My sleep is interrupted by the mattress shifting, and someone is mussing my blankets. I don’t want to wake from my dreaming, and stubbornly cling to sleep, the place where I can see and touch you. My hair is brushed to the side, and I feel the tickle of soft lips and a mustache at the base of my neck. My groggy mind stands at attention. It’s you ! I eagerly turn my body towards yours and allow my legs to fall open. I need you to touch me, I’ve missed you, and if you don’t touch me I’ll die. I tell you so, and you smile a quiet smile without speaking. Then one of your long fingered hands is between my thighs, slapping, kneading, stroking. You are giving relieve and adding to the torture simultaneously. I greedily lift my hips towards you, pleading you to make me yours to fill me. You make me wait forever it seems, lowering your mouth to mine. sleep long forgotten as I relearn the taste of you after the absence. I oscillate between savoring and cataloguing every detail of your body on mine, despite the need for you to be inside of me . Finally you notch yourself at my entrance and work your way in. The first careful thrust makes us both moan, and after a few moments I’m soaring. My soaked center is squeezing yours as I come hard, milking your cock and triggering your own orgasm. I feel you pulse inside of me, filling me full, and a wave of contentedness washes over me. Everything is going to be ok now. I lay there and rest, happy to be in your arms again. I snuggle close and drift back to sleep. When I wake an hour later to sunlight I’m confused. I look across the bed and see the other side is pristine, my little burrow on this side shows evidence of only my sleep this night. I’m so disappointed, hot angry tears fall down my cheeks as I realize last night was just a dream. I walk to the shower and stand under the steaming spray, lather up the washcloth and begging scrubbing. When I begin to run the cloth between my thighs , I notice they are sticky and covered with come.
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>My sleep is interrupted by the mattress shifting, and someone is mussing my blankets. I don’t want to wake from my dreaming, and stubbornly cling to sleep, the place where I can see and touch you. My hair is brushed to the side, and I feel the tickle of soft lips and a mustache at the base of my neck. My groggy mind stands at attention. It’s you ! I eagerly turn my body towards yours and allow my legs to fall open. I need you to touch me, I’ve missed you, and if you don’t touch me I’ll die. I tell you so, and you smile a quiet smile without speaking. Then one of your long fingered hands is between my thighs, slapping, kneading, stroking.
>You are giving relieve and adding to the torture simultaneously. I greedily lift my hips towards you, pleading you to make me yours to fill me. You make me wait forever it seems, lowering your mouth to mine. sleep long forgotten as I relearn the taste of you after the absence. I oscillate between savoring and cataloguing every detail of your body on mine, despite the need for you to be inside of me . Finally you notch yourself at my entrance and work your way in. The first careful thrust makes us both moan, and after a few moments I’m soaring. My soaked center is squeezing yours as I come hard, milking your cock and triggering your own orgasm. I feel you pulse inside of me, filling me full, and a wave of contentedness washes over me.
>Everything is going to be ok now. I lay there and rest, happy to be in your arms again. I snuggle close and drift back to sleep. When I wake an hour later to sunlight I’m confused. I look across the bed and see the other side is pristine, my little burrow on this side shows evidence of only my sleep this night. I’m so disappointed, hot angry tears fall down my cheeks as I realize last night was just a dream. I walk to the shower and stand under the steaming spray, lather up the washcloth and begging scrubbing. When I begin to run the cloth between my thighs , I notice they are sticky and covered with come.
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Wow…I got so turned on reading that! So sexy…I’d love for you to feel the tickle from my ‘stache… ?