In the Arms of Morpheus, In Your Arms

The war movie "Johnny Got His Gun" is a soul-shattering experience for many. It sticks in the mind for many reasons, not the least of which is the psychological hell that would be caused by loss of all your physical faculties while your mental processes remained alert and very much aware. One quote from the movie has especially stuck with me over the years, though: "How can you tell what's a dream and what's real when you can't even tell when you're awake and when you're asleep?"

It was like that for me this morning, you know. For much different and considerably more pleasant reasons.

I was floating, drifting, wandering in a pleasant haze. Clouds passed over and through me and I was borne aloft on warm breezes. Far below me I saw a landscape of indescribable beauty, rolling hills and valleys, mountains with snow-capped tips, lush forests and rushing cataracts. My spirit sang at the sight. Indeed, I was feeling pleasure radiating outward from my core, buoying me up effortlessly, the good feelings crackling along every nerve ending.

Slowly things shifted and turned, and I sideslipped along another plane of existence. The pleasure intensified, becoming more localized. I felt dim sensations: warmth building to heat, gentle tingling, a velvety smoothness, a slick friction of some kind. They intensified as the pleasure built. Reality reassembled itself, building blocks falling into place, solidifying to the here and now.

Which was that your lips were wrapped around my cock and you were sucking on me gently but insistently.

My eyes flew open in shock and then almost immediately closed again as the sensations swept over me and carried me away. Never had I felt such exquisite points of pleasure. There was no time to wonder how you'd pulled the covers off without awakening me, what had possessed you to awaken me like this, or even how in the hell you'd gotten here in the first place. It's very difficult to think coherent thoughts when a woman has your cock in her mouth.

And so consciousness coalesced around the delight I felt: heat, gentle suction, a most insistent tongue curling around my shaft and concentrating on the head. Your soft fingers stroked me up and down, tenderly but with firm authority. I moaned, the first sound I had managed, and was rewarded with a humming "Mmmmm" from you, my cock never slipping free. Your hair whispered along my belly, your hands caressed my thighs and fondled my balls. Your mouth worked with slow passion, teasing me, gorging me with blood and desire. I felt myself throb intensely with each hard thump of my heart.

The sounds of lust: wet "shlick" and "sploop" sounds as you sucked me, slowly, your mouth moving from head to the base of my shaft, my ragged breathing as the pleasure built, my helpless moans of desire, your soft musical humming. I began to raise my hips, slightly, involuntarily, and heard/felt you giggle to yourself, knowing I was completely and utterly lost, in your control.

And then you pulled back. My cock slid free, rigid as a post, throbbing angrily. I gasped as your tongue dragged over the crown, swirling round it, bringing fresh beads of desire, glistening pearly white. You grinned the most impish grin I had ever seen and only then did I realize you were as naked as I. Slowly, slowly, you crept forward, your skin sliding against mine, your hard nipples scoring trails along my chest as you undulated along my length. You straddled me. Your thighs grabbed me with no doubt about who was in charge here. You looked down imperiously, eyes glinting with mischief and delight. You raised those hips. Your hands caressed your own skin, fondling your breasts. You tweaked your nipples and sighed softly as your hands moved lower, ever downward. Your hand wrapped around my rigid length, angling it, pointing me to your own requirements. More heat, more wetness: slick and ready, you enveloped me before I could even blink, and just like that we were connected, so intimately, so deeply.

You sighed again, this time in words: my name. It sounded like a blessing. With a soft gasp I called your own, the word almost lost in a moan of pure need as you began to move slowly, excruciatingly slowly. You leaned forward, your breasts pressed against my chest, and rained kisses on my neck, my throat. Your tongue tasted my pulse, explored my earlobe. I felt your breath, hot and insistent. My hands went to cup and squeeze your ass, helping you fit yourself to me. Slowly, so slowly, you rose and fell above me. I raised my head to capture a nipple with lips and tongue and was rewarded with moans of your own. Steadily, rhythmically, you drove me onward. Steadily, rhythmically, I was driven higher, the pleasure building, the tempo increasing. My breath came faster. Your velvet walls gripped me, molding me, shaping me for our ecstasy. Your hair swung forward, obscuring your face, but those eyes glinted, glinted. A ghost of a smile from you: you leaned forward, palms on my chest, bracing yourself for harder, faster, rocking and grinding. Your touch seared my skin. Head whirling, every nerve flamed with delight, I could only gasp and moan, helpless to resist the tide, the inevitable burst of heat and light and color, the brilliant nova that sent me over the edge......

