Daring to Dream

Mitzy lazed, reading in the park on a rare free afternoon. The clouds meandered past the tops of the pine trees and let the sun peek through to her drooping eyelids. She dreamed of her future husband.  would be a woodsman, climbing high in the trees, looking down through and up her skirt. She smelled a hint of her wetness mixing with the lotion on her legs.

She put down her book, the Love Dare, and a thought came to mind. What if she came up with her own dare? She picked up her phone and looked at her texts. Her best friend from work had left a message inviting her to go running down at the school track. But the only running she wanted to do was her fingers down her smallish breasts. Closing her eyes, she prayed. Why am I still single? Better yet, how can I enjoy the wait? She began scissoring her legs slowly.

Buzzzz.

That would be Alissa again. She wouldn’t answer—not today, or at least, not right now.

Sent to voicemail.

Mitzy felt the wind gently rustle her eyelashes as she let her eyes flutter closed again. The gusts lightly lifted the fringe of her skirt, and she bit her lips as she stretched out on the grass and slowly crossed her legs. The sensations built slowly. She opened her eyes again to her book and wondered what kind of Love Dare would work for singles. She looked at her phone as another message came through, then it hit her. As she sat up, she picked up her book and phone and started the walk home from the park. Her assignment would begin tomorrow morning.

—

6:15 a.m. Quooock….quooooock!!!!

Ugh, the morning shift. “Stop yelling at me!!!!” Mitzy lamented as she shifted in her sheets. She raised the sleep mask to her forehead, feeling slightly frustrated since she deliberately cut her self-pleasure off yesterday evening. Today was the first day of her challenge.

Mitzy lazily ran her fingers down the front of the soft pajama shorts and along her plump her inner thighs. She was a bit heavier than she wanted to be, but Alissa was helping her stick to a healthy eating plan. Today they’d meet for breakfast at the coffee shop before her shift, so she knew she had to hurry. She usually would have ‘breakfast’ in the shower, but not today!

As she dried her hair, her phone went off.

“After work, you’re going to need a shower—steamy… hot… sticky.”

Mitzy ran her fingers down the front of her blouse as she forced herself from her chair and to her car. She didn’t realize she almost ran over her neighbor, walking on the sidewalk.

As she sat in her chair at the cafe across from Alissa, nibbling her whole-grain avocado toast, Mitzy’s mind drifted to the notification on her phone and to her mountain man as she crossed her legs and squeezed. The crotch of her stockings, the only layer she wore beneath her knee-length skirt, absorbed the slight wetness collecting beneath it. But when Mitzy noticed her friend and co-worker looking at her oddly, she collected her thoughts and made small talk until they’d finished eating. Time for work… and to continue part one of her dare: take every opportunity to imagine life—and sex—with her dream husband, her mountain man. Was it wrong? She wondered, but how could it be?

Mitzy returned home from a slow shift—which meant plenty of mental excitement—and threw her keys down on the kitchen table. Time for part two of her self-imposed dare.

Light jazz from the Bluetooth speaker glazed the air and she began to sway to the beat and unbutton her blouse. Her hair released from its loose bun as she slowly waltzed to her freezer and pulled out an ice cube. The words from her reminder ran through her mind: “—steamy… hot… sticky.” She could almost hear them spoken in a gruff voice. Mitzy let the ice cube drizzle along her still-harnessed cleavage. Then she unsnapped the bra’s front closure and felt the coldness against her nipples.

After dropping the half-melted cube into the sink, Mitzy settled into a chair. She drew in a slow breath, holding a breast in one hand while the other fingers pulled at its ice-aggravated nipple. The intensity of the sensation arched her back and raised her bum—so she did it again, of course!

As the music continued, Mitzy rose and resumed her dance. She watched her shadow, daring it to keep up, and before long, all her clothing littered the floor and furniture. Then she paused and lifted one leg to the seat of the chair. Her fingertips dipped to her inner thighs, then slowly dabbled in her wetness before they rose to her lips. She took a deep whiff and sighed.

Then the song ended, and the next track began. But it wasn’t music; the sound of gasping breaths emanated from the speaker. Mitzy lay on the kitchen floor and closed her eyes. Her hands reached for her small mounds and their excited nipples, and her hips began to thrust.

She listened intently; she recognized the slight gasps as a woman’s. She knew the woman from the recording well and knew what she was doing—he’d recorded the sounds herself! Mitzy could hear bedsprings creak methodically in the background as she let her fingers linger near her navel. Then, as the rasping breaths of the woman grew louder, Mitzy slid her hands under her buttocks and scissored her legs at the hips.

Hmm, I think there’s a better place for this…

Snagging the speaker, Mitzy traipsed to her bed, listening to the woman’s breaths growing more ragged.

“Oooooooh… Mmmmmmm.” She sounded so turned on. Mitzy bit her lip and rubbed her legs together. “I’m going to pound you so hard,” the voice said. “Do you feel how wet I am inside?”

Mitzy, thinking of her dream husband, grabbed her small breasts as her hips began thrusting. But she forced them back down to the mattress. It wasn’t time yet; she knew there was much more to come.

“Are you ready? Ohhhhhh, that feels so gooood.”

Mitzy pictured the woman grabbing her pillow and mounding her blankets into a pile. She could see her hips pounding the pillow into the mattress as her gasps grew louder. Here, she had arched up from the pillow and ground against her hand, rocking so that her breasts swayed along with her hair.

“Ooooh, yes. Yeeessss. Oh, yes… You’re coming? I’m waiting for you. Oh, you’re plowing me! Don’t stop. Sooo haaaard….”

As Mitzy listened, the voice fell silent. Now she heard only gasps and the bedsprings—her bedsprings, the one’s against her body as she lay on her back and fingered. Rolling to her knees and bracing against the bedpost, she fingered herself from behind, rocking to the rhythm of the woman’s grinding. Then she pushed back from the post and balanced on her heels as she stroked her thighs, then up to her breasts before collapsing on her back again. She relished the sound of her nakedness rasping against her sheets.

Then, she pounded.

Her bent knees spread, and her hand played the part of her imaginary husband, relentlessly driving into her center. Her breasts undulated slightly with the force of the strokes. After a few minutes of thrusting hand and hips, Mitzy raised her legs and scissored them around her wrist, allowing her hand full movement while providing a grinding surface for her clitoris. Hips up and fingers in, hold and grind, hips down and fingers out, repeat. Thrust, circle, down. She felt her body spasm as she slammed onto her side, crunching and writhing against the sheets.

After a long moment, her breathing slowed. Her gaze fell on the open window, but all she saw were the eyes of her mountain man, peering past her naked skin to her soul, his lip between his teeth.

Eventually, Mitzy got up, stopped the recording she’d made the day before, and went to the bathroom. Admiring the sexy flush of her cheeks, she couldn’t help thinking of how red her husband would make her someday. She closed her eyes and prayed for him, thanking God for life right now and for the days and nights to come. In the meantime, she had to dress and catch dinner with her bff. As she picked up her phone, she thought about the next dare that awaited.