Dreams of Sand
By Maximilian Cummings
Part 2
The girls were back, back in their dream of sand but on the wrong island and with the red rowing boat still swinging in the surf on their shore as if accusing them of misdeeds. Hand in hand they walked along the shoreline.
“Let’s explore whilst we are still here,” said Louise, “can we walk around the island?”
Across the water, on the other island, they could see Anton and now, instead of a red rowing boat there was a blue boat in its stead. There was another figure, Anton was not alone, coming along the shore was another person, a naked person and her very large chest showing she was undoubtedly female.
“He’ll enjoy those,” said Sandra, “I know I would.”
As they watched Anton casually dropped his loincloth. Exposing himself clearly unnerved the girl, for she turned and ran. Anton’s action could not, of course, have been mistaken, an intention to intercourse, because he was so very obviously erect. The girls watched the chase for a time. The girl’s boobs bouncing completely out of control as she ran and Anton with his outsize erection similarly swaying as he ran after her.
The girls walked on leaving the other islanders behind, the shoreline curving before them, the palm trees waving and the sea a brilliant blue.
“I wonder what the centre of the island, away from the beach is like?” Sandra mused.
Louise threw herself down on the warm sand and closed her eyes.
“It really is lovely here.” She opened her legs to the sun. “Just a little rest and we can explore some more like Robinson Crusoe.”
Sandra crouched down to gaze between Louise’s legs, “You’re so pretty, Louise, delectable even.” With a finger she gently brushed the sparse downy hair between Louise’s legs causing her friend to tremble and her sex to open revealing the pink folds and moistness. “It’s just like some exotic succulent fruit, all dripping with sweet juice and ripe for tasting. May I?”
Sandra’s tongue touched, tasting Louise’s flowing wetness and caressing the soft flesh.
“That’s lovely, Sandra, perhaps this is what Anton means by there being a problem. Any endeavour, just planning to explore, is quickly overtaken by a desire for sex. Yes, that’s right, just there. Oh, if Anton succeeds can’t we just do this together sometimes? It is so nice.”
The girl’s pleasured each other in the hot sunshine forgetting Anton and whether he had yet caught the girl with the remarkable chest.
“Well?” asked Anton the next day.
“The men will be more interested in sex than rescuing us,” said Louise promptly, “they’ll just chase us and...”
“Fuck us,” finished Sandra.
Anton’s eyes looked upwards and he laughed, “no, they won’t, you’ll not interest them at all!”
“Oh,” said Louise, “Won’t they, why not, I mean... Ah, I see, if they’re not gay already: they will be.”
“Precisely; they’ll all see it as just a dream, which it is, promptly forget about rescuing you and instead indulge themselves with themselves. They’ll awake sometime later not a little surprised at the homoerotic path their dreams took them that night.
I think, though, there is a way to overcome the urge, something which can put off the desire for sex, something else strong, you might think excessive, in men—the desire to win.
I shall bring a rugby team I know into the dream, fifteen men and a substitute—that’s two teams of eight. They’ll come across in the blue boat and then the race will be who can get back first in the two boats with their prize.”
“Prize?”
“You two, of course. It’ll be easy enough to get them to row across, all I have to do is point out two naked girls on your island—the Isle of Lesbos,” Anton laughed, “and they’ll be in such a hurry to get over and fuck you I’ll be knocked down in the rush; but once they get there, ah well, then their interest will switch to each other, not you; so the only way to get them to ignore those urges is to make it a competition; something they get so worked up about it will suppress their other interests; a race of the red and blue teams; best men win. I hope it’ll work.”
“And the winning team gets us both.”
“Not quite. It wouldn’t serve the purpose if a team realising it was not going to reach land first, and so was losing the race, to find its attention switching to the naked bodies in the boat and stop paddling and the current pull them back to your island as their interest turns to each other. That would get one of you home I agree but, no, the winning team is the one who gets back and fucks whichever one of you they are to rescue first—each team member! The competitive urge should bring you both back. I’m looking forward to seeing that.”
It wasn’t clear to Louise and Sandra whether it was the prospect of their return and success for his scheme, the competition and race itself or the prospect of watching the two girls thrown on their backs and vigorously fucked by eight men in turn that he was particularly looking forward to.
