I had one of those dreams last night. You know, where you have sex with someone and it gets you all horny and needy, but then you can't remember the details in the morning. I knew that I had fucked someone in my dreams, but I couldn't remember. But I was worked up by morning. My cock was throbbing. I must have been fucking against the mattress because I felt like it was going to explode.
Ok, here's the stuff about me, so we can get it out of the way. 47, 6-2, 180, blue eyes, graying hair, nice smile. I work out and stay in shape, women give me a second look, but I have never done anything about it. Married to my childhood sweetheart, two grown kids, happy in work and home. The perfect life.
But today was going to be a tough one. I had meetings all day and my balls were aching. I needed to cum in the worst way, and I was going to have no time to take care of it before bed tonight. And Eleanor and I wouldn't have sex tonight because, well, it's Tuesday and we don't have sex on Tuesdays.
Compounding the problem is that I'm going to be in a couple of meetings with some very good looking women, and I don't know that I'll be able to focus on work. Just thinking about those legs and those boobs has me going again. Shit. Focus, man, focus.
I love my work and I have lots of people counting on me for their livelihood, so I'm going to stay on top of my game. But there's also going to be this vague ache in my balls until I can take care of it. Damn, I wish I could figure out who the woman was in that dream. That would make it easier. It wasn't my wife or any of my family. It wasn't anyone at work, or at least no one that I could remember. I was sure it was a woman, though. At least I knew that.
Once I got moving, though, the day went well. It became just like a lot of other days. Lots of meetings, money made, money spent. Hopefully we made more than we spent, but you never know.
And yes, those women were just as beautiful as I remembered. And one of them was wearing a blouse that showed me a lot of cleavage. She should have sold advertising because all the men were looking.
On the drive home, I was still thinking about her boobs and trying to imagine how they would feel in my hands. The ache started all over again, and I gave my cock and balls a sympathetic squeeze. Maybe I could beg for a hand job tonight. I'm not above begging at this point.
Nearly home, and my phone rang. It was Eleanor. "Honey, I'm so sorry but Mom's sick and I need to go over there. I am going to spend the night if you don't mind. She sounds terrible."
Well, at least I could jack off in peace. "That's fine. Is everything all right? Do you need me to go with you?"
She said, "It's fine, she just some sort of stomach thing and needs some tender care. Oh, speaking of tender care, I asked Amy to come over and make dinner. Ed is out of town again and she wanted to help. I hope you don't mind."
And all of a sudden, it hit me. It was Amy in my dreams. But Amy is my wife's best friend, and she has always been like family to us. Still, I couldn't help but think about how hot she was in my dream. I was getting hard already, just thinking about it all over again.
I had dreamt of Amy in a nice, tight pair of shorts and a blouse that was too small for her round, full breasts. But mostly I remember grabbing her and pulling her for a hot kiss, then cut to us fucking, her on top, screaming my name, my cock so big inside her, until she came, hard and loud. And then there was something about a pickup truck and a dragon, but I'm not sure how that fits in.
But now I had that same picture in my mind, Amy in tight yellow shorts that were shorter than I had ever seen her wear, so short that her ass cheeks were showing. And that white shirt, filled with those beautiful, creamy tits. I can almost feel them in my hands right now. Man, I better get calmed down. If she's already at the house, she would see more of me than she imagined.
Ok, thinking of baseball now. And a nice, cold beer. Ah. I need to meet my son for a game sometime. That would be fun. Yeah.
Pull into the garage, and Eleanor's car is not there, which makes sense. Amy's car is in the driveway, though, and my thoughts start to stir again. No, you have to calm down. You cannot go there again. It was just a dream. Get control of yourself. It has not basis in reality.
Ok, deep breath, then into the house. I come in the back way, to the kitchen, and I see Amy there, at the stove, stirring a pan of some sauce, probably spaghetti. The good news is that she's not wearing yellow shorts and a white blouse. No, she's wearing tight black leggings and a short gray t-shirt. Hair pulled back, she must have just come from working out.
Her body is sleek. Well, she's a woman in her mid-40s so, you know. But she has womanly curves that perfectly fit her. Nice high tits, a gentle round ass and hips that aren't too big or too small. I shake my head. Get it together, boy.
She turns and sees me. "Oh, hey, John, you're just in time. Dinner will on the table in just a few minutes, so if you'd like to change into something more comfortable, we can go ahead and eat, ok?" She goes back to checking the sauce.
I nod, dumbly, words failing me as I stand there. She looks back at me again and says, "Are you ok? Eleanor told you that I was coming, right? I don't want to be in the way if you would rather eat alone."
