The Music of Her Dreams
Who is the mysterious lover that enters her dreams?
The night was hot, the air in the bedroom humid. Katrina had thrown back the cover and lay naked on the cotton sheets. She stirred. In her dreams there was a gentle touch on the insides of her thighs. She gasped, a tiny breath, as the fingers brushed across her creamy, smooth skin.
She smiled in her sleep, turned her head to the side, enjoying the thoughts weaving through her mind. Her legs spread, moving mere inches to grant access to her inner delights. The fingers slipped across the delicate curls shrouding her folds. They moved pressing and relaxing as if playing the neck of a stringed instrument.
She could hear the music in her head, its delicate harmony flowed through her. The fingers moved deeper, now they pressed between her lips, moving and pulsating as if touching the keys of a piano. The swirling sounds grew louder, they filled her head, echoed around her. The fingers shifted, moving up to press on the sharp keys before moving back to continue the melody.
The music reached a crescendo, she pushed up, her hips rising from the bed, her voice blending with the wall of sound until the crashing finale. The last sounds echoed from the walls of her bedroom and she slept.
The dream came again the next night, and the next. She began to desire it, to crave it and hurried to bed each evening. On the fourth night, just as the music was building to a pitch and her body was writhing on the bed, she opened her eyes.
A woman was standing over her, naked, voluptuous, with full breasts and wide hips. A mother goddess, her hand reaching down and her fingers playing between Katrina’s legs. Katrina smiled, welcoming the lover in her dream, savouring her touch and the feelings of ecstasy sweeping through her. Then she screamed; she was awake, the woman was there, not in her mind.
She closed her eyes, scrunched them tight, blocking out the vision as she rolled off the bed. Her body trembled, still close to climax, as she opened her eyes. The room was empty, silent, devoid of music. She was alone.
The next night she lay beneath the sheets, wide-eyed, refusing to sleep. She could hear the soft music playing like a lullaby in her head. Slowly, her eyelids closed. The hot, humid air in the bedroom swirled around her, lulling her into sleep.
She was back, the full breasted woman, but now she was no longer standing over her, she knelt on the bed. Katrina felt the mattress move, flex slightly as she shifted her weight. That meant she was real, didn’t it? If she had mass, if gravity exerted a pull on her like all humans, she couldn’t be a ghost. She wasn’t some ethereal creation of her mind, she was a solid presence.
The air around her nipples grew warmer, moved in languid eddies. She was breathing on them, her lips millimetres from touching them, devouring them. Katrina kept her eyes closed. The breath was moving down her body, across her stomach until it wafted between her unconsciously spread legs. Katrina whimpered
The music grew louder, began to swirl around her, rocking her gently as if she were a babe in a cradle. Something was brushing her cleft, delicately parting the petals. It circled the bud at their apex, sending shivers through her body, and then began its slow, deliberate, downward caress. Now it was pushing in deeper, opening her to the night air, licking at the honey that flowed from her.
Katrina twisted her body, just a fraction, she lifted her hips, urging her mystery lover on. Part of her wanted to scream, it welled up inside her as if to burst forth, but then the volcano of passion that seethed in her core quelled it, left her muted save for her gasps.
The tempo of the music quickened, now a whole orchestra was playing fortissimo, the sound ripping through her as the mouth pressing against her seemed to envelope her. She spread herself, yielding to whatever was pushing into her, penetrating her, forcing her open, its form swelling against her muscles like a male organ. She felt as if she had climbed a mountain and now, gasping for breath, was standing on the summit looking over the edge of a precipice. In her mind, she cast herself into the air and let herself fly.
Eddies of wind tossed her around as her body floated in space far above the landscape below. The music faded, the last notes echoing in the darkness around her. She was sinking, falling, arms flailing, the air rushing past her. There was no final crash; she landed as gently as a floating dandelion seed on the bed. Her weight returned, she once again had the sensation of pressing down onto the pliant mattress. The room was empty, the air had cooled. She slept.
Author’s Note: This story was inspired but the photograph above. This is another of my stories where we will never know who, or maybe, what, her nighttime visitor is. After all, it could all be a dream.
Here’s a couple more strange, but very erotic, encounters
