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Sex with a Fantasy Man

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My boyfriend Mark didn't understand what had happened that night because I refused to tell him. My tears had ignited his concern, but like the man he is he couldn't discern any more than my discomfort.

Not knowing what else to say, I diverted his concern by mumbling about a bad dream.

Had this been a bad dream? How could something bad feel so good? It certainly wasn't a dream at the time, although the mysterious intruder had literally disappeared in front of me - or should I say, from atop me - when Mark had awakened.

Could a dream effect me in such a way? My whole body was quivering in the throes of orgasm, my pussy clenching in spasms around the heat of the intruder's hard penis. Could a dream leave semen oozing from my ecstatic hole?

No question, though, I was awake to try to answer Mark's concerned questions as to why I was sobbing. I could feel the trickles of the intruder's sperm at the same time. The only recourse that ended the confusion was to bury myself in my boyfriend's arms.

The day after was strange. I was a mixture of emotions; happy, sad, longing, and even anxious. I felt dizzy, as if I were starting one of those rides at an amusement park that spins you around until you swoon.

When Mark would stop to grab hold of my butt or hug me close, I wasn't surprised. However, I was a little self-conscious. Could he see that I was acting like I had just been fucked the previous night?

Would he try to make up for our skipped nights by getting frisky tonight? I wasn't sure I could go through with it; I would be sore the next day and uncomfortable all day long. Being Saturday, I expected we might go out tonight. Maybe I would be able to keep him busy and plead off until the next night?

My dilemma caused me such concern that I checked myself while I was in the bathroom. I was definitely numb and used. I even wiped a small amount of goo that seeped out from the previous night's dream. I found myself frozen there in the bathroom, hunched over looking at my trimmed bush, trying to determine if last night had really been a dream. The question not only nagged at me, but burned me with curiosity and frustration. How could it have been? If I told Mark, would he laugh?

Would he treat me like some half-wit? Would he look at me differently? Would he not love me any more? But if he loved me, wouldn't he understand? What if he had an answer?

For some reason, I didn't want to pull up my shorts. A tendril of nastiness snaked through my thoughts and I tentatively ran my fingers down over my hood, pressing the skin hard onto my clit. A small and delicious shiver spread upward and tickled my spine.

With a gasp of frustration and incredulity I pulled up my shorts just as Mark knocked on the bathroom door. "Everything okay, dear?"

I flushed red and my knees turned to water. "I'm... fine."

He looked relieved when I opened the door.

Did he have any answers? I flushed even redder at the thought that I might have to tell him to find out.

Why did it feel so difficult, this decision? Why did it feel as if I was risking everything to tell him about a dream?

I laughed at myself in a nervous giggle.

"Am I missing something?" Mark's look narrowed and was concerned at the same time.

He really did care. I touched his arm and made my decision. "I want to talk about last night."

We walked into the kitchen. He poured us iced teas while I sat at the tiny iron dinette and gathered my thoughts. No matter the time I had while he poured, the harder I tried to gather anything in my mind together, the farther they scattered. I found myself determined but even less sure. The feeling of being back at a precipice in our relationship returned.

I squeezed my hands into fists in frustration.

He placed the glass in front of me and sat.

I didn't know where to begin. I tried to imagine starting with what was forefront on my mind, but it felt as if I would sound lame and stupid. The more I grasped, the less I had. I felt tears begin to form at my indecision. Why did this have to be so hard? He was an attorney; if I didn't have everything perfectly laid out, wouldn't he disapprove?

"Why don't you start by telling me what made you cry last night?" His voice soothed my anxiety.

I looked up into his eyes. His concern and caring made me smile. He was using his courtroom voice on me, urging me to open up. He was on my side.

"I had a dream last night..." I toyed with my glass, not sure how to broach the content of the dream.

"Yes, you told me last night. An upsetting dream? Something very sad?"

"Well, not really sad. Not so much as upsetting. Confusing." I took a sip of the iced tea, not tasting it, but to cover my anxiety.

"Go on."

"I dreamt I was with another man..."

"Another man?" Suspicion narrowed his eyes.

Panicky, I clarified. "An intruder. No one we know. Someone came into our bedroom in my dream and took me."

"r*ped you?" Concern colored his features again. He touched my hand.

