Dreams

I try to stay awake, hoping that when sleep comes it will be dreamless. It hasn't worked yet.

Three weeks. That's how long it's been. Three weeks ago she started taking over my dreams. Hijacking them. Who's ever heard of not being able to wake up from a dream when you want to?

I have.

I can never quite make out her name. Balla, or Palla, something like that. (She said it once when she had me lick her foot.) Everything sounds like it's underwater. In fact the first dream was underwater. I have swimming dreams quite a bit. I was never afraid of them before--the cool feel of the water, sliding in between my fingers, the slight smart of the water against my eyes, the soft sound of the water.

Until she grabbed me from behind. Her arms grabbing my ankles, and then her weight, holding me down on the shallow shelf, but still ten feet below the surface. No matter how I kicked and twisted, she held fast. She climbed on top of me, and just sat there, looking down at me, with a quizzical smile on her face.

I looked up at her, bewildered, trying to say "please, let me wake up" without parting my lips. She understood. I don't know how, but I know she understood. I know because she shook her head, grinning cruelly. And I wouldn't wake up, not until she was ready. When I was lightheaded and about to give in, she rose up off of me, and surfaced. When I reached the top, I was bathed in sweat, and I was holding a pillow to my face.

She has a mouth fixation, I think. Practically every dream has something to do with violating my mouth, putting something in it, or over it, or holding it in place. She can come too. I mean, she can shoot. Ejaculate.

She had me tied to the living room chair, the one that reclines. And it was reclined, all the way back. My head held down with duct tape, pressing it against the leather headrest. Somehow the chair didn't tip over (maybe it was the fact that she's light as a feather), and yet she climbed up to my head, pried my mouth open, and stuck her cock in.

It wasn't rubber, or black, or anything like that. It was warm and fleshy, and real. Not so much hair, but otherwise like mine. And she was fucking my mouth with it. She was whispering things like "suck it, boy," and I tried, but she'd frozen my mouth somehow (by this time, I didn't wonder anymore how she did it, just when she would undo it), and I could only feel her press the tip down on the back of my tongue. That most sensitive part (of her cock, I mean), and she would gasp each time. The worst part was, I could imagine very well how good it felt. And I still wouldn't wake up.

It was pretty sudden, her orgasm. Without warning, she pushed all the way into my mouth. I gagged, and I felt the warm come spurt against the back of my throat. Salty, and it burned a little. I was sure I could feel it dripping all the way into my stomach. I looked up at her through my tears with her sperm running down my chin, and begged her to wake me.

She just smiled and said, "Not yet," and continued running her fingers through my head.

I only woke up screaming when she ripped off the duct tape.

She doesn't even look the same each time. The underwater dream--she had flaming red hair, flared out by the cycling of the waves. Aquiline features, befitting Neptune's princess. When she fucks my mouth (she has done it several times, she enjoys it after all), she is a brunette, short and pixieish, and large sweet doe eyes that burn meanly with her pleasure. But I know it's her, each time.

I've even met her. She's a customer at the firm where I work, starting about a week after the dreams did. I can't tell you her name but it's nothing like Palla. But it's her, I'm almost certain. Something about the way she walks, almost not all the way onto the floor. Floating. Waiting. I can practically feel the heat of her eyes on mine when we go through the figures. Telling me, "Don't mess with me with those figures--we both know where you'll be tonight." It's too much of a coincidence, isn't it? Infuriating.

But what if I'm wrong? Her contract is huge--for me, anyway. I can't afford to lose her because of these silly dreams. How do you tell someone, "I don't know you, but stop fucking with my dreams." It's not possible. But then why should she pick me to handle her job? I'm nobody, I'm fucking nobody. (You don't know how true that is.)

Yesterday she asked if she could feed me lunch.

"What?" I asked, pretending I wasn't sure what she said.

"I asked if I could buy you lunch sometime," she said. But her smile was turned up on one side.

I look at the clock. It's four-thirty. I have to get up in two hours.

Four-forty. I can't wake up.