Dream Journal
July 15, 2001, Continued
Ha, I bet you thought I was awake for that one! To tell the truth, so did I. Waking up to the phone ringing seemed so real. Now I look over and see it beside me on the bed, buzzing from being off the hook. Did I really answer the phone, and who was on the other end? Did I talk to Phillip? And if I did, what in god's name did I say to him? Did I call out Emil's name? I hope not. Phillip really would be wounded if he learned I was dreaming about my former husband.
Despite my dreams to the contrary, Phillip is not really due home for three more days, and you know what that means. Two more nights of erotically charged dreams, that is what it means. I have a feeling that I will be writing to you often in the next few days.
Dream Journal
July 16, 2001
I bet you are saying to yourself, "Now what? What strange things is she up to now?" Well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to burn this book. Just kidding, but it is pretty close. My latest sleeping porn flick is so hot, I'm afraid it will melt the ink off of the pages.
Where does this stuff come from? Is this the kind of thing that has been storing up in the back of my mind since I married Phillip, and sacrificed wild, dirty sex for love, tenderness, and respect? Not that I would change a single thing about the decision. Sex is not enough to live on, but do I have to give it up entirely? Well, if I must, I hope that I will always have dreams like these. Orgasms are not an option, but a need, like oxygen, or jogging.
Enough philosophy. I'm sure you're just waiting for me to get down and dirty. Okay, here goes. This time the three of us, Phillip, Emil, and I, start in my bedroom. Phillip is on top of me, inside me, and Emil is once again orchestrating our strokes. "Faster, harder, deeper," he yells, like a drill sergeant.
Neither Phillip nor I are getting anywhere with all of the instructions. It's like learning to drive with one of your parents in the seat beside you. With their constant criticism you are so nervous you can barely grip the wheel, much less drive.
As he drove into me again, Phillip's eyes met mine and rolled to the side, pointing to Emil. I cocked my head to the side in question. "Two of us," he whispered to me on the down stroke. "We could take him," he said on the next.
Ironically, I felt my pussy tighten at the idea. Phillip moaned as I clenched him inside, but we couldn't come. If we did, we'd be too wrung out to grab Emil.
Reluctantly, I relaxed my snug grip on his cock, and he moved back as if he were going to drive in again. Instead, he pulled out completely, sprang up, and grabbed Emil tightly.
"Just hold him for a second," I said helpfully, and went to a box in the closet. I rifled through vibrators, dildoes, videos, books, massage oil, a set of lovely silver balls, a small leather whip, one lone cock ring in studded gold…where are they? Frustrated, I just yanked the whole box out of the closet and dumped it all on the bed.
"Aha," I pounced on the shiny police handcuffs. Fortunately, the key was in the lock. I crossed behind the struggling body of my ex husband and snapped the cuffs on his wrists. I turned with a triumphant smile for Phillip, only to find his eyes riveted by the assortment of sex toys on the bed.
He released Emil, and walked over to shift through the mess, and picked up the cock ring. Turning it this way and that in the light, he looked it over carefully. I'd expected revulsion, even accusations from him, but what I saw instead was...curiosity. I walked over and ran my finger over his, over the soft gold metal, and the small, rounded studs on the surface.
"Ribbed, for her pleasure," I quipped.
He gave me a half grin, and picked up the whip. There were three leather cords, not braided, not stiff in any way. This little toy was made for pleasure, not true pain. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Let's see," I gave him a wicked grin and took the whip from him. Walking behind Emil, I snapped it a few times in the air to get the rhythm again. "I used to be pretty good that this. Grab me a pillow, will you darling?"
Phillip tossed me a pillow, and I placed over the foot board of the bed, and bent Emil's reluctant body over it. He struggled, and I had to gesture to Phillip to climb on the bed and hold his head down. "Now, a little of your own medicine, mon amie," I mocked.
I cracked the whip in the air again, delighted to see him jump at the sound. Then I brought it down on his back in earnest. Emil squeaked, but didn't say anything as I delivered five fiery strokes, each lash mark separate and distinct. Instead of the pink wheals, my eyes were riveted by what was happening on the bed.
Emil jumped with each stroke, and one movement shifted his head onto Phillip's lap. Despite the pain, I could see his gaze trained on the enormous cock right in front of his eyes. As each breath hissed out, all three of us watched it jump in response.
Moving my line of sight upwards, I got a good look at the struggle in Phillip's eyes. The sensation was obviously pleasurable, but Emil was a man. Phillip's jaw was clenched with the internal war, to move away, or stay and let Emil's mouth caresses him.
As aroused as I was by the sight, I knew it was too soon for that kind of intimacy, and I stopped the movement of the whip. Nevertheless, I promised myself that I'd see it happen sometime during the night. "You're such a good boy, Emil," I taunted, to divert his attention. "You held so still for your punishment, and didn't even cry out."
He sent me a vicious look, but could not control the plea that slipped through his lips. "More."
