by Amy Brent
A tiny spark went off deep in my brain.
She could be the girl of my dreams…
Dreams…
I’ll be damned…
The dream…
I had been having this recurring dream for weeks…
About a girl with the dark hair whose face I never see…
Could it be her?
Could my subconscious be sending me some kid of sign?
Could Serena Diaz literally be the girl in my dream?
* * *
I’d never put much stock in the subconscious mind or the relevancy of dreams, but I had been having the same dream for a few weeks now and something Sammy said made it bubble up from the depths of my brain and start playing in my head like an old porno film.
Thinking back now, the first time I had the dream was the night I asked Rosalie the waitress about Serena Diaz. I knew Serena was the one who had been instrumental in Isaac and Amy meeting, but I didn’t know anything else about her. I had noticed her before, of course, wearing the short waitress uniform that looked like a French maid outfit with six-inch heels. I mean, even with all the naked chicks running around, it was impossible to miss a girl who looked like a young Sophia Vergara, for petesake. But she always seemed so serious when she wasn’t serving the members, like her body was there but her brain was off doing something else. Cancer research, maybe.
That night, as I sat at the bar in between trips upstairs, I caught a whiff of her perfume as she hurried past and my eyes trailed after her, watching her round bottom sway as she walked, the muscles in her legs flexing in the high heels.
She had a full tray of drinks in her hands. She barely noticed me sitting there, which was unusual because the girls usually fell all over themselves when me, Isaac, and Sammy were around.
There were certain perks to being a billionaire, whether you were good looking or not. Hot women were attracted to you because of the smell of your money and the light of your fame, much in the same way that old, ugly-ass rock stars like Mick Jagger attracted gorgeous super models young enough to be their granddaughters.
When you had the kind of money we had it was not who you were that mattered; it was what you were and what you could offer that counted the most. I gotta tell you, that shit wears pretty thin, even though I had enjoyed milking it for all it was worth for the last few years.
Maybe that was why the three of us were all looking for something more now. A deeper connection rather than a quick fuck. The attention of a woman like Serena Diaz, for example. But she wasn’t paying attention to me. She never had. Again, maybe that was why my subconscious mind started fucking her every night in my sleep. Because she showed zero interest in fucking me when I was awake.
I wasn’t exactly sure where the dream took place because, as with most dreams, everything around me was dark, the air swirling with smoke. I was in a bed. Alone.
Then someone was there.
Just a shadow coming toward me from out of the darkness.
It was a woman.
She was naked.
Her body was perfect, voluptuous, large breasts with dark areolas and raspberry nipples. She cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and moaned softly.
She had a thin waist that curved out into wide hips that tapered into toned legs the color of honey. Her pussy hair was black, trimmed into a neat line that directed my eyes to the pink goodness between her legs.
I sniffed the air like a hungry wolf.
I could smell her hot juices, tangy in the thick mist between us.
I licked my lips.
I could taste her on the tip of my tongue.
My cock was hard, so hard it throbbed as the blood pumped into it from the rest of my body.
The smoky darkness swirled around her as she approached the bed, as if the heat from her body was giving birth to the fog that was surrounding us.
The air grew heavier.
It was hard to breathe.
Sweat oozed from every pore of my naked body.
Then she appeared in full. Her hair was long and black, as black as a crow’s wings. It hung over her dark shoulders and framed her face. Her face was unclear, as if I were seeing her through a steamy window.
Did I know this woman?
Had I seen her somewhere before?
Or was she a complete figment of my imagination: a creation or compilation of the many women I’d had in my bed.
She came the bed and reached out a hand. I was on my back, my cock stiff and hard like the mast of a ship. Her fingers closed around the shaft and started moving slowly up and down, up and down, rolling the thin skin over the hard muscle, squeezing at the head to ooze out drops of anticipation from the slit.
“Do you want me to suck your cock?” she asked in a voice that seemed to echo in my ears.
“Yes... please…”
Her hand held my cock steady as she lowered her mouth to the head, circling it with her tongue, pushing it between her moist lips. Her head began to slowly move up and down, taking my cock fully inside her mouth, deep in her throat, then sliding her lips back over it the shaft until the head appeared at the tip of her tongue.
“I want to touch you…” I sighed, willing my hands to reach for her large breasts. I realized that my hands were tied to the headboard above my head. I tugged against the bonds, frustrated that I couldn’t touch her body. I wanted to squeeze her breasts, feel the warm heat of her pussy on my fingers… on my tongue.
“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked.
“Yes…” I moaned. “Yes…”
Without releasing my cock, she climbed on top of me, centered her hole over my rigid shaft, then lowered herself until I felt her hot, wet pussy open up and take in the head of my cock.
My body was suddenly on fire.
My toes curled.
My top teeth dig into my bottom lip.
I strained again against the bonds that kept my hands in place.
