Hello guest! (Level: guest) Log in

You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?

[ default ] [ 10% ] [ 20% ] [ 30% ] [ 40% ] [ 50% ] [ 60% ] [ 70% ] [ 80% ] [ 90% ] [ 100% ]

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version  |  Mark story  |  Mark author

Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!

Chrissie Bentley has been interviewed! Click here to read interview.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

From across the room, Jenna's Internet radio was playing the Kinks. "Don't Forget To Dance"... I remembered the song from my own college days, and I loved it back then. Still do, in fact. Except now it was taking the piss. That line about "a nice bit of old"... shove it. I raised myself up, one knee on my chair, and called across the room. "Turn it down Jen, I can't hear myself think."

Jenna's a sweet kid. Late 20s, fabulous figure, cute as hell and sexy as fuck, with the kind of full, sensual lips that could suck a man dry - which, according to the weekend updates that she delivered every Monday, she often did. So how come Beavis and Butthead over there don't dream about her? I heard her call "sorry," and there was silence as she slipped her headphones on. I hit "save" and walked over to her desk.

"It's okay, I'm done now. Coffee?"

She nodded and we walked out to reception. Sheelagh, the receptionist, joined us. "Have you seen the mailroom guys this morning?"

I wanted to bite my tongue, but didn't wholly succeed. "Probably hanging out in the bathroom. That's what most boys their age do, isn't it?"

Jenna looked at me. "Wow, where did that come from? Aren't you the one who delivered that lecture last week about us being more open to submissions from younger writers, before our publication schedule started reading like the obituary column?"

"Young writers, yes. Spotty toads who can't even deliver the mail to the right floor half the time, no." And, right on cue, the pair of them, Brad and Buddy, walked in, pushing a trolley piled high with packages. "Shall we leave this here?"

"Why?" Jenna shot back. My scorn was obviously contagious "Are they going to magically deliver themselves?"

"Well, it's just that you're all out here, we just thought..."

"I doubt that." Now Sheelagh was at it. "Just deliver them to everybody's desks, and stop wasting time. You're late enough as it is."

Okay, it's probably my turn. But I'm going to be a lot nicer about it. "Ah, leave them be. They're probably just not getting enough sleep." Then I laughed. "Oh, but listen to me. You must think I sound like your mother." Buddy smirked, Brad blushed deeply, and I wondered. Everybody knows that dreams are harmless, even the really bad ones. But what if you thought that someone was actually messing with your dreams? And what if they really were?

I was back at my desk by the time the trolley had been wheeled to my end of the office and, as Brad - the dirty dreamer - pawed through the heap of letters destined for me, I lay my hand on his. "I meant what I said. You look like you've not had a good night's sleep in days. Bad dreams?"

He shook his head a lot more emphatically than he needed to. "No, no dreams at all."

"Well, if you ever want someone to talk to about them..." It so happened that we'd published a book on dream interpretation a couple of years back, and I was the editor on the project. It was a load of absolute rot, but Brad had no reason to know that. "I've actually done a lot of work in that field, so just give me a shout."

"I will. Thanks." His face now glowing beetroot red, he backed away; almost tumbled over his cart and, when he hooked back up with his partner-in-crime, as they disappeared out of the room, I picked up at least one sentence of their conversation. "Shit, dude, it's like she knows." And that was the end of that.

Except it wasn't.

It was about a week later, and I was working at my desk when my phone rang. It was Jenna, but I could barely hear her.

"Are you whispering?"

"I'm on my cell in the restroom, and you have to come here right now, really quietly. You are not going to believe this."

I crossed through reception, just as Sheelagh hung up her phone and followed me. "Jenna?" I asked. "Jenna," she confirmed. "This had better be good."

It was. Jenna was in the last stall in the room, the one that shared its wall with the men's room, her entire frame contorted with pent up laughter. She shushed us dramatically. "It's the mail room guys. One of them's been having wet dreams, but get this. He's actually scared of them. He thinks some woman's put a spell on him or something, and one night he's going to wake up and find that she's bitten his cock off."

Ooops. "Has he said who it is?"

"Not yet." We were still conversing in whispers. "Except I know she's a redhead." She and Sheelagh both looked at me, but the voices from the other room quickly distracted them. "I mean, I'm not complaining - if she bites like she sucks, I'd probably cum to death before the bleeding got going." We grimaced at one another. "But it's totally spooky, man. And she said she knows about dreams, what they mean, all that freaky shit. What do I do?"

"Fucked if I know. Don't mix up her mail so much and hope she lifts the spell?" That was Buddy, and again Jenna and Sheelagh looked at me. "So it's definitely someone in this building. Okay, who else has got red hair?"

"There's that guy on the top floor, but I doubt it's him," I bluffed. "Or how about that cleaning woman?"

"Hardly. They said she's hot. Sorry Chrissie, but it looks like it's you."

"Actually, I know it's me. I'll tell you back in the office. Let's see what else they have to say." But there was silence now, the show was over, and I told them what I'd heard before as we made our way back to our desks. Which meant, once we'd all got over our laughter, that one witch had suddenly become three.

Poor Brad. As he walked in (on time!) with our mail that morning, he had no idea what he was in for.

