Dreams of Sand
By Maximilian Cummings
Part 1
“I have the most peculiar dreams,” said Sandra.
Louise looked instantly bored. The dreams of others are normally tedious if recounted at any length. “Really, what sort of peculiar?”
“Well about Anton.”
“Anton?” Louise looked sharply at Sandra. “What sort of peculiar?”
“Well there’s a lot of sand and...”
“Sand? An island?”
“Yes. How did you guess?”
“No, it’s nothing; it’s just, if we are talking about dreams, I’ve had the occasional dream too about Anton and a sandy beach on an island—at least I think it’s an island.”
“Really? Well, so long as there isn’t a red rowing boat in your dream I won’t get worried by the co-incidence.” Sandra laughed.
Louise didn’t. “An upturned rowing boat?”
Sandra looked serious, “A rowing boat he doesn’t want you to touch?”
“Yes.”
It was just after the office late summer ‘bash’ and the girls had been talking at the bar. They had perhaps had rather a lot to drink and tongues were loosened, not that women are that reticent about talking or sharing intimate confidences as a rule.
“It can’t be the same dream.” They laughed together.
“Better not be,” said Sandra, “funny things happen in mine... and it’s not as if I fancy Anton one little bit.”
“You don’t mean...” said Louise, “you don’t mean. Well in my dream, it’s one of those... Well what a boy would call a wet dream I suppose...”
“Oh,” said Sandra, “well, yes, if you put it like that, they do turn out that way.”
Another glass was poured. This was a strange conversation. The girls looked at each other.
“I don’t know, I settle down to sleep and then I’m there, on the beach, on this island. It’s lovely, really lovely like being on holiday, the sand is so clean and white, the sun so just perfectly warm, the sea so blue...”
“And the palm trees wave,” said Sandra.
“Yes, and you wonder why you’ve no clothes on but it doesn’t matter—I mean why should it as it’s your dream—and then there is Anton.”
“Yes, yes just standing there in that silly loincloth.”
“With the orange and yellow stripes?”
“Yes, and the red boat upturned on the sand.”
The girls looked at each other.
“It is the same dream—it can’t be!”
“Why don’t I see you?”
“Perhaps we shall... now.”
“Did you pull at the loincloth?” asked Sandra.
“Well, it’s a dream and I feel you know...”
“But Anton’s weird... not that I’m saying I didn’t ‘cos I did and... and it was very big wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Louise, “I doubt it’s really like that.”
“But why are we dreaming the same dream?”
“Why can’t we touch the boat?”
Reasonable questions but what answers could each of them give? How could they explain the most unlikely idea that they were experiencing the same dream? Anton clearly was the key to the conundrum but he wasn’t there, not there to explain. But could they have dared asked him, even having drunk all that wine? What would it have sounded like?
“Anton, we share this strange dream of an island where we are naked but you’re wearing this loincloth that we pull off and... well... what are you doing to us to make us dream about fucking you?”
No, it wasn’t something they could have asked anyway. But how was Anton controlling their minds whilst asleep, controlling both of them what was more and taking them to dreams of sand?
Louise got into bed that night having drunk a large glass of water. Good party. Funny talking to Sandra about that dream.
That dream came again. First the light, then the heat, then the feel of sand and the sound of the sea. The sand was so white and the sea so blue and it felt deliciously warm with just a light breeze making the palm trees wave. Louise was naked, of course, but that felt nice as she walked along the sand. It would be good to swim, she hadn’t done that, as far as she could recall, in her dream. She paused on the sand and looked at the sea, it did look inviting with the waves lapping at the shore, a perfect beach and there was even another island not so very far away also fringed with a beach and with palm trees growing behind looking itself so pretty, so inviting and just making the scene—making the picture perfect. Louise resumed her walking.
In the distance Louise could see a figure a little beyond the upturned red boat—Anton and his loincloth. As always she felt the wakening of desire. It was not as if she fancied Anton for real—far from it—but in the dream she wanted sex; he was the only one around and what she already knew he kept under that loincloth made her feel wet just thinking about it. She began walking faster feeling the soft warm sand under her toes.
