Lucid Echoes in Velvet Night

It was Saturday morning, and Lucy and I were relaxing in bed, slowly waking to the light drumbeats of rain against the bedroom window. Lucy sat up and rested her back against the bed pillows, staring ahead. I could tell she’s fixed in thought.

Before I can ask what’s up, she turns to me and says, “I had a strange dream last night, and I’m not sure what to think about it.”

“What type of dream?” I ask.

“A sex dream,” she answers. “And it was one I’ve never had before.”

I’m intrigued. I sit up and look at her expectantly.

Lucy continues, “In the dream, I was having a threesome with two guys—something I don’t actively fantasize about—but here’s the strange thing: both of the guys were you.”

I burst out laughing. “If only!”

Lucy chuckles. “I know, right? But it got me wondering—in a hypothetical situation, would fucking two of you be immoral?”

“I think that’s too deep a philosophical question to ponder until after we have some coffee,” I say. “Besides, as fantasies go, it seems like you’ve found a relatively guilt-free way to explore your desires.”

“It was pretty hot,” she says. “I think I may have cum a few times.” She reaches under the sheets. “My panties are still damp.”

Now I’m starting to get aroused, my cock stirring in my boxers. “Care to share the details?” I ask. Lucy takes a breath and closes her eyes. I can tell by her expression that the dream is still fresh in her mind.

She starts softly, “I don’t know exactly where it took place. Not here. Maybe Scotland or Wales. Somewhere remote, windswept and rugged. And it was a different time—like 19th Century? That part is hazy. But I know I was wearing a dress.”

“We were out horseback riding—me and you. It was raining (I probably heard the storm from last night in my sleep), and we had to make it back to this big stone manor house before we got soaked through.”

“We ended up in the parlor, each of us shedding our wet coats, hats, and scarves.”

“I needed help unbuttoning my dress from the back. You were wearing a pair of tight riding pants and a shirt that was soaked through. As you unbuttoned my dress, I could feel the water from your hair drip onto my shoulders. Some drops trickled down my back, and some went down my front.”

“When my dress was unbuttoned, you gently pushed the sleeves off of my shoulders and let it fall around my ankles. I was wearing some kind of front-laced bodice and petticoat—oh, this sounds ridiculous!”

“No, no!” I assure her. “Keep going!”

“OK, OK. It was all so surreal—kind of hazy, but with this undercurrent of expectation that I could feel deep down there.”

While she’s telling me all this, Lucy’s hand unconsciously (or not!) slips down beneath the covers.

I smile at her. “So you’ve got your riding dress around your ankles, and you’re standing in front of me with a laced bodice and petticoat,” I say. “Sounds hot. What happened next? And where does the second me come in?”

Lucy holds up her hand. “Don’t rush me,” she says. “I’m trying to remember all the details.”

It’s then that I realize Lucy isn’t just trying to recall her dream so she can tell it to me correctly. She wants to relive the experience! Retelling the story is turning her on all over again.

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from the intense ride we just had to beat the storm. Turning around to face you, I reached up to unbutton your wet shirt and put my hands on your chest. When I looked down, I could see the outline of your stiff cock through your riding pants.”

I’m watching Lucy as she tells the story, noticing as her hand makes almost imperceptible motions underneath the covers.

“And here’s where it gets weird,” she says. “As I was admiring you and getting ready to unbutton your trousers, I noticed someone sitting in the corner. It was another you! And this you was wearing a fancy suit. Maybe you owned the house? And you’d been watching us.”

“I’m both servant and master!” I say.

“Exactly,” Lucy answers. “And you—the second you—had this look of proprietorship. Like you owned everything, even us. And that pissed me off. I was angry at you. But I was also turned on that I was being watched. You just sat smugly in your velvet wingback chair, not saying anything.”

“So I turned my attention back to the first you. I was mad. I was going to teach Second You a lesson. So I ripped the wet shirt off First You and kissed and bit your bare chest. Then I aggressively unbuckled your pants. As you unbuttoned my fly, I realized you weren’t wearing anything under them, so your cock sprung out in front of me.”

She continues, “I dropped to my knees and held it in both hands. Then I leaned forward and licked the tip.”

By now, my own (real) cock is getting hard as stone. Lucy’s dream is turning both of us on.

“First You started pushing into my mouth. I opened wide to take you, and you reached down to fondle my breasts underneath the bodice. My nipples are so stiff.”

I can’t tell if this last line is Lucy’s retelling of the dream or a statement of her current condition. Her nipples are stiff, poking against the sheet fabric of her white nightie.

“And soon, I was sucking First You off while you awkwardly tried to untie my bodice laces so you could have full access to my tits.