His prompting gave me the way out I was looking for. "Yes, r*ped me."

He squeezed my hand and nodded.

"I thought it was you at first, and I was going along... But then I realized it wasn't you and tried to wake you."

"In your dream?"


"Go on."

Go on? Go on how? How could I tell him that I enjoyed it? "I thought you might get mad...."

"Mad? Honey, why would I be mad?"

"Like I said, I was going along with it until I realized it wasn't you, but by then it was too late." I lied. Or stretched the truth. I don't know which, but I couldn't tell him that I also enjoyed it when I knew it wasn't him. Even if it was a dream.

"Too late?"

"I came," I blurted out.

Rich laughter bubbled up from Mark's throat and he leaned back as he slapped his knee. He was laughing at me. I was right; he thought I was stupid. Tears welled up in my eyes and threatened to spill over.

He saw my tears and stopped. "Aw honey, don't cry. It was just a dream."

"But you're laughing at me--"

"No, no. I'm laughing because you think I'd be mad over a dream--"

"You're not mad at me?" Relief flooded through me and love spilled into its place.

"Of course not, silly. It was just a dream. I've had those dreams, too. They're nothing to fret over."

"You?" What was this? He's had them, too? "With who?"

"Your friend Diane, but–"

"Diane!" Anger flared up within me. Getting r*ped was one thing, but Mark was having sex dreams with my friend?

"What is it about her that is so sexy? Her black hair?"

"No, dear–"

"I can dye my hair if that's what you want." Bitterness replaced my anxiety and sadness.


"I'm skinnier than her; do I need to put on some weight for you? Is that what you're into?" Bitterness turned to anger. The idea that he was having sex dreams turned my stomach.

The conversation did not end well.

I stormed to the attic to get as far away from him as I could; I figured that some work up there would help me sort out my thoughts and it needed to be done anyway. There was plenty of natural light from the several windows that dotted the attic area. Properly finished, this could be turned into some additional rooms. I didn't bother with the lights; it was bright enough as it was.

I attacked a storage box by imagining Mark's face on it. Why did he have to laugh at me? And why did he think it was funny when he had engaged in sex with Diane in his dreams? I found nothing funny about that. Diane might have been heavier, and she was at least ten years older.

Mark was downstairs somewhere, probably reminiscing about his sex dreams with Diane. The thought drove me out of my chair.

Standing there, hands on my hips, I surveyed the attic. I guess it was pointless for me to even bother;

it was all storage. It could have stayed up here in a clump and no one would have been the wiser.

It was then that I smelt the cologne from yesterday. I furrowed my brow and looked around for the source. The smell of leather and cinnamon was very strong. Had I opened a box with something fragrant in it? Or had something spilled on my couch? I moved over to the couch to see if there were any oil stains on the cover sheet.

No stains. Nothing I could see. I frowned at the couch and the smell brought to me memories of last night. The passion and excitement was still there. I was amazed that just remembering could make me wet again, but it did.

Heat flooded me and a faint ache throbbed within me - a need to be filled. My frown disappeared and a small smile of wonderment replaced it.

I closed me eyes and imagined the night before. It had been wonderful. That Mark had been having dreams like this and not telling me was horrible. Why did he get to have them, dreaming about some floozy, but not me? No, I got laughed at. He dreamt about real women.

I only had dreams of imaginary people.

But oh, how enjoyable it had been!

I felt the touch, then. I started, but stopped and kept my eyes closed. Was that Mark? I inhaled deeply;

the scent was not Mark. Was I dreaming again? Had I sat down on the couch and dozed while remembering the events of last night's dream? Dream or reality? And what was now? Another dream? Or something real?

Hands turned my shoulders in the gloom of the attic. I opened my eyes as I turned. It was the man from last night. His bold features and slicked-back hair brought a bubble of warmth and happiness to me.

Butterflies tickled my stomach and the heat grew between my legs.

Without thinking, I slipped my arms around his neck. Our faces came together without effort and his mouth descended on mine. A moan wafted through the attic as his tongue gently but forcefully pushed into my mouth. I realized the moan was mine.

I melted against him as my knees weakened and we kissed passionately.

