Dreaming in Color

Dream Journal

July 15, 2001

Dreams are funny things, but I don't suppose I really have to tell you this. I mean, you hear all of my subconscious ravings. I do write to you of a few waking events and happenings, especially if they relate to my dreams. Remember the time I told you that I thought I'd found my gold pencil. I was so excited to tell you that I'd looked in the morning and discovered it under the cushion of the brocade chair in the dining room, just where I dreamt it would be. This time, I'll write to you if anything comes of these dreams in real life, so that you don't feel left out of the loop.

Even you would have to agree that these dreams are pretty strange, and more real than I've ever had before. It's probably a case of extended celibacy caused by Phillip's business trip, though I hadn't thought that I minded. Still, why else would I be dreaming about Emil.

Emil could have been a fallen angel and a hardened demon, a more beautiful man has never walked this earth, nor a colder one. We had an open, and avid sex life. Although I was a virgin when we married, I wasn't ignorant, and I was rabid to try anything and everything. We had sex in every available position, on every available surface in our flat in Paris. Then there was his office. Let me tell you, that man never looked at his desk the same way once I slipped under it and surprised him while he was with a patient.

He must have jumped a foot in the air when I touched his cock through his pants. I listened with a huge smile as he tried to steady his voice as I pulled his smooth, hardening stick out of his pants. Emil was largish, about 7 ½ inches hard, but not thick. Still, he was a lovely shape, long, even and straight, with a larger, mushroom shaped head that just played havoc with my G-spot when he used it right.

I let him sweat it a while before, feeling every muscle in this legs and lower back tighten in preparation for the sensation, I struck, wrapping my lips immediately around his girth. He jumped again, and I heard him mutter "Mon dieu!" under his breath, but by the time his patient asked him what was happening, he had it under control again.

That, however, was not what I wanted. I gave a slight tug on his balls, and he drew in a sharp breath, but had no choice but to slide forward on his seat. I gave another tug, followed by another, until he was slouched down almost totally, and I had access to cock, balls, perineum, and asshole. A veritable feast! I wrapped my lips again around just the head of his cock, running my tongue again and again against his sweet spot, then I let up.

There was no need to rush, I know I had fifty minutes to drive him out of his mind. I ran a delicate fingernail over his balls, making him shiver, then pressed my middle finger firmly against his perineum, making him shudder. He knew what was coming next, a finger pressed into his ass, pushed deeply in to milk his prostate, which requires little attention to push him over the edge. I surprised him, however, by removing my fingers and applying the tip of my tongue teasingly to his sweet spot. When I wanted him to cum quickly, there was nothing more rapid than tickling his sweet spot and milking his prostate at the same time. I've had him cumming in less than a minute, if the mood and the pressure was right. I've always enjoyed the power it gave me over him, especially with his experience.

While his attention was diverted, I slipped a lovely, slim, little vibrator from my purse. It was nearly silent, and very discreet. When I am feeling especially horny, or during one of our power games, I have been known to wear it in public, without anyone ever catching on, no matter how close they got to me. I smiled wickedly to myself as I moved my mouth away again. He relaxed, muscles loosening a little, and I struck again, quickly. With no other lube than my saliva, I pushed the slim vibe into his asshole.

This time, he really did jump out of his skin. His cock jerked, and I lowered my tongue and tasted precum on the tip.

"Doctor, are you all right?" I head his patient ask kindly.

This time, I could see it was a physical effort for him to regain control, and my heart pumped hard, and my pussy gushed at the power rush. Still, I wasn't done, not by any means. Moving carefully, so he would have no forewarning, I turned the vibe on. It may be small, but I know it packs a powerful punch. I knew my husband well, too. I knew just the depth to insert it, so that it just barely touched his prostate. Now he was really squirming. Once again, his patient inquired solicitously. Emil answered that there was a loose spring in his chair, and it was making him uncomfortable. I grinned under the desk.

I began running a very gentle finger tip over the head of his cock, randomly touching his sweet spot. I knew that not knowing when the touch would come was pushing him further and further past his control. At this point, I knew he was wishing that I had made him cum at the beginning, and left him alone, but he taught me better than that. I could feel the sweat beading on the inside of his thighs. I grabbed tightly around the base of his cock to keep him on the razor's edge, and slowly, ever so slowly, pushed the vibe a bit deeper. He moved father back in the chair to try to push the vibe in deeper, and I knew that he was wishing it was thicker. Now, he was trying to force himself to come, because the anticipation was destroying his control.

