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His hands stroked her gently. She quivered with excitement, and moisture oozed from the intimate spring hidden between her legs. She writhed against the sheets and moaned. “Steve. .. Steve. . . ooh, darling!” She saw her husband’s rigid prick and reached out to touch it just as her dream dissolved into the sunny brilliance of the Oregon morning.
She was alone.
Sharon Wagner sat up in bed and the covers fell away from her vibrant young body. Her breasts pressed voluptuously against the pink, diaphanous fabric of her nightgown, the rigid points of her nipples showing through.
She looked down at the mounds, which ached slightly as a result of the tantalizing dream, and placed her hands around them. As she fondled the pliant masses slowly, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. The long sweep of her reddish blonde hair shimmered in the morning light as her head moved from side to side.
She felt a faint warmth in her vagina.
It was sinful, she thought, to miss her husband’s lovemaking as much as she did. She had told herself she should concentrate on the fine qualities of his character and the tender affection he held for her, and she was able to do this when she was awake. But when she slept, a more sensual part of her nature asserted itself and she dreamed she was in her husband’s arms, submitting to his strong sexual drive. Her dreams always ended before Steve’s rigid penis made contact with her vulva, leaving her intensely frustrated and lonely.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.