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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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