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From: BCKRUB@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} "Wet Dreams" (Bckrub RP, MF, mind control)
Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2000 00:10:28 -0400
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<1st attachment, "WETDRM.TXT" begin>
WARNING: This story contains graphic descriptions of
sexual behavior. If this offends you, or if you are
below the age of consent in your community, please do
not read any further.
This story is a fantasy. We still live in the age of
AIDS, and although the characters in this story do not
necessarily take "safer sex" precautions, that should
not be construed as the author's advocacy of unsafe
sex.
WET DREAMS
by Backrub (BCKRUB@aol.com)
The August night seemed perfect: cool, still fragrant
with the scents of late summer. Peter could smell the
flowers in the front yards, the tomatoes and cucumbers
in the backyard gardens. He could hear and smell the
prowling of cats in search of midnight mice, and the
occasional bark of a dog fulfilling a social contract
to defend territory. A racoon scurried across the street
on its was to knock over the next available garbage can.
The full moon washed the quiet street, the pretty wood
frame houses, shrubs, lawns and shade trees on their
quarter acre lots. The tar and pavement street was
quiet under his feet as he walked down the center of
the lane, careless about cars in the middle of the
night. Bags of garbage and recyclables were already
sitting neatly at curbside, waiting for the next day's
pickup. As he passed a side street he glimpsed the tiny
cemetery which contained century-old graves. It reminded
him of the thin connections between past, present and
future. It could be any of the small towns he'd lived
in over the years: in Ohio, northern California, North
Carolina. On this particular night it was a small town
in upstate New York, where he'd lived for two years
now, undetected, so far.
He was just about six feet tall, 175 pounds, twinges of grey
in his dark hair at 35 years. A body strong and flexible
from years of gymnastics in high school and college,
and the contortions he'd practiced more recently.
He was dressed in black jeans, a black button-down shirt and
hightop black sneakers.
He'd first taken notice of his "gift" in his early teens. Puberty
was well underway and awash with the usual hormones and
fears, he'd noticed something that no one else talked about
and that he knew was out of place. One night at summer
camp he awoke in the middle of night and found himself
awash in voices, sensations, scents. There were loud,
boisterous and frightened young male voices, but no
sound came to his ears; they played only in his head.
In the distance he could faintly hear and smell others.
He left the bunkhouse and walked through the quiet
woods. Unafraid of the night after being raised in the
country, he followed the dim voices across the camp
until they grew louder as he approached the girls'
bunkhouse. His ears detected no sound except the
crickets and the lapping of the lake shore, yet his
head was filled with sensations, people, sounds. And
his nose held a musky scent standing just outside the
girls' bunkhouse.
He suddenly felt himself in the lake
and next to him one of the girls was thrashing in the
water, panicked, unable to swim and terrorized. He
reached over and held her, swam with her to the dock,
helping her up. She relaxed, safe now, smiled and
dissolved before his eyes. He was back standing in
front of the girls' bunkhouse.
His mind reached out among the crowd of visions and
found one of his young campmates dreaming of him; he
willed it and entered her dream. They were in the
woods, away from the others. They were kissing, pressed
against a tree. He reached for her breast with one
hand and let the other drop between her legs. She
melted in his arms, moving against him and whispering
his name. Young and overcome with feelings she'd only
had masturbating in bed at night, she pushed her 14-year-old
body against his and bit his shoulder as his
hand roughly, but accurately, rubbed her where she
needed rubbing. She tensed, shook and cried out in the
woods. Then she dissolved into her pleasure and out of
the dream state. Once again he stood in front of the
girl's bunkhouse. Overcome, he stood there in the
night, unzipped his pants and stroked his young cock
until he spurt on the ground in front of him, awash in
young women's dreams.
That was the first time he realized he had a gift, or
an abnormality. He could not penetrate fully conscious
minds, but those in a dream state, drunk, high, or
those disconnected from normal linear perceptive
reality were accessible to him. He could read and feel
their thoughts, enter their dreams, become part of
their dreams, merge their dreams with waking reality
and fold their waking night reality into a dream.
