Chapter 2
Michael dreamed of a date with Lucy Clayton. They were sitting on the back row of the local cinema and Michael had just managed to get Lucy out of her bra when someone sat down beside him. Uncomfortable with having someone watching him, he looked round... into the pale blue eyes of Miss Calvin.
"Hello, Michael," she said, as though absolutely nothing was wrong. "Don't let me interrupt you. I'll just watch the film."
Michael shook his head and turned back to the patiently waiting Lucy. Her nipples beckoned and he lowered his mouth to one of them. She groaned appreciatively, just the way he expected her to.
He stopped and looked around. Miss Calvin was still sitting there, dressed in a long, flowing, wrap-around gown in a blue that matched her eyes.
She had to be wearing a bra, because her breasts were embellished with the same stunning cleavage as they had been that afternoon.
What was odd was that Miss Calvin seemed more real than Lucy did. He had never seen Lucy naked, and his imagination was taking care of the details from her neck down to her hemline. Miss Calvin appeared solid, almost as if she was physically there.
"Is something wrong, Michael?" she asked.
"Why are you in my dream?"
"You're dreaming about sex. You must find me sexy. Isn't that logical?"
"I usually just dream about sex with Lucy," he replied, indicating the silent girl beside him.
Miss Calvin stood up, slid one leg past him, and ended up sitting on the back of the chair in front of Michael, her legs straddling his. Her dress was forced open below the waist where it tied, revealing that, while she might be wearing a bra, she was not wearing any other underwear.
Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed into a dark patch above her pussy and Michael found himself able to do little more than stare.
Forgotten, the dream-Lucy faded away in the chair beside him.
"Perhaps," Miss Calvin began, reaching down to unzip Michael's fly, "you want something a little more experienced than little Lucy." She reached into his pants and withdrew his rapidly swelling cock.
"Perhaps, you just didn't realise that something better might be living next door." She bent, from the hips, to wrap the head of his cock in her lips. He let out a groan.
She slid his cock, slowly, achingly, into her mouth and he knew that he would come at any instant, but he did not. She slid her way back up his shaft and straightened up. "What do you think, Michael?"
He couldn't answer. All he could do was nod. She smiled and slid her knees onto the chair on either side of his hips. Her hands reached down to slide him forward on the chair a few inches. He gasped as she slid his cock into her pussy with no more warning than that.
"Yes!" she hissed as she drove down onto his shaft, lifting immediately only to slide back down. She kept up the same constant rhythm for several minutes (hours it seemed to Michael, lost in a world of pleasures untold), until he felt her vaginal muscles tighten around him and knew that she was going to cum.
His own orgasm began with that realization and suddenly, as her muscles began milking him for all they could get, he came into her for all he was worth.
He woke up, sweating and sticky, his body still in the throws of the orgasm that had claimed him in the dream. "Jesus Christ!" he stammered when he had the breath control to speak at all.
As he cleaned himself up and changed the sheets on his bed he had one overriding concern. How was he going to look Miss Calvin in the face having dreamed of fucking her brains out in a cinema?