Wet Dreams

My pussy pounds with my knowing fingers feeling for that illusive spot just inside my warm hood. My chest fills with fear and suspense, as I cup my heavy twin-Ds, kneading the pliant mounds and pinching at the rubbery nibs. I want this stranger to take me. I ache for his strong hands to grab me from behind and throw me down, ripping my clothes in the process and taking ownership of my swollen tits. His fierce grip squeezes my breasts and he kneads the bouncy flesh. The pink nipples stiffen under the applied pressure of experienced hands. There's something warm yet terrifying, to be held in his vice-like grip. He plucks the squatty tips between his stubby fingers and tugs at them until the shrill shrieks of pleasure and pain escape my worried throat.

A throbbing signal hammers from deep inside my steamy cunt while my hips undulate under the weight of his forceful frame. I can feel the damp heat of his crotch as his muscular bulk settles onto my trembling abdomen. He shreds my lacy underwear as he violently spreads my skittish legs. With each movement he utters a filthy, running description of his ravishing and the vile commentary for some perverted reason, exhilarates my slutty soul. "Don't hide those big tits, Sugar." "Let me see that tight twat." "I'm going to open you wide." "You love this don't you, you dirty slut?" "Wrap your legs around me, and take your Daddy's cock." His insistent tool is perched right at the trimmed entrance of my taut little hole. The thick torpedo head is wedging it's way into me. The turgid shape, once it gains entry, drives forward into the constricted passage, compelling my pussy to stretch wide or be ripped apart. Strangely, I find my that my thighs open willingly to welcome this firm, fat tool. I can't wait to be impaled on his massive rod and my wanton labia unclench in an anticipatory gesture that makes him feel at home. When I can feel the tightness in my uterus and the banging against my inner walls, my juices begin to flow freely and my bawdy hips hump the bed.

My fingers do the rest. I scream and writhe. My flailing form flops in ecstasy and I am spent for another evening. How can I explain this indecent, abnormal desire to be taken against my will and used like a cheap slut? A piece of nasty meat whose only function is to fill his (and mine) carnal fantasy? If he only knew, or if he would even ask, I would boldly admit to him my lusty cravings to be his submissive sexual-toy. Is it that I want to be completely controlled, treated like his personal whore, purely to satisfy our combined sensual urges? Or am I expressing my inner desires- my impermissible dreams? Maybe I am entirely in control of my fantasy life by accepting this "faceless stranger" - just a dominating man with a big cock- to fill my deepest, dirtiest visions, though the no-no of incest makes it so much hotter.

I can be anyone's submissive little playmate... if I could only find the right guy and the prudently lecherous scenario. I'm mostly searching for an aggressive "top" to subvert the moral compass of this thrill-seeking "bottom." The contrasting images and components are always seeping into my thoughts.

There was a scene in a movie that I watched the other night that could have been so much sexier, if only they would have taken the next step. Forcing my horny mind to wander what if... It involved a well dressed secretarial-type riding down in the elevator with her obviously libidinous older boss. With each uncomfortable moment that they pass as the floor-indicator lights flash, he makes another crude remark about his availability or her tempting sensuality. His leering eyes zoom-in on her abundant cleavage. His flagrant ogling is disconcerting and she must wonder if she is giving-off contradictory signals concerning her interest. The woman is getting more nervous and wishing the ring of the tiny bells counting the floors would come faster. She squeezes unobtrusively into the corner of the car and holds her folders protectively across her rapidly-rising chest. Perspiration forms on her forehead and upper lip, and her brow arches in despair while the confines of the car close in on her. Her blouse is straining under the stress of her heaving bosom. Her knees wobble as she struggles to remain calm and display no outward sign of fear or revulsion at the veiled threat of sexual coercion coming from her obviously horny boss. Then the door opens to the crowded lobby and she scurries away. "What a let-down," as I pull my fingers from beneath my undies, "we came close, I guess." I turn-off the TV and let my fervent imagination fill-in the disappointing blanks.

Is it so sordid that during the film, a memory is awakened of when I worked for my father as a young girl and later, with a few raunchy additions to make the moment special I drift into fantasy land? My fingers traipse lazily under the waistband of my moist panties, and towards the warm center of my pelvis, where they will proceed to rekindle the flame that had been in danger of being snuffed-out. But certain images of Daddy always brightens the flame a bit.

