Dreamtime for Maggie

Maggie lay on her stomach, each breath sounding like a rushing wind in the silence of her bedroom. Would it happen again tonight? Had she concocted last nights adventure from a glass of wine, a wish, and a videotape?

For some reason she had pulled on the mall-store copy of a Victorian dressing gown a former lover had presented her for Valentine's day. It was too hot to wear anything, but for some reason, she did not want to be completely naked and vulnerable if he came again.

Last night she had been nude, sweltering in the late August heat wave that had Denver baking for the last week. The upper floor apartment in the converted Washington Park Victorian had no air conditioning, so a Wal-Mart fan had been rotating back and forth lending an illusion of cool. She had just watched Dracula. Not the old black and whites, but the newer one with Gary Oldman and Keanu Reeves trying to pretend he was English. She had just finished a cool glass of wine when the scene where Dracula takes Lucy in the garden in wolf form occurred. She had hit the pause button and watched it several times, feeling a tingle begin that she had not felt in months, not since the breakup.

When the movie finished and Annie Lennox was singing the final mournful tune while the credits rolled, Maggie had stepped out the windows onto the balcony. It was almost 12:30, and her two male neighbors had no interest in the female form. She felt a slight breeze caress her nude form, and felt her nipples crinkle, not so much with a chill, but with an aching desire.

"I wish I had a daemon lover," she said. "Someone dark, and mysterious, who would slip through these doors and make me feel inflamed, possessed, and just plain wicked! If you're out there, I am here, my window is open for you!"

She walked back inside to her bed, feeling giddy and foolish. She stood in front of the fan for a few seconds relishing the feel of it on her bare skin, then flopped down on the bed with a squeaking protest of the old metal four poster bed.

In a few moments, the wine helped her drift off to sleep. She awoke a short time later. She despised clocks with luminous dials, so she did not know how long she had been asleep, or whether she was even really awake. There was a scent in the air. Sandalwood, cinnamon, deep rich freshly turned earth and many other scents somehow familiar yet unidentifiable assailed her nose.

Her eyes focused on the rectangle of diffused light that was the balcony doors. Silhouetted there was the shape of a man. Fear gripped her and news reports of assaults began playing over one another in her head. Her logical mind interrupted the regular broadcast to remind her there was almost no way anyone could climb the back roof without a big ladder and a lot of noise that her very wary downstairs old maid land-lady would not have heard. She had called the police so many times in the past year they knew her number when it showed up ion the incoming ID!

It had to be a dream. She did not usually drink anything. The booze and the movie had combined to try and freak her out.

The shape moved. It did not walk or jump, or use any manner of locomotion known to Maggie. One second it was at the window, the next it was filling her entire vision and standing by the bed. The smell was stronger now, but not at all unpleasant. She felt a tingle of fear that was quickly transforming into some other sensation. Then he touched her. She knew the intruder was male, but she was not sure how she knew. It stoked her hair very gently. She felt waves of peace and contentment pass through her. If she had been a cat, she was sure she would have purred.

His hand ran down her back, then brushed lightly against the cheeks of her buttocks. Her muscles tightened then at the brash familiarity of that touch, but there was no urge to tell him to stop. Another hand joined the first, swirling on her skin, raising gooseflesh wherever they passed. The hands made circles on her back, then went down to the side of her ribcage. In almost a trance state, Maggie felt herself lift her body off the bed with her elbows, and the hands swirled down to cup her breasts. Her nipples were hard almost to the point of discomfort. She felt the blood throbbing through her whole breasts as they hung down and were then pushed back up by those strong, long fingered hands. She realized then her legs were clenched together and she could feel a puddle forming under her pubic hair, soaking into the sheets.

A gentle nudge from him and she turned over with a soft squeak from the bed. One hand was now replaced by a mouth engulfing her nipple and a tongue molding it to a molten point. Her left breast was being skillfully massaged and caressed. The next few minutes were lost in a fog of pleasure and she was startled to hear her own voice moaning in a low -pitched caterwaul.