“And if all goes well what are your terms? How many times are we going to have to sleep with you?” asked Sandra.
“I was thinking of a year.”
“A year!”
“Sex with you; both of you together or separately, however I want it, wherever I want it, however I want it. A deal?”
Sandra looked at Louise, the prospect was not good.
“A month,” said Louise.
“Six months,” said Anton, “and really you have no bargaining advantage at all. I think you need to accept this generous reduction with enthusiasm. Shall we begin tonight; I’d like to watch you together.”
“Six months,” said Sandra, “starting when you complete your side of the bargain of our delivery back on your island.”
“Done,” said Anton.
Once more the girls slept together—they were nervous at the prospect of the race, about the prospects for success; worried at the risk of failure—that one or both could be left after all on the wrong island; the inevitable roughness of the men’s reward. The girls were tender to each other, their caresses sweet, and their kisses on all their lips loving.
The sand was as warm as ever; the light as bright, the blueness of the sky and sea startling, as always. Across the water the girls could see Anton in his loincloth and, as well, coming up the beach walking in a group, and looking around themselves in a daze, was the local rugby team. Louise and Sandra knew many by sight but had not seen them like this, a pack of naked men. They were large strong men. Anton was gesticulating at them, obviously addressing them and then pointing at the girls.
“Quick we need to wave, attract their attention,” said Sandra.
The girls did their best to raise the team’s interest, waving, calling, jumping up and down so their boobs bounced. Even at a distance the girls could see they were having an effect. They watched as Anton clearly was dividing them into teams, handing out paddles, explaining and encouraging them in the plan—the race—and then they were off, running and racing for the blue boat, turning it over and pushing it into the water and jumping into it. It was not designed for sixteen men and capsized. Sandra and Louise were horrified, but immediately the men had the boat righted and some got in whilst others swam and the boat and swimmers set off for their island and were swept along by the current.
It was a sight, sixteen men in the peak of physical fitness surging up the beach towards them with their cocks erect and hard to their front, cocks the two girls on their Isle of Lesbos had no interest in, yet needed because they wanted the race to succeed; success in the form of them being inseminated by eight of the men in enthusiastic succession. There would be no difficulty in entry, already the eroticism of the dream was making them flow. Instinctively they grasped each other’s hands as the men pounded towards them—an unnerving sight—and then, disaster, the men slowed as if all of a sudden the attraction of the girls, as of a lodestone, was waning and being replaced by a very different magnet. The girls watched in disappointment as the men started to look at each other’s bodies, fine specimens that they were, and particularly at the various penises all displayed in magnificent hardness. There was a tentative touching, a stroking, and a lifting of balls.
The girls were aghast. It was all going wrong. Only Julian Murray seemed immune, his eyes were still very much on the girls as he yelled, “Come on Red Team, grab the fair one. Come on, we can win!”
Julian had hold of Louise now, a hand unnecessarily clamped over a breast and then he pushed her forward and before Louise had realised he had pushed himself right into her and was fucking her.
“I thoughts Julian was gay,” remarked Sandra.
“He is,” said Louise. She did not like the attention and broke free and ran.
“Come on Red Team, she’s getting away!” Julian called as he raced after Louise and, after all, the competitive instinct seemed to triumph for first one, then another of the Red Team came racing after Julian and then it came to the Blue Team that they would be the losers and they too released their holds on each other to move and grab Sandra, their object, and make for the blue boat.
Of course Julian’s start meant the red boat was in the water first, Louise was tumbled in and the men began paddling to the far shore with enthusiasm. The current, though, was strong and progress slow, the men paddling hard, sweat standing out on their arms and chests as they worked. Just over half way across Louise found herself all of a sudden taking a lot more interest in the straining men, their lovely hard bodies and their various shapes and sizes of penis still wonderfully hard despite the paddling and running. But they were not making further headway. The team was tiring and failure was looming.
