EVIE'S WAYWARD DREAMS BECOME REAL
Evie reached out from under the thin duvet and grabbed the alarm clock. She groaned on seeing the time; it was just three in the morning and her bed felt cold and empty. So much had changed in the last few days, especially after her husband Tom had been admitted into a care home, his dementia just too much to deal with on her own. Carers cost too much, and she had decided to take on the burden that Tom was becoming until everything became emotionally, and physically, impossible to bear.
"My life's sure taken a turn if I keep having these dreams," she muttered as she shifted her hips to untangle her nightdress that had worked itself up over her thighs. Life with Tom had become stressful over the past year and she had lost weight; her tummy was flatter, exercise had toned her arms and legs, but her face remained somewhat gaunt. It was not helped by the way that she often tied her hair back in a bun, just to keep it out of the way.
She put the alarm clock down and reached for her iPhone to check on any messages that had been received. There was only the last one, read before she had gone to bed and sent by Harry, her nephew, the only one who had been able to help her with Tom settling into what would be his new 'home'.
Remember what I said, Aunty Evie. I'm here to help as Mum is away on one of her cruises with Dad. They'll be gone for a spell so ask anything of me until things settle down. Harry.
He was an athletic young man with broad shoulders, a lean face, and toned abs that she had noted the last time they had met, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that seemed too small on him. Harry had a piercing gaze in his grey-green eyes. People thought of him as outgoing and friendly, always keen to help if someone needed it and they knew it was offered unconditionally. She read that in the text message and couldn't keep from sighing. What she felt for him was taking hold in her to the extent that she even dreamed about him...about them, as she had just done in the sleep she had woken from.
She lay back and pulled the duvet over her body before she raised her legs and planted her feet on the bed. Had she been touching herself during the dream, and, if so, it would explain how her nightdress had become entangled around her body? It must have woken her. With Harry, there had always been a bond but even allowing for her sexual frustrations, with Tom not claiming her, and what she did for him often leaving her feeling unfulfilled and frustrated, it was no excuse for how she now felt as she thought of Harry.
How could aberrant sexual feelings for her good-looking, and attentive, nephew have taken such a hold in her?
One of Harry's recent texts had caught her off-guard.
Somehow, and someday, I'll see again my vivacious aunt the one we all saw dancing so happily at that family reunion of a couple of years ago.
Such fantasies as she had about them had now become the subject of her dreams as she lay wrapped in the warmth of a summer quilt. Her hands drifted over her body once more, her fingers teasing her nipples before one hand stroked down between her legs and she began fingering herself once again as images of a lover drifted before her eyes.
"Perhaps my wicked dreams may become real," she murmured drowsily, knowing she was alone with them, so no harm was being done to anyone as she succumbed once more to her wayward thoughts and the rush of an orgasm.
♥
Her thoughts and feelings swirled as she was touched and caressed, the temptation to submit to Harry, who had become her young lover, wrecking any sense of restraint or propriety. He called it 'special therapy' but she wasn't so sure. What she did know, and feel, as his caresses progressed as if he was paying homage to her body, was that she did not want him to stop. She encouraged him and even taught Harry what would please her.
How wonderful to feel his hands on her, one working her sex as the other clamped and caressed her breasts, his mouth sinking over them and delighting her as his lips slowly slid, moistly, over her skin and tugged on her nipples. How hard they were. How he made them ache. She loved falling into a spiral of wanton abandonment to him.
They share in wiled kisses, her hands encouraging him to lie on her as if to crush the breath from her trembling body, his penis pressing against her sex.
"Say just two words, 'yes' or 'no'." His hands move to clamp on her breasts and to squeeze hard on them, his grip sending pulses of pleasure through her body that seem to merge with those that the press of his penis arouses in her belly. "Go on, say it."
"Yes!"
His fingers move into her, caress the hard nub that is her clit, and he does so slowly and gently, each touch seducingly slow and ragingly pleasurable.
She clutches at his body and trembles in response to what is happening between them; from the slow seducing rhythm of his fingers, from the hunger to be felt in Harry's kisses, and who they are to each other and want to pursue. Her body moves in response to his caresses, and he murmurs in her ear.
"I want to take you with me in this, Evie...to share in slow moments of pleasure that your body will bring to me."
