Dreams of Sand

A droplet of perspiration appeared and ran right down Louise's left breast to hang right at the end of her nipple.

"Look at that," said Sandra with a giggle and she traced the path the droplet had taken with her right index finger down the smooth skin of Louise's breast.

The touch of Sandra's finger on her nipple was electric to Louise. Sandra's finger did not leave the nipple straightaway but, instead, with the very end of her finger she spread the moisture around and around the nipple causing it to harden even more than it already was. The feeling was good.

"You have pretty breasts, Louise," said Sandra.

"I wish mine were big like yours," Louise said in reply reaching out to hold one of Sandra's in her hand, moulding it in her hand, lifting it and feeling its size.

A small stream came running out from the island's interior, the heat was making the girls thirsty and they knelt and drank deeply, the water running down their faces and onto their chests. Both at the same time reached out to brush the water off the others' breasts but found it difficult to take their hands away. Louise squeezed Sandra's long dark nipples.

"That feels nice," said Sandra, "perhaps we shouldn't have left Anton so quickly I do so feel like sex. This dream always makes me so wet."

Almost without thinking Louise's hand touched Sandra's thigh, quite high up. It was damp. Her fingers slid higher and rested on the patch of fur. Sandra in turn touched Louise's breasts again. The girls looked at each other and kissed. It was a surprise to both.

"Well, it's only a dream," said Sandra.

Louise nodded in agreement. Her hand touched soft wetness.

The girls rolled together on the warm sand. Anton forgotten.

Louise awoke feeling sweaty and sticky from her recent dream and very real orgasm. She sat up in bed remembering, remembering the very different turn the dream had taken. She coloured. It would be difficult looking Sandra in the face at work in the morning after what they had just done. Louise had never... but, she reasoned, she hadn't really had sex with another girl—it was just a dream. Nice though.

In the event, Louise had not really been embarrassed. Sandra had, unusually, given her a peck on the cheek and they had giggled a lot about the dream, about the odd turn it had taken, and how cross Anton had been standing there all alone on the beach as they had rowed away, his loincloth flapping in the breeze. The two of them agreed to do just the same thing the next time they were in 'Anton's dream.' They didn't see him that day.

A dreamless night for the girls followed. Sandra was a bit subdued the next day. Louise got out of her that she and Colin had had a bit of a row and he was off now on business for a week. Louise held her hand and gave her a hug and suggested a girls' night in at her place.

That evening Louise let Sandra in and immediately Sandra threw her arms around her neck and hugged her. "Louise," she said releasing her and looking her in the eyes, "you are so good and... you are looking really pretty this evening." And she kissed her, just a light brush on the lips.

Louise was momentarily surprised but, almost without thinking, she kissed Sandra back on the lips, her arm coming up to pull her to herself. Their lips parted and tongues touched.

"Louise, it's like the dream. I want to touch you."

Clothes lay littered on the bathroom floor; the shower ran, hot and steamy as the two girls soaped and explored each other—for real. Soapy, slippery nipples touched as the girls kissed beneath the hot spray of the shower jet; hands soaped smooth buttocks; gentle fingers crept into secret hair; fingers stroked before sliding and slipping within; they dried each other with warm fluffy towels before falling onto the bed to kiss nether lips and for tongues to tease little buttons.

Lying in each other's arms, glowing from their climaxes, so comfortable with the softness of each other's body, the girls took stock.

"I never thought..." said Louise.

And the more they talked, the more they realised they had not, had not had such a sexual feeling for each other before—or any other woman. It dawned on them this must be because of the dream—they had not felt like this until they had taken the red rowing boat, and rowed across to the other island.

"Perhaps once we lift Anton's loincloth, not that that excites me now, we'll be... as before."

"Straight not lesbian," said Sandra.

"Do we want to be?"

It was a question they left to see what would happen. Sandra had not meant to stay the night but it was not surprising the two girls did sleep together, after more gentle lesbian sex.

