In the still of night, with moonlight streaming through the blinds, I surrender to slumber’s embrace. My raven hair fans out on the pillows as I drift away, lost in dreams. But little do they know, in my somnambulant state, I crave a different kind of touch.
The first stirrings of pleasure begin deep within me as fingers stroke my thigh, inching closer to my aching core. I whimper softly, rolling onto my back, opening myself to the sensations. The digits tease, then plunge, finding my entrance slick with anticipation.
waves of bliss roll over me, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. I’m barely conscious, yet I can feel every inch of my lover’s length filling me, stretching me, claiming me as mine. My hips buck involuntarily, meeting each stroke.
Sweat trickles down my temples as the pace quickens, the room filling with the sounds of our coupling – the rasp of skin on skin, the rhythmic slap of flesh, my ragged gasps. I’m drunk on pleasure, lost in the haze of passion.
Just as I teeter on the brink, the fingers slow, then still. I moan in protest, only to be rewarded as a tongue finds my clit, lapping at the sensitive bud. The dual stimulation is too much, and with a cry, I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me like a wildfire. Waves of ecstasy crash over me as I tremble and pulse around the fingers still buried inside me.
As the aftershocks fade, I slowly come awake, my mind foggy, my body sated. I glance down to see him smiling up at me, his eyes dark with satisfaction. And in that moment, I know I’ll be doing this again, surrendering to the pleasure of my unconscious self, welcoming the touch that brings me to the heights of bliss, even in my dreams.
Rhea Stephens
888-750-4746 ext 868
https://thesincenter.com/rhea