He had such control, but I tested it to the limits that day, bringing him to the point that a finger tip run delicately along the inside of his thigh, a single light breath on the head of his cock, would have pushed him over the edge. He had to stay so still to keep from alerting his patient, only a few feet away on the couch.

I'd never broken his control in such a way, not even the few times he allowed me to tie him up and torture him deliciously with fingers and feathers and even a touch of pain. I always knew that whatever I dished out was coming back to me, probably three-fold. Indeed, after his patient left, he fucked me so hard, so ruthlessly, I came screaming, my nails literally shredding the fine linen of his dress shirt.

But I digress. I was talking about my dreams, wasn't I? Besides, I've probably embarrassed you. You were always a little on the…squeamish side, were you not? I wonder if one can dream while awake, or if one merely dreams that one is awake.

I ask because two weeks ago, before Phillip left on his trip, I thought I heard him speaking French. Phillip speaks terrible, schoolboy French, with a truly atrocious accent. As he slowly pushed into me again, gentle as ever and oh so careful, I thought I heard him whisper in my ear, "Oui. Baisez-moi, bébé.!"

Now, I know that it wasn't Phillip who said that. Phillip can't even say those words in English without blushing, much less whisper them in a husky, dirty little voice in my ear. Still, it really got me going. I pushed up against him so hard, I thought I'd throw him off of me. I bucked and writhed and his thrusts grew harder and harder, until we shook the bed and I could feel his body, taunt and hard, grind roughly into mine. It was the most explosive orgasm I've ever had with Phillip.

Afterwards, like the loving, gentle, and sweet man that he is, Phillip apologized for his "ungentlemanly" behavior, saying that it would never happen again. I was ready to scream with frustration.

Now, as I lie sweating on the bed we share, I feel a vicious stab of guilt. The dream was so real, and so precious, and so painful. It takes me back to that night, only this time, when I hear the words in French calling me baby, telling me to fuck him, it isn't Phillip's voice at all. I look, and it is Phillip over me, moving gently, in an almost rocking motion, the pressure just hard enough to keep me on the edge of orgasm, but not hard enough so that I'd ever reach the climax. Suddenly, there is a rough hand on my breast, and the words in French come quicker, harsher, more blunt and crude.

I look over, and Emil is kneeling beside the bed. "He is never going to be enough for you, darling. Feel him, moving so delicately in and out of you. He thinks you are fragile."

"He's huge," I say, knowing it will strike at him. "God, Emil, the head is so huge. I can feel it moving inside me like a fist."

"Why does he not ram you with it, then? Why do you not ask him to? You know you want it."

Phillip moves in a small circle then, and I gasp.

"I've asked him. I've begged him. He is afraid to hurt me."

"Afraid to touch you, you mean. Does he do the things I used to, little girl? Does he ever take your behind, move in his slow, gentle way up your dark, precious passage? Does he let you ride him and set a frantic pace? Does he ever tie you, and caress your silky skin with the leather until you are red and hot to the touch? Does he play games? Spank you? Let you spank him, touch him, take him with your mouth until you are drowning in that huge piece of meat? No, don't answer. I would not be here in your dream if he did."

I wanted to strike out at him, but when I reached, he wasn't there. A hand appeared on Phillip's shoulder, and he stopped moving. I wanted to cry. I was dancing right on the edge of pleasure, but always one step behind.

To my surprise, Phillip didn't seem surprised with Emil's appearance. He moved off of me with a smooth motion and stepped back, motioning to my prone body. "She's all yours, mon amie," Phillip said to my ex. Strange about Phillip's French.

"Thank you, my friend. Now, I will show you what she likes, what makes her happy." He began by tying my wrists with two silk cords to the bed posts. I struggled, but I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. "You see how she moves, how she arches? You don't always have to be gentle with a woman, especially not this woman."

"Excuse me?" I said indignantly. "I'm right here!"

"Hush," Emil commanded. "You didn't have the guts to show him what you wanted. Now I'll have to. Pay attention, Phillip. She likes the middle finger best, because it's long," he drove it ruthlessly into my cunt. I writhed with pleasure. It was not thick enough, never thick enough, but Emil was right, it was the length I loved. "Your fingers are thick and long, so she must love that. Curve them up, just a bit, until you feel her buck...Just so. That, my friend, is the lady's G-spot. She will actually ejaculate if you make her come from pressure there. Bon, tres bon," I had enough wit left to be offended by the off-hand way he spoke of me, as if I were an object.

