Most of my friends and family would agree that I seem to have a knack for knowing about things before they happen. Call it precognition. Sometimes the knowledge comes in dreams, sometimes just a hunch, sometimes in the guiding voice I've learned to listen to. This knack is often handy, like the day I postponed a trip to the bank to deposit some checks, only to learn that it was being robbed just about the time I would have arrived. And sometimes, the foreknowledge gets me in trouble.
I awakened before dawn one morning from an intense and erotic dream, and literally pounced on my surprised but very obliging husband, grabbing him by his morning hard-on and pulling him onto me. I was fully aroused by the images so recently coursing through my mind and he slid right in, his dick awake even if his mind wasn't quite up to speed. No long, tender lovemaking that morning – just a hot, deep fuck, exactly what the doctor ordered. By his third thrust I was coming, moaning in pleasure, my tightly clutching pussy wrenching him into high gear. Pushing my knees up toward my chest, he mumbled "Damn, girl, what got you so hot?" and began to pump me like a jackhammer, his thrusts short and intense. He was soon groaning as his dick fired half a dozen spurts of cum into me, and he collapsed onto my breasts, his breath ragged against my throat.
"What prompted that?" he asked in amazement, rolling off onto his side, his eyes bleary with sleep and pleasure.
I chuckled and contemplated whether to tell him. "A dream I was having, at least until the damn cat woke me up. His timing was terrible."
"Must have been some dream, baby". He looked at me curiously. "You wanna tell me about it?"
I proceeded to relate the dream, which involved him bringing home a guy to help him fuck me. "Somehow, you became friends with this young black cop named Charlie, and had told him that I was interested in a three-way with you and another guy. He liked the idea, so you surprised me by bringing him home one evening after work."
"Hmm, sounds like things got interesting…" my now-intrigued spouse mused. "Was he any good?"
I chuckled, blushing. "Let's just say Charlie had made the right choice to go into public service and really knew how to use his 'night stick'." We both laughed, although the memory of Charlie's thick black dick still made my pussy throb.
My husband could see from the far-away look in my eyes that this fantasy really did something for me. "Would you really like to try something like that someday – I mean, with the right person?"
"You find Charlie, and I'd do it in a heartbeat!" He knew right then I meant every word.
Now, understand that although we've tried our share of creative sexual experiences, adding another man to our lovemaking was something neither of us expected we'd actually do. Relegate that one to the drawer of potent fantasies to be dragged out on a dull night or for masturbation when the vibrator alone didn't do it for me. I've always been the more adventurous of the two of us, although my husband has generally been quite willing to fulfill my fantasies. He's just not usually the sort who thinks these crazy ideas up or finds a way to put them into action.
That fall, my husband joined a darts league, a sport he'd enjoyed when we first started dating. I had encouraged him to get out more in the hopes that he'd make some friends and maybe spend less time nuking demons on his computer. After a few games, he began to get his throwing arm back and seemed to be having a pretty good season. He often returned home late on Thursday nights in a merry, convivial mood, having nursed a beer or two and reveled in the general ambience of the bar where his league played. Although he was usually too mellow to be romantically inclined on those evenings, I didn't really mind. As he opened up, our marriage got sweeter and more passionate, too. Not a bad trade off, to my way of thinking.
Every once in a while he'd call from the bar before heading home, jazzed from all the energy of a good game, and tell me to be waiting for him. This was his signal that he wanted a hot fuck when he got home. I'd turn down the lights, and put on some mellow music, then hop into the shower. Quickly toweling dry, I'd brush out my long dark hair, slip on something interesting, and play with myself until I was good and wet, just the way he liked me.
From time to time, my horny little mind wandered back to the dream about Charlie, the images racing through my overheated imagination. It wasn't the color of his skin that got me so hot. I'd had a couple of black lovers in college, enjoying the novelty but not finding them as assertive as I wanted. Maybe it was the uniform… My dad had worked in law enforcement and our home was always full of a stream of young men in uniforms. Heaven forbid that a one of them ever laid hands on me, and they knew it. The Old Man's daughter was Off Limits. No matter how hard I flirted and teased, I never got one of those earnest young cops out of his dress blues and into my tight cotton panties.