It almost ruined his life. The quiet night became a
cacophony of noise each night during his adolescence
until he learned to control its flow, shut it out. But
still he was drawn, as men are, to the dreams of women
and their scent. In high school and college he could
avoid the gross insecurity of not knowing for sure if a
woman was interested in him. If they drank, got high
or slept and he was within reasonable distance, he
could learn from them. He ignored some women socially
and could bring himself to those few who were
interested, whose hearts and libidos ached for him. He
came to realize, making lazy love in the middle of the
night during his sophomore year, that if the woman was
semi-conscious his mind could cloud her subconscious:
their lovemaking was a dream to her that night. He
could also sense exactly what his lover wanted and needed.
His lust became not just the usual male craving for
women, but an obsession with the further joining of
minds that he could accomplish. Women's dreams called
out in the night, unheard but for him. He took
satisfaction in their hunger meeting his. Entering
their dreams, sharing and possessing them, controlling
them so that the woman felt that everything that
happened, including midnight couplings and suckings,
was all a dream. Simple seduction and fucking were a pale
substitute when compared to such intimacy.
And so, during most late nights in decent weather
he walked the street, listening. On some nights he went
home without satisfaction, on others, he crept into the
homes and dreams of others.
College girls home for Thanksgiving vacation having
gotten themselves deflowered and now constantly
hungering for more. He came to them in the night as
they slept, loving them, spurting on them, casting a
spell that merged their dreams with their conscious
lovemaking with him in the night. In the morning the
memory of their lovemaking was only the whisp of last
night's dream.
Single women, divorcees, married women whose husbands
were away were all his lovers. He enjoyed reaching
out to women coworkers, asking their dreaming minds
if they were receptive to him, planting the fantasy
in their dreams, climbing through their bedroom windows
and converting dream fantasy into fleshy reality, all
bathed in dreamscape. On one night he even entered
a couple's bed chamber, cast the dream spell over
both of them and sucked her nipples while he ate her.
She sucked on his cock while her husband slapped into her from behind.
He could never tell anyone, they'd think he was crazy.
He thought he was crazy, or at least a freak. No one
would notice as long as he could place the dream spell
on them as they awoke and as long as they drifted back
to sleep afterwards, with no fresh memory of the dream.
No point in making love, or having sex with someone
who's asleep, they made love awake even though their
minds told them otherwise and the next morning the
experience to them was only a few scraps of melted
memory, inseparable from a dream.
***************************************************
It was 2 A.M. before Elizabeth found sleep with the
help of the brandy. She'd had to bring herself a second time
that night, lying on her stomach this time. One
hand and a long body pillow beneath her for her pussy
to grind against, another slid underneath her silk
camisole, pinching her nipples. As she fucked her hand
she thought about being on top of Robert again like
this, riding that hard, strong body, the base of his
cock grinding against her clit as her palm did now.
She kissed and licked the bed just as she would have
kissed and licked his chest. As she came, she imagined
his hands rubbing and squeezing her ass as they used
to. She bucked and squirmed against the bed, grunting
and then she called out his name.
"Shit! Bastard!" she screamed at herself immediately
afterward. It had been three weeks since their
confrontation and she'd thrown the sonofabitch out and
yet she was still obsessed. She'd had the strength to
throw him out when she realized that he'd been cheating
on her and spending their money on drugs. She'd
denounced him, punched him in the stomach and didn't
start crying until he'd left the house. She'd rolled
up their old futon, and bought a new bed and
mattress. The most overt signs of him had been removed
from the house, the home, the trust that he had so
callously betrayed.
But even before the final confrontation, when she had
begun to suspect that he was destroying their lives,
she'd continued to sleep with him. She was so
used to his presence, his hard body and his smell. The
sex continued to scratch an itch, even as she ignored
or suppressed her growing fear of his betrayal. He had
been so enthusiastic about being trained and he knew
just what moves she needed from his tongue and fingers,
when and why.
The rational part of her brain knew that there were
other men out there, ones who would not betray her and
would also be happy to learn how she liked her pussy
licked and fingered and how she liked to ride men's
cocks and faces. But recently, that part of her brain
hadn't been making as many appearances as she'd like,
leaving center stage for pain, anger and paranoia. She
directed much of the anger at herself, anger that she
still ached for him at night when her heart and mind
would prefer that he be run over by a slow moving
truck.