Her hands trail over her skin as if it was him who caressed her. The cramps of longing are becoming unbearable, the brush of her fingers over her slit the same as those of her forbidden lover.
"I won't tell you to stop...not now...now that you have brought me here!"
Fingers and thumb work her pussy and shocks course through her abdomen like an unstoppable tide. She's becoming sensitive and suddenly those wonderful, searching, caresses are gone.
"On your hands and knees," she hears a disembodied voice tell her and she does what is asked of her, shuffles over the bed, and knows that he follows, pressing his lips to her buttocks as his hands caress her back, slide over her hips and touches are smoothed own over her tummy, between her legs and finish by cupping her pendulous breasts. "Relax, I want you to relax and think only of this...of you being with me."
His caresses continue, no part of her body fully claimed, and his touches vary from soft caresses to firmer clamps and strokes. Her breaths slow down, and she relaxes and then the sensations that his caresses arouse change, Harry's caresses to her buttocks now sensual strokes and clamps, his hands gliding over her hips then round to cup her mound, the fingers of one hand stroking over her cleft, over her pussy's moist lips.
Her fingers are there, stroking and probing, but the images spooling through her mind are of him, a lustful young man claiming her. He has soft and competent ways, his hands soothing and she imagines how his fingers stroke deeper, and she clenches her pussy's muscles together. He now has both hands on her moist heat, stroking and probing, and his penis slicks over her cleft, adding to the quivery sensations that only his fingers have so far aroused.
"No, don't move away...we're too far gone in this to stop now," she hears him say.
Her vagina seems to glow from his caressing and fingering of her and she pushes against his hips and feels the glide of his penis along her slit. He's so long and hard, so purposeful in his movements against her, and that arouses greater pleasure, the raging association of thoughts, that his fingers alone cannot bring.
"No, don't move or I'll stop."
Somewhere she hears herself call out, to cry that she won't interfere with what he wants to do for her, to her, and soon with her. Her fingers slick and probe over her wet heat.
"Are you so ready for me...even if I'm Harry...your nephew?"
"Yes, I am...don't remind me what I'm doing with you!" She has been provoked to answer him sharply because he fingers her.
He works her clit with two fingers. "Lie still and just feel."
He takes his time despite her sighs and the grip of her hands on his arms to coax him into bringing that stiff pole of flesh into her body that has been neglected in these ways for far too long. Tingling rushes and tightening cramps course through her body and she's lost all sense of time. She wants to move and to respond to this assault on her senses, but he continues to assert control.
He's considerate and what she allows him to do has her feeling that an orgasm will soon overwhelm her, that it cannot be stopped, and she has yet to do anything for him. The walls of her pussy close around his fingers and she feels the quickening rhythm of each stroke; he plumbs her vagina with them.
Two fingers, then three, caress and then plumb her, and just when she is at the peak of pleasure and cannot hold back the waves of an approaching orgasm, he thrusts into her, the fleeting sensation of that domed tip at the entrance to her pussy replaced by the searing sensation as it glides over her pussy's walls and she finally moves.
"Will we come together?" he asks.
Harry's voice sounds so far off as she feels the tempo of his penis...or is the effect of her fingers...arouse the waves of pleasure and the approach of their shared orgasm. Their coupling is fast and uncontrolled, instincts and the pursuit of their fulfilment, prevailing over technique and consideration for each other.
"Harry...Harry!" she screeches, "I'm coming!"
Her body moves against him; his hands grip her hips until he is fully in her and they then move to grip her breasts. She succumbs to rushes of pleasure and pain, feels the searing spurts of his release, her pussy's muscles aching from the effort to drain him with every shared movement that they make.
Her orgasm is intense, and she does not know how she can feel so high; to feel uplifted by what she has conceded into doing with him; with Harry, the bringer of lustful and wasting comfort. Her hands grip the bed sheet as his pounding rhythm prolongs the shared pleasure that has been so wantonly discovered.
Oh God, how could they have fallen into doing this? Her body shudders, her pussy closes around his penis and she continues to tremble. Her head feels heavy and all that she feels is centered on her vagina. Harry keeps stroking, moving in and out until the dreamy sensations slowly ebb away.
She feels exhausted and empty as she stops fingering herself and succumbs to the oblivion of sleep.
♥
It was almost dark, the sunset a fading orange glow on the horizon, when they arrived at her home and Harry switched off the ignition.
