You and Juri Han

You wake up wishing you could fall back to sleep. For a wedgie fetishist, so much of life is dreams. Fantasies of every variety can not only come to life in the land of dreams, but they can stay that way. Animated by your desires you can spend an indiscernible amount of time among a horde of people permeated by lust for wedgies. Surrounded by the barely clothed bodies of your own personal harem. Your bodies blending together while underwear stretched eternally in your hands. A massive letting go of everything that was. Where wedgies become the only thing that matters. And in this particular fantasy you will allow yourself to undulate to the dark rhythms of your heart. Where the only thing that guides you is your hands as they pull, moving ceaselessly from person to person, feeling such deserved freedom just as you feel the fabric of the underwear as soft as hope as it slips between your fingers. You can only revel in it all; for nowhere else could you do any such thing. In your fantasies though, it is expected. And all of the participants are waiting for you with a smile on their faces. In the dreams it seems they need you.

Or perhaps, while asleep, you find yourself in a fantasy that may either be simpler or far more complex, depending on your view of things. One where it is just you alone with a partner.

They know about your fetish, and better still, they accept it. You spend both your lifetimes together, because, if life is a store where you at least get the choice of where you will spend what you are given, you will always choose to spend whatever you have with the person you love most. There may not even be any wedgies in these fantasies. But like your fetish they will always be there. And you won't have to want for them because if they are like the third wheel in a relationship, then together you are a tricycle. They help keep you from tipping too far to one side, forgetting who you are, and falling. Like in the other dream there are wants and needs. But everything is OK. Because you have wedgies, and in a way you understand but don't, but at the same time know you don't need to, wedgies have you.

You cannot sleep forever, but thankfully you are among the lucky who don't have to. Because important things await you. Wedgies are waiting.

As your vision clears your first thought is that you are still asleep and are experiencing something that you've come to call 'wake-mares,' where your mind is still lifting off the shroud of the night so it may greet the day and you find yourself embalmed in this place between not knowing if you are awake or are still asleep. The sight that appears as you continue to wake up convinces you that you must still be dreaming. She is more than enough to continue waking you up, that is how arousing the sight of her is. She is stunning. She is Juri Han.

And her butt is right in front of your face.

She's wearing granny panties; white with red polka-dots speckled throughout. And a tight peachy coloured shirt, that is so sheer it is almost see through. You rub the sleep out of your eyes, you smell fresh green apples and know she must have bought a new perfume just for you. Your first coherent thought of the day is: if this is dreaming, you never want to wake up, and sleep for the rest of your life if this is what you got to see.

"Oh no," she says, her voice ripe with feigned concern, a melodramatic tone she loves to adopt whenever the two of you played like this, "I hope ever so much that no one who loves wedgies comes sees me like this!" Her overacting puts a smile on your face.

You slides back in the bed until your back is resting against your wooden headboard. She is on top of the blankets, and you are still beneath them. But they don't separate you for long as you slip out from under them, careful not to disturb Juri who is positioned on her hands and knees on your bed.

Her butt wiggles in front of you as you kneel in front of it. It is like you are some kind of paganistic wedgie god, and she your acolyte. A sacrifice meant to appease you. You are already pleased just by the sight of her, her panty-clad butt shakes in front of you.

You know what she wants. And you, of course, want the same thing. You stand up on the bed, feeling it shift underneath you, and your feet sink into it. You can imagine Juri is smiling with the understanding that she is about to get exactly what she wants. And knowing that at the same time she will be able to give you the same thing.

You move around her on the bed, careful not to fall, and careful not to move Juri from her reverent position. When you end up in front of her, she looks up at you. Her dark hair tied up in their customary twin buns, wrapped in purple ties. Her eyes twinkle with the unmistakable desire that you have only ever seen in her eyes, and your own. A deep need that you suspect only other wedgie fetishists would understand. And you feared you would never find another like yourself who would understand. But then you met Juri, and every day since then has been like...well it's been like one long wedgie. Pleasing and satisfying, it seems to sate a craving that nothing else could ever comprehend.

All the time spent with her has been a beautiful cycle. Wake up, give wedgies, go to sleep, and then getting to start it all over again the next day. This is what all life should be.

And now you are going to live out your relationship in the microcosmic way of wedgies which allow you to show how you feel without saying a single word.

You bend down, and she bows her head toward the bed, her black hair touches the fabric of the sheets and you can't see her face. Perhaps she doesn't want you to see how excited she is. Maybe she just wants you to imagine it. But with wedgies everything goes both ways. And you realize she may just want to imagine how excited you are.

