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From: Delta Venus <delta_venus_x@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Dreaming With Eyes Open by Delta Venus
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Date: Fri, 12 Feb 2010 10:10:01 -0500
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Dreaming With Eyes Open
  by Delta Venus

Copyright 2010


The first two times she had the dream, she didn't remember it. She
woke up in a sweat, feeling the sensual languor of passion taken to
its conclusion, so she knew the dream was erotic, even though she
could not recall a single detail of what she had dreamed. She had
certainly had sex dreams before, and everyone has woken from a dream
they can't remember, even though they are certain they were dreaming,
so she thought nothing of it, other than momentarily wishing she had
remembered so she could have more thoroughly enjoyed the obvious
intensity.

The third time she had the dream, she did remember, and it was
strange. Normally her dreams about sex took the usual forms, the stuff
of stereotypical pop psychology. The taboo interracial fantasy, with
dark desires represented by the dark flesh of her dream lover. The
gentle rapist, nothing like a real one, using only enough force and
restraint to dispel repressive guilt about the enjoyment of sex - I'm
not dirty, he made me enjoy myself! Often these dream lovers were
faceless, but they had form and substance. The settings were purely
fantastical, like the perfectly secluded beach with no other people
present, and warm, white sand that never sticks unpleasantly to parts
you'd rather it didn't. These, too, had substance.

This dream had none. Her lover was completely formless, not just
faceless. There was no scenery or setting, nothing visual at all.
Purely sensation, touch and feel, all the other elements missing. It
was enough. More than enough. She woke again in a sweat, spent. She
had experienced orgasm in a dream before, but it had been rare, mostly
her dreaming had stayed warm and sensual, mildly arousing, but never
getting anywhere near a climax. This one had swept her away, up
through the peaks, slowing just long enough to enjoy each new plateau,
before rushing on to plunge quickly over the precipice at the edge
into total ecstasy.

The fourth time the remembrance was vivid, and disturbing. Her
formless lover knew her body better than she did herself, and used
every bit of this knowledge to give her pleasure. He, and it had to be
a he, knew just the place to nibble on her neck. His hands knew the
light touch at the back of her knee that sent shivers up her spine. He
knew that she didn't enjoy attention to her ears, a subtle but solid
turn-off, and a common mistake made by lovers in her past. His skill
at manipulating her nipples was exquisite, how could he know they were
too sensitive at first for anything but the lightest touch, then as
they hardened and swoll, begged for rough pinches and to be clenched
tightly between teeth?

He especially knew the exquisite pleasure of a teasing first contact.
The feel of his hard member poised at her entrance, just barely
touching her slightly parted lips with its velvety tip, held there for
a brief instant of eternity. Then a sudden savage plunge inside,
stabbing deep into her, a sensual shock to the system she responded to
with animal intensity. His every touch perfection, knowing when to be
soft, gentle, caressing; when to apply pressure, firm, demanding; when
to be strong, rough and insistent. He played her like a finely tuned
instrument, and the music made was passionate, the performance purely
carnal.

Her body was wracked with climatic contractions so intense as to kink
her hair and curl her toes, when she woke. No, she didn't! She had
been awake already, she was sure of it! How? How could she be dreaming
such an intense dream, yet be awake? She lay exhausted in bed, glowing
in the aftermath, but a little disturbed. It must have just seemed
like she had been awake, she finally convinced herself, as she drifted
back into the arms of Morpheus. She woke again, when the alarm went
off.

She thought about the dream all that day, distracting thoughts of it
wouldn't leave her alone. She tried to shake the feeling that she had
been awake for the whole thing because she just couldn't get her mind
around how that could be, but the feeling was persistent. Was she just
fantasizing, could it have just been an intense day-dream? Was
something wrong with her, could she be losing her grip on reality?
Could it have simply been a dream about being awake, intense in
emotional impact because of its seeming reality, but still simply a
dream? She had a tough time getting to sleep that night, worried about
having the experience again, finally dropping off from nervous
exhaustion. She did not have the dream that night.

In fact it was three nights before she had the dream again. Except
this time she was absolutely certain it was no dream, because she
hadn't yet fallen asleep when it began. The first gentle touches
frightened her, because she was quite awake. But they were so gentle,
yet insistent, that she just couldn't stay scared, and she yielded to
the moment. More than a moment, because it went on for so long. She
and her dream lover made passionate love for most of the night,
exploring the limits, reaching for unknown heights.

Strange heights, though, because while it was a shared experience, it
was also almost exclusively things happening to her. Her lover still
had no form. Sure, there were fingers, fingers that danced magic
across her belly and thighs, that pinched her nipples when they needed
to be pinched. There was a mouth, a hungry mouth that devoured her
kisses, that licked and nibbled at her swollen clit at just the right
time with just the right energy. There was penis, a hard throbbing
dick that rubbed across her mound, then plunged the depths of her
pussy like no other man's cock ever had.

But these things weren't there! When she tried to hold her lover's
hand, it wasn't there to clasp in hers. When she tried to kiss her
lover's mouth, rather than just be kissed, there were no lips to part
with her probing tongue. When she tried to take her lover's cock, so
she could guide it where she wanted, to her mouth, to her ass, there
was no hard rod to grasp. Yet the fingers, tongue, and hard throbbing
rod that were not there all did their magic to her, and fucked her
senseless.

After the passion played out, she lay in her bed, exhausted and
confused. She felt like she should be frightened, because she had no
idea just what the hell was happening to her, but she just couldn't
find the energy to be scared, and her dream lover was far too knowing
and gentle to be frightening anyways. She fell asleep, and awoke in
the morning quite refreshed, more certain than ever that whatever was
going on was no dream.

But what, then? A vivid fantasy? Well, vivid was the right word, for
sure. If fantasy, it was more real than any she had heard of, or ever
had herself. It certainly wasn't intruding on her "real" life.
Insanity? If she was going nuts, it certainly was a pleasant way to go
out of her mind. She wasn't acting out, causing problems, or unable to
fend for herself. If it was insanity, who wanted to be sane? It wasn't
until she was at work that day, at the library, that she knew. One of
the patrons had asked "Where can I find the ghost stories?" Ghost
stories! It clicked. It fit. Her lover was a ghost! She was certain of
it.

Thoughts of what she should do ran through her head the rest of the
day. She should report this haunting to some scientific group, let
them learn about real spirits, learn the truths about life after
death. Forget that! She should get some proof herself, sell it to the
tabloids for millions! Go on TV. CNN. Run for the hills! Tell someone.
Tell no one. Call a psychic. Write a book. Get an exorcist. Get a
publicist.

*  *  *

That night, as she lay dreamily in bed with her eyes open, enjoying
the pleasant afterglow of the best sex she had ever had, she knew what
she had to do...


Absolutely Nothing!


       DV

http://deltavenus.smutisp.com/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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