Sweet Dreams
I’m not entirely certain if it actually happened or if it’s all a daydream I had one day, perhaps even staring at him. If it did happen, I’ll have to thank him someday. If not, I’ll file it away as the power of the subconscious to soothe.
I only started to recall the pieces with any sort clarity recently, between the tick and tock of stressful workdays. I have a very close friend by the name of Jared but everyone just calls him Jay. Actually most people call him Big Jay, either after his well over six and a half foot height or some sexual joke. He really prefers the latter, of course. Jay is one of those people on this planet that gives me faith again in the good and right in the world. He arrived in my life without a shred of warning, an ironic contrast to the big man’s size. Now, mere months afterwards, he seems like such a regular in my life, in times of suffering and joy alike. Always in easy reach.
The events in my mind have no real time stamped on them like a computer or camcorder would do. The image is blessedly unreal, with sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell all blended together into a comfortable blanket few memories possess the ability to become, fuzzy around the edges. I remember work being an utter nightmare of calls and network outages, producing a very irritable breed of customer that has the ability to wipe me out entirely. After those days, I almost always go home and sleep, to make the day go away. Instead I had called up my dear friend Jay, with an offer no more promising or interesting than a movie and keeping me company. Of course, he shows up at my door a few hours later, ready and willing to be subjected to my whining about work and the comfort staples in my book, Taco Hell food and Animal Planet. The conversation is peppered with the occasional sex joke, as always. It’s been that way ever since Jay and I became close enough friends to discuss our old relationships, hopes for the future, and sex kinks. He is so sweet and is more hedonistic than self-absorbed, so imagine my shock and surprise in finding out about his dominating history. The little submissive in the back of my mind perked up ears at that fact the first time, but I always rationed it away by telling myself that no one with those puppy-dog eyes could be that imposing. I’d seen him loyal and protective, yes, but aside from the one time he’d grabbed me by my ponytail while out clubbing.nothing. He’d retired, so he said, and I believed him.
Did I mention the man is a remarkable masseuse, possessing the singular ability to turn men and women alike into a human-like putty substance? This was his approach to my tensed up form, leaning over on the couch to knead his large hands at the rocks my shoulder and neck muscles had become. I don’t doubt it was hard work, but after awhile, I became aware of my state, leaning back into his hands, eyes closed and shifted sideways, only to find nothing where I thought it would be. This resulted in the surprising feeling of a brief falling, then warm skin against my cheek, a musky smell, and a sense of calm as he chuckled and worked strong fingers further up my neck, and along the side of my face to make steady careful circles at opposite ends of my aching temple. Gradually, the minor throb faded, and still the gentle pressure continued, lulling me very close to falling asleep on the poor fellow. Instead, I found myself more relaxed than I have been in a very very long time. With my eyes half closed, my stress almost non-existent, I let myself go to float, the memory almost detached at this point, where I can look onto my own blissful state in envy, but understand things in a way I could not then.
One of those delightful fingers slid across my lips, perhaps as a joke, perhaps a tease. I think I remember smiling in my ‘sleep’ and he must have found it quite a game because he began to repeat the action. I don’t know if I surprised him when I finally began trying to lazily lick the finger that passed slowly by. I won’t try and assume what he was thinking, after all. But slowly the movement became deeper, less of a rubbing motion and more the sliding action of his finger passing down through my lips. The sexual implication was obvious, even to my blissful mind and my tongue rolled lazily around his finger as he worked it in and out, further down towards my throat.
I heard my name, quiet first, and then louder, but always gentle. I made a noise of curiosity in reply, never stopping the work of my oral fixation on his calloused finger.
“Are you asleep, Abby?” I shook my head, just a fraction of an inch, but he sensed the movement. There was a chuckle voicing his amusement at the whole situation that was both from his throat far over my head and rumbling through his chest, much closer to me.
“Feeling better?” I sighed peacefully, still unwilling to cease the suckling. Jay finally pulled his finger from my mouth, to which I responded with a quiet whimper. I did not see his face at this point, but in retrospect I can only image him with a mischievous smile at this point. Then again, his most used expression is a mischievous smile.
“Sweet dreams, kitten?” His lip moved dangerous close to my left ear, breathing warm and damp as I squirmed slightly. You see, some of my most erotic zones are my ears and any sexual contact with them tends to set my nerves on fire. From my deep sleep, I felt my back arch lightly, pressing my chest against his resting hand. The amused chuckle, so close now, continued as that hand moved away from my body and then rested in a stroking pet along my side, from my shoulder to my hip. Sliding firm and solid, and then gone, and again, as steady a rhythm as my heartbeat, conspiring to worsen my already trance-like state.
