Kate and Liszt’s Liebestraum No. 3
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- 3 days ago
- 4 min read
Grayscale Photo of Person Playing Piano by Pixabay.
By Natasha Reznik
Copyright ©2025
While the indigo walls make the dark master bedroom look even darker at night, the beige furniture naturally brightens up the space. The plush Moroccan rug and sheepskin throw add a sumptuous, cozy touch to the room. Michael and his wife, Lauren, are fast asleep in their queen-sized bed.
His eyes twitch and he stirs lightly, slipping into a dream. Michael finds himself in a lush maroon room with a matching velvet comforter on a king-sized bed. A few shiny brass and glass geometric lamps and amber and tonka scented candles sit on top of the sable and taupe contemporary furnishings, illuminating the room and his best friend, Kate’s milky white curves. Franz Liszt’s Liebestraum No. 3 is playing in the background.
She is dressed all in black—in suede stiletto boots, garter belt pantyhose, and a simple suede choker around her neck. He blissfully inhales her intoxicating scent—the leather of her outfit commingled with her signature Bastide Neroli Lumiere perfume.
“Take your hair down,” he gently instructs.
Kate undoes her ponytail and shakes her head out. Her copper hair cascades over her shoulders. She’ll never get tired of the way Michael looks at her—like she’s the most beautiful, desirable woman on earth.
“Yes, that’s it. That a girl.”
She gives him a wanton smile. Taking his hands in hers, she gracefully leads him over to the bed. She climbs on it and crawls a couple of steps forward. Kate playfully looks over her shoulder and waves her backside delectably at him.
“Come over here,” he growls, advancing towards her.
“Uh-uh.” Playing hard to get, she giggles mischievously and moves her body away from him.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He chuckles lightly and fiendishly. “Get over here.” Michael slides her back towards him somewhat aggressively and she lets out a high-pitched, surprised squeal of delight. He yanks his silk boxers down and swiftly steps out of them. Resting his hand on the small of her back, he caresses it tenderly before grasping her hips firmly and gliding into her. The gentle and assertive way he takes control of her is utterly irresistible and she’s convinced that he’s the ideal man to relinquish control to. First, he takes her while she’s on her hands and knees and she gleefully pushes back against him.
Then she intuitively rests her head down on the bed, outstretches her arms above her head, crosses her wrists, and sticks her delightful ass up in the air in the perfect submissive position. He clutches onto her buttocks and kneads them vigorously while his orgasm rolls out loudly and powerfully and hers follows.
Saving the best for last, he continues moving in and out of her fervently from behind, initially, with his body carefully outstretched on top of hers and then lying with her sideways, his body enveloping hers. This one is their favorite. The closeness of this position makes them feel like they are one and he lightly nuzzles and kisses her face, ear, hair, and neck and caresses her body. She’s buried to the hilt with him inside of her and he hugs her tightly. Their bodies quake and tense with such unbridled lust that the force of their orgasms shake them to their very core.
He springs awake, completely covered in sweat. Michael breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Lauren still sound asleep beside him and throws the sheets off him. He heads to the bathroom.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he groggily runs a hand through his wet tousled hair. With the exception of a few wrinkles around the eyes and forehead, his face and body are very well-preserved for his fifty-four years. He really is a replica of his late mom—dark hair and eyes, chiseled features, porcelain skin with hints of olive, and a slim, sinewy body. How he still misses her so.
He frowns at the medium-sized wet spot around the groin area of his black boxers and exhales wearily. The last time he had a wet dream, he was seventeen years old. He quickly removes his sweat-soaked t-shirt and soiled boxers and tosses them in the hamper.
Hurrying over to the dresser, he grabs a fresh t-shirt and boxer shorts out and changes into them. He lets out a relieved sigh. Much better.
Then he tiptoes over to Lauren and gives her a loving peck on the forehead and lips.
Her closed eyes flutter a little and her lips curve upward in a sultry smile. “Mmmm, Michael. Hey, lover,” she murmurs to him in her dream.
As he gently strokes her sleek, straight black chin-length hair, he gazes admiringly at her long, lithe body. He marvels at her elegant, poised manner. It must be the Tibetan side of her family, along with her time as a runway model in her twenties. She’s the same age as Kate, but her polka-dotted cotton tank top and shorts make her look much younger than her forty-nine years.
He slips back into bed, the melody of Liszt’s Liebestraum No. 3 echoing in his mind from the dream. Although it’s the toughest out of the three piano solo nocturnes to play, he resolves to include it in his morning practice time. He also resolves to go to church right after and pray for strength. That dream was way too erotic and Kate was far too irresistible. He falls into such a deep, peaceful sleep that he slumbers right through both his and Lauren’s alarms and she has to wake him up. It’s been ages since that has happened.
About Natasha Reznik:
Natasha Reznik is a nude model. Her writing has been previously published in Pink Disco Magazine. She’s still trying to find a way to make money from her useless communications degree from a decent but overpriced college. Natasha lives in the Washington, D.C. area with her husband, their daughter, and their cats