It wasn't quite like that scene, but if we had been in an office building, I could well imagine us being the last ones to leave after a hectic night where we celebrated a small business victory with some champagne and maybe a welcomed shot or two. I touch the short, wiry curls of my damp pubic mound and the flat of my palm slowly strums the mons while an adventurous finger plucks at the rising niblet of my clit. The champagne bubbles always go to my head.

Before we left the office that evening, I would have slipped out of my formal business suit and put-on something more comfortable for some anticipated exercise when I reached home. My wavy brown hair would be hoisted into a ponytail, I'd have on a tank-top and sports bra that struggled to corral my Double-Ds behind two layers of stretching fabric, with a tight satiny pair of shorts that ably show-off my long legs while barely concealing my blossoming "Y," and my sheer stockings and heels would have been replaced by sweat socks and gym shoes. I would be excited and energetic that we had a successful day, and ready to blow-off steam. A bouncy bundle of raw energy, fueled by the fruit of the grape, and protected by the apple of my eye.

The boss, (in my dirty mind, I know it's Daddy,) would still be in his suit though its slightly rumpled now, and his ruddy complexion is feeling the effects of his favorite bourbon. His eyes seemed to take an indecent appraisal of my figure and his tongue kept licking his lips in a devilish manner. He would move to brush loose strands of my brunette mane away from my face, and smooth non-existent wrinkles from the bodacious balcony of my abundant breasts. Then he "just happened" to step behind me, gazing at the shadowy cleft of my butt that fit so securely in my red, running shorts. He would hug me from behind as the elevator descended, occasionally even slobbering kisses on the back of my hand or the

nape of my neck, telling me, "How wonderful and indispensable" I am. I recoil from his sudden advances and attribute it to the alcohol. There are deep circles under his red-glazed eyes and he has a distrustful, rapacious look to him. Then he slurs-out that he "prefers my casual, sexy look to that stuffy pants-suit," infact he says that I "should be more willing to show my assets to the clients." My ears perk-up with the clear-cut warning signals, but afterall it was my Daddy. I should have been more wary.

A fantasy of the licentious, seducer accustomed to having his way, in an enclosed space with an inexperienced underling can spark some exhilarating passions unless they quickly become all too real, and there is no way out. That's how I would imagine things, and the dark mood makes my skin tingle with an illicit thrill. I begin to wriggle in my seat, a flush comes over my cheeks and my pouty nipples start to poke through my clingy tee. I understand that there are no "good" rape stories, but it is just a fantasy. And its mine.

Fortunately, I've prepared myself for this sensual seduction many times, (I smirk with a devious chuckle.) Now I have two fingers diligently tingling the inner walls of my pussy and curling under the upper folds, playfully trolling for that elusive "G-spot." My undies have been tossed aside and I'm perched spread-eagle on the chair in a most unlady-like fashion as I paw at my straining orifice. I'm ready for more as I picture the immoral seduction in my mind. My other hand slips beneath my cottony tee and I fondle one heavy globe, in preparation for some livelier, filthier treatment.

Suddenly I notice that he has maneuvered me into a corner of the tiny car, his sloppy kisses become more determinedly sexual and the odor of corn whiskey increasingly apparent. His inhibitions are fading and my reactions are dulled by surprise and a fatalistic fascination of what may happen next. No one should want this, but I do. His strong hands grab for my thin wrists, and he has pulled and pinned them behind me, freeing one of his hands to explore. I feel it yanking my top upwards and over my head, dragging my bra with it. My hair is tumbled from it's ribbons and mussed clumsily about my face. I stare open-mouthed at him but he appears not to notice, or by my near silence, he takes it for deference. He tosses my clothing aside and pushes me into the corner, where he is now infront of me and crudely sucking at my exposed nipples. That strong paw grips and kneads at my tender flesh, alternately feeding most of the supple breasts into his gaping jaws and his teeth bite-down enticingly sharp on my sensitive nubs. A shiver ripples my frame, and I hardly fight. His rude saliva drips down my chest and I gawk in amazement as the lively trickle of foam slides down the valley of my ribcage, and merges to form a path into my shorts, where it gets absorbed and forms an ominous dark spot right above my quivering cunt.

