A dream that I was to have again and again started the series of events that eventually led Mike and me to Susan. In the dream, another woman succeeded in seducing me. I had never been a girl who worries a lot, especially about dreams, but this dream did upset me. Before the dream, lesbianism had never held any attraction at all for me. I had felt as if my husband and other men were completely satisfying my sexual needs. Yet the dream changed all that.
At first, the dream was always the same. As it began, I stood naked at the door of a large, bright, airy room. A gentle breeze carried the scent of perfume to me. There was soft carpet beneath my bare feet.
A huge canopied four-poster bed stood at the far side of the room. A beautiful woman, wearing only the flimsiest of nightgowns, slept on the satin sheets that covered the bed.
For the first few moments of the dream, I stared at her. Her high cheekbones, slightly slanted eyes, and long, lustrous black hair gave her a Eurasian appearance. Her full lips added to her sensual appeal.
Her body fascinated me. Dark nipples at the center of her huge tits provided a sharp contrast to her light skin. Her tiny waist curved out into large, inviting hips that, in turn, gave way to firm, well-shaped thighs. Her cunt interested me most, of course. The dark, hairy beaver riveted my gaze. I couldn't take my eyes off the black curls that covered her slit. I leaned forward, as if to see more clearly, but it wasn't necessary. Her transparent nightgown hid nothing from my view.
I felt my cunt throb and my nipples harden. Small goosebumps of excitement rose on my shoulders and neck. My legs felt weak. All the signs of my own arousal were there for me to see and feel. I had never been stimulated by the sight of another woman, but the erotic allure of this woman got to me!
I wanted to look at her, to stare at her, but I also wanted to run away. I had seen naked women before, had even seen two women locked in a sixty-nine, eagerly lapping each other's cunts, but I had always turned away. Some of that distaste stayed with me in the dream, but not much of it.
Although I kept telling myself to leave, I didn't. Instead, I felt increasingly as if the woman's beauty were drawing me to her.
I felt afraid, uncomfortable, ambivalent, but I moved forward tentatively, a few steps closer. I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest from the excitement. My pussy throbbed with desire. As I moved closer, the woman seemed to sense my presence. She began to sleep more restlessly. Her arms stretched out as if she were reaching for something, but nothing was there.
Her legs moved slightly. They, too, seemed to be looking for something as she moved them apart and then together. She kept rolling about on the bed, legs apart, head thrown back, tossing and turning in her sleep. Then, her legs spread apart, she lay still.
Her restlessness had lifted her nightgown up high, way above her cunt. My searching eyes focused on the beauties of her exposed snatch. I could see large outer labes, well-defined under her black beaver. I could even see the pink edges of the small inner pussy-lips poking up at the center of her twat.
The woman continued to sleep, but she was far from inactive. Her hand wandered down to her cunt and she slowly probed into it with one finger. As her finger went into her hole, moisture dripped out of her cunt down the length of the finger.
She moaned slightly and I realized that she would awaken soon. Every time I had the dream, this was a moment of panic for me. For an instant, my fears nearly overcame my unfamiliar desires. I almost bolted and ran, but held my ground.
As I had feared, the woman awakened, roused from sleep by her busy finger. She blinked her eyes sleepily while her finger stayed inside her dripping cunt. Then she noticed me.
"Lori, I am glad you are here," she said.
Her way of speaking increased both her eroticism and her mysteriousness. She had a slight accent, but I couldn't place it. She was not an American, at least by birth, but where was she from? That mystery attracted me, but another mystery upset me.
How did she know my name? I had never seen her before. It was frightening. I stood there speechless, as powerless to speak as I was powerless to run. I wanted to talk, to ask how she knew my name, but no words came out.
Finally, I regained home control over myself. Old inhibitions came back, but they weren't strong enough to overcome my interest in the woman. I tried to cover my nakedness, but I didn't try to run. One hand moved up and, with little success, tried to cover my big tits. With the other hand, I covered my pussy.
It had been a long time since I had been modest about my body. In fact, I usually enjoyed showing it off, but to men, not to other women. At parties, there had been women around when I had stripped off my clothes, but I had ignored them. Men's appreciation of my body had more than made up for my uneasiness at having other women see me naked. But I was alone with this woman and something about the way she stared at me made me want to hide my nakedness.
"What are you ashamed of?" she asked. "Here, I'll make myself naked, just like you," she told me.
