Bleary eyed now, as her entire body felt like one large nerve ending, Allyson cast her eyes toward the man whose voice had sounded like her dead husband. Momentarily, the room seemed not quit as dark and she could vaguely see the outline of his body more clearly. He was taller and fitter than her husband. She had the sense that he was much younger, just like his voice. And he had a video camera in his hands, filming her every move.
Suddenly, Allyson felt confused. It was too dark to use a video camera, Allyson thought to herself fleetingly, as the pleasure that consumed her continued to distract her and impair her judgement. How could he possibly be filming them in the dark?
Turning away from him, she looked up at the penis in her left hand. Now she saw that the stiff cock in her hand was actually the brass rail on the headboard behind her. Looking down she saw that the body beneath her was one of the stiff throw pillows from the head of the bed.
Frantically looking around, there were no men reaming her ass and pussy. It was only her own fingers sending the waves of pleasure through her body as she frigged herself, alone in the dark.
Allyson rolled over on her side and curled up into a fetal position as her body shuddered and she began to wail uncontrollably. It had happened again, she thought in frustration. Yet another dream! But what kind of a dream, she asked herself.
Was it just a wet dream brought on by the sexual frustration of not having been with a man in nearly two years? Or was it a nightmare? It certainly seemed as though it could be a nightmare, since these dreams always left her feeling so ill at ease and consumed with a sense of dread, a fear of something she just couldn’t quite put her finger on.
The same dream kept returning night after night. But each night it was slightly, almost imperceptibly, different. She had been having the dreams for over a month now. The fact that she lived alone in the huge house now only served to make the dreams worse. She had no one to talk to or cling to after she awoke.
That’s why she had sought the aid of a therapist, someone who could help her decipher her troublesome dreams, someone to talk to. Allyson’s therapist had recommended that she keep a record of these dreams in a diary.
Her therapist had suggested that there may be subtle differences in each dream and that over time the dreams might become clearer as she added more detail. And as it turned out, her therapist was right. With each dream some new detail seemed to emerge.
That was the good news. The bad news was that with each new added detail, the dreams seemed to be even more vividly real. And tonight’s dream had felt so real that it left her body drenched in sweat and crying out in the dark.
Allyson continued to lay curled up in a ball at the center of the bed, mired in a huge slick puddle of her sex juices. They had gushed from her excited body as she dreamt of fucking shadowy ghosts in her dark and lonely bedroom.
After a good cry, Allyson gathered herself and sat up in bed. Looking at the alarm clock on the nightstand, it said 3 a.m. After taking a few more deep breaths, Allyson got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to shower.
As she showered and then dried herself, Allyson continued to replay the details of her dream in her mind. She wanted to retain every detail before they slipped away, so she could record them in her diary. Once she had finished drying herself and combed out her hair, Allyson threw on her bathrobe and headed downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee. She was too overwrought to go back to sleep.
As the coffee brewed, Allyson sat at the counter writing about her newest dream in her diary. At her therapist’s suggestion, she had bought it for that purpose. It was a leather bound volume and had a small lock. Allyson didn’t want the contents of her private diary to be seen by anyone other than herself.
The only other person who would know any of what lied within the diary’s pages was her therapist, Dr. Irene Nesbitt, and even to her, Allyson would only relate some of the contents during their sessions.
The therapist would only hear the things that Allyson thought were absolutely necessary. There were some things that Allyson dreamt that were too embarrassing to tell even Dr. Nesbitt.
Much of what was within the diary could be harmful to Allyson and to many others if it was ever revealed. Some of Allyson’s dreams were flights of fantasy, spurred by her subconscious. Other dreams were about things that had been all too real.
Those entries were a recounting of she and her dead husband’s wildest and most reckless sexual escapades from the past. Allyson knew that it was behavior that the average person would find shocking, shameful and maybe even disgusting.