.........and then I raised my head, and looked around. The sheets were tangled, my pillow askew, my cock throbbing steadily in a pool of precum. I touched myself: stickier than I should be. The memory of your kisses, the taste of your tongue, the feel of your hot cunt, wouldn't leave me alone, insisted they had been real. I dropped my head to the pillow, and sighed bitterly. Never have I been so disappointed to return to the real world from a dream.

-- PB

First Class Train Travel

My head is buzzing. Mists swirl about briefly but clear when  I shake my head. I look around. You and I are sitting on a couch in a spacious, tasteful compartment in a train car. I brilliantly deduce this from the rocking and swaying we feel and the rackety-clack as the train makes its way along. You're sitting next to me, wearing a opaque pearl gray dress that hints at, promises, much more than it actually shows. Your smile is quick and mischievous, your eyes dancing with suppressed glee. What are you thinking?

The woman sitting across from us says something and I miss it, my head buzzing again. You're quicker on the uptake, though, and soon you're both in an animated discussion. The guy who's with her looks at me and we share a brief glance of amusement. The other fellow, sitting in the corner, has barely looked up from his iPad since entering the compartment a while back. Not much of a traveling companion, but then again, sometimes silence is nice.

The mists swirl about a bit more and the light outside unaccountably changes -- one moment high noon, the next giving way to the gloaming of approaching twilight. I reach for your hand, looking for substance, wanting to hold onto something, but discover that you're not sitting next to me anymore. Confused, I look at the woman across from us. She seems to read my mind and says that you'd gone to the restroom while I was out. "Out?" I ask, wanting clarification, but she simply nods.

I lean back and stretch out my legs. There's another hitch and suddenly you're next to me again, leaning up against me in a very pleasant way. Your face is full of high color, your eyes are intense, your lips parted. What were you doing in that bathroom, hmm?

You lean close and very shortly I find out, as you begin nibbling on my ear. "I think I may have made a mistake," you murmur to me, your lips exploring, caressing. Tiny electrical shocks run up and down my body; you know my ears are a weak point and always exploit it mercilessly. "You know one time is never enough for me. All it does is whet my appetite for more."

You're whetting my appetite, too, your hot breath on my neck, now licking lightly at my earlobe, nipping at the side of my neck, planting hot kisses along the curve of my collarbone. I feel your fingers trailing down my side, nails lightly grazing my ribs, my belly, making light scritching sounds as they reach the rougher fabric of my jeans. You rub lightly against the outline in my crotch. Heat at your fingertips. Heat against your wrist as you run it down between my legs. Heat in the palm of your hand as you take a firm grasp and squeeze, gently. I sigh softly.

Over your head and shoulders I can see the couple across from us. They are watching intently, not saying a word. Their faces are blank masks, revealing nothing, but their eyes are avid. She leans over and whispers something quietly and he nods, without taking his eyes off you as your explorations become more insistent. Her mouth parts and her tongue steals out to slide around her ruby red lips, just once, the only outward sign of anything at all. I glance sideways and see the guy in the corner shift a bit, aiming the camera eye of his gadget our way. His fingers tap, tap, delicately at its surface. Posting to Facebook? Stealing a shot of us and captioning it with "Compartmentalized Lust"? Filming a bit of video for a private reenactment later? Who knows.