Your fingers curl around the waistband of her underwear, and you instantly know from touching it that the panties are a stretchy pair. A new pair. One you don't remember seeing before. She must have been saving it for you. She said she was the first guy she ever let give her a wedgie. She has always liked them. When you have a fetish it's hard to tell when it starts. It seems like always. And that's just fine.

But you were the first other person she met who liked them, and when you gave her the first wedgie it felt kind of like this felt. Like all the wedgies you shared felt. You feel a crackling energy around the two of you, as if your shared anticipation was creating its own sort of field of power that you were both caught in. And you wanted to just live in that place between excitement, anticipation and the knowledge that the wedgie was going to come. And that because you shared it with her, it would be wonderful.

She whines as your fingers flex around the waistband of her underwear. You never need to say anything in these final moments before underwear transmutes into a wedgie. You curl your fingers on the fabric, you take your time to feel it, to read the panties like brail and try to force your mind to remember everything that is about to happen. You know it won't, not completely. But that too is fine, because whenever you both begin to forget, you can just give her another wedgie.

You finally pull back on the underwear, her entire body rocks forward in instantaneous response to the wedgie. One of the wonderful things about wedgies is that you can never really get used to them, and in this way, they never become stale.

She cries out after you only just begin. The panties quickly grow taut in your hands, your fingertips bite through the panties and into your palms as you hold tight. You don't want to let it go. You want to hold the underwear in your hands forever. You give one long and steady pull, standing above her you manage to pull the panties straight up her butt, you can see it coalesce into her butt, as she pushes her head deeper into the bed. The white of her underwear slides along her round cheeks and forms into a thong that fills her butt, she lets out a little moan, quiet, restrained and you work to bring the waistband of her panties closer to your stomach.

You begin to feel parts of yourself slipping away. Not into the underwear, the underwear only holds room for pleasure. It doesn't let anything else in. But all your worries and concerns fall away, going someplace else, or maybe they stay in the real world while you move into the world of wedgies. Your fears break off from yourself like the threads from ripping underwear, and like the sleepiness that you had felt only about a minute earlier. All there is in a matter of seconds is the underwear. There is only you, Juri and the wedgie.

You are connected to her in these moments, and you feel the connection as if you aren't just holding her underwear tight, pulling the panties into her and toward you with one sure movement, constantly forcing her head down more, and her butt up higher as her white and red polka-dotted undies split her cheeks further apart. But you feel as if some unexplainable chasm that stands between all human beings, has, for the briefest of time, been bridged by the underwear that now hangs taut between the two of you.

You can imagine she is biting her lip. You hear the quietest squeal. And you wonder why she doesn't let loose and scream. Why she doesn't vent her pleasure to the world. Here, with you, she can release all the feelings that before you've both always had to hide. But a part of you knows why. Outside of this room, outside of this relationship, outside of this wedgie, you have to hide who you are; but here you don't have to. Here and now you can both be who you have always been. But it's still hard, like giving a really good wedgie, to try to forget all the fear and isolation that has been felt and truly just enjoy who you are. So you say nothing, and do one of the most important things a wedgie fetishist can do for another wedgie fetishist, you try to make it easier for her You lean backwards, the panties stretch in your hands, moving backwards with you, both away and deeper into Juri at the same time. She feels the underwear entering further into her butt, and the fabric is not like a knife, never a knife, as the two of you have often seen it described. It is something good. Something she can't explain even if she wasn't caught up in the pleasure of it all. Something better. It cuts, but it's more like a pressure. The undies are lodged like a rock against her and one hand slips off the bed to reach behind to her butt. Not to pick out the wedgie. She would never dream of doing such a thing. But just to feel the panties, to feel how it touches her butt. And how it is inside of her.

She moans again and you smile. You flex your muscles and she lets out a whine. She looks up at you and you see she is biting her lower lip. You wonder if she is hurt, but you see the need in her eyes. And you know that even if a wedgie isn't the most comfortable thing, it feels great to her. In a way that can't be explained, the pain of a wedgie leads to a pleasure of its own.

You pull back on the underwear, the white panties with their red polka-dots stretching out and covering more and more of her back as her choice of undies begins to make sense as you continue to pull the panties and you don't hear a single thread pop. She wants this to last. And what she wants you want.