I squirm in semi-nakedness and mumble some lackluster refusals while my will to resist strangely ebbs. His mouth covers mine, I think more to quiet my meager protests than to really kiss me, and then I feel his pointed tongue probing at my lips. This is just a waystop, as his tongue slowly descends my tingling torso. Stopping for a minute to slather more of his wet, foamy pecks on to the perky tips of each pink bud and then continue a sleazy trail down my belly and to my waist. As he kneels heavily between my legs his hands just naturally grip my waistband and bring my shorts and panties down with the motion, soon they are crumpled at my ankles and his probing tongue has found a new curly hair-draped passage to investigate. My hands are freed but I do not move. Clad now only in socks and shoes, I shiver but can't look away. His warm hands caress my hips and jiggle the firm, round cheeks of my taut butt as his snaky tongue violates my wanton cunt. I shudder and moan, my hand twirls through his hair, both to encourage his obscene behavior and also to keep me upright. My knees nearly buckle when I feel the impending build-up of my climax coming on strong. He has an experienced tongue and I am a clean slate for him to work on. Nobody has ever touched me like this. I am listening for the tell-tale tone of the bell that signals the lobby-floor, where we will be exposed to all. But I can't truly say if its for my salvation, or if it would bring on brutal disappointment. He catches my eye as I watch the floors countdown, and his hand quickly jabs at the "stop" button. He explains that this is a private elevator, and soon we are rocketing back up to our company floor. He rises to his feet, his feint mustache cloudy with my liquids and his hand is now cupping my sodden pussy, holding me like that as if my snatch had a fuzzy little handle.

When the doors open he drags me out to the hall, holding me with the hand firmly entrenched between my limp thighs, where he pushes me down on the cold tile and yanks his nice, linen pants down. I am on my bare knees with my soaked butt facing him and my anxious expression gazing over my shoulder, pleading with him to bring me all the way over the edge. In an instant his huge cock is unsheathed and being rubbed in the wet crevice between my legs. It shines like wet marble as it glides up and down my slick valley. The look of his purplish, mushroomed head, greasy with my secretions, is menacing to think what he is oiling it up for. I feel the spongey tip of his helmet as it brushes against my engorged clit and I'm ready to burst. "Is this what you want, you little slut?" He teases me in my desperate situation, knowing that I am now trapped in my own perversions. I only moan. He plunges-in without anymore foreplay and I'm hoisted on his solid spear. The pressure propels me forward on my knees, and he catches me by yanking my damp, stringy hair. It takes only a few powerful jabs, his enormous cock filling me completely, and I feel the torrent inside of me let loose. Like the pressure built-up behind a failing dam, my insides roil and begin to flow. This is heat like I've never imagined. The piston action of his enormous rod drives through my silken tunnel, and the coarse, lewd interaction is completed.

His swift pounding of my welcoming cunt is over quickly as he floods my cervix with his seed, but I am sated and exhausted all the same. My pussy is a hot mess and my breathing is stilted and raspy. We collapse in a teeming, sweaty mess on the coolness of the tiled floor. He is grunting and gasping for air while I am a sopping-wet lump of craven vulnerability. I am sweaty and my body quakes with the aftershocks of a monstrous orgasm. I peek over my shoulder to thank Daddy for his delightful deflowering of his precious daughter, but I can no longer see him. He is fading away as my current, more normal surroundings come into view. My tired digits, sloppy with my juices and almost numb from their repeated, break-neck stroking of my slutty cunt, are withdrawn from my hot passage. I sluggishly

bring my hand to my mouth and feed each individual finger between my lips and suck them to the last knuckle, licking and savoring my own essence while unconsciously thanking Daddy for delivering my delirium.

"Daddy," the meek little-girl voice in my head, squeaks-out. "What (more) do you want from me? Why are you doing this?" The questions, as they are brought to mind, exemplified a scared, tormented soul. A young woman who understands that what would most bring her to the ultimate climax, is an indecent, incestuous urge that cannot be denied... but must remain reluctantly hidden. To want to be placed in a position where an aggressive pervert, attacks and rapes her, compounded by the seedy wish that it be her own father, is a horrible thought, with lewd undertones. "But it's just a sex-dream right?" I endeavor to convince myself, because I know that this deviant dream is what's needed to bring me to the earth-shaking completion that allows me to relax and atleast for the present, to live with my perversion.

