Sabrina woke up clutching between her legs, and knew it was not a dream orgasm, it was an actual orgasm. Harry’s scent wafted into her nose from beside her, and made between her legs throb even more.
Another Parisian dream, this one different from the others in that a) it resulted in an actual orgasm that woke her up and b) Harry was in it.
She was in her typical suit, wearing a fedora. The man that was flirting with her liked the androgyny of her look, but he kept his eyes on her female bits—her breasts for example when she pulled at her suspenders. Or his eyes on her legs, when she crossed them. His hand on her thigh was inevitable, and he was shameless with his fingers drifting to the very top of them. She put her hand on his face, and caressed his cheek which she now realized felt like Harry’s. And she got wet.
She and the man walked to the bathroom, where they barely closed the door before they were at each other. He licked the side of her face after he kissed her, and burst a button on her shirt as he tried gracelessly to unbutton it. Sabrina did not care, and it was then that she noticed the door ajar.
She recognized him in the dream as Harry, and it made her wetter—for the other man. She was reckless, and let him slip into her without anything. Her eyes were on Harry as if to say, I want this to be you. She stared at him, right into an orgasm.
The one that woke her up, and looking at him now she did not want to wake him up. Because all she wanted to do was jump his bones and there would be plenty of time for that later.
She was not in Paris after, she was here in New York with him.
More Masturbation Monday here:
dream via wikipedia