She stretched seductively, her arms going up high behind her head, her nipples pushing out hard against the sheer fabric of her negligee. Then, in one motion, she pulled the nightgown over her head and was naked.
There were more surprises to come. Without another word, she stuck her finger back into her cunt-hole and resumed finger-fucking herself even more vigorously than before.
I felt uneasy. There was a strange knot of anxiety in my stomach. Nevertheless, I gave up the hopeless task of trying to cover my nakedness. I dropped my hands and stood there while the woman fingered her cunt.
I wasn't sure if I enjoyed the sight. I had diddled my own twat, of course, and I had seen other women diddle theirs. Most women have fingerfucked themselves at one time or another in their lives. The problem was that I had never been alone with another woman while she or I diddled ourselves. There was something threatening to me about this woman fingering her snatch when she and I were so intimately alone in her bedroom.
"I do this all the time," she panted. "I like it," she added, as if that were explanation enough.
Her finger moved faster in her rosy gash. Her efforts sent juice dripping out of her cunt and down her thighs. As she approached orgasm, she lay back on the bed, her eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to everything but her determined fingering of her own cunt. Her breathing grew more labored and a slight flush spread over her body. Her hand moved more quickly. I felt the urge to flee, but paradoxically, moved closer.
Suddenly, she sat up. Her hand was still. For some reason, she had stopped herself just short of climax.
"I want to save my orgasm for you, my dear," she told me, breathing hard as she spoke.
I stood there speechless, frightened and attracted by her words.
"All right. Don't speak. But you are pretty enough so that you don't have to talk," she said.
She stared at me for a moment that seemed to last forever. "Such nice blonde hair – on your head and on your pussy, too. I like that. And I love your blue eyes. You are an attractive woman, Lori. You have large round tits and a pretty ass. And a good cunt, too."
The first few times I had the dream, I awakened at this point. Because no woman had ever talked to me like that, the shock was enough to awaken me.
Later, the dream went beyond that point. The woman called to me. "Come here," she said, beckoning in invitation. "Don't be afraid."
I was afraid. I stood still, unable, or unwilling, to move. It took a few moments for my desire to reassert its dominance over my inhibitions.
The woman kept talking to me, coaxing me. "You won't be sorry, I'll kiss those tender lips of yours, touch your tits, kiss them, and kiss your sweet pussy, too."
I stood still, frozen in my tracks. With men – whether with my husband or with other men – I had always been uninhibited, unrestrained. I had done many things and never been sorry. But I had never touched another woman or been touched by one. And now this woman had promised to lick out my cunt!
Given my past feelings, I should have felt revulsion. Her suggestions should have repelled me.
But they didn't. I felt fear, anxiety, but I felt a strong lust, too. I walked towards her bed, my lust moving my feet for me, almost against my will.
The woman continued to tell me what would happen. "I will make you feel better than you have ever felt before," she purred. "But you will repay me," she added. "I'll teach you how to lap my pussy."
I stopped at the side of the bed. Again, my past had reasserted itself I couldn't take that final step. I couldn't take the initiative and embrace the woman.
She stood up from the bed. She was a tall woman, even taller than my five feet, eight inches. She grabbed me firmly by each arm and pressed me down on the bed.
I lay back on the sheets. They felt cool against my naked flesh. I lay there rigidly at first, my body reflecting the ambivalence in my mind, the struggle between inhibitions and desire.
"Relax, my dear," she said softly. Then she began to massage my flesh, not my cunt and tits, but the rest of me – my arms, neck, and stomach. Her touch was gentle and I relaxed.
She concentrated on my belly for a while. Gradually, she moved lower and lower, inch by inch. When she was about to reach my blonde muff, she dropped her hand all the way down and tried to part my thighs. I resisted briefly, then gave in.
As my legs spread, she gently rubbed my thighs, then moved up towards my gash. Her hand caressed the hair on my cunt, then parted it. One of her fingers darted into my hole. I moved inside an inch or two, then, as I spread my legs wider, slid easily inside.
The woman withdrew her finger and transferred the cunt-juice on it to my clit. I felt a surge of warmth spread from my clit as her finger touched it.
"There. Now you are properly relaxed," the woman told me. As she spoke, she continued to rub my clit; the surge of warmth spreading from the tiny shaft turned into a wave of hot pleasure that began to engulf me.
While she fingered my clit, the woman leaned forward and kissed my belly. Then, her tongue moved down to the top of my beaver, playing in the curly blonde hair.