So here she was, again, sliding into sleep at 2 A.M.
with her fingers and the body pillow still wet from her
juices, her camisole scrunched up on her chest and her
tap pants lying on the floor. She'd started the
evening trying to fantasize a chance
meeting-turned-into-threesome with Brad Pitt and Daniel Day-Lewis,
like any healthy 34-year-old woman. Instead she ended
up with that shit Robert again...
*******************************************************
He caught her scent on the night air. The scent of
arousal, a woman in heat. He also heard the need
coming from her mind: pain/lust/loneliness. He could
taste her juices, sweat and tears on her pillow. He
stopped in front of her house.
He stood there in the middle of the street at 2:30
A.M., listening and sensing her further. Minutes passed
as he listened and sensed. He knew she lay in a first
floor bedroom, that she'd recently fallen asleep, and that
she was alone except for a cat curled up by her side. Her bedroom
window was open. A pizza box and beer bottle sat open in the kitchen
and a glass with traces of brandy remained on her nightstand, next
to a tube of lubricant. He moved toward the house and
drew himself up to the window. In the moonlight he saw
clothes strewn across chairs, books piled on a desk
with a personal computer and the woman partially
sprawled, asleep, lying on her stomach on the bed.
Covers had been pushed aside and she partially
straddled a body pillow which he could tell was well
acquainted with her womanhood. He drew himself up and,
as he had done many times on the gymnast horse and
parallel bars as well as houses like this one, moved
his legs up, under and through, sliding himself
silently into the room and onto the floor.
He stood at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep.
So sweet, so beautiful. He could taste her
already as he unsnapped and unzipped his pants and
pulled them and his shoes off. The cat peered at him, decided he was
beneath feline concern and jumped off the bed. He lay at the foot of
her bed and brought his mouth to her feet. He began to
lick and suck her toes. She began to stir and he
projected his dream consciousness over her, convincing
her brain that all that occurred should be perceived as
her dream, and that all was well.
He sucked on the toes of each foot, she giggled in
tickle reflex, still half asleep as he began to lick
and kiss his way up her ankles and calves. He lay a
series of slow, wet suction kisses behind each knee for
a full five minutes while a hand slid up the back of
her thighs and began to rub the cheeks of her ass,
thumb sliding between her legs to brush and rub over
her pussy lips. She began to move on the bed.
Moving up, he placed his mouth inches from her and let
his warm breath wash over her pussy lips. He licked
them several times and slid a finger between the lips
to wet them and breathed on her again. She gasped
quietly. He leaned forward and buried his face against
her, licking her with long tongue strokes the length of
her lips, reaching down with his tongue to almost touch
her clit.
He slowly fingered her as he moved his tongue to her
anus, flicking it rapidly there over and over. She
gasped and moaned as his wet finger slid upward between
her lips lengthwise and over her hardening clit. He
spread her legs wider and lay on his back, moving his
head beneath her, pulling her moist cunt down onto his
face. He licked her slowly and sensuously, snaking his
tongue in and out of her and up and down her pussy lips
to her clit. One finger slid in and out of her pussy
while another, wet with her juices, slid slowly into
her ass up to the first joint. She let out a guttural
moan, pushed the body pillow completely aside and lay
on top of him, beginning to actively fuck his face,
holding the top part of her body up on her elbows.
She felt free from threat, fear or even awkwardness,
the thought of who or why rarely being raised in a
dream. Her primary thought was that she desperately
needed a friendly, willing mouth on her pussy, and one
was there right now. And it wasn't Robert's. To the
bottom of her subconscious, his spell had sent the
message: no fear, no anger, no pain, take refuge. Her
ass bobbed slowly up and down against his face as she
moaned, babbled and whimpered almost continually now.
When, after many minutes of this, his lips finally
surrounded her clit and his tongue slid between those
lips to slide rapidly back and forth over it, she
suddenly stiffened, and let out a cry that came from
deep within her. Her body twitched violently as she locked her
thighs around his head. He slid his entire finger into
her ass as she came, shivering, jolting on the bed and
over him.
