As I slowly woke up, I fought back, trying to hold on to a sweet but nonspecific dream. The redhead sucking my cock was and wasn’t one of two ex-girlfriends or three porn stars or four actresses. She looked up from where she knelt between my legs with her green, blue, or brown eyes. I tried to focus, to resolve her into one face and hold it long enough to complete the wet dream, but it dispersed too quickly.

The reality that settled over me wasn’t bad. I don’t usually sleep that way, but obviously, Jewel had rolled me onto my back. The warm round impressions of her butt against my belly told me she was straddling me reverse-cowgirl. The inspiration for the vision in my sleep was her well-lubed fingers playing with my genitals.

Through eye slits, I admired her graceful back and swaying mop of chestnut hair and began to recall the familiarity of the situation. Just in time, I stopped myself from reaching for her ass.

My wife had done this before, although always with me awake so that I could properly cooperate. She wanted to jerk off “her cock,” trying to get closer to what it felt like to have one.

In this one-woman show, I was an elaborate prop.

“There are no small parts,” she laughed the first time we did it, quoting Stanislavski, “only small actors!”

I was to take no actions to disrupt her imagination. My body would react to what she did, and her sensing my involuntary jerks, gasps, moans, and inevitable climax keyed her own feelings. By starting when I was still asleep, she took a risk that I would break the spell before I was wide awake. Taking a deep breath and relaxing my body as her left hand massaged my scrotum, I let her know I was on duty.

Her pleasure was not completely vicarious. In earlier sessions, we had tried different positions and angles so that as her hand pumped my cock, her thumb “accidentally” stroked over her clit. Balls were less obvious, but as her fingers plied them, her wrist rubbed her vulva, mimicking the less intense and less focused warmth they produce.

My wife was well acquainted with my sexual responses and skillfully worked my dick into a glowing bar of steel. My breaths grew short and rapid and my thighs tensed. Her body squirmed on top of me and I had to resist my reflex to grab it.

Whether it was her mood or the possibility that she had given herself a head start, it seemed we were close to Jewel’s goal—her reaching orgasm as “her cock” erupted. As her excitement rose, I felt her tug my dick closer to her pussy, letting her thumb grind deeper into her flesh. This would be a first, and I anticipated her delight, while desperately trying to stay in character.

Holding my breath and teetering on the brink, there was suddenly something missing. She had let go of my penis! The abrupt shock made me whimper as my body pleaded for any stimulation that would release the pressure she had built up in it. I almost spoke, wondering what had gone wrong. My silence allowed me to hear that Jewel, too, was whimpering.

My cock danced and throbbed for a few seconds before it gave up hope and the moment passed. I felt her quake a bit and utter a plaintive sigh.

It dawned on me that Jewel had intentionally edged us both. It was something she enjoyed doing to me more than having done to her, but it was on the playlist. The tingle and urgency that edging gives me made it difficult to keep still, and I knew she was feeling my muscles tense against her thighs.

After some mutual deep breaths, she refreshed the lube and went back to work. Her left hand kept up the rhythmic stroking while her right improvised around the head. Our retreat from the precipice had not been far, and she drove us toward it again.

Wary of another disappointment, but unable to ignore the tantalizing touch of her fingers, my body responded. My soft moans ascended the octave in harmony with hers. Her slippery palm polished the round head in the way she knew would drive me crazy. There would—there could—be no stopping now.

I cheated a little, wanting to hold back until I knew she had started. Maybe she was waiting for me. Either way, we danced on the edge just a little longer, until physiology overcame any force of will. My groin spasmed with a wave of heat as the pumping began, spurting into her palm as she burnished my burning bulb. My general immobility focused every sensation on what she held in her hands. I hoped my physical display showed her the ecstasy she had generated inside me.

Jewel curled forward as her own orgasm contorted her body. Her moans revealed the success of her project. As much as she wanted to experience what I felt, I tried to feel how she felt feeling it. I so much wanted to hold my wife, kiss her, caress her, congratulate her, thank her, and share this moment with her.

But that was a Hollywood ending, not what was in this script.

At some point, her utterances were again conscious as she surveyed what she had accomplished. Grabbing some tissues, she mopped up the excess fluids, giving me some shivers as she tended my deflating organ.

She rolled off me and moved to her side of the bed, avoiding touching or seeing me. In post-orgasmic bliss, she fell asleep, and I didn’t stir until her breathing was steady. In my mind, the credits rolled, with Jewel’s name as the producer, director, writer, and star. At the end, in small letters, they listed Jewel’s Cock played by her husband.