I made the first sounds I had made since the dream had begun, but they weren't sounds of protest. I began to moan and whine with pleasure and need.
"Ohhh, God. It feels so good. Soooooo good," I moaned. "Faster, faster," I urged, my inhibitions forgotten.
Finally, her finger increased its speed. Then, just as I felt close to orgasm, her tongue parted the wet hair above my hole and moved to my cunt. She ran her tongue along the moist outer pussy-lips. Then she tongued my clit. The first gentle probing of her tongue against the sensitive little clit gave me one of the most exquisite sensations I have ever felt or, in that case, imagined. My husband, Mike always ate my pussy well. Other men often used their tongues expertly cm my snatch. But nothing had ever felt like that woman's tongue on my clit.
The dream never went beyond that point. I awakened, my cunt soaked, my muscles contracting, but my hole empty. Usually, I woke my husband up and asked him to fuck me or to lick my pussy. The dream worried me and I wanted to have him to help me banish the memory.
"What is it, Lori?" Mike would always ask when I awakened him.
"Just a nightmare," I would answer.
"About what?" he would ask.
"Someone trying to kill me," I would answer. Or I would make up something else that had nothing to do with the subject of my dream. I didn't think he would appreciate the truth very much. He had never encouraged me to join the lesbian scene at the parties we attended.
Mike always told me that I needed exercise, that if I were more tired when I went to sleep, I wouldn't have bad dreams. I always laughed and said something flippant like, "Give me some exercise." Then we would fuck and, eventually, I would be able to forget about the dream for a few minutes.
No man had ever fucked me the way Mike fucked me. He was a big, handsome, muscular, self-assured man. His tanned, rugged face, jet-black hair, and powerful body made him attractive to me, but, on balance, what turned me on most was his big cock. His cock had to be at least ten inches long. I had never measured it with a ruler, but my mouth and cunt had compared it to many other cocks and all had been found lacking.
Even Mike's big cock, however, was hard-pushed to banish that dream from my mind. At first, as his big prick rocketed in and out of my cunt, part of my mind was elsewhere, on the dream, at least until I had begun to come.
Only as I climaxed did I forget the dream. "Oh, Mike, fuck me!" I would shriek, not only because he was making me feel good, but because he had made me forget that disturbing dream.
After my orgasm had subsided, however, I couldn't relax because the dream came back to bother me. It felt good when Mike fucked me, as it always did, but once I began to have the dream, I didn't feel as totally satisfied as usual. There was still some ill-defined, left-over craving in my cunt.
What did I want? Did I need another woman? Did I have lesbian tendencies that had never before emerged? Why had they taken so long to show themselves? Was something wrong with my marriage? I had thought it a good marriage. Mike and I both enjoyed fucking and sucking with others, but only at parties, never behind the other's back. We each enjoyed these additions to our basic sex routine, but our primary satisfaction had been with each other.
For weeks, I fooled myself. I told myself that the dream was just a harmless fantasy. Deep down, however, I felt a gnawing anxiety. I pretended it wasn't there, but the dream always came back to remind me.
I increasingly became aware of changes in my sexual feelings. I felt more and more dissatisfied each time Mike fucked me. It felt good when his cock was slamming in and out of my cunt, but after, when my orgasm had subsided, I felt as if I hadn't climaxed at all. At the one party we went to during the first weeks I was having the dream, I fucked three men. Their pricks, too, felt good pistoning in and out of my cunt, but, after I came, I felt the same vague dissatisfaction I had felt after Mike had fucked me.
At first, this dissatisfaction was the only sign of change in me. I tried to hide it and to make sure there were no other signs of change. Nevertheless, within a few weeks, I began to notice more extreme changes in my behavior.
The first sign that I was losing control over myself came when I met other women on the street or in stores. I looked them over much more carefully than I had ever done in the past. Often, I mentally undressed them. Somehow, I convinced myself that no one had noticed my strange behavior.
I even developed an elaborate rationale for my actions. I told myself that my behavior was natural, that the dream had only awakened my curiosity. Nevertheless, I couldn't really convince myself. I knew that if it was only curiosity that motivated me, I wouldn't have been so unsatisfied after men had fucked me.
As self-deception failed, I still told myself that no one else realized I had changed. After all, no one had said anything to me about my behavior, so I took this to mean that no one had caught on. Perhaps they hadn't, but soon I lost control of myself so completely that no one could have missed the signs.