That mouth began kissing its way down her sweat covered stomach, her pubic hair meshing with his stiff beard. A pair of thumbs pulled aside her lower lips, which were fused together with her own excited fluids. She felt his breath on her. Anticipation made her quiver like a plucked harp string. Then a tongue darted forth and touched the swollen button of flesh. That was all it took to send her over the edge. She grabbed his head, clutching at his hair and thrust her wetness into him. He devoured her, his tongue and lips sucking, pushing and doing so many different things Maggie lost count of her orgasms. She finally had one huge shuddering climax where she swore she had actually screamed as she clutched the headboard and bucked her hips against him grinding her pussy into his face. The he stopped. He had then crept up her body, and kissed her gently. She responded by licking her own fluids from his lips, smelling her musky juices in his beard and mustache. He moved his head down and began licking her neck. If she hadn't been so exhausted she would have been very turned on. As it was, she had just achieved more orgasms in the last hour than she had in the previous year of her relationship. It felt good to have him lick just there, and then she had fallen asleep. She swore heard him whisper two words before she drifted off. "Until tomorrow."

The next morning Maggie awoke with a start. Her subconscious realized she had slept through four or five songs blaring from the bathroom on her clock radio. She rolled out of bed, and noted a weakness in her thighs and a content soreness between her legs. She did not remember the visitation until she slapped the radios silencer and looked into the mirror. There were circles under her eyes, and her short hairs stuck out in all directions. Then, she raised trembling fingers to her neck, Right there where the collarbone gently rose; there was a bruise. She hadn't had a hickey since when? Her last lover had considered them childish and "non-professional" and had scolded her when she had left one. It looked like it should be sore, but it felt rather numb as she touched it.

"Crap!" she hissed as she looked at the clock. No time to gamble on the RTD's less than stellar record of keeping its schedule. She was almost 30 minutes behind. There would be enough time for a quick shower (thank Goddesses all for short haircuts), and a pop tart in the car. She could really use some morning thunder tea to wake up, but there would be no time for that!

Once in the shower, she noted her breasts felt very tender, yet still tingled. The memories came flooding back as she passed the soapy wash cloth over her pubic mound. Her clitoris was still somewhat swollen and she found herself catching her breath as a tingle of pleasure shuddered through her. Had it been a dream? What about the bruise on her neck? Hadn't she read somewhere about people who were hypnotized and told they w re being burned who developed blisters? Maybe she had believed in the dream so hard her body had produced the bruise. Maybe she had scratched herself in her sleep.

She definitely had several orgasms last night. It had been six months since the break up, and even the vibrator her crazy friend Terri had given her as a gag gift had really never seen any action. It was not the first time she had cum in her dreams. There was the time as a kid when she had the crush on the lead singer from the By City Rollers. She would dream about just making out with him and cream her panties. She had been a little drunk and that scene in the movie seemed to have turned her on quite a bit.

As she ran out the back door to her car, she waved to her landlady Mrs. Smitts. She was kneeling on a foam pad in her garden, wearing a ridiculously huge straw hat, a long sleeve shirt, and those weird sun glass goggles that seniors with cataracts always wore. Mrs. Smitts would go on for hours about the damaging effects of the sun. Here she was on the west side of the house on a cloudy morning dressed up like a ... vampire?

Mrs. Smitts stopped, and stared at her, even reaching a bright pink glove up to pulled the UV goggles away from her face. She wore a pinched, disapproving expression that Maggie could not understand, until she remembered her "dream" and the prolonged squeaking of her bed.

All day at the hospital she found it hard to concentrate. Every time she kneeled down. Her pussy would throb and ache with a strange sort of hunger feeling. When she reached up, her nipples would instantly harden, causing juices to flow. She had raided her locker at first break and scrounged for some panty liners. Terri saw her briefly at lunch and had made several crude jokes about her "hickey". Maggie had blamed it on an insect bite she must have been allergic to.

While Maggie was checking her inventory before she punched out, a thought occurred to her. What if it had been an intruder? He could have broken in, and been standing by the window when she woke up. Had she remembered if the doors were locked when she ran out this morning?

