cathy greeted with a hug and a 
kiss before walking off hand in hand, Kieran bringing 
both his and Sean's boards back toward the ute.

I stepped out of the car, wondering at how much older it 
made me feel. He smiled as he climbed the steps to the 
park when he saw me waiting.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you first," I said huskily, 
admiring how the wetsuit emphasised his body.

"You didn't have to." He went around the far side of his 
ute and loaded the boards, then came around to where I 
waited.

"Your steamer's the wrong colour," I stated. It was 
patterned in green and blue, not black. He grinned 
fiercely, cupped my face in his hands, and drew me into 
a long, hungry kiss. I tangled my fingers in his wet 
hair and answered in kind, with all my lust and 
excitement, pressing myself against him. He tasted of 
salt water and something warmer, sweeter, his own musk. 
He really did want me. Last night had not been a dream, 
or a one-night-only.

"If you don't like it, I can take it off," he purred. 
Stepping back, he ripped the velcro shoulders open. I 
was suddenly keenly aware of our location in a public 
carpark at a popular surf beach.

"Hey, you can't!"

He opened the door of his ute, then looked at my car. 
"Yes I can. Don't you think I'm wearing anything under 
it? This your new car?"

Men! "No, it's my new old car," I said tartly. He 
reached past me and opened the back door, so that now we 
were surrounded by a makeshift dressing-shed of car 
doors.

"Looks orright," he nodded. "Gotta watch 'em for rust 
behind the parcel shelf, though, that model." But his 
eyes were on me as he peeled down the wetsuit, and the 
lustful way I watched his body revealed. Lean and fit, 
nipples sharp with cool air and more; dark hair down the 
midline, down past his waist to...racers, of course, a 
teasing grin on his face.

But then I realised his suit had tugged them low, and 
there, just off-centre, a grooved pink crescent of flesh 
peeped over the band.

"Oh, sorry, that happens," he smiled. He knew me well 
enough to know there was nothing I wanted to see more! 
But he bent down to unzip the legs of his suit and 
finish taking it off, and while he did I ran my hands 
across the smooth curves of his back. When he 
straightened up I pressed myself against him, wanting to 
feel his hardness against my belly. Our mouths and 
tongues met again, promising what we could do to each 
other as he cupped his hands beneath my rump, squeezing 
and lifting as he rocked his pelvis down. Yes! Nice as 
he felt against my stomach, I wanted to feel his rod 
against my crotch. Thighs parted around his, I went 
right up onto my toes.

I ran my hands down his back as we rocked and rubbed, 
feeling the way his butt rippled as he moved. He hadn't 
tightened the drawstring of his racers, so it was with 
ease I slipped my fingers beneath them and pushed them 
down. He chuckled deep in his chest, and cradled my face 
in his hands.

"No matter what the future brings, I will remember the 
hunger in your eyes for the rest of my life."

Swallowing, I sank to one knee as I took his costume 
down. Yes, I had seen many penises now, "live" and in 
"hard-core action". But this one was _real_, and was 
being given to me to touch and hold. It really is an act 
of trust, when given so gently and willingly rather than 
being thrust in your face.

He was gorgeous to behold, shaft rising to the pink, 
fleshy, smooth head, contrasting the plush dark nest of 
curls at his root. I touched him in wonder, feeling his 
heat, and the rigid strength of what lay beneath the 
velvety skin. He sighed with pleasure as I ran my 
fingertips down to the soft, rounded mass of his balls. 

I knew his shape, every pattern of skin, every ridge. I 
wanted to kiss him. Instead I cradled his balls in one 
hand, and slipped the fingers of my other around his 
shaft, feeling him all over. Looking up, I met his gaze 
wide-eyed.

"It was you," I said. The sketch he had given me, the 
one that had kept me company for many nights. 

His face reddened ever so slightly. "Well, who else's 
live wang was I going to sketch?"

"You're wonderful," I whispered, pressing my lips 
against the groove beneath his head, tasting the salt of 
sea and skin, probing with the tip of my tongue.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, one hand cupping my head, 
fingers in my hair. Last night I had thrust his head 
between my legs greedily and revelled in every second of 
what his tongue could do. Now I had to show him what I 
could do - and I wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. 
Lick, suck, pump, went the smut-surfing. But they were 
professionals and it was all in a day's work for them.

I let my tongue softly trace that groove, and parted my 
lips around his tip, squeezing gently and feeling his 
resilience, then slipping away to a kiss. Each time I 
did that, I took a little more of him in. My tongue-tip 
found the hole at his end and explored it, tasting 
something salty. My lips slipped over the rim so that 
his whole head was captive in my mouth. Lips closed but 
jaws open, no teeth allowed, gently! My tongue sliding 
back and forth, round and round, up to that salty notch 
and down, doing to him what he had done to me.

My cheeks were aching, and it seemed ridiculous - I 
didn't know you could get a stitch in your tongue. 
Drawing back one last time, I let him slip from between 
my lips and looked up. His fingers had made little 
spirals of my hair; his eyes were closed, face slack 
with rapture. His other hand was clenched about the 
windowframe of the car, and his knuckles were white.

"Was that right?" But even as I asked, it sounded like a 
stupid question.

He opened his eyes and grinned, then lifted me to my 
feet. "But you didn't come," I protested, a bit 
disappointed. After what he had done for me!

"Ohh, I will, don't worry," he murmured.

"God," I muttered, "my face hurts!"

He gave a fond laugh. "What you need, my dear, is plenty 
of aerobic training!" He tipped my chin up and kissed 
me, gathering me close and snug. "I think I'm only just 
getting over oxygen starvation from last night."