Your hand is now rubbing eagerly against the spike in my jeans. I moan a low moan of need and you murmur something against my throat, an endearment, an exhortation, I can't tell. Your tongue darts out and outlines my Adam's apple; I shiver. I slide my free hand down your back, caressing. Starting my own exploration. You press closer against me and I feel the soft weight of your breasts on my arm. Maddening, fanning the flames. I wind my hand into your hair idly, liking its texture, then tighten a bit and use it to lift your head. You gasp slightly but then understanding replaces annoyance, when I lean forward and kiss you, hard.

I love the taste of your mouth. Your tongue is always ready for a duel, and it slides against mine, heat and wetness, making me want more, as always. I slip my free hand lower down your back, squeezing your ass on the way, then slide it around front and gently nudge your legs further apart. You murmur "mmm" into my mouth and help spread them. Meanwhile, your own hands are still rubbing and stroking me, now sliding along my thighs, now brushing against the throb in my jeans, now toying with the buttons on my shirt. I feel you pull a few of them loose, then slip a finger or two inside and trace random designs on my skin. Goose bumps seethe in your nail's wake.

Soft murmurs from the couple across from us, now. I steal a glance, but their expressions are still enigmatic, unruffled, their eyes pools of night. I get the strange feeling that they're grading our performance in their heads and will assign us a score whenever....this.....reaches its by now inescapable conclusion. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs; he rolls his head slightly, as if to loosen tension, and then relapses into immobility.

I turn my head, now, and look more openly at the man in the corner. He gazes back tranquilly, not bothered in the least. A slight grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he adjusts the gadget on his knees a bit, the fabric of his slacks rustling. That sound seems to snap you out of your trance and for the first time you seem to realize our audience; you follow my glance over to him and he nods, as if to say "Don't let me stop you, please." Swiftly, you look over at the couple, but they are no less inscrutable to you than they were to me. Wait -- there, a motion of his hand, a definite "don't mind us; continue" flick of the wrist.

Well, now. I squirm around a bit, freeing my other arm, and slide both hands down your back, hiking your dress up and over your hips, revealing that marvelous ass. I cup its roundness, take double handfuls of firm, warm flesh, glad (not for the first time) that you go bare beneath your skirts, dresses, slacks, whatever. Your scent rises, and my head spins again. The room darkens and everything slips sideways for a second or two; when I raise my head you're in my lap, you've pulled my shirt back and down over my shoulders to pinion my arms at my sides. You wriggle against me, rubbing your chest against mine. I can feel your nipples through the silken fabric, and I want to reach up, to caress; your hands curl around my wrists and hold them gently in place.

You pull back and then reach down between us. Now both hands are working busily at the snap on my jeans. In a trice the zipper is down. I raise up and you pull jeans and boxer briefs down; then your fingers are dancing around my hard cock, freed from its entanglement and now pointing angrily at the ceiling. Your touch is firm and cool, slippery and silken smooth along heated rigidity. I moan your name and you chuckle, low and soft, glancing over your shoulder at the still pair opposite you. Staring over your other shoulder at them, I see the color rising in their faces; they may be good at hiding emotion, but the more normal responses are hard at work, it seems.

You're hard at work too, pointing, adjusting, caressing. You hike the dress up further in the front and slide two fingers into yourself. I manage to worm shoulders and arms free of the shirt, and then I can wrap them around you, run fingernails down your back, dig furrows into you, marking you. I shudder all over as you pull your fingers out and then use them to rub your wetness all over my cock. Slick and shining, coated with your excitement, it throbs like a piston, like something barely in check.

My eyes close of their own volition as you lift and then settle firmly on me, something so familiar, the pulse of heat old as time, that feels new and incredible every single time we enact this little scene. The aroma is more piquant, the bouquet made more spicy this time by our watchers, who still have made little sign of their presence other than faint murmurings or rustlings as they shift in their seats. I open my eyes and stare straight at the woman behind you, who nods in approval as you begin the age-old rhythm, hips pumping slowly, so slowly.

