Chilly air stirred over her body, breaking Lisa’s exhausted sleep. Drowsy, her fingers hunted for the blanket which seemed to have disappeared. Slowly opening her eyes, it took a moment to remember where she was. The blades of the ceiling fan buzzing above her refused to come into focus. The room was almost dark except for the slivers of sunlight filtering in through the drawn blinds, which was fine, because stronger light was the last thing her pounding headache required. The room looked familiar yet still managed to confuse her. Her body felt like lead and the effort from sitting up cause her to moan.
Dammit! Why was every muscle in her body sore as shit?
Michael.
She remembered she was in Michael’s condo in Westwood. She also remembered the reason for being sore. Sitting up, she realized the center of her discomfort was right between her legs. How many times had she cum last night? And just how long and how often did Michael fuck her to make sure she would remember him for a while? As if she could ever forget. What a night!
Speaking of…where was the King of Pop this morning? She rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. 11am. Shit! She must have been tired as hell. The last thing she was fully aware of was her immense orgasm bordering on pain. All her nerves seemed to have protested the overload of sensations Michael had stirred, even as they wanted him to never stop. And at some point, it seemed as if he would never stop pounding into her. Finally, his control had broken and his climax had erupted almost in time with hers. The hot jets of his seed and the pulsating and expanding of his penis propelled her up another peak which boundaries were almost indistinguishable from its predecessor. Afterwards, things got fuzzy. Had that been really her voice telling him she loved him? No, she was more careful than that.
The words must have been part of the dream world already. She had given him enough information and thus enough power for one night; he really did not need to hear these expressions from her. But wait, he did respond. He had told her he loved her more. Or maybe that was her imagination. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Plus, he responded like that to everyone. The newspaper boy could tell him he loved him and Michael would respond that he loved him more. So, it meant nothing. It was nothing more than his way of thanking his little sex toy. That’s all she was to him. Maybe she should order him one of those rubber pussies she had seen on certain sites. It would be fair turn about. She could even have it made to her specifications.
A dream snuck back into her recollection. In it, she felt him warm and securely inside her, held in place by her muscles, refusing to let him go, and devoid of any desire of his own to leave her. She felt his warmth around her as well, his arms around her, his leg over hers possessively. At some point, his magic wand had come back to life, and he had started to move in and out of her in slow, languid strokes, nestling her from behind. His fingers had come up on her breasts and he gently and tenderly had massaged them and played with her nipples. She had felt his hot breath on her neck, his soft, sweet kisses on her skin, his soft words of love close to her ear. That love making had to be the stuff dreams were made of: it was so sweet, so gentle…so unlike anything she normally desired or needed from him.
She remembered a slow building of the most incredible sensation inside. It was a feeling so different from what she allowed herself to experience since their reunification fucks post divorce. She remembered feeling exposed and naked, her vulnerability extending beyond her nudity. As she floated toward the summit, she had been unable to stop the tears spilling from her. Her orgasm felt like clouds bursting open and sunlight flooding her. Just like too much sun can hurt eyes not accustomed to its intensity, she was afraid to fully open herself up to the light spreading from inside. Sobs and moans mingled into a fusion of the most intense ecstasy and despair as tears continued to flow. She felt self conscious for a second, but then thought that surely he was too caught up in his own bliss to notice her. His body had gone rigid and she felt his member spasming inside. His familiar cries and moans provided the background music to his subsiding thrusts. Finally he lay still, pulling her close, his breathing still labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“It’s ok, baby, don’t cry. Don’t cry.” He kissed her neck and her cheeks, his fingers gently capturing the glossy drops decorating her cheek.
Was it relief, surprise, or comfort she felt? She reached for his hand and pressed it to her body, holding on for dear life.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t let me go. Don’t leave.” Sobs continued to rake her body as he hushed her and rocked her in his arms.
“I’m right here, girl. I’m not letting you go. I’m here with you. Right here.”
What a strange dream. And why did it feel so real? Oh, God- it could not have been real, could it?
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Fateful Encounters
Fanfiction"Oh no, oh crap. Not again. I need to get out; I need to get away from you..." "But Lisa..." "No, no, don't say it. I gotta get out." She jumped up and headed for the door. Surprised by his own speed given his disheveled state, he managed to catch...