I clutched his head and tried to kiss him as hard as he was kissing me, but I was weakening into a swoon faster than I could fight. My world spun as the kiss broke. I was moaning and gasping for breath at the same time. I lost all balance as I clung to his strong frame. I felt myself being moved and I clung tighter.

He lowered me onto the couch as my vision swam. I squirmed on the couch as my fever grew and the heat between my legs began to burn. I wanted to look and see, but my eyes were closed tight. I was afraid if I opened them, my dream man would disappear. I heard shuffling, and then he was kneeling by me. I opened my eyes then. His erection was pointing at me, smooth and hard like last night. It was the most beautiful penis I had ever seen.

Without thinking, I reached out and gripped it. It felt perfect. It was velvet smooth and hot all at the same time. The ache within me beat to the pulsing of his erection. I thrust my hips against the ache and pulled his erection closer to my face. I closed my eyes and rubbed his smoothness all over my face. I wanted to bite it and kiss it at the same time. It felt so good. My mouth found it and I tried to get as much of it in while licking and nibbling at the same time.

I felt dizzy and lustful, but was this another dream? I could see him and feel him. I could taste him!

How could it be a dream? How could it not?

I wanted him to feel as good as I felt. I sucked and licked at his beautiful erection until I heard him moan contentedly. The action and result melded into something uniquely mine. I made him moan. I made him feel good. It was something that would be as much mine as my own boobs or my memories that only I recalled. It was something I shared with this stranger but would carry away as something that belonged to me.

He pulled away from me. I whimpered with loss. It was mine; I wanted it back. He expertly unbuttoned my shirt's few buttons and unzipped my shorts. Within a moment, he had my shorts and shirt off. My boobs hung free. He ran a hand over my panties. I squirmed on the couch and moved my hips against his hand.

I had to be dreaming. I must have fallen asleep on the couch after exerting myself. If this was all a dream, why not enjoy it? If Mark was having sex dreams with floozies, then why not enjoy a dream with a total stranger? This handsome man was not someone either Mark or I knew. He was a total dream fabrication. Wasn't he? What was the harm in a dream with a fantasy man? Certainly no harm at all. Not like dreaming about someone specific. It wasn't cheating then, right?

Dreaming about sex with a total fantasy wasn't cheating, was it? Mark dreaming about Diane would be, though.

Or would it?

Yes, it would be. She was a real person. Even if it was just a dream, he was having sex with a real woman that wasn't me. Whereas I was fabricating a fantasy in a dream - someone who didn't exist in real life. How could that be cheating?

Of course, it wasn't. Dreaming of sex with a dream-man who wasn't real was about as "bad" as masturbating awake. It wasn't cheating.

I lifted my hips and slid off my panties. The smile that lit the handsome man's face melted my heart.

He leaned over me and planted another soul-tearing kiss on me. My whole body cried out at the sweet pain of need and passion. When his fingers dipped into my wet folds, I felt jolts of lust arcing between the passion at my mouth and at my pussy.

He stopped kissing me and shifted his head down to my hips. He kissed my stomach and I moaned in response. The ache in me was getting stronger. He kissed his way down to my pussy while my movements became stiffer. When he kissed my lips down there, I froze. His hot tongue worked like a wet velvet tool over my folds and clit. The blood pounded in my head and soft wails filled the attic. The pressure mounted in my ears as my eyes closed in pleasure. The ache pounded at me now, but the feelings were so good and so intense, that I could only clutch his head, wanting more.

Sweat broke out on my forehead and my hips gyrated against his tongue. His strong hands grasped my hips and the need in me cried out. Or was that my voice crying out? I was too dizzy to know. I could hear myself panting now, after realizing that I had been holding my breath. The world tilted and spun. He was turning me over.

I struggled to get up, but then realized he was positioning me for a doggie entry. I moved to position myself on the couch for just that as his hands helped me along the way. I placed me knees as far apart on the couch as they would go and arched my back to expose my very wet pussy to him.

He placed a hand on my butt that seemed to burn into my skin. I felt him move close and the head of his penis touch my wet folds. I pushed back, impatiently. I wanted him inside now! He teased my entrance.

His hot cock felt good but it needed to be inside. I started to quiver with need. I needed to feel that beautiful shaft inside me, pushing and scratching the deep itch I felt.