My mind recoils from the frustration. I know that he is not merely a demented rapist forcing an innocent victim to a cruel life-altering passage, that repeated fantasy alone would be lewd enough. He is Dad. And those vulgar questions that rebound in my head require me to supply answers. He is a figure that represents security so maybe I just accept his guidance. Or is he making an erotic proposition to test my virtue, then I am only inquiring on what role I am being asked to play? I've been tortured with this challenge before, am I the good girl or the vixen?

Every time that elevator vision starts, my heart rate begins to climb. I replay the scenario again. In those close quarters, my brain would be scrambling. I'd understand that my senses were compromised with 80-proof exhilaration. Should I be ashamed for shedding my "respectable attire" and flaunting my supple, horny body? Was I just leading him on? And any woman realizes just what's happening at the first instant that a man's eyes linger a moment too long, or his hand moves a bit too far. And that "friendly" kiss- even from a close relation- lasts too long. I've played this wet dream scenario many times, exactly because this is what triggers the tremendous orgasm that I'm after. I know how it will play-out, and I know that I'm anticipating an incestuous rape, but that's what gets me off. No mere guy is going to do it. And the real thrill is that in my mind, I can see the entire thing coming and I can manipulate my role in it. I play the director and the victim. The man, the assault, the dirty lewd act and one super-charged chick.

The girl knows. When she feels that curious jolt in her loins and that hot spark that races down her spine and frazzles every nerve in her body, she knows. Her temperature soars. Sweat breaks out and a nervous shudder affects every appendage. These most obvious signs signal to your counterpart that he has literally "struck a nerve." Seemingly against your control, or even your best intent, your breathing takes on a stuttering hesitation. Words of deterrence form slowly or incoherently and your mouth grows dry while your tongue seems to balloon. Your perky nipples straining at your blouse, become his focal point, and they appear to be calling for attention. And you swear that you can smell the aroma of your own sexual pheromones wafting on the warm fluid wicking in your damp panties. You do the awkward dance step known to all women, when you are certain that both of you can sense the thick stream of lusty desire, oozing down your leg.

I couldn't just throw myself at him, that wouldn't be very feminine of me. Am I seducing him? NO. And I can't just lay back and allow him to strip me, I've got to fight back... a little. Besides, the resistance and the physical combat is what makes the situation so sexy for me. He is much bigger than I am and terribly strong, the fear of him overpowering me and demanding- or taking- what he wants causes the heat to rise. Me coming-on to him is just sleazy. I can't ask my Dad to lick my steaming pussy and get me lubed-up for his enormous dick. And what if I was wrong about his incestuous intention? I'd be mortified. He'd disown me. All of my fantasies would be ruined forever. It's my dream and I want him to rape me!

All he has to do is be the Dom. I'll play my role, and he'll be happy. "Just say the word," that lascivious little voice is screaming in my head. "Give me a clear sign, and I'm yours," I plead with my watery eyes. And my aching, yearning body is asking for the same favor. This entire scene plus the silent monologue that accompanies it, plays-out in a fraction of a second in that confined, little elevator car with the horribly tense atmosphere.

Sometimes the scene shifts to the house I grew-up in, and my Mom is still alive. She is doing the laundry and for some reason, Daddy and I are up in the attic where I'm trying on bathing suits. It hurts me that this image occurs to me while my mother would be living. And it seems hateful that I would consider a seduction of her husband- my father. And I couldn't fathom that Daddy would ever make a play on his daughter, especially if mom were there. But that's what puts the excitement and the deviance into these raunchy illusions. My hand just automatically travels down my skittish belly and slips inside my wet panties.

After parading infront of him half nude, and him leering hungrily at my full figure blatantly on display, the next move on the chessboard belongs to him, and I'm anxiously waiting. There is no pretense involved, we can both sense the deviant

desire in the stuffy air. With the slightest pressure on my shoulders, just the dirty temptation that I need, he has me drop to my knees between his legs. He reaches a steady hand behind my back, sending cold shivers down my spine. I make no complaint, merely wait for permission to proceed with this guilty act. With a practiced hand, his deft fingers untie the string bikini battling to contain my swelled breasts. The material slides easily from my shoulders and is shrugged to the floor.