Dreaming in Color Ch. 2byWritingDreams©
July 15, 2001, Continued
I ran down the stairs, not even noticing that my sweat-soaked cotton nightgown, usually quite prim, was now nearly transparent. I heard a step on the stair, and yanked open the door without checking first.
"Bonsoir, mon cher. Comment avez-vous été?" How have I been? He shows up tonight, after that dream, and wants to know how I've been?
"Je fais bien," I replied by rote, but my mind was churning. What are the odds that he'd show up on this of all nights? "What are you doing here?" I asked him, continuing in French.
"I was called."
"Summoned, beckoned, pulled. Comprenez-vous?"
I started retort, but could think of nothing to say. The sensual dream he'd been very much a part of was still too fresh in my mind. As if he heard me, Emil looked me up and down, and gave me his arrogant grin.
"Were you dreaming about me, ma petite? He took a step forward, and I moved back. "Was it good?" Another step. "Was I as good as you remembered?" His voice dropped to a deep, dark note, and I backed again in response. "Does he not keep you satisfied?"
"I—I…that's none of your business!"
"But it's mine," Another voice spoke.
"Phillip!" I squeaked, darting around Emil to his side. Rather than taking me in his arms, though, he looked down at me with hard eyes. "What is he doing here?"
"She called me," Emil supplied helpfully.
"I did not!" Both men simply stared at me. "Okay, so I had this strange dream."
"Dream? How very Freudian.'
"Shut up, Emil. It's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. Phillip and I are very happy together. You are a bastard, and I'm delighted to be without you."
"Then why are you dreaming about me?" he asked me seductively in French, which he knew Phillip didn't speak. "Did I screw you to the mattress? Did you call out my name when your new husband fucked you?"
"No," I drew back and hissed. It was too close to the truth for comfort. "Get away from me."
"You heard her," Phillip said, now staunchly at my side. "We're very happy together, and you are not needed."
"Prove it," Emil challenged.
"Huh?" I asked.
"Pardon?" Phillip looked equally confused.
"Touch your wife. Delight her. Bring her to la petite mort, climax. If you can, I will leave."
"We have no desire to flaunt our most private lives in front of you. Get out."
"You may not, but she does. Look at her face. Do you really have any idea of what goes on behind, in that wicked little mind?" Phillip turned to face me, hurt written across his face. Both sets of eyes bored into my head, Emil's triumphant, Phillip's wounded. "Tell me, little man, have you ever taken her arse? It's a plump little morsel, delicious, tight, and dark. She bucks like a little filly when you shove into her there, and she's on all fours beneath you. She loves it."
Phillip began backing away from me as if I were diseased. I whirled on Emil. "Shut up! You just shut up! God, you are such a bastard, Emil. Did you have to ruin this for me, too? Weren't you satisfied with making my life with you miserable, now you have to make my life without you miserable, too? Get this, I love him! So not everything is perfect. It's still exactly how I want it to be. Phillip loves me, and I love him. Not everything is fucking and screwing with him. We make love, Emil. A concept that you are unfamiliar with."
"And does he make you cum?"
"Honesty, dear. No one in this room will benefit from a white lie now."
I turned to look at Phillip. "Answer the question," he said, his voice harsh. Even as a pang shot through my heart, I felt a shiver of desire. I'd never seen him so forceful before.
"Sometimes I come," I said, still looking right at Phillip. "His tenderness delights me."
"But not all the time, does it? Sometimes you want to be taken like an animal, don't you?"
"God, no, Emil! Will you go now? I've answered your question."
"But I'm here to help, darling. Lover boy there may be the best in other ways, but he falls short in the bedroom, and I'm here to ensure that it doesn't happen again."
"Good deeds, Emil?" I sneered.
"Oui," was his only answer. "Now, both of you strip off."
"I—I can't," Phillip stuttered.
"Phillip," I crossed to him and moved my hand gently over the bulge in his pants. It was semi-erect, so I knew that something we'd done in the last few minutes had excited him. "You don't have to worry, love. You are so much larger than he is. You remember when you took me for the first time in my apartment? You remember how tight I was? That's because you are so huge. Really. His is a pencil compared to this enormous piece of meat you have in here. Go on, do it. I want him to squirm in envy. He's made us both miserable, let's return the favor." As I spoke, I could feel him hardening beneath my hand. "Hmm," I made a sound of pleasure and he jerked again. Slowly, I stepped back and, keeping my eyes on him, I started to pull my nightgown up and over my head. I was naked beneath.
"Very nice, love," Emil commented, but I ignored him and moved to Phillip. One hand raised the tee shirt and v-neck sweater he wore, the other unbuttoned his Dockers with dexterity born of practice and an actual love for this slow unveiling.