They dreamt again. Finding themselves in sunlight, lying on the sand next to each other as if they were still in bed. The light was bright and the sand soft and warm. They stood and, hand in hand, looked about and saw the red rowing boat but it was not in its usual place instead it was half in the sea, half out and the right way up; and nor were they in the usual place for they could see across the water standing on the shoreline, Anton. They were still on the other island.

"Shall we row back and talk to him?"

"Or just roll on the sand and tease him that he can't touch us?" The creeping sexuality of the dream was already getting to the girls. It would be very easy to kiss and play. Very easy. They succumbed leaving Anton to stare at them from the other shore.

"You know you can't row back." Anton had actually spoken to them. It was unexpected. Normally there was no contact; they ignored him, a creep from another department who looked at girls.

"What do you mean, what are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly well," he turned to walk away, "you see, the current is too strong."

They watched him, open mouthed, as he walked away. The impact of his words dawning. Their change of sexuality was not an option, something they could change if they wished. Anton was implying, indeed saying, their new found sexuality was fixed. It was one thing to have a choice: quite another to have the decision already made.

That night, in bed together, they dreamed again. Of course they tried the boat. It was the first thing they did. But Anton was right.

Louise and Sandra set off pulling hard from the shore but found themselves getting no closer to the other island—no closer to the figure standing on the shore with his flapping loin cloth. They pulled hard for what seemed an age, arms straining, sweat running down their breasts, legs open and braced against the wood of the boat yet, eventually, had to give up. They were not going anywhere.

Out of the boat they could not keep their hands off each other, the sexuality, endemic to the dream, had steadily built as they strained at the oars and needed release.

"Anton, please." The girls had decided, despite Anton's now proven statement about the current, to ask him to restore their heterosexuality. They stopped him in the corridor. An eyebrow rose but there was the hint of a smirk. "We don't know what or how you've been doing what you have but please bring us back to your island."

"I don't know what you are talking about." He had replied with a sly grin.

"We'll do anything," said Sandra.

Anton looked at them both and raised his eyebrows, "Anything?"

The import was obvious.

The girls looked down at the floor. "Yes," they said. "We'll sleep with you."

"Well it was rather more what comes before sleep that interests me. Looking at a possible deal, what are the terms, how often or for how long, separately or together and which ways?" He was talking a lot now; they were almost surprised he could talk that much.

"Your terms," said Sandra, "you have the advantage of us."

"I hope so, I hope so."

"How can we get back?"

"You need more strength, I think."

"Can you give that to us?"

"Great bulging muscles? No, I don't think so. You need help. Strong men."

"Are you going to swim over and help us?"

"No, not enough extra strength and I don't want to be stuck there again; it needs a team with paddles all working together."

"You can bring other people into the dream?"

"Yes."

"Why us," asked Louise, "why us in the first place, why not some film star or model or..."

"Perhaps I have."

"So you'll dream up a team of men, have them swim across, get in the boat and row us back?"

"Yes and no. There is, of course, a rather significant problem as I am sure you can see."

The girls looked puzzled.

"I'll leave you to think about that."

The girls were back, back in their dream of sand but on the wrong island and with the red rowing boat still swinging in the surf on their shore as if accusing them of misdeeds. Hand in hand they walked along the shoreline.

"Let's explore whilst we are still here," said Louise, "can we walk around the island?"

Across the water, on the other island, they could see Anton and now, instead of a red rowing boat there was a blue boat in its stead. There was another figure, Anton was not alone, coming along the shore was another person, a naked person and her very large chest showing she was undoubtedly female.

"He'll enjoy those," said Sandra, "I know I would."

As they watched Anton casually dropped his loincloth. Exposing himself clearly unnerved the girl, for she turned and ran. Anton's action could not, of course, have been mistaken, an intention to intercourse, because he was so very obviously erect. The girls watched the chase for a time. The girl's boobs bouncing completely out of control as she ran and Anton with his outsize erection similarly swaying as he ran after her.

The girls walked on leaving the other islanders behind, the shoreline curving before them, the palm trees waving and the sea a brilliant blue.

"I wonder what the centre of the island, away from the beach is like?" Sandra mused.

