PEARL'S UNIVERSE
Fucksake. Literally, for fuck's sake, when will her husband -- the so called genius -- learn that she will never orgasm this way, with him pounding her like that. He's fucking her like a pornstar cliche. What does he think she is? Some human sex toy that can wait months until he turns her on (or tries to) and then she's supposed to cum in response to what... being pumped up? Where's all this humping come from anyway? She preferred it before he started working out, when he'd cum the minute she wrapped her legs round him. At least then she could pretend he adored her.
Damn. Now the bed's squeaking and the headboard's wallopping the wall, and the kids' rooms are just downstairs. He can pay for their fucking therapy. And hers--he hasn't made her cum in years. And he can get therapy himself while he's at it, get to the bottom of why he never wants sex, and most importantly why he won't ever -- ever -- go down on her.
Husband, meet clitoris. Clitoris, husband.
She wants (aches) to close her eyes and conjure Michael, her dream man again. She did it earlier to get herself wet and got so ridiculously drippy that John curled his lip and wiped his hand on the duvet when he discovered. "Whoa, easy tiger," he remarked as if she'd embarrassed them both. "I'm flattered, but we won't feel a thing."
"We". Always "we" when he means "he".
Still, she won't call on Michael. It already feels like she's cheating, being so wet for one man while fucking another, even if the former doesnt strictly exist and the latter's a brilliant mind but a sexual dolt. Her dream man is for lonely times only, of which there's a lot, and even that's kind of messed up if she thinks about it.
So she focuses on the handsome physicist she married. The moonlight through their open window is like a spotlight on John's gym-grown, sex-swollen muscles bunching and flexing between her legs. He's holding her wide by her ankles and she can almost hear him counting his reps. He's sheened in sweat. He looks like a baby-oiled body-builder and seems to like it: he's watching his reflection in the mirrored wardrobes by the bed. She looks so petite and pale under his lumpy shoves. To think she's had this day marked in her calendar for so long there was time to lose some weight and tone up for it. Had time to wax and exfoliate until her skin glowed. She even got her habitual black bob lopped into a new pixie cut that Hannah, her hairdresser said, "Is so sexy with them big blue eyes that I'll do yer if your husband don't."
He hasn't noticed her efforts or her adoring gaze taking him in; he's too fixated on his performance. Clinical. Just another experiment. Oh how she wants Michael's dreamy, eager mouth down there. Maybe some thick dreamy fingers with it. Then a dreamy shag perhaps, if she still needs it. But fuck she just wants to be adored. Messily and in detail. More than once.
It's ironic that her husband was voted the world's sexiest scientist when he's indifferent to sex. He acts like he's too evolved for it, like it's something for stupid, unrefined people. What cruel fate is it that made her, a woman who adores sex, love a man like that? And she does love him. Everywhere but between her legs. Her pussy numbed out two hundred strokes ago. A jackhammer was not the way to her heart.
She quickly turns a frustrated sigh into a blissful moan.
He pulls a stoic smile. Rams on. He's clearly not enjoying this, why does he do it? How does he do it?
"Cum," she puffs. "C-cum."
"Not till you do." He grabs her hips and yanks her at his thrusts.
Fuck. Sake. He thinks he's doing it for her.
With the practised efficiency of ten years of marriage she throws her leg over and twists onto all fours, hips up, face pressed to the pillow. His cock doesn't stop ploughing, relentlessly digging for treasure it'll never find. He doesn't seem to notice she's turned over, let alone that she's slid a hand down to fiddle with her clit.
Her sex is so wet and her fingertip so compelling that she could easily imagine it's Michael's tongue down there. Avoiding her unfaithful thought, she takes John's hand from her hip and pulls it to her face so she can suck his thumb.
He half-laughs, half-moans. His hips shake. "Come on, darling," he says. "Cum for me. For us." Then he fucks her harder, making obscene slapping noises with his front on her buttocks. The kids can't hear that can they?
This needs to finish, now. She rubs her clit, working a tingle into a fizz. That'll do, she can fake the rest. "Hmm!" she cries out on his thumb.
Then pop. There he is, Michael, kneeling beside the bed, watching her husband fuck her from behind while she gives the fucker a thumb job.
Her dream man blinks and looks around him. "Well, this is new." He looks a bit like her husband, but less pretentious. More carpenter than quantum physicist. He has the same action hero looks and buff physique but he's a little softer all over, like he's not too bothered about his appearance. He has a kind slope to his eyes too, and a twinkle. He's twinkling a lot at the moment, his edges glittering in the dark, but otherwise he's as solid here by her bed as he ever is in her dreams.
And he's right, this is new; she's never hallucinated him before. Christ she really does need a shrink.
Not yet though. Michael's mere presence sparks fairy lights all over her body. He regards her with amusement as she's tossed both and forth on the bed, hips tipped to her husband's insane pummelling. "You look fucking gorgeous. I love your hair." He kisses her bottom. "You enjoying that?"
