Sleeping Beauty's Dream Came True

I had been lurking around the darker side of reddit for a long time. I did occasionally post things about myself, such as little snippets of my most shameful fantasies, or photos where you couldn't see my face.

I even had a couple of conversations with strangers, trying to build my confidence to actually tell someone what I wanted. But, even on a throwaway account, posting in these places seemed dangerous. Considering meeting someone, to me, seemed insane.

Most of my posts were quickly deleted, new contacts blocked the minute I stopped feeling horny, and the shame of what I had written came rushing in.

I had a couple of feeble attempts at exploring BDSM in real life. I even went to one of those clubs once, for an introduction event for newbies.

I wish I could say I went there with the same confidence I tried to exhume whenever I roleplayed online. But in reality, I spent most of my time there sitting at a table, nervously holding on to my cup of coffee, trying not to blush whenever someone would look at me.

Even though I tried to not draw attention, my very obvious shyness seemed to attract certain men.

Some of them came over to introduce themselves, to ask if I was new, and if I was doing ok. Part of me was excited, but mostly I felt terrified. A 32-year-old woman, sitting there in a pink skirt, hair in pigtails - I felt silly for dressing so innocently. I felt like everyone could see through me,like they knew why I came there in the first place. Like they could all tell what I wanted all of them to do to me - if I could only say it out loud.

But I couldn't, and I ended the night by excusing myself to use the restroom, and sneaking out the backdoor before anyone could stop me.

Home alone in my apartment I cursed myself for how I acted. I'd had so many opportunities, and all I could do was nod and smile, then run away like a frightened animal.

In frustration I sat down to write a story, one where I would try to be honest about what I really wanted. I knew I'd get a lot of responses, my posts usually do. Sometimes I reply, teasing the stranger on the other side of the screen. Toying with the idea of telling them my address, but never seriously considering it.

This time was different. I needed to do this, for real. I made myself a promise that if anyone even remotely close to where I lived replied to my post, and they said the right things, I would go through with it, no matter what.

That brings us to now.

You read my story, and something about it piqued your interest. There are plenty of stories here, but something about the way I write made you message me. You probably thought I'd help you cum. That you could use my filthy mind to get you off, and then forget about me. You never considered that I'd be one of the very few who were serious. Whose story wasn't really a story, but an ad, for someone like you to apply to. A script, for what I wanted someone like you, to do to me.

My story is about a seemingly innocent girl. A girl who blushes at the thought of a stranger seeing her naked. A girl with a secret. In my story the girl stops locking her door at night,. leaves her window ajar,. walks home alone, without checking over her shoulder, and sleeps without a blanket, wearing nothing but a thin pair of cotton panties.

In my story there's a man, who sees the girl. Who covets her, and watches her. Who follows her home, and night after night, comes closer to climbing through her window.

But not all of my story is true. Because I don't want you to be an intruder. I don't want you to be a creeper in the night who stalks women and breaks into their homes. I don't want you to be someone who hates women. What I want is someone I can trust, someone who could bring my deepest, darkest fantasies to life.

My story gets a lot of attention. It makes all the creepy crawlies come out of their dark hiding places.

"Hey slut I want to rape your holes."

"How old r u?"

"Have you ever been raped?"

"Tell Daddy about your trauma baby."

I ignore them all, nothing new, nothing original. No one says the right things. Then your message appears. Yours is polite. You tell me you''ve been told you have a nice voice, and you like to record yourself. If I want, you could talk me through my fantasies. You end with, "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

I've never done that before. I'm intrigued, and I reply, "Hi. This sounds interesting."

And you say, "I'm glad you like my proposal. Where can we talk?"

I give you my telegram, the one which doesn't have a single contact, yet has been given to so many guys the last couple of months. All of them blocked after our initial brief encounter.

We write back and forth. You ask me if I could confirm that I'm a girl. You tell me you don't feel comfortable with men, and that a lot of "girls" turn out to be horny guys pretending. You make a point of telling me I don't need to show my face or anything. You suggest I could send an audio of my voice. Or a photo of something else.

I feel a little bold, curious about you, so I send you a photo, showing my shoulder, and my hair. I type, "I guess a horny guy could have shoulders and long purple hair too, but I hope this might be enough to show you I'm a girl".

I see you writing your reply. A laughing emoji.- "It's ok", I believe you." you say.

I ask you if you could confirm you're a guy. I'm joking, but I want to know more about you. I see you recording an audio message, and I'm a little nervous. What are you going to say?

I press play, and the sound of your voice surprises me. You have an accent, I think it's Spanish. I notice I'm blushing, though you're not even saying anything embarrassing. You're not even trying to seduce me. You're just a guy, with an accent, saying hello. Telling me you're glad I added you, and that it's probably not very original, but you love my hair.

We keep sending each other messages. You tell me you think I'm a good writer, and I'm flattered. You start sending me more audios. You ask if maybe I feel comfortable sending them too, but say it's ok if I don't.

I'm not sure if I'm comfortable. I've never liked the sound of my own voice. I've never let anyone on reddit hear my voice before. I'm too nervous to use the audio message function on telegram. I record a message for you on my phone instead. Listen to it several times, making sure I sound right before I send it.

