Auguste had been dreaming about a single gym sock. It was long and white, with three black bands circling the top, and it was inside out. The fabric was thick, the weave stalwart. He was trying to decide whether to stick his hand into the sock and pull it right-side out before putting it on, or if he should even put it on at all, for what good was a single sock? And then he woke up. Never before had he been awakened by a blowjob. Naomi had the cap of his cock in her mouth. Her hand circled the stalk and stroked lightly. Her other hand was between her legs. Her tongue teased his penis slit. He was outrageously aroused.

“Oh,” he moaned. “Oh Naomi.”

She paused to twist her head enough so her eyes, wide and lewd, could meet his, and then she twisted back and resumed, her hand now making firmer motions, six modestly quick strokes, then one long slow stroke, then six and one repeated, repeated until he couldn’t hold off any longer and he flooded her mouth. “Oh, Naomi,” he cried out, the come all but done.

She coaxed his cock to six or eight aftershocks of orgasm, sucking and swallowing, and he found out he wasn’t done after all. She wouldn’t let him wilt. The hand that had been between her legs snuck beneath his balls and caressed him there, a finger sometimes straying to the rim of his anus, to the opening itself, and in. “Oh, Naomi,” he gulped, her finger in his ass, his cock pressing the back of her throat.

With astonishing grace, she swiveled, and now she sat upon him, his cock socketed in her cunt. She rocked slowly up and back. “Good morning,” she said with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

“Oh, Naomi,” he said, grinning back at her.

“I hope I didn’t spoil your dream,” she said, maintaining her the slow, steady rhythm of her fuck.

“No it was...” He tried to recall. “It was ... A gym sock. A white, inside out gym sock.”

The fuck continued.

“And?” she questioned.

His hips rose to meet hers. They fucked slowly, softly, no sounds but the soft slap and slippery squelch of their conjoinment.

“Just a single sock,” Auguste tried to explain. “A single inside out sock missing its mate.”

“Maybe later you could write a poem about it,” Naomi suggested. “But for now, what I need to do is sock it to you.”

And sock it to him she did, her body joyously slamming his, the rhythm hard, fast, relentless, two minutes, three, more, until abruptly she stopped, snug against him, seized to absolute stillness, all but the inexorable flutter of her innermost cunt, and the stark power of her ecstasy turned him inside out with a pleasure beyond compare.