A Choice of Four

I am half-woken by the creak of a bedroom door opening – I don’t know which one. Someone going to the bathroom. The clock on the video says 03:21. I shift onto my back and try to get more comfortable on the put-you-up, spreading out to find the cool spots in the bed. It’s very warm and I’m sweating a little despite the thinness of the quilt. I throw it off, but retain the cotton sheet – I have some modesty when I’m a guest in someone’s house, especially when it’s too hot for pyjamas. I look around sleepily for a second but the lounge is pitch black. The toilet flushes and I hear doors opening and closing softly...and then I’m sinking blissfully back into the land of dreams.

The restaurant is dimly lit but very well-appointed. I’m seated at the head of a vast table which is covered by an equally enormous white linen cloth. It conceals most of my body and drapes in thick folds onto the floor. I am wearing a little black dress but it seems to be made of a see-through material and I’m feeling rather exposed. A throng of waiting staff are hovering around me as I sit there. They are all dressed in black – in fact they’re more silhouettes than people, and I can’t make out any of their features. In my hands is a menu. I look down at it and it’s as thick as a phone book. Each page is crawling with tiny text that I can’t read. It isn’t in English, although I feel as if I should know what it says.

The waiters and waitresses crowd in closer, standing around my chair, and I am paralysed with indecision. I don’t understand the menu. I am getting anxious and wondering what to do when one of the waiters puts a dark hand on my shoulder and firmly presses me to the chair. The waitress on my other side does the same. Their grip is calming. I feel a little better. A third black figure takes the giant, unintelligible menu from my sweating hands and perches herself on the edge of the table right in front of me. She leans back on her elbows and places her feet carefully on my chest, her heels just above my nipples. She is pushing me gently against the chair back.

I am braced, held secure in the chair by the dark attendants, and their touch is kind and warm. They are heating up my body. I feel drowsy and relaxed, and it’s nice. The beginnings of desire, of sensual pleasure, stir in my stomach. One of the waitresses runs a hand over my face, caressing my cheek tenderly; her smooth, shadowy fingers tracing my lips, slipping into my mouth. I suck on her fingers as she slides them in and out. I start to ache. She’s really turning me on and I love it. I can’t believe what she’s doing to me. I look around and there are some diners at other tables in the restaurant but they seem very far away and completely disinterested. One man in a navy suit waves for his bill and a silhouette waiter glides over with it. "Enjoy your meal!" he shouts jovially to me with a wink as he leaves with his wife, his hand squeezing her buttock.

The waiter who delivered the bill comes back to my table. "Hold on," he whispers in my ear. Something’s happening. All of a sudden, all the shadowy waiting staff release me and stand back. They start to clap, slowly. There’s evidently someone under the table. "She’s good," one of the waitresses tells me quietly as the clapping continues. It reaches a crescendo. My heart is pounding. I am confused and frustrated and very, very wet. Suddenly, an eerie silence descends and I’m all alone. The restaurant is gone. I’m weightless, floating in total darkness, but it isn’t scary at all. I am waiting, and extremely aroused. And then I feel a warm hand moving between my legs. It’s amazing. I let out a deep sigh of relief and pleasure. The waitress was right, she is good. I open myself wider for the specialist, giving my needy body over to her very talented fingers.

She plays around and around in my hair so softly I can barely feel her touch. I smile and moan, and she parts my lips and strokes me there, spreading my wetness and rubbing my swollen clitoris until I am wriggling against her hand, desperate for her to press me harder. The pleasure flows around my whole body like electricity, lighting me up, making me burn brighter and brighter.

I am throbbing. She inserts just the tip of one finger and caresses my very liquid centre and it feels divine. Thirty seconds and I’m moving against her, huge waves of sexual ecstasy breaking over my taut body, demanding that I go under. She’s going to make me come any second, but I want her inside me. I need her to fill me and take me completely. In fact, I need a good, hard fuck. Her fingers nuzzle the edge of my hole, circling and teasing, darting and probing. "Please..." I am begging for it now and I don’t care. I like to beg my lovers. I need them to know what I need. "Oh god...fuck me...please!" I can hardly get the words out. I can’t wait. I move my own hand down urgently to pull hers in.

My brain comes awake as my fingers close around a wrist. I am suddenly aware that my own rapid breathing is not the only breathing I can hear. We both freeze in the blackness. Seconds pass. I am holding her hand between my legs. The initial shock subsides. I can’t stop this. I have to come. Besides, this reality is even more amazing than the dream! Which one of my hosts is it? I try to marshal my spiralling thoughts.

