But it isn't water... what is it? You grudgingly begin to wake up, struggling to hold onto the dream, and moan when it is generous to your wants and continues... the direct pressure resumes after the pause, starting at the base of you, slowly moving up the length and across the width of your now-straining prick. You try to mentally direct it to give you more satisfaction, to lead the dream. But the dream has a mind of its own, continually teasing you by going everywhere EXCEPT where you want it to go.
The liquid heat then surrounds you again, covering you entirely, lavishing you, adoring you, concentrating on exactly the spot you want and then some. And then it pulls on you, draws on you, tows you in deeper and deeper. You're drowning... and loving it.
And then there's a stream within the flood, skittering across a single, tantalizing spot. And you lose it, not able to hold back the tidal wave that crashes through your body. Your tension leaves in a series of pulsing, gratifying explosions. And still the flood pulls on you, drawing every last bit of stress and strain from you, leaving you wonderfully drained and completely satisfied.
You finally allow yourself to waken, still drifting from the dream. And when the weight on your legs finally registers, you slowly open your eyes to see me rising from your finally-softening cock, smiling at you in a silent good morning, and licking my lips in contented gratification...
