(A fragment of something I’m working on today.) 

Jaime had told Sa’afia to hold Ana’s arms while Ana knelt, her back arched, on his bed. She watched with blank curiosity while he swung his belt across Ana’s ass, letting the leather bite and kiss at her bottom and the tops of her thighs.

But when Jaime put the belt down and positioned his cock against Ana’s oiled little asshole, Sa’afia leaned forward so he could kiss her. Jaime put his right hand on Sa’afia’s waist, gripping her flesh hard while he pressed his cock against Ana’s untried, unentered entrance.

Ana’s skin burned to his touch, hot from his belt, as he closed contact with her, though the sheets in which he slept were cool.

When he leaned forward to meet Sa’afia’s embrace and kiss her, her breasts were also cool. She drew him into a tight hug while he pushed forward into Ana. Ana opened suddenly, and she gasped and begged him to pause. He did, but didn’t withdraw from her, and savoured the sensation of his cock held tightly, her little muscle clasping the head of his cock. Her lasshole.

But his dreaming imagination couldn’t keep up that level of detail. Jaime drifted forward into a generic female world, a sequence of visual and tactile moments, of Ana’s softnesses and Sa’afia’s. When it all became too improbable, and too much mental work to sustain, he woke up.

Jaime sprawled as if he’d fallen, back in his bed, with light coming in the windows, back in a world in which he couldn’t have sex with Ana, and he shouldn’t have a threesome with two cousins. He guessed the two of them would find it quite awkward, in reality. Well, maybe Ana wouldn’t mind. But Sa’afia would.

But he didn’t worry about those considerations until, eyes closed to keep the images he’d dreamed, and with spit and his cock in his hand, he came. Decorously, into tissues.

At the time he thought it was an unusually pleasurable dream, because of the intensity of the sensations that he imagined he felt as he dreamed. It didn’t occur to him that part of his mind might have been warning him. Our earliest source for the idea that some dreams bring truth and often warning, and that those dreams come through the Gates of Horn is Homer’s Odyssey, where Penelope dreamt of her husband’s retjurn after so many years.

She thought it was a false dream, that had come to her through the Gates of Ivory.

But that dream came from the Gates of Horn, and it was true. Her husband was coming home and the floor of their home, and then her white thighs, would flow with blood. Like Penelope’s, Jaime’s dream had been a horny dream, and so he should have been wary. But although he knew these things, he didn’t remember them.