While I Was Sleeping

I crawled into bed after pulling on my pajama top. I loved how the worn cotton of the blue tank was so soft against my skin. Because it wasn't too late in the summer, and we were trying to save money, the inefficient air conditioning unit was turned off. As a result, a gentle murmur of electric fans moved through the bedroom to the living room, helping to circulate the air coming in through the windows.

He wasn't in bed yet. Lately I had found myself heading there by myself, though it took a while before I could fall asleep. And what was he doing? He was on the computer, reading news blogs, talking to friends, jacking off to naked ladies on the internet. Not that I'm opposed to porn, in fact, I wish he'd share that particular interest of his with me. Why be ashamed and wait until I'm asleep? Hell, I love good porn. Even the silly stuff can get me off. I'm really easy and I know it!

So instead of cuddling together in bed and snogging on each other, I fiddled with my clit until I fell asleep, and he tugged on his penis underneath his desk for a few hours. Needless to say, our sex life was lame, and nearly non-existent.

I didn't notice when the dreams first started, but they were good ones. Sex dreams. The kind that make you late for work because you absolutely have to spend an extra ten minutes in the shower, getting yourself off as you recall each delicious detail. Naughty dreams. Whips and chains and ties of all sorts. Textures and tastes.

One of the dreams began with a man parting my legs and nuzzling his face against my crotch, exploring it with his nose and breathe. I could still feel the sensation of the warm puffs of air against my naked thighs, droplets of moisture being licked from my public hair and outer labia.

And then there was another dream involving four men, which would have never happened in real life. Two men holding my arms spread, their fingers tight around my wrists, while another two men spread my legs. Endless moments were spent as I writhed in agony, blindfolded and otherwise untouched. In my dream I reached such an unspeakable peak just by being _watched_.

Now, I know it's unconventional, but I'm going to let you in behind the scenes. One night, after I was asleep, he skipped his routine porn surf. I said it before, there's nothing wrong with jerking off to porn, but that night he was more interested in flesh and blood, and as he touched me through the covers, he wanted me. He wanted to touch and taste and fuck. Maybe, just for fun, he wanted to see if he could do it without waking me. And I'm a very heavy sleeper.

He folded the sheets back and pulled my tank top up over my stomach and breasts, letting it rest in a pile around my throat. He stroked my bare chest with his smooth finger nails, my skin rippling with goose bumps in reaction, then enveloped my nipples in his mouth alternatively, sucking appreciatively at the salty sweat from the warm evening. I moaned back in pleasure and he leaned back for a moment, flashing that gentle grin of his.

While attending to my tight red nipples, his hands spread my thighs and played with my clit through my underwear. They may have been the purple ones with lace, which I traditionally wore when hoping for sex after some night on the town, or the plain white ones I had taken to wearing since last year. Who cares. The point is that he touched me and in doing so prepared me to be fucked. I was fluid. Liquid. I was wet. His fingers parted my lips and slipped in easily. Did he know that I had just used my own fingers to bring myself to a climax not more than an hour ago?

His mouth left my breasts and he concentrated on removing my underwear carefully, making sure I didn't wake up. He lay between my thighs and pressed his cock against me, pressing very slowly, inching his way up into my body. Watching my face for any signs of waking...

*****

After a few nights he grew more brass as he learned how far he could go without waking me. I don't think he went as far as to drug me, yet I don't understand how I didn't wake up. Especially as some mornings my ass was so sore. He was twisting me over in my sleep and taking my pert little bottom from behind, slowly at first and then gradually ramping up his speed until he was slamming into me with his entire body. I even had bruises on my hips where his fingers gripped me, but I never noticed. His body would bend over my back, fingers pinching and pulling on my nipples.

And then one morning I woke up earlier than him, and in a very odd position. My cheek was pressed against the pillow as usual, but I was on my stomach with my knees pulled up to my chest, rump slightly in the air. Needless to say I was a bit embarrassed, especially as my underwear was nowhere to be seen. Had I forgotten to put it on? Was my position related to the horny dreams I'd been having? Oh god. Was I fucking myself while I was sleeping? OH GOD. Had he caught me doing this when coming to bed?? I didn't say a word to him about it, and of course he didn't say a word about it to me. Truth be told, we had had such a marathon of sex that night that he had collapsed next to me in exhaustion, barely managing to peel off the condom and hide it in his nightstand before falling asleep.

But the next time I woke up in a strange position, it was intentional. He had set his alarm for an early appointment, and when he noticed the way my legs were spread and my hands were trapped beneath my ass, he decided to leave them there. He wanted to advance the game.

I'm not stupid. I did wonder why I was so wet in the mornings, and the sexual positions I found myself in began to feel so posed that I wanted to believe he was behind it all. And after my feet found a few cold condoms on the floor in the mornings, I was sure of it. A thrill would go through me as I relived that night's dreams and sensations. I felt so alive and sexually charged. And I felt loved, knowing that while I had been worrying about how we were growing apart, he was doing something about it.

So I let it continue, playing his game and seeing how far he would go, and hoping that he wouldn't just decide to stop one day. I had to purchase gentle creams and padded bras for my sore nipples, and wear longer clothing to hide bruises and love bites from my conservative managers. And the fucking continued. I know you won't believe me, but I still didn't wake up. Even though I knew what was going on, he managed to wait until I was sound asleep.

One night he entered the dark room and stood next to the bed, shifting me over to the edge. I wish I had been awake to see the scene: a man standing by the door, as light from the hall blacked his features yet spilled onto the woman's face, face-fucking her while she slept. He loved to hold my head close to his groin, fingers twisting in my hair.

After a while, he slid into bed with me and gently repositioned me so that my feet were resting on my pillow, knees slightly bent, and my head was resting midway down the mattress. His penis was still rock hard from the sucking I'd been giving him and when it pressed against my cheek, it left a wet trail of pre-cum and saliva until it reached my mouth. He pierced my lips slowly to avoid my teeth and began again to thrust his hips slowly against my face, holding my head in place. Being the considerate man he was, he busied his own mouth on my cunt, nipping and tugging on my outer labia until my own pre-cum began to flow. I quickly came as he licked and sucked. Chasing me in my orgasm, his cum splashed into my mouth, and I swallowed instinctively, milking him dry. He wrapped his sweaty arms around my thighs and nuzzled against my hot skin.

When I woke that next morning, his cock was resting on my soft tongue. Not quite wanting to end the game, I extricated myself without waking him and took an extra long shower, complete with a nubby washcloth that had just the right amount of rough texture to bring me to a trembling orgasm. I managed to keep my footing on the rubber animal-shapes stuck to the shower floor.

Not every night ended in an obvious sexual exploit, but there were enough of them that I felt very satisfied. I woke with a grin and he did too. He knew that I knew. Once I woke up with one wrist tied to the top bedpost and a leg tied to the footboard, and we could hardly keep from laughing. As I watched him stepping into his pants and buckling his belt, my left hand struggled to untie the black rope at the headboard (I'm very right-handed). As a result, I barely got out the door after him in the race to get to work on time.

Most mornings were more vanilla, with either his arms holding me, or mine holding him. I loved the latter because I relished the feeling that I was giving something back to him by protecting him as he slept.

I could go on forever, describing it all to you, my wicked, hungry readers, but suffice it to say that I finally took initiative and did some research for the really good local sex shops. We re-introduced "normal" consensual sex into our lives (or should I say conscious?), but we always make room in our busy schedules for a nocturnal frolic here and there. Especially now that I wear earplugs at night. Just in case.