We talk for so long, about movies, comic books, and music. I forget about my story, and why you added me. When you shift the conversation towards what I wrote, I start feeling embarrassed. I let my guard down with you, because your voice is soothing, and you're funny.

But what I wrote isn't funny at all, and I start regretting this whole thing. Why have I spent over 2 hours talking to a stranger who's turned on by the thought of creeping through my window, finding me sleeping and completely vulnerable. I feel like you're testing me.

Your audios keep getting flirtier, but it's like you know you might scare me off, if you go too far, so you're just treading the water - seeing how far you can go, without spooking me.

You ask me; "Would you want me to continue your story? To tell you what would happen if I did climb through your window?"

I can't help but blush. Even in my story I couldn't quite finish it. I wrote till I got to the part where the stranger is in my room I'm asleep, and he moves towards the bed. I wanted to finish the whole story, but even on paper I couldn't be completely honest.

I hadn't written about how I wished you'd gently sit on the edge of my bed. How I wanted you to look at my body, to quietly, and ever so softly, run your hand down my side. I wanted to write about how I wanted you to explore my body. How you'd be so careful not to wake me, when your hand found its way between my legs, touching me through the fabric of my panties.

My mind wanders, and you text me, "Are you still there?"

"Yes", I reply. Writing now because I'm suddenly too self-aware to speak to you. "I want to know what happens."

You take a long time recording something. I stare at the chat, waiting for your audio. When it finally comes, I'm hesitant to listen, but I press play anyways. Your voice fills my room.

"I watched you for weeks. Did you know that? Ever since I saw you for the first time. That day you wore a pink skirt. You probably don't remember, but I spoke to you. On the bus. I asked you what time it was. When you got off at your stop, I followed you. You were looking at your phone, with your headphones on, and I could have walked right up to you, without you noticing. But I kept my distance, making sure I saw which door was yours. Noting that you live on the first floor. Did you know there's a bench right across the street from your front windows? I sat there all evening. Watching until you turned off the lights, and went to bed.

"I came back the next night. You were in your kitchen, wearing ridiculous pajamas. They had bananas on them. I liked watching you. You made popcorn and watched a movie. I wish I knew what movie it was. I have a feeling it was a scary one, because you looked frightened. And halfway through, you turned on the lamp next to the sofa. Maybe you were scared of monsters, or ghosts. Something creeping inside your house. I wanted to go to you, to protect you from whatever it was on that screen that made you scared of being alone in your apartment.

"When you turned off the TV and got ready for bed, I crept around the corner of your house. I worry about you. You don't even have a fence. Anyone could enter your garden. I stood there in the dark, hidden from view. Watched you enter your bedroom. Your room faces the garden, and beyond that is just the brick wall of the building next to yours. Maybe that's why you don't have curtains. Or maybe you don't have them because you want to be seen. Maybe you've waited a long time for someone to notice you."

The audio ends, and before I get a chance to be worried there isn't more, I see you've sent me another one. And the app tells me you're still recording. I'm relieved, your voice has me hooked on the tale you're weaving, and I need to know what happens next. I've been in my office the whole time, sitting by my desk.

Before I listen to your next audio I move to my bedroom. I laugh a little because I am actually wearing ridiculous pajamas. Not with bananas on them, but strawberries. My bedroom window doesn't face a small garden, or a brick wall. It faces the ocean.

I glimpse outside, seeing nothing but darkness, and the small glimmering glows from the fairy lights I've hung along the path from my house, to the beach. I walk to my bed, kick off my slippers and lie back as I hit play on your next message.

"I keep coming back to your street. You're home most nights. You're a creature of habit, and I soon learn your routine. You watch a movie almost every night, and most nights you pick a scary one. I wonder why you like to be scared. The movies always make you sleep with the hallway light on.

"I think you're afraid of being alone. But you don't have a dog. You don't seem to lock your front door at night, and you don't have curtains. I wonder if it's all for me. If somehow you know I'm out here, and you're trying to tell me you want me to come inside.

"I don't want to come through your front door though. I've been waiting for the weather to turn warm, for you to leave your bedroom window open. And one night you finally do - and I know it's an invitation.

The audio ends, but the next one plays automatically as I relax and close my eyes. I don't write anything to you, I just listen to the story you're telling me. My story. With my eyes shut it's like you're there in the room with me. My hand moves to my pajama shorts, untying the waistband, moving down between my legs. Slowly rubbing my pussy through the fabric of my panties. It's no surprise I'm wet.

You're saying the right things.

"Your window slides open without making any noise, and just like that, I'm standing in your bedroom. I've waited patiently for so long. I've wanted to know what you look like when you sleep. I could never see your bed from my spot in the garden, but now I see you clearly. All of you.

"There's a thin blanket draped across your hips. You're wearing your pajamas, even though in your story you were only wearing panties. I like this better. You look innocent. Your hair draped across the pillow.

"You don't stir as I make my way towards your bed. I'm close enough to touch you now. But I want to watch you for a while. You're on your back. I see the outline of your breasts through your top, your chest rising with each breath.