We laughed together. "What'll we do now?" I asked.

"We're not finished."

We got into his ute, where he put a towel in his lap and 
I wriggled my shorts down. There's no room in modern 
cars to do much more, and with occasional walkers on the 
beach we didn't want to be too obvious about what we 
were doing either. "I want to watch you," he said, 
pumping his shaft with negligent ease, his eyes on my 
muff. So I got my shorts down and my legs as far apart 
as was possible, and slid my fingers up and down; all 
the while watching his cock and imagining how it would 
feel. Very quickly I was gasping, shuddering with need, 
clitoris jangling like an alarm bell.

"This is so intense," I panted, reaching for his groin. 
With one hand he guided my hand on his pole, and with 
the other he worked my cunt, fingering me to a much-
needed explosion. Then I felt him twitch and jerk to his 
own orgasm, his head thrown back as he gasped, veins 
corded in his neck.

We got ourselves decent; he pulled on a pair of shorts 
and a teeshirt. And kissed a passionate farewell. "Are 
you home tomorrow?" I asked huskily, knowing Sean and 
Cathy were going out together for most of the day.

"I can be. I was going to get to work on a certain 
painting, but if I get distracted, too bad. How much 
work I get done on it is up to the customer."

***

It was the start of the weekend of my life, one that was 
pure magic.

The next morning, I discovered something wickedly 
pleasureable. I dressed in one of my longer skirts to go 
up to Kieran's, and Mum wanted me to run an errand in-
town, so I needed to feel safe and demure. But I left my 
knickers off! I was breathless with excitement and more 
than a tad scared at the newsagent, and all I can say is 
it must have been good for my complexion! And by the 
time I pulled up at the cottage, I was already red-hot.

His warehouse doors were shut, closed to general 
business this day. I went around the front path to the 
office, and found him in the doorway wiping his hands on 
a paint-cloth, wearing his overalls. He looked me up and 
down with a smile, one eyebrow cocked appreciatively.

"That a spraycan in your pocket or are you just glad to 
see me?" I said, then burst out laughing at how 
ridiculous it sounded. Laughing too, he gathered me in 
his arms for a bear-hug.

"Why don't you frisk me and find out?" he invited. Now, 
I know about overalls. Some designs have a hole that 
looks like a pocket but goes right through so that when 
a man wears them over his trousers he can still get 
access to his trouser pocket. But let's face it, it's 
too hot in this climate to wear much under one's 
overalls, really. I slipped around behind Kieran, 
hugging him from behind, and ran my hands into the right 
holes, finding the hot velvet of bare skin...that nest 
of springy hair and soft scrotum, and his stiff cock. At 
first it was enough to feel him, to slide his skin up 
and down; we purred and rocked together in our embrace. 
But then I wanted to see him too, so I went around to 
his front and undid his lowermost studs, bringing him 
out to be seen. And now that I could see him, I had to 
taste him.

So my day started with some "aerobic training". Then I 
sat down on the edge of his office chair with my legs 
wide, and he discovered the delicacy exposed beneath my 
maidenly skirts. While I sat with my knees hooked over 
his shoulders, he tugged himself to his own pleasure, 
which only helped me along. 

We rested with a light lunch, then took a ride in the 
afternoon. If you think driving a car in a skirt with no 
panties on is sexy, you should try riding a motorbike! I 
had my pussy pressed as close to Kieran's rump as I 
could get it. He took me into the coastal ranges, to a 
favourite bushwalk of his, and beckoned me to a secluded 
spot. We had to crawl and scramble somewhat, and walk 
along a rough creekbed; but then, screened by dense 
thickets of heather on the side of a chuckling creek, he 
dined upon me again beneath the wide blue sky. Too much 
simply wasn't enough. I trained again, reading from his 
bulging muscles and the hardness of his nipples how 
close he was to the edge. He shot his load into the 
stream, his milk swirling and eddying out of sight, 
perhaps feeding the fish downstream.

That night, we did something rather different to hanging 
around the mall or the broadwalk, the beach or the local 
snogging lookout like all the other local couples. We 
didn't do the movies or pizza.

We'd spent a lot of time over dinner just talking. Yes, 
talking, about all kinds of stuff from the sublime to 
the ridiculous. And later on, we went for a drive in my 
nondescript little car, up to the darkened and deserted 
loom of the high school. The buildings were all locked 
up, of course. But we hadn't come here to make strife.

The art rooms were of those tacky prefabricated, 
demountable design, cheap boxes that were hot and 
uncomfortable, as stifling to creativity as the demands 
of teachers and the strictures of school uniform. They 
were set on brick piers up against a plushly-grassed 
embankment below the sportsfield. It was here the tough 
kids came to smoke; here that a boy called Kieran had 
crouched in the hope of seeing up the hockey-team's 
dresses. On the field above, Cathy and Lyn and I had 
raced about brandishing hockey sticks, three good 
friends, without boyfriends getting in the way. In the 
room behind us, the Art Mistress had called Kieran all 
kinds of sexist filth for daring suggest the teenaged 
human body was a thing of beauty and worth celebrating.

That night, we celebrated. We laughed with wicked glee. 
Writhing for joy on my back in the grass, I gasped and 
cried out in orgasm, Kieran's tongue the softest of 
brushes tracing Nature's finest work of art. With my 
tongue to help, he paid homage to Jackson Pollock too.

It wasn't late, but after all that I headed home. I'd 
been out all day, and as any kid knows you have to look 
after your privileges; tomorrow I would visit him again. 
Both Lyn and Cathy had called while I was out. That just 
put the icing on the cake.
<1st attachment end>


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