He kissed his way down her pussy lips and then over her
ass cheeks as she went through her after shocks. He
rubbed her back, kissed her face, neck and
shoulders. He pressed himself against her and rolled
her over onto her back as she smiled and moved to kiss
the unknown lips and face. He spread her legs wide and
slowly entered her. She gasped again, simultaneously
remembering the pleasure and comfort of a warm friendly
body on top of her, taking pleasure in her, and knowing
that this was body was there for comfort, not betrayal.
His muscular form writhed and bobbed above her, sliding
in and out, back and forth, waves of muscle against
her. She held him, enveloped him as he nibbled and bit her
neck. Her hands ran up and down his back, through his
hair and beard, grabbed his ass. Her pussy held him
and she whispered "Baby" in his ear as he stiffened and
came.
She wrapped herself around him, holding him warm and
close, still coupled until he softened. Later, she lay
in his arms, fully asleep as he softly ran his fingers
through her hair, gently kissed her, wondered and knew
what the fuck he was doing there.
At 4 A.M. she awoke and found herself still in the
he guided her down between his legs. She sucked him
while one hand disappeared beneath her to rub her pussy
again. Her tongue swirled and flicked across the
sensitive parts under and on the head as the pleasure
rose again within her. He moaned, threw his head back
and became very hard. Some time after she'd become
very wet and lightheaded, she moved over and then next
to him, continuing to fuck the night air with her hips.
She reached over to the night table for the tube of
lubricant and handed it to him.
"I want you to fuck me in the ass. Do you know how to
do that?"
She sprawled herself with her ass slightly in the air,
one hand reaching back underneath to rub her clit while
the other helped to support her. He moved behind her and
rubbed lubricant all over his hard cock. He took a
lubricated finger and placed the fingertip at her
puckered anus. He slid his finger slowly inside her
and she moaned, twisting her pelvis for a moment. He
kept his finger straight and fucked her that way for
twenty or thirty strokes, feeling the pleasure rise in
her, hand moving faster against her clit.
He stroked his slippery cock to his full hardness and
slipped his finger out of her ass. She let out a
disappointed whimper but sucked in her breath as she
felt his hands part the cheeks of her ass and his
cockhead pushed softly against her anus. He entered
her slowly and she whispered in reply. With half of
his cock inside her he moved slowly to use his cock to
massage her rectal muscles, grinding and moving himself
to massage her internally. As she relaxed more, he
entered her further and began the rhythm of strong, but
not rough strokes that made her feel taken, possessed
and forbidden as nothing else could. Her hand was a
blur over her clit by now and she was moaning and
whimpering nonstop. Her body began to shiver almost
uncontrollably as she began to come, and as she did,
she clamped down on him, which was more than he could
take. She twisted around slightly so he could see her
face in a state of pleasure, looked into his eyes and
told him to come in her ass.
The orgasm was wrenched from him, her ass so tight and
pulsing that he did not even have time to lose control.
One second he had it and the next he felt like a giant
cock as the rush washed over his body. He knelt there,
his thighs shivering until he got slightly soft and
withdrew.
They kissed, and cuddled and he held her until well
after she had descended back into peaceful sleep. He
placed the body pillow back into her arms, dressed and
slipped back into the night, left with his sweaty
fantasies turned real, and now, his aching loneliness.
**********************************************
The next morning, Elizabeth awoke, Clem the Cat still asleep
against her. Her head was a bit fuzzy - gotta quit the beer, pizza
and brandy diet. If she wasn't sure about her head and stomach, she
was more assured about her heart. She felt better than yesterday.
Not completely back, but better.
She vaguely recalled a dream, a dream in which she was pretty sure
she'd gotten laid. There was something strange about it. Unlike the
7,945 other sex dreams she'd had, she was pretty sure that in
this one, she'd come before she woke up.
Elizabeth showered, dressed and jumped into her car for the drive to work.
As she pulled into the parking lot she thought about the man who'd been
trying to flirt with her for the last few weeks. Who was that guy?
Maybe she would ask him to lunch.
<1st attachment end>
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