First there was Sheelagh peeling a banana very slowly as he walked in to reception, and then snapping off a mouthful with her teeth as he came closer. Then there was Jenna looking up from her monitor to demand, very loudly, whether it was the Incubus or Succubus that fucked guys to death while they were sleeping. And finally, sweet and thoughtful me, looking deep into his eyes and, my voice rich with crooning sympathy, asking, "you look terrible, Brad. Are you still having those bad dreams? My offer remains open if you need to talk." Poor kid. He booked out of the office so fast that he would never even have heard the laughter he'd left behind.

"Okay, what's next?" Sheelagh was sitting on my desk, Jenna was crouching on the floor alongside. "We've put the fear of God into him, and he's probably never going to enjoy another blowjob for as long as he lives. Now what should we do?"

"Chrissie should ask him out on a date." That was Sheelagh.

"No way. Besides, I'm already seeing someone." That was a feeble response, and I knew it. But I meant what I said regardless, and repeated it for emphasis. "No way."

"No problem," Jenna shrugged. "I'll ask him."

"And if he accepts?"

"Well, then we'll go out. Anyway," she laughed. "They all taste the same in the dark...." She looked up at us, and must have seen the look of disbelief that certainly crept across Sheelagh's face, and probably shadowed mine as well. "Just kidding," she snorted. "Some are saltier than others."

Swinging her legs, Sheelagh kicked her playfully. "And cheesier. Don't forget cheesier." The three of us pulled the kind of disgusted faces that no boyfriend has ever been permitted to see, but which they've all been the cause of at one time or another. "Maybe that's his problem," Jenna snuffled between laughs . "Too much knob cheese, and the smell's affecting his brain."

"Well, you'll just have to let us know," I smiled. "If you even go through with it." Which she didn't, and that really was the end of that.

Except, once again, it wasn't.

The big difference between giving a guy a blowjob while he's sleeping, and him attempting to return the favor... and get one while you're sleeping... is, there's no sense of mystery, no moment of wakeful wonderment. How could there be? Either you sleep with your mouth wide open, in which case the intrusion of a plunging penis would cause you to panic and gag, and maybe throw up; or you don't, in which case, there's nothing like the insistent hammering of a helmet against your lips to make you sit bolt upright and demand "what the fuck?"

"Aw baby, I woke you."

"Of course you woke me..." I began to say. But my words were swallowed as he pushed them back down my throat with his cock, one hand boldly holding his shaft steady, the other pressing on the back of my head. "Yeah, that's it. Suck it, baby... deep throat me, you know how much I love that."

My shoulders shrugged; like you're giving me a choice? He was into me like a train, with my tonsils for buffers, and his hips working like pistons. I grasped at the top of his legs, slowing his motion while I scooted down a little. I needed to rest my back against the pillow, even if the back of my head was still crashing against the headboard with every stroke he took. Thank goodness I don't have neighbors on that side.

At first, he just pounded me, reacquainting my jaw with his size and his strength, while my saliva glands worked over time, to grease his passage past my lips and tongue. But then he slowed, his movements slick and steady, and I could begin enjoying myself, too, releasing my hold on his hips to reach around his ass and clutch his balls with one hand, while the other darted down to my pussy. He was far too preoccupied to even think about me, his entire being concentrated in the seven thick inches that were fucking my face, but that was alright. I can bring myself off a lot quicker if I'm the only one down there, my fingers a flicking blur against my clitoris, while my mouth gaped wide and I gurgled my pleasure.

I wasn't sucking; you can't, in this position. Your tongue is flattened, your jawbone aches, even breathing becomes a chore. You just lay there while he does his thing, your entire body consumed by the passion of his motion, and hanging on for that tumultuous moment when he finally cums, and his seed slides down your throat like honey, so sweetly that you wonder why there's still girls out there who won't swallow their lover's sperm... who won't even let him cum in their mouth. Because, believe me; on your back with your throat wide open, and your own climax racing down the turnpike towards you, that sudden flash of heat and wet, the cry that accompanies it and the final quivering thrusts... there's no feeling on earth to compare with it.

And then, when you wake up the following morning and there's nobody in bed alongside you, and no sign that there ever was, you find yourself feeling extra grateful that it's Saturday, and you don't have to go into work for two days. Not because you don't want to see anyone, and especially not because you're avoiding the boys from the mailroom.

But no matter how small an office you work in, there's always some insidious little ailment going the rounds of the staff... a cold, the flu, a stomach bug, or maybe a bout of virulently contagious dreaming, that leaves you weak at the knees and wet in the crotch, and aching everywhere else.

I wonder if I have a copy of that stupid book anywhere round here?

Do you like this story? If you do, you may be interested to know that the author also has several other stories on the site that are available to the members of the EroticStories.com FanClub!
Click here to read more about the FanClub.

Request from webmaster Art:
Don't forget to vote for this story in the yellow voting box below!
Authors really appreciate the votes and it only takes a few seconds!

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version for easy saving or printing

ESmail: Click here to send a private message to Chrissie Bentley (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)

Authors appreciate feedback! Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!

Profile for Chrissie Bentley, incl. 69 stories Email: chrissiebentley@yahoo.com Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email Recommend stories for further reading

Give your opinion about this story: select here 1 (terrible) 2 .. 3 .. 4 .. 5 (reasonable) 6 .. 7 .. 8 .. 9 .. 10 (excellent)

Send feedback to this author: Your name: Your message to Chrissie Bentley:     (You are not logged in, so you can't send private messages) Public: post this message in the public feedback below