Sometimes in her dream Anton chased her and she would race away along the beach half trying to escape; half willing him to catch her and bring her down on the sand to force himself upon her, holding her down as he pushed that large cock into her—easily into her as the dream always made her very wet; she would come—yes the dream’s erotic conclusion would be very pleasant only, she wished, it would be so much better if it was some other man than always Anton, a man she could fancy, a man she would really like to fuck with.
This time, though, Anton seemed to be waiting, just standing with the light breeze moving his hair and loincloth. Louise licked her lips in anticipation—perhaps she could pull the loincloth away and chase him, see that big cock bouncing in the sunshine as he ran along the sand before she caught him and, in her turn, threw him down to impale herself and start riding...
But there was another figure walking from the opposite direction towards Anton; Louise had never seen another person on the beach in her dream. She paused and watched the figure get closer. Louise was not really surprised to see it was Sandra. Not Sandra in her usual smart business suit but Sandra as naked as she, her deep brown skin shining in the sunlight: only, it seemed, was Anton permitted the modesty of a loincloth, not that Louise was going to let him keep that for long. It came to her then that probably Sandra’s intention was exactly the same, after all Sandra had been alone in this dream with Anton before, an intention to feel beneath the loincloth and take possession, or be possessed by, Anton’s remarkable organ (dream organ she corrected herself, she did not believe it was like that for real). Louise did not consider any idea of sharing, she wanted the penis all to herself and was not pleased when Sandra reached Anton first and it was Sandra’s hand reaching under the loincloth. This was, after all, her, Louise’s, dream really.
Reaching Anton and Sandra, Louise’s hand too went under the loincloth to grasp a free portion of the penis. The girls glared at each other, their hands moving beneath the loincloth
It was obvious Anton was revelling in the attention of two women at the same time as each of his hands went to one of the girls’ breasts his eyes moving from one to the other as he compared size, shape, colour and feel. The next move, though, would be the girls’.
Sandra pushed Louise away with some force and she fell down on the sand, right down on her bottom, with a thud. Sandra smiled down at her and pulled Anton’s cock out from under the loincloth holding it firmly and sliding the foreskin between thumb and fingers in a way very much designed to show possession. Pulling the penis to the vertical, Sandra’s head went down and her lips closed around it. This of course meant her eyes were off Louise who launched herself from the sand right at Sandra pushing her, in turn, away leaving Anton without any female attention.
The catfight rolled across the sand, first one girl getting the upper hand, and then the other and all the time Anton watching with no diminution in the rigidity of his penis. Two naked girls fighting—a turn on, the more so as their bodies became slippery with sweat in the heat, the sand sticking to them.
Eventually Louise had the advantage of Sandra, gaining the upper hand she planted her knees astride Sandra’s hips holding them down and her hands firmly pushing Sandra’s wrists into the sand. Sandra could not move.
Sandra’s dark, dark curls glistened with perspiration, her large chest with the big round puffy areolae heaving. Louise gazed down into her face in triumph, her own small breasts hanging above the defeated girl with nipples hard and pointing.
Of course the vulnerability of Louise’s bottom was clear, it was sticking up in the air, and with her knees pushing down either side of Sandra her sex was open for the taking; indeed to prevent Anton taking possession would require her to release Sandra; but being taken was exactly what Louise had in mind. To feel Anton’s dream cock sliding into her and not seeing it sliding into Sandra.
Anton obliged.
It was difficult looking Sandra in the eye the next day. There was a discomfort between them all morning as if something had come between them but was not a matter either wished to mention. It was Sandra who first raised the topic, later in the afternoon, “Er, did you dream of, dream of, ah, sand last night?” The allusion was oblique and not to the point.
However the recollection was so vivid, so in both of their minds that before Louise knew it she had said, “sorry.”
“You’re stronger than me.”
“We can’t be dreaming the same dream.”
“Why the butterfly tattoo on your left thigh?”
“It is the same dream!”
Across the staff canteen they could see Anton, he caught them looking at him but he quickly looked away.
“How is he doing this?” said Sandra still looking at Anton.
