Girl on the Net

Sometimes I wake up in the night to find my fingers rubbing hard at my clit. Sometimes I wake up and realise I’m licking them. Sucking post-wank moisture from the tips at the end of a half-remembered dream. Sometimes I fuck in my sleep.

This story is hard one to tell, but I think it’s worth it. And if it’s worth telling then it’s worth writing this warning here: don’t do this at home. Don’t assume you can do this. Everything that happens below is – and was – entirely consensual, and has been discussed a thousand times over: in sober, sensible ways that acknowledge the pitfalls as well as horny, fantasy ways in which we explore why the very thing appeals.

My partner and I have an ongoing, mutual challenge: can we have sleep sex?

Sleep fucking: the dream

“I had a dream,” I tell him. “Couple of nights ago. One of the filthiest sex dreams I’ve ever had.”

He perks up – all ears. And I explain that what made it filthy was the feeling more than the acts. The acts were the kind of things I usually dream of when I’m horny: a desperate, horny guy pinching my nipples through a thin cotton top. Running his hands over my tits and squeezing hard enough to hurt. Pulling my knickers to one side and slipping his thumb into my cunt: holding me still with one taut arm around my throat while he covers his fingers in slick wetness and whispers that I need to be good.

But the things were accompanied by a feeling: a physical sensation. That thudding, tight ache at the entrance of my cunt – the kind I only get when I’ve been teased to the point of whimpering and I just need to be fucked. Right now. If you’ve a cunt you probably know the sensation. Common to most of my teenage snogs.

The ache.

The ache came, and it didn’t go. It stayed. Building and building as my dream-guy ran his hands all over me. Giving a harder, extra throb as he pushed me onto an old mattress and yanked down my sheer knickers. Sheer knickers: weird the details you remember from dreams. I can’t picture the guy’s face – only that he was dark-haired and his words came sharp on the edge of ragged breaths. I remember the way it felt when the top line of my knickers cut into the crease at the bottom of my arse. And I remember the cunt-ache swelled when he said he was going to fuck me.

At that point it grows hazy, and I can’t remember if he fucked me or not. I know I woke around five with my fingers on my clit, and that in the morning my hands smelt like wank and frustration.

And I remember how much I ached for it.

Sleep fucking: the extras

When I get to the end of the story, his eyes are sparkling. He takes a sip of his drink and explains that my filthy dream may not have been entirely unprompted.

I usually go to bed first. He’ll come along when I’ve brushed my teeth – sometimes to warm up my side of the bed, sometimes to fuck me, or both. Then he gets up and spends two hours playing Xbox and enjoying the silence that falls when I’m finally out of the way.

This time, he stayed up late and didn’t slip into bed until I was fast asleep.

Usually if he’s in bed after me, he’ll give me a sleepy grope – running one of his hands across my arse as he grips his cock with the other. Perhaps slipping fingers inside the crotch of my knickers and pressing them against my clit.

But this time he was more vigorous. Pulling my body close to him as he rubbed hard at his cock. Holding me tight to him by wrapping one of his arms around my neck. Rubbing angrily at his dick so the bed shook. At one point, he explains, I moaned and shifted so that one of my legs rested over him. I had my back to him so he had the had of his cock nestled in my cunt. His fist butted up against me as he wanked.

Sometimes, when he does this, I pretend I’m still asleep: such is the fantasy. That’s the scene – or game – we play when we know it won’t be possible for me to stay asleep through all this excitement. When I can’t stay asleep, I can pretend.

As he wanked harder with one hand, he ran the other hand all over me. Desperate, horny: pinching my nipples and squeezing my tits and clinging on to me as I slept. Pulling my knickers down so the top line cut into the crease at the bottom of my arse.

As he gets to this point in the story I’m practically drooling into my wine. Did… did he fuck me?

“Did you fuck me?’

He smiles.

“Oh God tell me tell me tell me you fucked me,” I plead. Because in my head and in my body I can still remember the ache. That hard, painful throb at the entrance of my cunt which could just as easily be a hazy memory of getting fucked as it was a dream about frustration. I want the cunt ache – so strong I not only remembered it two days later but brought it up over dinner – to be the symbol of us finally achieving this thing. And, yeah, because as we recount each of our stories I’m growing hotter and wetter and more eager for a conclusion – I’m almost blushing in a restaurant, eager to know if I managed it. Sleep fucking – holding his cock in my cunt as I dreamed of someone else. Staying asleep as he buried his face in my neck and grunted with the release of orgasm. Then waking at 5 a.m. with fingers that smelled like spunk and cunt and success.

“No,” he said. “But nearly.”

As I mentioned at the beginning, sleep fucking is a massive and long-held kink of mine. It’s not something you should ever just assume you can or should do to a partner. If you have this sleep sex kink too, and you’re interested in how my partner and I negotiate it, there’s some more detail at the bottom of this post on sleep-touching. This consensual kink is different to sexsomnia – where a sleeping person initiates sexual activity. I’ve done that before too, though. I think what I’m saying is that I like sleep fucking, and if you do too then it’s worth having a long and detailed chat with anyone you share a bed with about exactly what each of you does/wants to do/definitely does not want to do.