When I Beg Him For More

It’s what he was waiting for and he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me up and into his arms, crushing my body against his. I feel the strength of him, the warm solidity, and all it does is reinforce who I am by contrast.

As if I need the reminder. As if the memory of his cock on my lips isn’t enough. As if the everpresent hollow absence aching in my belly and begging for that same ragged hardness between my legs doesn’t let me know what I am.

But I’m fine with all of that. I like the reminder, like to lose myself in it and in him as I fall into his arms and part my lips to accept his eager tongue.

God his hands are everywhere, running over my curves and feeling me. Touching me and leaving trails of fire on my skin, little burning lines that melt and spread across the surface of me until all of me is tingling and begging for his full attention.

I feel the creeping ache within me, the burning need that had me begging him to fuck me and I meant it and I need it and I want it and I crave it.

Having him inside of me right now is all I need.

Pushing up I stand on tip toe and wrap my arms around the back of his head. I pull him down to me, feeling him arch as his hands fold around my waist and drag me into him. My breasts press, perky and full, against the hardness of his chest and I feel my nipples sharpen, like diamonds cutting glass against him.

I break my lips and heave out a shuddering ache, begging him with my words once more.

“Fuck me. I need you inside of me. I need to know what it’s like.”

And there are questions in the back of my mind asking me whether, if this is only a dream, is it really close enough to the real. There are moments where I wonder if that was truly what it’s like to suck a cock, to feel a man on you, to feel a man inside of you. Because dreams only exist in our minds, right? So if we, neither Emily nor me, have ever experienced this then how do we know what it’s like? How does our mind know what to make it feel like?

But I get the sense that this is more than just a dream. This is a connection to a greater whole, to that strand that runs through the planes of existence and the interconnected web of life that goes beyond the material world into something more.

This feels too real to be a simple dream. And I feel that, unlike all the ones I’ve had before, I won’t ever forget the dream I’m having right now.

Not if I don't want to, and why would I want to? If I want to I can keep and hold onto the memory of this forever and ever and every night I can return to this place, to this fantasy, and feel it all over again.

It’s right to beg him to fuck me. It’s right to want this here.

The plausible deniability of it being simply a dream and the fact that when I emerge from this I will still remain unfucked in the real world makes this simply an innocent way to play out my fantasies. A testing ground to determine the answer to whether or not I’d like it when the truth is I already know the answer to that because of course I do.

Of course I know whether or not it would be good.

Of course I know whether or not it would be enough.

Of course I know…

“Fuck me,” I beg him again, “Fuck me, please. Please don’t make me ask again. I need it. I need you inside of me.”

And then, my voice breaking, I shake in his arms and tremble in my words.

“I need to know.”

His hand comes up so gentle and caresses the side of my face. His arm wraps around me tighter and pulls me into him and as it does my toes leave the ground but I don’t feel like I’m suspended in his arms, that I’m held aloft by him.

I feel instead the certainty of gravity leave me. Weightless not like I’m in space but like I’m in a place where weight and up and down make no more sense again. Weightless in a place where I am free.

Free to be me.

Free to want what I want.

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