“I don’t think we can really ask him. It’s absurd.”
“Impossible. I don’t understand this.”
“Let’s both ignore him next time, let’s go swimming instead.”
Sandra looked at Louise, “easy for you to say, it wasn’t you who had her back on the sand and had to lie there screamingly frustrated as Anton pounded you. All I could see were your tits above me and those hairy balls swinging as his cock fucked you...” She looked anxiously around to make sure her outburst had not been overheard. “Sorry, I mean, well it was frustrating. I awoke in such a state I practically leapt on Colin, I don’t think he’s been woken from a deep sleep before to find a girlfriend pulling his pyjama bottoms off in quite such a desperate need to, well, fuck. Course he wasn’t averse once he was awake!”
The two girls giggled together, making up for the night before.
“Yes, let’s go swimming if we dream together and ignore Anton. I might even touch the red boat—he doesn’t like that!”
Louise tossed and turned, it was a hot night and she had trouble getting to sleep. Would she dream of the sand and Anton? Would Sandra be there? It would be so good to slip into cool water and swim. Louise threw off the sheet covering her and lay naked on the bed.
The dream came. There Louise was, the beach and palm trees came into focus, lying naked on the warm sand looking up at the blue sky. It was hot, yes, but not the uncomfortable, sultry, sticky hot of her bed but a delicious dry heat. Louise opened her thighs and let the sun’s rays touch her sex; that felt good too and it coaxed a little moisture from her. “Why is it,” she thought, “as soon as I am in this dream I am thinking of sex. Am I just a part of Anton’s little wet dream?” It was then she remembered her pact with Sandra—no sex with Anton, it was to be a girls’ dream of swimming.
Louise got up and started off along the shore towards the red boat. As always Anton was standing a little beyond the boat with his loincloth flapping in the breeze; Louise tried to ignore him and any thought of what lay beneath the cloth; instead she concentrated on the red boat and the now visible figure of Sandra walking towards her from down the beach. She reached the boat a little before Sandra and sat down on it to wait for her friend.
There was a cry from Anton, “Don’t touch the boat.”
“Hallo,” said Sandra ignoring Anton, “fancy meeting you here.” She joined Louise on the boat and touched her on the shoulder. “You feel as real as... as yesterday. Let’s swim.”
Hand in hand they ran down to the water and splashed into the surf. It was certainly not cold, indeed the water was pleasantly warm and they slipped straight in to swim, enjoying the coolness after the sun’s heat on the beach. Anton watched with arms folded as they splashed and played.
Satisfied with their swim the two girls left the water and sauntered back to the boat and sat again on its red painted upturned hull pointedly ignoring Anton. They chatted as if they were sitting in the canteen at the office, or in a pub though there was the rather substantial difference that in a pub they would have been dressed and not stark naked and probably not had, though they were trying to hide it, an increasing desire for sex.
Louise was trying to stop sliding her thighs together or rub herself on the smooth warm painted wood beneath her bottom; she was trying to fight the fundamental nature of the dream; trying to ignore the thought of what Anton had beneath his loincloth; trying to disregard the erotic undercurrent of the dream and, instead, just talk with her friend.
All of a sudden Louise’s arms were pulled up and Anton was lashing her wrists together with rope. It caught her by surprise. She tried to stop him but he was too strong, too strong even when Sandra pulled against him to prevent her friend being tied and instead she found her wrists being tied as well. Both girls were bent right over the red rowing boat by Anton, on their stomachs with their bottoms in the air, wrists tied and helpless.
“I said, don’t touch the boat; now which of these words, ‘don’t touch the red rowing boat,’ did you not understand?”
With more cord he lashed them securely in place, splaying their thighs to leave their sex open and vulnerable, so they could not move.
“Disobedient girls need to be punished.”
“Let us go,” ordered Sandra.
First Sandra and then Louise felt a sharp slap on their buttocks and then another and another.
“You (slap) are not (slap) to touch (slap) the red (slap) rowing boat (slap) do you understand (a harder slap)?”
