Fig­ment of Your Imagination

I dreamt that I was inside a fan­tasy in your mind. I was a fig­ment of your imag­i­na­tion and your fan­tasy made love to me.

I could hear the music of your song; with each moan I could feel your breath against my ear. With each shud­der­ing breath I could feel your heart beat against my fingertips.

I could see the out­line of you, of your curves, in the dim light. The scent of you paving the way, speak­ing in the ancient tongue with­out words: Woman. I could feel the nip­ples of your swelling breasts harden against the palms of my hands through the fab­ric of your dress. I could feel the sup­ple skin of your breast against my cheek as I suck­led you, the resilient skin of your nip­ples as I bit you harder than per­haps I should have.

Most of all, I could lit­er­ally feel my fin­gers slip­ping inside you. I could feel the radi­ant heat from your outer lips. I could feel the wispy strands of hair graz­ing my fin­gers just before your body opened up to accept me inside. I could feel your vel­vety mus­cles grip my fin­gers in response to every move I made, how­ever slight. I know that I would have put my other hand on top of your hip to silently tell you that you are mine, that you belong to me now, and that you can­not get away. I would have fought hard to con­trol myself, to give myself time to explore the lovely body before me on the inside; to gen­tly stroke the plump, satiny area in the back, to not as gen­tly press on the ridges in the front, to explore the very open­ing to heaven. The fla­vor, the scent, the look of your nec­tar on my fin­gers is intox­i­cat­ing, mak­ing my head swim.

I could feel you tak­ing me into your mouth. I could feel the back of your throat sig­nal­ing the com­plete accep­tance of my body by yours. I could hear myself beg­ging to come while desir­ing it never to end. I could feel your wicked lit­tle tongue sin­u­ously teas­ing me, around and around, mak­ing me feel like I was lost in a whirl­wind of soft, moist, female flesh.

And, yes, I could unde­ni­ably feel your small hands clasp­ing behind my neck, my bulk and strength being your anchor, a stark con­trast to your grace and fem­i­nin­ity. I could indeed feel myself get­ting lost inside your body, being devoured alive.