A Dream within a Dream

OMG! I lost my mind and didn’t add a little blur about this. This is a tiny jaunt into story telling with an erotic bent. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. 

It was a dream a within a dream. She slowly woke letting the dreams of the night float into her consciousness. Yet she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming of a dream or of the memory of a dream. Sometime in the middle of her sleep, in the dark she dreamed a dream within a dream. It buried down like a seed, slowly unwrapping as she awoke allowing it’s magnificence to be relived again.

It was powerful. This feeling of arousal, the building up and of the climax. That in itself was unusual. Typically these kinds of dreams wake her up just in the moment before utter destruction leaving her bereft of pleasure. She dreamed of waking up to the building pressure wash over her, of the electric shivers run up her spine and explode in her head. As she lay under the covers her nude skin caressed and touched by the smooth blanket, this arousal continued to build, prickling her body with want.

Gasping softly in wonder, she shattered in a million pieces. Pleasure rolled over her, though her, into her, pulsing, throbbing, aching and complete. But that was the dream. Her body was humming in contentment, of satiation. The ever present gnawing feeling was gone.

Could it be? Did she cum in her sleep and so completely? Wonder and amazement fills her as she goes about her day. How did this happen, she wonders. This only happens when she’s denied her pleasure of six months or more but never a finish and not quite this specular.

She lived her life of denial, of sexual denial with no one the wiser. Letting those frustrations build to the point she needs to let go of the control and play. Always alone, feeling safest alone to play with her body. The waves of pleasure she could extend and magnify would last her for months.

Yet she gave the power of her climaxes to another. He thought it would be easy to make her beg to cum. Oh, how little did they know! Months went by and never a whisper of a word, not even a whimper. Then he got devious. Edge yourself on the hour and maintain that burning fire, he instructed. Five days, five days of edging herself under the direction of a man had to be the root. Five days of doing what she never does, of exploring something that she could barely trust about herself, to be, to become. Hungry.

The sun rises higher in the sky and the satisfaction remains, annoyingly so. She sneaks off to the bathroom with a secret smile.


About Isabella LeCour

She is nothing more than the collections of thoughts placed into the virtual worlds. She is a poet, a mother, a lover, many things to different people. But mostly, she is nothing but smoke and mirrors - some ethereal thing that blinks in an out of existence.
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