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Sweet Dreams

By on October 28, 2012
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Sweet Dreams Agrath 1

Soon her breasts were heaving to the beat of DJ Chus on the rooftop dance club. As she sipped her icy pink cocktail, drops of condensation fell from the cup onto the tops of her breasts and ran into her cleavage. Luke stared. “Go ahead,” Agrat said, bored, “lick it off.”

Luke gulped, audibly, but before he could approach, she grabbed him by the collar of his white linen shirt and led him to the roof ledge. She dropped her drink off the roof, paying no attention to where it landed, and placed his hands on her thighs. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Fuck me.”

Luke’s eyes went wide. “Here?”

“Trust me honey, in the morning, this will all just be a wet dream,” said the daughter of illusion as she hitched up her miniskirt. “That is, if you wake up at all.”

Luke unzipped his jeans and pressed Agrat up against the rough cement wall that enclosed the rooftop garden of the dance club. He dutifully thrusted to the beat of Agrat’s precisely whispered dirty instructions: “Harder, faster, hold it, there! YES! Right there! Wait for me to reach you, yes! Now. Don’t stop. Deeper, yes baby, now! Fuck yeah!” Luke’s eyes were closed tight in fierce concentration, or ecstasy.  (Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.) He finished in less than three minutes. Agrat then shoved him out of her and twisted him around so his back was up against the wall. He quivered in unearthly sensation, as she kneeled and took his still-hard cock in her mouth, covered in both of their juices.

Agrat sucked him dry, careful not to waste a drop.  Then without even bothering to pull up his pants or button his fly, she slung him over her shoulder and jumped off the roof. She didn’t need to check his wallet for the address. Now that he had been inside her, she knew everything there was to know about him from the minute he was born until the minute he would die (of old age, alone in bed, after two dysfunctional marriages and five fucked up kids.) She had him back in his bed, covers thrown lazily over his prone form, entranced in the stupor of the oversexed, in less than five minutes.

Agrat then jumped from his window, which she left open – her signature exit.  As she landed on the sidewalk and walked back to her car, his semen leaking down her legs and chilling her as it cooled in the breezy ocean air, she sighed. She blinked her eyes purposefully and in an instant she was out of her clothes, clean, and wearing comfy grey sweats and a tiny white tanktop.

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Staff writer and editor at Jewrotica, Karalyn Dane is a poet and a novelist with a penchant for beer and unusual vegetables. She may or may not live out the many fantasies that she writes about on this site.
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