She impaled herself onto me until I felt my cock reach her innermost wall. She gasped and braced her palms on my chest and dug her fingernails into my flesh.
“I love your cock, Denny…” she said, her voice deep and husky. It tickled my ear like a whisper. She leaned forward as her hips slid back and forth over the full length of my shaft. Her warm breath washed over my face. “So long… so hard…”
My hands were suddenly free. I brought them immediately to her round tits, fleshy, full, the nipples like hard thimbles under my thumb. She moaned as I massaged her fleshy globes, her pussy sliding over my cock, making a squishing sound as her hot juices gushed over my cock and balls.
I opened my eyes.
Her hair covered her face.
I tried to reach up and brush her hair back so I could see her face, but she wrapped her fingers around my wrists and forced my hands back over my head.
“Close… getting… close…” she moaned as her hips started to move faster. I was close, too. I could feel the heat rising inside my balls. Sweat covered our bodies like oil. I arched my back to drive deeper into her. The orgasm began as a tingle in my balls and built to a crescendo that literally spewed jizz from my cock into her tight cunt.
“Fuck…” I sighed, eyes closed, teeth clenched. “I’m cumming… fuck… I’m….”
I exploded with such force that she had to dig her fingernails deeper into my chest to hang on. I felt searing pain from her nails tearing at my skin, but didn’t care. I bucked like a bronco as the orgasm shuddered through my body and into hers.
I heard her suck in a deep breath as her body tensed and the motion of her hips increased. She slammed her pussy up and down on my cock and screamed my name.
“Dude? Dude? DUDE!”
Startled, I opened my eyes to find Sammy staring at me from the other side of the car. He had an amused smirk on his face. He held up his bottle and nodded toward my crotch. I glanced down. The Corona bottle was between my legs. I had my fingers wrapped around the long neck. My hand was sliding up
and down.
“You okay, man?” he asked, grinning now with the bottle at his lips.
“I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat, squirming to sit up straight. “Just dozed off for a minute.”
He was grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat.
“Dude, you were dreaming about Serena Diaz.”
“I was not.”
“You were, too. You were moaning, ‘Serena… Serena…’”
“Fuck you, asshole!” I growled. “I was not.”
“And you were jacking off your beer bottle.”
“Will you give me a fucking break?”
“Will you admit that you were thinking about her?”
“I wasn’t thinking about anybody.”
“Okay, have it your way.” He leaned over to nudge me with his elbow. “Just tell me one thing, bro… Was it good for you?”
“Fuck you,” I growled, shifting in the seat as my plump cock pushed against my jeans.
I drained the bottle, tossed it over my shoulder into the rear seat, and plucked another Corona from the minifridge as Sammy continued to smirk at me.
I settled in with my eyes glued to the window and my legs crossed for rest of the ride, hoping that Sammy would drop the subject of Serena Diaz, and hoping that she would be working this weekend at Club D.
Chapter 6: Serena
When I was in the eleventh grade, my BFF, Lois Rigsby, told me that Bradley Boles, the junior varsity starting quarterback, had asked her about me. Having Bradley Boles ask about you was like getting the USDA Seal of Approval in my school. Even if he wasn’t truly interested, it boosted your credibility—and appeal—in the eyes of every other boy in Bradley’s sphere of influence, which included all the football players and the cool kids. It was a high point of my high school experience.
I was sitting in the cafeteria munching on a burger that I would have sworn contained sawdust when Lois came rushing over, all giggles and sharp elbows, and said, “OMG, Serena, Bradley Boles just asked if you were dating anybody!”
I think my mouth probably dropped open because Bradly Boles was the hottest guy in school and all the girls slobbered over him. He was tall and gorgeous, broad shouldered, like a young Brad Pitt, with the perfect smile and the perfect body chiseled out of lean muscle that he loved to show off at the public pool on weekends. Bradley was mature for his age, at least physically, and only dated cheerleaders and majorettes, or so I thought. Why in the world would he be asking about me?
“What did you say?” I asked, breathless, a lump of burger hung in my throat like a ball of grease caught in a trap. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. The sound of it pounded in my ears like a bass drum.
“I told him that you were not dating anyone and would love to go out with him!”
I gawked at her. I swallowed so hard it made my throat hurt. “How could you tell him that? I’ve never said anything about going out with him!”
She cut her green eyes at me. “So, you wouldn’t go out with him?”
I bit my lip and glanced across the cafeteria. Bradley was holding court at a table full of jocks and cool kids. There was a blonde with big tits on either side of him like fleshy bookends. Bradley could have any girl he liked, even a senior. Why would he be interested in me? I remembered him looking my way. Our eyes met for just a second. He smiled, then looked away, being all cool about it.
“So?” Lois bumped me with her elbow again. “What do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him…yes… I’d love to go out with him.”
And she did.
And I spent the entire eleventh grade waiting for Bradley to give me the time of day.
I turned down offers of dates from a dozen other boys.