Louise threw herself down on the warm sand and closed her eyes.

"It really is lovely here." She opened her legs to the sun. "Just a little rest and we can explore some more like Robinson Crusoe."

Sandra crouched down to gaze between Louise's legs, "You're so pretty, Louise, delectable even." With a finger she gently brushed the sparse downy hair between Louise's legs causing her friend to tremble and her sex to open revealing the pink folds and moistness. "It's just like some exotic succulent fruit, all dripping with sweet juice and ripe for tasting. May I?"

Sandra's tongue touched, tasting Louise's flowing wetness and caressing the soft flesh.

"That's lovely, Sandra, perhaps this is what Anton means by there being a problem. Any endeavour, just planning to explore, is quickly overtaken by a desire for sex. Yes, that's right, just there. Oh, if Anton succeeds can't we just do this together sometimes? It is so nice."

The girl's pleasured each other in the hot sunshine forgetting Anton and whether he had yet caught the girl with the remarkable chest.

"Well?" asked Anton the next day.

"The men will be more interested in sex than rescuing us," said Louise promptly, "they'll just chase us and..."

"Fuck us," finished Sandra.

Anton's eyes looked upwards and he laughed, "no, they won't, you'll not interest them at all!"

"Oh," said Louise, "Won't they, why not, I mean... Ah, I see, if they're not gay already: they will be."

"Precisely; they'll all see it as just a dream, which it is, promptly forget about rescuing you and instead indulge themselves with themselves. They'll awake sometime later not a little surprised at the homoerotic path their dreams took them that night.

I think, though, there is a way to overcome the urge, something which can put off the desire for sex, something else strong, you might think excessive, in men—the desire to win.

I shall bring a rugby team I know into the dream, fifteen men and a substitute—that's two teams of eight. They'll come across in the blue boat and then the race will be who can get back first in the two boats with their prize."

"Prize?"

"You two, of course. It'll be easy enough to get them to row across, all I have to do is point out two naked girls on your island—the Isle of Lesbos," Anton laughed, "and they'll be in such a hurry to get over and fuck you I'll be knocked down in the rush; but once they get there, ah well, then their interest will switch to each other, not you; so the only way to get them to ignore those urges is to make it a competition; something they get so worked up about it will suppress their other interests; a race of the red and blue teams; best men win. I hope it'll work."

"And the winning team gets us both."

"Not quite. It wouldn't serve the purpose if a team realising it was not going to reach land first, and so was losing the race, to find its attention switching to the naked bodies in the boat and stop paddling and the current pull them back to your island as their interest turns to each other. That would get one of you home I agree but, no, the winning team is the one who gets back and fucks whichever one of you they are to rescue first—each team member! The competitive urge should bring you both back. I'm looking forward to seeing that."

It wasn't clear to Louise and Sandra whether it was the prospect of their return and success for his scheme, the competition and race itself or the prospect of watching the two girls thrown on their backs and vigorously fucked by eight men in turn that he was particularly looking forward to.

"And if all goes well what are your terms? How many times are we going to have to sleep with you?" asked Sandra.

"I was thinking of a year."

"A year!"

"Sex with you; both of you together or separately, however I want it, wherever I want it, however I want it. A deal?"

Sandra looked at Louise, the prospect was not good.

"A month," said Louise.

"Six months," said Anton, "and really you have no bargaining advantage at all. I think you need to accept this generous reduction with enthusiasm. Shall we begin tonight; I'd like to watch you together."

"Six months," said Sandra, "starting when you complete your side of the bargain of our delivery back on your island."

"Done," said Anton.

Once more the girls slept together—they were nervous at the prospect of the race, about the prospects for success; worried at the risk of failure—that one or both could be left after all on the wrong island; the inevitable roughness of the men's reward. The girls were tender to each other, their caresses sweet, and their kisses on all their lips loving.

The sand was as warm as ever; the light as bright, the blueness of the sky and sea startling, as always. Across the water the girls could see Anton in his loincloth and, as well, coming up the beach walking in a group, and looking around themselves in a daze, was the local rugby team. Louise and Sandra knew many by sight but had not seen them like this, a pack of naked men. They were large strong men. Anton was gesticulating at them, obviously addressing them and then pointing at the girls.

