Death by Dreaming

Originally posted to Sex Kitten (2003 – 2004)

Can you die from a wet dream?

Max was cold. Calling a succubus had seemed like a good idea at the time. That was hours ago now. Lying naked on the floor, his altar of sex toys around him, waiting and yet dreading that some mythological creature would come for him. He felt like a willing victim to his own sacrifice. But, he was willing, more than willing after eleven years of celibacy. Even now, just lying naked on the cold floor, his cock was rock hard, pointing straight up and even angling back. No man in the world was more ready for sex right now than Max.

Nothing seemed to be happening though, other than his own growing arousal. There was something about preparing yourself for kinky sex that made you need it all the more. Just lying down in the midst of his altar had brought him to full arousal and kept him there. Thinking, half dreaming, of having a succubus appear and begin taking his body was almost enough to finish him off. But, he wasn’t quite there. He wanted more than his own thoughts, his own hands stroking the well known patterns over his cock. He wanted a woman, even if she wasn’t entirely real or at all predictable.

He’d looked up information about succubi on the Internet. Some sites seemed to consider them basically harmless, sexual beings who brought pleasure in exchange for energy. Then there were the stories of sexually draining their victims and leaving behind lifeless husks that were once human. Somehow, Max believed the more harmless and pleasurable version. His feelings were based on nothing factual, just a feeling.

Tonight seemed to be a write off though. He was very much alone in his cell. The clock showed quarter to four in the morning. He dared not remain like this much longer. If anyone saw him they’d bust a gut laughing and likely torment him about it forever. Max knew how long forever was, he was experiencing it.

The cold floor had leeched most of the warmth out of his skin by now so Max was surprised to feel warmth flood over him as he stood up. It felt like he had just wrapped himself in a quilt, fresh from the dryer. Strange, must be something to do with how cold he had let himself get on the floor. He put away his sex toys, back into hiding. Grabbing a cloth, he wiped his Pagan circle off the cell floor. Now there was no trace of his night time ritual. Too bad it hadn’t worked.

“You called me.”

A soft female voice whispered into his mind. No one was there, he was as alone as before. Yet he had heard it. Maybe it was just a trick of his tired brain.

“You called me.”

This time he knew it wasn’t a mistake. He felt a woman’s body brush against his own naked back. Warm fingers trailed over his shoulders, down his sides and made swirls over his belly. There they met his straining cock and circled it, gripping tightly. That was not his imagination.

He looked down and saw her fingers. Slender, little womanly fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock. It took every bit of his willpower to remain still and not cry out. No way did he want anyone waking up and coming to investigate. No way did he want to startle her away, now that she was here.

“You called me.”

She slid a silky, bare leg between his own, her thigh pushing his own thighs apart. Then she leaned into him, the top of her thigh pushing into the bottom of his ass cheeks. He heard a female purr of sound then she slid her leg back down, stroking her thigh up and down between his own. His cock was now jerking in her hand, more than ready to shoot off. But he held back. He just needed to know he wasn’t dreaming this all. He had to know this was more than his own fantasy.

“You called me.”

She said it again, as if in answer to his thoughts. He turned his head to look back, needing to see her face. All he could see was shining, curly chestnut hair. She pressed her face into his back and began nibbling his skin. Her fingernails teased over the skin of his belly while the other hand rubbed his own wetness over the shaft and head of his cock. His hips pumped into her hand. His balls ached for release but still he forced himself to hold back.

Then, one of her warm little hands cupped his balls, held and gently squeezed him and he was lost. His orgasm shot out, followed by aftershocks. When he came back to his senses he was again lying on the floor, drained yet still warm with afterglow. Max expected she would be gone but she wasn’t.

Now he could see her, really see her. She appeared very real, almost glowing with vitality and life. Her hair was dark and reddish, her eyes were deep blue and her bare skin was the colour of a pale peach. Overall she was incredibly soft, warm and vibrant.