“Come on team,” cried Louise, “pull harder for the shore, get us there and then you can fuck me... please,” she said in her most winsome voice, opening her legs in encouragement so the men could see the promise. She used her hands to encourage, stroking the cocks, but not too much, as to have had just one spurting into the air would have been a disaster. Only Julian seemed not to respond by pulling harder and, instead, looked in dismay as Louise small hand rolled his foreskin up and down.
Louise’s encouragement did the trick, as did Sandra’s equivalent work in the other boat. As her red boat touched the shoreline Louise could see Sandra’s head bobbing up and down on Martin, the prop forward certainly encouraging him—the blue boat was not far behind. But the Red Team had not yet won—there was a further heat in the race and Louise was now looking forward to it. The all pervading sexuality of the dream had got to her and the more so as she had played with her team’s penises. Of course just reaching the island was victory for her and Sandra but she wanted fucking and the men in the dream would not stop without their reward irrespective of the team urge to win. The men were out of the boat carrying her the moment it touched shore. Then there was the issue of precedence—who went first? Julian was happy to let others push themselves forward and in the event it was James Norton whose great weight first pushed Louise into the sand and his penis first pushed into her. It was hardly unwelcome and nor were the successive mountings. Louise was as ready to rut as the men, her sex so wet and so desperately needing to be filled.
Louise’s team was winning but Julian was found to be backsliding, to be creeping off and, despite seven penetrations and the deposit of a considerable amount of semen, Louise had still not come. By comparison, when Louise had an opportunity to look at the other team’s position, the Blue Team were behind with still two men sporting erections and waiting to service Sandra. Louise pushed herself up from the sand and ran after Julian tackling him in best rugby style and bringing him to the ground so that, before he could stop her, she had turned him onto his back and impaled herself and was riding him, his cock sliding in and out of her highly lubricated vagina. He looked up in horror as her breasts bounced around inches above his face. Julian tried to escape but Louise wasn’t having it, clinging tightly to his wriggling body. Despite the unwelcome and totally unfamiliar attention the combination of the persuasive sexuality of the dream, the slippery, sliding persistence of the sensation and, just possibly, the sight of the creaminess of his team mates manifest on his cock pushed Julian into his first heterosexual orgasm. It can be imagined he awoke in his own bed rather shocked at what had started as one of the most pleasant homo-erotic dream he had experienced, having such promise as he ran erect with no less than fifteen other men along a hot, seemingly Caribbean, beach in the sunshine; had turned out so contrary to his wishes. Indeed it was not a dream he found easy to forgot in the coming weeks.
Louise had jumped to her feet in triumph, despite the still coming Julian spurting below her, with her fist in the air and a shout. Anton had slowly clapped and they had both watched Sandra as her final team mate’s buttocks rose and fell between her spread thighs. As he emptied his balls into Sandra he too began to fade, slipping away from the dream and back into reality leaving just three figures on the beach, Anton and Louise looking at Sandra lying on the sand, her legs still wide apart.
“I don’t think I have ever seen such a sight,” said Anton waving his hand at Sandra’s sex.
Louise could not but agree though knew her own much ravished sex would look little different. Sandra’s vagina was unusually visible, the insertion of penis after penis had left it slack and open for more, the glistening pinkness of her nether lips contrasting with the shiny blackness of her thighs; and both on her lips and thighs, indeed oozing from her, was the white cream of the men’s exertions.
The girls looked at Anton, despite their pounding they had still not come and were in heat, the sex and the pervasive feel of the dream saw to that, Sandra stood up and together she and Louise pulled at the loincloth releasing Anton’s penis, letting it spring free to stand, surprisingly large even compared to the largest of the rugby team. Despite Anton’s description of Sandra’s sex he was not loath to slip his hands between the two girls’ thighs and touch the warm stickiness there. His fingers lightly flicked their little standing nubs and as one the girls bent to lick and suck the shiny knob end of his cock, their lips and tongues meeting as they serviced Anton, either kissing and licking one side each of the pale pink, streamlined head, or their tongues meeting to jointly tickle the so sensitive underside, the fraenum, or, separately, to suck the big head with the other waiting her turn. All the time Anton was working them, his fingers busy, bringing them closer and closer to...
“Yes!” said Anton.
