A Dream Lost and Won

Another morning, another recovery from the realms of sleep. This morning I woke, bolting upright in a sweat, fearful and strangely aroused. More often than not, I recall my dreams vividly. Not so this morning. I blinked back the rivulets of sweat that blurred my sight and turned my eyes toward the window. Still dark. The clock glared balefully at me; it was past three a.m., a handful of minutes more. Frustrated and angry, still shaken, I kicked off the covers and laid back, letting the cooler air draw some of the heat from my body. I stared at the dim ceiling, trying to recapture any stray wisp of my dream. Was I pursued, attacked maybe? No, not that, nothing violent. Then what? What was it I was so afraid of?

I sprawled across my bed, constantly curling and contorting my body, trying to twist the memories from my mind. I laid there an hour, two; finally I gave up in defeat and rose to start my morning salutation. Again, I sprawled, this time across the yoga mat beneath the dimming stars, curling and contorting, each pose an effort to forget. I moved through each pose, trying to clearing my mind. Trying to; foreboding sat in my stomach, curling up to clutch at my heart. I shook it off, time and again. Finally I sank into the meditative pose, hoping to fend off the ephemeral emotions gripping me. Never has yoga been a spiritual experience for me, despite what others have told me. It’s thoroughly carnal, about my body, not my mind. Today was no exception; realization and memory jolted through me as I connected with the earth, flooding my body–but not yet my mind–with remembered sensations. Images flickered rapidly through my mind, showing me disjointed vignettes that made little sense. A feeling of closeness, bordering on suffocation; sweat-slicked bodies gliding against mine; the sounds of faltering, stuttering breaths; quick intakes–half gasps, half soundless moans.

Sitting in the stillness of the dawn, I let my eyes flutter closed. I waited, watching as the dream unreeled in my mind’s eye. My core shook as it was buffeted by the winds of memory. Slowly, my head descended, my chin resting on my collar bone; the scene played smoothly through me.

My hands cupped my cheeks, feeling heat flush through them, raking back and up through my hair, scalp tingling. My hips twisted and rocked rhythmically, spinning a skein of desire. Each and every movement fluid, I was no more than molten metal; burning, scouring through the dreamscape I found myself occupying. Twisting, I looked over my shoulder. Behind and below me, my lover. I sat straddling this apparition, impaled, bound, unable to rise. Before and above me, a shadow of my lover. He, she? I had no way of knowing, nothing material impinged on the ambiance that surrounded me, tempting, promising fulfillment. Behind and in front of me, the impression of dark smoky wings wavered in and out of my line of sight. I watched bemused, marveling at my demon lover and his shadow. I was sure now that this being was a he. I felt him within me, filling my cunt, making me ache for surcease, and at the same time yearn for more. Kneeling before me, his quavering shadow grasped my knees, feeling all too solid. I reached forward, gripping his shoulders, pressing him back; knowing his intent, wanting the anticipation, fearing its consummation. With a sudden fluid thrust he was in me, his cock sliding in and out of my pussy with the cock of his twin. Writhing, I twisted on the two cocks inside of me, at the threshold of pain and orgasm. Quickly, smoothly, my lover rose behind me, lifting me up, keeping me impaled upon his–both of his cocks. As one they thrust up into me. Shuddering, crying out, I arched between them, feeling my cunt convulse, contracting, crushing their cocks together. I could feel the slickness, imagine the smooth, velvety skin sheathing their hard shafts as they drove in and out of me, claiming and releasing me with each thrust. I wound an arm around each of their shoulders, pinned between them–him. Clinging to my love and his shadow, I let loose my control, letting my orgasm come, flooding over the three of us, shaking us all to our knees. I felt him–them–cum, filling and overflowing my pussy, an intangible deluge of their–his essence. We sank slowly, silently into unconsciousness.

It was from this void I struggled into awareness, gasping for breath, aching at the loss of such closeness, and yes, the fear of what was and what could never be.


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One Comment

  • Eucalingus wrote:

    You know what you need? Besides that. And that. OK, and that. No, nobody really needs that. Cut it out. You need– XXXenophile, by Phil Foglio.

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