Thursday, 20 March 2008

A Strange Dream

I had a strange dream about you last night, brought on, I am sure by the house that I am staying in. The house is enormous and was built in the 1840s, with more rooms than I ever imagined. The owners are away on holiday, and I am the caretaker until then. What I thought would be a week of gothic romance is turning out to be a little more eerie than I had bargained for.
Last night, as I sunk into a bed fit for any polite Victorian lady, my new surroundings must have affected my mind. I dreamt I was wandering through the house, following a noise and trying to find the room from where it originated. I could hear several mens' voices, and their laughter. Somewhere within the din, I could also make out the sound of a female voice crying. Eventually I came to a large wooden door, and slowly, I turned the handle and stepped inside. I immediately shrank back at what I saw. There was a table in the centre of the room, upon which a naked woman was stretched out, face down. There were many men encircling her, some were restraining her legs, which were wrenched apart. I could hear her whimpering, and one of the men had his fist inside her pussy. Nobody seemed to notice me, and I moved further into the room. The figures in the room were blocking my vision and preventing me from seeing to the head of the table. Their hands were grabbing, pinching and exploring the woman's body, pressing down upon her when she seemed to move too much. Still unnoticed, I began to walk up the side of the table. The woman was laying with her arms stretched out in front of her, and as I neared the end, I saw that it was you holding her wrists to the table. You were kneeling so that she could see your face, and you were speaking quietly to her. Each time that she whimpered, I heard you telling her that she was a good girl, and that she was suffering for you, and that she was pleasing you. Each time that her head lowered, you told her that she should look at your eyes when you spoke to her.
I cannot remember much after that point, except for the way that I felt. At first, I was horrified, but then, as I moved around the table, I began to feel a mixture of shame and jealousy. Shame at the fact that I was enjoying what I saw, and jealousy because, secretly, I wanted to be that woman.

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You kiss your mother with that mouth?