It's warm, warm all around you. Fur nestling against your cheeks, all over you, your legs sliding against it, soft curve riding along lush, shifting weight. Craving, your fingers curl and drag across things, gathering heaps of this luscious pelt to you, your legs doing the same. The fur blanket curls around you, and it feels so right, the contours of it pulling snug against your arms, against your back, the folds of it snuggled against your lips, its musky scent comfortable and homey as you tighten your arms and legs against it. As you pet the undulating curves and folds of it, the back of your hand is colored like it. The fur is just as thick, your arms graced with the same lush darkness, your calves exposed, covered in the same lush dark pelt too, the bed spread molding against you, part of you and yet not, curling around you, swaddling every curve and nestling deep against every hollow. A low, rumbling huff of hot breath rushes through your nose, and you feel alive, safe and giddy amid your cuddled warmth.
It's getting brighter, and with a plaintive squeeze of your eyes against the light and a pleasant sigh, you realize it's just a dream. Your eyes touch heavily against themselves as the light kneads into colors and shapes again, coalescing into the window of your room in the chalet. On your ski trip.
Untangling yourself from the bed spread, you blink awake in shock. The sheets at your sides are lined with strips of torn cloth, the rents shallow and parallel, as if someone raked a gardening fork around you while you slept. Worse, you're naked, your bra missing, breasts heaving with sudden fright. A quick darting of your eyes spots it, or a strap of it, dangling off the edge of the bed, poking from beneath the sheets. Worried, you hurriedly reach for it, knowing something is very wrong. A quick glance around the room tells you no one is there. Nibbling your lip nervously, you hike the straps over your shoulders and settle the cups over your shape, eyes darting around the room... to find that it no longer fits quite right. In fact, as you reach behind you to hook the bra closed, you wince, awkward and cramped. Your fingertips feel sore and puffy as you try to get the hooks and eyelets to meet... and they won't. You strain and try to get them together, and you manage to get one in. You know instantly that this bra is too small for you. With a frustrated, soft grunt, you unhook it and slip it off you, staring at it in annoyance and curiosity, checking the tag... just to be sure it's yours. Deepening the mystery, it is.
You give the room another look, yet still you see no one.
Looking down at yourself, now you spot something that makes you pause again. A wisp of golden hair frosts your navel, leading down against the dark, furred bed spread, and beneath. You feel the sheets against your rump, and know that you're naked there, too. As you breathe, your fingers explore your abdominal muscles, which are suddenly defined where there was smoothness and a bit of swell before. Your fingertips reach...