The girl’s tongues met on the very tip of Anton’s smooth pink head, pushing at and tickling the hole preventing the free flow of the ejaculate so it erupted in all directions, coating their tongues and spraying onto their faces. As Anton came so too did the girls, a great electric ball of an orgasm spreading out across their bodies. The girls awoke together in the double bed, gasping, orgasming but with their faces together and tongues touching as in the dream. They fell apart both basking in the afterglow of orgasm but now embarrassed to be in the same bed together, conscious of each other’s scent on their bodies betraying the sex they had mutually enjoyed before falling asleep.
Louise and Sandra were sitting drinking coffee the next day. Of course they were talking of the events of the night before and of the last week. “I am so relieved that worked,” said Sandra touching Louise’s hand, “not that I didn’t enjoy, but I’d rather have you just as a friend and make up to Colin.”
“I’d like to think that was all over but...” Louise paused and looked up meaningfully as Anton came into the canteen. “What are we going to do about him? Dreadful clothes sense, everything about him is dire. Surely we don’t have to...”
He sat with them.
“It’s an unenforceable contract,” said Sandra, “it’s not in writing and who would believe you anyway?”
Anton looked disappointed, “Oh, well I rather thought you’d be women of your word and after all that effort I went to just because you didn’t listen right at the start when I told you not to touch the red boat, one simple little rule. Ah well, it is a pity, I was so looking forward to undressing you both, bathing with you even, I thought we might, just for fun, go into the office on a Saturday when no one is around and work without a stitch on, I really liked the idea of seeing you tapping away at your computers without clothes—I’ve thought about that often, though I’m sure you find that difficult to believe—then perhaps make love on the main meeting room table—something to remember in boring meetings in the future! I had lots of ideas, but still if that is how you feel I suppose I shall have to put you back in the red boat and watch you float away in the current back to your sunny little island. Perhaps one day you’ll change your mind and we can try the rugby team again, it did work after all—but it might not next time.”
Anton’s voice was ‘matter of fact’ but the threat was very clear to the girls. They could not escape their bargain.
They did not escape. Anton was clearly obsessed by sex and took every advantage of the bargain he had made and was very inventive. It was not long before he moved from simply sucking and fucking to wanting to see them making out together despite, or perhaps even because they no longer had an interest in each other’s bodies. He was happy to sit on the bed stroking his (actually very ordinary sized) erection whilst supervising and personally inserting the two ends of a double headed fluorescent purple dildo into the two girls and watching with great concentration as they pushed against each other. Perhaps he even enjoyed the look of stoic resignation on their faces.
Having come twice of an evening in, on or around the girls, Anton would then decide to stay the night sleeping with Sandra on one side of him and Louise on the other and, if the girls thought their ordeal over for the night as they dropped off to sleep then they were quickly disabused of that idea, when fast asleep they would find themselves dreaming once more of sand and a reinvigorated Anton complete with loincloth awaiting them on a hot sandy beach with palm trees waving in the breeze.
To his credit Anton did offer the girls variety during their six month period of obligation.
“Was there somebody, anybody they would like to play with in the sand? Perhaps they would like to entertain the rugby team again?”
The girls had, perhaps not to their credit, taken up the offered variety on more than a few occasions. There was more than a giggle between the two of them some mornings when they looked back over who they had been playing with the night before! What Anton was not prepared to do was explain how he had come to have control over their minds. He had tapped his thin nose and said there was no need for them to know.
What of the rugby team and their strange dream? Of course none of the team mentioned it to any of the other team members. Why should they have done? The unmentioned dream was, perhaps, the direct cause of their catastrophic defeat in the local finals, 45:11 only days after their busy night. Louise and Sandra had come to the match with Colin, who was a keen supporter, and the team seeing the girls on the touch line for real was a bit of a shock and their minds were thrown straight back to that particularly vivid dream; a dream of sand they had trouble in forgetting—a very wet dream. The team members thought it uncanny and it quite put them off their match as they kept glancing in the girls’ direction. For Julian it was even worse when, in the clubhouse afterwards, Louise had whispered to him, perhaps rather naughtily,
“Thank you so, so much my big Red Boat hero,” and had kissed him on the cheek.