Sharon couldn't sleep. It really wasn't her fault though. It was because of the sheets and the TV.
Beside her lay Brad, snoring in oblivion. His inert, muscular frame was a square mass of flesh, and the sheets draped neatly over him from the neck down. But the sheets refused to behave likewise to Sharon's curvaceous form. When she lay on her back the sheets dug at her nipples until they were rubbed raw and almost seemed to poke through; when she lay on her side it lazily caressed her hip; and when she lay on her back the sheets clung to her bum and inched its way down to her sex, teasing what it could never hope to enter, until her musky scent and juices were left in a dark patch.
As she tossed and turned images from the now indolent TV filled her mind. Brad had been getting ready for bed and the next day while she, her eyes hypnotized, oblivious to the dull, sickly blue glow that filled the room, had watched anything that was on: the news, sports highlights, infomercials. She had passed station after station until she settled on some channel in the upper thirties.
She never caught the name of the movie -- some sort of fantasy epic, with swords, mythological monsters, and the like. Not really her cup of tea, but it was engaging. She could not figure out why she settled on this one. Maybe because it was made in the 80's, and therefore had a campy quality she could relate to. Whatever the reason was there was one scene that made it all worthwhile and played over and over again in her mind.
In was a scene involving the heroine. With her back to us, she emerged naked from her bath. Her firm, yet plump bum had a beautiful, regal sway to it as she stepped out of what Sharon could see was really more a pool than tub. The heroine's breasts could only be seen in hints where they gloriously jutted out to the sides. They were full, firm, and hidden. Sharon had imagined what they looked like and the images she came up with were more sensual than the TV could have ever provided. This beautiful naked woman was then greeted by a handmaiden on either side, who covered her in a simple white stola that both hid and emphasized her womanly features.
And that was it. Before Sharon had a chance to take in the scene it was over.
So it played over and over again in her mind.
As she drifted off to sleep, things began to blur: the caressing sheets and the woman emerging from the bath, until they were one and the same in her dreams.
It was now Sharon who was naked in the bath, or at least from the waist down. Her mossy sex was hidden beneath the ripples and waves created by even the slightest of movements. Beads of water clung to her shoulders, arms, and breasts. Her hair was up in a Grecian style, with the odd tendril hanging out and pointing to her pretty face. The cool air sent goosebumps up her arms and then down to her already excited breasts.
The room was dimly lit and so she could not see it in its entirety. She could not even see where the tub ended, but it appeared to her to make up almost the entire room. What she could see were a four handmaidens, two on either side of her. Each one had her hair up like Sharon's. While Sharon was nude, the handmaidens were fully dressed, so to speak.
They wore outfits of Egyptian cotton that flowed from their collar bones and then clung to their knees and below under the water. The material was gauzy, and where it was wet it was transparent. Had they been naked and if Sharon did not have to strain her eyes to make out their delectable bodies they would not have been as nearly as sexy.
But perhaps what was both most disconcerting and arousing at the same time was the women's demeanor. While Sharon was enraptured with herself, the women, and the tub, these women appeared to simply be doing a job. Sharon wondered if any of the women shared her thoughts, to be adored, caressed, and pleasured; to revel in her nakedness and the delicious collection of wet and glowing skin, pretty faces, and protruding nipples and hidden details that surrounded her. If this had been a change room she would have dove for a towel, but now in her dreams she wanted to unabashedly show her body to everyone and anyone.
The two closest on either side offered Sharon their hands, which she accepted, and they helped her out of the bath. The other two appeared with fluffy white towels and proceeded to pad her dry all over. They rubbed her back, her shoulders, her sex, her arms, her legs, breasts, bum, and neck. Each touch lasted only a second, and her body burned for more. When they were done her skin was red, both from their rubbing and her own arousal.
They lay her down on a marble slab covered in soft pillows and presented her with scented oils, which were applied with more affection, but still the handmaidens' faces betrayed no emotion. One set of hands rubbed oil into her face, while one worked on her legs, while a third massaged her stomach. These hands would linger for a while and then move on: from her face and neck to her shoulders, from her stomach to her aching breasts, and from her legs to her inner thighs. Sharon was gasping now as her full, heavy breasts were massaged with both force and affection, her nipples standing straight out when they peeked out from under hands, waiting for the next touch. As she spread her legs a hand dove for her vagina, swished a finger around, and then did a series of figure-eights around the tip of her clitoris. Sharon was writhing, incoherent.
As far as the handmaidens were concerned they may as well have been tying her shoes for her.