"I don’t know who that is," I murmur slowly, controlling the words, my breathing still fast and shallow, my body poised on the brink, twitching. My pulse is racing. "...and I don’t want to know." I pause. She doesn’t move. "As far as I’m concerned, I’m still asleep. And dreaming." I release my grip on the mystery hand. The silence and stillness in the room is absolute. I keep my eyes shut tight, turn my face away. Is she going to stay and play? "Oh don’t you dare stop now," I whisper, trying to push myself further onto her hesitating fingers.

That brings my secret lover back to life. A deep sigh comes out of me as she penetrates me slowly…so slowly, inching her way inside, right up to her knuckles, three fingers buried and her thumb resting on my slippery clit. I wish I could dream this dream every night. I moan as she presses inside against my G-spot and her other hand is suddenly clamped over my mouth, silencing me. I nod understanding and she removes it – there’s a choice of four, but they’d all be cheating. Whoever it is certainly doesn’t want her other half woken, or to be discovered having accidentally stuck her hand in the houseguest!

I grin a little in the dark, riding her fingers as quietly as I can although my heart is thundering against my ribs and the breath is leaving my throat in short, ragged gasps. She gives me another finger to play with, stretching my cunt wider, pressing against me. I raise my knees in response, arch my back, open myself for her. I feel my juices run down my crack and onto the sheet. The wet sounds of her screwing me seem disturbingly loud in the stillness.

But then she stops, just as I’m about to come. She snatches her hand away. I am nearly screaming when I hear the tiny metallic chink of a ring being removed and put on the coffee table. Thank fuck. She plunges back into me with four, but then I feel her thumb slide in too and then her hand is twisting and pushing and it feels impossible and painful but only for a second. My cunt surrenders to her knuckles and then she’s sliding in up to her wrist. Her other hand is already back over my mouth to smother the cry that she knew would come. Her fist feels beautiful and huge inside me and she moves it gently as I start to shake; working me, pushing me to the very limit of what I can stand, what I can take.

My body bucks and writhes for her, I’m fighting for breath under her hand. What’s happening in my body is magnificent and completely beyond my control now. My teeth are clenched tight as I explode in violent silence and the tears run down to my temples and into my ears. Oh god I love her. I love her more deeply and sincerely than anything or anyone else in the world, just for a second, and I don’t even know who she is. And then I’m completely gone. I shoot my load and flood her fist clamped tight inside me.

We stay like that, in position, locked together, for several minutes before she pulls out. It feels so bizarre having her whole hand come out of me, and I experience a strange sense of loss. My secret lover takes her other hand off my mouth slowly and strokes my hair tenderly, then I feel her turn away. She pulls a tissue from the box on the bookshelf and hands it to me, and then she leaves, creeping away through the blackness. She goes to the kitchen and I hear her wash her hands and get a glass of water, and then a bedroom door opens and closes with a quiet squeak and she’s vanished as mysteriously as she appeared. I glance at the video clock, beaming blue in the blackness. It says 04:04. Sleep comes within minutes. I’m exhausted.

The next morning I get up and make myself a cup of tea. No one else is up as I strip the soiled sheets from my bed and convert it back into an armchair. I sit down, my head spinning. It really wasn’t a dream. Or was it? No, my pussy says definitely no. And the sheet, unless I did that all by myself! And...from the corner of my eye I spy something glinting over on the coffee table. The ring she took off. So now I’ll know who it was! But do I really want to? Shit. I look away hurriedly. I don’t want to recognise it when I see it again on someone’s hand. I wrestle with the dilemma for a long time as I sip my drink. If she knew I knew who it was, would she do it again? Will she do it again anyway? Or would it make things horribly awkward for both of us? I decide discretion is the better part of valour. But how to return the ring? Eventually I go over and grab it with my eyes closed and take it to the bathroom. I shut my eyes again and deposit it on the side of the basin, by the soap.

A little while later the other girls start to surface. I keep my distance. I don’t want to see any of them or hear any talk until they’ve all been through the bathroom. I retire to the conservatory with a magazine and a cigarette. One by one I see them reappearing showered and clothed in the kitchen and then I rejoin them. Nobody seems any different. It’s as if it never happened. They all have their rings in place when we sit down together to a late breakfast. But it did happen, and two of us know that. We’re not letting on though. Not to each other, and not to anyone else.

And that’s the way it’s stayed...

...It’s been a recurring dream.