asleep. Moving with tortuous caution I slowly slid up all the way into her. When my thighs were sweating against hers, when I could rub my sensitive abdomen against hers, I relaxed and buried my head in her long hair loose on the pillow.
I began slowly to move out, and when I had slid well away from her, to push back in. After a few smooth, long, delicious strokes I relaxed into her again, not at all desperate for immediate satisfaction after all the glorious climaxes I'd already had that day. I felt tired, as tired as Sandy must have felt when she plopped down onto the bed and fell asleep. I lay there for a long while on top of her, plunged all the way into her, moving only the slightest bit with our breathing. Then I joined her in sweet sleep.
What I dreamt was this: I dreamt I was fast asleep on top of my sister, we were both naked, and that we made subtle, juicy languorous love all night. My eyes were shut, I was fast asleep and dreaming, but there was no difference between the dream and the reality, they were identical.
Then, in the dream, I fell asleep again and dreamed I had the same dream. And like a flower that endlessly opens to new buds and fresh flowers I kept falling asleep inside the dream only to dream once more the sensual reality that Sandy and I, both asleep, were performing on her bed, in the flesh.
As dream of sleep was followed by dream of dream; dream of dream of sleep followed by dream of dream of dream of love, the locale changed. At first we were in Sandy's room, there was no tampering whatsoever with reality. Then, as the mirrored reflections became more elaborate we were in my room, in the forest, among the flowers; we were making love in my room at school, at my room in the city; then the locales became more fantastic and elaborate-jungles, beaches, royal boudoirs, harem rooms, Roman orgies, opium dens of the east, clouds of flowers, pure shuttering rainbows of light; in the flames of hell, and among the gorgeous copulating angels of heaven.
Then the whole process began to reverse itself as I began to wake up, stage by stage. In every case I would wake from the previous dream, only to finally find myself, in a wash of ecstasy, actually fucking my sister after all.
With each awakening, as I moved closer and closer back to reality, this ecstasy intensified. I began to move a little less languorously, a lot more passionately, and I noticed that Sandy had begun, from dream to dream, to move with me.
At last the original dream, the first dream of Sandy and me, in the dark, in her room, returned and I thought I was finally awake, that the dream was true after all.
Then I awoke from that dream as well. I opened my eyes to the greyish red light of dawn and looked down to see Sandy squirming rhythmically under me, looking up and glowing with shock, surprise and the same furious joy I felt.
“Am I really awake now?” I moaned. “Is this really you, Sandy, in the flesh?”
“Yes,” she purred.
“Prove it to me, I've been dreaming too much. Pinch me or something.”
She responded by digging her fingernails into my buttocks and pulling them into her furiously. For added measure she bit my ear, and when I cried out in masochistic glee, she lowered her teeth to my neck.
I responded by attacking her like a mad rapist or a jack-hammer. She began to come immediately, bucking like an unbroken filly. We crashed together in a head-on orgasm that packed into several minutes all the pleasure, all but unbearable, that we'd been building up to all night long.
When our howls and moans and vows of total adoration, slavish worship had begun to level off into deep, satisfied breathing, I asked Sandy when she had woken up.
“Just before you did, almost at the same time. That's how come I had that funny look on my face.”
“How come?”
“Because I was surprised,” she said.
“How come?”
“Because I was dreaming about you.”
“So was I,” I said.
“Well, everybody dreams about themselves, stupid.”
“No, I mean, I was dreaming about you. And me.”
“Me too,” she said.
“That's quite a coincidence.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. How many people have the same dreams at the same time?”
“Well,” she said, “if more people slept the way we just did, maybe they'd have the same dreams, too.”
“You've got something there,” I said. “So have you.”
EIGHT
We talked and played with each other until the burgeoning dawn light was shining in our eyes. I was tired. I buried my head in Sandy's delicious breasts and started to go to sleep.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked.
“Going to sleep.”
“Why don't you go to your room for a few hours?”
“What for?”
“Oh, I don't know. Somebody might come in, and catch us sleeping together.”
“Boy, you've really got snoopers on the brain. What are you scared of?”
“I don't know. But why don't you, Terry?”
“I don't want to leave you, ever!” I said, holding her very tight.
“You need some sleep.”
“I can sleep on you.”
“You know what'll happen if you sleep here. In five minutes we'll be fucking again.”
“So? What's wrong with fucking?”
“It's beautiful, the way you do it. But I need a rest. I'm sore. You must be, too, after all you did last night.”
“I'm not sore,” I said, and pulled a leg back to let her see my unbruised, semi-roused and gamy cock.
“You will be, if we go at it again so soon. Now go to bed. Please.”
I kissed her goodbye as though we'd never see one another again, sheepishly left her bed, went to my own, fell face down on it and went immediately to sleep.
A few hours later Sandy woke me up by slapping my bare ass vigorously with both hands. It hurt at first, but once I was awake and aware that it was she doing the slapping I felt a surge of excitement ripple through my loins.
“Come on, get up, Terry, it's time for breakfast.”
“I'd rather lie here and have you spank me,” I said. “It feels good.”
I looked up at her. She was obviously enjoying it as much as I was. She was half-naked, having put on a pair of short-shorts, but still topless so that her breasts jiggled and bounced as she beat me.
“Can't you hit any harder than that?” I said.
She complied. “You must be some kind of a masochist,” she said.
“What's a masochist?'
“That's a guy who gets a hard-on when people kick him around, especially girl people.”
“That's me, all right. What was that word again? Massachrist?”
“Massachusetts. Get up now.” She ended the spanking with a flourish. “Come on.”
“No.”
She bent over and slipped out a thick, black leather belt from the loops of a pair of my pants, dangling it between my buttocks.
“Are you going to get up, or am I going to whip you?” she hissed.
“You're going to whip me, I guess, because I'm not getting up.”
