Monkia’s Dream

She is his dream. He walks past her house every day
and every day he thinks of stopping. A block before
her house he slows, the thickening fantasy of her
nearness making his legs heavy. He strolls past her
window, trying not to be too conspicuous in his
attempt to see through the narrow gap between the
shade and the windowsill. Tonight the light is dim
and flickering – candlelight, he thinks. His breath
grows labored and a vision of her fills his head. As
he passes, he glimpses the pale skin of her leg bent
against the footstool. She is sitting in an armchair,
he knows. He hears the faint music playing from her
stereo. He pauses at the corner of her house and
looks around. No one in sight. He gives in to his
urgent need. He slips around the corner of the house
to the window on the side. Another view of her living
room unfolds before him as he bends to peek.

She lies back in the chair, her eyes closed, her hair
spread around her shoulders. The candlelight reflects
from her creamy skin. His eyes fill with the sight of
her – and a rushing sound his ears with the view. His
body feels unbearably hot and he can feel his skin
swell with blood. His cock fills so quickly that it
becomes painful in his crouched position. She sits
with knees spread wide, her hand under a short full
skirt. Her breasts swell out from a tight white top
that scoops so low on her bosom that her nipples
nearly emerge with her breath. Her right hand moves
in a circular motion under the skirt while her left
slides slyly up to the low neckline and teases out the
right nipple. He bites down hard on his cheek as the
dark aureole appears, contrasting sharply with the
white of the fabric. He stands abruptly, tears
springing to his eyes.

Before he can think, his legs carry him around the
front of the house to the door. He breathes heavily
as if having run there. He watches his hand reach out
to knock hard on the wood. He hears her yelp in
surprise. In a moment her face appears at the window
in the door. She registers his face, he sees, and a
series of emotions cross her mobile features. Then
she gives a strained smile and unlocks the door. She
stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from
deeper in the house. She opens her mouth to speak,
but before she can he steps in through the door,
pushing her back with his entrance. He reaches out to
grasp her roughly around the waist and pulls her into
him, closing the door with his foot behind him.

He stifles her protests with his mouth. He holds her
hard against him, crushing those breasts against his
chest. His left arm winds around her back and his
right hand cups her left breast, kneading desperately.
She pushes against his chest with her hands, but his
strength is prodigious. He is raging, throbbing,
bursting. His tongue feels hard and huge in her
mouth. His mouth is dry, but hers is full of
deliciously sweet saliva. He drinks deeply of her
juice, intoxicated in a way that no liquor ever
provided. Her nipple under his fingers is hard and he
can feel her heart beating through the cushion of her
flesh. Suddenly she droops in his arms, her knees
bending and arms falling loosely away from him. He
breaks the contact with her mouth and draws his head
back. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slack – a
sheen of the kiss surrounding her lips.

He picks her up, surprised at his own strength. He
carries her to the long dark sofa and places her
gently down. His rage has subsided, but his blood has
not. He stands over her unconscious body and for the
first time allows himself to take in her beauty. Her
breath moves those breasts and her pulse shows strong
in her pale throat. As in a dream, he removes his
clothes and stands before her naked. He notes his
hard purplish cock in his peripheral vision and thinks
how good it looks against the white of the skin of her
thigh. He slides his left leg over her hips, nudging
the short skirt high on her thighs. He touches the
tips of her nipples through the fabric of the white
top and slowly draws down the zipper which holds the
shirt together in the front. The shirt holds tight to
the flesh of her breasts and they spill out slowly as
the pressure is released. He is afraid for a moment
that he might cum and stops for a moment to close his
eyes against the intensity — the realization of so
many dreams spun on lonely nights. In the moment of
his hesitation he feels her stir beneath him. He
opens his eyes to look down into hers. The gaze which
meets his is surprised, but not scared. She draws in
a deep breath, pushing the breasts further from the
top and into his hands.

