The Dreamer
Last night, I dreamed of a black horse. Upon waking, I looked in the
dictionary of dreams I keep in my bedside table, to see if there is any
significance to this particular night time vision. It seems a dream of a
black horse is a dream of passion. Considering all that has happened in the
past weeks, I am not surprised.
The dreams always left a pounding in my head, but the bourbon was cheap,
plentiful, and close at hand. I downed a couple thousand milligrams aspirin
over the course of a few good gulps, and the hammering in my skull subsided
a little. Still, I knew it wouldn't go completely away until I'd lived the
dream, fulfilled the prophecy, done whatever the fuck I was supposed to do.
Took me eight months to figure that out, and damn near killed me. The first
dream came last winter, I was flying, simple and straightforward. Didn't
think much about it until the third night in a row I had the exact same
dream. It just kept getting stronger and stronger until finally I lay awake
all night eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, only seeing myself
flying.
I couldn't do shit, used up all my sick leave, got fired and lost my health
insurance. Doctors couldn't find anything wrong with me physically other
than the exhaustion of not having slept for three weeks. Finally ended up
in a charity psych ward laying in bed all day, the vision of myself flying
filling every second of my existence. I was damn near a fucking vegetable,
and no one knew why. Then they got a new batch of interns one week, and I
guess one of them knew something about dream analysis.
Someone figured out or already knew that flying was a dream of sexual
release. She came into my room in the middle of the graveyard shift. It
was raining, sheets of the stuff pouring down with lightning hitting so
often you could almost read by it and deafening claps of thunder. I was
oblivious to it all, strapped into a bed and staring wide eyed at the
ceiling. She opened the door and stood there looking at me for a long time.
She finally moved over to the bed and began sliding her white uniform
pants down over her hips.
She pulled her panties down and off, silk kissing every inch of her legs as
they got lower and lower. She stood there naked from the waist down,
lightning illuminating her soft pale flesh, so perfectly supple and curved.
Finally she crawled over the end of the bed, using the straps holding me
down to drag herself forward. I first felt her warmth, her wetness and
sweet tightness as she lowered herself onto my cock.
She'd left her glasses on and her short hair seemed to be spiking out,
standing on end from the electricity in the air. She was a faceless
silhoutte as the lightning flashed behind her and she began riding me.
Unable to move I could only gasp, tears running down my face as the dream
faded for the first time and she became my reality instead. She was the
only real thing I'd seen in months and my first thought was that I'd finally
totally snapped. She rode me with abandon, hooking her legs under the small
of my back, forcing the rest of my body tight into the restraints. I
couldn't move my body below the neck as she slammed herself down again and
again.
I don't know how long she rode me, every second of her frantic bucking drove
more and more of the dream out of my head. I began to scream in terror,
exstacy and primal rage all at once. She took her panties, still in her
hand, and clamped them down over my mouth without the slightest pause in her
frenzied fucking. The rain and thunder obscured what little sound I could
now make, the warm scent of her panties filling my nostrils as I breathed
through my nose. She wrapped her other arm around my head, leaning forward
and pulling it between her breasts as she gyrated her hips. Her passion
gave her strength and I could do nothing but lay immoblized in her arms.
I don't know how long it lasted, could have been seconds or could have been
hours. We finally came together, our climaxes punctuated by claps of
thunder as if reality itself was screaming in orgasm. The last thing I
remember is her gentle hand, stroking my hair as exhaustion slowly and
relentlessly drove me to sleep. I slept for three days after that, healthy
normal sleep with no dreams. The doctors pronounced it a miracle cure or
some such bullshit, I wondered if the woman was just another dream myself
until I went to check out. I checked out three weeks ago, they gave me what
little I came in with and it included a book I knew I didn't have when I
arrived.
Dream analysis. No note, no name, no phone number. The part about flying
was highlighted, otherwise a brand new book. I wondered who had saved my
life, still do, but respected her privacy and didn't do any checking. Shit,
she was the only one who could figure out I was literally dying to get laid,
though I still don't have any idea why. Now I have the dreams and follow
them, acting out whatever they dictate. I don't know if aliens are beaming
them into my head, some asshole dumped something in the water when I was a
kid, or if I just beat off too much in high school. But I know the
consequences of ignoring my dreams now.
I had to feel passion or the black horse would spend every second of my
existence filling my entire being until all other thoughts were driven from
my head. I'm not even certain death would stop it, I might just lie there
in the coffin with a black stallion dancing in front of my eyes until the
end of time. I got showered, shaved, thought about what I was going to do.
Finally decided to call a professional, it doesn't pay to try and form the
sort of the long term attachments that incite emotional passion when your
head gets closer to exploding every day. Easier just to go for physical
passion and hope it would suffice.
A few discreet inquiries later and I was talking to Stephanie. She was a
professional dominatrix, and willing to indulge my fantasy of being teased
and tormented until I felt the kind of sexual passion that I needed. She
obviously thought my explanation was bullshit, but could give me directions
to an ATM and her evening was open. So we made an arrangement.
I was tied to the chair, naked except for a cock ring and the clamps that
dangled from my nipples. The ropes criss-crossed my chest, held my arms
behind my back, continued down and held my legs back and apart until the
tendons in my thighs burned. My cock bobbed, pre-cum dripping from the end
as Stephanie rubbed the didlo across my lips. Moistened with her own sweet
juices I bucked and moaned, ashamed to be so willing to suck her juices from
the dildo I had just watched her masturbate with. "Oh no, honey wants to
come. Too bad honey paid for eight hours instead of six, or his nice cut
cock could be exploding right now."
She eased down, gently taking my cock between her lips. She wasn't going to
let me cum, we both knew it. She swirled her tongue around the head,
removing the pre-cum that had formed and stood up laughing. I leaned
forward and groaned, sweat pouring off of me and landing on the floor. She
rode my face again, not even letting me tongue her, just rubbing her clit
over my nose and the ridges of cheeks until she came. I was covered in her
juices, almost delirious and begging to orgasm.
After eight hours of teasing, she finally let me loose. She got dressed
first, blue jeans and a white top, nothing to indicate she'd spent the last
eight hours torturing me sexually. "OK hon, times up and I'm not a hooker
so you're on your own. I'm just going to untie your hands so you can take
care of yourself, and then it's hit the road time." I stared at her,
panting and barely comprehending her words. She pulled on the knot and it
came apart. I attacked my cock in a frenzy, frantically spitting on my
hands for lubrication as I rubbed up and down it's length.
Shame immediately overwhelmed me. Stephanie let out an involuntary giggle,
watching my cock spurt as an expression of sweet bliss come over my face. I
wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. Instead, I was handed
some tissue, told to clean up and get dressed and get out. So much for
passion, I figured I'd never see her again and hit the road.
Last night, I dreamed of a black horse. A dream of a black horse is a dream
of passion. I left my dictionary of dreams on the bedside table when I
checked out. Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I
shouldn't be surprised. My life, everything I experience has been distilled
down and burnt away until passion is all I have left to keep me sane.
Simple sex isn't enough, now unless I want release constantly with my entire
essence, the dreams will keep coming and getting stronger.
I finally persuaded Stephanie to take me as a lifestyle slave, deny me
orgasm and tease me forever. She was reluctant at first, told me everyone
backed out once they tried it, how it hardly ever worked. I finally
persuaded her. She put me in a chastity belt, teased me when she had the
time, let me lick her to orgasm when she wanted. But per our agreement, no
matter how much I begged I wasn't allowed to cum. I threw the key to the
chastity belt into the Atlantic myself. As long as I was denied release my
passion stayed with me, keeping the dreams away.
And then last night, I dreamed of a black horse.