She shrugs. But actually, she is enjoying herself now. Seeing herself fucked through his dreamy eyes seems to turn the volume up between her legs. Her husband's plunges feel great in the presence of this man. That's not fucked-up at all. Then Michael strokes her back, kisses her neck and whispers into her ear. "I need to eat you."
She casts a lascivious glance toward his hidden lap as if to say, "How much do you need it?"
Of course he reads her mind. He smiles and stands up, presenting his thick erection. That her husband can't see it is both hilarious and darkly, shamefully horny. But most horny of all is that Michael is so hard just from looking at her. From wanting--no he said needing--to eat her. Heat blooms in her hips. She screws shut her eyes and whimpers. "Oh God."
Her husband grunts and slams quicker.
Her orgasm swells, balls, and swells again. When she opens her eyes Michael's lying beside her top-to-tail, and sliding his head under her, between her legs. She cocks a leg to give him more room--John even holds it up for her. Well, for Michael, so her dream man can settle under her cunt. Michael's so single-mindedly focussed on her, he seems unbothered by her husband's testicles swinging through his forehead. They're ghosts to each other. In almost every way, these men are from different worlds.
Not Pearl though. A sexless relationship has caught her between worlds. Or rather the best of both. As if to prove it, Michael presses his mouth to her, and the slippiest, most exquisite warmth envelops her clit. Instantly her hubby's brutal thrusts become the good kind, the loving kind that turns her inside out. And fuck what a delicious sensation it is being thoroughly seen to, both inside and out. Her joints unhook, her muscles jellify, her skin melts. Michael moans into her cunt. Beside her, his cock bucks and pre-cum drips onto his belly, but he ignores it, utterly attentive to her. She leans over his hips and laps along his length. Fuck, he's rigid against her tongue. No, she can't help herself. Wrong or not, she'll suck Michael off while her husband fucks her. Just the thought sends a jolt down her spine, from dirty mind to clamouring cunt, raising a shivery sigh. She opens her mouth to Michael's taut bulb. This was going to be an epic--
"Fuck!" Her husband yanks out of her. "Sorry!"
Fuck it. She'd forgotten she'd promised to finish him in her mouth--an earlier attempt to get him to cum quicker. He leaps beside her head and presents his varnished cock. "Now! Now!"
But Michael's already nestled on her tongue and she's sucking him and she's momentarily confused. Too late. Her husband's hot cum splatters her cheek and lips. She quickly takes him in and sucks him too. Two penises become one lovely organ against her palette, jetting her mouth full of silky heat but also clenched and quivering as Michael holds back.
Yes, her husband's a selfish lover, but she doesn't care. She loves it. Any pleasure will do. She loves that he's swearing and cackling and enjoying her mouth as she draws on him. She's doing this, nobody else. She's overwhelming him, and it oddly makes her love him more. But mostly she loves it now, in this perfect superimposed--ultra-imposed!--moment, because her dream man is still underneath her, eating her with all the relish she shows her husband.
A deep moan pours right from her belly. She slides her knees wide, squirms, and judders into ecstasy, swallowing her husband's cum, cumming on her lover's tongue.
PEARL AND MICHAEL'S UNIVERSE
While Pearl sinks into a blissful, post orgasmic sleep, Michael waits for her in their dream house--a kind of oceanside modernist cottage, all glass and oak and sculptural concrete. He's preparing to hang a huge canvas. He's not wearing a shirt of course, and as Pearl strolls into the dream she's barefoot and pantieless in a loose, white dress. It seems they dress each other in this strange, liminal world.
"Thanks." Pearl pats his hard ass. "I needed that."
He winks and pounds a picture hook into the concrete with one wham of his hammer.
"Hmm." Pearl traces a lump in the front of his jeans, swelling and hardening it. "I owe you one." She kisses his pec, then his abs, and settles on her knees.
Michael tilts her face to his and kisses her. "Could you help me out later too? Jen is a bit frisky today. She's sent the kids to her mums and said I can do her if I need to."
"Lucky boy. Don't worry. I'll happily sort you out if your wife doesn't." Pearl plays with the animal cavorting in his jeans. "Has Jen ever sucked you off?"
He laughs dryly. "She kissed my cock while I wanked once. It was... nice."
"But?"
"But she made me cum into a Kleenex."
They laugh. And how great that was, that they could laugh about these things now. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago they were both weeping into their pillows. Rejected, frustrated, unloved, and with zero self-esteem, they'd begged the universe for help. And the universe really stepped up this time. Why, out of all the desperate souls in love with spouses uninterested in sex, were Michael and Pearl chosen to be together in dreams? They'd clearly won some cosmic sexual lottery.
Pearl drags Michael's waistband down to kiss the dip between his hip and abs. "You know, my husband planned our sex tonight as well. You think that's our doing, somehow? Are we training them to be better lovers?"
Michael lines up another nail. "Maybe. Jen has been demonstrative lately too. She said I was behaving with uncharacteristic maturity around sex recently, not chasing her or squeezing her bum all the time. She even joked that I must be having an affair."
