Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)
I. Like Dreamers Do
It starts with dreams. Dreams beyond anything I could have imagined.
Night after night, when I close my eyes and slip into sleep, the dreams assault me with the most exquisite pleasure I have ever known. Visions come to me as sweet as honey: lovely buxom maidens, sometimes one and sometimes many. So many beautiful women with hair of red and gold and black and all of them hot and wet and ready for me to claim them, to plunder their dew filled holes until they scream my name. Then they wrap their lips around my throbbing cock, suck me deep and hard into their mouths and down their throats. The hot flesh presses around me so tight and perfect that I see stars when I come, while they lap up my spend like cats with their cream.
Each morning I wake I feel deeply sated and gloriously weary. The memories of my exploits bring me to a fierce hardness that will not subside, the lust growing ever stronger until I give in and take myself in hand to relieve the ache.
A part of me (a very small part) knows that something is wrong, that the visions cannot possibly be reality. No one could have such a steady stream of lovers; not even the Prince of Camelot. And even if I could, it did not explain the tingling jolt of sensitivity I experience with every step and the almost unbearably sensuous pleasure-pain I feel every time I sit down.
I want to tell someone-Gaius perhaps-but whenever I try to speak, I find that the words won’t come. Like honey, my thoughts are thick and viscous, slowing down in my mind until I cannot concentrate, until it is simply too difficult to think. I can only feel, and the tidal waves of sensation swamp me again and again, leaving me at its mercy and sweeping all sense away in its wake.
II. Metamorphosis
The change, when it comes, is so gradual that at first I hardly notice. There are still the comely women who tease and touch and pleasure me while other phantom, faceless lovers stroke me everywhere. The heat from those caresses lingers well into the waking hours, and the throbbing ache in my arse no longer feels foreign, but right, like it should have been there all along.
But one night I notice that there is a new presence, one that inexplicably excites me: a solid pressure at my back, acres of naked flesh against mine. Large hands grasp my hips and hold me steady, pull me back against the hard, wide plane of a lightly furred chest as a girl with golden hair gags on my stiff cock. I am trapped between them, hard and soft, with breasts pressed against my thighs while a hot prick nestles against my crack. I feel almost trapped but I love it, revel in it, and when I come, it feels amazing.
The next night it is a raven-haired beauty that worships my cock and balls, but the hard lines of the man (for it could only be a man) still press at me from behind. This woman takes her time, insinuating herself between my legs, forcing me to adopt a wider stance so that she can bathe my bollocks with her tongue. She coats them with her spit, rolls them around in her mouth, and my legs wobble from the pleasure as if I were a newborn colt. Again, I feel a wide hand steady me, and then gently lean me back against its owner to more fully absorb my weight. As her ruby red mouth finally encompasses my cockhead, I feel a finger, just one slick finger that rubs against my tight furl, its rhythm a gentle echo of the insistent sucking. My muscles go limp and pliant and my head drops back against the man’s shoulder helplessly, unable to hold back the wail when I finally climax.
And then it is a redhead sucking bruises onto my inner thighs, the grip of her soft fingers firm against my length as she strokes me with a slippery palm. This time the man’s finger does more than just rub; he pushes it inside of me. At first I tense, my fighting spirit coming to the fore, but then the man’s mouth sucks kisses into the join of my neck and my will to resist melts. His slick digit invades again, enters me, presses into me until my hole has yielded entirely to it. And then it starts: the smooth glide of his finger mirroring the motion of the maiden’s hand, pushing in as her hand slides down, pulling out as her grip moves back toward the head. I want to move, to push into both touches at once, but it is impossible and my hips just stutter back and forth in short jerky moments until that hand, that imperious hand, grabs my hip and holds me still. As the woman’s pace slowly increases, the man’s finger curls, brushing against something inside me that warms to his touch, and then tingles before exploding into pulses of pleasure that steal my breath away. I buck and writhe and finally spend all over the redhead’s face, my knees melting, unable to support my weight. That strong arm grasps at me, supports me, holds me close…and the feeling of being held-of being loved-makes me sigh in bliss.