"Oh, yess," I hissed between my teeth as I drew his trousers down his legs, then bent to unlace his boots, putting me right at eye level with his cock. It was literally jumping out of his shorts in greeting. "Hello, there," I greeted my friend, close enough for him to feel the puff of my breath. The boots undone, I put Phillip's hand on my shoulder for him to step out of them, and out of his pants.
That completed, I drew his briefs slowly, ever so slowly, like an artist unveiling a masterpiece down strong legs, and thrilled when I heard Emil's gasp. When fully erect, Phillip is 11 inches, cut. His cock is a work of art! The color, shape and size is so perfect he could have delighted a whole room full of sculptors. I grinned and looked up at my husband. For the first time since he'd walked through the door, I saw him smile.
"Enough," Emil snapped. "This is not about you, but about what pleases her."
"But Emil, this does please me," I caressed Phillip's cock with a gentle hand. Suddenly a rough hand jerked me around.
"I said enough! Dare you to disobey me, little girl? How very naughty of you. You'll have to be punished."
A delicious little race of fear coursed down my spine and between my legs.
"No, you won't touch her!" said my white knight, tearing me from Emil's grasp.
"Oh, I had no intention of doing so. You'll do it. You'll do anything and everything she wants tonight. And you can tell she wants it. Feel her. I'll wager she's already soaking."
Phillip searched my face again, but I couldn't meet his eyes, so he bent slightly and maneuvered my legs apart. Then he slid one long, thick finger in between my lips. I gasped at the sensation.
Emil didn't say anything when Phillip drew a glistening finger from my body. He simply gestured him to the couch. "Over his lap, now love," Emil ordered.
"Wait," I cried. "Aren't you going to strip off? It's seems kind of unequal around here."
"I am merely a teacher."
"You said whatever pleased me. This pleases me." In truth, I wanted Phillip to see Emil's penis, to know that he was more than a match would restore some of his wounded ego, but I also wanted him to see…
"Holy mother of God," Phillip gasped behind me. Yup, that was what I wanted him to see. Turning, I caught the familiar sight of the sterling silver rod piercing the very top of the glans. "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Pain can bring pleasure, both to oneself, and one's partner. She liked the feel well enough. Now, enough stalling. Over his lap, now, like a good girl."
I moved to my husband's lap hesitantly. His thighs were wide and strong, corded with muscle. His cock was heavy and hard, and poked up at his belly, just begging me to straddle him and take him inside.
"None of that, now. I'm adding ten extra strokes for the impure thoughts," Emil said, pushing me down over my lover's lap. "That makes twenty, and if she squeals, you add one more. Now, spank her."
"I can't spank my wife! What do you think this is, the dark ages? We don't just take a strap to the womenfolk every time they fail to bring out the beer fast enough any more. This is the twenty-first century, or hadn't you heard?"
"I am woman, hear me roar," I muttered. "For god's sake, Phillip, just do it."
"You honestly want me to do this?"
"It's exciting. If you want, I'll do it to you later, just so that we aren't being gender biased, here. Now, spank me!"
He brought his hand to my bottom, and lightly tapped me, then again. I was getting antsy.
"Harder," Emil finally rescued me with the harsh order. "Hit her."
The next stroke was rougher, but not enough to cause the stinging I craved. I wiggled my bottom up to meet the next stroke. Finally, he got some heat behind the blow, and I squeaked, whether in protest or in relief, I couldn't say.
"Adding another. Count them off, little girl. Make sure you go up to twenty one. And start at one, since that was the first real spank."
"One," I cried as Phillip's hand came down again, harder this time. The blow landed on my right cheek. The next came harder, and harder, and each made me warmer. The heat from the spanks seemed to transfer itself to my cunt, making it gush. "Ten," I cried out.
"That's enough," Phillip said, sounding closer to pain than myself. "She's had enough."
"If you stop again," Emil leaned down threateningly. "I will double the strokes, and you will beat her 'til she bleeds, do you understand me? Good. Now, for the final strokes, put your finger beneath her so that your knuckle rests lightly on her clit, not enough pressure to make her come. Perfect, now, there are ten left. Go to it."
Number eleven was excruciating. Phillip had bigger and much heavier hands than I'd ever felt. Each stroke was like fire, and jerked my clitoris against his knuckle, sending me higher. Pain and pleasure, agony and delight. They wove together dancing to Emil's delicious tune.
"Eighteen," I cried, right on the edge, terrified that he'd stop again and leave me hanging there. "Nineteen. Oh, god Phillip, don't stop!"
"Twenty," I gasped out, and I could feel the tightening. I couldn't even speak for the twenty-first stroke, and almost died when I realized it was the last.
"One more," Emil said roughly. "You didn't call the number."
"Twenty-two," I screamed out in delight. As Phillip's hand came down on my fiery bottom, I exploded into oblivion again…
…and once again woke alone in my bed.
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