I was having the most wonderful dream. I was a warrior playing a post-apocalyptic killsport called PunishBall. Heavily armored and wielding a 12-pound sledgehammer I defended my goal against the evil enemy. One dared enter my territory and I stopped him cold with a mighty blow from my sledge. Stunned, my foe staggered and fell to the ground, his helmet torn from his head. To my delight I saw that it was Howie Long lying defenseless before me, those prissy glasses he wears askew, and my bloodlust rose to a fever pitch. "I HATE YOU HOWIE LONG, I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!" I shrieked. Again and again I bashed him with my hammer, his armor crumpling under my crazed blows. I raised the hammer one last time, to deliver the final killing blow...
And I woke up. I woke up because my wife had snuggled up against my back, waking me. Dammit! I hate Howie Long and those fucking Radio Shack ads, and here I was pounding him like a chicken and Sara ruined it for me because she wanted to cuddle. Damn the woman!
I had half a mind to grab her hand and fling it away when I noticed something. Her hand was actually underneath my T-shirt, that's what woke me up, her hand slipping under my shirt. Her hand was resting on my chest. I froze. If she started stroking me, tickling me, it could mean just one thing: she wanted sex. Late-night, sleep-destroying, dream-breaking sex. I held my breath, afraid to move.
It was a bit of a conundrum. What to do? If I pushed her hand away, in the morning I would wake up next to an Ice Queen, and forget about it the next time I wanted sex. And blowjobs? Kiss those goodbye for a decade or so.
I could just lie here, and hope she fell back asleep. Or, well, I could do what she wanted. Right now I was afraid that what she wanted was to get fucked. Not make love with tenderness and all that crap. I mean a full-bore pussy pounding cockhammer attack. When Sara gets in that mood she's like a lioness waking up from a big meal looking for the biggest mane in the pride. I'm just handy, the closest dick at hand. I told her once I'd buy her a dildo, but the grinding noise and squeaking would wake me up anyway, so at least I should get laid in the bargain. But right now I was so fucking sleepy...
Her hand started to move. Oh, shit. Her hand drifted down until it rested on my stomach. OK, maybe she was just getting her arm in a more comfortable position. I still pretended to sleep, but already my penis was starting to rise like bread dough. I was torn, did I want her fingers to go lower, or did I want her to leave me be? Christ, I was still half-asleep. I sang a lullaby in my head, hoping Sara had telepathy or something and would fall asleep.
Slowly, and very gently, she began pulling on the hairs around my navel. I felt her nails lightly scratching my belly as she played with the hair, stroking me. The jig was up. Sara wasn't asleep. She wasn't sleeping. Right now I knew she was staring at the back of my head, staring like a wolf eyeing an especially plump lamb. I took in a deep breath through my nose, as though I was still sleeping. There was a definite smell in the air. I knew that smell. Pussy. Sara let her fingers wander around my stomach, digging her index finger into my belly button. Her nails traced slow circles, each circle growing larger, until her fingers brushed my boxers with every revolution. My penis was thickening with every heartbeat. I wanted her to reach inside my boxers, I wanted to feel her fingers on my cock, I wanted her to stop TEASING ME and do it. Now the game was who would be the first to break, who would admit that they weren't asleep, that they wanted the other so badly. I wanted to thrust my hips forward, I wanted to reach down and yank my boxers down, I wanted her to touch my cock! Fuck! I couldn't take it anymore! I sighed and arched my back, pushing my groin toward her
"You're awake," was all she said. She won, she'd proven she was in control. She reached down between my legs with both hands, one hand raising the waistband of my boxers, the other slipping inside to play with the hair around my cock. She still didn't touch my dick. She ran her fingers all around my groin, her long nails scratching my thighs. My penis was now as hard as the hammer in my dreams. Did she want me to beg?
"Please," I begged.