“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” – Edgar Allan Poe
Sexual fantasies can be as simple as a snippet daydream triggered by an enticing sight or as in-depth as lengthy musings during which our sense of reality dissipates, along with particular sounds of our own… Whether or not Poe meant to include sexual dreams in his famous quote, I feel the message applies. Hectic schedules and endless to-do lists can come between us and our sexual thoughts, or prevent them from flourishing—not ideal, considering the benefits of fantasies we discussed last week. I was thrilled to learn that some of you not only embrace your fantasies, but were willing to share them. (HooRAY!)
Thanks to these fantasy-forward ladies, I can welcome you all to Girl Boner’s premiere installment of Sexy Snippets and Stories. Most of the contributors’ names have been changed, upon request. Our first featured story comes to us from contemporary romance and middle grade fantasy writer, Gloria Richard—no pen-name required. I have a feeling that you and your Girl Boner will enjoy them.
Sexy Snippets and Stories
“I dreamed I was at this swanky, crowded restaurant—dressed to the nines, salon-perfect hair and makeup… I sat at the bar, sipping wine, and men kept walking over and flirting with me. They were all ages and walks of life, but mostly hot. Then my husband arrived, also looking spiffy. We stared at each other as he walked toward me. He pushed through the guys around me, grabbed me and started kissing me. I reciprocated of course, and we ended up making out then having sex in the middle of the place, with everyone watching. I keep wishing I’ll dream it again, or better, that it’ll happen.” – J.S.
“Sometimes I fantasize a friend of mine and her husband and joined me and my hubby in a foursome. I’m not sure if I could ever do it for real, or really want to… But I think about during sex. It makes things so much hotter.” – Sally P.
“My husband, Adam Lambert and me, tangled up naked in my bed. Lambie, as I like to call him, puts his tongue in my pussy—oh my god, so hot—while my man kisses me on the mouth and plays with Lambie’s cock, getting it ready for me. I keep hoping he’ll start singing…Lambie, that is. *SIGH* An old lady can dream…” – Hot Hilda
“…I’m in the middle of the dessert, and look like the magazine model version of myself—slightly taller and lankier with perkier breasts, thinner thighs…and way more confidence. There’s a man snapping photos and a fan blowing on me, and blowing my hair all around. Other people, my assistants perhaps (haha!) bustle around working, making sure everything is perfect. I’m usually wearing something revealing, like a low-cut tank and a skirt. Then my husband pulls up in his car, and I pretend I don’t see him. I feel him watching me and start taking off my clothes, bit by bit, until I’m totally naked. The assistants move in and start fondling and kissing me, all over my body. I just stand there, enjoying while my husband watches…whacking off in the car.” – M.K.
“I fantasize about kissing a woman, maybe having sex with her, with my boyfriend watching.” – Anonymous
“My biggest fantasy of late is coming home to a spotless house, a candlelit dinner and my husband, ready to feed me, give me a massage and then sex if I feel like it. Guessing the clean house would be the biggest turn on. Not so saucy, but true!” – Sue
“My husband in front of me, another guy behind me. You can figure out the rest.” – Anonymous
“Hugh Jackman. That is all.” – Reesa
NO BOUNDARIES, by Gloria Richard
Sadie slammed the door to her hotel room, leaned against it, and sank to the floor. What in the hell was wrong with her? Had she become a freaking nymphomaniac? Holy Mother of Wet Crotches, her Kegels were Rocket Woman Orgasmic launch pads.
No one noticed. Lesson learned. Do not exercise Kegels in public. Especially while sitting in a contoured bar chair, with a just-right rung for crossing legs.
“Was it hard not to scream, Sadie?” A deep, male timbre, flirting with amusement.
A man in her room?
She didn’t know why she wasn’t shocked. She didn’t know how, but she knew who sat in the corner armchair, where moonlight drifting through filmy white curtains left him in shadow.
“Stand up.” A command, not a request.
“Answering your fuck me request.”
“There is that, too. Get up.”
“It’s impossible for you to be here.”
“And, yet, I am.”
The shadowed head tilted. “Yes, you are. You ditched your panties. Did you touch yourself in the elevator, Sadie?”
The memory incited a clench. Familiar heat, tingle, desire, need, tease and promise zinged up her vaginal walls. She didn’t, couldn’t stop herself from straightening to press taut nipples against black lace.
“I could watch you do that all night. Stay there.”
Fuck him. If only…
Easier down than up, with three inch stilettos, and a body-hugging dress determined to pop over her ass. Almost upright, she grabbed the door handle. “I did not ask you to fuck me.”
“No? Eye contact, head tilt, slight smile, look away, bite then lick your lower lip. Sound familiar?”
“You are no gentleman.”
“Oh. I can be gentle. Lose the dress.”
How did he stretch those words into a soft caress, yet deliver them without punctuation? Sadie felt a hitch in more than her giddy-up.
“I do not take orders from men.”
“You will tonight. The dress?”
It must have been the memory of his hooded eyes—the memory of those dark, knowing eyes, or the lopsided lift in his lips in response to her innocent flirt.
Your fuck me flirt.
He was the one who’d launched her orgasm. The deep belly throb returned. Her hands gripped the hem of her dress. Like taking a one…two…three…triple-dog-dare plunge into icy water, she stripped it over her head, and dropped it on the floor.
“Good girl. Step into the moonlight.”
She complied. Why? This was so…so…
“It’s anything but, debasing. Nice abs. Can you touch your toes?”
“Of course,” She almost—one-brain-cell-shy-of-insanity-almost—proved it to him.
“Good. You’re flexible. Turn around.”
She wore nothing but black thigh-highs, a black lace bra, and stilettos. Front view ranked seven on a good day. Rear view? She no longer looked. “No.”
Sadie balanced on one heel and did a 360, annoyed when she wobbled on landing.
“Nice. Cute dimples. They’ll disappear.”
“There are women who pay for that teaser. I’m not one of them.”
“Deep muscle massage, you on your knees and bent forward, firm white globes spread so I can slide my…”
“Why? Are you wet? Ready to go wild?”
“You’re not real. You’re not here. Stop it.”
“You crave a screaming over-the-top orgasm. Why deny it?”
“No. I plan to watch. I plan to know your sweet spots. I plan to fuck you.”
Fuck, yes. Please.
Shame he was a figment of her over-the-limit pheromone-infused imagination.
She stripped, dipped from a tub of scented body butter, and massaged hyper-sensitive legs, belly, breast and ass. She arranged lubricant and toys on her bedside table, organized the pillows, one near the middle to use between her legs—her imaginary lover’s leg. Another to one side in case she chose to flip on her tummy. Still more propped against the headboard.
She pumped lubricant onto her fingers, rubbed cold on hot, hyper-sensitive inner labia then slipped into bed, clenched the pillow with inner thighs, teased her clitoral head from its hood, slipped a finger into her vagina, felt muscles close.
I wonder how that squeeze feels for a man?
“It’s erotic as hell.”
His voice? Here? Still? That deep, throaty tone now laced—no, loaded—with desire.
“Lose the covers. Don’t test me.”
Imagined or real, she no longer cared. She threw back the covers. She’d fantasized about showing a man what she liked. Why not now, tonight, all night if she chose?