It must have been his use of the word ‘kitten’ (I’ve always thought of myself as fairly cat like in my habits and occasionally self-centered behavior), but I see myself in this half dream responding with a satisfied purring sound as I rest, completely, against his thigh and let those large hands roam where they pleased. And they did. Soon the stroke at my side wandered south behind my back as it reached the hip, to cup the curve of my ass against his palm, the strong fingertips kneading into my flesh again, all the while teasing me with not only the slow deliberate touches but careful taunts by my ear.
“I think I see the problem now, Abby. This office job in cubicle land isn’t really for you. All you really want is a warm soft place to sleep and someone to play with you. Isn’t that right?” With the special emphasis on the word ‘play’, his breath and my thighs were becoming hotter and damper almost at the same rate. I recall in my peaceful state giving what had probably been intended as an indignant whine, but came out as a lusty sigh (with perhaps a slight bit more pitch than a usual sigh) as I summoned the huge force of will needed to roll my body back. Just enough, mind you, for gravity to trap his hand between the sofa cushion and my ass. Not for long though, as the game changed, the stroking motion continued from where my head rested on his thigh to my hips, only this time my torso was facing upwards towards Jay’s petting. In a long glide, his skin brushed across my nipples, separated only by a fraction of an inch width of tight cotton T-shirt, to stop achingly close to my crotch. Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Steady.
Like breathing.
Like my heartbeat.
Again.
Stroke.
Stroke.
It was impossible to tense up in my state of rest, instead I found his touch served to focus my attention, to narrow the paradigm of my world to only the feel of that hand, the musky smell of him, the sound of Jay’s voice so close in my ear it was almost inside my head. And then they were the only things that existed. There was no office job to stress me. No messy apartment to disgust any sensibilities I might have had. No day or night to fuss about how late it was and how I really should be wishing him good night and getting to bed. Time let me go. Worry set me free. For now, that dream world eternity, I knew all I had to think about, was the feelings taking over for my thoughts with each second. I would not miss reality.
“Enjoying yourself, kitten?” I nodded gently. It was impossible to lie. Or even politely flatter like we do to spare the feelings of friends and loved ones. Lying requires thought, planning. None existed. “Yes, sir.”
For the first time, the reliable movements paused. I do not know what might have passed through his mind at that moment. Did he think about the implications of those words and remember fonder memories of delicate control and artistic domination or, like my release from the state of thinking human, was it something more primal in his Leo nature that demanded worship and could not resist the image of a woman drugged by her own hormones and laid out like a prone victim upon an altar?
As it replays in my mind, I know with certainty that I do love him very much, because it warms my heart the control he tried to keep, the uncertain tone of a man unsure of the wisdom of his next step. That shows me he cares for me, and tries to pay attention to the effect his actions have on me. However, I can admit with full honesty now.I am glad he chose the path he did, that of my m- but I am stepping ahead of myself.
“Abby?” The caution is clear to me now and I understand he was trying to judge my state, to find his and my own limits.
“Yes, sir?” I replied in words again that came from a submissive instinct, acknowledging I was letting him take this role, if not in a conscious way.
“Who am I?” To my mind, it was a question with only one answer.
“Everything.” Again, there was the silence, not the absence of sound in my ears but the absence of Jay’s hands on my body, taking an essential piece from the balance as I knew it. Then, everything changed.
“I am your master.” Master...yes, that seemed the perfect word for the sense of ‘everything of value’ my instincts had placed on Jay and his seductive affections. My features must have conveyed this new fundamental understanding, because he continued.
“And what are you?” No thoughts, merely feelings, came in reply, one of them powerful enough to command my voice for my master.
“Yours.” The attention I craved returned with this answer, as he began to stroke my hair backwards across his lap. In this way the lesson was taught to my subconscious that total submission brings the much craved reward of loving affection.
“That is right,” the voice, my master’s voice, murmured into my ear, into my head, “my wench. Mine.” And my small personal reality changed as my master wrote the laws of my existence. As if sealing his work, my master ran his tongue along the ridge of my ear, burning the word into my mind with a flash of lust.
