I stood still, frozen in my tracks. With men – whether with my husband or with other men – I had always been uninhibited, unrestrained. I had done many things and never been sorry. But I had never touched another woman or been touched by one. And now this woman had promised to lick out my cunt!
Given my past feelings, I should have felt revulsion. Her suggestions should have repelled me.
But they didn't. I felt fear, anxiety, but I felt a strong lust, too. I walked towards her bed, my lust moving my feet for me, almost against my will.
The woman continued to tell me what would happen. 'I will make you feel better than you have ever felt before,' she purred. 'But you will repay me,' she added. 'I'll teach you how to lap my pussy.'
I stopped at the side of the bed. Again, my past had reasserted itself I couldn't take that final step. I couldn't take the initiative and embrace the woman.
She stood up from the bed. She was a tall woman, even taller than my five feet, eight inches. She grabbed me firmly by each arm and pressed me down on the bed.
I lay back on the sheets. They felt cool against my naked flesh. I lay there rigidly at first, my body reflecting the ambivalence in my mind, the struggle between inhibitions and desire.
'Relax, my dear,' she said softly. Then she began to massage my flesh, not my cunt and tits, but the rest of me – my arms, neck, and stomach. Her touch was gentle and I relaxed.
She concentrated on my belly for a while. Gradually, she moved lower and lower, inch by inch. When she was about to reach my blonde muff, she dropped her hand all the way down and tried to part my thighs. I resisted briefly, then gave in.
As my legs spread, she gently rubbed my thighs, then moved up towards my gash. Her hand caressed the hair on my cunt, then parted it. One of her fingers darted into my hole. I moved inside an inch or two, then, as I spread my legs wider, slid easily inside.
The woman withdrew her finger and transferred the cunt-juice on it to my clit. I felt a surge of warmth spread from my clit as her finger touched it.
'There. Now you are properly relaxed,' the woman told me. As she spoke, she continued to rub my clit; the surge of warmth spreading from the tiny shaft turned into a wave of hot pleasure that began to engulf me.
While she fingered my clit, the woman leaned forward and kissed my belly. Then, her tongue moved down to the top of my beaver, playing in the curly blonde hair.
I made the first sounds I had made since the dream had begun, but they weren't sounds of protest. I began to moan and whine with pleasure and need.
'Ohhh, God. It feels so good. Soooooo good,' I moaned. 'Faster, faster,' I urged, my inhibitions forgotten.
Finally, her finger increased its speed. Then, just as I felt close to orgasm, her tongue parted the wet hair above my hole and moved to my cunt. She ran her tongue along the moist outer pussy-lips. Then she tongued my clit. The first gentle probing of her tongue against the sensitive little clit gave me one of the most exquisite sensations I have ever felt or, in that case, imagined. My husband, Mike always ate my pussy well. Other men often used their tongues expertly cm my snatch. But nothing had ever felt like that woman's tongue on my clit.
The dream never went beyond that point. I awakened, my cunt soaked, my muscles contracting, but my hole empty. Usually, I woke my husband up and asked him to fuck me or to lick my pussy. The dream worried me and I wanted to have him to help me banish the memory.
'What is it, Lori?' Mike would always ask when I awakened him.
'Just a nightmare,' I would answer.
'About what?' he would ask.
'Someone trying to kill me,' I would answer. Or I would make up something else that had nothing to do with the subject of my dream. I didn't think he would appreciate the truth very much. He had never encouraged me to join the lesbian scene at the parties we attended.
Mike always told me that I needed exercise, that if I were more tired when I went to sleep, I wouldn't have bad dreams. I always laughed and said something flippant like, 'Give me some exercise.' Then we would fuck and, eventually, I would be able to forget about the dream for a few minutes.
No man had ever fucked me the way Mike fucked me. He was a big, handsome, muscular, self-assured man. His tanned, rugged face, jet-black hair, and powerful body made him attractive to me, but, on balance, what turned me on most was his big cock. His cock had to be at least ten inches long. I had never measured it with a ruler, but my mouth and cunt had compared it to many other cocks and all had been found lacking.
Even Mike's big cock, however, was hard-pushed to banish that dream from my mind. At first, as his big prick rocketed in and out of my cunt, part of my mind was elsewhere, on the dream, at least until I had begun to come.
Only as I climaxed did I forget the dream. 'Oh, Mike, fuck me!' I would shriek, not only because he was making me feel good, but because he had made me forget that disturbing dream.
After my orgasm had subsided, however, I couldn't relax because the dream came back to bother me. It felt good when Mike fucked me, as it always did, but once I began to have the dream, I didn't feel as totally satisfied as usual. There was still some ill-defined, left-over craving in my cunt.
What did I want? Did I need another woman? Did I have lesbian tendencies that had never before emerged? Why had they taken so long to show themselves? Was something wrong with my marriage? I had thought it a good marriage. Mike and I both enjoyed fucking and sucking with others, but only at parties, never behind the other's back. We each enjoyed these additions to our basic sex routine, but our primary satisfaction had been with each other.
For weeks, I fooled myself. I told myself that the dream was just a harmless fantasy. Deep down, however, I felt a gnawing anxiety. I pretended it wasn't there, but the dream always came back to remind me.
I increasingly became aware of changes in my sexual feelings. I felt more and more dissatisfied each time Mike fucked me. It felt good when his cock was slamming in and out of my cunt, but after, when my orgasm had subsided, I felt as if I hadn't climaxed at all. At the one party we went to during the first weeks I was having the dream, I fucked three men. Their pricks, too, felt good pistoning in and out of my cunt, but, after I came, I felt the same vague dissatisfaction I had felt after Mike had fucked me.
At first, this dissatisfaction was the only sign of change in me. I tried to hide it and to make sure there were no other signs of change. Nevertheless, within a few weeks, I began to notice more extreme changes in my behavior.
The first sign that I was losing control over myself came when I met other women on the street or in stores. I looked them over much more carefully than I had ever done in the past. Often, I mentally undressed them. Somehow, I convinced myself that no one had noticed my strange behavior.
I even developed an elaborate rationale for my actions. I told myself that my behavior was natural, that the dream had only awakened my curiosity. Nevertheless, I couldn't really convince myself. I knew that if it was only curiosity that motivated me, I wouldn't have been so unsatisfied after men had fucked me.
As self-deception failed, I still told myself that no one else realized I had changed. After all, no one had said anything to me about my behavior, so I took this to mean that no one had caught on. Perhaps they hadn't, but soon I lost control of myself so completely that no one could have missed the signs.
CHAPTER TWO
The first indication that I would not be able to hide my secret desires for long came one night when Mike and I went to a party that promised to be one of the wildest orgies of the year.
We arrived at the party a few minutes late. I had taken a long time getting dressed, knowing that if I looked good when I arrived fully clothed, it would increase the men's excitement when I undressed in front of them.
That I still tried to think this way shows the magnitude of my self-deception. I tried to convince myself that all I cared about was how the men felt about me, but that wasn't true. I wanted the women to notice me, too.
The party hadn't started yet. Everyone else was there, but the action had not yet begun. They had waited
