Kelly Lane

Wet and ready

CHAPTER ONE

I fell asleep on the train and had a dream that Gus Wells was grazing his big, meaty dong over my tits, down over my tummy, then brushing my cunt hairs with it. Slowly, all slowly. Oh, it was a lovely, purple-headed cock and my body felt like I was walking through the fires of hell – or better yet, heaven – as he velvet-touched it down over my spread thighs. It was a dream I've had many times before, and I always wake up sweaty and completely frustrated, because the damned dream never has an ending.

And in the dream I would then feel his face against the tender flesh of my belly, his rough hands gripping the cheeks of my ass, his hot breath tormenting me. Then his mouth working on my nipples, sucking each one in turn between his lips and biting them lightly. Then his head moving lower and planting a wet kiss at the top of my clit. And I can always actually feel his warm tongue slipping between my cunt-lips in strong back and forth strokes.

And, as usual, my body wriggles and squirms. And me all hungry to see his warm, sensual mouth all ripe and full of me, his hot maniac-eyes wide, then fluttering. And oh, his fat red knob planked out between his hairy thighs, in full view, driving me crazier for it. And his fingers playing with that big gorilla-prick until it loomed up even larger and gleamed like something unreal.

Well, it wasn't real, after all. Just a silly dream. I awoke, sighed, and tried to calm myself.

When the train pulled into Long Island station, I was already standing at the top of the stairs, prepared to jump off the moment the train stopped. I had my suitcase in my hand, and my small blue overnight bag was sitting next to me on the top step of the stairs. It had been a long trip in from New York, and I was anxious to begin my summer in the country.

Excitement made my skin tingle.

A whole summer, I thought. Free! Away from the city, away from my parents! Nothing to do but go to the beach and have a good time!

I felt the anticipation of adventure that only an eighteen-year-old girl can know when she's away from home for the first time in her life.

I corrected myself. Not the first time. Last summer I had been here.

I laughed wickedly to myself and licked my lips, tasting the creamy thickness of my orange-flavored lipstick.