Why would an intruder take the time to be so soft, caring, and damn sexy? As far as she could remember, she had felt nothing but his hands, and his mouth. She had certainly not been raped, but the thought of being penetrated by this daemon lover soaked through another panty liner (The fourth so far today!)

After work, she went to King Soopers. Her freezer at home was full of Lean Cuisine and "Healthy Choice Vegetarian" meals. Tonight she needed meat, craved it. A fresh spinach salad joined the other things in her cart, and she also without thinking threw in a bottle of iron tablets.

She used her small hibachi to barely sear the steak. She savored the bloody taste, and it seemed to relieve a bit of the fatigue she had felt all day. She resisted the urge to play "Dracula" again, instead found herself flipping though inane comedies and finally settling on Animal Planet, staring transfixed as a tiger savaged its prey.

No wine tonight either. She needed to be clear headed. As the sun set behind the mountains, Maggie sat in her rocking chair, naked except for her panties, idly stroking her nipples. She felt empty inside, like her pussy was a starving animal, waiting to be filled. She did not turn on any lights. As the darkness (as it was in a light polluted city like Denver) filled her apartment she found herself walking to the bathroom to find out what time it was. She paced, she walked out onto the balcony. Nothing seemed to calm her. Soon she was digging through the archaeological trove that was her lingerie drawer to find something to wear. A small part of her brain wondered what she was doing, dressing for a possible serial rapist? Another part of her wanted to be found alluring, desirable, worthy of the attention she had last evening.

When she found the dressing gown, sheerer than any Lucy or her Victorian lady friends would have worn, it slipped over her head immediately.

Now she waited, She resisted going to the bathroom to check on the time. A little while ago it had been 12:30. A slight breeze moved the curtains. Her eyes were getting heavy, she needed to close them for just a second.

Then she smelled it again, that wonderful blend of musky spices. She opened her eyes again and the pale rectangle of light had been replaced by the dark bulk of his body. Like a cat, he lay down on the bed beside her. The bed gave only the faintest protest. She could feel the heat radiating from every inch of him. She knew without seeing he was naked. She longed to run her hands down his body, to take what she hoped was a stiff long cock into her hands and coax it into her rapidly increasing wetness.

His hand ran down her back, then created an electric tingle as it found the skin of her leg. In one swift movement it slid back up, bunching the gown up over her buttocks. She clenched then. Her pussy felt like a velvet fist, clenched so tight it would be impossible to open. He had been here only seconds, and touched but a few inches of her, but she swore she was seconds away from a bombastic orgasm.

He blew warm air into her ear and across the nape of her neck sending gooseflesh marching up her spine. She moaned softly and tried to thrust her hips so that his fingers would rub against her wetness.

He complied by extending his middle finger, and while still pressing against her clenched cheeks, he slid it through the wet heat to her swollen clit.

His finger began to pulsate then; small movements that seemed to keep pace with her rapidly accelerating pulse. In 20 seconds she was biting her pillowcase and shuddering in a thunderous orgasm. His other hand snaked under her, caressing her nipple though the fabric of the dressing gown. He was lying so close to her that Maggie could feel his organ, so hard it felt like bone rather than flesh. At that instant she knew she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted to feel that swollen cock inside her.

She reached a hand down and grasped it. His cock pulsed, seeming to enlarge by a few centimeters at her touch. She wanted to taste him then, but what he was doing to her kept her pressed to the bed and nearing another mind-numbing climax.

When she came this time, she clutched his cock and felt it quiver in time with her own spasms.

He relented then, and gave a her a few seconds to catch her breath. Her gown clung to her sweaty body and her breathing was ragged.

"Why... are you teasing me? Why don't...you do it?" She gasped.

"Do what" came his whisper.

Maggie had never been able to talk to partners during sex. Somehow she always had hoped they would know what she wanted. She had never had that hope fulfilled.