III. A Burning Ache
The waking hours flow by me like a fast-moving river; all burbles of sight and sound with no meaning. Snippets of faces in various states of concern and dismay parade across my mind: Gaius, Father, Morgana and Gwen. But almost as soon as my attention is caught, it evaporates into the ether like a mirage. My whole life has become a mirage. The only things that still feel real are the touch of my lovers’ bodies against mine and the comfort of my hand as it strips my cock when I think of them.
This time, as I stroke myself, I think of the man. That I have yet to see Him does not matter, for I would know Him anywhere by His touch. As I fuck my fist, I think of His hands, His fingers…how it feels when He breaches me with them, the pleasure they give. I think of those fingers curling around my hip and wish they would curl around my prick instead. I imagine my hand is His and it makes me climax harder than I ever have in the waking world. Ropes of pearl decorate my chest and adorn my right nipple. I idly brush my fingers across the stiff peak of it, massaging in my seed, and then moan when I imagine the rasp of a tongue licking it clean again.
***
Tonight finds me balls deep in a curvy brunette. She is on her knees upon a low bed, her arse raised to me invitingly, and her back is a soft, smooth canvas of ivory upon which I paint with my tongue. My breath quickens as I detect His presence behind me, as His fingers leave burning trails of yearning everywhere He touches. And for the first time, I hear His voice. It echoes and multiplies, as if the inside of my head were as huge as a cavern rather than one tiny skull.
Oh, my precious human, it purrs, and the pure passion in it makes my toes curl. You have been so good, so compliant. I wish to give you a present, a gift. Open for me, my sweet, so that I might reward you…
“Yes!” I cry aloud, unable to deny the voice anything it wanted. “Yes!” and “Please!” and “More!”
Gently, oh so gently, my arse cheeks are pried apart, but instead of a finger, I feel a hot breath splay against my sensitive furl. And then, and then…a tongue. It’s hotter than I expect and twice as wet, yet slick in a way I’ve never felt before. It undulates in and out of my hole, coats me until I writhe in pleasure, until I am sopping with it.
I gasp. In my preoccupation with His seduction, I have almost completely forgotten that my dick is still encased in a warm, wet cunt. But then He jostles me forward as He stands, and the sensation comes back to me in a rush. My balls draw up suddenly, ready to explode…
No. The one word shivers down my spine and then shackles my release with its power. When I whimper, He pets a long finger down between my shoulder blades and the voice echoes, All in good time.
He gives my back another push and I feel my bollocks rub against the woman’s minge. Lay yourself out for me like a feast…
Obediently, I drape myself forward over the girl’s back and wait. His fingers hold me open and exposed and I shiver into the touch. And then I feel something blunt and wide and hot and perfect press against me. I want to push against it as it starts to breach me, but His hands hold me firmly in place. I feel myself spread wider and wider, my hole stretching to accommodate Him until the head of His cock finally pops inside.
I shall let you remember, Dear Heart, He says as His cock slides in deeper, and deeper, until He bottoms out with His balls against my arse. This time, you will remember it all…
I groan. I can actually feel His smile upon me like it is a tangible thing. Ever so slowly, He pulls halfway out, dropping a tingling path of kisses on the sensitive skin of my neck.
Now, Dear One, He says sweetly, you shall be both the sword and the sheath, the aggressor and the receiver, the dominator and the submissive. Take her, fuck her, but know that you will also be fucking yourself upon me. For every pleasure you give to her, you will receive from me tenfold.
Without conscious thought, my hips stutter backward, chasing that feeling of fullness that He had addicted me to just moments before. But as I do so, the drag of my cock slides out of that hot, tight cunt, temporarily drawing my attention to it. And then I slide back forward, and His cockhead rubs enticingly against that spot and I whimper.
Like the waves upon a beach, I ebb and flow, backward and forward, pleasure growing and multiplying, my dick nearly vibrating from the restrained release while His cock massages my pleasure spot with each and every thrust. I move and move and keep moving until time itself has lost its meaning, until fantasy becomes reality, and pleasure entwines with pain, and love and lust collide.