Heat. Delicious, delicious heat, radiating outward from my groin. My heart pounds. My lips close on a nipple and you gasp my name. Deliberately, I close my teeth and this time you hiss sharply...but your hips' slow pumping actually speeds up. I slide one hand down to your ass and clench it there, grab a handful, an anchor to help hold you down, keep you from sliding off the earth, balanced precariously on the precipice of pleasure.

Mists swirl through my brain again. Grunting angrily, I shake my head to clear them; when things resolidify, you're no longer in my lap. Instead, I've rolled on top of you, pressing you down with all my weight. Your legs have come up and are over my shoulders, ankles hooked round my neck. Steady pressure there urges me onward. Now it's my hips that move with slow deliberation; I pull back, slide forward, pull back, slide forward, an aching grinding rhythm that's making us both moan and whimper.

I shift a bit in response to pressure from your arm on one side, realizing that you're moving my shoulder out of the field of view of the camera in the corner, knowing that it must be fixed on your pleasure-dazed face, the hair straggling over your eyes, sweat beading on your forehead, mouth slack and open, wet with lust. I'm transfixed by it myself. You've given yourself over to it, let the sensations take control.

Control. We've never been out of control like this, coupling shamelessly, rutting like a pair of animals in full view of three total strangers. I can feel their gazes traveling over our bodies, fixing on my cock as it emerges briefly from your tight cunt before sliding home again, watching with slow approval the swaying of your breasts with each thrust, trailing down my back as you score red welts on it with your fingernails. I feel you clutching at me, your excitement shifting into a higher gear, your pussy opening still further, inviting me to use it, take it ruthlessly and roughly.

It's not just your pussy that's urging me, either. Your voice reaches me through the fog that's closing in again. I hear the words that never fail to wring me out and drive me wild with lust, those filthy phrases you love to tease and taunt me with: "Oh yeah. Give me that big cock, baby. Pound my hot pussy. Mmmmmyeahhh, ohh yeahh. Fuck me so good." You don't stop as I wrap both arms around you and pull you upward, lift you off the couch till we're in a bridge position. I mold your body to mine, thrusting harder, feeling your wetness splash and drool down your thighs and mine. I gasp with each new thrust. The pleasure builds and builds and builds.

One more thought flashes, dimly, in my head: let's give them all a real show for the finish. With that, I pull back and out of you. Your eyelids fly up like windowshades and you moan a slow "Noooooo" but it's cut off; I wrestle us around until you're on my lap once more, this time sitting on me as if I were a chair, both of us staring, defiantly, in turn, at our watchers. They smile and nod encouragingly, drinking in the sight, licking their lips now: at last, clearly and obviously enjoying what they see. And they should -- your pussy clenching around me as I thrust upward and into you, my hands squeezing your breasts, your fingers alternately stroking your clit and the length of my shaft as it emerges briefly at the end of each stroke. Your head rolls back on your shoulders and a low "aaaaaaaaaaaaa" of pure sensation emerges; through the haze, I register that you're coming, one of those full-body orgasms that leave you as limp as a wet dishrag. Your body gets heavier in my arms before your head snaps up again and you start bouncing up and down on me, forcing yourself down to meet each upward thrust, growling deep in your throat, a repeated refrain: "Come on. Come on. Come on. Oh, come on."

I feel stretched to the breaking point. Ribbons of light spin and twirl through my head. My cock twitches, my balls tingle, and almost before I can even gasp out your name, I'm coming myself, spurt after spurt, mauling your breasts hard enough to leave bruises, grunting a low "uh, uh, uh, uh" sound in time with your own exhortations. Your hips slam down on me in hard approval, your body pressing against me in unutterable zeal. I thrust and thrust up into you, the mists rising again, wanting only to prolong this agony, this ecstasy, this far too temporary union. The fog drifts higher and soon it covers us completely.

I open my eyes and sit up. Alone, in my hotel bedroom. Tangled sheets, damp with perspiration, wet and messy with sticky precum. My cock throbs angrily, annoyed at having been denied its release. I sigh, sinking back on the pillows, heart still beating hard. I close my eyes and say your name, emptily.