I shake the cobwebs from my head again, and finally blurt out, "Hey, Amy. No, Eleanor told me that you would be cooking for me. There's no sense in the two of us eating alone, and we never really get to talk much, just you and me. I'd love the company. I'll be right back.", and I try to hold my backpack in front of my pants so she won't see what's happening in there.
In our bedroom, I quickly change into shorts and a t-shirt, and I'm back out to the kitchen where Amy has set the breakfast table, and was pouring wine into glasses. She said, "I hope you don't mind, but I thought that wine would be a nice complement to the pasta. You do like pasta, right?" She gave me a quick smile and put the second wine glass down at my plate.
The food looked and smelled amazing. It was not spaghetti but some other kind of noodle, covered with a nice red meaty sauce. In the middle of the table there was a basket of hot bread that was steaming hot. I suddenly realized how hungry I was, and I went over to sit and we started eating. "Wow. I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me. Thank you, Amy, you didn't have to do all of this."
I really do love my wife, and she's a great wife, but she cannot cook. Nothing like this, at least. There was a fucking salad. A salad! Eleanor's idea of a big meal is two helpings of tuna casserole. Yeah, we eat out a lot.
Amy's dinner was even more delicious than I imagined. The sauce was rich and it tasted so good. And we ate and we drank and talked and laughed and just enjoyed the evening. I had almost forgotten the dream when suddenly, in quick succession, Amy spilled her wine onto her shirt and lap. She squealed, jumped up and tried to dab it with her napkin. I stood up as well and, without thinking, took my napkin and starting wiping the front of her shirt.
And I swear that it was completely innocent. I swear that I was trying to help. Until I realized that I was dabbing her shirt on her chest, and with every movement I could feel those luscious tits, resisting slightly as I dabbed. They felt so fucking good.
And when I realized what I was doing, Amy did too. I pulled my hand back like she was on fire. "Shit! Fuck! I am so sorry! I was just trying to help, I swear! Oh God, Amy, I am so sorry!"
Amy laughed and said, "Relax, John, I know you didn't mean to grab my boobs. It's fine, we're both grown ups. Besides, Eleanor's boobs are much bigger than mine. You probably didn't even notice mine." She gave me a smile and I knew everything was ok.
But then I said the dumbest thing I could ever say. "No, Amy, your tits are great. They felt so good. Eleanor is big but yours are, well," And I stood there, shocked at what I was saying. I'm really a fucking idiot sometimes.
She laughed again. "Well, I'm glad you liked them. At least someone is enjoying them." And she went off to the kitchen.
I grabbed the dishes and took a pile back to the sink to wash. Amy said, "Thank you, John. Do you mind loading the dishwasher? I want to go find a shirt of Eleanor's to change into so that I can toss these in the wash." I nodded, dumbly, and off she went, back to the bedroom to find something clean.
I loaded the dishwasher and got it started. It's a little bit loud and I didn't hear Amy come back until she said, "That's better. Let me just go toss these in the washer. I'll be right back." And when I turned to see her, I saw this gorgeous, radiant woman walking away from me, wearing one of my t-shirts. And it looked like she had nothing else on.
I'm pretty tall, as I said, and Amy's petite. She's probably 5-1 or 5-2, no more than that. I tease her about it, and she comes right back at me with something snide.
But in this moment, I wished that I didn't wear such a big fucking t-shirt. I watched her ass sway from side to side, covered almost to mid-thigh with my white fucking t-shirt. God, it was even better than my dream. I could have cum in my pants right then and there.
And then I could hear her in the laundry room, messing with dials and opening and closing machines. She called out, "Hey, it's early, do you want to watch a movie or something?"
I called back. "Sure, I'll go get Netflix going." I wanted, needed to get sat down and get my crotch covered. I was pointing straight out, and close to leaking through my shorts.
I sat down on the couch, grabbed a pillow and got it strategically placed, then I grabbed the remotes and started looking for a movie. I knew that I wouldn't be concentrating on the show, so I decided to pick something that she might like.
I heard her coming, and I turned to watch her come in. Fuck, she was gorgeous. How had I not noticed this before? That t-shirt was concealing anything, and I watched her tits bounce and sway as she came in, her nipples starting to poke out. I thought I could see her areola as well, but that was just my imagination, I'm sure.
What I didn't see at all was panty lines.
When she got in, I said, "Hey, before you sit down, are you sure you don't want something else to wear? Could you not find anything of Eleanor's?"
She came and sat on the couch, sort of at the other end and sort of turned towards me. She smiled and said, "No, I'm fine. I'm still warm from that hot kitchen, so I'll be fine. Thank you, though."
I couldn't look her in the eyes because my laser focus was on the perfect tits, swaying as she moved, breathed, laughed, anything. She knew I was staring, I knew, but I could not help it. It was just too much of a temptation.
