I was lost in a sea of dreamscapes, spinning or twirling or flying or something. Whatever I was doing was freeing and free from the demands of such silly things like gravity or friction. Next to me, above me, behind me, and around me was Mrs. AP, laughing and skirting around me as we danced and spiraled and flirted with free fall. She moved closer with every pass, reaching out to brush and caress me, and soon she was reaching out to tug and stroke at my cock, urging it to respond so she could enjoy me in even more ways.
I woke from this to realize that my dream wasn’t entirely subconscious; Mrs. AP was pressed tight against my back as I slept on my side, and her arm was across me as her hand encouraged my cock to wake up with the rest of me. Still groggy from the haze of a deep and dreamful sleep I pressed back into her harder, giving small encouraging noises. Her hand grew more insistent as I responded to her touch, to her fingers squeezing the head and massaging the shaft, and I shifted to roll onto my back and allow her more access. She cooed slightly, getting a better grip on me as her attention became more firm. I slid my arm up as she nestled into the curve of my torso and our lips met in a gentle, exploratory, soulful kiss. Our lips pushed and pulled, parting as tongues gently explored… and then we got pounced by the puppy.
Nothing ruins a great kiss like a 4 month old hyper puppy diving in to share in the love, let me tell you. Laughing, Mrs. AP scooped her up, escorted her out of our bedroom, closed the door, and locked it behind her. I must have slipped back into the edges of sleep at this point; I remember looking at a naked Mrs. AP — we both sleep in the nude all the time — and smiling. I was informed later that I missed Mrs. AP crawling up my legs and caressing my cock in her cleavage before licking and sucking me for a few minutes. How the hell did I miss that!? What I DO recall, quite clearly, is Mrs. AP sliding her very hot, very wet, very wonderful pussy down my hard cock. I pushed up against her as she settled against me, pressed as tightly together as two humans can be. Then she started rocking, and her hips started rolling, and the rest of the world vanished.
Mrs. AP was feeling particularly playful. She was pouncing me, kissing me, tickling me, holding me, and caressing me in all the right places every chance she got. We were smiling, we were laughing, and sometimes when we brushed against each other in just the right ways we were trembling with pleasure as well. We’d been doing this all day, or at least all evening, and as it slowly progressed the evil, delightful, wonderful twinkle in her eye increased in brilliance. I knew she had something in mind, but as if often the case with the mind of a sadist, I was certain I could never guess. Goodness, was I ever right on that one.
Upon the suggestion that we should lock the door to take our playful exchanges to a more intimate level, Mrs. AP hopped up and danced over to the door, throwing the lock with a deft flick of the wrist that voiced louder than any statement just how focused her intentions were. She turned back to me, grinning, that twinkle in her eye so bright it could drown out stars, and very deliberately sauntered back to the bed. As a question toward her intentions formed on my tongue she grabbed my feet and pulled me to the edge of the bed; the question died on my lips as she lunged forward and merged her lips with mine, her tongue seeking entrance not only into my mouth but into the very recesses of my soul. With no words at all, she declared me to be wholly and unequivocally hers. The kiss broke quickly, just as firmly, and suddenly her hands were pulling my shirt up my chest and over my head. She paused halfway, my vision full of cotton threads as her hand began tracing the contours of my chest, my side, the underside of my arms and back again, meandering with no apparent intent other than to touch me. Fingertips faded to nails and back again, gentle to firm to nearly cutting, and my nerves responded by dancing into higher states. My skin became an instrument, Mrs. AP the musician, and she played me until my nerves danced and spun with more fervor than any bolero could ever inspire. My body betrayed me, breaking control, and I wiggled and writhed under her touch as the sensations reached that point where pain and pleasure began to meld. I craved every touch while shying away, hoping the overwhelming touch would end while wishing it would be ever present. A moan escaped my lips as my back arched, pulling away from her, and in that moment my shirt was flying across the room and she was pushing me back onto the bed, leaving my chest and stomach aflame with the lingering memories of her fingers. I gasped for breath, reaching for something to help me ride the sensations, as she slid my pants down.