I swear I can still see their admiring gazes, can still smell you, hear that low moan of delight as you came and came hard.

A dream? Or a memory?

-- PB

I wonder......

I wonder....

...what you're thinking right now. Whether your mind is drifting in the same gutter that mine is, thinking of the same sorts of delightfully decadent scenes. Whether your brain continues returning over and over again to that night we spent, replaying it in excruciating detail, teasing and exciting, embarrassing and delighting. Or whether you're thinking nothing of the sort, musing idly about grocery lists and laundry to be done and the bill you got from the mechanic. I wonder how I can find out. I wonder if I send these thoughts out, if you'll receive them. I wonder if you'll find your breath coming hard and fast as you get inexplicably turned on, or if the signal will go unreceived, winging its way ever outward through the sparkles of distant worlds and uncaring stars. 

I wonder....

...what you're wearing. Whether you've got on business casual, or the "executive" look that's so hot on a woman, or whether you're just clad in ratty jeans and a T-shirt for booming down the highway in a convertible. I wonder whether it slashes along your body in razor-sharp lines, attempting to conceal curves that are a crime to hide, or whether it does what I long so much to do, cupping and caressing those same curves with a lover's touch. I wonder how what you're wearing would impede me when I begin inevitably removing it from your body. Is it flimsy and easily torn free? Is it expensive, preventing fits of wild passion? Or did you anticipate me as you so often do, wearing something that gives me easy access for fingers and tongue and cock? 

I wonder....

 ...what it is you see in me. What it is about me that has you circling around me like a moth to the flame, playing with fire, singing your wings. Why you seem to think I'm different from everyone else to come along your path. Whether I really am different from everyone else to come along your path, or whether I just want the same thing, deep down. Whether I have the balls to open up to you the same way you've opened yourself to me. Whether you'd be shocked by what you found there if I did, or if you'd see in me the dark reflection of the hungers you're afraid to admit to yourself. 

I wonder....

...how many times you came that night. You never said, but I thought it was at least three. That first one I could barely detect; there was just a sharp intake of breath and you bit your lower lip. Your body tensed up and then relaxed, and I thought "That's a good start". Then you were riding the curve, riding me upward again. I felt you clench me, urgently, so urgently, gripping me so hard I thought I'd lose it too, but then you collapsed on me and fell still, and I was able to back away from the brink. That third time, though...that was a wonder. Vases cracked and windows crazed with the force of your scream, and with you shoving yourself back at me like that, there was no way I could keep from coming too. My answering roar mingled with your still-crescendoing shriek, merging and then drifting away again, another kind of lovemaking. Three at least, but maybe there were more? 

I wonder....

...who you're spending time with today, and I hate them a little bit for getting to do what I can't. Stroll with you in the sunlight, brush your hair away from behind your ear, listen to the bubbling stream of your conversation as it flows effortlessly from topic to topic. I wonder if they have the same nasty thoughts about you that I do. I wonder if they've ever acted on them. I wonder if you liked it when they did, if you embraced them eagerly, if your hips came up and pressed against them as they slid home into that hungry cunt, or if you straight-armed them and kept them off with a sharp retort. I wonder if you liked it so much that you're about to have them again. I wonder if it's hate, or jealousy, or delight on your behalf that has me so hard just thinking about it. 

I wonder...

...when I'll see you again. Whether we'll be able to break free of the obligations we have for another stolen moment in time, or somehow manage the luxury of a day or two uninterrupted. Whether we'll have to make it fast, a quickie in some dark corner, heated sighs and urgent mergings that are too too quickly lost, or whether we might get a bit of actual time to explore and tease and caress, to grip each other tightly, to take hold and keep from sliding off the skin of the world. Whether we can ignore the many demands on our attention for a sphere of quiet, a bubble of time when nothing matters but giving pleasure to each other between cool crisp sheets in a faraway room miles above any other distractions. Or whether it'll once again be longing looks, smoky glances, gentle touch of hand to cheek, but nothing more. 

I wonder...

 ...all this and so much more.