Where before his hands along my chest had been content with their stroking along the boundary edge of my body, now he pushed those invisible protections of polite society away and pinched my nipples firmly through my shirt, gripping a bud between finger and thumb before twisting some, watching my body begin to writhe and squirm under his control. While my master’s hands claimed my body, his lips took mine, kissing me. Not gently, but a passionate sucking as if he would pull air from my body, pushing his tongue past my lips and into my mouth to remind me of his strength, even in this. The soft curls of dark brown hair rolled past the outlines of his face and down, a lacy touch against my neck, cheeks and any part of my face his lips didn’t find first.
I was so absorbed with the thrusts and explorations of my master’s lips and tongue that I did not notice his hands move from working at my breast through my shirt to lifting the shirt entirely over my chest, exposing the taunt nipples and sensitive flesh to the cooler air. By this point, I felt so hot from his work that the loss of my clothing seemed the only cure, a wonderful solution. As if reading my mind, my master sensed his slave, wench, toy, was beginning to regain some awareness of her surrounds, a few basic thoughts and with a seductively evil smile put an end to that once and for all. In a smooth action, his mouth left mind and locked itself firmly onto a breast, suckling, rolling the nipple with his tongue and tugging with his teeth like a dog with a chew toy. He only stopped long enough to comment when his fingers slipped down past my shorts, past the dark brown curls, and sluiced in the wetness that had seeped up past the lips.
“You’ve been simmering in your juices for some time, kitten.” The tip of a finger brushed my clitoris and I moaned without thought behind it, only heat and a raw fucking push of my hips against the hand of my master, my world, as his hot damp breath returned to my sensitive ear. “If I were a betting man, I would say you might nearly be done.” Before I could try and focus on the humor, even to bask in the attention of my master upon me, his lips wrapped around the lobe of my ear and began suckling again. This, combined with the skillful work across my throbbing clitoris, brought another moan for my master, higher pitched, more begging. “Oh yes.” His smile was almost audible.
“Very,” the finger moved again, pushing past the soaking lips and buried itself inside my cunt. “Nearly,” he began to stroke with it, pushing against a wall inside me as I felt my hips rise and fall of their own movements, clenching down around that one finger, then two. “Done.” Three, and a thumb on my clitoris everything seemed to move faster, more urgently. At least, to me. A hand at my breast, lips locked over mine, and a hard fucking between my legs, the feelings wrapped around the vulnerable state of my mind and began sculpting my subconscious with the understanding of my place in this world for my master, to be fire, passion, life, giving, taking, but always obeying.
With the heat and motion and several degrees of blind lust, it didn’t take very long for the occasionally touches of his thumb on my clitoris to bring me to a shuddering climax and past, the high pitched noise trapped in my throat and mouth as we both refused to bring the kiss to an end. Even after the tightly coiled feeling had trickled out of me, I didn’t want to stop kissing him, breathing in and tasting him and feeling his lips and teeth and tongue exploring mine. Finally though, my master released me from the spell, and laying there, once again without his kisses and the feeling of his hands, even the sound of his breathing, my small world became so empty...was everything...gone?
No, he returned, sitting by my head, lifting it, until once again my head rested against his thigh and my hair across his lap, where I felt the same calloused fingers, warm and dry against my scalp, brushing through my hair.
I do know for sure that I often fall asleep when Jay comes over to humor me and my fussing over horrible days and nasty customers. More often than not, the scenario is the same, watching TV on the couch or in my room, and the long hours get to me. Jay never complains about my naps, always seeming so sweet and understanding with those puppy dog eyes. That’s why the dream is so difficult to take with much seriousness. Except that.more often than not, I wake up to find myself curled up against or on him, as he pets me absently, like a pet. And I do adore him. But I’d adore him without the dream, I think. He just feels special to me in an old instinctive way.
I’d have brushed the whole thing off as pure fantasy long time ago, if not for the fact that once, and only once, I had a fragment of a flashback that seemed to be some sort of piece of my Jay fantasy. It was too fuzzy for pictures or even for touch. It is nothing but a voice, fading in and out of my attention. The more I think about it, the less real it all seems. Which is only logic. I’m probably only writing this to humor myself.of course, that must be it. It all makes sense, except for that spare piece.
You won’t really remember this, because I don’t want you too.
Of course there will be some hints.
You’re not that oblivious. But you are that submissive.
Deliciously so.
You’re in there somewhere, kitten, waiting to please me.
And you will.
You’ll find me here, in your own sweet dreams, kitten.
In your own sweet dreams, kitten.
Sweet dreams, kitten.
Sweet dreams, kitten.
Sweet dreams, kitten...