Reflections on a Morning Masturbation

Most mornings I drag myself out of bed and onto my yoga mat. Once in a while, though, I have more urgent matters to attend to: relieving the effects of a dream that’s been interrupted just before its climax. Last night I had vague and hazy dreams of a series of partners encountered in the labyrinthine halls of a night (sex?) club. I drifted from one to the other, always parting silently to move on to the next taste of perversity. The urgent claxon of my alarm drug me reluctantly up from sleep, and no amount of pounding on the snooze was going to bring the dream back to me, so I slid out of bed and headed for the shower.

As the water warmed up, I watched myself in the mirror, my eyes still heavy with sleep. I touched my lips with a fingertip, still feeling slightly swollen and tingling from the fancied mauling they’d had. Wisps of steam curled around my image, caressing and grasping at my body with ethereal tentacles. With a last long look into the mirror, still contemplating the whirling virago I’d been only moments before, I shrugged out of my shirt and walked under the steady rush of water. I let the heat course through my body, not yet a match for the fire still burning at my core, my hands outlining my waist and hips, fingertips tracing light designs over my stomach. I knew what I wanted, but not what I was waiting for. Something I’d forgotten when I awoke, perhaps, but I couldn’t wait any longer for it to come to me. I leaned against the cold tile wall, my back to the spray, one hand cushioning my cheek, the fingers of my other hand gliding over my wet and slick labia. I slid a finger inside, coyly curling it—and suddenly an image jolted me, darkening my sight momentarily with its intensity, the memory of my dream lancing through my body like a bolt of lightning: the sultry seductress I’d been clinging to before I was torn from her and into wakefulness. Oh, she had been the best of the parade, by far. Whether she was wearing a harness or not, I couldn’t quite recall, but the feel of cock in my hand was a potent argument against it. She was all woman, however. I remembered bracing myself against the narrow walls of the hall, back to the cold wall, tightly grasping the handrail behind me, one leg braced against her slender torso, the other curled around her waist as she thrust into me. She leaned into me, her mouth covering mine, devouring it voraciously. The ferocity was intense, driving us both towards greater lengths as the rhythm increased. My hands sank into her sable hair, cradling her head and pulling her to me, my kiss even more urgent as we approached the climax I sensed hovering around us like a thunderstorm. Her hands tightened convulsively under my ass, the two fingertips of her middle fingers just barely pressing against the perineum, pounding hard into me with a fury…until I was roused from her arms and into reality.

I’d have to finish alone what we had begun.

I opened my eyes and reached up for my slender little vibe, knowing it to be inadequate to the task, but hoping the thought of my dream lover would make up for it. I slicked it over my swollen lips, and thrust it in, fingertip tapping a staccato beat on my clit. The consummation came quickly, my orgasm coursing through me in waves, making my body quake with the release. Shattered, I waited, my head down as the aftershocks died away. After what seemed a long while, I was ready to stand on both feet, no longer needing to brace myself against the wall. I lathered up thoughtfully, my mind’s eye still traveling over my dream lady’s curves and features.

I stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of movement in the steam-fogged mirror. Smiling slightly, I saluted the woman I saw there, amazed anew at her ingenuity and vision.

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