“But all this time, I was constantly aware of Second You watching from the darkened corner, still silent. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I kept telling myself to focus on First You.”

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from the intense ride we just had to beat the storm. Turning around to face you, I reached up to unbutton your wet shirt and put my hands on your chest. When I looked down, I could see the outline of your stiff cock through your riding pants.”

I’m watching Lucy as she tells the story, noticing as her hand makes almost imperceptible motions underneath the covers.

“And here’s where it gets weird,” she says. “As I was admiring you and getting ready to unbutton your trousers, I noticed someone sitting in the corner. It was another you! And this you was wearing a fancy suit. Maybe you owned the house? And you’d been watching us.”

“I’m both servant and master!” I say.

“Exactly,” Lucy answers. “And you—the second you—had this look of proprietorship. Like you owned everything, even us. And that pissed me off. I was angry at you. But I was also turned on that I was being watched. You just sat smugly in your velvet wingback chair, not saying anything.”

“So I turned my attention back to the first you. I was mad. I was going to teach Second You a lesson. So I ripped the wet shirt off First You and kissed and bit your bare chest. Then I aggressively unbuckled your pants. As you unbuttoned my fly, I realized you weren’t wearing anything under them, so your cock sprung out in front of me.”

She continues, “I dropped to my knees and held it in both hands. Then I leaned forward and licked the tip.”

By now, my own (real) cock is getting hard as stone. Lucy’s dream is turning both of us on.

“First You started pushing into my mouth. I opened wide to take you, and you reached down to fondle my breasts underneath the bodice. My nipples are so stiff.”

I can’t tell if this last line is Lucy’s retelling of the dream or a statement of her current condition. Her nipples are stiff, poking against the sheet fabric of her white nightie.

“And soon, I was sucking First You off while you awkwardly tried to untie my bodice laces so you could have full access to my tits.

“But all this time, I was constantly aware of Second You watching from the darkened corner, still silent. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I kept telling myself to focus on First You.”

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from the intense ride we just had to beat the storm. Turning around to face you, I reached up to unbutton your wet shirt and put my hands on your chest. When I looked down, I could see the outline of your stiff cock through your riding pants.”

I’m watching Lucy as she tells the story, noticing as her hand makes almost imperceptible motions underneath the covers.

“And here’s where it gets weird,” she says. “As I was admiring you and getting ready to unbutton your trousers, I noticed someone sitting in the corner. It was another you! And this you was wearing a fancy suit. Maybe you owned the house? And you’d been watching us.”

“I’m both servant and master!” I say.

“Exactly,” Lucy answers. “And you—the second you—had this look of proprietorship. Like you owned everything, even us. And that pissed me off. I was angry at you. But I was also turned on that I was being watched. You just sat smugly in your velvet wingback chair, not saying anything.”

“So I turned my attention back to the first you. I was mad. I was going to teach Second You a lesson. So I ripped the wet shirt off First You and kissed and bit your bare chest. Then I aggressively unbuckled your pants. As you unbuttoned my fly, I realized you weren’t wearing anything under them, so your cock sprung out in front of me.”

She continues, “I dropped to my knees and held it in both hands. Then I leaned forward and licked the tip.”

By now, my own (real) cock is getting hard as stone. Lucy’s dream is turning both of us on.

“First You started pushing into my mouth. I opened wide to take you, and you reached down to fondle my breasts underneath the bodice. My nipples are so stiff.”

I can’t tell if this last line is Lucy’s retelling of the dream or a statement of her current condition. Her nipples are stiff, poking against the sheet fabric of her white nightie.

“And soon, I was sucking First You off while you awkwardly tried to untie my bodice laces so you could have full access to my tits.

“But all this time, I was constantly aware of Second You watching from the darkened corner, still silent. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I kept telling myself to focus on First You.”

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from the intense ride we just had to beat the storm. Turning around to face you, I reached up to unbutton your wet shirt and put my hands on your chest. When I looked down, I could see the outline of your stiff cock through your riding pants.”

I’m watching Lucy as she tells the story, noticing as her hand makes almost imperceptible motions underneath the covers.

“And here’s where it gets weird,” she says. “As I was admiring you and getting ready to unbutton your trousers, I noticed someone sitting in the corner. It was another you! And this you was wearing a fancy suit. Maybe you owned the house? And you’d been watching us.”

“I’m both servant and master!” I say.

“Exactly,” Lucy answers. “And you—the second you—had this look of proprietorship. Like you owned everything, even us. And that pissed me off. I was angry at you. But I was also turned on that I was being watched. You just sat smugly in your velvet wingback chair, not saying anything.”

