Images of her passed through my dream, glowing in her beauty. She dances through a fog, green silk trailing behind. Her hands outstretched, beckoning ...e. In wisps of dreamy fog, we came together, lips seeking lips, tongues seeking tongues. The silk slipped gently from her body fluttering away in the soft breeze. She stood, shoulders back, head high, waiting, wanting... My hands move in sleep, gently unknowingly caressing her, seeking her, she murmurs as she turns towards me, her leg enfolding. She explained that when they were young, they clambered up onto the pile of encyclopaedias beside the bed legs to raise their cunts to bed-knob level. The game involved ‘riding’ down the course that Dad created each Sunday morning – a slow canter to start – just gently up and down. Then leaning into the bends, speeding up; Spike and Goldilocks young cunts fucking the static bed-knobs, pussy juice spewing down their slim thighs. They all loved the fence jumps – either 3 or 4 per race – leaning. More

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