-- PB

The Midnight Ride of....well, not Paul Revere

It's a strange thing, not knowing whether you're awake or asleep. Everything's washed in a drifting haze, a formless fog as thick as the blanket that falls over London at night. You can never tell whether the things you're seeing -- the sensations you're feeling -- are real, or whether they're just byproducts of overtired neurons firing cross-connections in your head.

So when I felt you beginning to go to work on my sleeping penis in the dead of night, I thought I was still lost in a pleasant dream.

Mmmmm. 

Ahh. Ohh. Mmmmm, that feels nice. Heat, wetness. Must have spilled coffee on myself in that diner. Think that'd be hotter, though, more painful, less "ahhhhh". Weird. 

Ahhh, that's good. Strange, doesn't seem to be any clothes down there. Must be one of those dreams where I'm naked for some reason. I guess that's why I can feel it so well. What is that, anyway? Ohhhhhhh. Mmmmmmmmmm. 

God, that feels fantastic. It fascinates me to feel my cock go from flaccid to tall and hard, and it sure feels like that's what it's doing right now. Ahhhhh. Mmmmm. Feels like.....like somebody's sucking me off. Swelling now, head raising up, looking around. I can feel her tongue flicking along the shaft. Pulse thumping in the great vein. Can feel her tickling my balls with her fingers. Soft pink flesh becoming warm pink marble. Can feel some incredible suction.........ohhhh GOD that's good.

Yep, definitely nice and hard now. What a fucking great dream this is. Still feel foggy. Where am I? And who's performing this magic on my shaft? Can't see too well. Oh, that's why -- it's because it's dark. Wait a second. It's........ohhhhhhh fuck, she's fantastic. It's....wait, I'm not dreaming. I'm awake! In my bedroom, in the dark. Is this really happening?

Oh yes. It is. Moist slurping sounds come from between my legs as you bob your head up and down on my cock, by now very rigid indeed. Your hair spills forward, hiding your face except for tantalizing flashes of your sucking mouth, your tongue running along my stalk, your teeth biting gently at the head. "Oh god," I groan in a voice made hoarse by sleep. "Ohhh, that's fucking good. Oh, fuck yes."

A low, throaty chuckle around my cock in your mouth. "You like?" A silky purr.

"Christ yes," I gasp as a particularly enthusiastic bit of suction rolls my eyes back in my head.

"Let's see how you like this, then." A brief shifting and I'm rolled from my side over onto my back. Wetness drips and smears across my legs and thighs as you slide on top of me. I have time enough to realize that you're absolutely soaked and it's your cunt dripping all over me before you reach down, grasp me in one small hand, and sink down on top of me with a groan -- at which point all rational thought goes right out of my head.

"Fuck me, that's good," I groan. Heat. Wetness. Tight and hot. "Oh yes," you sigh, moving up and down on me. "Yes, yes, yes. Oh, like that." My hands go of their own volition to your hips, clapping hard, clenching, lifting and dropping you. Wet and slippery. So hot. So good. Arching my back, raising my hips to lift up into you. Your tits bouncing as you rise and fall. Your hair still obscuring your face.

"Oh yes," you're moaning. "Oh, do me. Yeah, like that. Oh, I love that cock. God, I love to ride you." Your hips are confirming it, moving in tight circles. "Good," I groan, heavy and full, the tide rising. "'Cause I fucking love it when you ride me. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can feel that pussy clenching. Give me that hot cunt. Fuck yourself down on my big cock."

"Fuck yes," you gasp. "I love feeling that cock inside me. Are you gonna shoot off soon? Gonna hose me down with a nice creamy load? Please say yes. I want it. Want it now. Oh yeah. Now. Now. C'mon. Give it to me." Fire glints in your eyes as you start bucking harder. "C'mon. Come for me. I want it. I need it. Now. Now. Nownownownownownowwwwwwwwwww........." and your voice becomes a howl, mindless pleasure taking over, shuddering wracking your body. I join you, gasping out "oh fuck yes" over and over, each time my twitching cock fires another spurt inside you. My hips jerk and my hands spasm, digging fingermarks deep into your ass and thighs. Over and over I come, grunting "fuck, fuck, fuck," like an animal, barely registering that you're grunting with me: "yeah, yeah, yeah....."