“So I turned my attention back to the first you. I was mad. I was going to teach Second You a lesson. So I ripped the wet shirt off First You and kissed and bit your bare chest. Then I aggressively unbuckled your pants. As you unbuttoned my fly, I realized you weren’t wearing anything under them, so your cock sprung out in front of me.”

She continues, “I dropped to my knees and held it in both hands. Then I leaned forward and licked the tip.”

By now, my own (real) cock is getting hard as stone. Lucy’s dream is turning both of us on.

“First You started pushing into my mouth. I opened wide to take you, and you reached down to fondle my breasts underneath the bodice. My nipples are so stiff.”

I can’t tell if this last line is Lucy’s retelling of the dream or a statement of her current condition. Her nipples are stiff, poking against the sheet fabric of her white nightie.

“And soon, I was sucking First You off while you awkwardly tried to untie my bodice laces so you could have full access to my tits.

“But all this time, I was constantly aware of Second You watching from the darkened corner, still silent. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I kept telling myself to focus on First You.”

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from the intense ride we just had to beat the storm. Turning around to face you, I reached up to unbutton your wet shirt and put my hands on your chest. When I looked down, I could see the outline of your stiff cock through your riding pants.”

I’m watching Lucy as she tells the story, noticing as her hand makes almost imperceptible motions underneath the covers.

“And here’s where it gets weird,” she says. “As I was admiring you and getting ready to unbutton your trousers, I noticed someone sitting in the corner. It was another you! And this you was wearing a fancy suit. Maybe you owned the house? And you’d been watching us.”

“I’m both servant and master!” I say.

“Exactly,” Lucy answers. “And you—the second you—had this look of proprietorship. Like you owned everything, even us. And that pissed me off. I was angry at you. But I was also turned on that I was being watched. You just sat smugly in your velvet wingback chair, not saying anything.”

“So I turned my attention back to the first you. I was mad. I was going to teach Second You a lesson. So I ripped the wet shirt off First You and kissed and bit your bare chest. Then I aggressively unbuckled your pants. As you unbuttoned my fly, I realized you weren’t wearing anything under them, so your cock sprung out in front of me.”

She continues, “I dropped to my knees and held it in both hands. Then I leaned forward and licked the tip.”

By now, my own (real) cock is getting hard as stone. Lucy’s dream is turning both of us on.

“First You started pushing into my mouth. I opened wide to take you, and you reached down to fondle my breasts underneath the bodice. My nipples are so stiff.”

I can’t tell if this last line is Lucy’s retelling of the dream or a statement of her current condition. Her nipples are stiff, poking against the sheet fabric of her white nightie.

“And soon, I was sucking First You off while you awkwardly tried to untie your bodice laces so you could have full access to my tits.

“But all this time, I was constantly aware of Second You watching from the darkened corner, still silent. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I kept telling myself to focus on First You.”

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from the intense ride we just had to beat the storm. Turning around to face you, I reached up to unbutton your wet shirt and put my hands on your chest. When I looked down, I could see the outline of your stiff cock through your riding pants.”

I’m watching Lucy as she tells the story, noticing as her hand makes almost imperceptible motions underneath the covers.

“And here’s where it gets weird,” she says. “As I was admiring you and getting ready to unbutton your trousers, I noticed someone sitting in the corner. It was another you! And this you was wearing a fancy suit. Maybe you owned the house? And you’d been watching us.”

“I’m both servant and master!” I say.

“Exactly,” Lucy answers. “And you—the second you—had this look of proprietorship. Like you owned everything, even us. And that pissed me off. I was angry at you. But I was also turned on that I was being watched. You just sat smugly in your velvet wingback chair, not saying anything.”

“So I turned my attention back to the first you. I was mad. I was going to teach Second You a lesson. So I ripped the wet shirt off First You and kissed and bit your bare chest. Then I aggressively unbuckled your pants. As you unbuttoned my fly, I realized you weren’t wearing anything under them, so your cock sprung out in front of me.”

She continues, “I dropped to my knees and held it in both hands. Then I leaned forward and licked the tip.”

By now, my own (real) cock is getting hard as stone. Lucy’s dream is turning both of us on.

“First You started pushing into my mouth. I opened wide to take you, and you reached down to fondle my breasts underneath the bodice. My nipples are so stiff.”

I can’t tell if this last line is Lucy’s retelling of the dream or a statement of her current condition. Her nipples are stiff, poking against the sheet fabric of her white nightie.

“And soon, I was sucking First You off while you awkwardly tried to untie your bodice laces so you could have full access to my tits.

“But all this time, I was constantly aware of Second You watching from the darkened corner, still silent. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but I kept telling myself to focus on First You.”

“I was standing in the middle of the bedroom,” she says, “my hair damp with rain and my breasts heaving from

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