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Subject: Repost: Mercedes 4: Dream Girl {Morgan Preece} /C*R* 10/10/10/
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This story is intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you
are under 18, please stop reading immediately. If you are offended by
strong adult-oriented themes, explicit sex, erotic fantasy or vulgar
language, what are you doing here?

Copyright (c) 1996 by Morgan Preece




Mercedes



by Morgan Preece



Chapter IV
	

 
	Erotic visions filled my dreams. Odd, I thought, in one of
those lucid moments one has while dreaming, usually I dream of
spending someone else's money, driving fast cars and having expensive
things. But normally I get plenty of sex while I am awake.

	I dreamed of undressing Sylvia. She lay face down on a blue
satin coverlet on a wide, wide bed, wearing a tight-skirted evening
dress of red, red velvet. Black stockings with seams up the back ended
in nine-inch platform heels as crimson as her gown. Arms at her sides,
her fingers curled against her palms, red, red nails against the white
flesh. 

	Tenderly I lifted the mass of chestnut hair that seemed longer
and fuller than it had been in life, enough red-gold strands to drown
a man. I played with her hair for a moment, running it carressingly
through my fingers, tickling her bared shoulders with the ends. Her
earrings glinted gold on the blue coverlet, each hoop bigger than my
hand. A choker of black and red lace with rhinestones encircled her
throat, closed at the back of her neck with a pretty bow.

	Under the hair, a tiny, black enameled catch secured the top
of the evening dress's zipper.  Fumbling a little, I undid the catch
and slipped the zipper down to where her hips flared so beautifully
into the roundness of her ass. My dream self wandered into reveries of
round, round bottoms I have known. My loins ached with remembrance as
I pulled myself back to the presence of Sylvia.

	Pulling the dress open I saw the laces of her corset. Satiny
pink with a lacy white overlay, the cruel little undergarment had
squeezed her waist impossibly narrow, barely half the measure of her
full hips. Little bows adorned the knots holding the corset tight, for
each little corset lace ended in a length of pink ribbon. I bent my
face to rub my cheeks and lips against the soft femininity of the
ribbon bows. My fingers on the corset sensed the spring-steel stays
inside the erotic fabric. Her back, bowed by the steel, thrust her
buttocks upward toward me.

	Sliding the zipper lower revealed the bottom edge of the
corset and the cleavage of her ass. Red garters from a thin white and
red garter belt around her full hips just below the corset disappeared
into the dress. Two globes of white flesh peeked from the unzippered
gown like enormous misplaced breasts. I placed the tip of my tongue in
the top of that cleavage and traced her delicate spine from the bump
of her coccyx to the edge of the corset. The pleasured flesh trembled
in its bondage. My mind reeled and back and forth, replaying the lick
and shiver until my gonads wanted to scream.

	In the dream, I moved to turn her over. She did nothing overt
to help or hinder the action, but her body was neither limply
compliant nor rigidly resistant. Face up, her magnificent body
revealed itself anew. I dreamed that I stared at her as I had not
stared in the bar. I wanted the dream Sylvia more than I had wanted
the dream of her money. 

	The unzipped dress pulled down easily to her waist, the heavy
velvet richly exotic in my hands. The abundance of her revealed
breasts emerging from the top of her corset echoed the second cleavage
she had displayed from behind.  Pressed from the sides and below by
the corset, constrained by their satiny jailer, her globes bulged
roundly on her chest. Brown aureoles bigger than coasters showed
half-rounds above the corset and saucy nipples, redder than brown,
peeped from the pretty prison. I bent to tease the prisoners with the
tip of my tongue and found them already hardened by their captivity. I
tasted their delicate torture, delicious in its willing submission.

	With my dreaming eyes seeming so near the pillar of her
throat, I saw that paste gems, red, green, blue and white decorated
the front of the choker. Paste surely, for no one would wear real gems
of that size, so perfectly matched, except in a dream. 

	Realizing again that so I did dream, I lifted my gaze to her
face. Pale green lids closed her eyes and thick black lashes locked
them closed. Black brows arched like Parisian monuments on her marble
forehead. A blush like virgin spring touched the winter of her cheeks.
Her half-open lips, as velvet red as her gown, revealed two rows of
white teeth with the tip of a carnelian tongue trapped between them.