She does not speak and does not reach to touch him.
She moves her hips slightly to test his weight. With
another breath she closes her eyes again. He does not
move for a moment, then the feel of her skin against
his fingers still holding the zipper draws his
consciousness back into his body. The fierce fullness
flows back into him and he completes the opening of
her shirt roughly. The edges pull back, leaving her
breasts naked and gleaming in the flickering light.
He breathes in with a gasp and fills his hands with
the flesh of her. He gathers the round tits together,
nipples hard at attention. He stares for a long
moment, capturing the view as on a camera. He bends
then, his painful cock sliding down the loose fabric
of her skirt and reaches out with his tongue to the
cleft between her breasts, made deep with his urgent
hands. He licks long against the smooth whiteness,
smearing his now copious saliva over the curves. He
takes one nipple between his lips and sucks hard. Her
sharp intake of breath forces the nipple deeper into
his mouth. He hears a deep growl escape from his

Like an edit in a movie, he looks down and sees his
cock buried between her breasts, the saliva he planted
making his thrusting easy. He runs his thumbs over
the nipples as he fucks those tits. Those tits he’s
sensed under suits and high-necked blouses. Those
tits he’s glimpsed swelling from teasing t-shirts and
formal gowns. Those tits he’s watched bounce and
jiggle at the gym. Those tits he’s covertly pressed
in crowded rooms and in farewell hugs. His cock is
bigger than he’s ever seen it – stretching up to her
lips as he thrusts hard up through the mounds of her
breasts. Her lips open slightly although her eyes do
not. The next upthrust brings out her tongue to touch
the tip of his angrily purple cock. He feels his
balls contract with the touch and a drop of precum
joins the saliva she places there. A million times he
thrusts and each time she reaches out with her pointed
pink tongue to slather his tip. His fingers curl in
the warm flesh of her tits and she gasps, her back
straightening and pushing him up.

He releases her breasts and lifts off her stomach.
His cock is almost bursting and drools with the need
for release. He stands quickly and moves his hands to
behind her knees. He lifts her legs and positions
himself between them, folding her knees up to the
breasts. Her skirt folds neatly around her waist and
he looks down to drink in the sight of the pussy he
has so often fantasized about. He is almost alarmed
at what he sees, but the sight does nothing but
inflame the burning pressure in his gut. The smooth
white mound and dark pink lips are glistening and
swollen. A translucent drop of moisture lies at the
bottom of the inviting slit – this is a pussy made to
fuck, he thinks. More than he ever imagined. She is
ready for him, wanting him, wet for him. He draws
back and bends to bury his face in the source of her.
He reaches his tongue deep into her, amazed at the
sweetness of her juice. He laps greedily at the
copious moisture. The smell of her perfume throws a
switch in his brain. He straightens and looks down at
her again.

She lies beneath him, not moving – almost not
breathing. He pushes back hard on her knees, drawing
that pussy up into the air toward his cock. In a
single motion he plunges into her and holds there. He
breathes for a moment, focusing on the feel of the
inside of her. She contracts the muscles of her pussy
around his invading member. He gasps with
inexpressible pleasure. He shoves again, straining to
gain access to the deepest reaches of her. He can
feel a hard nub against the edge of the head of his
cock. He pulls back slightly to explore that
friction. He thrusts hard again. And pulls back
again, just a fraction. Her pussy again grabs and
squeezes. He pulls almost entirely out, leaving just
the tip embedded in the hot wetness of her. He flows
forward again, the head of his cock stretching the
tight band of muscle at her entrance. And out again
and in. He wants to scream but cannot. The scream is
focused in his cock and can only be loosed one way.
He thrusts hard into her and begins a series of long
movements to bring on the inevitable release. The
smooth sawing of her softness, the milking motions of
the walls of his encasement, the heat and wetness send
him to a place in his head that no dreams have ever
gone. He fills her with his flesh and his seed. He
kneels transfixed after the deed.

The cloud clears after a while. She is still lying
with eyes closed, folded into the receptive position
in which he placed her. His cock softens and falls
from her. He looks down to see the results of his
labor and is amazed by his creamy expression oozing
from her pink lips. Impelled by the sight, he leans
down again and drinks from her – tasting his cum mixed
with the honey of her body. He sucks hard to get as
much of the proof as he can. The taste of his dreams
fills his mouth and his belly. He sucks and licks
every part of her, insatiable in his thirst for that
liquor. After a time she gasps and her thighs press
the sides of his head. A new burst of sweetness fills
his mouth. He kisses the tiny hard nub at the apex
of the damp lips.

He stands and looks down again at this woman. His
conquest. His object of affection. A small sweet
smile curves her lips and her eyelashes lie dark
against flushed cheeks. He reaches down and zips the
top, gently moving the breasts into place – again
restrained and gently swelling from the neckline. He
smoothes the skirt down over the tops of those creamy
thighs. He watches her body, relaxed and prone on the
sofa as he puts his clothes back on. He feels so
strange, but somehow free and light. He walks to the
door and turns back to the picture of the woman on the
sofa in the candlelight. After a while he opens the
door and walks back out into the night. He smiles on
the way back to his house. His wife will be so
pleased when, for once, he sleeps through the night.