Sleepwalker

It’s bedtime. You change into your best silk nightie and check yourself out in the mirror. It’s not too revealing, but it definitely shows off your curves, and the little bumps formed by your nipples are blazingly obvious. You smile, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, then gather up a spare pillow and blanket and trot out to the living room.

Mike is lounging on the couch, watching the tail end of a movie on television. The lights are dim and the flickering from the screen sends dancing shadows over his handsome features. He looks up as you enter, then rises to take the pillow and blanket from you.

“Thanks Jane”, he smiles. “You’re a lifesaver. Are you sure I’m not putting you out?”

“Oh, no, no,” you reply. “I just hope the couch is comfortable enough.”

“Oh, it is, don’t worry. I’ve slept in much worse places,” he reassures you. “And I’m told the fumes will be mostly gone by tomorrow night, so I’ll be out of your hair by then.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you say happily, playing with the hem of your nightie as you twist your body slightly from side to side and bite your lip.

You see his eyes drop briefly to your chest. He’s noticed that your nipples are on high-beam and it seems to have distracted him somewhat. “Uh… yeah, so anyway, thanks…”

“Don’t mention it,” you giggle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You are probably imagining it, but you think you can feel his gaze lingering on your ass as you walk away. You put a little extra wiggle into it, just to give him a thrill.

You hop into bed and try to read a book, but the knowledge that Mike is under the same roof is a huge distraction. You expect that he’ll be sleeping in his underwear and you wonder whether he’s wearing briefs or boxers. You hope they’re some kind of sexy designer briefs that show off his package.

Now you’re thinking about his package. Sighing, you put your book aside and snuggle under the covers. Five minutes later you’ve had a very nice orgasm, thanks to the image of Mike’s cock and the details of several things you’d like to do with it. You wonder how he would react if he knew how often you’ve masturbated to thoughts of him.

You fall asleep soon after, contented, with a warm inner glow.

Your dreams are of Mike, but they’re frustrating. He’s perpetually out of reach. And then, suddenly, you wake up with a start, to the sound of a creaking floorboard.

The clock on the nightstand says 3:04 in bright, blurry digits. You blink, rub your eyes, and gasp as you notice a figure standing at the foot of your bed. Your heart jumps into your mouth and you are about to shout out for Mike to help, when you realize that it is Mike. He’s motionless. And he’s naked. Very, very naked. His penis is long, thick, and half-erect.

“Mike, what do you think you’re doing?” you hiss. You’re affronted that he thinks he can just walk into your bedroom, presumably expecting to have his way with you.

“Mnuff,” he mumbles, and takes a step forward, only to bump into the bed. He steps back and just stands there.

Your eyes are getting better accustomed to the dimness now, and you can see his glassy-eyed distant gaze and the vacant expression on his face.

“Mike?” you ask, sitting up in bed.

“Nnn mnuff fnurgh”, he replies, zombie-like.

You realize that he must be sleepwalking. You giggle, certain that he’d be mortified to find out that he’d walked naked into your room at three in the morning. You’d better not wake him, to spare him the embarrassment. Plus, you’ve heard that waking up sleep-walkers is a really bad idea. Their hearts can explode, or they go homicidal, or something terrible like that.

That leaves you with the problem of what to do with the naked man at the foot of your bed. You decide that all you can do is attempt to lead him back to the couch, and hope he stays there this time.

You get out of bed and quietly approach him. He shows no signs of being aware of your presence and placidly allows you to take his hand. You gently pull him toward the door and he stumbles along behind you.

When you reach the living room you stop for a moment. There’s a lot more light here, and you can’t resist stepping back so you can admire his body for a moment. You’ve spent enough time imagining him naked, and you might never get another chance to see the real thing. Your eyes drink in every detail while he stands there, still as a statue, maybe not Michelangelo’s David, but certainly sexy enough for you. And no fig leaf could cover the thick, veiny shaft that Mike is blessed with.

Your heart starts to go pitter-patter and you find yourself reaching out, gently placing a hand on his chest. He doesn’t react as you stroke his body, feeling the firm flesh of his torso beneath your nervously-questing palm. You step closer, pressing one satin-covered breast against him, and your hand snakes around to his ass. You squeeze one muscular cheek firmly, then release it.

You gasp, appalled at what you are doing, and quickly pull your hand away. You’re not the kind of girl who would fondle helpless men in their sleep, are you, Jane? (Don’t answer that.)

“This way, Mike,” you whisper, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. You are able to gently manoeuvre him first into a sitting position, then lying down. Then, just as you are about to pull the blanket over him, you find yourself staring at his cock again. You’re such a bad girl — a slave to temptation. You leave the blanket where it is and kneel at his side.