	Lifting my face to hers, I prised my tongue through the soft
gates of her lips. Her teeth parted and her tongue tasted cool and
sweet against mine. We dueled sweetly for a time and I felt the blood
rushing to engorge her lips as we bruised our passions against each
other. I felt my own blood move in my dram body, the heat of it went
to my head and my loins.

	The intensity and vividness of the dream shocked me. It seemed
more real than reality. Sylvia's lush body now stretched before me
like an erotic landscape, the forest of her hair, the mountains of her
breasts.... Now she receded from me like a television special effect,
a reverse zoom that left her a doll-thing on a satin pillow.... Now
her smell, of musk and strawberries, of spice and woman rushed to my
head like a drink of some strong liquor. A fantastic cocktail of
desire, in my dream Sylvia seemed to "woman" what a jigger of
Glenlivet is to "malt."

	I pulled the velvet gown down around her thighs. The corset,
seen from the front, seemed no less cruel. The steel stays in their
lacy satin wrapper reduced her waist, flattened her tummy and
constricted her breasts into a lovely shape like a figure study by
Hogarth, all round globes and conical sections. A pure erotic shape
with a strength not found in mere cheesecake. 

	I saw that she did not, could not lie flat upon the bed for
the corset forced her back into an arch. She rested on her shoulders
and neck and the full roundness of her buttocks and thighs. The
slenderness of her waist hung suspended, a bridge above the blue satin
sea of the coverlet. I could put my fingers under her back, almost
touching behind her while my thumbs nearly met in front. I held her
this way for a timeless time, dreaming of desire and possession.

	Her still closed eyes moved beneath their lids, she seemed to
sleep within my dream. What filled her dreams I wondered. Her swollen
lips made a circle of pouting astonishment, like a cheerleader
surprised in the football team's locker room.

	The delicately lacy front of the corset came to a pink and
white rounded point below her navel, a signpost directing my gaze
toward her mystery. The tortuous web of steel spines, rings and
leather laces that she had made of her cunt lay half-hidden in the
cleft between her legs. The bend of her back caused by the corset and
the binding of the velvet gown around her thighs left the secret
places in shadow.

	The garters from the garter belt were fastened to the tops of
black silk hose high on her thighs. I dreamed of burying my face in
the flesh where the silk and leather and steel converged and dreamed
that I did. The pleasant scent of her unseen vagina nearly overwhelmed
my dream self. Aching with smell of her flesh, I nuzzled the steel
knob at the top of her chastity knot with my chin and the body below
me stiffened, once. 

	Standing in my dream beside the bed, I pulled the velvet gown
to her knees. Her thighs clenched and an audible sigh escaped her
still open mouth but her eyes remained closed. Things seemed to be
moving faster now. Kneeling next to her, I lifted the bound legs and
freed them from their velvet bindings, slipping the gown over the
high, high heels. Her toe nails were painted the same ruby red color
as the gown, her shoes, her lips.

	Encased in dark silk, her legs tapered from full, womanly
thighs, to dimpled knees, down to rounded calves and smooth, slender
ankles trapped in the lacings of her platform sandals. Her feet,
high-arched, glamorised by the sandals, shaped into symbols of desire,
yearned to be pleasured by the touch of loving hands and lips.

	Dreaming of desire for Sylvia, lusting for possession of every
detail of her hallucinatory beauty, wanting her body, I reached to
lift her long, long legs. Her spreading thighs revealed again her
mystery, the net of steel and lace at the center of her being. The
half-moons of her round bottom showed below her legs and a smile
flickered around her lips.

	Shuddering release threatened as I dreamed of being between
her thighs. With one hand I lifted her left leg higher, rolling her
weight to one side and onto her shoulders. With my other hand I
reached for my throbbing manhood to plunge it into her round pink ass.
Her smile widened and her eyes opened, gold-green irises sleepy with
dreaming sex.

	I woke suddenly, terrified. My dream hand had found nothing
where my cock should have been.

(to be continued)


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