“You called me.” Her voice was just a whisper of sound. She didn’t speak with her mouth but she did smile at him. She just faded away, like light leaving a room. Where she had been standing was only darkness and the glow of his clock radio. It was exactly 4:00 AM. He washed himself off, cleaned up as much as he could in the near darkness and went to bed for the couple of hours left.

She came to him again in his dream. This time she suspended him in mid-air above his bed and she rode him. His cock deep inside her hot pussy, her thighs gripped his hips tightly, a snug fit without the bed getting in the way. He was unable to move, unable to reach out and touch her breasts, her hair or taste her nipples. He wanted to, very badly, but she denied him any movement. He watched her breasts bounce and her hair sway as she rode him. He was only able to pant, moan and squirm under her. She rode him through three orgasms, his, not hers. She never orgasmed though she was very tight, wet and pulsing around his cock the whole time. After his fifth orgasm when he felt he really couldn’t endure any more attention from her, when his balls felt raw from over use, she bit him. Nothing much, he was so completely drained he almost didn’t notice. If anything he’d say it was a love bite. Something changed in him though. He didn’t have time to think much as he was deeply asleep while she was still straddling his body, floating back to the bed below.

He woke up to a bucket of ice water being poured over him. The prison guard glared down at him. “This isn’t a hotel. What the hell’s wrong with you this morning?” Then he was alone. Max dressed quickly and started his day. His body was sore and stiff all over. He dragged himself through the day, having no energy for anything. All day he felt protests from his muscles as if they hadn’t been used in years. There were no marks on his skin, other than the love bite.

That night he waited, hoping she would come again and yet not sure if he could survive if she did. When he slept she came to him again. This time she aroused him, stroking his cock, balls, back, belly, thighs, every bit of skin on his body with soft strokes from her fingers and hair. She caressed him all over, gently. Teasing him to the point of madness, till his balls felt so tight they could be rolled as marbles and his cock was like a gun with a hair trigger. How she kept him from orgasming he didn’t know. Max felt his balls tighten, ready to shoot, countless times. But, each time he was denied. He woke up in the morning feeling even worse than yesterday and extremely frustrated and easily annoyed all day. His cock was of course rock hard and even the coldest water in the shower had little effect on his hard cock or his blue balls. This time he hoped she wouldn’t come again.

He stayed up reading a book he didn’t much enjoy. But, after a whole day of walking funny he was finally beginning to feel a little ease as his cock softened a bit and the blood was able to flow to other parts of his body. The time was nearly 3:00 AM when he felt he might be able to get to sleep, if he really tried. He turned out the night light, put down his book and got as comfortable as he could manage.

She came again, in his dream. This time she almost seemed to sympathize with him. There was no sex, she just snuggled up with him under the blankets. Her hand gently stroked his cock until he orgasmed, once. She stayed after, letting him kiss her and caress her body. He held her, sucked her nipples, ran his fingers through her long hair and over her soft skin. When he would have dipped his fingers in her pussy she pushed his hand away. But he felt the heat coming from her, like a space heater he once had in his home office. There was no sign of her in the morning. He had a much better day, feeling more like himself and yet far better than he had in eleven years.

Max didn’t have another visit from her. He decided she wouldn’t be back or was just a really amazing wet dream. Still, most nights he would get to sleep early, hoping for another encounter. Weeks passed, he began to lose weight. The doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. He just seemed to lose interest in life. They thought he must have some kind of cancer but nothing could be found. He was sent to the local hospital, then moved to a bigger one for more extensive testing. He was a mystery to them all. At the end of a year he looked like a walking skeleton, his hair was falling out, his eyes were kind of glassy and unfocused and his nails looked yellow and brittle.

That was when she came go him again. She looked even better than he remembered. He was such a dried up husk of a man he couldn’t even get an erection. She didn’t try to seduce or arouse him though. She just smiled and said, “You called me.”, as if to remind him of a promise made. Max’s last thought was how much he would have liked one last wet dream with her.

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