Just one touch — what could it hurt? You bite your lip, trembling, and reach out, wrapping your hand around his turgid member. It feels warm, soft and silky, but with a firm core within. There’s a pulse. You keep holding it, feeling it grow and become stiff in your grasp. You shift your grip, sliding down, then back up, and before you know it you are jacking him off, cradling his soft balls in your other palm. Slut!

Your breathing quickens. You’re shocked at how quickly you’ve managed to get him to full erection. His cock is impressive, slightly curved upward, with a well-defined knob that flushes deep red when you squeeze the shaft beneath it. It’s like a pornographic lollipop. Your mouth waters.

Before you know it, you’ve taken Mike’s cock into your mouth. It’s fat and salty. You explore the shape of his cockhead with your tongue, poking at the hole and tickling the frenulum. He swells and twitches in your mouth and you taste a dribble of precum mixing with your saliva.

You’re naughty — so very naughty — and you need to stop this right now! You start to pull away, but he mumbles something unintelligible and you feel his hand on the back of your head, holding you down.

You gurgle in fright, fearing that you’ve woken him, and manage to free his cock from your mouth. As you pull away he reaches for you, gripping your shoulder. You shuffle back on your knees, but he doesn’t let go, and your eyes widen in horror as, apparently still sleeping, he rolls off the couch towards you. You fall on your back on the rug and he lands on top of you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You freeze, squashed by his dead weight on top of you, hardly daring to breathe. You can feel his cock pressing against your inner thigh through your silk nightie. Miraculously he’s still asleep.

Now, if only you can somehow wriggle out from under him, you’ll be able to escape. When he wakes, he’ll just think he fell out of bed.

You squirm about, trying to get free, but this seems to rouse something in him. “Mnuh mngargle fnup,” he explains, and his hand reaches down to tug at your nightie. In seconds it’s bunched around your waist, leaving your lower-half completely naked, and the tip of his cock is poking at the base of your buttocks.

“Oh shit,” you whisper to yourself. Mike is adjusting himself into the optimal position for missionary, his body on some kind of sexual autopilot. You can’t wake him — he might have an aneurysm or spontaneously combust — so it looks like you’re about to get fucked. And if you’re going to be completely honest, you’re becoming extremely excited by the prospect!

Mike starts thrusting his hips, his cock prodding away blindly between your legs, and it’s just a matter of time before he hits the mark. You decide to help him out by sliding your hand between your bodies, grabbing the base of his shaft and aiming him in the right direction.

He thrusts again, you feel your pussy lips enfold him, and he sinks easily into you. You’re incredibly wet, so there’s barely any friction, but he’s thick, and the sensation of your tunnel stretching to accommodate him is exquisite.

He falls into a rhythm, almost robotic, but there’s a tenderness there too. You run your hands over his back, feeling the muscles move under his warm skin. You grab his ass, feeling his cheeks tighten under your hands with each thrust into you.

You’d prefer that he was awake — that he’d seduced you, unable to contain his lust for you — but you’ll take what you can get. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his masculine scent, and try to forget that he has no idea what’s going on.

“Yes, Mike, fuck me, fuck me,” you whisper in his ear, and his subconscious seems to understand, because this thrusting becomes harder and more urgent. You grab his ass tighter, pulling him deeper, so that his silky ballsack slaps against you on each in-stroke.

“Oh my God,” you think. “I’ve got Mike’s cock in me! Mike’s actually fucking me!”

This triggers you and you start to cum, suppressing a scream by biting your lip. Mike keeps pumping away while you ride the waves of a toe-curling orgasm, panting into his neck.

When you’re finally breathing at a normal rate you have to come to terms with a small problem. You’ve cum but Mike is still fucking you and isn’t showing any signs of stopping. You push against his chest but can’t get him off.

He keeps fucking you for another ten minutes. You start out worried sick that he’ll wake up any moment, but by the end of it you’re mentally making a list for your next trip to the supermarket.

Finally Mike groans and tenses up, flooding your pussy with warm cum from his twitching cock. You pat him on the back. “There, there, very good. Now back to bed!”

Just when you think you’ll be trapped there all night, he stumbles to his feet and staggers off to the bathroom, his now-mostly-flaccid penis slapping his inner thighs. You breathe a sigh of relief and get up, grab some tissues and tiptoe quickly back to your room.

As you pass the bathroom you hear short bursts of pee hitting the toilet bowl, and longer, quieter bursts of pee that are clearly missing the mark. You shake your head and sigh, but he’s asleep so you can’t really blame him.