Allyson finished transcribing what she remembered from her most recent dream soon after the coffee finished brewing. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she returned to the diary and reread today’s entry one last time in the hope that it might jog some further memories from her subconscious, but it did not. Allyson locked her diary and put it in the large woven tote bag she planned on taking with her on her trip later that morning.
Looking at the microwave’s clock, Allyson saw that it was almost 4:30 a.m. Since she was wide awake now, Allyson impulsively decided to get an early start on her drive to the family ranch in the Sierra foothills near Sonora. She had already packed the SUV the night before and had filled it with gas on her way home from the office the previous afternoon.
Allyson returned to the bedroom and changed into the clothes she would wear for the three hour trip to the ranch. If she started now, she would miss some of the early morning commuter traffic around the lower end of the bay between her home in Palo Alto and Fremont on the opposite side of the bay.
After that, she would transition from one freeway to another, jumping from the 680 to the 84, then heading due east on the 580 and 205 which would take her across the central valley. The final stretch on the 120 and 49 would take her to the ranch, just outside the quaint Sierra foothills town of Sonora with its Gold Rush Era western style buildings.
With any luck, the 140 mile trip would take less than the three hours it usually required with busy bay area traffic. If all went well, she would arrive at the ranch mid-morning, well ahead of her son and his six friends and have time to take a nap and rest before beginning the delicate task of rebuilding her frayed relationship with her stepson, which was the main purpose of the trip.
Closing the door from the kitchen into the garage behind her, Allyson keyed in the code on the alarm panel next to the door. It was still a little chilly and she rushed to the SUV to get the heater running and to turn on the heated seat as the garage door opened.
She had dressed comfortably for the long drive, wearing a loose fitting tank top over her bare breasts and a pair of low waisted khaki short shorts that barely covered her mons on the front and the cleft in her ass on the back.
As a successful business woman, Ally was accustomed to working all the angles. She wanted to look sexy for her son and his friends. Especially if that would get her what she wanted―to resume her close relationship with her stepson.
As she opened the driver’s door she saw her reflection in the window. The garage’s cold had made her large brown nipples even more aroused than they were naturally, they poked through the lightweight material of her loose fitting white tank top.
Allyson smiled at her own reflection in the mirror. Those should give her stepson and his friends something to think about, she thought to herself wickedly. Allyson was aware of her sex appeal and the effect it had on men. Long ago, when she was still a teenager, she had learned to use her raw sexuality to manipulate men and get what she wanted.
Jumping into the SUV to escape the morning chill, Allyson backed out while hitting the button to close the garage door behind her. Within a matter of minutes she was on the freeway heading south and around the lower end of the bay.
It was extremely foggy and the going was slow. As she drove, she continued to think about the events of the last few months that had left her estranged from her twenty year old stepson.
What she desperately wanted from her stepson now was to be part of his life again. She had raised him as though he were her own and being estranged from him left a void in her life. So if flashing a little tit would aid her in that effort, so be it.
In the two years since his father’s death they had drifted apart. Compounding the problem, they were then separated from each other because of Covid. The bad feeling that developed after the disposition of her husband’s estate had only exacerbated the problem.
Nerves had been raw then, and they mutually agreed at the time that it would be best for her stepson Josh to remain with his grandparents and he would help look after them during Covid, since they were both in their late seventies. It seemed like the right thing to do since the three were already quarantining together in southern California when the Covid restrictions took effect.
As bad luck would have it, Josh was visiting with his grandparents at the time. The reason it was bad luck was because Allyson knew that her in-laws would try to turn her stepson against her. After her husband’s death, the disposition of his estate had not gone as his parents anticipated it would go. They lashed out and blamed Allyson for it, accusing her of conniving to steal their grandson’s inheritance.
In spite of all the reassurances from their personal and corporate lawyers that everything was completely above board and legal, the attorneys could not persuade Josh’s grandparents to change their mind and accept the disposition of their son’s estate. In their minds, Allyson had cheated them and their grandson out of their rightful inheritance.
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