Louise was not sure, despite the pain of the chastisement, whether she was more furious at being told off and punished by this man or excited and relieved by the prospect of having her strong sexual need satisfied by a penetration and fucking. She was certain this would surely follow.
They could hear Anton’s steps in the sand as he came around the boat and stood just in front of them looking at their two upturned faces. With exaggerated slowness he undid his loincloth, and let it fall to the sand. Now revealed just in front of their faces and rearing up at them was, what Louise could only think of as, a magnificent cock. Once again the thought went through her head that it could not really be like that in real life but it certainly was magnificent now and just inches from her mouth.
Anton smiled as the girls licked their lips; they knew what was coming or thought they did. He inched forward so the shiny, rather swept back, streamlined even, pale pink head was between their two heads and close enough, and they had sufficient movement, for each to lick one side if they wished.
They did.
To Louise it was so very strange to be licking a penis whilst being inches from the face of her friend who was doing exactly the same thing, if anything with more enthusiasm, as she was. It got stranger as Anton swung his penis away from her and towards Sandra so that she could take it into her mouth. Louise watched with envy at her friend’s lips encircling the cock, hiding the head from view, her cheeks hollowing as Sandra provided a gentle suction. And then it was Louise’s turn, the penis swung her way and she was able to grab it with her own open lips, wet from Sandra’s mouth, to fondle with her tongue and caress with her lips. Back to Sandra, back to Louise. Back and forth—a sharing. But then it was withdrawn and Anton moved out of view, his wet cock swaying.
Louise looked at Sandra, Sandra looked at Louise, both slightly uncomfortable in the closeness of their sharing and then Sandra’s eyes opened wide, a moment before Louise’s did the same. Their bottoms were being touched but not the cheeks this time, instead their very centre—a finger on each anus, pushing.
“No, not there,” said Louise to Sandra. “He’s too big.”
Sandra nodded looking worried.
But Anton was only teasing. Louise felt the smooth end of Anton’s penis at the proper entrance. Streamlined or not there was no difficulty in effecting an entrance, Louise was far too wet, far too worked up for that. She gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes, instantly telling Sandra that she was not the lucky one. Sandra, jealous, watched Louise’s face as Louise began to rock forwards and backwards a little, though secured by the bonds, pushed by Anton as he began to fuck her from behind.
The smooth red paintwork slipped to and fro across Louise’s squashed nipples and she revelled in the feelings coming from her sex with the movement of Anton’s large cock and his balls slapping against her clit.
Anton though had no intention of just enjoying Louise and emptying himself into her. He had the time and inclination to move freely from one girl to the other, mixing their fluids and making each squirm. He did just that and played for a long time swapping from one bottom to the other at will.
Louise awoke all of a sudden as her orgasm rushed through her, back in her own bed but on her front with her bottom raised high in the air pushing against an imaginary penis. Miles away in another bed, though this time shared with a sleeping man, Sandra was doing exactly the same but with the added feeling of the imaginary penis spurting into her. And, no doubt, in yet another bed a man was coming, his bottom high in the air as his penis pulsed sending semen spraying onto the white sheet below.
“That hurt, it really hurt,” said Louise to Sandra the next day.
“Nice sex afterwards though, being tied down like that and feeling that enormous...” Sandra looked around but no one could hear. “It’s sex without responsibility.”
“But sharing a man...”
“Um, yes it wouldn’t be at all the same sharing Colin with you. Mega embarrassing anyway.”
“Embarrassing enough as it is. I can remember everything, and I mean everything, so I expect you can too.”
“Sucking that big...”
“Yes... quite.”
“There he is.” The girls both turned to look at Anton but there was less of a shy turning away this time: instead there was a smirk.
“Why doesn’t he want us to touch the boat? Anton seemed quite happy to fuck us over it.”
“I wish he’d leave us alone. He’s so creepy. How is he doing this anyway?”
“Why don’t we just take it, push it into the water and row over to the other island and thumb our noses at him from there? That’ll really annoy him. There’s no other boat for him to follow.”