She sucked in a lung full of air and concentrated on her words. "Why don't you..." She wanted to say make love, but she knew that would not be the right term for him. She had no illusions that this creature of the night loved her. She knew he desired her, longed for her, devoured her, somehow needed her, but felt nothing akin to love.

She started again. "I want you, you know, inside of me."

The dark stranger replied, "My kind require an invitation before they can enter anywhere. You invited me into your home last night. Think carefully, Magdalene. Once invited, we can enter whenever we choose."

She started at the use of her full name. No one called her that.

His long fingers began to stroke up and down her wet slit. If she were not filled soon, she would no longer be able to draw breath.

"Well?" he asked.

"Do it!" she hissed.

"I am afraid that does not satisfy the rules. It must be an invitation." He replied, now using two fingers to twiddle her engorged clitoris.

For a brief moment Maggie imagined a small parchment card with lace edging bearing the calligraphy words, "You are cordially invited to have your way with Magdalene Carter. R.S.V.P"

Now one finger kept the pressure on her clit, while the other was pushing into her lips, pressing against the opening she so badly needed probed. Her hips were beginning to buck in the air, as he threw a leg over her and she could feel his cock on the back of her thigh.

"Please," she began, then whispered, "Fuck me."

"What did you say? He asked, "I could barely hear you."

"FUCK ME!" she screamed not caring what Mrs. Smitts or the neighbors thought.

The visitor let out a feral snarl. A shiver coursed through Maggie made up of equal parts terror and anticipation. She found her legs being spread by his knees. His strong hands grasped either side of her hips and pulled her up. She had only been in this position once or twice before. Her ex had only liked to be on top. This was the only way she could imagine feeling him for the first time. Him a stag and she the doe. He was a wold and she was a bitch in heat. She buried her face in her pillow and her fists clutched the sheets in anticipation. She could feel the head of it pulsing as it pushed against the tightness of her pussy. Then with another snarl, he thrust. She felt as if her body was being split open, like someone had driven a red hot poker into her aching loins. Maggie had never felt so wonderful. He stretched her and pushed in ways she had never felt before. Then he began slamming into her. Each thrust caused her engorged nipples to rub against the sheets sending electrical shocks through her and making her even wetter than before. Every thrust made her think his cock was growing, expanding, filling every part of her.

Maggie Carter had slept with men. She had experienced sex before. Once or twice she had made love. Maggie Carter had never been fucked.

She was not sure how much longer she could take it. Her calves and thighs were quivering. She could barely breathe, and her vision had exploded into neon blue lightning bursts. His nails were dug into her soft ass cheeks, and she was sure there was going to be no doubt tomorrow that this was real. Those ten bruised nail marks would not come from a dream. With each thrust he gave a guttural grunt. Soon Maggie heard a wail like a siren approaching. It kept getting louder and seemed to make quite a counter point tot he squeak of the bed and the thump as the head board hit the wall with each piston thrust. In a moment she realized the wail was coming from her. Now he thrust once more, so hard she felt she might be driven through the wall. She felt the girth of his cock expand and a spasm begin. At that moment Maggie experienced the most intense feeling of her life. Every spurt of his juices sent her into another eternity of pleasure. Then she blacked out.

When she awoke, it was in the gray predawn. She heard the thump of a newspaper hitting the front steps. Every muscle in her body was sore. Her mouth was dry and she was too languid to even think about moving. The whole bed was scented with her sweat and cum, and the aroma stirred a faint desire in her. A breeze blew across her body. At some point in time the dressing gown had become shredded. She vaguely remembered him on her Oriental rug on his back and her astride him riding like the hounds of hell were chasing her.

Her neck was still numb. She knew he would come back. Not every night; God, she couldn't take that! When her need arose, he would be there. He had needs too. She knew that somehow. She was not the only one, somehow she knew that too. This was not a man, to be possessed by one woman, This was a spirit, a thing that could not be owned or claimed. Like a wind it blew where it willed, and touched whomever exposed themselves. She rolled over and in the dim twilight saw a fresh chrysanthemum on her nightstand. Maggie smiled. It would have been too cliché had he left a rose.