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It was one of those dreams where I knew the instant it started that I was dreaming, but couldn’t force myself to wake up or change the story.
I was in a big city, one I recognized but could not name, walking quickly down a busy sidewalk canyoned by silver skyscrapers. The wind blustered all around me, kicking up skirts and tossing long hair in all directions, but it missed me. Or maybe in my determination to reach my destination, it avoided me on purpose. I wore a business suit: black with a thin grey pinstripe, a butterfly-collared raspberry top open to the single button of my blazer, the skirt pencil thin and knee length yet split high in the back so I could take long strides in my black stilettos.
In the real part of my mind, I recognized the suit was a bit more risqué than I usually wore. But I also knew that I looked damn good in it. My blond hair was pulled back in a demure French twist in direct contrast to the sexy suit. Without seeing them, I knew my eyes were lined with smoky grey and a light dusting of blush enhanced my high cheekbones. Glossy lipstick the same hue as my shirt shone on my lips and tasted of strawberry when I inhaled.
My pace was fast, my long legs stretching far in that split skirt, my shoulders thrown back in haughty dominance as the crowds before me parted like the Red Sea at my appearance. The wind continued to whip around me but I never felt its cool touch.
With military precision I pivoted into a large hotel. The doorman pulled open the heavy glass portal with a bow that I regally ignored. The lobby inside was cool marble and clean lines, softened here and there by cherry blossoms clinging to potted trees and pink orchids climbing out of clear vases. Uniformed personnel silently genuflected as my heels echoed sharply throughout the entrance.
He stood near the mahogany elevator, waiting patiently for my arrival. The doors whispered open as I neared, and immediately closed after we entered the car. As it began to rise he leaned close as though to kiss me, but a single bahis firmaları raised eyebrow and sideways glance pushed him back into the corner.
The doors slid open and I stepped into the hallway, confident he would follow. The light gold carpet swallowed my footsteps and flowed for miles before me. The hall was unending, a tunnel of bright yellow floor and ceiling, the walls papered in textured fabric swirling yellow and cream. The doors to the rooms were painted the most pure, sinful red I had ever encountered.
I stopped at the third door and waited for him to push it open for me. We entered the room and the door shut with a heavy click.
“Take off my blazer,” I ordered.
He reached out with one large hand and slid the single button free. I didn’t move as he stepped behind me and gently pulled the jacket down my arms. From the corner of my eye, I saw it sail through the air and land on a couch.
“Unbutton my shirt.”
Two hands circled my ribs from behind and released each small fastening.
In the back of mind, I wondered why I wasn’t aroused, but it didn’t seem overly important.
When the shirt fell open, I saw my breasts were cupped high with a bra that ended below my tight nipples. The pale flesh quivered with every breath I took, every small movement of balance I made in the stilettos, each bump of my heart.
“Remove my skirt.”
The hands swept down my stomach and to the buttoned waist of the skirt. Freed, it dropped to the floor. He knelt behind me, his hands caressing my silk-encased legs. I wore stockings to mid-thigh where they were clipped into a lacy black garter belt.
I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror. My hair was still smoothed back, my eyes dark and wide, my mouth a bold slash of color. The black bra gently lifted my breasts, the nipples flushed and hard. I could see the heartbeat throb in my throat, bounce in my left breast. The black panties barely covered the mound of my pussy and were bound to my stockings with thin ties. The stilettos on my kaçak iddaa feet were sharp and slick.
And still I felt no desire. I didn’t understand it, and could do nothing to change it. The dream would play itself out as my subconscious saw fit.
“Make me come,” I told him.
And the heat rushed over me, consumed me, drug me into its grip harder and faster than any riptide. My entire body flushed with my words; where my nipples had been only puckered they suddenly ached and pulsed. Deep in my belly was a visceral desire to be filled, I was empty and searching and knew of only one thing that would cure the need.
He was in front of me, on his knees and I didn’t know how he had gotten there. It didn’t matter. Lifting my right leg, he slid it over his shoulder, opening my body to him. I felt the juice run out of my pussy, drenching everything it touched. He inhaled deeply, drunk on my musk.
My panties were slit up the middle and he breathed on my wet, bare lips. His face nudged closer and I wanted nothing in the world so much as his mouth latched onto my vagina, tongue-fucking me and sucking my clit.
He bit me, hard, at the inner juncture of my thigh. His strong teeth clamped down on my sensitive flesh and held on while his tongue danced over the skin caught in his mouth.
I shrieked and sank against him.
He braced two hands on the cheeks of my ass bared by the panties and buried his face in my cunt.
That first moment, the feel of his hot, soft tongue laving up and down the channel of my pussy, softly circling my clit before pressing it flatly and lapping, was so sublime I simply let myself fall into it like a cloud. That first moment was the most perfect sensation I’d ever experienced.
But then his hands began to knead my ass, the motion pushing and pulling me against his mouth when I wanted continuous attention. I whimpered and tried to shove my pelvis forward; he laughed at me, against me.
Where I had been in complete control only moments before, I was now his captive. His kaçak bahis tongue never remained at one pace so my senses could catch up and it drove me mad.
He flicked my clit, quick and light, and my leg jerked wildly on his shoulder. The fire shot through my belly in little zips of lightning and I couldn’t draw a breath. Then his fingers dug into the flesh of my ass, gripping tightly, and his tongue was soft and slow against me. Waves of pleasure rolled through my womb and my body undulated along with it.
One hand moved forward and I felt two rough fingers press into my body. My pussy clenched around them, drawing them higher and I couldn’t help but buck against his mouth.
My mind was empty of all thought and everything I was centered on the sensation of him devouring me.
His small movements performed an ecstatic dance throughout my body. His fingers sunk deep within my vagina and found my g-spot. With them pushing and petting that bundle of nerves, his tongue lapped my clit and electrified the same pulse point from the other side. My vision went black and I thought I would pass out.
Then I felt a single finger slide into the opening of my ass and push against the wall where his two fingers strummed.
The orgasm pummeled me, stealing my breath, my gaze, my very sense of touch and reality.
I awoke locked in the throes of that orgasm. I was lying on my stomach, my hips pulsing against the sheets, my fingers seized around my pillow, my breath shallow as it sawed in and out of my lungs. The waves of rapture surged though my stomach, clenched my knees, tingled my breasts.
In a dim, disengaged part of my mind I realized that I had just experienced a wet dream. I didn’t know women could have wet dreams.
As my body finally calmed, I curled onto my side, as satisfied as a fat cat who had just licked the last delicious drop from the bowl of cream. I luxuriated in the languor that enveloped me, smiling lazily when a little spasm would catch in my belly and make my pussy throb once more.
It was after my breathing evened and my mind cleared that I realized the man snoring lightly beside me was the not the man who had taken me to such heights of bliss in my dream.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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