Author's Notes: We're tossing our hat into the ring for the Erotic Massage challenge. Never tried a challenge before so if it's really bad, please don't shoot me. LOL

Disclaimers: I don't own the V-verse; I just skulk around the edges, stalking Eric Finch. I wonder if I can get him to put me in holding? Or if V will take me for a holiday in the Shadow Gallery? I don't own the boys, but I sure like the chance to play with 'em!!

V is for Voluptuary

Voluptuary: a person dedicated to the pursuit of sensual pleasures

The dream comes every night.

I can no longer fight it. I have lost my will to reject the vicarious thrill it offers me and now I surrender to it with a sense of relief. Sleep is my most welcome companion now, the co-conspirator in my subconscious desire to follow my heart. I have taken to sleeping earlier because the dream lasts longer, grows richer with detail, and I enjoy it more. When I nod off for a few moments and catch only a glimpse of it, I wake aching and hungry with an appetite that cannot be sated. Only in the long hours of the night… Only in the sweet embrace of the dream am I filled within and without by the presence of you.

Tonight I took a sleeping pill, thinking as I did so that the dream would come and I would be able to follow it to its completion. I remember lying down on my bed, my hand drifting over the empty place beside me. How long has it been since you were here upon my bed, nestled on the pillow, one hand on my side in silent seeking? Too long. Too long since I listened to the soft susurration of your breathing, the little whimper that indicated a dream of your own. Now I wonder if you dreamed of me then and never said.

Sleep weighs me down, my body melting bonelessly against the mattress, the sheets cool and comforting to my skin. The coverlet blankets me in warmth and I drift between awake and asleep for endless moments. My eyes are already closed and I slow my breathing down, focusing upon the need to let go, to let Morpheus take me to that place where dreams are reality.

Suddenly I am there. So quickly that I never realized it was coming, sleep has me safe in the cocoon of the dream and it nearly makes me gasp with pleasure. The setting is as it always is. I am in a small bedchamber, kneeling beside the bed. The lighting is subtle, not too bright or too dim but soothing to the eye. On a low table, bottles crowd one another and small pots of salves give off delightful and dizzying scents. There are several small cloths and a bowl of warmed water. I cast a quick glance over these things, knowing that everything necessary is ready. I await one thing only to begin.

You.

My wait is brief as the door opens at that moment and I lift my eyes to see who comes. It is you, of course, always you. Wrapped in a soft silk robe, you step into the room and to the side of the bed. You may know me or you may not, you never speak to me. Instead you drop the garment in my lap, a whisper of your scent on the silk. I resist the urge to crush it against my face, methodically folding the fragile fabric and setting it aside. You lie down, positioning your body comfortably. One arm is raised to pillow your head, the other half out flung in careless abandon. You are peacefully waiting for me and I cannot help but stare at your bared flesh, the canvas upon which I shall paint you in pleasure.

My hands tremble as I reach for a glass vial from the table. Unstopping the neck, I breathe deeply of the contents. The rich scent of amber mingled with sandalwood sends a thrill through me. I have made the right choice the first time around. I pour a measure of the contents in the palm of one hand, returning the bottle to the table with the others before rubbing my palms together. With the hesitance of an acolyte worshipping their deity, I bring my unworthy hands to the smooth skin of your shoulders. With a silent gasp at the feel of you, I bend my hands to the work of spreading the sweetly scented oil upon your skin.

I cannot imagine how much time this takes. I am not aware of time now. There is only the oil, my hands and you in repose. I stroke your skin, gauging from your sighs the pleasure you feel from my touch and how light or hard my touch must be to maximize the effect. You are my whole world in this place and I seek to learn more of my world as would a blind man, touch the only sense that matters. I do not rush this part, although more awaits me. I am content to search out your secrets with my fingers.

You relax under my hands, muscles loosening in languid delight. I refresh the oil on my hands and work farther down your sweetly curved back. To my joy, I hear a small groan of happiness and I am glad, for that means I have brought you pleasure. I renew my efforts, alternating long and short strokes for maximum effect. At the apex of your buttocks, I reluctantly withdraw, eliciting a groan of protest.

Quickly I wet a cloth and clean the amber and sandalwood from my hands. I hurry, not wishing to keep you waiting. Choosing another bottle, a concoction of violet and comfrey, I begin again with your feet and anoint each of them in turn, kneading the sole of each foot with deft and certain strokes. I pay attention to each small digit, keeping my touch firm to prevent disrupting your peace with the discomfort of tickling. I work my way up the long shapely calves to the back of the knees then farther still to the strong tight thighs. Again you groan but it is pleasure that pulls the sound from your throat. My heart sings at the acknowledgement of my efforts.

Now is the time for your ripe buttocks. Again the violet and comfrey anoint my hands and I place them firmly upon the mounds of your derriere, kneading each bunched muscle with tireless fingers. I feel you tense slightly as my hands touch flesh you would never bare to another but it lasts only a moment. You know my hands as I know your body. You grow soft and passive under my ministrations until you are nearly boneless because of them. I spend a great deal of time on this part of you for it is something you enjoy.

At length I must withdraw again and clean my hands of the oils. You already know what comes next and you reluctantly stir to roll onto your back. I am forced to look away from the exquisite sight of you, lowering my eyes to the table again. If I stare at you, I will not be able to finish. You are too arousing, too glorious to view without waking me from the fragile dreaming state. I must be careful or I will open my eyes to a room barren of you. I do not want that.

I choose again, this time lavender oil, mixed with the slightest hint of ambergris. I begin at the base of your throat, gentle steady strokes that carry me down the pectorals and onto the dusky nipples that tighten at my attention. I can feel the strength of your ribs beneath the soft skin of your midriff. I take time to tend to each arm, feeling the trust you have in my hands as I work out each tensed muscle. I massage each hand, pressing my thumbs up the length of your palm and straightening each finger in turn with gentle tugs. I return to your belly, smoothing the flesh delicately.

You have made no sound and I worry that I am not pleasing you. I return to your feet and work up from the ankles to the knees. As I begin on your thighs, you spread them slightly, and my mouth dries up at the view before me. Always I have woken at this point, the vision scattered by the despair of the dream's end. I stare for a long moment, filling my eyes with the sight before me. Any moment now, the dream will end…..

You speak to me, your voice as welcome as air to a drowning sailor. "You are not finished, are you?" There is a hint of laughter in it, a teasing note I have never heard before. I lift my eyes to you and find you looking at me, your eyes warm and inviting.

I am puzzled because I have never lasted to this part of the dream. Your hand lifts in silent command.

For a moment, I am frozen in place and then I remember. I took a sleeping pill tonight. The dream is not interrupted because I have made certain it will not be. I allow myself to smile and take your hand. You pull me up to lie beside you and we are face to face, my wide eyes staring into yours. My body warms with your regard, my center trembles at the warmth of your skin, the scent of the oils making my head swim. As you reach out to touch me, I close my eyes in gratitude to the tiny pill that buys me this time with you.

The dream comes every night.

From now on, so will I.

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Created for the Erotic Massage Competition. This piece is open to interpretation; you decide what character is dreaming and who they are dreaming about. I know who I wrote it about but I bet you don't know. LOL