Sharon had never been the centre of attention like this before. She had never had so many different parts of her body on fire like this before. As that wonderful finger went back to swishing around inside of her she had no idea if she was wet from oil sweat, or arousal. Somehow she was able to settle in, relax in her mind, and concentrate on these wonderful ministrations that would no doubt soon lead to one unbelievable orgasm.
Then it all stopped. The finger retreated, leaving her with only her unfulfilled yearnings. The same two hands appeared and Sharon sat up. In front of her were her escorts – six naked and very muscular men. They had the same even expression as the handmaidens, and with the need to communicate, she left with them.
As they walked down a long hall not a word was spoken. Sharon was too busy using her imagination to talk. She was surrounded by tanned skin, hard muscle, and six flaccid cocks. How badly she wanted each of them, to suck on each and feel them grow in her mouth. She would then take each cock, covered in her slick saliva, and drive them into her. She wanted them so badly, and the fact that they were so oblivious to her body and her needs drove her even more insane.
The hallway led into a room, bare except for a bed. On it lay Brad, eyes closed and cock standing straight up. She semi-consciously licked her lips as she got closer. Four of her escorts picked her up by a limb each so that she was stretched akimbo, gliding effortlessly through the air like some sort of spirit. They held her directly over Brad's cock.
She desperately wanted them to let go so that she would crash onto Brad and feel the jolt of his fullness driving into her. Almost sensing this, they did the opposite. They lowered her oh-so-slowly until her pouting and parted lips could feel the head of Brad's cock against them. She tried to wriggle and lower herself but she could not free herself at all.
She let out a whimper, and as if that were the signal they lowered her, again so, so slowly, onto Brad. Inch by inch she could feel him pushing her aside as he entered her more and more. She closed her eyes so she could concentrate on her delicious plunge. Once she had engulfed him totally she remained there for a moment. Then those same gentle yet powerful sets of arms raised her and then lowered her. Eyes still closed, Sharon felt the rhythm and sensations flow through her. Although every inch of her body screamed out to be touched it was her cunt that consumed her, just as it consumed Brad.
Slowly she would sink down on to him until their pubic hairs meshed as he touched some deep, seemingly unexplored part of her. A second later she would be lifted off again: the pleasure of what was mingling with the ache to feel it again.
I'm just a cunt, she told herself. Not in a demeaning way, but in a sense of revelation. Sure, she had a mind, and a very bright one at that, but right now all that everyone was concerned about and wanted – her, the men who held her, and Brad – was to give pleasure to her glorious, sloshing sex.
But then something took her away from her cunt. Two lips attached to her breast in unison; two sets of lips that proceeded to pleasure her using two very different styles: one nibbled gently while the other sucked hungrily. It was the two escorts who held her arms.
Sharon opened her eyes and was surprised for a second and then reveled in what she saw. Her handmaidens were now in the room, although very different from the passive servants she had seen before. Two knelt on either side of her, hungrily sucking on the men who held her legs. She watched the women swallow the cocks whole and then let them slide out until only the tip of the heads were still between their pursed lips. The cocks grow longer and thicker while the men groaned. Still, they never loosening their grip on Sharon. Just as Brad was disappearing into her so too were those stalwart cocks. Twitching, bobbing slightly when a tongue would push against it before a handmaiden would close her eyes and swallow her tasty treat whole, letting loose a humming sigh of contentment. On either side of Brad were a couple of pillows. On one side she lay on her back while he entered her, and on the other side he lay on his back while she bobbed up and down on his shaft. Over Brad's head and directly across from Sharon was one handmaiden that Sharon had not seen before with her legs spread wide apart. Her fingers made furious circles around her clit, letting up only to plunge into her very open sex. She locked eyes with Sharon, openly showing her desire. That look alone, almost sent Sharon over the edge.
Sharon felt so…drunk. Her head was swimming with desire, and she thought she was out of control in every way. Her secured hands brushed against the hard and warm stomachs, and glided down to their stiff and unattended to cocks on either side of her. Without even thinking, she seized ahold of them while their owners continued to hold her arms and suck at her breasts. Under her ministrations the cocks began to lengthen and harden even more, and she responded likewise, adding intensity to her long strokes until she was jacking them furiously.
She wanted a second to step outside herself, take a deep breath, and them ride Brad for all he was worth. As if on cue, her men lifted her up and away from Brad. She hovered there, once again her lips pressing lightly against the head of Brad's cock.
