Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Back, With a Vengence

Out Of Control.

I am. At least, my thoughts are. My fantasies have turned down roads I previously could not have fathomed, turned dark and somewhat frightening. Terrifying, actually, if a whisper of them were to find their way to the real world. Desires so overwhelming I cannot contain them, I barely restrain my fingers from grazing against my cunt with the longing - these are bad enough. But the object of desire - now that is something of which to be terrified.

The Beloved, he tries. He tries to sate the fever, tries to break its possession of me, but it is as grains of sand in a whirlpool. He touches me, fingers lingering over my breasts, teasing my nipples, pinching them into painful, aching points. Long kisses, his tongue taking his rightful ownership, drawing the breath from my lungs. Firmly now, owning me now, his hands move lower, directing the dance as our bodies undulate. The scent of my pussy is strong as he slips his fingers into my wetness. Claiming ownership, he fucks me. First, sweetly with love and tenderness. Then again savagely, spanking my nipples, my ass, my pussy. Hard. Twisting my nipples, calling me his slut, making me come several times in gasping, blinding explosions before he allows his release. Sobbing, I bury my face in his chest, holding so tightly, repeating "I love you so" over and over.

For the moment, I am content.

Asleep in my chair, I feel his arms move over the back of my chair, sliding gently past my face, down my neck, going further, to cup my breasts, tease the nipples, brush the sides oh, so gently. Eyes closed, my back arches into the soft caress of his hand. Again, his fingers travel languidly over my curves, tempting, forcing those deep shudders I call shivergasms. His fingers now replaced by his cock, so hard and soft, damp. He places the tip barely at my lips. I smell the fragrance of clean, aroused male and inhale deeply. My tongue flirts with the head of his cock, teasing in it's own right. I open my mouth to take him deeper and he whispers "Not yet..."

My eyes snap open.

It is not the Beloved.

And the shock, the mind splitting realization of who it is, wakes me quite effectively, to discover I remain enclosed in the arms of the Beloved.

Heart pounding, I fly through all the thoughts and feelings I can separate in my head. What the fuck did that mean?

In all our years together, I have never had a sex dream about another man. Women, sure. Plenty, as a matter of fact. And daytime fantasies; harmless passing,drifting "what-ifs." Dreaming? Well, that means something, doesn't it?

Worse yet is this betrayal. The Son of the Beloved. My stepson, so close to me in age I could be an older sister. The fact that we are not blood relation does not comfort.

Faster the thoughts come now. More frightening, more shameful. Fear and fantasy play through my mind. I think of the Beloved as Master, and remember how often he has wanted to see my mouth full with another man's cock. Fantasy or reality? What would I do should he ever demand such, for real? If he knew of my dream, would it please him? Disgust him? Would he command such a performance?

What would I do?

All this complicated by the fact that this man, this younger version of the man I love so dearly, is at this moment only yards away in the guest bedroom. Close enough, perhaps, to have heard my orgasms earlier, not to mention the spanking... I want to melt into the earth.

In the morning, I make coffee. I can look neither man in the eye. Suddenly shy, uncertain, I finish my tasks and flee the room, certain that they both read easily the guilt and shame, and yes, excitement, in my face.

I am again betrayed by my body. The storm is upon me and even my skin has a direct line to my clitoris. The briefest brush against me is pure torture, and I have to fight not to gasp aloud. I wonder if the dream is merely a product of my raging hormones, his face simply the most convenient target. Often in hormone storm, I cannot look anyone in the face, afraid that my desire is broadcast in my eyes, afraid they'll do something about it; afraid they won't. And even now, I cannot give up the dream that continues, the dream of both men inside me, thrusting, filled, being wrapped in so much virility and love, surrounded, drowning in the Charybdian pools, sucked down, not breathing, reclaiming my Self from the Void.

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