Everyone’s dream woman

Lena knew she was dreaming. Yet it felt real. That was the worst part of it.

She was kneeling on the cold floor of a lecture theatre she recognised from real life, her mouth full of cock. The man in front of her was older, with greying hair – the professor from Tuesday’s lecture. His cock was thick and already glistening with her saliva. He held her head firmly with both hands and thrust into her throat in short, controlled movements. Every time the glans struck the soft resistance, she gagged. Saliva ran from both corners of her mouth down her chin and dripped onto her bare breasts.

She couldn’t fight back.

Her hands lay on her thighs, fingers splayed, unable to move. The dream wouldn’t let her. She felt the pressure of his hands in her hair, the salty-bitter taste on her tongue, the stretching of her throat, and at the same time the cold air on her bare skin. Between her legs, she was so wet that it glistened on the insides of her thighs. He wanted her to get aroused whilst sucking his cock. A thin thread of moisture trickled slowly downwards.

Not again, she thought. Please, not again. For the past two weeks, she’d been having these humiliating sex dreams almost every night.

The professor groaned softly and pulled out of her mouth. A thick strand of saliva stretched between her lower lip and the tip of his cock, snapped and fell onto her breast. He circled round her, grabbed her by the hips and pulled her backwards until she was on all fours. The position was humiliatingly exposed. She felt him spread her labia apart with his thumbs and place the thick tip of his cock against her entrance.

“You’re always so wet,” he murmured. “I like that.”

Then he pushed himself inside her.

The stretching was intense and unwanted, and yet so real that Lena let out a stifled cry. He filled her slowly, centimetre by centimetre, until his lower abdomen pressed against her bottom. For a moment, he simply remained deep inside her so she could feel the throbbing. Then he began to fuck her.

Hard, deep thrusts. The wet, fleshy sound of skin on skin filled the room. Each thrust pushed her forward a little; her breasts swayed, her hard nipples almost grazing the floor. She could feel her own wetness running down his cock, becoming visible with every withdrawal. The smell of sex hung over the sterile-smelling seminar room.

Lena’s thoughts were no longer clear. They were just fragments.

I’m dreaming. I know I’m dreaming. And there’s nothing I can do.

He’s about to come inside me. I can already feel it.

The professor quickened his pace. His fingers dug into her hips. With a deep, guttural sound, he thrust hard one last time and came. Lena felt the rhythmic twitching, the heat, as thick spurts spread deep inside her. As he withdrew, a warm, heavy gush followed, which immediately ran out of her and dripped onto the floor.

She remained on all fours, her head bowed, and felt it continue to seep out of her.

The dream began to unravel.

Lena woke with a start.

Her heart was pounding. Her nightdress was sticking to her back. It was damp between her legs – too damp, too thick. When she carefully placed her hand there, her fingertips felt something warm and viscous. The taste in her mouth was still there. Salty. Bitter.

She stared at the ceiling of her flat and breathed shallowly.

This was the fourth night this week.

At first, she’d thought they were just particularly vivid dreams. Then the traces had appeared. The taste. The dampness. Once, there had even been a photo on her own mobile that she’d never taken, and which vanished as soon as she’d really looked at it. At some point, she’d realised that something had gone fundamentally wrong.

It had all started with two wishes.