Message-ID: <47008asstr$1078279805@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Mail-Format-Warning: No previous line for continuation: Wed Aug 14 16:30:23 2002Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <009a01c40041$1982e720$6501a8c0@penguin> From: "virgosun" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2615.200 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 2 Mar 2004 21:28:27 +1100 Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 09/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral) Lines: 622 Date: Tue, 2 Mar 2004 21:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hoisingr, dennyw <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> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+