"No, no, no, no... Inside, please..." I gasped. I kept pushing my hips back, but he only toyed at the entrance. "Unhhh... fuck me!"

The handsome man chuckled. His low mirthful sound made me even hotter. But all that was erased and forgotten as I felt that smooth erection begin to slide inside. The heat was incredible. I was so wet that he had no trouble pushing it in. I tried to hold my breath. I tried to enjoy each inch and remember the feel as it slid in. I tried to go slow. But I heard myself moaning in a desperate low growl as I pushed back hard on his penis. It felt so good. It began to touch that deep ache as it reached the end of its length. He pushed as it reached the root of his erection and held it there.

Oh gosh. Ohhhhh. I could feel it throbbing in there. It filled me and stretched me open in a very nasty and filling way. I never wanted to feel it leave. The tip of his erection was rubbing me perfectly, deep inside. I wanted to feel it all over, deep inside, forever. I pushed back against him and could feel his hard abdomen against my butt. I was spiraling out of control. Nothing I had ever known had ever felt so good.

When he started to pull back, I pushed back to keep him inside. But then he pushed forward and began sliding his erection in and out. It felt so good, so perfect, so hot. His manhood filled me and rubbed everything so right. I wanted to possess his cock and make it mine.

The only thought I had of Mark was that I wasn't thinking about him at all. This was my dream, my fantasy. This was something that belonged to me and was private for me and my dreams, alone. While I was dreaming, I was enjoying this, and it was none of Mark's business.

I placed my head down on the arm of the couch as the stranger pumped me with strong strokes. I usually liked sex gentle with a touch of passion, but this was rougher. It excited me in ways I hadn't imagined. What I did with Mark was make love. This was lustful fucking and it felt wonderful. His manly erection was strong and pumped hard from tip to root. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to be a fucking. It was hard, hot and so nasty.

The stranger moaned with me as his balls began to slap lightly at my clit. It felt too good to end. I never wanted it to end. Each slap elevated my passion and heat until I thought I would scream. My brow was furrowed and I was gasping, almost wild with lust.

"Ohhh... fuck me harder!" My movements were frantic. I pushed back to his strong thrust to feel the slap of his balls. It was wonderful.

His movements became faster. I might have started drooling then. The lust took over. I mirrored his thrusts in counterpoint and the slapping grew louder. Electric jolts coursed through my body - up from my clit along my spine. Even my feet were twitching. I knew he was about to come. I wanted it all, deep inside.

The stranger grunted and I could feel him quiver behind me. I ground my hips back against his erection as he buried it as far as he could push. I felt his very hot penis swell within me and jerk.

Super hot sperm shot out of him and deep inside me. My pussy quivered and clenched as his passion threw me over the edge. I thought I was going to pass out. I grunted through clenched teeth as my own orgasm threatened to sweep me away. I struggled to hold on to the couch as his hot wetness flooded my pussy to mix with the juices I was squeezing out.

Just as I reached the point of bliss, he pulled out. My head wobbled as I struggled to see. I remained kneeling, my butt in the air, sperm and juices running down my legs.

"No, bring it back. More!"

I felt a change. Something in the air changed. An anxiety replaced the passion and lust. It started to effect my own feelings.

"No! I need more. It's mine! Don't take it away..."

I heard footsteps on the stairs coming to the attic. Mark was coming.

I felt saddened at the loss of the dream. But I felt the change in the air wasn't due to Mark. Something changed with the stranger - almost as if someone else was present with the stranger and the stranger was upset.

The whole change and abrupt end to the wonderful sex frustrated me. I heaved myself up off the couch. Mark stood there looking at me from the door to the attic. I had been asleep, after all. But I was naked on the couch and had slept with my butt in the air.

I picked up my clothes and brushed past Mark.

"I fell asleep, but the attic is done." I didn't look at him.

I was still angry that he had sex dreams with Diane. That I had experienced yet another dream with a fantasy man was not his business. It would have been if the man was real. But if he was going to laugh at my dreams then he didn't need any more ammunition to think I was silly. As to why I was naked, he could think whatever he wanted.

Maybe my fantasy would visit me again, later. Whatever the change in the air, I would always have my handsome dream-stranger. Yes, always.

I felt sure I could call on him when I wanted.

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