poeticdesires

buy Pregabalin in uk the life and musings of a kinky slut

A Wet Dream

Fuwwah I was on the set of a movie. A porno.

I was an actor. Or a PA. Or both.

The director sent me off to fetch a bunch of gel for the lights, lights which were to shoot through a screen to highlight the lead in a soft glow.

It was combination horror/porn shoot. The lead was a ghost, the ghost of a serial killer.

I ran from my talent chair to accomplish my task, the pages of my script rustling as I scurried about.

On the way to the lighting closet, I saw a lot of people had brought their mothers to the set.

Shit. It was Mother’s Day. I had scheduled work on Mother’s Day. I immediately began drafting the apology text in my brain.

When I came back to the stage, I gave the gel to the director. He then broke us all for the day, so people could spend time with their mothers.

I felt like shit.

The number of people on the set dwindled. All that remained were a lesbian couple, me, and a friend.

I lazily walked around the warehouse, which doubled as crash space for those who were in from out-of-town (including me). A side room with a few beds served as our living quarters.

Strolling into the large bedroom, the lesbian couple, two gorgeous curvy black women, were fucking on the couch by the window at the end of the room. I plopped down into my bed, still feeling shitty, and watched them because, well, they were there.

One of the lesbians was married; her husband, a gorgeous black man, stood over them, watching as well, a little to close… For some reason, I think he was being taught how to properly fuck his wife. He didn’t seem upset, more curious, taking copious mental notes.

There was an issue with a rather large dildo, a condom, and lube. With readjustment, the lesbians went back to their rather loud fucking.

As I laid on my bed, taking in the scene, my friend stalked into the room and approached me. He wore a black t-shirt, kilt, and boots. He grabbed me by my hair, pulled me up off the bed, and held me there, close to him, looking into my eyes. There was want, need, desire, a taking of what he wished to have.

He flung me around, facing away from him, and pulling my body into his. Somehow I was suddenly naked. Grabbing a coil of natural fiber rope from somewhere, he flicked his wrist, flinging the chord across the bed. Holding the bite, he drug the rope across my chest as my body pressed into his. My head rolled back, my cheek brushing against his chin. I moaned at the touch of his hemp.

He turned me to face him again. My hips were now bound, strands across my pelvis and upper thighs. He used his work to pull my left leg up, rocking his hips into my crotch. I felt his erection through his kilt. I knew what he wanted, and he knew what I wanted.

As our hips ground into each other, practicing the fun we would soon have, he grabbed my hair again, pulling me in for a kiss.

When I opened my eyes from our embrace, we were lying on my bed. His head rested on my chest, my arms around him, his arms around me. I was still naked, and still wearing his harness. He was also naked now. The unmarried lesbian nuzzled with us, also naked and also sleeping, her head resting on my friend’s thighs.

I didn’t feel shitty anymore.


Categorised as: Dream | Rope | Sex

Comments are disabled on this post


Comments are closed.