Clandestine

Last night I had a dream about a woman. I'd met her at a social gathering, and throughout the dream I had an underlying feeling that I was married or seeing someone already. As the dream went on, this woman and I started to become attracted to each other.

She was a vision of beauty. She had a Mediterranean or perhaps a Latino complexion, silky dark hair, and perfect curves; she may have looked like Monica Bellucci or Catherine Zeta-Jones or a not-quite-so-busty Denise Milani.

Our physical touching became more intimate, and before too long, we were kissing softly when we thought no one was looking. We could both tell that we wanted to make love to each other, but the circumstances wouldn't allow it. There was passion and desire between us, but we couldn't do anything about it.

It was imagining what would have happened that got me off this morning. It was the memory of the dream, the way my mind formed her beauty that made me hard. I was slowly, and tortuously removing her dress as I started stroking, growing harder in my hand as more and more of her sun-darkened skin was exposed. Her full, natural breasts were capped with dark, turgid nipples that jiggled as she lay herself down on the king-sized bed.

I was nearing my peak quickly as I imagined the cock in my hand being guided to the slippery, smooth folds of her pussy. In this fantasy of mine, it would take a little bit of force to enter her, but once I made it past that razor-thin division between resistance and acceptance, her warm channel would pull my thick shaft into her body with a moaning sigh.

Almost there, I imagined breasts bouncing serenely with my slow thrusts. Then as my hand stroked my cock faster and faster, so to did my thrusts into my dream-woman gain intensity and speed. Her tits flailed wildly as she screamed through her orgasm, my body driving into hers. Before long, I was coming, a long, draining release that my dream-took lovingly into her body.