Message-ID: <47009asstr$1078279806@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: <00a401c40041$3fe0fc40$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 21:29:31 +1100 Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Lorelei 10/10 {virgosun} (msolo mf 1st cons rom voy pett oral) Lines: 624 Date: Tue, 2 Mar 2004 21:10:06 -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, "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 <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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