Page 36 of M.M. Scrooge
But no, that memory won’t serve my purposes.
I roll my neck against the pillow. Flex my fingers. Take a deep breath in through my nose and let it out real slow.
My attention wanders south, and my hand wanders with it, which isn’t a terrible idea. An orgasm might help me fall asleep. I trace my fingers over my stomach. Could I get in the mood? Probably.
I stretch like a cat, arching my back and feeling my body. Licking my lips, I press them together and think. What am I in the mood for?
Sometimes I pretend it’s morning and I’m still sleeping. But my lover is already stirring next to me. He reaches over, and I wake to his hand on my cock, stroking. That’s never happened to me, but hey, a guy can dream. And I like the idea of being woken up to sex.
I cup my balls and give them a gentle massage as I let the vision blossom. Tonight, my mystery lover is big and muscly with short dark hair and dark eyes to match. His scratchy stubble tickles my face as I turn my head to be kissed.
Fuck, it’s probably Max.
As the thought hits, I know it’s true. Max is easy to fantasize about, with those enormous hands, that hard body, and that clever tongue.
Whatever. It’s cool. I’m not stuck on him or anything. The real Max might be an asshole, but dream Max isn’t. He tells me he’s hot for me. That he wants me. Calls me sweetheart while he makes me come.
Oh yeah. This’ll do. My cock hardens in my hand, eager to jump on board with this plan. I don’t have any lube, but that’s fine. It’ll be quieter without it. I like the friction.
As I stroke, the memory of his thick shaft pumping between my thighs springs to life. God, he’d feel amazing inside me. Hot and full. My hole clenches the more I dwell on it.
In this fantasy, Max and I are free to do as we like. No real-world concerns to sort out between us. No problems. Just two bodies doing what feels good. And Max feels so good.
I picture him over me. In me. Between my legs, which are wrapped securely around his narrow waist. He thrusts, and I ride the movement, matching him as best I can while trapped beneath his mass.
He leans down, and his tight abs rub my hard cock against my stomach. I cling to him, body jolting with the pounding motion of his hips. Ass stretched wide and stuffed full. The pressure on my prostate builds to a crescendo.
I gasp. Both dream me and the real me, cock in hand, busy teasing my frenulum with the pads of my fingers. I’m squirming in the bed, flexing and curling my toes, biting my lip to keep quiet.
With my free hand, I pinch my nipple. Gently. I’m too chicken to squeeze it hard. The twinge zings a jolt of pleasure straight to my dick. A drop of precum leaks from the tip, and I spread it around my glans, all slippery and warm.
Dream Max kisses me. Licks down my neck. Scrapes his teeth along the fleshy juncture of my throat and shoulder. I press into the sensation, wanting more.
God, I need to get properly fucked. I’m overdue. If my fantasy life feels this real, what would actually being screwed through the mattress by Max feel like? Heaven. His cock would split me open so good. I need it.
I speed up my strokes. I’m being rough with myself, but I don’t care. I want to come hard. My nipple is pebbled and overly sensitive, but I keep toying with it. The dueling pleasures compete for dominance—the pain at my nipple and the need deep in my balls.
Moving my hips to thrust into the tight ring of my fingers, I squeeze my eyes shut. Imaginary Max is panting above me. That’s all I need. I tip over the edge and fall into bliss.
Cum splatters my chest, forming warm little puddles. I’m humming with euphoria, my body vibrating as waves of pleasure course through me. I haven’t come this hard since Max took me in the showers. Been neglecting myself. Forgot how good this feels.
Would Max come in my ass? Or pull out so he could paint me with his seed?
A long sigh accompanies the last of my release. My muscles relax, and I melt into the little bed, content.
Yeah, I’ll definitely be able to sleep now. I hardly want to move to clean myself, but I do, using the tissues on the bedside table. Got to remember to flush them tomorrow morning. Can’t leave any evidence.
Sinking lower under the covers, I glance at the empty twin bed across from the one I occupy. I can’t help but wish I had a partner to bring to my family’s Christmas. A reason to complain about being stuck in the room with the twin beds.
If Max were really here, what would we do? Push them together? Try to cuddle in just one? It doesn’t matter when he’s only a figment of my imagination. The real Max is probably having a nice Christmas with his own family, and he’s definitely not thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him.
At least I’m properly sleepy now and super relaxed.
I flop my arm over my eyes and welcome dreamland. Hopefully, my subconscious is inspired by the sexy fantasy my conscious conjured up. I wouldn’t mind dreaming of Max tonight.
15
Max
