Chris moved behind me, his hands gripping my hips. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my pussy, and I knew what was coming, knew he was about to push inside me in front of all these people.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please don’t?—”
But he was already pushing forward, his thick cock stretching me impossibly, filling me with a burning pain that made me scream.
The audience watched. Every single person watched as my husband fucked me on stage, his cock driving into me again and again while I cried and begged and?—
And came.
In the dream, I came. My pussy clenched around his cock as pleasure crashed through me, and I screamed not just from pain but from the overwhelming intensity of the orgasm, and everyone saw, everyone knew what a naughty girl I was, how much I loved being used like this?—
I woke with a gasp, my heart pounding, my body drenched in sweat.
It was still dark. Chris’s arm was still around me, his breathing deep and even. His cock was still pressed against my bottom, though it had softened somewhat during the night.
And between my legs, again, I was soaked.
Horror washed over me as I realized what had happened. I had come in my sleep. From a dream about being fucked in public. About being displayed and used and humiliated in front of an audience.
What is wrong with me?
I lay there in the darkness, Chris’s arm heavy across my waist, and felt tears slide down my cheeks. Tomorrow night he would surely fuck me for real. Would push his cock inside my virgin pussy and make me his wife in truth.
And part of me—that terrible, shameful part that I couldn’t seem to control—was desperate for it to happen.
I lay there for what seemed like an hour, sure I could never fall asleep, but then I was waking to Chris’s gentle hand on my shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the windows—it must have been later than my usual wake-up time.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Get dressed in something casual—jeans, and boots if you brought them.”
I blinked up at him, still groggy, my mind struggling to shift from the darkness of my dreams to this bright morning reality. “What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see.” He kissed my forehead. “Trust me. You’re going to love it.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in the truck, heading down a winding mountain road. Chris wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just kept one hand on my knee and hummed along to the country station on the radio. The casual intimacy of it made my chest feel tight.
When he pulled into a gravel parking lot beside a weathered barn with ‘Mountain View Stables’ painted on the side, understanding dawned.
“Horseback riding?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“All day trail ride,” Chris confirmed, grinning at my expression. “I booked it weeks ago. Thought you’d enjoy getting out and seeing the mountains.”
Warmth flooded through me. He’d planned this. Had thought about what I might like and arranged it in advance.
“I haven’t been riding since I was a teenager,” I said.
“It’ll come back to you.” He squeezed my hand. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast first.”
The stable had a little dining area, rustic and charming—roughhewn wooden tables and benches, the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air. We ate what the cook called his ‘famous cowboy breakfast’—scrambled eggs, thick-cut bacon, hash browns, and biscuits with gravy. The food was simple but delicious, and I found myself actually hungry for the first time since our wedding night.
Our guide introduced himself as Joe—a weathered man in his fifties with sun-creased eyes and a slow, easy manner. He helped me mount a gentle mare named Daisy, adjusting my stirrups and giving me a few reminders about how to hold the reins.
“She’s a good girl,” Joe assured me. “Real steady. Just relax and let her do most of the work.”
The trail wound up into the mountains through stands of pine and aspen. The morning air was crisp and clean, scented withevergreen and wildflowers. Birds called from the trees. The rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the packed dirt trail created a soothing cadence.
Chris rode beside me on a larger gelding, looking completely at ease in the saddle. We talked about everything and nothing—childhood memories, favorite books, places we wanted to travel someday. Joe occasionally pointed out landmarks or shared stories about the area, and Chris engaged with him easily, asking questions and laughing at the guide’s dry humor.
I found myself watching Chris more than the scenery. The way he sat so confidently on his horse. How his eyes crinkled when he smiled at something Joe said. The gentle patience in his voice when he checked to make sure I was doing okay.
This was my husband. This kind, thoughtful man who planned surprises and made easy conversation and looked at me like I was precious.
I love him, I realized with sudden, overwhelming clarity. Not just the dutiful love I thought I was supposed to feel as his wife, but something deeper and more consuming.I love him so much.