"I sit on the edge of your bed. Holding my breath. Hoping I won't wake you. You sleep deeply. I notice a pill bottle on your nightstand - sleeping pills. I smile. I wonder why you take them. Is it to be able to sleep peacefully, even after watching all those scary movies. Is something haunting you? Or did you do it for me? Because you knew I'd come, eventually?

"I feel bolder, knowing you're sleeping soundly. I touch the edge of your blanket. Slowly pulling it off, revealing your body. You're beautiful. Your skin is pale, and it looks so soft. I need to touch you. Smell you. Taste you. Your hair is covering half your face, and I carefully brush it aside.

"You snore lightly, it's cute. My hand moves down to your shoulder. My fingertips barely brushing your arm, your side, your hip. You don't stir. I lean down and breathe in the smell of your hair. It's intoxicating. I've watched you for weeks, and I've never been this close to you. I feel impatient, but I take my time. I have all night to make you mine."

Your audios keep auto-playing, and I wonder if you want me to reply. To tell you I'm enjoying them. That I'm touching myself to the sound of your voice. But I don't want to break the spell, so I just keep listening. I don't open my eyes either, but I push the fabric of my panties to the side, to touch myself. To soak my fingers in the wetness.

I know my toy is on the nightstand, and it would make me cum in seconds because of what your story has done to me. But I don't want to use it. I use my fingers instead, gently rubbing my clit, as I listen to you continue your story.

"Everything about you is perfect. I've watched other girls, but none of them were like you. None of them could keep my attention for long. And none of them ever invited me inside, like you have.

"I run my hands down your legs. When I touch the inside of your thigh you shift slightly, just a tiny movement, but it startles me. I look at your face, but your eyes are closed. Your legs have slightly shifted, the right one pulled up and a little to the side, making it possible for me to see you're not wearing anything underneath your pajama bottoms.

"The sight of your pussy makes my heart beat faster. I move the fabric to the side. I need to know what you taste like, but I'm afraid I might wake you too soon.

"I shift a little, take my hand and touch the side of your face - no reaction. I think I'm safe, so I gently move your legs, spreading them wider, making room for me to sit between them. I move your shorts out of the way. I'm surprised to find you wet, your lips glistening in the light from the hallway.

"I kiss the inside of your thighs - no reaction. I kiss your knees, your stomach. The smell of you drives me wild, but I restrain myself. I need to take my time, to make this last. I'm desperate to see all of you, so I start pulling on your shorts, slowly.

"You don't shift at all, even when I lift your feet to get them off. I want to see all of you, so I pull up your top. I've spent so many nights wondering what you'd look like without your clothes on. You never got changed in your room, so the most I ever saw of you was you wearing pajamas. Or the one time you walked into your bedroom wearing only a towel. I thought about that a lot.

"You're more beautiful than I could have imagined. Your breasts are full. They look soft, even paler than your impossibly pale legs. I need to know what they feel like, so I cup them with my hands. They are so soft. Perfect. I carefully run my thumbs over your nipples, making them hard. An almost silent sigh leaves your lips, and I stop what I'm doing. But you're still sleeping, so I keep going. I pinch them, but not hard. I lean over and run my tongue across your nipple, take all of it into my mouth, and suck on it. I hear your breathing change, but still you don't open your eyes.

"I'm so hard the tightness of my pants is painful. I stand up to undress. Shedding all of my clothes and leaving them on the floor before I get back in between your legs. All of you exposed, all of you laid bare, for me.

"My fingers touch your lips. Spreading them, seeing how wet you are. I want to make it last, but I need to taste you.

"I bring my face close to your pussy. While I look at your face for any sign of you waking, I take your clit into my mouth. Your taste drives me wild. But I go slow. My tongue gently circling your clit. You're breathing even faster. When I slide a finger inside you, you moan, softly. All I can think about is taking you.

"The warmth of your pussy on my lips, on my fingers sliding in and out of you. My cock is throbbing, I need to have you. I sit up. I get on top of you. I slide my cock up and down, soaking it in you. I feel myself shaking in anticipation, and I can't wait any longer.

"I slide the tip in and feel how tight you are. You're soaking wet, but I still feel myself stretching you as I push all the way inside you. I can't help but let out a moan. You feel so good. Any thought of holding back, of making this last, leaves my mind the second I'm inside you. I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. I don't care if you wake up.

"I lift both your legs to get even deeper inside you. You whimper, and your eyes flutter - but you don't wake up. I moan loudly, as my cock slides in and out of your pussy in long strokes. I've never felt anything like this in my life. My fingers are digging into your hips, hard. So hard it will probably leave bruises

"I go faster. I need to cum deep inside you. I'm breathing heavy, sweat running down my back as I fuck you harder. I'm sure you'll wake up, but I don't care. I feel myself about to cum, and my body shakes as I slam into you. A shudder runs through me and I collapse on top of you as I pump you full of hot, sticky cum.

"My face is right next to yours, and as I lay there, trying to catch my breath, you open your eyes and look straight into mine. You smile at me, kiss me, and whisper, thank you."