Finally, I feel as if I’m being ripped apart at the seams and I don’t know whether I think it, pray it, or scream it, but the words break free of me at last.
“Please, please!" I beg. "Please let me! Please…”
He licks at the shell of my ear and whispers, Yes, Dearest…Yes.
And that’s when the entire world goes white.
IV. Claimed
“You,” I gasp incoherently once I remember how to breathe. “Just you. Please you. Only you…”
Yes, Dear One, He says, and His touch is reverent; chaste now that he has given me release. From now on. No one else. Only me.
“I don’t want to go back,” I pant, and tuck myself into His side like a child. His leathery skin is soft as silk against my fingers. “Don’t make me go back.”
His arms cradle me to him, and gentle fingers sift through my hair. His wings curl around me like a cocoon. When He speaks, His voice is almost sad. You must. You do not belong here.
My arms tighten around Him instinctively. “But there is nothing left for me there,” and I bury my face in His chest. His smell is intoxicating, overwhelming and I wish to drown myself in it. “Not now. Not anymore. Not when there’s you.”
Do you know what I am?
At first I do not. I only know that my blood sings and my body thrums like a plucked harp string when He is near and that I need the vibration more than I need air. But then I hear it, I feel the words echoing inside me even as the answer tumbles from my lips.
“An incubus,” I breathe.
The tiniest sliver of my soul knows, remembers what that means, tries to be afraid…but then the familiar honey-thick wave drowns out all thought.
Yes, Dear One, He murmurs and hums appreciatively. A throb of pleasure ignites in my groin at the sound of His voice. And do you know why I come?
“To feed,” I whisper, like the words are sacred. “To feed on me.”
Yes, He purrs, and another surge of desire makes my cock twitch. And your nectar is so very sweet, Dearest.
After a while, He muses, I wonder… and His sweet breath caresses my ear, if you know who you are? Are you aware of your birthright?
Something in His voice compels me to answer, but I know there is no need for force. I give the words gladly, happily, if it means there is a chance that He might let me stay.
“Arthur Pendragon,” I reply, and my own voice sounds dreamy and enthralled-even to my own ears-but I do not care. “I am the Prince of Camelot.”
Oh, Dear Heart, that you are a prince of Men matters not to me, He replies, whispering a kiss against my temple, for men come and go; empires rise and fall. That is not what makes you special in my eyes. That is not what makes you unique.
You were Born of Magic, and not just any magic. Your soul was forged from the magic of this Earth and remains a part of it. It is this bond that keeps you alive, that keeps drawing me to you …what will always draw me to you.
A fierce pride consumes me at His words. I am somehow precious to Him. I could not ask for more.
You are the only one upon whom I may feed with abandon, may love without harm. And you do wish to stay with me, don’t you, Little One?
I nod, preoccupied with the sensuous feel of the drag of my cheek against His chest.
Then you must bind yourself to me so that I might treasure and guard you always.
I undulate my body against His, unable to control the cravings of my body for His touch, for His kiss, for more.
“But how?” I moan, my cock leaving a wet trail across His hip as I move. “Tell me what I must do.”
His fingers trail fire across my skin, heat that inflames my desire and makes me burn.You must say my name.
“But I don’t know it!” I wail, my misery complete. I cannot leave Him… I cannot!
He hushes my worry with a touch of His lips to my temple.You do, He insists. It is inside of you.
Of their own accord, my lips form the name of my Beloved. “Merlin.”
Yes…
Lust rolls through me like the rumble of thunder and everything is lost to it.
Your pleasure shall be beyond your wildest imaginings, He says, now that I do not have to hide in your dreams. Open your eyes. Look upon me, Arthur, and bind your soul to me.
I cannot help but obey. My eyes open and my head tilts and behold His face-His perfect face-for the first time. The bright gold of His eyes brand me and they are so beautiful that I orgasm from the sight alone. My seed splatters Him and He smiles.
The ritual is complete and my soul sings with joy.
Now and forever, I am His.