A Breath of Silk and Lace

In the darkness—a figure.
Large.
Looming.
Male.

Not bound—but frozen.
Was she floating?
The air—thick.
Viscous.

Strong hands were suddenly on her. Where were her clothes?

The figure was there. There was an aggressive pull at her hips, then her knees, then ankles. She’d been stripped of her panties. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t fight it.

Did she want to fight it?

There was a hand reaching toward her face. It pulled at her jaw, forcing her to open wide.
Smooth. Damp. It coated her tongue. Then more. And more.
Her mouth filled—invaded by silk and lace. She started to choke, to gag. She needed to breathe.

No choice. Just breathe and swallow.
Forced pressure. The hand continued cramming. She succumbed and drank it in.

She gasped—real air, real sheets. Awake, but still inside the dream.
Eyes opened, body still catching up.

A man lay next to her, the man from her dream—only he was real.
He sleepily reached over and gently scooped her by her hip, pulling her into him.
He engulfed her: she was barely a teaspoon to his ladle.

He exhaled as she settled in. A deep sigh billowed, and she felt his chest fall.
She was here, in his home, in his bed, and she just had a sex dream about him.

She slowly slid her hand behind her, so as not to wake him.
Aroused. Massive. Her fingers couldn’t meet. Her hand struggled to wrap around his girth.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

She couldn’t wait to tell her husband.