The idea took hold but it was not until a few days later they found themselves dreaming of the hot sand. The dream taking shape as they felt the sand beneath them, heard the surf and felt the hot sun. From opposite ends of the beach they ran to the boat as they had planned, turned it over, grabbed the oars and pushed it into the sea before Anton had a chance to run to them. Indeed before the thought of sex had taken hold in their minds. Pulling at the oars they had easily left the shore and a shouting, gesticulating Anton behind them.
“No…you mustn’t. Stupid. No,” had come from the shore as they pulled for the other island. The journey was easy and quick. In the excitement and exertion of the rowing the girls hardly noticed the growing dampness between their legs—the usual erotic effect of their dream. The red boat’s prow nosed gently into the sand of the other island. An island looking just the same as the one they had left, white sand, sea, palm trees and now with a red boat as well – as perfect as the island they had just left. The girls jumped out and turned to look back across the blue sea at the figure in a loincloth looking at them from the other island. They had waved and giggled and with arms around each other hugging each other in delight at the success of their stratagem they had walked up the beach to the palm trees to explore their island happy to be without Anton to annoy them. The sun was, of course, hot and the perspiration flowed down the girls’ naked skin.
A droplet of perspiration appeared and ran right down Louise’s left breast to hang right at the end of her nipple.
“Look at that,” said Sandra with a giggle and she traced the path the droplet had taken with her right index finger down the smooth skin of Louise’s breast.
The touch of Sandra’s finger on her nipple was electric to Louise. Sandra’s finger did not leave the nipple straightaway but, instead, with the very end of her finger she spread the moisture around and around the nipple causing it to harden even more than it already was. The feeling was good.
“You have pretty breasts, Louise,” said Sandra.
“I wish mine were big like yours,” Louise said in reply reaching out to hold one of Sandra’s in her hand, moulding it in her hand, lifting it and feeling its size.
A small stream came running out from the island’s interior, the heat was making the girls thirsty and they knelt and drank deeply, the water running down their faces and onto their chests. Both at the same time reached out to brush the water off the others’ breasts but found it difficult to take their hands away. Louise squeezed Sandra’s long dark nipples.
“That feels nice,” said Sandra, “perhaps we shouldn’t have left Anton so quickly I do so feel like sex. This dream always makes me so wet.”
Almost without thinking Louise’s hand touched Sandra’s thigh, quite high up. It was damp. Her fingers slid higher and rested on the patch of fur. Sandra in turn touched Louise’s breasts again. The girls looked at each other and kissed. It was a surprise to both.
“Well, it’s only a dream,” said Sandra.
Louise nodded in agreement. Her hand touched soft wetness.
The girls rolled together on the warm sand. Anton forgotten.
Louise awoke feeling sweaty and sticky from her recent dream and very real orgasm. She sat up in bed remembering, remembering the very different turn the dream had taken. She coloured. It would be difficult looking Sandra in the face at work in the morning after what they had just done. Louise had never... but, she reasoned, she hadn’t really had sex with another girl—it was just a dream. Nice though.
In the event, Louise had not really been embarrassed. Sandra had, unusually, given her a peck on the cheek and they had giggled a lot about the dream, about the odd turn it had taken, and how cross Anton had been standing there all alone on the beach as they had rowed away, his loincloth flapping in the breeze. The two of them agreed to do just the same thing the next time they were in ‘Anton’s dream.’ They didn’t see him that day.
A dreamless night for the girls followed. Sandra was a bit subdued the next day. Louise got out of her that she and Colin had had a bit of a row and he was off now on business for a week. Louise held her hand and gave her a hug and suggested a girls’ night in at her place.
That evening Louise let Sandra in and immediately Sandra threw her arms around her neck and hugged her. “Louise,” she said releasing her and looking her in the eyes, “you are so good and... you are looking really pretty this evening.” And she kissed her, just a light brush on the lips.
Louise was momentarily surprised but, almost without thinking, she kissed Sandra back on the lips, her arm coming up to pull her to herself. Their lips parted and tongues touched.
“Louise, it’s like the dream. I want to touch you.”