I went to the junior prom with Lois and her boyfriend.
I waited.
And I waited.
And I kept on waiting for Bradley to ask me out.
And he never did.
He never said a single word to me or looked my way again.
Ever.
Fuck you, Bradley Boles.
And fuck you, Lois, for getting my hopes up!
That was why I didn’t get too excited when Rosalie told me that Denny Chambers had asked about me. I’d had a lot of boys ask about me. Rarely did one of them actually give me the time of day.
Bradly Boles, a shit head eleventh grade Romeo wasn’t really interested I me, so why should Denny Chambers, a handsome billionaire who had women lined up to fuck his brains out at the snap of his fingers be interested?
Rosalie must have misunderstood.
Or Denny was just making idle chit-chat between trips up to slide his cock into one of Carina’s magic holes.
Or they were both just fucking with me.
Grrr… stop it, Serena… Just block him from your mind…
But that was the problem. I couldn’t stop thinking about Denny Chambers no matter how hard I tried. Rosalie had inadvertently opened a Pandora’s Box that I kept hidden in the darkest recesses of my brain.
I had always had the hots for Denny Chambers, but had never said a word to him or anyone else about it. I had a good thing going at Club D. I wasn’t gonna screw that up just for a quick fuck with the boss, no matter how incredible that fuck might be.
I had filthy thoughts about him when I was pleasuring myself.
I had even filthier dreams about him when I closed my eyes to sleep.
We fucked a lot in my dreams.
And did other things that would probably make even Carina blush.
I had never been within a foot of the man, but I thought he was the sexiest thing alive.
That handsome face… dark eyes… sly little smile… the way his lean muscles pushed against his tight t-shirts and the way his cock bulged in the front of his skinny jeans…
Sigh…
Waterworks on please…
If I had been the slut I was in my dreams, I would have fucked Denny Chambers’ brains out a long time ago.
That was the thought that had been running through my head for hours. And it was refusing to go away no matter how hard I tried to force it out of my brain.
I wanted to fuck Denny Chambers.
There. I said it. Now go away.
I wanted to fuck his brains out.
Over and over and over again.
I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and hang on for dear life as he slammed his cock into my cunt like a jackhammer.
I wanted to sink my teeth into his big shoulders and have him scream my name as he blasts his load deep inside me.
I wanted to take him into my mouth and…
Fuck…
Here comes reality…
I wanted to fuck Denny, but he was probably just fucking with me.
So, fuck you, Denny Chambers.
And fuck you, Rosalie, for getting my hopes up and making me stain a perfectly good pair of panties.
* * *
After the bus dropped us off at the guest house that was located across a wide stone patio behind the manor house, we all got ready quickly and headed for the main hall where the fun would start exactly at 10 PM. I put on my slutty French maid costume and stiletto heels, which were a motherfucker to work in for eight hours, doublechecked my hair and makeup, and was in the main hall racking glasses behind the bar when I heard a voice.
“Hey, do you need a hand?”
I had my back to the bar when I heard his deep voice. I was looking up, sliding the stems of wine glasses into an overhead rack. It was not strenuous work that I needed help with, so either he thought I was in distress or he was just making conversation. Either way, Denny Chambers was talking to me. To me!!! Holy wet dreams…
I was holding a glass in each hand when I turned to look at him. He was sitting at the bar with a bottle of Corona rolling between his palms. He was smiling at me, the way Bradley Boles smiled at me from across the cafeteria years ago. Asshole.
“Uh, no, I think I can manage,” I said, trying not to trip over my words. I
slid the glasses into the rack and picked up a bar rag to wipe my hands. “Did you need another beer?”
“No, I’m good,” he said, holding up the bottle. “Just trying to be helpful.”
He smiled. I felt a tingle in my chest that quickly dropped to my crotch. I’d been around Denny Chambers many times, but had never engaged with him.
I was a tiny moon revolving around his big, red planet (red because it was so hot, duh).
Nothing more.
He’d never looked at me directly with his deep-set blue eyes.
He’d never smiled at me with his perfect lips and teeth.
He’d never let his eyes drift down to my cleavage and linger there long enough for me to feel the heat of his gaze.
I heard myself sigh.
Fucking Denny Chambers was talking to me.
Fuck you, Bradley Boles!
I tried to give him a casual look, taking stock of him with my eyes as he lifted the Corona and smiled with the bottle at his lips. He wore a tight, black t-shirt that showed off his lean, muscular physique. His dark hair was buzzed short on the sides, thicker on top. He had a five o’clock shadow that made him look a little dangerous, like the guy on the old Miami Vice TV show my dad watched on cable every night. He licked his lips and let his eyes drift down to my cleavage again. For the first time ever, I was glad the French maid outfit was lowcut and the wonder bra from hell pushed my big boobs up and together, creating a deep line of cleavage that Denny could get lost in. I began to tingle anew. Moist heat started building between my legs.