"Quick we need to wave, attract their attention," said Sandra.

The girls did their best to raise the team's interest, waving, calling, jumping up and down so their boobs bounced. Even at a distance the girls could see they were having an effect. They watched as Anton clearly was dividing them into teams, handing out paddles, explaining and encouraging them in the plan—the race—and then they were off, running and racing for the blue boat, turning it over and pushing it into the water and jumping into it. It was not designed for sixteen men and capsized. Sandra and Louise were horrified, but immediately the men had the boat righted and some got in whilst others swam and the boat and swimmers set off for their island and were swept along by the current.

It was a sight, sixteen men in the peak of physical fitness surging up the beach towards them with their cocks erect and hard to their front, cocks the two girls on their Isle of Lesbos had no interest in, yet needed because they wanted the race to succeed; success in the form of them being inseminated by eight of the men in enthusiastic succession. There would be no difficulty in entry, already the eroticism of the dream was making them flow. Instinctively they grasped each other's hands as the men pounded towards them—an unnerving sight—and then, disaster, the men slowed as if all of a sudden the attraction of the girls, as of a lodestone, was waning and being replaced by a very different magnet. The girls watched in disappointment as the men started to look at each other's bodies, fine specimens that they were, and particularly at the various penises all displayed in magnificent hardness. There was a tentative touching, a stroking, and a lifting of balls.

The girls were aghast. It was all going wrong. Only Julian Murray seemed immune, his eyes were still very much on the girls as he yelled, "Come on Red Team, grab the fair one. Come on, we can win!"

Julian had hold of Louise now, a hand unnecessarily clamped over a breast and then he pushed her forward and before Louise had realised he had pushed himself right into her and was fucking her.

"I thoughts Julian was gay," remarked Sandra.

"He is," said Louise. She did not like the attention and broke free and ran.

"Come on Red Team, she's getting away!" Julian called as he raced after Louise and, after all, the competitive instinct seemed to triumph for first one, then another of the Red Team came racing after Julian and then it came to the Blue Team that they would be the losers and they too released their holds on each other to move and grab Sandra, their object, and make for the blue boat.

Of course Julian's start meant the red boat was in the water first, Louise was tumbled in and the men began paddling to the far shore with enthusiasm. The current, though, was strong and progress slow, the men paddling hard, sweat standing out on their arms and chests as they worked. Just over half way across Louise found herself all of a sudden taking a lot more interest in the straining men, their lovely hard bodies and their various shapes and sizes of penis still wonderfully hard despite the paddling and running. But they were not making further headway. The team was tiring and failure was looming.

"Come on team," cried Louise, "pull harder for the shore, get us there and then you can fuck me... please," she said in her most winsome voice, opening her legs in encouragement so the men could see the promise. She used her hands to encourage, stroking the cocks, but not too much, as to have had just one spurting into the air would have been a disaster. Only Julian seemed not to respond by pulling harder and, instead, looked in dismay as Louise small hand rolled his foreskin up and down.

Louise's encouragement did the trick, as did Sandra's equivalent work in the other boat. As her red boat touched the shoreline Louise could see Sandra's head bobbing up and down on Martin, the prop forward certainly encouraging him—the blue boat was not far behind. But the Red Team had not yet won—there was a further heat in the race and Louise was now looking forward to it. The all pervading sexuality of the dream had got to her and the more so as she had played with her team's penises. Of course just reaching the island was victory for her and Sandra but she wanted fucking and the men in the dream would not stop without their reward irrespective of the team urge to win. The men were out of the boat carrying her the moment it touched shore. Then there was the issue of precedence—who went first? Julian was happy to let others push themselves forward and in the event it was James Norton whose great weight first pushed Louise into the sand and his penis first pushed into her. It was hardly unwelcome and nor were the successive mountings. Louise was as ready to rut as the men, her sex so wet and so desperately needing to be filled.