Clothes lay littered on the bathroom floor; the shower ran, hot and steamy as the two girls soaped and explored each other—for real. Soapy, slippery nipples touched as the girls kissed beneath the hot spray of the shower jet; hands soaped smooth buttocks; gentle fingers crept into secret hair; fingers stroked before sliding and slipping within; they dried each other with warm fluffy towels before falling onto the bed to kiss nether lips and for tongues to tease little buttons.
Lying in each other’s arms, glowing from their climaxes, so comfortable with the softness of each other’s body, the girls took stock.
“I never thought...” said Louise.
And the more they talked, the more they realised they had not, had not had such a sexual feeling for each other before—or any other woman. It dawned on them this must be because of the dream—they had not felt like this until they had taken the red rowing boat, and rowed across to the other island.
“Perhaps once we lift Anton’s loincloth, not that that excites me now, we’ll be... as before.”
“Straight not lesbian,” said Sandra.
“Do we want to be?”
It was a question they left to see what would happen. Sandra had not meant to stay the night but it was not surprising the two girls did sleep together, after more gentle lesbian sex.
They dreamt again. Finding themselves in sunlight, lying on the sand next to each other as if they were still in bed. The light was bright and the sand soft and warm. They stood and, hand in hand, looked about and saw the red rowing boat but it was not in its usual place instead it was half in the sea, half out and the right way up; and nor were they in the usual place for they could see across the water standing on the shoreline, Anton. They were still on the other island.
“Shall we row back and talk to him?”
“Or just roll on the sand and tease him that he can’t touch us?” The creeping sexuality of the dream was already getting to the girls. It would be very easy to kiss and play. Very easy. They succumbed leaving Anton to stare at them from the other shore.
“You know you can’t row back.” Anton had actually spoken to them. It was unexpected. Normally there was no contact; they ignored him, a creep from another department who looked at girls.
“What do you mean, what are you talking about?”
“You know perfectly well,” he turned to walk away, “you see, the current is too strong.”
They watched him, open mouthed, as he walked away. The impact of his words dawning. Their change of sexuality was not an option, something they could change if they wished. Anton was implying, indeed saying, their new found sexuality was fixed. It was one thing to have a choice: quite another to have the decision already made.
That night, in bed together, they dreamed again. Of course they tried the boat. It was the first thing they did. But Anton was right.
Louise and Sandra set off pulling hard from the shore but found themselves getting no closer to the other island—no closer to the figure standing on the shore with his flapping loin cloth. They pulled hard for what seemed an age, arms straining, sweat running down their breasts, legs open and braced against the wood of the boat yet, eventually, had to give up. They were not going anywhere.
Out of the boat they could not keep their hands off each other, the sexuality, endemic to the dream, had steadily built as they strained at the oars and needed release.
“Anton, please.” The girls had decided, despite Anton’s now proven statement about the current, to ask him to restore their heterosexuality. They stopped him in the corridor. An eyebrow rose but there was the hint of a smirk. “We don’t know what or how you’ve been doing what you have but please bring us back to your island.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He had replied with a sly grin.
“We’ll do anything,” said Sandra.
Anton looked at them both and raised his eyebrows, “Anything?”
The import was obvious.
The girls looked down at the floor. “Yes,” they said. “We’ll sleep with you.”
“Well it was rather more what comes before sleep that interests me. Looking at a possible deal, what are the terms, how often or for how long, separately or together and which ways?” He was talking a lot now; they were almost surprised he could talk that much.
“Your terms,” said Sandra, “you have the advantage of us.”
“I hope so, I hope so.”
“How can we get back?”
“You need more strength, I think.”
“Can you give that to us?”
“Great bulging muscles? No, I don’t think so. You need help. Strong men.”
“Are you going to swim over and help us?”
“No, not enough extra strength and I don’t want to be stuck there again; it needs a team with paddles all working together.”
“You can bring other people into the dream?”
“Yes.”
“Why us,” asked Louise, “why us in the first place, why not some film star or model or...”
“Perhaps I have.”
“So you’ll dream up a team of men, have them swim across, get in the boat and row us back?”
“Yes and no. There is, of course, a rather significant problem as I am sure you can see.”
The girls looked puzzled.
“I’ll leave you to think about that.”