She looked around her and saw nipples and cocks erect, cunts dripping, permeating the room with their musky scent, waiting for her. Beautiful and still like Greek statues, breaking their own spell with their uncontained panting. They struggled against their wants and waited. It was then that she realized that at this moment her cunt controlled her, and she controlled those around her. All everyone wanted was to cum, but it was totally up to her to decide when and how.
She was ready. Slowly again she sunk down, and rose a little quicker. Up and then down. The momentum began to build, like a train leaving a station. Those around her matched her tempo: gradual strokes and delicate licks that grew in intensity.
The tempo built to a point where she wasn't being raised and lifted, but slammed down and then brought back up for more. She could no longer feel the difference between the cock hitting her depths and withdrawing from her dripping coral folds.
The men's backs were arched, the women's breasts heaving. Sharon felt her orgasm welling up in her belly and her toes began to cramp and her cunt was a frothing centre of pleasure.
Looking outside of herself once again she locked eyes with the woman across from her whose parted lips and heavy lids spoke of nothing but desire. Sharon did not need a mirror to know that she had the same look on her face. Her eyes following the woman's body down, past the sweat dripping from her collarbones, her convulsing chest, her undulating tummy, to where her hair tapered down into her sex. Never before had Sharon had a chance to stare at such an inviting sight for so long. In another time and another place she would have looked away, her face red with lust and embarrassment. Here, this woman's folds were open, beckoning, dripping.
The hypnotic effect was broken when some of the woman's juices actually dribbled down and landed on Brad's slightly parted lips.
It was too much. From deep within Sharon's chest came a guttural cry of resignation and surrender as her orgasm overtook her. She flopped around limply and rode wave after wave. Still in the throes she opened her eyes and saw everything in flashes: one maiden held fast to her man as he pumped his cum deep in her mouth only to have it seep out the side a moment later; the other woman squeezed her man's twitching cock between her breasts as he shot onto her glorious, full orbs, and her neck and face; the two men who were at Sharon's breasts had pulled away, and with their backs arched, sprayed her breasts and belly where she could feel the sperm's ebbing heat as it spilled down her belly and clung to her pubic hair, or down her breasts to her nipple, only to spill onto the floor; on either side on the floor the lovers shook in intensity, but in unison, joined to form one body each.
She could feel Brad erupting inside her as she looked across to the woman, whose pubic hair was matted with wetness. Both women tried vainly to maintain eye contact as their orgasms continued to rip through them.
Moments later Sharon's pounding slowed to a more steady rhythm. Again she looked to the woman across from her. This woman was for Sharon the ultimate symbol of wantonness: her breasts pushed forward, her legs as wide apart as they would go, her wet sex that seemed more red than pink, gaping, waiting for a lover, knowing full well that one will never come. But the woman's face showed no signs of disappointment; rather, she was consumed with herself, enraptured in her own sexual glory. What a woman! What a body. Sharon did not want her; she wanted what the woman wanted: to surrender to herself, to please herself, to redirect every nerve towards her cunt and then explode in passion.
It then occurred to Sharon that the woman was touching herself for her own pleasure, but she was displaying herself for Sharon's pleasure. Everything Sharon saw was a gift intended for her. That, and not her own steady assault on Brad's cock was what sent her over the edge again.
And as she came she had a series of lucid thoughts bombard her crashing mind. With her legs spread and held by her escorts she too was on display for the woman: her swollen lips, protruding clit, and bouncing breasts. And even though Sharon features in no way resembled the woman across from her she knew that they were one and the same. Each was here for the other's pleasure.
But when Sharon was able to see straight again the only one who was still with her was Brad below her. Gone was the woman, Sharon's escorts, and her handmaidens.
"That was some wake up call," was all Brad could say in between pants. She was looking down on him from above, having obviously fucked him in her sleep. Unbelievable. As she was coming to her senses she could feel his sperm leaking out of her.
"It was something I saw on TV."
Without another word she leaned back so that her head was between his feet. His softening cock popped out as she did so, and limply leaned against her thigh. As she closed her eyes and fell asleep her lips curved into a smile as she felt him grow hard again. She also knew that he was propped up on his pillow and being kept awake by the delicious display between her parted legs.
The nights when she would recall this dream she would slip her hand down under the covers to her soaking wet sex and ask herself the same question: was that other woman a part of her imagination, or did she share the dream with another woman who is just as real as she is? It was those times that she would tell herself that the woman really did exist, and that in some way, as Sharon came, she would tell herself that her orgasm was a gift to the other woman.