In Loving the Muse

 

I dream of you; intense, vivid, in Metrocolor. My orgasm, triggering a primal outbreath, awakens me from the dream. Suddenly I'm fully alert in the darkest hour. My cock is still hard, aching, and my belly slick with cum. Astonished, I trace my fingers through the pool. The afterglow, my secret pleasure, blossoms in every pore of my body. I've not had a wet dream since my early twenties. Why now? I lick my fingers (you would not waste such precious nectar), as I hurry to reconstruct the images from the dream as they begin to dissipate and evaporate. You came to me, you, in my lonely, hotel bed. As if unable to move I lay still while you loved me; a kiss to my lips, your smiling, soft brown eyes looking into my blue. Burgundy... no... a darker, Amarone shade to your lips; a memory of Venice. Another kiss; lips parting, the tips of our tongues touching, beginning the dance. Blonde hair cascading over my face, a nest for our kisses. Then you moved, resting your head to my chest, my sensitive nipple in your mouth, you sucked, licked and nipped. I remember I moaned out loud in my hotel bed at such exquisite, pleasure-pain. My cock stiffened, blood surging to fill capillaries, swelling, hard, aching, wanting... You. You put your hand on me, a brief squeeze as you gasped, then a feather-light stroke. You moved again, to swiftly top and tail me, knees on my pillow, your thighs parting to welcome my face, your sweet cunt to my mouth. I kissed and licked the salt-sweet tang of your cunt as I felt my cock slip into the warm, wet velvet of your pretty mouth, between your painted lips. Such delicious onslaughts made me come swiftly, gushing into your lovely throat. You milked me, swallowing it all down.