Nine Songs

By Mike O'Connor

Nine song titles inspire nine sexy stories. The kinky secrets of “Sylvia’s Mother” are exposed, the “Coward Of The County” isn’t quite what he seems and “Jack and Diane” talk their way through the aftermath of a daring, vintage gangster heist. You will never listen to "Honey” in the same way again. Enjoy a variety of thrills and twists, in this hot collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike O'Connor
• Release date: Mar 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463787540

Mike O'Connor

Mike O’Connor is a powerful and engaging storyteller who performs at many events across the country. An important researcher into Cornish music and folklore, he has been awarded the OBE and made a bard of the Gorsedh of Kernow.

Book preview

NINE SONGS

by

Mike O’Connor

Copyright © 2020 Mike O’Connor

Table Of Contents.

ROSANNA

COWARD OF THE COUNTY

SAME OLD LANG SYNE

ME AND MRS JONES

DUDE LOOKED LIKE A LADY

HONEY

JACK AND DIANE

STACEY’S MOM

SYLVIA’S MOTHER

ROSANNA

I checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, as she slid into the back seat of the car. Her white mini dress left little to the imagination. She was wearing matching stiletto heels and a thin dog collar, decorated with small, silver spike studs. These matched the gleaming studs in her earlobes and her left nostril. The bright pink and green streaks in her long black hair made her look as though she had had some kind of accident with a candy floss machine. I particularly liked her bright pink lipstick. It was as cheap and unsubtle as the remainder of her ensemble.

Where to? I asked.

She directed me to a street that would take about five minutes to reach. I angled my rearview mirror, so that I might have a better view of her bare legs and those large breasts that were close to spilling out over the top of her dress. If she noticed, she didn’t care. A young woman didn’t go out dressed like this, unless she was keen on being appreciated.

Do you mind if I turn on the radio? I asked.

I’d rather you didn’t, she replied.

She wasn’t keen on talking either. She chewed her gum and toyed with her phone, while I struggled to concentrate on the road ahead. I was grateful when she told me to pull over. I’d been checking my rearview mirror so often, I was liable to crash.

I’m finished with this, she said.

She was holding out her warm, wet chewing gum. I took it from her and popped it into my mouth. The original flavor had faded, but the taste of her was even better. A man in a dark gray suit approached the car. She opened the back door and signaled him to get in. I chewed her gum and stared straight ahead. I had absolutely no interest in this man, but my presence caused him to hesitate.

Don’t worry about the driver, she told him. He’s nobody. Forget he even exists.

I chewed harder and made a few discreet adjustments to my mirror. The man in the gray suit was bald and overweight. Probably an accountant or a lawyer. He was old enough to be her father. He was certainly somebody’s husband and dad. He had probably told his wife he was working late.

He smelled of booze. The bar from which he had emerged was right across the street. Once inside the car, he grabbed her tits with both hands and kissed her. It was the kind of foreplay that belonged in a zoo, but she seemed to enjoy it. While she tasted his tongue and his hands mashed her breasts, she unzipped his pants. Her right hand clutched his throbbing member and his entire body tensed. She flattened her free palm against his face and pushed him back against the window.

Let me suck that for you, daddy!

The man in the gray suit complied. It took her about two minutes to suck him to climax. She swallowed his full load and licked his cock clean.

Where to now? I asked, once he had left.

She checked her phone, popped a fresh stick of gum into her mouth and directed me to the next rendezvous. I chewed her gum and drove.

Busy night? I asked.

Looks like it, she replied. Pull over here.

I did as she requested. She opened the door and was immediately joined by another passenger. He was younger and less nervous.

Drive, man, he told me. And turn on the fucking radio.

I complied without argument. I wasn’t driving anywhere in particular, but this asshole was going straight to Heaven, courtesy of Rosanna’s mouth. A Kenny Rogers song was playing on the radio. I hate country music and this song was as inappropriate as a burqa in a brothel. I turned it up and glanced over my