Long moments pass before you crash down heavily atop me, spent. I can feel our mingled fluids drooling out of your pussy and pooling on my thighs. My cock, still astonished at this lovely midnight surprise, starts softening, slipping out of you, slowly returning to its slumber. I can feel the fog reaching out to claim me too, and put my arms around you, willing you to join me in my dream, where maybe we can continue this lovely interlude......

-- PB

Drifting and Dreaming

Sometimes the line between reality and fantasy is veil-thin. Sometimes, in the hazy drift of REM sleep, the concrete and real is no more substantial than smoke, and the smoke of imaginings can coalesce into things you can smell, hear, taste...and feel.

It was like that last night.

More tired than I'd thought, I drifted off pretty quickly. Timeless time ticked, measuring out the minutes of my night, stretching and refolding, random neurons firing in my brain, scattering a smattering of images and scenes in my mind.

Tick...

We're in a cool green room, upon a massive canopied bed with satin sheets. My hands are grasping handfuls of those sheets as I gaze up at your lovely form, poised and sliding up and down atop my hardness. The only sounds are our deep breathing and the moist sounds of flesh calling to flesh, sensuously clasping and releasing. Slow, whisper-soft sighing, our movements excruciatingly precise, drawing out every last iota of sensation. My eyes go wide, I arch my back and lift you high, and your hair spills over your breasts in waves as you bow your head in benediction to receive my offering.

Tick...

It's late at night, on an overseas flight full of sleeping people. But neither of us is sleeping; under a concealing blanket, eager hands are busy tearing at clothing, fumbling with snaps, guiding my hard cock forward into your tight, wet tunnel. Soft moans. Short, hard thrusts. My hands cupping your tits, feeling their heft and their hard tips. Your pushing back against me, using the armrest to give us more leverage. A stop for an instant as a flight attendant walks by, giving us a knowing look. A return to our fuck with the sure and constant knowledge that when we do come, neither one of us is going to be able to keep from screaming...and not caring one bit.

Tick...

The sun beats down on my shoulders as I beat down on you. You're pinned and helpless beneath me, both of us lying on a sun pad atop the deck of our boat. Both of us are soaked, glistening with sun oil and the sweat of our exertions. It makes a wonderful lubricant as I slide back and forth atop you, in you, the waves helping me rock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your nails digging into my back and your gasping moans are practically begging me to pound you, ravage you, leave you spent and exhausted and broken. Then you make it much plainer by spitting and snarling at me, describing in graphic terms how it's your deepest desire to be unable to walk when I'm through with you. And so I lift and spread you even further, throwing your legs up over my shoulders as I hammer into you, slamming, ramming, pleasure mounting to near-agony for us both, till finally my burning balls empty themselves in a firehose blast into your clutching cunt. 

Tick...

The city spreads itself before us, a night-glittering feast all the more appetizing because of its unapproachability. Neon streaks and spangles our vision. From this 30th-floor balcony, the wind only brings us hints of the activity below: faint taxicab horns, the bass thump of cruisers on the Strip, the rush of traffic still unabated even at 2 AM. Rocking slowly and steadily inside you, I nuzzle your neck, nipping gently at your flesh, taking tiny bites, tasting the salt of your sweat. I feel you shudder against me and your pussy clenches. You bend forward a bit further, your tits spilling out of the cocktail dress that I've got hiked up above your waist, and whisper my name. I echo yours in sighing pleasure, and my hands on your ass pull you against me, my cock sliding a bit deeper this time. The wind sighs its approval as well. We make our love there on the balcony, not caring who can see, lost in the night, lost in each other.

I awoke to an empty bed and a hard cock, disappointed for a second, but grateful to have shared such lovely scenarios with you. Were they dreams, or were they reality? You decide.

-- PB