He woke suddenly, in the type of darkness that only three in the morning can provide. An angry wind was blowing outside the window, and he had an aching erection, the kind of rock-hard cock only a certain type of dream can create.
He was lying on his back, to one side of the bed, and he threw back the sheet to take his cock in his familiar right hand. He closed his eyes, and tried desperately to recall the dream. He knew it had something to do with a redhead, and he knew it was dirty, but that was as far as he could get.
Abandoning the memory regretfully, he engaged his imagination instead, and a steady stream of images, memories, and fantasies raced through his head. A blur of faces, legs and skirts. Schoolboy fumblings in the back of the sheds. An eager but badly executed session at camp. His much more competent and coherent efforts as a young man, before he left home. Lisa, skirt up, panties down, bent over the sofa pleading with him. Imagined duty as a stallion to the girl next door. A vision of breasts, and nipples hard with expectation. The sight of his cock impaling an attentive virgin, the mixture of pain and ecstasy on her face driving him on. A girl whose name he has shamefully forgotten, her dark hair half-hiding her mouth, as it pumps his cock; her eyes looking up at him adoringly as he comes, and she dutifully swallows. Skinny-dipping with the guys, and being unexpectedly discovered by a group of rampantly horny girls. Okay, that one was completely made up, but it was good. Breasts, presented for judging. Three sets. The owner of the winning set, her tongue in his mouth as she thanks him, sitting astride his naked body, and lowering herself on him. Dina, fumbling quietly beside him, demanding satisfaction, spooned, her ass rubbing him wonderfully, and whispering that she's coming, again.
His hand had not been idle while the thoughts raced through his head, and as the imagined Dina bent to allow his entry, he came for real, stroking as he pumped ecstatically over his stomach, long stringy tendrils snaking over his skin. He was surprised at the speed of the orgasm. He must have been very close when he woke up. He wondered again what the dream was about, but couldn't recall.
Grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, he started to clean up the mess on his stomach, not really taking any notice of his surroundings.
"Do you think, Michael, that you could manage to involve anyone else?"
"Oh, Alice, I didn't even notice you were there!"
"I can see that. You were out like a light when I got here, and when I squeezed in beside you for some warmth, you didn't even notice."
"How long have you been here?"
"What time is it, Michael?"
"Ah, it's a little after three."
"Oh, just a couple of hours then."
"And I never noticed?"
"Not a thing."
"Umm... were you just..."
"... lying there, watching me?"
"... lift the rest of the sheet."
Michael took the sheet in his hands, flung it toward the foot of the bed, and looked at what he had uncovered.
Alice lay there, completely naked, her dark hair surrounding her pale, smiling face. She lay on her left side, facing him, her left hand under her head, propping up the pillow. Her small breasts were stacked one on top of the other, nipples betraying excitement, and her stomach smooth and lovely in the dim light. Michael's attention strayed quickly from there though, as he saw some dim movement in the darkness between Alice's legs. While she lay here, cheerfully chatting, her fingers were dancing a jig inside her, flicking and dipping seemingly without control, long slender digits delightfully abusing her skin, pulling feeling and sensation from every touch.
As Michael watched, her effort became more organised, and her face scrunched up in concentration as she drove herself closer to release. She never closed her eyes though, and they stared at him in silence as she stroked herself. He watched her body start to shudder, her muscles quivering from head to toe, and he listened to the graceful moan that escaped her lips as she came in front of him, her orgasm as desperate as his, though somewhat less messy.
He lay still, and continued to watch, as her body calmed down, and her fingers vacated her now tender groin. He smiled then, and reached over to kiss his lover. Their lips together were somehow right, and their bodies moved close together, breasts to chest, thigh to hips, hands and arms encompassing them both.
As always, the kissing was a drawn out affair. They both loved this intimate contact, this most tender joining of two bodies, and neither spoke for some time. Alice eventually whispered, returning to the wisecracks that were the mainstay of their discussions.
"Excuse me Mike, but if you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't prod me with that thing. I thought you dealt with it already."
"I thought I had too, Alice, but you convinced me otherwise."
"Think you could put it somewhere a little more comfortable?"
"Think you could lie on your back?"
"You sure this has anything to do with me? You seemed to be coping fine by yourself earlier."
"Oh, and you didn't, little Miss handjob?"
"I was afraid I'd miss out."
"Well, let me kneel between your legs here, and you won't."
"I'm not sure I want to, now."
"Why is that?"
"Maybe I'd rather watch you again."
.... There is more of this story ...