My current husband wasn't much better, looking on and nodding, asking Emil to repeat a movement if he didn't quite get the hang of it the first time. I felt like a cadaver must when the med students are experimenting and receiving instructions, all the while playing with its intimate insides. Still, the humiliation had always drove me into a frenzy, and despite the hurt, this was no different.

"Now rough, now gentle, now rough again," the instruction went on. "Une morsure ici, a bite here, on the neck. There, do you see how she arches and strains against the bonds. I see you do, and I see you like it," with one long, graceful hand, Emil reached out and caressed Phillip's huge cock. A shudder went through Phillip, and an echo ran through me, pushing me over the edge. I screamed, and Emil frowned down on me. Not a good sign.

He toyed with my body for another hour, punishing me by keeping me right on the edge of another orgasm as he showed my husband exactly how and where I loved to be touched. Emil had always played my body like a fine instrument. It might be cold and slightly soulless, but God, it was good. By the time he was done, I was gasping, barely able to draw another breath.

"Now you see how it is done?" my bastard ex-husband asked. "You see? Now, untie her hands. There. Now, move under her. That's it, put her on top, now push. Yes, drive hard. Plus dur! Harder. Deeper. Don't be afraid, just thrust! Angel, you remember what I showed you? Trouves le rythme, find the rhythm. Move just so," his hands on my shoulders pushed me just a little, reminding me of the moves to a dance that I'd lost.

"Phillip, you've slowed again. Plus rapide! No, you must move just so," he commanded, moving his hands from my shoulders to Phillip's hips. Seeing those long, elegant fingers on Phillip's muscled flesh shook me even more, and I moaned, then came again when the fingers moved to the testicles beneath me, then up over my bottom. As Emil's caressing hand stroked my bottom and Phillip's balls I came over and over, until it was all just one long orgasm.

"N'arrêtez pas encore, don't stop yet," he whispered in my ear. "I'm not quite done with you. Bend forward, don't flop, graceless child! You don't mind, do you Phillip?" As he shoved me down, my breasts touched Phillip's chest, and he groaned, long and hard. I could feel his body tightening, and I knew he wouldn't last much longer. Then I felt Emil's fingers probing, and, to my surprise, knew I wouldn't either.

"Relax, darling. You know you love it." He slapped my buttocks lightly, then harder. "Just feel. Feel."

Oh, god, he slid into my ass as Phillip throbbed incessantly in my cunt. The pressure with Phillip's huge cock was insane, but I needed it, craved it. I had tried to talk Phillip into anal, but he was afraid he'd hurt me, now I could see the rising interest in his eyes, and I knew that, at last, he might be willing to try this.

"There," Emil soothed in a caustic voice as I panted from the unbelievable tension. "Now we are both in you. Isn't that délicieux? Isn't it lovely? Feel the rhythm, Phillip. I pull out when you push in, then we switch. Too delicious, isn't it?"

My next breath was beyond reach, but climax wasn't. I felt Phillip drive hard, maddened by the friction of the other cock inside me, then he was gone, exploding jerkily in me. Behind me, Emil, too was coming, but I couldn't see him. My vision was filled with the long, strong column of my beloved husband's throat as it arched and closed on a soundless growl. Then I saw nothing as my head exploded, heat seared to my fingers and toes, and my vision went black as it never had before. The only thing I sensed was the ringing in my ears as I woke.

Now I sit still, with the phone cradled in my limp hand. "Darling," he says. "Are you there. Are you all right? If you don't answer me, I'm calling the police to help you. I'm in my car, and I'm about two minutes away. Are you there?"

"I'm here," I say finally, still lost in thought about the dream. What does it mean? Am I unsatisfied with Phillip? As much as I hate Emil, he was always the best in bed. That was the one area he excelled in, and the one place I find Phillip doesn't quite give me everything I want. What was it Emil had said? That I didn't have enough guts to tell him what I wanted?

"How close are you now?" I asked, my heart picking up speed again.

"About a minute. Why?"

"Because we really need to talk. Hurry, love. I need you. Je t'aime tellement."

To be continued...