In Dreams

Written by: Daniel Ash


In Dreams

Originally I was waiting to write my confession this week until today (Saturday) so that I could detail whatever happened at the play party Ma'am and I went to last night. And while we did play there, something else happened last night and I've decided to write about that instead. I remembered a dream.

I don't normally remember dreams. I usually wake up slowly and my dreams dissipate from my mind like grains of sand on a windy day, but in this case I must have been jolted awake and the dream I was having was still very fresh in my mind. And completely erotic.

It probably helps that it's been a while since my last orgasm, AND that she had me sleeping in cuffs and a cock ring. I'm sure during times like these I have a lot of arousing dreams, but again, I remember so few that this was abnormal.

I'm writing about the dream instead of the scene last night because while some may enjoy the description of what actually happened t the play party, Ma'am might enjoy the description of my dream more. She knows what happened last night already, and learning what my unconscious mind digs up when I'm not in any control of it might be more entertaining and illuminating for her. Plenty of opportunities to write about scenes at parties later.

Please allow me to describe the dream. Analyze if you wish. Please keep in mind this was a dream, so if it seems nonsensical at times or seems to jump around, that's because it's how I remember it.

I was myself in the dream, but not myself. That is, it was definitely me, with my body and my desires, but I was a journalist in a far away land, in what seemed to be some kind of hot Arab country. Now that I think about it, I blame Miss Eva and Miss Madeleine for the journalist part and Miss Zarita for the Arabian setting. The guilty will understand their roles.

Ok, enough passing blame around. :)

For some reason, I was taking photographs of some kind of hot zone and myself and the guy I was with were captured. Without reason, we were sold into slavery. I know there was an auction of sorts, but that did not play out in the dream. I knew I had been auctioned and sold, but that I had been drugged or unconscious during that event so it was something that was just understood as how I got to where I was. Backdrop, if you will.

Where I was is still a bit fuzzy. I was definitely being abused by some sort of warlord. Not sexually abused at this time, just batted around by one of those large black men in combat fatigues and holding guns that you so often see in the movies. I was then ushered into a helicopter. At this point, I'm not entirely sure my mind had decided that this dream was going to turn erotic in nature, but it did pretty quickly after that.

I was delivered to a yacht. Not just any yacht, but some gigantic sleek streamlined superboat that you only see in magazines and that you need to have trillions to own. My first though was that this was some kind of Arab oil sheik, but as it turned out it was owned by a slightly overweight proper gentleman with a light British accent.

I began to understand in the dream that I'd been sold into sexual slavery to this man. At this point the dream became less fearsome and quite powerfully erotic as my unconscious mind shaped it into a fantasy. I was told immediately by this man to remove the clothing I was wearing and to take a bath. You'll remember I was a captured journalist (Miss Eva and Miss Madeleine's fault) and had been roughed up and such, so I was wearing beaten up dirty clothing and was filthy.

The man who owned me was relaxing in what seemed like a giant square pool. I couldn't see if he was naked or not. I wasn't allowed in that pool, however, there was a smaller sort of clam-shell shaped fountain on the side of the vast room. It had a tap in one end from which I drew water and sat in the small bath and rinsed off the dirt. I then seemed to spend an obnoxious amount of time trying to figure out why the tap handles that controlled the water, instead of going straight from off to cold to hot like a normal tap, seemed to infinitely spin, going from cold to hot and over and over again. It was a dream, ok? It doesn't have to make sense.

The next thing I remember, the man was standing in a robe at the end of the little pool I was in. I was naked, so I moved to the edge to hide my nudity and peered up at him.

He asked if I was clean, and I replied that I was in a timid voice. I may have been in the role of a war-chasing journalist, but now apparently my internal submissive was coming out to play. I can just imagine what my body was doing in the bed in real life. The man told me that he was now my owner and that I could never escape the boat and that I'd be shown to my quarters. Once I'd been settled in, I was to choose two 'toys' which he would then use to beat the living crap out of me as a welcome to his yacht.

Is there anything more sadistic than a dominant telling YOU to choose the toys they will use to beat the living crap out of you?

I was then shown to my room by a female slave. I think she was clothed, but not by much. I was still naked until she showed me to my room, which looked pretty much like a normal room, but it was fully furnished and even had clothing hanging in the closet. I was given to know that the master had owned a boy before and these were his clothes. I wasn't given an explanation what happened to this other boy, but apparently he took his leave quickly without his clothing. *shrug*

Of course, the clothing was the most alarming assortment of slut wear one could imagine. Hot shorts galore and most of the shirts for some reason were cutoffs like you don't see anymore. They were tight, had short sleeves and the chest part of the shirt only came down to just under my pecs, not even to the belly button, leaving the entire lower half exposed.

I tried one on. It was so tight, I needed the help of the female slave to get it back off again. Apparently the previous boy had been less developed in chest and shoulders than I. I did manage to find a normal tank top in there, rather like the kind I wear in real life during the summer, so I donned that instead.

She then showed me to the bathroom. I was amazed how much it looked like the bathroom in our previous real life house. It's funny how dreams do that sometimes. But then the dream started getting weird on me. While she was explaining the parts of the bathroom to me, my whole world began spinning and I felt nausea. I fell to the ground, clutching my stomach. She was laughing at me.

I looked up and could see the boat had started moving. And it was causing me sea sickness, which is weird because I never get that in real life. But there I was, nauseated on the floor, helpless while she taunted me from above me, telling me how weak I was and how could I stand up to our master if I couldn't even handle the boat.

The dream shifted. I remember no more.

I never did get to see his toys. I never did see the master again. I'm prone to recurring dreams, so perhaps I'll revisit that yacht again, but it's likely I won't remember it. I'm not going to try to analyze my own dream, I've never been good at that, but what I do know is that it was likely brought on by my aroused state in real life.

I'm selfishly glad the dream ended where it did. Had it not, it likely would have progressed to the beating and then sexual torment, which might have led to an ejaculation in real life. Ma'am seems to think it's cute when I lose control in my dreams and mess up the bed, but I find it decidedly humiliating to come like that in the sheets like a high school boy.

That was my dream. This is my confession. And dammit it, I'm still horny.