The panties are a soft fabric that you hold in two balls in your hands, and you keep the underwear pressed tight against her. Juri's butt becomes slightly lifted off the bed because of your efforts. And she begins to gyrate slightly. You're not giving her underwear any slack before pulling again, so you know that whatever movements she is making are ones she is choosing to make. She is moving into the underwear. She is forcing it against her, bouncing against it, even as you force it up more. She is helping the wedgie along. Her face is almost buried in your bed as you stand over her. Her mouth is partly open, and her eyes are closed. You wonder what she is seeing in that darkness. What she could possibly be imagining? But then you realize there is only one thing she could be seeing. And that is exactly what is happening now, she does not want to see anything else.

She moans again and you give the panties another tug, the underwear is stretched all the way to her shoulders and you have the underwear almost touching your chest, it's close to your racing heart. She grunts as you pull up again. You begin to give quicker pulls, up and down, up and down. She is still gyrating to the wedgie, grinding her body into it, feeling it touch her front and back, she is giving herself a slight wedgie as you start to make sure the underwear rubs against her.

Her butt rises and falls as your muscles move. Like some kind of wedgie animal you move in wild tandem of beasts who share a singular passion. But you're less like animals than you are simply one being. You giving and getting pleasure at the same time. You move faster, faster, the panties crawling toward the back of her head and she squeals, her cheek digging into the bed just as her panties dig into her.

"Don't stop!" she yells. And you don't. You pull up on the underwear, pulling it toward you, wondering if an atomic wedgie still counts if you pull her underwear over your own head. You know what she wants. And you pull again to give it to her. The wedgie is growing tighter, the underwear harder to pull as it reaches its limits, the panties move faster, she sinks further into the bed, her but rising toward you, you flex all your muscles, bending your knees to keep your balance while you haul back on the panties. You rip sweat now, the effort mixing with the pleasure of all you've felt. "Yes!" She screams, "WEDGIE ME!" And you want to scream as well. You do as she tells you. And you wedgie her.

The underwear is growing bigger in your hands, you see the fabric becoming a thin strip in her butt but thickening out into your hands, you keep pulling and she squirms and moans. She whines and cries out. You can feel her ecstasy. Because it's your ecstasy. In a single moment you imagine wedgies as a drill and the two of you had struck the oil of pleasure deep within the ground of life. Your only concern is what will happen if the pleasure ever stops flowing out. Well, you think, giving the underwear another tug, bending down to be closer toward her, grabbing all the underwear you can between your two hands, then you will just start up your drill somewhere else; and the pleasure will come again. You keep pulling.

Faster, harder, her body is moving closer to you, she crawls along the bed to be nearer to you. And she continues to move her butt up and down, into the wedgie, for the wedgie. Her breathing has devolved into animalistic panting, quick stuttered breaths of someone who is so excited that they can barely breathe. As if breathing were no longer a priority. Now just feeling the wedgie is all that matters.

You give one final pull. You know that the two of you are almost finished. Somehow you just know, as if the wedgie really does connect you on a level that goes as deep as your wedgie fetish goes within you. And as she cries out, louder than she had before, you also cry out, your upper body arches back, as you force the underwear to continue invading her butt just like your shared fetish invaded both of you. But like wedgies you love your fetish. Like the feeling of her soft panties as they pressure her body, you love it. Without it you would never be able to enjoy moments like this. And now what you feel goes beyond enjoyment. It's bliss.

And she cries out one last time, and you just know you've done what was needed. You release the underwear, it was close to an atomic, but you can always save that for later. The panties cascade onto her back, stretched so much that they don't snap back to their original position, but lay stretched out over her back. She lays immobilized on the bed. You collapse beside her, and a few moments later she cuddles close beside you. She rests her head on your chest, and you know she can hear and feel your heart drumming its rhythm of absolute contentment. You can see her chest rise in time to your own. You feel her heat and you share in the warmth of your shared pleasure. You close your eyes.

You can sleep for a bit longer. Especially if waking up means that something like this could be waiting. If it meant that she would be waiting. You've struggled to find the words to tell her how you feel about her, (how do you explain to someone that they are perfect) but when in the throes of wedgies you realize you never have to. She understands.

Home, you think, tired from the wedgie, and deeply satisfied, is like a wedgie. Powerful because it's fleeting. It can't last forever, and if it did then it would become standard, and the wedgies would lose some of their power. There is a peace to home, but it isn't eternal. You have talked to Juri about times when you were younger and when you had never felt happier while at your childhood homes, but such feelings never lasted. You would eventually lose that peace and inevitably want to have it back, that happiness that was there and then gone. But you think, like with wedgies, the good parts, the wedgies, are only as valuable to you as they are, because they are rare.

In the past you would long for dreams because they were all you had. All you ever thought you would have. But then you found Juri. Who needs dreams, you think, when you have her. And you know that your fantasies, for once, cannot and never will be, as good as the reality.