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.
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