Monde Imaginaire

I slept with the window open on my last night by the beach. The surf pounded against the rocks all night. I don't know if it was the sea air, or simply being away from home, but I had the most erotic dream. This in and of itself is not strange, it was the linear nature of the dream, and my vivid memory of it.

I was in a room that was reminiscent of the 1950's. Think of Rear Window, or Vertigo. Film noir, but with oddly placed, bright colors. An orange room, red accents, yet somehow dank and depressing. I am with a girl I used to dance with, and she is modeling costumes for me and two other people. Men I don't know. After twirling around for us, she sits down and lights a cigarette.

Blowing artful smoke rings my way, she says, "There's a story I want to tell you about."

The smoke rings ruffle the edges of my vision, and the room seems to melt ever so slightly. As she starts her story, my view becomes fragmented, like looking through a kaleidoscope, and through each pane of glass, I can see the story as it unfolds.

"I know man who trains women and young girls. You may think you know what I speak of, but you don't. This is not fantasy; it's not make-believe. It's a serious business, and a lucrative one. These are not women and girls who volunteer, they are taken. Once taken, they are so thoroughly indoctrinated into this way of life, that escaping isn't something that ever crosses their minds."

In my taleidoscopic view, I can see two women, naked and hogtied, being loaded into a van. It is broad daylight, yet no one seems concerned about anyone seeing. It is a seemingly normal occurence. I find it strange that the women seem so resigned; neither struggles or emits a sound. They are bound so tightly, there are creases dug deeply into their skin. They are gagged as well, but there is no silent pleading in their eyes. They are empty.

My vision shifts back to the room, and I ask, "why are you telling me this?"

She squints at me in the dim light and inhales deeply on her cigarette. Thoughtfully, slowly, she blows a cloud of smoke at me, and smiles. The room shifts and melts, starting at the edges, working inward. I can see the tableau of men and bound women more clearly now. As the dream minutes tick by, my perception becomes more acute, less dream-like. I am not hovering above these events, an impassioned observer, I am in it. I am one of the women.

I am in the living room of an ordinary house. There are none of the accoutrements that one would imagine in this scenario. There are no frightening bondage devices. No men in masks or leather. It isn't a dungeon. Just a cluttered house, with yellow curtains that cast a hazy light in the room. it's a sunny day, I can hear the birds chirping and children playing outside. Yet I am naked and bound with thick rope. There are five or six men talking, drinking coffee, and it sounds so trivial, and everything seems out of place. They are neither young nor old. They all look the same. They do not scowl and me or call me names. It is all very business-like, as if I had ordered this service.

One of them takes out the gag. I swallow and look up. They are all looking at me in a strangely impassioned way. "Open your mouth."

I am frozen. Without another word, he pulls out a handgun and points it at me. "Help her. She seems to be having trouble," he says in a genial tone.

Hands surround my face and jaw, prying it wide open. The man comes over to me and studies my face for a moment. He rubs the muzzle of the gun along my cheek. I feel strangely calm. He sets it down, and takes out his cock. He very matter-of-factly gestures to the handgun, and tells me, flatly, "you had better shine at this."

At this moment, it all freezes, and shifts again. I am in a clinical-looking room. White and brightly lit. Only a few chairs and a metal table. I am alone with the man who I apparently did well with. I am no longer bound, but standing naked in front of him. He is looking over a file with my name on it, reading intently. When he is done, he curtly tells me to lie down on the table.

This time, I do not hesitate.

I hear the door open and shut. His face is above me, and he tells me that there is just one more thing he needs to see. He gives me a smile, the first I have seen, and then blindfolds me. "It will be easier this way."

I feel no panic, as if I know what is next. I feel hands moving me, shifting my body so my head is hanging backwards over the edge of the table. I instinctively open my mouth, and I hear Him whisper, "good girl" as a cock is rammed into my mouth. My head is thrown back in such a way that I cannot move, it allows him full access to the back of my throat. Another man is between my legs, working his way into my ass, and the third is straddling me, hammering into my pussy. I know that the only thing required of me is to take it all, without tears or complaint.

The triad of thrusts start to soften. My body feels pliable, yielding. I am coming into conscienceness, and I wake up to the waves. I have orgasmed in my sleep, something that has not happened in a long time.

My rather disturbed and violent subconscience continues to surprise me.

Comments

[annissa]

wonderful! Thanks for letting me know where you went...:) *hugs*

Subverse from LJ if the name doesn't look familiar...this is my website address...

and...may I link to you on my site (lifeashis.com, not LJ) or are you staying completely private?

[ninth wave]

Feel free to link! I'm just not using my name or any other 'identifying' marks. And thanks for reading!

[T.]

That is very hot, darlin'. Thank you for letting me in.

I look forward to seeing what you do here.

T.